The Secret City

by C. J. Daugherty

  Taylor sobbed, pressing her helmeted head against his back, as if she couldn’t bear to look.

  As they sped away, he could see the fire burning red in the bike’s mirrors.

  They rode aimlessly down the dark country roads. Sacha kept trying to think of what to do now but his head was spinning. First Deide, then Louisa. Now the house.

  Mortimer was taking everything.

  After nearly an hour, he pulled over and cut the engine, pulling off his helmet so he could breathe.

  He twisted around on the seat so he could see Taylor.

  ‘We need a place to stay safe until tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘You don’t know of any other safe houses?’

  Shaking her head, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘Only Deide and Louisa knew where they were. Maybe we could call St Wilfred’s?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t want anyone else to get involved. It’s too dangerous.’ He tried to think. ‘I’ve got some money but I don’t think a hotel would be a good idea… And we need to hide the bike.’

  They sat for a while, trying to think. The motorcycle engine ticked as it cooled. In the distance, a night bird called out hungrily.

  ‘What we need is an empty house,’ Sacha said without much hope. ‘An abandoned building or something. Just someplace we can hide for a while.’

  Taylor blinked at him.

  ‘I saw a garage,’ she said. ‘Back at the edge of Carcassonne. It had a “For Sale” sign and looked boarded up.’

  Sacha remembered the dingy white garage, with the petrol pumps removed, its sign hanging crookedly.

  ‘I know the one,’ he said. ‘I think I can remember where it was. Let’s go check it out.’

  * * *

  It was harder to find than he recalled, and they drove for quite some time before locating it.

  It had been thoroughly secured. The windows were covered with boards. The door had three locks.

  Taylor opened them in an instant.

  Inside, the garage was mostly empty. The pile of junk mail on the floor – some of it yellowed with age – indicated nobody had visited this place in a while.

  Sacha rolled the motorcycle into the repair shop, while Taylor looked around for food and water. There wasn’t any. There was no furniture, no electricity.

  Exhausted, they sat on the dirty concrete floor in the dark. Taylor wrapped her arms around her knees, shaking like a leaf.

  ‘Hey,’ Sacha said, pulling her closer. ‘It’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘Well.’ He searched his tired brain for something positive to say. ‘For the next five minutes or so, it’s probably going to be fine.’

  She forced a tremulous smile. ‘At least we’ll have five good minutes.’

  They fell quiet for a moment. Then Taylor spoke the words foremost in Sacha’s mind.

  ‘Mr Deide.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘I know.’

  The memory of that bullet shooting from Mortimer’s fingers sent a chill through him.

  ‘I’m so scared for Louisa,’ Taylor said. ‘I want to call Alastair but I don’t dare. What if Mortimer tracks us somehow? He seems to know everything we do.’

  ‘Don’t call,’ Sacha said gently. ‘We just have to hope.’

  Taylor wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  ‘I don’t think I know how to hope anymore.’

  Wordlessly, he pressed his lips against her hair. It was sticky with dried blood.

  ‘Your head.’ Furious with himself for forgetting, he turned to face her, trying to see in the dark how bad it was. ‘We have to do something about that. Is there a first aid kit here somewhere?’

  He knew it was a stupid thing to ask – there was nothing but trash and uncollected mail. For some reason, the thought that she might be forced to spend the night on a dirt floor with blood in her hair was more than he could take.

  ‘Bordel,’ he shouted, pounding his fist on the hard floor. ‘We can’t live like this.’

  ‘Hey.’ Catching his hand, she lifted it to her lips. ‘Stop.’ Her breath was warm against his skin, soft as velvet. ‘I’m fine. I promise.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  He pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to think.

  ‘I saw a 24-hour shop about a kilometre away,’ he said. ‘I remember the light in the window. It won’t have much but it’s better than nothing.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sacha, no. It’s too dangerous.’

  But he was already on his feet. ‘We need water and food, and some bandages. They will have that much. I’ll move fast and I won’t take the bike.’

  ‘Sacha…’

  He held up his hand.

  ‘I’m right, Taylor, and you know I am. There’s more to surviving than just breathing. We need to be strong. And without food and water, we won’t be.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Fine. But please, be careful.’

  He tried to give her a rakish smile but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. It just hadn’t been that kind of a day.

  ‘Lock the door,’ he said. Seeing the anguished look in her eyes, he added, ‘I’ll be careful.’

  Thirty-Six

  Sacha was only gone twenty minutes, but it was the longest twenty minutes of Taylor’s life.

  She paced the dark garage from one end to the other, willing him to return. Her heart felt cold as a stone in her chest. If Mortimer got him now, she’d never forgive herself.

  When she sensed Sacha’s presence outside the door she raced to it, commanding the locks to open while still several steps away. Bursting through before he could walk inside, she threw herself at him, sending him staggering backwards.

  ‘Thank God. You’re alive.’

  He wrapped his arms around her, a plastic bag filled with supplies bumping heavily against her back.

  ‘We’re both alive,’ he said.

  When they were both back inside, she sat patiently on the floor while he cleaned blood from her wound with a bottle of Evian water.

  ‘It doesn’t look bad.’ He peered at her head in the glow of a tiny pocket flashlight as he applied antiseptic.

  It stung, but Taylor didn’t really notice. All that mattered was they were both still here.

  When he’d finished, he pulled bread and sliced cheese from the bag, creating makeshift sandwiches.

  They ate without pleasure. They merely needed energy if they were going to fight.

  Afterwards, they curled up together on the floor, resting their heads on a bag Sacha pulled off the back of his bike.

  Taylor was so worn out her hands felt weighted down, but her mind still raced, flashing up images from earlier that night until she longed for unconsciousness.

  Maybe if she just fell asleep, she’d stop seeing Louisa’s body flying into the wall. And Deide’s empty eyes as the bullet hit home.

  ‘I hope Louisa’s OK,’ she said as exhaustion won out and her eyelids grew heavy.

  ‘Me too,’ Sacha whispered.

  It was the last thing she heard, before she finally slept.

  * * *

  When she woke, daylight streamed through cracks in the plywood covering the windows. Sacha lay on his back, one arm loosely around her waist. She was resting on his chest.

  Every part of her ached. But her head felt a little better than it had the night before.

  She was also incredibly thirsty. Careful not to wake him, she extricated herself from Sacha’s arms and climbed to her feet.

  It was very quiet outside – no sounds aside from the occasional car hurrying by – and she wondered what time it was as she tiptoed across the room and found the water bottle. After she’d had a drink, she pulled her phone from her pocket. Her battery was nearly dead, and the clock showed it was well after noon.

  Her heart flip-flopped. Less than twelve hours left, until this was all over.

  She wondered if she should wake Sacha, but he lo
oked so peaceful that she couldn’t bring herself to disturb him – he’d rolled onto his side, resting his head on his arm, and his lashes were soft and dark and perfect against his cheeks.

  Stretching to loosen her tight muscles, she sat back down against the wall, checking her phone for messages.

  One from Georgie:

  I’m so excited about Spain!!! Your mum says get in touch about flights etc. xxxxxx

  And then, at last, one from Alastair, sent a short while ago:

  Still alive.

  Taylor bit back a sob. Louisa had survived the night.

  She hugged her phone tightly against her chest and fought back tears of relief.

  You keep fighting, Liverpool girl.

  It was the first tiny sign of hope she’d had in such a long time. And she was going to cling to it.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She looked up to find Sacha propped up on one elbow, watching her.

  ‘Louisa,’ she said, smiling through her tears. ‘She’s alive.’

  ‘Thank God.’ He held out his arms. ‘Come here.’

  Taylor’s stomach flipped. He looked so beautiful, lying there in the dust, all cheekbones and lean muscles.

  She knelt beside him, suddenly shy, but he pulled her down until she lay on his chest again.

  ‘Every time I woke up during the night, you were like this.’ His breath stirred her hair. ‘I liked it.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

  It was easier to say that without looking at him, so she buried her face in his chest.

  When he chuckled she felt the rumble through her cheeks. ‘Why are you hiding from me?’

  He pulled her up, until she lay on top of him, her face above his. No place to hide.

  The way he looked at her, his gaze sweeping across her face like fingertips, made it hard for her to think of words.

  ‘I’m not,’ she insisted unconvincingly.

  ‘Oh good,’ he said softly. ‘Because I like looking at you.’

  His hand slid slowly up to cup the back of her head, and he pulled her down gently until his lips met hers.

  The kiss was tender and soft, but that wasn’t what Taylor needed right now. She pressed back against him, kissing him harder and more passionately. Parting his lips with the tip of her tongue, tasting him.

  He let out a breath and then, wrapping his arms around her protectively, rolled her over until he lay above her, braced on his forearms.

  She looked up into his eyes.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she whispered. ‘With me.’

  Some of the brightness faded from his expression. He ran his thumb gently across her bottom lip.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else,’ he told her.

  Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the silk of his sandy brown hair. She stroked the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the soft straight brows, and the long line of his nose as if trying to memorise every inch of his face.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she whispered.

  That made him smile. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You are,’ she insisted. ‘And the best thing is, you don’t even know it.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought exactly the same thing about you.’

  He kissed her then, hard and fast, pressing himself against her, holding her tightly. Holding nothing back. The kiss was desperate and filled with longing.

  She ran her hands down his body until she could slide her fingers under his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

  She breathed in his breath, letting him fill her lungs.

  They might have been facing the end of everything, but they were not alone. They had each other.

  And for a little while they could forget the horrors that lay ahead, and imagine the life they wished they could have.

  * * *

  Some time later, they sat tangled up together against the back wall of the garage, eating stale chocolate croissant.

  Taylor’s right leg was draped over his left, his hand rested possessively on her knee. She felt warm and safe for the first time in days. Even she knew it was an illusion but, just for now, she didn’t care.

  Alone in their hideout, time seemed to slow, and they found themselves telling each other things they’d never told anyone. Talking about family. And home.

  ‘I called my mother and sister yesterday to say goodbye,’ Sacha told her. ‘In case I never see them again.’

  ‘I couldn’t call my mum,’ she confessed. ‘I thought if I heard her voice, I’d just run home. I didn’t know if I could stop myself.’ She ran a hand across her eyes. ‘I better not die. Because she’d never forgive me. She thinks I’m going to Spain next Friday.’

  ‘Maybe you will.’

  Dipping his head down he kissed her hair. She pulled his arm tighter across her chest. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked quietly. ‘Now that the time is finally here.’

  He exhaled audibly.

  ‘I never knew it would feel like this,’ he said after a long second. ‘That I’d be so afraid. I thought I’d walk into my eighteenth birthday like a fighter. Daring death to take me. Now I’m afraid I might crawl in, begging.’ He wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m scared.’

  Taylor pulled him closer.

  ‘You won’t crawl,’ she promised him passionately. ‘You are incapable of crawling.’

  His blue eyes looked so old in that moment – older than his years. It made her heart ache.

  ‘How can you know that? Maybe I’m not who you think I am.’

  ‘I know you, Sacha Winters,’ she told him. ‘You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You can do this.’

  ‘We can do this,’ he corrected her, pulling her close again. ‘Together.’

  When he kissed her, his mouth tasted of chocolate.

  Later, as the sun began to sink in the sky outside, and the minutes ticked down, they worked out a plan.

  ‘We can’t be too early,’ Sacha said. ‘I think we should go right on time. Straight to the church. Let’s not try to kill Mortimer. Let’s just go do the ceremony.’

  ‘We still have to find that chapel,’ Taylor reminded him. ‘If we can’t find the right room, Zeitinger says the ceremony won’t work. It has to happen on the right location.’

  ‘We’ll find it,’ Sacha assured her. ‘At least now we know where it isn’t. We made it through most of the nave.’ He paused to think. ‘Hang on. By the time we left the church yesterday, we’d been to all the chapels on that side except the one right at the end. Do you remember it?’

  Taylor paused to think. She’d been so worried about Sacha, the rest was a bit of a blur. But she did remember. A metal candle stand, with dozens of votive candles aglow. Behind it, a small, closed door covered by a velvet curtain.

  ‘The one with candles outside it?’

  Sacha nodded. ‘It’s the only room on that side of the church we didn’t search.’

  She stared at him. ‘That has to be it.’

  This was positive. That last side chapel could well be the place. If they went straight there, they could get to it before Mortimer found them.

  They’d have to be focussed. But at least they knew where to look.

  There was one thing left she had to take care of.

  ‘We need to talk about what’s going to happen in the church.’ Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the folded paper she’d carried from Oxford. ‘You need to read this.’

  Giving her a quizzical look, Sacha took the page of Zeitinger’s hand-written instructions from her, and smoothed it out on the dusty floor. She waited as he read.

  When he’d finished, his face was serious.

  ‘Is he sure about this?’

  ‘As sure as he can be.’

  She pulled out the bag they’d used as a pillow, and felt in it until her fingers found the long, narrow box the professor had placed in her hands as she was leaving St Wilfred’s.

  Opening it, she set it on the dirty concrete floor.<
br />
  ‘We have to use this.’

  A silver dagger lay gleaming on a soft bed of blue velvet. Its handle was encrusted with alchemical carvings. An intertwined sun and moon formed the solid base of it. A hand, with symbols at the tip of each finger, was carved into the grip.

  ‘That’s what you’re supposed to cut us with?’ Sacha reached out a hand to touch the blade, but changed his mind, dropping his hand to his side.

  ‘He said it would be best.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Well,’ Sacha said quietly. ‘I guess we’re ready.’

  Outside, the sun hung low in the sky. There wasn’t long to wait now.

  Night was coming.

  Thirty-Seven

  When the time came, they left Sacha’s bike in the garage, keys in the ignition. Their bags and helmets – everything they had – lay on the floor next to it. All they took with them was the dagger and Zeitinger’s instructions.

  As she closed the door, Taylor blinked back tears.

  Everything felt so final. Everything felt like the end.

  Hand-in-hand, they made their way through Carcassonne’s dark winding streets. When they passed a church, the clock showed it was half past eleven.

  Thirty minutes until Sacha turned eighteen. Thirty minutes to stop a process that had started three hundred years ago in a time of hate and fear. Thirty minutes to live.

  Not enough time.

  Taylor’s heart skittered in a wild staccato beat. She was too scared to say anything.

  Sacha squeezed her hand.

  She couldn’t imagine how frightened he must be right now. She was so terrified she couldn’t take a breath. It had to be much worse for him. And yet he kept his eyes straight ahead, and put one foot in front of the other.

  She squared her shoulders. If he could do this, she could do this.

  She was curiously alert; hyperaware of every small sound – water dripping from a drainpipe, the flutter of a night bird overhead, their own footsteps thudding out of rhythm.