by H G Lynch
Chapter Three
** Tilly **
That night, I was designated to the bed I’d woken up in that morning, and Sarah took the other bed in the tent, with Annie snuggled up next to her. It turned out, it was Sarah’s nightgown I’d been wearing for my two days of unconsciousness, so she let me borrow a clean one. I protested on the grounds that I could easily sleep in my clothes, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So, after she’d removed the bandages on my arms, satisfied that the cuts had scabbed over nicely, I changed into the pale blue nightie she handed me.
I crawled into the springy camping bed and bade Sarah and little Annie goodnight.
Sarah, smiled. “Goodnight, Tilly,” she said softly.
“Goodnight,” I murmured, snuggling down into my bed as Sarah turned off the gas lantern. Darkness descended in the tent, and I spent five minutes lying there, staring into the dark, telling myself I’d never get to sleep with worries about them finding me swirling in my head…and then I fell asleep.
*****
“Matilda! Focus! You will do this. We need to talk to the demon, and you will summon him for us!”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t do it, not again. I didn’t care what they did to me, how long they locked me in my room, how long they starved me. Anything was better than summoning one of their demon lords. Anything was better than feeling the hole between Our world and Theirs tear open– black and cold and sucking, pulling at my life, ripping at my mind, begging for my blood.
“No,” I squeaked.
I was shaking, sweat dampening my shoulder blades and neck. I couldn’t look at any of them, so I stared at the chalked lines on the floor—a circle inside a circle, runes etched in the space between, lines crisscrossing. I hated those circles, those runes, those lines. I hated what they meant and what I could do with them. I’d never asked to be what I was, never asked for the power I had, but they exploited it whenever they got the chance. They liked the power demons gave them, and they needed my power to get it. I was just a tool they used to call up demons—a telephone to Their world. The Underworld. And every phone call came a little closer to killing me.
“No? Did she say no? You insolent little bitch! You will do it, right now. You will summon the demon, or I will put you in the Dark Room!” One of them, Olivia, snapped.
I flinched. Not the Dark Room. The Dark Room was torture to me; tiny, pitch black, no windows and no air, cages lined along the walls filled with animals for sacrifice, and tiny demons whispering all the gruesome ways they’d kill me slowly if they ever got out of the cages.
The noise in the Dark Room was terrible, the smell even worse—animal faeces, stinking fur, and the sulphur of demons—but it was the feeling in the Dark Room that threatened to drive me mad every time I was stuffed into it. It felt like hell. Not in any physical way, not in any way that a human could feel, but in my bones and under my skin, it felt like flames roasting skin, jaws cracking bones, and claws raking flesh. It was a pain I felt only in the deepest part of my soul, in the darkest part of my power.
As much as I hated summoning demons, the Dark Room was worse. At least when I summoned demons, there was a chance one of them would kill me. In the Dark Room, I couldn’t die. I couldn’t escape, not ever
With tears rolling down my face, bile rising in my throat, I lifted my eyes to the women who had been terrorising me since I was six years old, and I felt like screaming. Instead, I said, “Okay.”
*****
I woke up shaking, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat, and I swallowed a scream. I was staring into pitch blackness, and for one terrified moment, I thought I was in the Dark Room. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Then I heard a soft, sleeping murmur across the room, and my eyes started to adjust. I remembered where I was; it wasn’t the Dark Room. I was safe. I’d escaped. I’d never have to face the Dark Room again, never have to summon another demon.
I’d kill myself before that would happen. If they found me, I’d take my own life before they could do it for me.
Suddenly, the tent seemed claustrophobic and small, as small as the Dark Room, pressing in on me from all sides. I could hear the phantom whispers of caged demons, the hissing of impatient snakes and lizards, the chatter of angry ferrets and hamsters. I could smell the ghosts of animal fear and demon sulphur. I could feel the faint sizzle of Dark magic slithering under my skin and wrapping around my limbs.
I had to get out. I had to escape.
So I did.
I slipped out of my bed as silently as I could, pausing when one of the springs creaked, and sighing internally in relief when neither Sarah or Annie stirred. I tugged on my shorts, exchanged the nightie for the black t-shirt and hoodie, and fixed my feet into my trainers. I was out of the tent in less than two minutes, without waking the other occupants.
The cool, faintly damp air hit my skin and raised instant goose bumps. A gentle night time breeze lifted strands of my fair hair around my face, and the musk of the woods banished the ghostly scents of sacrificial animals and sulphur. I tipped my face up to the clear, cobalt sky and breathed deeply, watching the silver stars twinkle in the spaces between the leaves. The soft sounds of night insects and the stream I still hadn’t seen soothed me, and my heart rate began to slow. The night, the trees, the sleeping bodies in their tents, made me feel safe. Safe in a way I hadn’t felt since I was six years old.
Without knowing where I was going, I walked out of the centre of the makeshift campsite and into the trees surrounding it, listening to the quiet, feeling the night. It sank into me, soft, dark, and as seductive as melted chocolate. The evening was still on the surface, but humming with nightlife just out of sight–fresh, wild and beautiful. I breathed it in with every breath. I absorbed it with every step, until I was wandering with my eyes closed. I didn’t need to see the woods when I could feel them.
Then, a noise dropped into my trance, and my eyes flew open. I stood still, holding my breath, listening. My heart started into a gallop, words rolling through my head: “Matilda! Focus! You will do this!”
No. No, no, no. Don’t let them have found me. Don’t let them ever find me. Please.
The noise came again, and I flinched at the way it broke the quiet of the woods, loud and unnatural as a gunshot amidst the chirping crickets and rustling leaves. It came again, and again, until I realised what the sound was and where it was coming from. Plink…plink…plink. It was the sound of stones being tossed into water. Someone was at the stream.
Without thinking about it, my feet led me through the trees, my senses drawing me unerringly toward whoever was at the stream. I moved almost silently, easily, through the darkness, the babbling of the stream growing louder and louder, until a ribbon of silver-black water glimmered in front of me. The light of the stars played across the ripples of water flowing over worn round rocks on the bed of the stream, and the little eddies of green algae congealing at the edges of the water where it met the mossy grass.
Plink…plink. The sound of stones dropping into the water distracted me again, and I turned, my eyes searching the stream banks for the source of the noise. I spotted him easily, perching on a large boulder that sat half-in and half-out of the water. He had one leg tucked up to his chest, the other dangling over the side of the rock, his bare foot in the water and the hem of his jeans leg rolled up to his knee. One hand was cupped, holding a collection of stones, while the other tossed with careless precision. I watched him throw three more stones, each one landing in exactly the same spot, the ripples echoing outward before being distorted by the current.
In the darkness, his black hair was a shadow, his torso blending with the background in a black t-shirt. His face and arms were visible enough, pale smudges on the night air.
Somehow, I knew he knew I was there. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t speak to me, but I knew he sensed me watching him. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel people like that. I could just tell.
Slowly, measuring every step, I
made my way over to him and sat down on the grass next to his rock. I folded my legs, tugged the sleeves of the hoodie over my hands, and I watched him throw stones into the water, one at a time, always landing in the exact same place.
Plink…plink…plink. And then, finally, he spoke. “What are you doing out here?” Spencer asked, his voice low and quiet, a velvet murmur in the night time air. He threw another stone. Plink.
I shrugged, looking down into the water at my distorted reflection. I studied my pale hair, which someone had kindly brushed for me while I was unconscious, the small scab at my hairline from where I’d gotten cut during my tumble down the hill, the smear of a purple bruise across my left cheekbone, and my steady grey eyes that seemed to reflect colour without ever absorbing it.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said simply.
“No? Did she say no? You insolent little bitch!” The voice from my nightmare hissed in the back of my mind.
I pushed it away. I was free now. I had escaped. For now, that was enough to make the nightmare settle into a dark box in my mind, like a panther settling into its cage, waiting for an opportunity to strike at the hand that fed it.
“You shouldn’t wander about the woods at night,” Spencer said. “You never know what might be lurking around.” Plink.
I glanced up at him, his face turned away to the water. I studied the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the curve of his eyebrow under the scrappy black hair, the line of his jaw. His posture was casual, and though only his hand moved as he flicked stones into the dark, swallowing water, there was a restless air to him. As if he wanted to be doing something else, somewhere else. Still, he looked more relaxed than he had at dinner. He looked more natural sitting on the large rock under the stars than he had surrounded by people and plates. As if he was more at home in the woods, as part of the night.
“I think I can handle myself,” I stated quietly, turning my gaze back to the burbling stream. The breeze tickled the back of my neck, and I shivered, curling into a tighter ball.
Spencer looked at me, scowling. His blue eyes caught a glint of light, turning them oddly golden for a second. If I hadn’t flicked my eyes back to him the second he twitched, I wouldn’t have seen it—a trick of the light, but a strange one.
“If you’re cold, why don’t you go back to camp.” It wasn’t really a question, more like a thinly veiled command.
Okay, got the message, asshole. You don’t like me. Though it’s not as if I invaded your family vacation by choice. You’re the one who brought me here!
I wanted to say it but didn’t. I’d gotten good at keeping my sharp tongue and my temper under control these last eleven years. It was better than having a Silence Spell put on me. So instead, I stared at him for a second more, watching his jaw strain, his muscles tense. Having made my point, I got slowly to my feet, brushed off my knees, and walked back into the trees toward camp.
Just inside the trees, I paused and turned, peering at him through the branches. He hadn’t moved an inch, but he was rattling the stones in his hand agitatedly. His head was bowed, his broad shoulders solid under his t-shirt. I’d done a good job of pissing him off, and I hadn’t even done anything. Fine. He could dislike me, he could hate me if he liked. I wasn’t staying there much longer anyway. Tomorrow night, maybe the night after, I was going to take off. I didn’t know where I’d go, but I’d go.
With the decision made, I turned and started walking again, putting my back to the hostile boy at the stream. I had only taken a few more steps when I heard a sound like rain. He’d thrown the rest of his stones into the stream at once. Plink, plink, plink, plink.
I smiled.
** Spencer **
After Tilly walked away, he stared at the stream for a long moment before launching his pebbles into the water in frustration. He hadn’t meant to make her leave. He’d only meant to ask her why she was outside, not send her away. She’d said she couldn’t sleep—but most people when they couldn’t sleep counted sheep or got a glass of water. They didn’t wander around in the woods in the middle of the night. Not that he was judging, seeing as he was there at the stream almost every night. He liked it there, especially at night. It was quiet, solitary. Still, he hadn’t minded Tilly’s interruption. He wanted to talk to her. Ever since he’d found her in the woods, he’d been curious about her, and he’d only gotten more curious today.
He’d been surprised, and a little bit glad, to see her at the dinner table. He’d half been beginning to think she wasn’t going to wake up, that she’d hit her head hard when she tumbled down that hill and maybe had brain damage. He wasn’t surprised, though, to see her next to Dominic. Minnie was the kind of guy that everybody liked, and when Spencer had first brought Tilly into camp when she was unconscious, his curly headed half-brother had been particularly concerned. It was just his nature; Spencer thought he got it from his mother. He certainly didn’t get it from his father.
Our father, he thought.
Spencer knew he didn’t have the compassion gene, but then, he had a different mother. That was the main reason for his being on the fringes of the pack, instead of a full member, but he preferred the fringes anyway. What he didn’t prefer was Frank, his dad, treating him like crap, as if he was half-wolf just because he was only half-pack. It wasn’t his fault his mother had run away with him before he was even born. She’d chosen to leave Frank for a reason, and Spencer totally understood why.
He shook his head, knocking away the thoughts. He didn’t often succumb to self pity, but he supposed the long day had worn him out a bit. He really wished he hadn’t driven Tilly away; he could have used the distraction right now. He wanted to talk to her, find out who she was, and it struck him as odd because he never really wanted to talk to people—except sometimes his half-brothers. For a moment, he wondered why Tilly should be different, and then came to the only good conclusion. She wasn’t pack. She wasn’t one of them, she didn’t know him, so she couldn’t ostracise him for his mother’s betrayal of his father. If she hated him, she hated him for himself, not for his mother. And that was strangely refreshing.
A little part of him didn’t want her to hate him, but he pushed that little bit away, chalking it up to curiosity and nothing more. He didn’t need a friend. He didn’t want a friend. Maybe a night time companion to sit by the stream with him in the dark hours…? No. He was being stupid. Maybe he was just tired.
With a sigh, Spencer got to his feet, and then paused, lifting his face to the sky. Just a sliver of a moon. He felt his spine flex, the wolf inside him wanting to come out and play, and he wanted to let it. But Tilly might not be back at camp yet, or maybe she’d just gone to walk somewhere else. If he went running around as a wolf, she might see him, and then there’d be trouble. No, he’d just have to stick to two legs, but he wouldn’t go back to camp. He was too wound up to sleep, now. So instead, he turned and walked along the mossy bank of the stream, following the silver line of water through the darkness until the sun began to stain the sky in hues of pink and blue.
** Tilly **
“Did you sleep well last night, Tilly?” Dominic asked me after breakfast.
“Yeah, I slept okay,” I lied, shoving my hands into my pockets. I saw Dominic’s eyes narrow, as though he could tell I was lying, but he didn’t press it. I wondered if Spencer had told him I’d showed up at the stream in the middle of the night. Now that I thought about it, I wondered why he’d been out that late.
Dominic and I were taking a walk along the stream that morning; I’d wanted to get away from the many prying eyes all watching me and wanting to know how I’d ended up out there all battered and bruised. Even when I wasn’t looking, I could feel them watching me, even the kids.
They were perfectly polite and friendly, but I got the sense that, aside from Dominic, Jane, and maybe Desmond, none of them really trusted me. Like I was some sort of murderer on the run, and I was going to kill them all in their sleep. It didn’t matter. Whatever they thought, they could put it to rest s
oon. I needed to get out of there before they came hunting for me again. If I hadn’t put a No Tracking Spell on myself long before I ever ran, they would have already found me and dragged me back.
It was peaceful walking with Dominic. He did most of the talking and didn’t question me—much. Sometimes I fell behind, because he had longer legs, and I was always stopping to admire the little flowers by the stream or watch a leaf floating down the current like a little green boat. Dom never complained, and he never snapped at me to hurry up. He just waited for me to catch up, and slowed his stride to match mine whenever I started to fall back.
In the sunlight, the stream was sparkling and clear, and I could see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Rays of sunlight danced across the ripples, and misted through the trees, covering the woods with a hazy glow. Wildflowers waved in the breeze, splashes of pink, white, and yellow, and mushrooms sat like corpse pale toads in rotting trunks and piles of moss.
It was all so beautiful and relaxing, and for a while, listening to Dominic talk and smiling when he laughed, I could forget…everything. I was just me, Tilly, going for a walk with a cute boy. It was that simple, and I didn’t want it to ever be over.
But eventually, we turned around, though I noticed Dominic walked much more slowly heading back.
When Dom and I finally arrived back at camp, everything was in chaos. Laura, holding Ben and Emma in her arms, was running about after Chris and Justin, trying to round them up. Jane, looking worried and harried, swept past with Marissa in tow. Marissa looked as solemn as ever, but there was fear in her wide hazel eyes. I heard someone calling Kat’s name, and either Chris or Justin yelling indignantly as Jane caught hold of them.
The boys were tense beside me. Dominic had his lips pressed into a hard line, and Des was leaning forward slightly, his nostrils flaring. “What’s going on?” he asked.
