“Yes. It was her gran’s, but the old woman died and left her it.”
“I bet she was really pleased,” Jack said, voice laden with sarcasm.
“The place is set to be knocked down,” Susanna continued, ignoring him, “but she’s hanging in for the compensation money.”
Her little book of lies was filling up, but with Jack somehow resistant to her hypnosis it was her only option. She would deal with the consequences later.
“Your friend got any food in the place?”
“I doubt she left any lying around.” Susanna searched around for an excuse that would stop Jack from attempting to eat – because he couldn’t. “There’s a mouse problem.” She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”
She’d like to be, just once. To know what it felt like. Not pleasant, probably, but alive. Real. But that was just one more entry on an endless list of things that had been denied her.
“Fair enough,” Jack agreed. Then that devilish light came back in his eyes. “Where’s the bed, then?”
“There’s a bedroom through there.” Susanna pointed to the only door. There was no bathroom – because Jack wouldn’t need that the same way he wouldn’t need a kitchen. The safe houses were nothing if not efficient.
“Come on, then.” Grabbing her hand, he hauled her through to the tiny bedroom with him.
There was a double bed, a faded floral bedspread pulled flat across its surface, the top barely rising over two flat pillows. It didn’t look comfortable, but Susanna had spent countless nights on the floor pretending to sleep, to fool newly released souls. It was nothing she couldn’t handle.
Not that she was planning to sleep in there – not with Jack. There was a perfectly serviceable, if grubby, couch in the living room, thank you very much.
Unfortunately, Jack had other ideas. Keeping a firm hold of her hand, he gripped her waist with the other and lifted her through the air. Susanna hit the mattress with an audible ‘oomph’ that was cut off when a heavier weight landed on top of her.
“This was a good idea,” Jack grinned down at her, right before he dropped his head and started kissing her neck.
“Jack!” She pushed ineffectually on his shoulders. “Stop!”
He didn’t stop, but he did raise his head for a short moment to mumble, “What’s the matter babe?”
“I don’t…” she tried to shift away from the heat of his mouth on her collar bone. “I’m tired.”
“Uhuh,” he murmured between little kisses. “I bet I can keep you awake. I’ve missed you.”
One hand dropped to her waist and started easing under and up the long-sleeved top she was wearing. Susanna had had enough.
“Sleep!” she commanded, putting every ounce of will she had into the command.
And Jack dropped like a tonne of bricks above her.
“Brilliant, Susanna,” she muttered. “Just brilliant.”
Slowly, carefully, she eased out from underneath him. Then, sitting on the side of the bed, she looked down at him. In sleep, with those cold eyes closed, he looked almost innocent. Sweet sixteen.
Susanna blew out a breath, relieving the tension that had gripped her more and more during their first few hours together. If only she could fast forward several days… But then, she’d just get another soul, and another. The truth was, she’d had enough. She didn’t want to be here any more, didn’t want to do this any more.
That had been true for a long time, but now, knowing Tristan was someplace else, in the real world, it hit Susanna like never before. She wanted out. Now. She wanted to be where Tristan was.
To her utter astonishment, Susanna realised there were tears on her cheeks. Tears.
Shaking her head, she wandered out to the sagging leather sofa to wait out the night. Closing her eyes, she imagined it. The fantasy she had been nurturing since Tristan left. Him and her, in the world. Doing things, seeing things. Living. Sharing experiences, not just the secret, silent smiles they’d exchanged across the short span between their safe houses. Sharing touches.
What would it have felt like if it had been Tristan, putting his mouth on her neck like that?
What would have felt like if it had been his fingertips sliding up her side?
She could almost see it, almost feel it. Almost.
THIRTEEN
In the bustling Glasgow square, Tristan tried to focus on the tablet in front of him, but his attention kept wandering. He didn’t like that Dylan was out of sight. He knew exactly where she was, but he couldn’t see her through the glare of the coffee shop’s window. Which meant he couldn’t monitor how she was feeling, how she was handling the tumult of emotion he’d seen building over the last few days.
She had her phone, though. She could ring him or text him if she needed him. He checked his one more time, just in case. Nothing.
Placing it back in his pocket, he went back to Dylan’s tablet, using the coffee shop’s free Wi-Fi. It was amazing, the internet. He’d known of it, heard about it from the more recent souls as they talked about their lives – but the exhilaration of actually having all the knowledge in the world at his fingertips was something he was still getting used to. That, and fruit. And sleep. And holding Dylan in his arms…
Focus. Jabbing his way into the news app, he skimmed through stories until he found the one he wanted. The headline ran boldly across the top of the page, but it was the picture that drew his eye. Taken from a different angle than the television report, this one showed the heart of the tunnel, one man – one body – on a stretcher being carried out of the tunnel’s gaping mouth. It was definitely the same place.
And no matter what he’d said to Dylan, it could not be a coincidence. Something they’d done had caused those deaths, he was sure of it.
Skimming through the article, he searched for more information. They’d released the names of the four men, but he wasn’t interested in that. He needed to know how they’d died. Reaching the end, he frowned in dissatisfaction.
Tristan tried three more news sites, but came up with the same brick wall. The deaths were suspicious, but the police weren’t saying anything. Investigators had ruled out accidental death. But nothing concrete.
Cursing, he gave up on the official news pages and started scrolling through forums. There was a lot of stupid stuff – conspiracy theories and trolls who just wanted to stir things up – but then he stumbled on a blog and hit gold.
It was someone claiming to be one of the emergency services workers at the scene. As soon as Tristan started reading, he knew his suspicions were right.
And he knew he was in big, big trouble.
I’ve never seen anything like it. At first we reckoned it had been some sort of animal attack, because they were seriously scratched up. But I don’t know any wildlife around here that can do that kind of damage! Besides the scratches, they had… holes in them. Like someone – something – had just punched right through them. One guy had one through his chest, another one his stomach. You could see the tunnel floor through their wounds.
I don’t know where the guts and organs ended up. Maybe whatever it was ate them.
The worst thing though, the thing that’ll stick with me forever, was the look on their faces. Like they saw the face of the devil and just died of sheer terror. I’ve attended traffic accidents where there’s been nothing left of a person but jam, so trust me that I know what I’m saying when I tell you that this was seriously messed up.
“Bloody hell,” Tristan whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He went back and read the account over and over again, until he knew every word by heart. Each time his heart sank a little lower, because he knew what had caused those deaths. Knew what could scratch and claw, swoop and dive, terrify its victim, and plough straight through them.
Wraiths.
Wraiths had somehow managed to find a way through the barrier between the real world and the wasteland. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why it had happened right w
here Dylan dragged him through. There was only one possible explanation: they must have made a tear in the veil between life and death. One that remained open. The wraiths had found it, and now they were free to feast on abundant human flesh there was no way they’d return to the wasteland, scratching out a survival on the wisps of souls.
No, now that they’d had a taste, there was no way the demons wouldn’t want more.
What had he done?
Guilt rose in his throat like vomit. Four lives. Four lives had been prematurely ended because of his selfishness. And if some wraiths had found their way through already, how many more would follow?
There wasn’t time to dwell on the consequences of his actions however, because the coffee shop door opened once more and the wheels of Dylan’s chair burst through the gap. He could see James struggling to hold the door and steer the wheelchair at the same time, and Joan rushing to help, looking vaguely annoyed. Tristan guessed the man had refused her help getting Dylan out of the tight and awkward space.
Flicking off the tablet’s screen, Tristan rose and walked quickly over to the trio.
“… really so pleased you got in touch. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about it, but I—” Dylan’s dad broke off, either because of Tristan’s rapid approach or the absolutely molten look from Joan.
“I suppose you’ll be heading back up to Aberdeen, then?” Joan asked, subtly shifting her position so that her back was to Tristan. He suppressed a smirk. She thought it bothered him, the cold-shoulder treatment, but the truth was he was happy to deal with her as little as possible. So long as she didn’t interfere with Dylan and him.
“No, I’m not heading back.” James’s reply caused gasps of surprise in both Dylan and her mum – for different reasons.
“You’re staying down here?” Dylan asked.
“I can work from home, so I decided I’d just make this home for a little while. My neighbour is looking after my dog and I’ve rented a place, so I’ll be here for the next month at least.” He took a deep breath. “I wanted time to really get to know you.”
Dylan’s cheeks pinked and she gave him a shy smile. “That sounds good.”
Tristan tried his best not to feel jealous – or at least, not to show it. This was her father, he wasn’t a threat. Although if Tristan ever had to shake his hand again he wanted to put on a gauntlet first.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” James asked.
“Homework,” Joan interjected. She sounded stern, unyielding. “You have that modern studies project to hand in, and I know you haven’t finished it.”
“That won’t take all day,” Dylan protested.
“It’s all right.” James broke in, to save them both some energy. “We can do something after school one night next week, maybe. Go and get dinner.” He looked up, caught Tristan standing there. “You can bring your boyfriend and we can get to know each other too.”
That appeased Dylan somewhat, but she still sent a stinker of a glare towards Joan before surrendering.
“I should go.” James pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I know you have a new number, Dyl. Why don’t you give me it and I’ll call you?”
Joan opened her mouth to squelch that idea, but Dylan was already rattling her digits off. Promising to call by Monday at the latest, Dylan’s dad bent down and kissed Dylan’s forehead. He gave a nod to Tristan and, after a short hesitation, bussed Joan’s cheek. Both Dylan and Joan watched him stride off until he was swallowed by the milling shoppers.
Tristan moved forward to grip the handles of Dylan’s wheelchair. They were warm from the heat of her father’s hands, and for some reason Tristan disliked the feeling.
“Are we going home now then?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, well,” Joan was still looking off to where James had disappeared. She had a strange look on her face, a mix of anger and something else that didn’t seem to be sitting easily with her. “You go.” She dragged her head round to smile at Dylan. “I’ll give you money for the taxi, and a bit extra. You can get a takeaway from the chip shop for tea.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve just got something I’ve got to do in town. A bit of shopping, that’s all.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows. He’d no interest in where Joan was going – though he had a good idea it wasn’t shopping. Dylan didn’t seem to pick up on it, though. She just shrugged and mumbled, “OK.”
They waited while Joan fished a couple of notes out of her purse, then headed for a taxi rank. They spent most of that time in silence. Tristan figured Dylan was likely mulling over the meeting with her dad – he’d ask her about it when they had a hint of privacy. His own thoughts, however, were much darker. And he couldn’t decide whether or not to share them with Dylan.
She deserved to know, but it would hurt her.
“So,” he said once they had found a taxi and were crawling slowly through the thick city-centre traffic. “Do you want to tell me how it went?”
“Good,” Dylan said. “It was good.” For a moment he thought that was all she was going to say about it, but then the details came flooding out. “I mean, at the start it was really awkward, you know? It would have been easier if Mum hadn’t been there, but then I’d have been on my own and that would have been really scary.”
“I’d have been there,” Tristan reminded her gently.
Dylan reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze before continuing. “I wasn’t really sure what to say, but he asked lots of questions and once I got going it was pretty good. He’s funny.” A lopsided smile. “And he looks like me. Did you notice he looks like me?”
“You’re prettier,” Tristan offered. That earned him a full-on grin.
“I think… I wish I knew what happened between him and my mum to make her, you know, hate his guts.”
“Mmmm.” Tristan thought about the way Joan had stared after Dylan’s dad as he left. She’d been so desperate to get away – to go after him? – she hadn’t even thought about the fact she’d be leaving Tristan and Dylan alone together. “It’s probably more complicated than that.”
“You think?” Dylan blinked at him, then carried on telling Tristan the details of their chat.
Tristan let her words wash over him, let himself bask in her innocent excitement, and realised he couldn’t lay the heavy burden consuming him around her neck. Not when she was so excited, so happy. He would – he promised himself. He’d tell her everything. But not yet.
She’d been through so much, she was so young. This was a burden he could shoulder for her, and he’d find a way to fix their terrible mistake himself.
FOURTEEN
“I’m dead? What the hell do you mean, I’m dead?” Jack grabbed an old glass tumbler, cracked and dirty, and hurled it against the wall, where it smashed into a thousand pieces. “Shit, Sammy. What the hell are you playing at?”
Susanna stood her ground, fighting the urge to cower away from Jack’s anger. Three days in the wasteland, that’s how long she’d managed to keep it a secret from him – the remarkable absence of wraiths had kept his questions at bay. But the little mind-control tricks she’d been using had stopped working by the second day, and she’d had to resort to pleading and coaxing to get him to the second safe house, a battered-looking caravan, in time. Now, a bare hour into day three – they hadn’t even left the caravan yet! – he was back to fighting her. So out came the truth.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much for his temper.
“I’m not Sammy,” Susanna said. “I’m your guide across the wasteland.”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” he growled. “Are you out of your mind?” He took a menacing step closer. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Quite a lot, Susanna thought, though she fought not to show it. “I’m not Sammy,” she repeated, knowing this was the one thing that would convince him. “Look.”
She changed before his eyes. A tiny adjustment in height and weight, the fringe disappearing – she wouldn
’t miss that – and her hair thickening and curling slightly. She felt a tingle in her face as her features rearranged themselves. Then she was the ‘true’ Susanna again.
Jack paled. Swayed. For a second she thought he was going to fall, or vomit, but he pulled himself together. She’d shocked him into silence with that shape-shifting move. He looked around the caravan, then staggered over to the short sofa built into the wall – the sturdiest bit of furniture in the safe house – and collapsed down onto it.
“It’s true?” he croaked, making it a question even though it was clear he believed her.
“It is,” she agreed, then added, “I’m sorry”, because she felt she should.
“How?” Then understanding dawned. “The alley.”
“Somebody stabbed you,” Susanna said.
“One of those boys,” he glowered at her. “Which one did it?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t come along until afterwards.”
“This is,” he put his head in his hands and stared down at the floor. “This is… it’s absolute shit! No way, no goddamn way!”
With each curse he got louder and louder, his hands clawing his skull. Susanna started backing away, sensing an explosion, but when it came, it still shocked her.
He erupted off the seat and then started destroying everything he could lay his hands on. He wrenched the door to the tiny wardrobe off its hinges, battered at the window over the sink with a frying pan until it caved in and cracked. He tore the curtains off the rails, ripped the sofa from the wall and started smashing the drawers beneath until there was little left in the caravan that resembled furniture. Then, finally, he just stood there, breathing heavily amongst the wreckage. And his eyes settled on Susanna.
She took a cautionary step backwards, but she was already against the wall. There was nowhere to go.
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