Trespassers
Page 20
“Wait! What?” Dylan stepped in front of Susanna. “I’ll do that.”
“No,” Tristan shook his head and gave Dylan’s shoulder a gentle push, urging her back. “Susanna’s used to dealing with the wraiths. She can do it.”
“Tristan!”
“I’m not arguing, Dylan. Go and stand over with Jack.”
“But—”
“Shhh!” Susanna’s hiss cut across their argument and Dylan turned to her, ready to tell her to mind her own business, when she heard it. A thin, high-pitched wail. The wraith was awake.
It knew they were there.
“Susanna, are you ready?” Tristan asked.
“I’m ready.” The ferryman gave a tight nod, her face set, composed.
“Tristan, let me help, please!” Dylan gave it one last try, grabbing Tristan’s arm.
“I can’t,” Tristan told her. “I won’t be able to concentrate if I think you’re in danger. Please, Dylan, do this. For me.” He lifted her hand from his arm and gave it a squeeze.
This time Dylan shifted over towards the tree. From her reluctant point of safety, she watched him creep towards the opening and then, without a moment’s hesitation, slink inside.
Susanna stood guard. Though Dylan hated to admit it, taking in the girl’s crouch, the way her hands were lifted, ready, she looked like she knew what she was doing. Like she could handle anything that came out of the little hut.
Of course she would be brave as well as pretty.
As soon as Tristan was out of sight, Dylan started casting about for a weapon of her own. Bending over, she wrapped her fingers round a thick length of fallen wood about the size of a baseball bat. It felt solid in her grip. Satisfied with her makeshift weapon, Dylan hurried over and took up position… right behind Susanna.
Just in case.
Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at Jack. He stood as far away as possible. Safe, and unconcerned.
Dylan’s attention was ripped from Jack when a sudden commotion erupted from inside the bunker. The sounds of banging and scraping echoed in the quiet of the wood. Dylan gritted her teeth and resisted the impulse to call out – the last thing he needed was for her to distract him. Instead, she tightened her grip on the branch and shifted her stance a little, balancing on the balls of her feet.
A snarl escaped the half-open door, like an angry cat. Only bigger, scarier. A thump followed, and a clatter, like something falling over. Dylan wished she could see what was happening inside, but she didn’t dare release her hold on her club to yank the door wide.
A second later, she was very glad she hadn’t. The door shoved open of its own accord. Or, more accurately, to free the screaming wraith who zig-zagged wildly out of the opening. Even though she’d been ready, Susanna started, jerked slightly back – and it skirted right past her. She reached out for it, twisting desperately, but it ghosted through her fingers.
Dylan cried out a warning a second too late. Then, realising she was the next obstacle in the wraith’s path, she gathered herself… and swung.
Thwack.
Her bat connected solidly and the wraith crashed to the ground several feet away. It didn’t stay, though. After a bare instant to gather itself, it launched skyward again, claws extended. Adjusting her grip, Dylan swung again. This time, she missed.
The wraith dived under her arcing arms, talons fixing themselves to the sodden material of her jacket. Dylan felt the fabric tear and rip, but long and wickedly sharp as the wraith’s claws were, they couldn’t penetrate all of her layers. Still, she felt the pressure of the needle-like tips against the vulnerable flesh of her abdomen.
Letting go of the branch with one hand, she reached down and grabbed at the wraith. It felt… revolting. It had a wispy coat of what appeared to be tattered scraps of black cloth, but beneath that its skin had the texture of raw meat, cold and wet. Dylan tried not to focus on that, tightening her grip, nails digging in. She tried to wrench it away, but its hold was too strong. It bucked and writhed against her, its head whipping this way and that, gaping jaws straining to slash at her with misaligned and jagged teeth.
It would have gotten her, would have snapped its jaws shut around her wrist, if Tristan hadn’t appeared at her side. He grabbed it round the neck, hauling it to the ground. He pinned the wraith with one firm hand and shifted his body out of the way.
“Now!” he shouted. “Dylan, smash it!”
Taking the time to draw in one deep breath, Dylan lifted her bat above her head and brought it down with all her strength. One, two, three times. After that, Tristan pulled his hand away, but Dylan continued to pound the thing. She might have gone on hitting it indefinitely, but Tristan caught hold of one of her wrists.
“That’s enough,” he said softly. “It’s dead.”
It was. Dead, dead, dead. Dylan stared down at the mulch that was left of it, breathing hard. Before her eyes, it started to melt into vapour. She’d killed it.
Dropping the branch, she wrapped her hands over her mouth, shocked. A sob escaped.
“It’s all right,” Tristan wrapped her in his arms, guiding her a few feet away from the wraith’s smoking body. “It’s OK.”
“I’m sorry.” Susanna’s voice came from over Dylan’s shoulder. “I reached for it, I should have had it, but—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Tristan gave Dylan another squeeze. “Dylan got it.”
More than anything he could have said, those warm words allowed Dylan to get a handle on herself, to stop crying. She stayed put in Tristan’s embrace, though. Letting him hold her, feeling his warmth; letting Susanna see he was hers.
“Although,” Tristan murmured moments later, just to her, “You were supposed to be by the oak tree.”
“And if I had been?” Dylan threw back, just as quietly.
“Then the wraith would have gotten away and we’d be in serious trouble,” Tristan admitted, grinning at her ruefully. “I’m glad you can’t listen to instructions.”
Dylan held out for another few moments, then she had to smile back at him.
They’d done it. They’d closed the hole and killed the wraith. The Inquisitor no longer had any reason to punish them. To send them back. Stepping away from Tristan, Dylan drew in a deep breath. It felt like the first one she’d taken since… since the night of the dance.
THIRTY-ONE
Susanna watched Tristan and Dylan laughing and smiling as they celebrated their victory over the wraiths. They were free, but Susanna’s task had only begun. How long before the Inquisitor appeared and gave her the same judgement? How long before innocent lives were taken by wraiths who found her gap in the veil?
God, she was so stupid. Why had she lied to Tristan? Why? She hadn’t wanted to admit what she’d done, that she’d deliberately connected herself to a soul like Jack just to get to him. What must he think of her for turning up like this? If she told him the truth about how she’d gotten across, he’d hate her even more.
It had been such a relief, seeing him in the tunnel and then working with him to find the wraith, holding his hand and feeling that sense of oneness, of connection. It had been so much more than they’d ever shared in the wasteland, his body so close she was able to bask in his warmth.
But then he’d let her go – and it had been Dylan who’d helped him destroy the wraith. Who’d wrapped herself around him, held him in victory. The two of them were going to return to the life they were carving out. Susanna had no option but to try and fix her problem alone – well, with Jack. Which was worse than being alone.
This day had not ended the way she’d hoped.
They waded back down the soggy field towards Bridge of Allan, Susanna deep in thought about how to close the hole she and Jack had made in the veil. Until Tristan broke the silence:
“Wait.” He stopped dead, causing Dylan to stumble. “Before we celebrate too much, we should check we can’t feel any other wraiths around. I don’t want to risk it.”
Susanna’s stomach dropped. She
knew she couldn’t find them without Tristan’s help – they could only detect them together – but that meant…
“Susanna?” Tristan held out his hand, causing Dylan’s face to flush red.
Susanna hesitated, her hands wavering by her sides. There was only one thing to do. She knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. She had to come clean. She had to confess to Tristan what she’d done – and that she’d lied to him.
Tristan’s hand was still held out for hers, his eyebrows raised in question, and she knew what would happen when they touched. He was never going to look at her the same way again, and Susanna wasn’t sure which revelation would disappoint him the most.
Tears burned as she fought a desperate battle within herself, the cowardly, selfish side of her frantically trying to think of some way, any way, to fix this without losing part of Tristan – his respect, his approval, or, dare she hope it existed, his love.
But there wasn’t a way.
“Tristan, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” The look he gave her almost made Susanna change her mind, but she knew she couldn’t do that. It was time to take responsibility for what she’d done.
“I lied to you.” She paused, delaying her confession for just one more moment.
Tristan didn’t fill the silence. At his shoulder, Dylan took a step forward, her expression wary.
“We didn’t come through the hole you made. We made our own.”
Dylan gasped, horror and shock clouding her face. But it was Tristan’s reaction Susanna was waiting for – and he kept his expression blank. Unreadable.
“That’s why you and Jack are bound together,” he said slowly. “Because you used his body to cross over. If you’d just followed us…” He let that thought tail off and Susanna fought the urge to flinch when she realised how simple it could have been.
It was too late now. Far too late.
“Tristan, I’m sorry,” Susanna said. “I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she said. “I just… I panicked. It was stupid, I know it was. And I’m so, so sorry.
“Another tear.” Tristan’s face was impassive.
“I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll have to close it, too. We promised the Inquisitor.” He paused. “And Susanna, you can’t stay in this realm. I don’t know where else you can go, but you’ll have to find somewhere.”
“What?”
“We promised the Inquisitor that we would stop anyone else coming through the veil – not just killing wraiths, but making sure nothing else got through ever.”
“I’ll explain to the Inquisitor,” Susanna swore, almost in tears at Tristan’s cold reaction. He was angry at her, disappointed. And he wanted her gone. “I’ll tell the Inquisitor that the second hole is my fault, that it wasn’t anything to do with you, and we’ll get rid of all the wraiths for good.”
“I don’t think it will matter to the Inquisitor,” Tristan told her. “We made the bargain; it’ll expect us to uphold it.”
“But if I explain, if I take full responsibility—”
“You didn’t meet it,” Dylan interjected. She looked ashen now. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Plus,” Tristan added, “it’ll know you can’t take full responsibility. It’s clearly my fault you’re here.” Underneath his anger, there was questioning in his eyes – or was it pity?
Susanna didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be any way to fix this, to undo the damage she’d caused.
“Look,” Tristan continued, “Let’s at least work out what we’re dealing with. Where did you come through?”
“The place where I died,” Jack answered.
“And where was that?” The scathing edge to Tristan’s voice made Susanna wince.
“An alleyway in a small town between here and Glasgow,” she cut in, worried Jack would say something smart.
“Denny,” Jack muttered.
“Right. Not too far. Let’s see if we can sense any wraiths.” Again, he held out his hands to her – and again Susanna just stared at them.
It was everything she had wanted – sliding her palms over Tristan’s, feeling their fingers interlock – but not like this. Not with Tristan’s censure so thick in the air it was hard to breathe.
Susanna shut her eyes and felt the tingles in her nerve endings as her abilities were amplified by Tristan’s. Dreading what she’d find, she reached out… and immediately shrank back from the thick, oily chasm of darkness pulsing on the edge of her mind.
She opened her eyes as Tristan ripped his hands from hers, his face bone white.
“What’s the matter? What is it?” Dylan took Tristan’s elbow and he immediately dipped his head down to look at her.
“Wraiths have definitely made their way through,” he said.
“Wraiths?” Dylan squeaked. “Plural?”
“A swarm,” Susanna whispered.
“You said an alleyway,” Tristan said, and Susanna understood what he was thinking.
“It was right in the middle of the town,” she replied. Her hand crept up to cover her mouth. “If a swarm has come through there—” She was going to be sick. Images of the carnage a swarm could cause in a populated area flooded her mind. “What have I done?”
Jack only grunted in response to this news. Did he realise – or care – that these deaths were almost certainly their fault?
“Why did you do it?” Dylan asked, drawing Susanna’s attention away from her soul. “Why did you follow us here?”
“I—” Susanna looked at Dylan’s hand wrapped around Tristan’s arm, his body turned unconsciously towards her. She just couldn’t do it, she couldn’t give voice to the secret dreams she’d created. Not when they were crashing down around her. “I made a mistake.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Dylan.” Tristan hushed her with a swipe of his thumb across her cheek. “It doesn’t matter – it’s done now.”
He gave Susanna a sombre, thoughtful look. She wondered whether he’d guessed her reasons, and ducked her head, unable to hold his gaze.
“Tristan, what are we going to do?” Dylan asked quietly. “The Inquisitor’s coming tomorrow.”
“We need to fix it tonight,” Tristan said.
Susanna gave a small nod so that he’d know that she was on board with the plan. Tristan gave her a tiny smile of acknowledgement, but she knew it didn’t change things. It didn’t absolve her.
“It’ll be easier to deal with the hole in the veil while it’s dark,” he said. “Especially if it’s in a public place.”
“But the wraiths,” Dylan reminded him. “Won’t they be more dangerous at night?”
“We’ll have to wait until daylight to deal with them,” Tristan agreed.
“That’s day three, Tristan,” Dylan reminded him.
“I know.” His expression was troubled, but he held her tighter. “It’ll be OK, I promise. I’ll take care of it.”
Susanna wished it was her face he was holding, her he was comforting.
She needed Tristan to tell her that it was OK. She needed him to tell her he forgave her for how she’d used Jack, for how she’d lied to him.
But she knew she didn’t deserve it.
THIRTY-TWO
They stood in a long street of flats and terraced houses. From the state of the scrubby footpaths and the crappy cars lining the road, it wasn’t a well-off neighbourhood. Dylan eyed a group of young men lingering outside a newsagent. They reminded her of the idiots who went to her school – only these guys actually looked dangerous.
“I don’t like this place,” she whispered to Tristan.
“I know.” He grabbed her hand comfortingly, though she was more reassured by the fact that he didn’t look intimidated by the gang. Turning his back on them, he looked to Susanna. “Take us to where the tear is.”
It only took them four minutes to walk there, and they could have found it without Susanna or Jack’s guidance. The site of the stabb
ing was still liberally coated in police tape. The whole section of pavement around the alleyway and a bit of the road itself had been cordoned off.
“This is it,” Jack growled, his lip curling up. He took another step closer, rage lighting a fire in his eyes, which quickly turned to alarm.
Susanna gasped as he tripped back several paces, clutching his chest.
“Don’t get too close,” Tristan murmured to him, although he didn’t sound all that concerned.
Dylan knew it would meet the Inquisitor’s demands if Jack’s soul was dragged back into the wasteland.
“Do you feel anything?” Tristan squeezed Dylan’s hand. She knew he was uncomfortable having her this close to any kind of opening to the world of the dead.
Dylan waited a moment, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Really?” Tristan sounded surprised. “It must be because it isn’t your wasteland.” He brightened. “That’s good.” Tugging his backpack off his shoulder – hastily refilled again as the nearest Homebase was closing for the night – he looked up at Susanna. “We’ll deal with this. You and Jack can keep a lookout for wraiths, scout the place to see if you can feel any nearby.”
“I can help you,” Susanna said faintly. She glanced at Jack then turned pleading eyes to Tristan. “I did last time.”
“Dylan can help me,” Tristan shot back. “She knows what to do.”
“But last time—” Susanna began, and Dylan squirmed. Last time Dylan hadn’t had the strength to yank Tristan back through the veil.
Last time, if Susanna hadn’t turned up, she’d have lost him.
“Maybe Susanna should—”
“No.” Tristan turned to her, his expression unyielding. “I only need you.” Dylan’s breath caught, happiness expanding in her chest, even though she knew Tristan was only talking about closing the tear in the veil. Still, Susanna looked stricken, as if she’d also taken two meanings from the words. Good.
“Come on, Susanna,” Jack called, breaking the awkward silence. “Let’s keep a lookout for the bloody wraiths.”