by Shaye Easton
“Where are you going?”
She swings her legs over to the other side of the bench, standing up with a backward look. She’s pissed, I realise. But the kind of pissed that doesn’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular—it’s all arrows of anger and daggers of despair, shooting out in random directions and hoping to bite something, hoping to sink into a target.
“Did I do something?”
She just shakes her head. “I’ve got homework to catch up on. See you at lunch.” her voice is flat and dead-sounding. Combined with the grey light, in which her features are stripped of colour, she’s transformed. No longer human; she becomes a corpse before me, a creature horribly unfamiliar and scarily distant. Her eyes lose an arrow that strikes my heart—a target at last—and the distance grows. She turns her back on me, and the distance grows. She leaves me at the table.
And the distance grows.
***
I don’t see her at lunch—I sit alone, out in the cold where no one wants to be. I’m under the covered walkway between the central and back building, a metre away from where the grassy field used to start. Now it’s just a white, icy marsh. I nudge the snow with my boot, then with my hand, fingers digging in, ice under my nails. It doesn’t feel like anything. It certainly doesn’t feel cold.
I rest my head against my shoulder, unexpectedly dizzy. Then my gaze starts going in and out of focus. I tear my hand out of the snow, starting to remember I’m still prone to frostbite. But it doesn’t stop the dizziness from rolling over my body in pulsating, wobbly waves. The corners of my vision go dark; my body grows heavy as it slips from my control. I fall to the hard cement floor, and darkness whisks me away.
And then I’m in a bright hallway with massive glass windows along one side. Golden shafts of light from a setting—or rising—sun pour in, painting fiery rectangles on the opposite wall. I know I’m in a vision automatically. I’ve slid into the skin of my future self, who will one day walk this hall.
In the vision, I follow a man down the hallway. From behind he looks exactly like Davion—slightly spiky brown hair, wide set shoulders and a tall frame, a suit with shiny black shoes—but he never turns around. My sight alternates between being flooded with bright white and then doused in orange-tinted darkness as I pass through the suns striking beams. A green hazy afterimage dances over it all as my eyes grapple with the drastically changing light. I’m basically walking blind.
When I finally turn my eyes away from the light, I start to notice a bunch of strangers staring at me as they pass, wide-eyed and hateful, like they’re angry at me for being there. Suddenly the vision has become a nightmare, and my heart starts to batter against my chest. Everyone is glowering at me.
And just like that, we’ve reached the end of the hallway. Before I can see what lies beyond it, my consciousness takes me roughly by the shoulders and yanks me back to the real world, where I awake groggily to a throbbing in my shoulder blades and a numbness in my legs. I push myself up off the damp concrete footpath and brush icy white flecks from my face. It’s started snowing again, and the flakes have collected on my clothes and skin while I was having my vision. There’s enough of them to let me know I was unconscious a lot longer than it seemed.
I’m still a little dizzy when I get up, half-stumbling as I move down the footpath and head inside. There’s a clock in the hall and I frown at it until the hands start to mean something. With a jolt, I realise it’s ten minutes into fifth period.
I start racing. My class is on the other side of the school and even though I’m already late, the thought of being any later makes me frantic. I tumble down the corridors, spinning around the corners, feet clapping against the polished floor like the cracks of lightning from last night. I’m so focused on making it to class that I don’t see Caden until I’ve bowled straight into him. He’s knocked a step back and I stagger away, momentarily lightheaded.
“Caden,” I exclaim, panting. “When did you get here?”
His hair is damp with melted snow and the shoulders of his coat are splattered with wet spots. “Just now. What are you doing?”
“I’m late for class,” I get out between laboured breaths. Evidently I’m not the fittest.
“Do you mind if I meet you later?”
My forehead knots with curiosity and suspicion. “Why?”
“You’re gonna love it.” He seems to give this a second thought. “Or maybe you’ll hate it. Either way, you better come with me.” He waves for me to follow as he starts off down the hall.
“What is it?” I demand, my stubbornness kicking into gear. I haven’t taken a step.
He doesn’t look back. “I got you Davion Eller.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We have to wait in Rand’s lounge room for the longest time, the wind blowing the snow up against the glass sliding doors. The heavy clouds don’t permit much light to reach the earth, and even less makes it into the house. We sit in dim, shadowy light, and the room has the feel of twilight even though it’s only three in the afternoon. Even with all the darkness, Rand still forbids us to turn on the lights, muttering something about electricity bills going up.
It’s quiet. Rand makes us tea and we sip it slowly, unspeaking. Everyone is too tense for words—albeit, in different ways.
I’m scared tense, fearing the moment Davion walks into the house and turns it into a cage. His presence has that effect on my heart; it makes me feel cold, trapped, and wrapped up in darkness, like he’s caught me in the prison of his hands, his fingers becoming the bars.
Across the room, Caden is nervous tense. Face half-cast in shadow, the light on his other side rendering him blurry and grey and indistinct. His jittery movements stir the darkness like a witch’s brew, creating a swirling, bubbling copse of movement at the edge of my vision.
Out of all of us, Rand knows Davion the best, and it’s all too clear that he doesn’t really believe his good friend—and not to mention member of the Ring—could be his enemy. He’s worried tense—worried for us, and presumably worried for Davion too—and he hangs around the hallway with his mug cupped in his hands, pacing, waiting for the knock at the door.
The afternoon draws on. Caden, apparently used to Rand’s aversion to using the lights, collects two half-used candles and lights them in the centre of the coffee table. The flames flicker and bounce, giving the space an orange tint and throwing large, volatile shadows all over the room. I huddle up on the couch, the creepy atmosphere wreaking havoc upon my imagination. At once I’m imagining ghouls in corners, eyes watching me from the snow. There’s a moment when I become so convinced that Davion is already standing behind me, staring from the shadows, that I actually turn in my seat to make sure he isn’t there. But it hits me that it’s possible—Davion can teleport. He could be anywhere, even behind me, in an instant. Just like that, terror floods my system, wraps its freezing fingers around the bars of my ribcage.
It’s probably around four o’clock when the house starts to echo with an urgent knocking. Rand pops up from where he’d been leaning against the wall and dashes down the hallway. I find Caden’s eyes in the darkness, burning with anticipation in the candlelight. And with something new: fear. He slides off his seat and moves through the gloom, sitting down beside me. It takes me few moments to realise he’s put himself between me and the black indistinct mouth of the hallway—between Davion and me.
Slowly, he raises a finger to his lips. Then he turns a watchful eye on the hall. I push myself back into the couch, wanting to sink into it and wink out of existence. How did I ever think this would be a good idea?
The front door clicks as Rand unlocks it and draws it open. Muted voices travel up the hall to greet us:
“Good to see you, Davion, please come in.”
“You, too. May I ask what this is about?”
“Just come on in, I’ll explain it all inside.”
Then there’s the footsteps, the crinkling of fabric, the very human sounds growing louder and closer until
the dark mouth of the hallway is suddenly rife with movement, with hazy orange shapes, the flickering light hitting an arm here, a nose there, illuminating all the harsh, protruding edges and soft curves that make up the human form. The fractured sight of the men bleeds through the darkness towards me, and they reach my retinas as horrific dark monsters with bulbous cheeks and sunken eyes.
“You have people over,” Davion remarks. I know he hasn’t seen my face yet. Otherwise, his reaction would have been very different.
“You know Caden, Grant’s son.” Caden stands, blocking my view. “He’s staying with me while Grant—well, you know all about that.”
“Nice to see you, Davion,” Caden says. There’s something terse about the way he speaks, like he has to force the words out from behind clenched teeth. No one else seems to notice.
“Aren’t you old enough to run your old man’s house yourself?”
“I can’t afford it. No job.”
“Aside from being a Summoner for the Ring, of course.”
“And we both know that doesn’t pay unless you’re in a leadership position.” Rand’s got his arms folded, but his stance is otherwise casual, legs shoulder width apart, leaning back like he’s laughing.
“How old are you?” I’m assuming the question is directed at Caden since I can’t see Davion’s face.
“Seventeen.”
“Soon you’ll be able to do what you want, then. Any big dreams of moving out or going travelling?”
A muscle pulls taut in Caden’s back, ruffling the fabric of his shirt. He crosses his arms. “I think I’m going to stay here for awhile.”
There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence, during which Rand looks back and forth between the two of them. He swallows. “Right onto business then, shall we?”
“Yes,” Davion says. “If you’d enlighten me as to what that was.”
“Well—”
I spring up, stepping into the full light of the candles. Davion’s dark, flickering eyes meet mine. “We have some questions to ask you,” I interrupt, fighting to keep my voice from shaking.
The room seems to get darker. A shiver snakes down my spine. “I see,” he replies, his voice cold, “so this is a trap.”
“Not a trap,” Rand says, jumping into the conversation between us, “just a friendly discussion. You’re under no obligation to stay. You can leave whenever you want.”
“No, he can’t.” Caden’s face is hard and sharp, unforgiving.
Davion smiles, stalking like a predator around the room. “Alright, let’s talk.” He sits down on the couch opposite to us, resting a foot on his knee as he makes himself comfortable.
I look at Caden. He flicks his eyes at me, then Davion, and slowly sits down. Cautiously I do the same, keeping myself poised on the edge of the cushion, both hands beside me in case I need to spring off and run. A predator that’s content to indulge his prey for a while isn’t any less of a predator. He’ll always return to the hunt.
“I suppose you’re going to accuse me of being an underwalker again.”
Rand stands at the head of the coffee table. There’s a vacant spot next to Davion, but even he doesn’t seem to be willing to claim it. “Not explicitly,” he says, avoiding Davion’s eyes.
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter.
Beside me, Caden raises his voice. “You’re an underwalker and we all know it. You’re not fooling anyone. So why don’t we skip all the games and get to the crux of the matter?”
“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “I’ll play along. What do you want?”
“We want to know how to swap Melissa back.”
The laughter comes out of nowhere, an almost disembodied cackling that permeates the gloomy afternoon. I shiver and squeeze the edge of the couch. Then Davion’s laughter dies; something dark has eclipsed his mirth. “You really did not think this through,” he says, his normally smooth voice low and rumbling, and the words leave his mouth as a threat, just as frightening as if he’d said he was about to kill us. “You bring me over here, insult me, and then ask something no one knows how to do.”
“Except you,” I blurt.
He shakes his head, looking out at me from underneath his low brows. “That’s not true.”
“But it is, isn’t it?” Caden says, leaning forward in his chair. Davion’s eyes swing angrily his way. “You realised Melissa was the Final Prophet when she was a child and very quickly realised that the Final Prophet being born into an overwalker family meant bad news for you and your underwalker friends. So you did your research and figured out how to solve the problem—without hurting your niece, who you invariably had a soft spot for. You engineered a device that could swap her. It was fool-proof—she’d be gone without anyone noticing, her powers would become dormant, and she’d have to move from city to city, making her extremely difficult to track. Safe in the knowledge she was out of the picture, you built up a world of lies, involving yourself in overwalker business, working your way up to the Ring, using the information gleaned to spoil overwalker plots, because we both know the underwalkers aren’t strong enough to take us on right now, not without cheating. And then when Melissa reappeared and became a threat once more to the underwalkers, you decided it was time to get rid of her for good. She was in a random girl’s body—she looked nothing like the niece you once cared for—and you’d spent years apart while she grew up in a stranger’s life, so you figured you could kill her without feeling too bad about it. But now she’s started having visions and has tried to out you to the Ring. You can’t risk letting your mask slip for even one second, even around just one person—better to be innocent until proven guilty than actually guilty. Which brings us to right now, with you denying everything, even though we all know you’re lying through your teeth.”
Caden practically spits the last words of his speech out into the room. Meanwhile, Davion looks like he’s one second away from snarling, the muscles around his mouth tightening, drawing back. But at the last moment, the tension drops away and he relaxes. As he stares at Caden, watching with a sort of bemused fascination, he starts to shake his head. “I’m amazed,” he says, smiling maliciously, “at how exceedingly wrong you are.”
And now I feel it: the darkness, the danger, the tang of warning that had been thick on the air from the moment Davion stepped into the house. I had been ignoring it, pushing it aside, convincing myself that he wouldn’t dare hurt us. Because I wrongly assumed he cared more about keeping in with the Ring than eliminating those who threatened him.
I turn my gaze on Caden, on Rand, and realise they had assumed the same. We’d all thought there would be safety in numbers. More importantly, the two of them thought they knew the man they invited in. Even if he was secretly an underwalker intent on killing me, they thought they knew his underlying character.
But Davion has been in deep cover for over a decade. He’s had to learn how to lie, how to turn that lie into a persona, one believable enough to garner an overwalker leadership position. He’s had to become another person. No one in this room knows who he is, not really, not in the way we’d thought.
We were all wrong.
And as the realisation that we’re dealing with a complete stranger settles in, so does the fear.
Davion stands up: a dark, hulking figure towering over us. “You think I knew Melissa was the Final Prophet? You think I cared for her in the slightest? If I’d known back then who she’d become, she would’ve been dead in her crib.”
Across the room, Rand looks stricken. “You did this?”
Davion casts him a look and shakes his head. “You’re a little slow on the uptake, my friend.”
“If you didn’t know she was the Final Prophet,” Caden says, “then why did you swap her?” His voice is strong and undaunted, but I know underneath it all he’s just as afraid as I am.
“I’d love to hear Melissa’s take on this.” Davion cocks his head to one side. “Go on, Mel. Why did I swap you?”
When I meet his eyes, it’s like a
ll the light is sucked from the world. But I can’t look away. I swallow “I don’t know.”
“You have no idea whatsoever?”
I shake my head.
“Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.” He smirks. “After all, we did take all her memories away once we swapped her.”
Now Caden stands up, bristling with anger. “Why would you do that?”
Davion releases me from the influence of his gaze, and a little light seeps back in. He seems immune to Caden’s ire, nonchalantly rolling his eyes. “Isn’t that obvious? I couldn’t risk her remembering me. Although it seems to have hardly worked at all. Anything else you want to know?” he taunts.
“Tell us how to swap back.”
Davion pinches the bridge of his nose, mock-dismayed. When he moves his hand away, his face is dark again. “I have a better idea. How about I kill you all?”
Rand laughs nervously. “Come on, Davion, you’re not serious.”
Davion’s eyes meet mine again; they throw out an invisible chain linking me to him.
In the darkness, in my state of fear, in my fixation on the black hole of Davion’s gaze, I miss it when the air starts spinning around my shoulders and reaching for my chest. I’m holding my breath, waiting for Davion to answer, feeling every second like a punch in the chest, and then it rushes in.
It all happens so quickly. When the fire explodes in my chest, I’m caught off guard and fall from the couch to my knees. Someone is speaking, but it barely registers. The fire of my heat surge rages inside me, tearing through my veins and dispersing wildly to all parts of my body. A gulp of air turns into lava as it sinks into my lungs. The usually soft feeling carpet becomes needles digging into my skin. The pain is present everywhere, and just like that, it becomes too much. I feel myself edging away from the fire, pushing outwards against my skin, until suddenly, inexplicably, I’m watching from above as my body kneels on the ground, everyone around me staring, unmoving.
