The Girl Who Fell

by Violet Grace

  ‘I know,’ I say, taking the fabric. ‘It hurt like hell.’ I slump onto the ground and rest my forehead on my knees.

  ‘Your Highness?’

  ‘I thought I could do this but I can’t,’ I say miserably, gesturing to the unconscious guard.

  ‘Do what, Your Highness?’

  ‘The spell – all of it. I could have killed him.’

  Jules squats down in front of me and, for the first time since we met in the ruins of the V&A, looks me squarely in the eye.

  ‘You conducted your spell faithfully,’ she says. Then, after a pause, she adds cautiously, ‘If I may make a suggestion?’

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  ‘Next time, perhaps use a little less emphasis on the word “slumber”.’

  She bursts out laughing and it’s so unexpected, I can’t help but laugh too. Feeling slightly reassured, I rise to my feet and scan the length of the fence. I spot a hole that’s been stitched with new wire.

  Jules untwists the tightly wound wire with her bare hands, effortlessly pulling it apart as if she’s unlacing a shoe. The friction of wire rubbing against wire creates sparks as it unfurls. She climbs through the hole, oblivious to my look of amazement at her raw strength. I’m about to follow her through the fence when, without turning, she says, ‘A moment, Your Highness.’

  Two dogs come bounding around the corner of the shipping containers, straight towards us. German shepherds. By their snarling, I’d guess they’re not happy to see us.

  ‘Uh, Jules,’ I say, backing away from the hole in the fence. She’s already registered the dogs, but seems unconcerned. Her body relaxes as she fixes her gaze on the dogs flying towards her, their growls and snarls becoming ever more threatening.

  ‘Jules!’ I say again, but she’s totally calm.

  I watch in wonder as the dogs slow under her gaze. They’re suddenly uncertain. With a couple of metres to go, they pull up and stare at Jules.

  I hold my breath as I watch the standoff, wondering if my spells would work on animals. Are they just sizing her up before they savage her?

  After what seems an eternity, the dogs’ snarling becomes less threatening, and then stops entirely. They drop their heads and pad curiously towards her outstretched hand.

  Jules turns her palm up and the dogs sniff and lick at her hand. Crouching on one knee, she scratches one of the dogs around the collar as if it’s a family pet. The other nudges her leg and licks her hand. It looks like she’s whispering something in their ears. Both enormous beasts turn around and pad off in the opposite direction.

  ‘I thought we agreed you weren’t to use magic.’

  ‘I didn’t use magic,’ she says. ‘Animals find me quite charming. I’ve always found them to be better company than Fae. More accepting.’ She watches the dogs for a moment, then holds out her hand, ushering me through the hole in the fence.

  I scan the mass of shipping containers before me. ‘Okay, what now?’ If I hadn’t knocked out the guard we could have interrogated him.

  ‘Stay here,’ Jules says, studying the ground like a tracker. She walks off in one direction and then returns, before taking another path, and then another.

  ‘There are two containers with fresh footprints out front,’ she says when she returns. ‘And one is equipped with more security than the other. I counsel that we begin with that one.’

  I follow her to an olive green container at the far corner of the compound. A weathered and rusty padlock and chain is wrapped around the door handle and a security keypad and panel is bolted next to the door. This level of security reminds me of my time in juvenile detention.

  I pull my wand from the inside of my boot.

  ‘Your Highness, no more magic,’ Jules warns.

  ‘I don’t need the Art to pick a lock,’ I say with mock offence. I slide the tapered end of the wand into the barrel of the lock until I hear a satisfying click. I pull it out and use it to smash the protective screen on the security panel. I wonder if Ada Lovelace would be turning in her grave or cheering for me. Maybe she picked locks for kicks like I do.

  I rewire the security panel and then wait as it cycles through random number combinations. When it hits on the correct number sequence the shipping container door pops open.

  It’s completely empty. No shelving, no goods. And no Tom. Nothing.

  Jules nods towards the far end of the container, and I make out what looks like a small recess in the floor. She walks over and pulls up a rusty lever. Dim light floats up, casting faint shadows on the wall.

  A hatch?

  I gently close the heavy metal door behind me and walk over to the hole in the floor of the container. I peer down at a staircase. It looks like an underground bunker of some sort, hidden below the shipping container. I give Jules a silent look before going first; she follows close behind. At the bottom of the stairs the bunker opens out into a space about the size of a basketball court. Water drips from overhead pipes and through the rock wall. The air is moist and musty.

  At the far end of the room I spy a cage. No bed, no blankets, no food or water.

  Just Tom.

  His hands are fixed to the overhead bars. I gasp at the sight of him hanging in the air, his legs dangling about a metre from the ground. He’s naked except for a pair of grey shorts. His jeans are folded alongside a bottle of water and a couple of chocolate bars on a table just out of reach from the cage. So close, yet so far. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s had anything to eat or drink. I think of the endless smorgasbord of food I’ve been enjoying while he’s been trapped down here.

  He’s facing away from us but from the triangular shape of his torso I’m certain that it’s him. There’s a ripe bruise on his back, stretching around his side. I feel sick as I realise it must be from when Agent Eight kicked him while he was creating a diversion so Gladys and I could escape.

  A low grunt of pain escapes his body. Seeing him like this almost brings me to my knees. They didn’t just capture him; they’ve been torturing him. I’m filled with regret and self-loathing. I should have come sooner.

  Then I notice he’s moving, slowly, up and down. The muscles in his back and arms ripple and flex with each movement. A light sheen of perspiration covers his skin from the effort.

  The grunt isn’t pain. It’s exertion. He’s doing chin-ups.

  Jules clears her throat. ‘I now understand your motivation to be reunited with Master Williams, Your Highness,’ she deadpans.

  I blush. When did my straight-laced bodyguard turn into a smartarse?

  ‘I’m repaying a debt to an old friend, that’s all,’ I say without conviction.

  Tom must sense our presence. He jumps down from the bars and slowly turns to face us. The look of defiance on his face melts away as soon as he sees me, but then his eyes harden.

  A million thoughts rush into my mind as I run towards him. I want to apologise for what I’ve done to his life. I want to know if he’s okay, if the massive bruise from Agent Eight is as bad as it looks. If he’s hungry or thirsty or hurt. But all that tumbles out of my mouth is, ‘You’re not wearing any clothes.’

  He turns to Jules. ‘Get her away from me.’

  It takes a moment for me to make sense of his words.

  I open my mouth to reply. But I’ve got nothing. I’m too pissed off. Is Tom just as heartless as all the other Fae? Does their amorality make them incapable of gratitude and kindness, even love?

  It’s not that I was expecting gushing gratitude and a triumphant reunion. Okay, maybe a little. At the very least, I’d thought he would be pleased to be rescued.

  Just not by me, it would seem. How can I have got this so wrong?

  The lock on his cage isn’t any more complicated than the one on the shipping container. I insert my wand and twist it. The lock clicks over and I push the cage door open. I take a step towards Tom, and he takes two steps in the opposite direction, further back into the cage.

  ‘Seriously?’ I say, straining to hide how annoyed
I am. ‘Would you prefer I just left you here to rot?’

  Before he can answer, heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs and four guards run towards us, screaming for us to get on the ground.

  Guns. They have guns.

  I shudder, recalling the sting of the bullet wound. But I don’t move. I can’t. Fear freezes me.

  Jules is off, running towards them. She takes out two guards with a series of lightning-fast roundhouse kicks. A third trips over his fallen comrade, but manages to free his weapon. Jules rears back and kicks his hand, sending the gun flying. He cries out in pain, gripping his hands and swearing before Jules silences him with a quick karate chop to the back of the neck. The fourth guard raises what looks like a taser, aiming it directly at me. I just stand there like an idiot, staring at him.

  He fires. The bolt of electricity shoots through the air in slow motion. I’m falling out of the way, the electricity missing me by inches as Tom flies out of the cage, knocking me out of the line of fire. I smack into the wall and watch helplessly as the blast hits Tom right in the heart. He crashes to the ground, convulsing.

  ‘No!’ I scream, scrambling to my feet. I’m about to unleash on the guard, but Jules beats me to it, flattening him to the ground with another karate chop.

  She rushes over to me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say breathlessly, even though I’m not. My head aches from the impact and I can’t focus properly. ‘Tom. Get Tom.’

  Jules bends down over Tom’s body, sprawled, unmoving, on the ground.

  This can’t be happening. No, no, no. This isn’t how we end.

  Finally, she stands. ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’m unable to revive him.’

  chapter 22

  Sickness sinks into the pit of my stomach.

  Tom’s dead. Because of me.

  ‘We must depart, Your Highness. Now!’ yells Jules. She hoists Tom onto her shoulder in a fireman’s carry in one smooth movement.

  At the edge of my attention, footsteps echo in the staircase. I look over to see Agent Eight running through the doorway, weapon drawn.

  A moment of clarity. We need to get back to Iridesca. The least I can do is get Tom’s body back to Abby. I don’t even want to think what Agent Eight and the Agency would do with him. As tears stream down my face, I begin chanting the transfer spell while carving out a portal on the wall.

  My heart, my mind, my soul

  The window of realms in harmony

  ‘Your Highness, we should not transfer,’ Jules says, but there’s no other way out.

  Space and time in my control

  I am both the lock and key

  I welcome the pain that accompanies the spell. It’s brutal. It’s excruciating. It’s what I deserve.

  The portal opens as agents stream down the stairs and into the room. Jules pushes me into the portal and then follows right behind, carrying Tom’s lifeless body.

  We’re sucked into the nothingness of the portal and I panic. In the pain and confusion, I didn’t think about where we were going. I try to visualise a destination. The palace library. No, the gardens. No, my bedroom.

  Before I can develop a clear picture in my mind, the dank bunker is gone and we’re …

  Looking at a street sign that reads ‘London: 140 miles’.

  The transfer failed. We’re still in Volgaris. In the middle of a busy highway.

  A truck screams past me on the other side of the road, so close I can see the tyre tread. A horn blares and I look up to see a car hurtling towards us.

  For a second, I’m too stunned to move. The car is closing in too fast and I’m too slow. My feet give out from under me as I’m thrust across the gravel and tar.

  Jules.

  She grab-tackles me off the road and we tumble down the embankment.

  I roll over and see Tom slumped on the ground. I realise all over again what I’ve lost.

  The connecting thread to my childhood. Gone.

  My future. He was supposed to be in it.

  Plans and hopes that I wasn’t even conscious I had made unravel in an instant.

  And it’s my fault. That shot was meant for me. I double over in pain, my heart aching from a hole that could only ever have been filled by Tom.

  Jules seems unaffected. All guts and no heart. Damn Fae amorality. The Agency just killed one of her own, and she’s completely unmoved. She scans our surrounds, alert to danger and already planning our next move.

  I cradle Tom’s head in my lap, stroking my fingers along the hairline of his beautiful face. There’s so much I wanted to say to him. I needed to thank him for saving me all those years ago. He sacrificed so much for me – his family, his childhood, and now his future as well.

  I ruined his life. Twice. Just like Abby said.

  I wish I had the chance to take it all back, to tell him how sorry I am for everything.

  And then I realise that I can. My reality is different now. I have the power to change it.

  Why didn’t I think of that before?

  ‘Show me how to do a cataclysmic spell,’ I say to Jules. I can remember the words of Gladys’s songs but, after what I did to the security guard at the docks, I want Jules to talk me through it so I don’t make a mistake. It’s not something I can afford to get wrong.

  Jules scrunches up her face. ‘Your Highness, you cannot perform such a spell.’

  The heat of anger and desperation courses through my veins. ‘Don’t tell me what I cannot do!’

  ‘Your Highness, you cannot —’

  ‘Why are you stopping me?’ I fling my arms out in desperation and frustration. ‘If I’m as powerful as everyone seems to think then this should be a cinch.’

  ‘Your Highness —’

  ‘Just tell me how to do it!’ I yell. Blue sparks shoot out of my fingertips.

  Jules covers her face protectively, making no attempt to fight back. The long grass nearby catches alight.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, astonished. ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s just, I’m so sick of everything being out of my control.’

  Jules calmly stamps out the blaze with her boots. ‘Your Highness, you cannot perform a cataclysmic spell because Master Williams is not dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cataclysmic spells alter the natural order of life and death —’

  ‘I know that already. But you said … you said you couldn’t revive him.’

  ‘Correct. Master Williams must wake in his own time. There is nothing I can do to expedite the process.’

  I lean forward and place my hand on Tom’s bare chest. A moment later I detect the lightest movement. He is alive. I close my eyes and savour the moment. It’s one of those rare occasions when fate has smiled on me instead of slapping me down. I’ve just been gifted a do-over and I’m not going to waste it.

  ‘Let’s get him home,’ I say, beginning the transfer spell again. I’m determined to concentrate and get it right this time.

  ‘Your Highness, I counsel that we do not transfer Master Williams when he is not conscious.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘An unconscious person may lose their grasp on their life force during the transfer. It is possible that you will only transfer his body back to Iridesca and his life force will be left in Volgaris. Lost.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘I am quite sure it is not, Your Highness.’

  ‘And how long until he wakes up?’

  Jules looks uncertain. ‘Perhaps an hour. Perhaps a year.’

  The burst of hope I just received is sucked out of me like water down a drain.

  ‘Well, we can’t just stay here waiting for him to wake up,’ I say. ‘Tom and I are wanted criminals. And the Agency is sure to be tracking us. We need to find somewhere safe to go.’

  Jules nods as if I just gave her a command and strides to the side of the road. She peers at the traffic like she’s looking for something. Or someone. A minute goes by and she holds up a hand, flagging down a van.

&nb
sp; To my surprise, it screeches to a halt and pulls over, stopping right in front of us.

  Lucky.

  The driver gets out and walks towards us.

  ‘Don’t I know yer from somewhere, then, luv?’ he says. My breath catches in my throat. He must have seen the news broadcasts or the ‘Wanted’ signs. But then I notice that he’s not looking at me, or at Tom. He’s talking to Jules.

  ‘Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Wonder Woman? Nah, yer don’t ’ave no cape. Cat Woman? Wiv a brown suit.’ He laughs so hard his belly shakes, just like Santa. He looks a bit like Santa too. White beard. Kind eyes. And most importantly, not from the Agency.

  I smile awkwardly, relieved that he doesn’t seem to know who Tom and I are. Then he notices that Tom isn’t moving.

  ‘Oh. I’ll call for ’elp.’

  ‘No,’ Jules and I say in unison.

  ‘Alright,’ he says slowly, nodding his head in understanding. He seems remarkably calm for someone who’s just come across a body that looks like it’s dead.

  ‘Can you take us into London?’ I say. There’s only one person in the world who’s capable of helping me at this point. I just hope he’s still willing. Jules looks at me uncertainly, but says nothing.

  ‘Sure, right, get in,’ says Santa, turning and heading back to his van.

  Jules carries Tom into the back of the van and lays him down next to a ladder and a variety of paint tins and brushes. Reluctantly I agree to leave Jules in the back with Tom. The back of the van is windowless, completely cut off from the front cabin. It’s not like there is anything I can do to help Tom right now, but I’d like to be there when he wakes up. If he wakes up. But I need to sit up front to give directions. While I can’t fault Jules’s combat skills, going incognito is a whole other ballgame. I figure it’d take about five minutes before she did or said something weird to make Santa suspicious.

  I clock a fire extinguisher attached to the door, right next to my foot. A potential weapon if Santa turns out not to be as nice as he looks.

  ‘Must ’ave been quite a party,’ Santa says as he guns the engine and pulls out into the flow of traffic. Chit chat is the last thing I want to do right now, but it feels like the price I need to pay for the ride.