by Kara Silver
“Bathe your face and hands.”
Puzzled, Kennedy held her hands up and touched her face. She hadn’t even realised they were burned. If that was what the blackness was. Kneeling and bending to dip her face in the river, she almost overbalanced them.
“Careful!”
She might feel very hazy and fade-away, but he was his usual annoyed self.
“Ooh! Maybe I shouldn’t have dipped bits of me in the river, not when Thames means darkness!” Kennedy exclaimed, scrubbing her face and hands with her shirt. Her shirt was buttoned wrongly. Huh.
“It’s fine. Don’t forget this stretch isn’t called the Thames, but known as the Isis.”
She glanced up to see an almost smile on his face, although he was concentrating on rowing. It was rhythmic, swoop in oars, whoosh the boat, scoop oars out, repeat. The boat jerked a little as he fished around for something in his pocket. “Here.”
She didn’t catch it; it landed on her where she lay in a sprawl. “A choc bar. What’s it…for?” She felt almost afraid to touch it. So many mystical happenings and—
“You eat it, you muppet.”
The slang sounded so funny, in his voice and because of who he was that she giggled.
“For energy. Slowly—”
“Don’t tell me how to eat milk choc,” she warned him, through a sludge-thick, sugar-slick mouthful of life-giving chocolatey goodness. “And how’d you buy it, anyway? I just assumed you don’t carry cash. Like the royal family?” The image of him in a corner shop, paying for candy and a magazine, perhaps a can of soda, with his debit card was so funny she guffawed, her laughter pealing into hysteria, cackling her tension and fear into the night air.
“Hilarious.” Aeth tutted, as if he could read her mind. “If you’ve recovered to that extent, you can take over rowing.”
“No way.” Kennedy lay back, her arms folded under her head. “This is probably as near as I’ll come to doing normal Oxford things. Granted, it’s not being punted to the grounds of a stately home for a strawberries and cream picnic on a beautiful June Sunday, choirs and string quartets singing and playing on the river bank as I float by, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“I’m…sorry, Kennedy Smith. Sorry that you won’t get to experience all that.”
She sat, watching his face, gauging his mood. “You know something? I’m actually allergic to strawberries. And I’m not really sure what a string quartet is. I used to think it must be something with four parts and made of string, you know? Like a wooden spoon is a spoon made out of wood?” She loved making his face, so serious and guarded, crease into a grin.
“Why is it okay that this bit is called the Isis?” she asked. “She an ex of yours, or something?”
This time he did laugh, the sound startling a family of long-winged birds from their sleep in a weeping willow. They took to the air with noisy flaps and cracks and caws.
“Sorry!” Kennedy called in their wake. She trailed her fingers in the silk-thick water. “Actually, all I know about the goddess Isis is she helped the dead enter the afterlife, like she’d helped Osiris.” She’d read that in the museum, that first time there with him. Now, she stilled. What if they needed Isis because they’d, well, not made it? Well, her, that was? Because Aeth was already, well, not exactly living and—
“Kennedy.” He didn’t need more than his exasperated sigh to show her she was very much alive and a thorn in his side. “You didn’t retain much of the information in front of you that day. Isis was invoked to help benefit ordinary people, for one thing. She protected ships at sea.”
“And rivers?” Kennedy splashed her hand down to make a noise.
“Possibly. Make sure you thank her. Once we’re on dry land.”
“I promise,” she slurred. She’d go to the library and read up on the goddess. And any others who might come in handy. Because she had to research so many things and… She must have slept, waking when the comforting rocking stopped. “Where’s this?”
“The Cherwell.”
“We’ve changed rivers?” came her next stupid question. She scrabbled out, almost falling in. “Oh, it’s the big park. University Parks.” Heylel was just over the road from the entrance. It should have been easy, but she needed to lean on Aeth. “Hope your arms aren’t aching too much,” she muttered, conscious he’d done all the work.
They didn’t speak until they reached her room, where she, once again, flopped onto her bed. She sat up to take another bar of chocolate from her bedside table. “See? I’m prepared.”
“It didn’t look like it back there. I can’t believe that you—”
“Oh. Not fair.” She pointed the bar at him. “You were just waiting until we got back to have a go at me?” She’d figured she’d escaped.
“I was waiting until we were safe,” he corrected.
“If you grit your teeth like that, you might grind them into dust,” she warned. “Look, I know I screwed up in the club. I wasn’t thinking. I got swept along. It won’t happen again.”
“Why? What happened to cloud your rational thought, your judgement? You knew he—”
“Just…stuff, okay?” Heat rose to her cheeks. “But I got us out of it, didn’t I? And we have more info now.” As do they, hung, unspoken between them, and her mark throbbed. The thought that other demons knew what she was had her fear trying to rise in her. She squashed it down. “So, shadow demons? They can, what, become shadows? Use shadows? Go in shadows?”
Aeth nodded. “All of that.”
“But what? Oh, come on. I know that look by now.”
“And you also know you have to ask the correct questions.”
“Fair enough.” She muffled a yawn. “I start with twenty, do I? Why are you surprised by what we found?” Terror still tried to drag her into its icy depths, but the hysteria still flickering around her edges warmed her a little.
“They’re usually fairly low down, as a caste. A society. A kingdom.” He struggled to find the right words.
“Here.” Her turn to supply him with chocolate. She hid her smile at him breaking off a tiny crumb and licking it, catlike, almost. “We beat them. It wasn’t that absolutely terrifying.”
“We were lucky. Just because we won the battle doesn’t mean we got rid of the real evil.”
“I know.” She twisted to prop herself up on one side, to regard him, as he looked at her. She felt, as she knew he did, that the real test was coming. And sooner than they thought. She just hoped they were battle ready. Because dying young? That would really suck.
26
The sharp noise woke Kennedy with a jerk. She’d been dreaming. She’d been rushing from Sixth Form with Chandy and Tish to scoff down a burger from the hatch in the wall—she wouldn’t call it a café, or even a canteen—of the underpass, hurrying to spend their free period in the town centre. They didn’t tend to have many frees at the same time, and Tish wanted their opinions on a new nail salon she had a flyer for. Such an ordinary, nothing-special way to spend time with her besties in the town—and Kennedy craved it so much now.
This isn’t Holden House, came her realisation on waking. For a second, her imagination led her into an alternate future. Even though all her crew had left, she’d retaken her final year of school, gotten better exam results and now shared a flat with Chandy and Layla while at Wyebury’s second, trendier university, studying English, because she did like reading. Oh, and Journalism. Because she did like writing. The courses were fun and interesting, her fellow students all livewires, and one, in particular, a guy with dark grey eyes and dark-blond hair, he…
Who’d mentioned journalism, just recently? Reality seeped in through the crack, then yanked her in, merciless and inescapable, and Kennedy wondered who the hell had rapped at her door.
Unlikely to be any of her fellow staircase dwellers, inviting her to walk to breakfast with them, not with the rep she now had. And the knock had been loud and mean, someone sneaking up, rapping and running. Charming. She wondered what people w
ere saying about her after yesterday. Maybe because the pathetic bet had been amongst a specific group, the average Heylel student or those on her course wouldn’t know about it? And Emma wouldn’t spread it around, would she, because that would make her look as much a bitch as it made those jerks look like, well, jerks? Or maybe that was the sort of thing that sort of person got their jollies from. Kennedy had no idea.
And having no spare brain power or energy to ponder on it, she turned over and went back to sleep. Even on waking again, closer to lunch time, she still felt the effects of last night: physical exhaustion from the escape, and mental and psychic drain from using her powers. She really needed to train both her body and her mind. She should have asked Aeth for the manual.
And with thought of him came guilt. How had he gotten all the way out to the club last night? He’d looked drained when she’d first seen him last night, standing there in the doorway, and she couldn’t fool herself it had been with concern for her. The fight and the escape must have taken it out of him, not to mention helping her back to her room. She thought she’d glimpsed him dissolving or melding with the stone wall, just as her eyes slid shut with exhausted sleep. She hoped he’d recharge or re-whatever it was he did. She wouldn’t bother him today.
Kennedy grabbed her phone. She’d been thinking of her friends, and both Chandy and Layla had messaged her last night. Seemed they were both out together, with Chandy’s boyfriend and his friend. And…she hadn’t even replied to their latest messages yet. What a fail-friend she was. She held the phone for a minute and started typing, then erased it. She tried again and deleted that too. Nothing she could think of replying or writing seemed appropriate or funny or nice or…anything. There seemed a chasm between them and her. Well, between her old life and her new existence. She couldn’t call it a life. Her thoughts, back when, about university being the start of a new way of being, a new incarnation, laughed at her and gave her the finger. She wanted to blush at how naïve she’d been and how inadequate a metaphor that had been.
And yet, it spurred her on. How many girls had come here with that dream, that aim? Thinking this was the start, a stepping stone to a new, better thing…to have that and everything taken from them? No more. Kennedy firmed her lips and forced herself out of bed. It was too late for lunch and she had no snacks left and needed to get out of the college. Even if just for a while. She felt better as soon as she was on her bike, the promise of freedom in the air, and even better when she recognised the small posse walking ahead of her.
Charlotte was the first to turn and see her speeding up behind them. With a squeal, she pulled Emma out of the way of Kennedy’s front wheel, scattering most of the group. Keir wasn’t so lucky—Kennedy cycled right over his foot, leaving him hopping and cursing. Kennedy braked and swung her wheel around, to face them.
“Hey, Keir, you got something from me after all,” she said, before looking at the people she’d dispersed like ninepins. “Didn’t you hear me? That’s probably because I don’t have a bell. Too broke. Yeah, Ed kissed a poor. Better make sure he doesn’t catch poverty from it.”
“Are you a fucking psycho or what?” called Tom.
“Just a regular psycho.” Kennedy got off her bike to stare at each of them, waiting until each dropped their gaze before she moved on to the next. “So, yeah, I suggest you watch out. When walking. Or eating. Or in lectures, practicals—anywhere. Everywhere.” She shot out the last word and made at least two jump. Always good to see which ones are the most skittish.
Yeah, definitely need a break from college after that. She made her way to the least studenty fast food place she could think of, in a crowded shopping centre, where she was in the midst of local teenagers and harassed mothers with kids in pushchairs. Not even foreign students, unwilling to test their English yet in Oxford’s more eclectic cafes and pubs. Although they liked the chain cafes, they tended to not stray far from the High Street. Here among the noisy hectic crowd, she had anonymity. She had to find a home from home, an equivalent of the Rose and Crown back home, where she hadn’t just worked, lunchtimes and evenings, but hung out and worked, in between. Back home.
Thinking of you, Kennedy texted in a group chat to her friends, adding a handful of emoticons. And she was.
Supp, girrrl? Tish asked in reply, perhaps the only one up and alert after Saturday.
How to answer that? Mid-term blues, Kennedy settled for. Missing you all. Sad or what.
You know it! But srsly, hung tuff, Chandy butted in, as if sensing through the aether Kennedy wasn’t…hanging particular tough right then.
Kennedy didn’t reply, not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted that to be the last message on the chain, making it easier to see and read whenever she needed to. She made sure she stocked up on easy eats and drinks, for when she needed them, and headed back. She’d force herself to work. The department library was open—she hadn’t known—and conducive to study. She gave it her all, for a couple of hours, then headed back.
And…here we go. Kennedy tried to sneak past Emma, taking to the porter inside the Lodge. If only Heylel had been as quiet as it had the previous Sundays. Emma turned and almost banged into her bike, and Kennedy raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“Have you come from the department library?” Emma pointed at Kennedy’s backpack. Then she frowned. “Oh, yes, you’ve what, got beef with me? Is that right?” When Kennedy merely stood there, Emma sighed. “Look, I am sorry that stupid joke upset you.”
“I’m not upset.” Kennedy jerked her chin up. “You’ll know when I’m upset. But why ask where I’ve been?”
“Well… Nothing. Forget it.”
“Okay.” Kennedy pushed her bike in front of the girl, preparing to leave.
“Just, I was supposed to meet Maja to work on our anthropological enquiry papers, but she didn’t show, and didn’t tell me otherwise?” Emma blurted.
Kennedy shrugged.
“And she’s not in her room. Or not answering her door. I was trying to check here if they’d seen her.”
The porters wouldn’t reveal anything. Kennedy knew that. “I didn’t see her in the department,” she offered.
“Ah. Would seem a logical spot for her! I’ll try the JCR.”
“Whatever.” Kennedy wasn’t feeling like an engineer just right then; in no mood to build bridges. She cycled right to the back, to the museum, seeking a glimpse of Aeth. Even in herma form, she thought of him by his name. He looked…tired, she decided. Sort of drooping and limp-looking, as statues went. But even so, the sight of him, however distant and up on high, was sort of reassuring. Aethelstan. For the first time, she wondered what his name meant. It had always struck her as unusual. Kennedy laughed for the first time that day, back in her room and entering the name into a search engine, to see it meant noble rock. Of course, it did. “Right. Rocky it is, then,” she decided. That would bring him down a pebble or two. She snorted, and almost missed the sharp rap at her door again.
“Oh, get bent,” she called. “And grow up while you’re about it.”
She could work with her door open, of course, so whoever was juvenile and vindictive enough to be playing their version of knock door run was thwarted. While she pondered that, the hard knock came again. “Jesus!” she groaned, jumping to her feet. She’d wrench the door open and—
She stilled, backing away from the white square inching towards her from under her door, taking a few seconds to understand it was an envelope, being pushed in. It was blank, no name on it, but why would anyone shove it under her door unless it was meant for her? And was it her imagination or did that creepy smoke and oil smell, one she now knew was hellfire and brimstone, cling to it?
She flung open the door to an empty corridor, but the fire door at the end banged shut. Losing precious seconds to grab up her keys rather than be locked out of her room, Kennedy gave chase. That corridor was empty too, but footsteps squirled on the stairs, going down. Hanging over the bannister, Kennedy made out the top of a he
ad. Dark hair? A hat? “Hey! Stop!” she hissed.
The figure didn’t. Of course. She hurled herself down the stairs and dived for the door that was slamming closed, flinging it back against the wall with a horrible thud. No one. The area outside was deserted, no sign anyone had ran away. And in which direction, she couldn’t guess, although she walked a few steps in each, searching, peering.
Damn! She returned, examining the stairs and corridors for clues as she walked up and along. Nothing, of course. She was tempted to knock on doors on her landing and ask if anyone had seen anyone, but that was so nebulous and would be stupid. A waste of time, when she had a big clue right there. Although she’d almost expected it to have vanished, the white square remained, stark on her carpet.
Kennedy ripped it open and yanked out the folded sheet of paper. It bore a line and a word of ink writing, the colour faded and old looking, the thick and thin strokes of penmanship old-fashioned looking.
If you want to solve the girls’ murders, come to No Souls cemetery tonight. Alone.
27
Her hand shook, making the paper flutter. A chill buffeted her, but if this was her chance to put an end to this, to her chaotic research, to her disorganised, beyond amateur investigation, to make sure no one—or no thing—else was hurt, and all in one clean swoop? And after which she might have a chance at a normal life? Count her the hell in.
The paper shrank in on itself as she held it, curling into a nothing. She caught a glimpse of the envelope shrinking to non-existence too. Huh. No need to recycle here. Which left just one problem… what to wear?
What did she wear to a showdown, especially one for which she was ill-prepared? “So, just like a tutorial, then,” Kennedy reasoned to her empty room. Jeans, sweatshirt, jacket? Seemed…normal. “Paranormal, even.” Did they do open-mic nights around here anywhere? The rate she was going, trying to boost her courage, she could take part.
