‘Exactly.’ Astrid snapped her fingers. ‘This lot only need the tiniest of nudges.’
At that moment the lights went out and the machine next to Euan became silent.
‘No, no, no,’ Mal said. He looked at the screen, which was blank and no longer emitting a regular ‘beep’ sound. ‘There must be a backup generator.’ He looked around wildly. ‘Help.’
‘It was just a little holiday,’ Astrid said. The window was shaking in its frame so violently that the glass cracked.
Rose felt the power surging, could hear the ocean crashing and, beyond it, the beautiful silence of the stars. The creature that had been Rose and Eve and Françoise and Hannah and Laura and Melody and Aislinn and Afia was almost home. She touched Astrid’s face. ‘Please,’ she said.
‘But you will cease to exist,’ Astrid said, confusion and hurt on her face. ‘So will I.’
‘You know that’s not true,’ Rose said. ‘And we will be together. Forever.’
Astrid gestured to Mal, who had linked his fingers and was executing chest compressions on Euan, tears pouring down his face. ‘They are ants. What difference does it make?’
Rose didn’t know what to say. She felt the pebble in her pocket and held it out to Astrid in lieu of words.
After a pause which seemed to hang in time, while the screams and shouts got louder and the sound of breaking masonry and glass mixed with the wailing of sirens, Astrid blew a curl of hair away from her face. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You always spoil things, you know?’
‘I know,’ Rose said, and opened her arms.
Astrid stepped into them and white light filled the room.
* * *
‘Where did she go?’ Mal was blinking in the light which still remained. He was pale and sweating, with dark shadows under his eyes like crescents of soot. Humans were so fragile.
The shaking had stopped abruptly and, somewhere in the basement of the hospital, an emergency generator sprang into life, feeding the intensive care unit and the respirators. Throughout the building, humans began to breathe again. She could feel them. All the little sparks.
‘What happened?’ Mal checked the machine, which was once again keeping his brother alive, and then looked searchingly at Rose. ‘What did you do?’
The thing that had been Rose MacLeod shrugged and the boy took a step back, stumbling slightly. She could feel all the memories rushing together, clicking into place. Aislinn, Melody, Hannah, Françoise… all the lost girls were found. Astrid had been the last. The trickiest.
‘Where is Astrid?’
‘She’s right here, sweetie,’ Rose said. She was stretching out, pushing the limits of her form. She would escape it soon, let the soul case wither and blow away. She could feel the vast reaches of the sky calling her home.
The boy looked worried. No, frightened.
She watched his skin crease as the small muscles contracted to form the expression of concern, and wondered how Rose MacLeod had felt anything for this creature. She could remember how Melody had felt about her bully of a father and how Laura had loved Freya and how sad and lonely and afraid Aislinn had been, but it was just knowledge. She couldn’t feel those things anymore. They had been her, inside, but they had been wrapped in human form. They had been living as little sparks on this funny wet rock, but now all of them were back where they belonged.
‘It was just meant to be a holiday,’ she said. ‘It got a little out of hand.’
‘But where’s Astrid gone?’
‘Don’t worry about her.’
‘I do.’ Mal took a step forward, clearly uncertain, but still forging ahead. Human spirit. Stupid, but admirable in its own way.
‘What if she tries to hurt you again?’
Rose wanted to laugh at his incomprehension, the way his mind was battling the truths he had been given, but there was still something inside her which made her voice gentle. ‘She told you what I am?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘So you know what she is too. We are two sides of the same coin. Creation and destruction. Birth and death.’ Rose clicked her fingers. ‘The complete package.’
‘So you’re safe now?’
‘We were supposed to just be two, but Astrid split one side into many pieces. She hid little bits in many different cases and scattered them as far as she could. Twenty years ago she did this, but we’re all back together now.’
The being that had been Rose and Astrid, Afia, Eve, Françoise, Melody, Laura, Hannah and Aislinn was surprised to feel something smooth and alien in her hand. She lifted it to her face, the word ‘pebble’ floating across her mind as she studied the green-white surface of sea-polished rock and tried to remember why it had seemed important.
* * *
A beeping split the air. Euan’s machine was throwing a fit and Mal didn’t know if it was an after-effect of the power cut or a malfunction. Euan’s chest was no longer rising and falling and he felt the panic back in full force, his brain short-circuiting in an attempt to process everything that had happened.
The woman who had once been Rose MacLeod was standing stock still, studying the pebble he had given her on Iona as if she had never seen a piece of rock before. She still looked like his Rose, a little at least, but she was taller. Much taller and much more… real. Looking at her hurt. It was as if she was the only true thing in a faded cardboard cut-out scene.
He knew that he needed to call a nurse, get somebody in to help his brother, but the noise had become louder. The alarm from the machine had been joined with another sound. It was piercing, so high-pitched that he held his ears to try to block it, and soon he couldn’t think about anything except making it stop.
Tears leaked from his eyes and he scrambled back, his head hitting the wall in his effort to put some distance between himself and the noise, which seemed to be coming from Rose.
He heard his own voice say ‘Stop! My head!’, but he wasn’t sure if it had been out loud or in his own mind.
‘Hush, now. Why don’t you have a rest?’ Not-Rose gestured to the padded chair next to Euan’s bed. The chair in which he had spent hours of his life, wishing for a great power to fix his brother. ‘You look tired,’ she said. She patted his arm and the pain in his head receded.
‘I’ve got to help him,’ Mal said. ‘He needs a nurse.’
Not-Rose smiled and, although she wasn’t Rose, Mal felt a little better. She leaned over his brother and cupped his clean-shaven cheek. Her other hand reached out and slipped into Mal’s. He felt her pass him the pebble and calm washed over him in a wave. He sank onto the chair.
He was tired. That was the problem. He was just tired. If he had a little rest he’d be able to cope with the weirdness, the vastness of it all. His mind caught on that thought, snagged on it, and his heart began hammering again. He felt the edges of his mind grow dark, his thoughts slow.
Rose was Not-Rose. Euan had been about to die. No, that wasn’t right. Rose was right here with him. She wasn’t quite a girl and someone had wanted to use her. Someone with a funny name. He had been running away. They had been running.
Rose was a good friend, he thought as he laid his head against the smooth back of the chair. A bit unusual but she had a good heart. He had felt it, held it. He was sure. A memory leaped up and it was of Rose naked, her skin shining. He felt the pull of desire deep in his stomach and remembered touching her, joining with her, and the feeling of being both excited and at peace. He had been alone for so long, but then there had been Rose. She stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes. It had been bliss. He had held Rose in his arms and felt true bliss.
* * *
The being that had been Rose MacLeod for a couple of decades, a time span which had no meaning now that they were in their true form, was spinning away from the funny little building with its machines and tubes and wires and sickly mammals. The being that had once been divided into so many tiny pieces, each making sense of itself with a human form, could feel the wide sky above beckoning, beckoning. They
gratefully stretched up to meet it.
The sea was like the sky. The being didn’t know where that thought had come from but it paused their ascent. Back in the cramped space of the hospital room with the bad stinging smells and the sound of animal fear, the being heard an echo of something which it couldn’t name. And then it could. The word came tumbling back along with the sensation. A feeling. It was remembering feeling, and with that memory came knowledge. They saw the boy in the chair and recalled his pain. They remembered his yearning for a different life. They saw the broken boy in the bed and knew they could fix it. Outside this room, and this building with its ailing lifeforms, there were thousands of different creatures. Some were soulless and hungry, some calm, some crackling with energy and desire. Thousands of sparks of light, like the stars in the cosmos, but crying out in pain. What difference did one make? They couldn’t remember why it had mattered. The stars were calling them home. Back to peace and beauty. They stretched, ready to leave the filthy rock. But first…
* * *
Mal wasn’t sure if he was asleep or awake. The plasticised surface of the hospital chair changed. He felt a rougher texture, more like material against his skin, and now he was lying down horizontally, not sat up in a chair. He felt a weight across his legs and reached down to find a blanket folded there. He pulled it over himself, like a child home from school with the chickenpox. He’d never had the chickenpox. Euan had got it, and Dad had said he would get it, too, but he never did. He’d watched Euan get hundreds of itchy red spots and he’d wanted them too. He hadn’t cared that Euan was sick and that he complained incessantly about the rash and the scratching. He’d wanted them. Always wanted to be just like Euan.
When Mal opened his eyes, the room had grown dark. He was in the living room of his flat and, for a moment, he didn’t understand why that was strange. Had he been somewhere else?
He must have been unconscious for a long time, he knew that. His neck was stiff from the way he had been lying. It had been a deep and dreamless sleep, and he was on the sofa. He cursed himself for falling asleep there when his bedroom was only a few feet away. He swung his feet off the sofa and stood up, not noticing when a green and white pebble fell from the cushions onto the floor. He kicked it under the sofa with his foot as he walked to the window. It was early evening but fully dark and he paused at the window for a moment, looking at the orange glow of the street lights and the bright yellow of the car headlights moving down the road outside. He pulled the thin curtains shut and then went to check that his front door was locked, although, after he had done so, he wasn’t sure why.
He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, trying to shake the weird dream-feeling. He went into the kitchen and flipped the switch on the kettle. Then he put the grill on to make some cheese on toast. It was gone seven in the evening but he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before he had fallen asleep. He sliced cheese and got out a plate. He was following a routine, a normal night in, but something felt odd. It wasn’t the blanket on the sofa, although he didn’t remember having one before. Maybe it was the smell in the air, like burnt matches and ozone, like sea air on a warm, blowy day. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then looked around, trying to see the room afresh, to put his finger on what had changed. Had there been someone here? Before he fell asleep? He had the feeling he hadn’t been alone. There had been a girl, he was almost sure.
The smell of burning came from the kitchen and he rescued the bread he’d put under the grill and scraped the charcoal into the sink. He put cheese on the non-burned side and put it back under the heat. His phone rang. It was Euan’s number on the caller display and he spoke as soon as Mal picked up. ‘Pub?’
Euan’s voice was strong and familiar. It was so good to hear, and it chased away the last of the strange feeling. Mal smiled as he asked, ‘I thought you weren’t going to drink on week nights anymore?’
‘Aye,’ Euan said. ‘But it’s Thursday. That’s nearly the weekend.’
‘Okay. Half an hour?’
‘Magic,’ Euan said. ‘See you in the Hart.’
For a moment Mal thought there was a reason he shouldn’t go to the Grassmarket, but then the feeling passed. He ate his cheese on toast with brown sauce drizzled over the top. He drank a pint of water. Got his wallet and his keys and zipped up a hoodie. A strange thought crossed his mind: it was amazing that Euan was up and about. It was a miracle. They had to celebrate. He stopped dead, his keys in his hand. What a weird thought. What the hell was wrong with him? And then he remembered; he’d been dreaming about when they were kids and Euan had had the chickenpox. Euan had been really poorly with it, been off school for weeks. He shook his head, laughing at himself. That had been fifteen years ago. Euan was the strongest, healthiest person he knew.
As he opened the door, the birds that had been circling the ceiling flew through the gap and down the stairs. Mal didn’t notice.
* * *
The End
Thank you for reading!
I would love to stay in touch… If you are interested in book news, giveaways and exclusive content, please join my FREE reader’s group at:
geni.us/SarahPainterBooks
* * *
If newsletters aren’t your thing, please feel free to find me on Facebook or Twitter and say ‘hello’!
* * *
If you enjoyed The Lost Girls, I think you might like my exciting new paranormal mystery series, Crow Investigations.
The first book, The Night Raven, is out now.
* * *
‘My favourite new urban fantasy series, clever and twisty and deliciously magical, with a shivery sense of wonder that feels utterly grounded in its London setting. Perfect for fans of Ben Aaronovitch, Genevieve Cogman or Robert Galbraith!’
- Stephanie Burgis, author of Snowspelled and Masks and Shadows
May I Ask A Favour?
If you could spare the time, I would really appreciate a review!
* * *
If you enjoyed this book, I would be extremely grateful if you could leave a brief review on Amazon.
Click here for the Amazon review page.
Reviews make a huge difference to the visibility of the book, which makes it more likely that I will reach more readers and be able to keep on writing. Thank you!
Acknowledgments
Books are always a team effort and, as ever, The Lost Girls would not exist without the support of my family, friends and fabulous agent.
Huge thanks to Sallyanne Sweeney, and Holly and David Painter for reading early drafts and encouraging me to keep going with this strange tale.
Thank you to the listeners of The Worried Writer podcast and my writing friends for keeping me (mostly!) sane, especially Clodagh, Keris, and Nadine. Extra hugs to Sally Calder for the wine and nibbles!
Thank you to Serena Clarke for the fabulous copy-editing and Stuart Bache for the perfect cover design. You are both brilliant!
I am deeply grateful for my wonderful ARC team who gave me invaluable encouragement, spotted mistakes, and asked brilliant questions. In particular, thanks to: Matthew Dashper-Hughes, Beth Farrar, Karen Heenan, Jenni Gudgeon, Ali Cowieson, Tricia Singleton, Paula Searle and Dave Wood.
Also, thanks to Mel MacLeod for the French advice and surname inspiration.
Finally, my eternal love and gratitude to Holly, James and Dave. I couldn’t do this without you.
About the Author
Before writing books, Sarah Painter worked as a freelance magazine journalist, blogger and editor, combining this 'career' with amateur child-wrangling (AKA motherhood).
* * *
Sarah lives in rural Scotland with her children and husband. She drinks too much tea, loves the work of Joss Whedon, and is the proud owner of a writing shed.
* * *
Click below to sign-up to the Sarah Painter Books VIP group. It’s absolutely free and you’ll get book release news, giveaways and exclusive FREE stuff!
geni.us/SarahPainterBooks
The Lost Girls Page 24
