The Color of Darkness

by Ruth Hatfield

  Danny cheered up as soon as he was in the pipe, eating fries.

  “I can’t do anything about it,” he said. “I know what’s happened. Tom’s been e-mailing me since last summer, loads of junk about birds and badgers and trying to get me to visit his farm, because he’s got all this stuff he wants to show me. He never did that before—I knew something was up. But if that hare’s right, and it’s to do with Sammael, then there’s only one thing Tom could have done, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Really, nothing.”

  “Geek,” Cath said, not really caring and wishing that there were more fries. “You’re scared of everything, ain’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Danny. “I am scared. You’ve got no idea what Sammael did before. Tom never wanted to believe it either—he just told me I was being a stupid little kid. Now he can find out for himself.”

  “What are you going on about?”

  Danny looked at her and then at the circle of wasteland and gray sky at the end of the pipe.

  “Sammael took my parents,” he said. “He was going to gather a massive storm and destroy everybody, but I found out and stopped him. And I thought that was it, trouble over. But of course it wasn’t. I know he’s still alive somewhere, and this is just the next thing he’s trying to do. I’m not going to fight him again. Somebody else can stop him now. You can, if you’re so worried about it.”

  He flicked a fry at Barshin. The hare declined to touch it, and it lay in the dirt at the bottom of the pipe. Waste of a fry, thought Cath.

  “But Sammael’s in Chromos, ain’t he?” she said. “He ain’t here.”

  Danny’s face stopped in baffled surprise. “Where?”

  “Chromos,” repeated Cath. “That place with all the imaginary stuff.”

  But Danny ignored the strange name. “Have you seen him?” he hissed, dropping the rest of his fries and pushing himself away, ready to spring into escape. “Did he send you?”

  “Nah,” said Cath. “Don’t be an idiot. I don’t know nothin’ about him. What are you so scared of, anyway? If you stopped him before, he can’t be that bad.”

  Danny gave her another sharp look and then turned to the drizzly sky again.

  “I killed his dog,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, but I did. And he is bad, in every way you can think of. He’s making my life hell. He’s put all this stuff in my head and now I have nightmares every night, and I can’t be normal because I know too much about everything, and I know what horrible things can happen, and sometimes I make mistakes and say something weird so no one at school likes me now. And I got my parents back, but then all I could think about was that tree, so my dad got rid of all the dead wood and covered the patch in grass, but I still can’t get it out of my head. My parents keep having to come into my bedroom to wake me up because the nightmares make me scream my head off, like some stupid baby. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. But it’s in my head and I can’t get it out.”

  He turned back to Cath, his dark eyes lost. Were those tiny pinpricks of color in his black pupils?

  “Okay, okay,” said Cath, thinking that he sounded like a little kid whose mummy told him to go out and play with the big boys at the end of the street. “Ain’t it this guy Tom you ought to be telling that to, though?”

  Danny shook his head again. “There’s no point. He’ll just say I’m being stupid.”

  Cath gave up and turned back to Barshin. “He’s right,” she said. “There ain’t no point. He ain’t going to do anything. So I gave him your message, didn’t I? Can we go back to Chromos now?”

  “No,” said Barshin. “This is important. We must persuade him to intervene with Tom. I won’t take you back to Chromos until we’ve made him understand.”

  Cath thought desperately, trying to find some small clue in what Danny had said. “What about— You said this Sammael’s mad at you because you killed his dog, right? So why don’t we go into Chromos, and you can imagine up his dog and give it to him in there. Seriously, it’s dead easy. In Chromos, you see what you really, really want, so if that’s this dog, then it’ll be there. And then if he gets his dog back, maybe he’ll let this Tom guy go in return. That okay?”

  But Danny’s face was set in the stubborn expression she’d seen when he’d punched the bus shelter.

  “No way. No way am I going anywhere weird. Never. My mum and dad and me all promised each other that none of us would ever go missing again. And anyway, if it was that easy, he’d just have imagined up the dog himself, wouldn’t he?”

  “He can’t!” said Barshin. “Tell Danny he can’t! Sammael isn’t mortal—he doesn’t have dreams, like we do. He can’t use Chromos for his own benefit—he can only put its colors into earthly creatures and watch their dreams fly free. He does know his dog is dead—but Danny’s imagination could certainly bring a vision of her to life in Chromos. It’s a great idea. Tell Danny he should definitely try it.”

  Cath did.

  “No,” said Danny. “I said, no weird places. No and no and no.”

  Cath shrugged to Barshin. “Told you.”

  Barshin, having given in and nibbled a bit of a fry only to find it not to his taste at all, gave five tiny sneezes and hopped a step closer to Danny.

  “All right,” the hare said. “If he won’t try that, then how about this: Sammael gave Tom a book. If Tom doesn’t finish reading this book, Sammael will have no power over him. But if he does read the entire book and learn all its contents, then the moment he comes to the end of the last page, he is lost, and there will be no going back. Tom will be free for only as long as the book is unfinished. Danny must persuade him to stop reading this book.”

  Cath repeated this. Danny sighed and ran his greasy hand through the spikes of his wet hair.

  “A book,” he said. “It’s not called the Book of Storms, is it? No, it wouldn’t be that. There’s no Book of Storms anymore. But there’re other books. Of course there are.”

  He was silent for a long time, staring out of the end of the pipe at the wet parking lot with all the shiny cars trundling around puddles, their engines spitting out raindrops. At last he nodded to himself, and seemed to square his shoulders a little.

  “Okay,” he said. “If it’ll get you off my back, I’ll try.”

  “And if it don’t work,” said Cath, “then we can go to Chromos and get the dog.”

  If Danny went into Chromos to help Tom, Barshin would have to let her come too. And once she was there, she would imagine herself up another Zadoc, and get on his back and never leave.

  Danny didn’t answer her. He just shrugged and said, “We’ll have to go to the farm. Tom’s hardly ever at school. The farm’s miles away. And I don’t have any more money for the bus or anything.”

  “You ever get anywhere on your own?” said Cath, curling her lip.

  “No. I don’t need to. My parents look after me.”

  Barshin hopped quickly between them, knocking against Cath’s hand.

  “Okay, okay.” Cath scrambled to her feet to stop herself from punching Danny O’Neill’s skinny runt of a face. “We’ll get a lift.”

  * * *

  Cath walked up to the road. She didn’t try to stop any of the clean, new cars that zoomed past, spraying up blades of brown water. Instead, she waited till a greenish-gray car came along that looked to be made more out of rust than actual metal, and stuck her thumb out.

  “He’ll never stop,” said Danny.

  The car stopped.

  “Now what?” Danny hissed.

  The driver rolled down the passenger window, all thick neck and shaved scalp. “Cath Carrera,” he said. “Someone’s looking for you.”

  “Hi, Stan,” said Cath. “Yeah, I know. I don’t want him to find me. Can you take us someplace?”

  “Maybe. Where?”

  Cath looked back at Danny. “Where is it?”

  Danny swallowed, his voice barely audible above the engine, and croaked out a few words.

  Cath repeated them to Stan. “Sopper’s E
dge. Out on—”

  “I know where it is,” said Stan. “Who’s yer friend?”

  “Kid from school. Go on. My dad’ll kill me if he gets me.”

  Stan considered it for a minute and said eventually, “Your dad’s a piece of work.”

  He nodded his head toward the backseat, but Cath opened the passenger door. Danny stood frozen behind her.

  “What?” Cath got in and looked out at him. “Got a problem?”

  “I’m not getting in there,” said Danny. “I don’t know who he is.”

  Cath snorted. “What you gonna do? Run behind?”

  “He looks like a … like a drug dealer,” hissed Danny. Stan bared his teeth like an Alsatian at a cat.

  “What you scared of, kid? You’ll be safe with Cath. She’s tougher than ten of us.”

  Cath grinned for a fraction of a second. The shock of seeing her smile seemed to stun Danny into silence. He opened the back door of the car and Barshin hopped in gamely, leaving Danny with no choice but to follow. He slid down onto the seat.

  “Where’s the seat belt?” he said nervously.

  “Dunno,” said Stan, pulling off the hand brake and stamping on the wheezing accelerator pedal. “Been wondering that since I got the car. Let me know if you find it.”

  In the rearview mirror Cath saw Danny’s arms: rigid, going straight downward. He was gripping the edge of the seat as though it were his last hold on life.

  She took her eyes off him and watched the town dwindle away around them. It felt good to be driving away from Dad. Away from Johnny White.

  If only she never had to go back.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE FARM

  Stan swung the car up a driveway beside a sign that said SOPPER’S EDGE FARM. He bombed over the potholes as if his old clunker were a jeep. The floor scraped on the earth as it shuddered over the ruts, but Stan didn’t care. He slammed to a halt as soon as the driveway widened out into a gravelly yard and cocked his head.

  “Scram,” he said.

  Cath got out silently. What could she say, anyway? Don’t tell my dad? But if Stan was going to tell, he’d tell, and if he wasn’t, she didn’t need to ask him not to. Everybody understood how it was.

  Maybe Dad wouldn’t find her here. They were miles away from town. There was a redbrick farmhouse that looked like it had been kicked about by the winds and rain and snow for longer than anyone had ever been alive, and there were some black barns behind it, and loads of fences and puddles and bits of metal machinery around the place. The rest was fields, with a strong smell of cows. From somewhere on the damp breeze, Cath heard a long, mournful moo.

  Danny got out of the car, and Barshin slowly hopped down after him, his long ears drooping. As soon as Danny closed the door, Stan turned around and shot off down the driveway. They stood for a second and watched him go.

  “That guy…,” said Danny. “Is he, sort of, a friend of your parents or something?”

  He thinks Stan is lowlife scum, thought Cath. And he thinks I’m the same.

  “You ain’t got a clue, have you?” she said, without anger. “Go on, then, where’s your cousin?”

  Danny shrugged. “I dunno. He’s normally doing something with the cows. Oh crap, there’s Aunt Kathleen.”

  A tall, rawboned woman with a horsey face and wild toffee-colored hair walked around the side of the house. Her hair was struggling out of an elastic band, her clothes damp with smears of greenish slime. Her cheeks were as red as a smacked butt.

  “Danny!” she said, looking confused. “I thought you were the postman. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I need to see Tom,” said Danny. His voice sounded weak, as though he didn’t really mean it.

  “Why?” said Aunt Kathleen, going from confused to suspicious in a nanosecond. Sharper than she looks, thought Cath.

  “Um,” said Danny. “Nothing, sort of. I just need to see him.”

  “Do your mum and dad know you’re here?” snapped Aunt Kathleen, moving on equally swiftly to irritable. “And yours, whoever you are?” She swung around to Cath, and then noticed Barshin lurking by Cath’s feet. Her face froze.

  What were they all so scared of?

  “Danny,” Aunt Kathleen said in a low, warning voice. “You haven’t been up here for months. What’s going on?”

  Danny squirmed under her glare. He’ll crack, Cath thought. He’s the sort who runs sniveling to his parents the moment anything goes wrong. But to her amazement, he pulled himself together enough to shrug.

  “I was just … busy,” he said. “This is Cath, the hare’s her pet. She’s from school.”

  Aunt Kathleen narrowed her eyes and looked at her nephew, the girl, and the hare. She gave Cath the longest look of all.

  “Tom’s up by the wood, seeing to the fences,” she said. “He’ll be down in a minute. You can come in and have some lunch, and I’m going to give your mum a call. I know you’re nearly a teenager, Danny, but you’re still a child as far as the law and your school are concerned.”

  Cath scowled and balled her fists, ready for the questions about where she lived and who her parents were. But the ugly horse-faced woman merely raised an eyebrow at her, went over to the side door of the farmhouse, and opened it.

  “In,” she said. “Where I can keep an eye on you. All of you.”

  * * *

  Inside, it was soft and cluttered and comfortable, with sofas and chairs covered in magazines and papers. There was a gentle animal smell, as though the furniture might be alive and warm, heating the house with the fumes of its breath. The kitchen had a big wooden table in the middle, half-covered in letters and bills, but Danny sat down at the clear end as if he did it every day of his life. Barshin crept into the darkness underneath the table and lay with his belly along the floor tiles, nostrils quivering, ears flat along his skull.

  Aunt Kathleen put the kettle on, plonked a fruitcake down on the table, and gouged off a few thick wedges with a bread knife. Cath reached out and wrapped a hand around the biggest slice.

  “Where did you get that hare?” said Aunt Kathleen to Cath.

  Cath was stuffing cake into her mouth. She didn’t stop to answer.

  Aunt Kathleen gave Barshin a hard glance but the hare was still lying motionless on the cool floor, resting his chin on his forepaws and trying to recover control over his shaken stomach, so she gave up and made the tea. She put some mugs on the table and sat down, cradling the warm pot in her hands. There was a long silence while she stirred the tea bags and poured the tea into three mugs. Danny didn’t touch his mug. Cath took a gulp of hers to wash down the cake. The tea was brick red and tasted of iron pipes. She covered the taste with another slice of cake.

  “What do you want Tom for?” repeated Aunt Kathleen.

  “Just … stuff,” Danny said.

  “About the hare?”

  “Sort of. You know … he likes animals.”

  “He does,” agreed Aunt Kathleen. “Very much. So much so, in fact, that since last summer he hasn’t stopped looking for them. I hardly see him. Oh, he never misses a milking and he cleans every cut and scrape the cows get, but outside of that—he’s out all day, sometimes all night, for weeks on end. He doesn’t even call Sophie anymore, and they used to be thick as thieves. What’s going on, Danny?”

  Danny stared down at his mug. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I have. He says he’s watching wildlife. But I know something else is going on—I know it. Can’t you give me any clues?”

  Cath glared at Danny for a sharp second. Just tell the old bat, she wanted to say. Tell her so she’ll sort it out and I can get back to Chromos and be free. But Danny O’Neill was silently struggling with himself again, staring down at the table.

  Cath’s fists clenched. Why did this weak little kid who was scared of everything get to sit at this table like he owned it? Why did he get to have an aunt who put plates of cake in front of him and gave him tea he was to
o fussy to drink?

  Well, she wouldn’t like to be the kind of person who was scared to get in Stan’s car, or scared to run around on her own. She reached for another bit of cake and stuffed it into her mouth, partly just to stop herself from speaking. With any luck, she could eat her fill and escape out of here before anybody found out where she was. She’d go up into those woods at the top of the hill and hide for a bit, until Barshin agreed to call Zadoc again.

  “Right,” said Aunt Kathleen. “I’m going to call your mum. Don’t leave this room, either of you. There’s bread in the cupboard, if you want sandwiches.”

  She got up and went out.

  “What cupboard?” said Cath.

  Danny fetched the bread and some ham from the fridge. He chucked it across the table at Cath and she tore open the packets, making squashed wedges of bread and ham. She tried offering a bit of ham to Barshin, but the hare flared his nostrils in disgust, so she sat back up and concentrated on feeding herself.

  “What’s that?” Danny’s quiet voice broke through her furious eating. He was looking at the hand that was mechanically cramming bread into her mouth.

  He’d seen the flowers on her skin. For a second she thought about spinning him some lie—he’d believe it, of course. She could just say it was a stick-on tattoo. Then she remembered that fist against the side of the bus shelter. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  “I touched something in Chromos,” she said.

  “Chromos?” He frowned. “What is Chromos?”

  “It’s where I went. Barshin took me there—we was running away. It’s this place where you can dream up things, and they … I dunno … they’re just there. Like, all the stuff you really want but don’t think you can have.”

  “Like what?”

  Cath didn’t want to tell him that. He wasn’t Barshin or Zadoc, he was a person, and she didn’t trust him. Instead she just said, “Anything. Whatever’s in your head. But you can’t touch any of it. There was this bush, really spiky, with all these yellow flowers that I really liked, but when I tried to touch it, it sort of burned its way into my hand. It don’t hurt, though.”