Unwrapped: A Fated Realms Novel - 1

by M J Sherlock

  How could I make a difference? Taine had comforted me but not really helped with the mission the dream girl had tried to force on me. Maybe he doubted me too. I had rarely been popular. I had studied martial arts in self defence against bullies. Maisie and Katherine were my reward but they seemed unable to see anything to do with the Guardian and Cloaken world.

  Easter whizzed by and I returned to school still praying no one would find me. It felt surreal, like my life was out of sync, switching between fast forward and normal speed. To make things worse, we began our GCSE studies early. Teachers kept throwing random tests at us and harping on at us to do our best.

  Give us a break I wanted to yell. I held everything in until my emotions spilled over like a molten flow of lava, hissing and spitting and leaving a trail of ash and destruction in their wake. I apologised constantly for snapping people’s heads off. Mum left out books on puberty. Dad muttered about PMT and disappeared into his man cave.

  My parents jabbered on about working hard, focusing on school and achieving excellence. As if it mattered. The more they nagged, the more I retreated, wanting to hide. One more thing and I would crack, ruining the rest of my life. Overwhelmed, I felt the whole world was out to get me.

  Flashbacks and nightmares bombarded me with almost constant movie reels of tasers and guns hitting Vashtin and his body jerking in shock. In most of them Vashtin glowed and returned fire with surges of light energy. My brain flashed forward to the bullets that had propelled Vashtin back through the doorway towards me. I pictured him falling endlessly as if in slow motion. The scream of his last words, ‘Run and hide,’ echoed in my ears. Hide I thought bitterly, I was good at that so why did I feel so bad?

  I battled shame as I recalled how I froze and cowered behind him while he took bullets for me. In my nightmares the vision shifted to the female Venator on the train and ended with me collapsed in a pool of blood as the woman laughed and crouched to whisper in my ear, I told you I would get you.

  Each night I jerked awake and ran my hands over my body as I checked for imagined wounds. Hyperventilating, I would force my head down between my knees, trying to stop the dizzying swirl of colour and sensation. Mosquitos seemed to buzz in my ears as I faded in and out of consciousness. My heart stampeded and I flushed with heat. I would wake, curled in a foetal position on the floor and wonder how I got there, my quilt a tangled mess around me.

  Sometimes Mum or Dad would rush in, help me back to bed and ask, ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  The words clawed at the inside of my throat, stuck, refusing to come out. I would shrug, while one or other of them would offer me a hug and then leave me to it. They suggested I saw a counsellor but what would I say? Telling the truth could see me either in front of the Counter Terrorism Unit or in a straitjacket. No, thank you.

  The worst thing was when I got panic attacks in public. Out of nowhere, I felt paralysed and breathless as fear burned my throat and lungs. I’d picture friends and family dead in a circle around me. I’d hear the female Venator whispering, I told you I would get you. If the Venator played mind games, this would be how I would picture it. Making me terrified of my own shadow so I started at the slightest noise. Mostly, I pushed through, not wanting attention. I hoped to hide my feelings, anything but be labelled. At least I lived, unlike Vashtin.

  Taine and I met at least twice a week and practiced martial arts together, went jogging or for a walk. He drip-fed me information. I learned Cloaken manipulate energy giving them magical powers with some like Titus having the gift of invisibility. The first time I laughed after Vashtin’s death, I felt guilty. Like I had betrayed him. Taine and I discussed it, sitting on a park bench overlooking a duck pond.

  Taine looked me straight in the eyes. ‘The Cloaken live twice as long as us. Vashtin was probably fifty despite looking young. He knew what he was getting into even if you didn’t.’ A duck flew in behind him, settling on the water.

  ‘But he died…’ I wailed, bent over my sketchpad and obliterating my drawing with thick pencil shading.

  ‘Yes, but he’s not the first. There have been loads of attacks on the Cloaken. Others have died too.’ Taine nudged my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes. ‘Repeat after me, it’s not my fault.’

  I clenched my pencil. ‘But I froze...’

  ‘Martial arts don’t protect stop bullets. No one came close enough for you to use them even if you wanted to. He died, you didn’t. Get on with your life. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Not my fault?’ I said softly.

  Taine leaned forward to hear me. ‘Not your fault.’ He squeezed my shoulders in a half-hug.

  My brain wouldn't let it go. At night I googled grief, trawled through forums and over-faced myself with conflicting advice. I read my psychology textbook from cover-to-cover trying to understand while resisting all labels. Post-traumatic stress, hypervigilance, paranoia, general anxiety and phobias. None came close to describing the seething mass of emotion inside.

  I wrote about obsession in English.

  ‘Imagined symptoms come and go.

  The internet searched until pixels snow.

  Obsessions turned inside out,

  Yet few answers ever drop out.’

  My teacher was impressed but I felt hollowed out, traumatised, a walking corpse putting on a show.

  Keen to escape my negative thoughts, I saw friends more. I went out to cafés, the cinema or shops. I held girly sleepovers, normally at mine as my parents were twitchy about me staying out overnight. I enjoyed marathon viewing sessions of our favourite box sets with Maisie and Katherine. We guzzled diet drinks and stuffed our faces with pizza, ice cream and popcorn. We discussed everything except what mattered. I even laughed.

  Over time, my hyper-alertness faded. I caught up on my schoolwork and my grades improved. Taine and I started to meet more frequently - often at his flat. The only personality in the whole place came from his nerdy t-shirts and movie posters. His family could empty the flat in moments or leave it without regret. India and Imal were still away although they had popped home briefly soon after I had met Taine at Easter. It made me appreciate my home more. Colour, photos, artwork and sculpture decorated our space.

  Sometimes Taine and I would do something whacky like paintball or laser quest. Other days he would fill me in on Cloaken history. He never spoke of other friends. Taine was home schooled courtesy of the internet. He was desperate to stay off the Venator radar. A lonely, half-life. How did he survive before I turned up?

  Once as we were on mile three of a five-mile jog near his home, I asked, ‘Do Guardians have any special gifts?’

  ‘Yes, you get a mentor from one of their twelve clans. At eighteen we can go and train full time.’

  ‘Will you?’ I kept pace with him as we skirted pedestrians.

  ‘Maybe. Dad was a diplomat and Mum a healer. There are other gifts too. Not sure what mine is.’

  A gentle breeze stirred the air on what was a fine, cloudless day.

  ‘Do Alex and India know their gift?’ I jogged on the spot as a group of squealing kids ran across in front of us.

  ‘Perhaps. India excels at tracking while Alex seems gifted in technology. Titus lent me a book on clan history. Borrow it if you want.’

  ‘Sure.’

  We finished the run in companionable silence. Lost in the rhythm of each footfall. Enjoying the sunshine while it lasted. Back at the flat, he passed me a thin leather-bound book. I stowed it in my bag. Reading it later in my room, I got a sense of Cloaken origins. They had existed for millennia. I smiled when I learned their royal court was in England but attracted representatives from around the world. Even in a world of magic, England was still the centre of the universe. The last king changed the law on succession. He left four rival claimants to the throne: Zoe, Morgan, Rupert and Henry. He died some years ago and the Cloaken had appointed a Regent.

  The Venator developed following a split within the Cloaken over two hundred years before. They stole history books,
leaving Cloaken unaware of their heritage. I searched for a glossary of gifts but didn't find many. The ones Taine mentioned plus soldier, teacher, seer and artist. While I appreciated my friendship with Taine, I wished I had never gone to the meeting with Vashtin. The mental scars were still with me.

  As the weather warmed and the days got lighter, some of my tension evaporated. I was no longer as focused on Vashtin’s death. I let go of some of my pent-up anger. Taine and I met mostly outdoors and visited parks, commons and nature reserves. Surrounded by trees and plants bursting with life, it was hard to fixate on loss. My mood improved.

  When it lashed with rain, we would hole up in Taine’s flat. We watched Star Wars movies or Star Trek box sets. Sometimes he returned to our house if my parents weren’t due home. They crossed paths a few times and liked Taine although they insisted he was my boyfriend. Annoying. I repeated that we were just friends.

  If the weather was fine, I took my sketchpad out with us and got lost in sketching. Blossom fell like confetti as I drew fanciful pictures of brides and grooms, knights and ladies or children playing. Taine helped me google the names of the more unusual trees and bushes. I added each drawing to my GCSE Art portfolio, a ready-made excuse for our many outings. Sometimes I sketched for so long that Taine would retreat to the nearest safe house. I would find him curled up with a book or on messing on his phone while he waited for me. Other times he warned me he would leave if I didn’t get a shift on.

  ‘At least we have a bolt hole if things ever become horrific.’ I added another safe house to my electronic map. This one was larger than normal. A couple of bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a separate living room.

  ‘Yes, somewhere to go if Imal throws us out when he finds out what we’re up to.’ Taine wiggled an eyebrow and cracked a smile.

  He didn’t fool me. A very real fear for him.

  Weeks wore on with no obvious Venator activity. We continued to meet. One day, sauntering through a country park on a cloudless day, I asked him what he knew of the Guardian’s role.

  ‘I am not sure. The Venator wiped out nineteen Guardians. A lot of knowledge was lost overnight. Luckily, they are unaware of my existence. I want to keep it that way.’ Fear coated Taine’s voice.

  ‘You must have something from your parents or the others? Perhaps diaries or books?’ My journal had become my counsellor or confessor depending on my mood. I would be lost without it.

  Taine stared into the distance. Perhaps imagining his long dead parents, vibrantly alive, teaching him. ‘I’ve read their journals. They possessed skills I can only dream of.’

  ‘What’s our role?’

  ‘Advising the Council of Elders.’

  I giggled at the thought of teens mediating the affairs of a race that would outlive us. ‘Did I tell you about a vision I had of a girl with orange-red hair?’

  Taine stiffened. ‘No. What did she say?’

  ‘To find what was lost, right a great wrong and reunite their clans.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘It’s the secret to defeating the Venator. What did she mean?’

  Taine chewed a stalk of grass. ‘Eliminate the Venator or get them to live at peace with us maybe.’

  ‘A big ask after what happened to your parents and Vashtin.’ I held my face up to the sun, enjoying the feel of its warmth caressing my face. Fresh mown grass tickled my nose. I sneezed. ‘What’s India up to?’

  ‘Like Alex, she wants revenge. She’s off hunting the Venator with him now.’ Taine picked up a stick and threw it, as if asking a dog to play fetch. ‘He’s uncovered some of their financial dealings, shell corporations and properties. They are both asking for trouble and will end up dead if they don’t stop.’

  He paused, biting his lip, before continuing in a hard tone. ‘India won’t listen though. Sometimes I want to rat her out to Imal, in the hope he stops her, so she’s safe.’ He grabbed another stick and hurled it into distant bushes.

  ‘India is being idiotic.’ I climbed over a stile. ‘I swear these multiply...’

  He narrowed his eyes, puzzled. ‘Why do you get an envoy and visions? They seem to be treating you differently.’

  ‘I’m just that special,’ I teased.

  The dull ting of bicycle bells and hooting horns filled the air as children raced past us. A number of mums puffed along behind them, as if racing buggies. My lips twitched.

  Taine gave me a playful shove. ‘How do you fit between gaps with that humongous head?’

  I pushed him back with my shoulder. ‘Love you too.

  As the summer term eased towards the ‘Great Escape’ aka school holidays, I woke to my Étoile flashing. I got a picture of the girl with orange-red hair in my mind. This time I heard her name, Annie. I said, ‘Yes,’ and she spoke.

  ‘Visit your French Aunt soon. All will become clear.’ Her voice cut off again.

  Why did she do that? Frustrated, I held the Étoile in my hand and pictured her. Annie didn’t respond. What a nerve! Why did she assume I’d obey?

  Chapter 7: Paris

  The sun streamed into the kitchen through the bay window as if attracted by the yellow walls.

  'What are you up to today?’ Mum put tins of groceries away with a clank. Arranging them by type and date order.

  'How would you feel about me going to visit Aunt Stella alone over the summer?' I asked.

  Mum sat on a bar stool with a jerk. 'You don’t feel neglected, do you? I can ask for extra time off.'

  ‘It’s not all about you, you know. I’m fourteen. I want a proper relationship with her. There hasn’t been much chance with her living in Paris.'

  Mum stared, poleaxed.

  I emptied a tin of soup into a bowl and popped it in the microwave. ‘If I catch the Eurostar, you and Dad can see me off at Euston and have Aunt Stella meet me. It’s not so different to me getting on and off tubes all over London.'

  Mum ran her fingers through her hair, tugging its short tufts into spikes, slanting in different directions. 'I’ll have to discuss it with your Dad.'

  'If you are on my side, I know he will say yes, please Mum.' The microwave pinged. I took my soup back to the black gloss breakfast bar.

  Her eyes searched my face. 'What’s brought this on?'

  I smiled winningly at her, playing every trick in the book. 'I’ve not seen her since Uncle Thomas’s funeral. It’ll help with my French GCSE too.'

  'I’ll talk it over with your Dad.’ Mum smoothed her hair back into place and gave it a brief pat.

  'You’re the best.' I hugged her tight. Part of me felt bad for manipulating her parental guilt. The rest hoped it worked.

  'No promises.'

  I finished eating and to seal the deal, placed my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. I let Taine know my plan.

  An hour later Dad came in and almost hit the roof when he heard what I wanted. ‘Gallivanting around Europe at fourteen without us? I think not.’ He ranted on until he reached a crescendo. ‘My sister can come here…’

  I didn’t get it. It wasn’t as if I’d asked to go to Ibiza with my mates. Mum dragged him out of the room. I drowned out their muffled yelling with the latest episode of a forensic crime series. By the time the computer had identified suspects and the skull was defleshed, Mum and Dad had finished their argument. I hit pause, ready to hear the verdict.

  Dad spoke first. ‘I want it on record, I’m not happy.’

  Sounds promising.

  ‘But your Mum says I need to stop treating you like a little girl…’ He paused for a while as if feeling for the words. The awkward silence stretched taut. Vibrating like an elastic about to ping apart and hurt someone.

  ‘You broke our hearts when you disappeared at Easter. I’m not sure if we can trust you.’ A tear rolled down Dad’s face, ‘I still wake in a cold sweat believing some kidnapper has stolen you…’

  I gaped. Dad didn’t cry other than at funerals. Mum’s mascara had run too. Black streaks marred her perfect mask. Their joined hands grip
ped the back of the sofa as they looked at me.

  Mum’s lips quivered. ‘We jerk awake in the night with a horrible sinking feeling. We rush to your room to check you’re there, sleeping. Something has felt off since we moved here in January. When I come home, my breathing hitches and only restarts once I know you’re home, safe.’

  I’d had no idea they felt that way. They subconsciously knew something was wrong even if they didn’t know what. Soon we were all blubbing together and hugging on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry.’

  Minutes passed. I fidgeted. The words refused to stay in. They came popping out despite the parental drama. ‘Can I go?’

  Dad caught me in a fierce hug and whispered, ‘If you must.’

  ‘But only if we take you to the train station and Stella meets you.’ Mum squeezed me tight. ‘We’ll buy your ticket, but you’ll have to pay for anything else. And we’re dyeing your hair blonde again before you go. The sun will ruin your hair otherwise.’

  ‘Deal.’ My Mum must have cared more about my black hair than she’d let on.

  I rang Aunt Stella. Something in her voice suggested she’d expected the call. Why was that? She agreed to my stay and the rest of the plan came together. Imal agreed to pay for Taine as long as they met up in France at least once. I don’t know what story he told to get the money out of him.

  We pre-booked seats and a week later, Taine sat across from me on the Eurostar. I piled our bags next to us, discouraging anyone from sitting there.

  ‘Love the hair colour.’

  ‘Forgot you hadn’t seen me blonde.’

  'What are you going to say to Stella?' Taine grabbed a bottle of water out of his black and silver backpack and took a quick swig.