by LJ Swallow
Emma stands in the doorway, and as I move nearer, I notice her arms folded tightly across her chest and pale worry etching her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What happened?”
Alaric? Something wrong with the group who left today? Possibilities flood in. Ty?
“Annie. She was okay, but I don’t understand what’s happening to her. She’s bad.”
“Bad?” I rush past her and into the lounge, where Annie’s huddled beneath a brown blanket on the sofa. The young girl’s face is covered in perspiration, eyes glazed as she shakes. A bowl beside her is covered in a towel, the room smells of sickness. Tamsin stands close by shifting from foot to foot as she chews her nails.
“Annie?” I ask, but she doesn’t register me, curled tight.
“Don’t go near her,” replies Tamsin. “This might be something infectious.”
“No, I think the infection spread to her blood.” Emma walks over and places a hand on the girl’s head. “I honestly thought the antibiotics worked with her. It was you I worried about, Tamsin.”
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Can you fetch a damp cloth?”
I stand in the kitchen and run tap water across a tea towel, frightened for Annie. I’ve never seen anybody really sick before. The witches help cure any serious Enclave illnesses. Is this what it’s like to face death? I squeeze the water out and head back.
Emma takes the cloth and holds it across Annie’s face, and I hover next to Tamsin, useless, wincing each time she moans with pain. She asks for Aaron, convinced he’s in the next room, and her hallucinations grow with her temperature.
“I think she hid what was happening,” says Emma with a despairing tone. “She’s sicker than I realised. This is my fault.”
“No,” I say. “You’re not a doctor, you couldn’t know.”
“But I’m a nurse. I should’ve seen.”
“Annie knows we’re short on antibiotics still,” says Tamsin in a flat voice. “She wanted you to give them to me.”
The hardship these people face doesn’t register most days. I never considered the life or death they face, too caught up in Ty and our crusade. I’m not the pawn, these people are.
“Why aren’t there enough?” I ask. “I went with Paul and Andy last week.”
“They screwed up and came back with half of what we needed.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “All because they wanted a drink.”
“Don’t blame them. Sometimes we want to escape this life too. It’s stressful, Cora.”
Annie’s face convulses with pain and my helplessness bites. “Do you have any painkillers? Look at her.”
“I’ve given her what we have,” says Emma.
“Shit!” I drag a hand through my hair. I shouldn’t, but I have to. “Does she need more today? Will that help? Or can we wait until tomorrow?”
Emma doesn’t reply, adjusting the blanket where it’s fallen from Annie’s shoulders.
“Emma?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
Coat. Keys. “I’ll go. I know where the supplier lives.”
Emma snaps her head up. “No.”
“I have to! I can’t sit here and watch a girl dying. If a day could make a difference I want to do this.”
“But Ty— ”
“‘But Ty’ nothing. I know someone who lives there, a friend from the past. She hates the Enclave, and she wouldn’t help them in any way. Nobody bothered who I was last time. I’ll do the same thing, in and out, then back here.”
Emma rubs a hand across her face. “I don’t know… Tamsin, would you go?”
“I don’t know where I’m going!” she protests. “I don’t want to go out there.” Her hands tremble, face paler than I’ve seen before. “Please don’t make me go out there.”
I touch her arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. Stay here and help Emma.”
“She’s my friend,” says Tamsin hoarsely. “After what we went through… She can’t die. Don’t let her die.”
The poor girl, paralysed by fear for her own life, and her friend’s brings the situation to a head. I’m part of what created this life for them, but I won’t be part of the reason this girl dies.
“I can go,” suggests Emma.
“Do you know where the supplier’s place is?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “You could give me directions.”
I zip my coat. “No. It’s four o’clock. What if you get lost and it gets dark and you can’t find your way back? We need you here.”
“I really don’t know…”
“She needs this, doesn’t she?” I demand. “Don’t think about what Ty will say. I’ll deal with him.”
“You always do,” says Tamsin with a laugh.
“Well, then,” I say and smile back. “I’ll go now, before it gets late.”
“Make sure you’re home before he is,” replies Emma.
Last time I drove from the farm I worried what I might face. This time, I’m relieved and not apprehensive. I can help. I have a purpose. Ty will see he doesn’t need to protect me. I can compromise between what he perceives as reckless behaviour, and what I know is safe to do.
25
Halfway to the city, doubt creeps in again. The roads merge into one monotonous stretch of grey, and I panic as I can’t remember any names on the road signs. Last time, Paul sat beside me and barked directions but this time I’m reliant on my memory.
A landmark close to a junction, a run-down motel with flashing neon lights, points me in the right direction, and from there, I follow street names and landmarks I finally recognise from a few days ago.
Car park located, I kill the engine and take the keys from the ignition before placing a shaking hand in my jacket pocket and touching the money Emma gave me. During the drive, I constantly checked the rear view mirrors. Everything will be okay. Once I’m inside there’s no chance anybody will find me.
I pull my coat hood tighter around my face as I knock on the door. The same man, R, peers out, gun in hand. In seconds, he grabs my arm and pulls me inside.
“What the fuck are you doing back?” he asks. R pokes his head out of the door, and satisfied I’m alone, he slams it.
For somebody who makes money selling expensive, illicit substances, he doesn’t look the part. Lank hair, scruffy clothes, and a mouth with missing teeth doesn’t scream wealth. Sensible disguise, I guess, like his disgusting home.
“I need some more of the stuff Paul and Andy buy.”
“Which stuff?”
“This.” I hand over the paper I scrawled down the name Emma gave me.
He takes it between stained fingers and nods his head at me. “Cash?”
“Show me first.”
He laughs at my bravado, revealing more rotten teeth and his breath adds to the dirty stench around. “Hey, Sara, your Scion mate is back,” he calls and kicks open the lounge door.
Doesn’t she move from that spot? Sara stands the moment she sees me. “Why are you here again?”
“I won’t be long. I need to buy some stuff from R.”
She glances past me and hisses at R, “Is Alfie here?”
“How the fuck do I know? He’s your… whatever.” He tips his head to the kitchen. “I agree, buy your shit and leave.”
Sara catches my coat sleeve as I follow R. “Cora. Leave.”
“Why?”
The stoned guy from the other day, Alfie, appears in the doorway and rests against the frame with his arms folded. “You never said she was coming back, Sara.”
“I didn’t think she was.”
Alfie’s eyes are brighter this time, but the dark rings around his eyes and sore lips set him apart from the others. Sara may not be an addict—yet—but this man is.
“Where’s my fucking needles?” yells R. He appears holding small glass vials in his hand. “The girl needs the fucking needles.”
Alfie yawns. “I got some.”
“Used? You used them?” snar
ls R.
“Not all.”
I whip my head between the two men. Emma said she needed stronger medication but I thought she meant more pills. R throws a filthy look at Sara. “I don’t mind your junkie boyfriend staying with us, but if he takes anymore of my gear without paying you’re both back on the streets!”
“He paid you!” she snaps. “Not my fault you can’t keep count.”
“Just get them, asshole,” R shouts at Alfie.
The house’s vibe is different this time, the reality what this place is binding tighter. I don’t want to be here. I know Sara, but really I don’t. R’s ambivalence to me isn’t matched by Alfie who isn’t the kind of man I want to be around. I squeeze my hands, buried in my coat pockets, ensuring I’m near the front door. I can’t go now I’ve handed over a huge amount of money.
Alfie swears back at him and shoves himself away from the frame, towards the room he came from. “Sara!” he yells, a minute later. “Help. Now.”
With an apologetic smile, she follows him. In the warm house, my body heats and perspiration from that and the situation builds. Does Emma already have hypodermics? Surely she does. “Could I just take those?” I ask R and hold my hand out for the vials. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
He slams them into my palm. “Yeah.”
“Shit, R!” I take my hand from the front door handle as Alfie’s panicked voice calls out. “Sara. I told her not to touch my gear. Fuck! What did she take?”
“What?” snaps R.
“I need help!” he calls.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” R sits down. “I don’t wanna know.”
“She was fine a minute ago.” I push past him and down the narrow hallway. A door is open to a box room with paper taped to the windowpane, torn carpet, and a mattress in the corner. Sara stands opposite the door and shakes her head at me.
“Are you okay?”
The next events happen faster than I can catch up with. Sara yells at me to leave, Alfie grabs her by the hair and drags her from the room, and the door slams behind. A key turns in the lock.
“They’re gonna pay big bucks for you!” calls Alfie.
A second door bangs and the muffled voices argue.
My spinning head catches up with what just happened, and I bang on the door. “Sara! Open this door, now!”
No response.
I yell again. Silence.
Shit. Tearing away the paper from the window, I tiptoe and look outside at the empty car park. The window is closed and bolted, too small for me to fit through even if I broke the glass.
I press myself into a corner squeezing the glass vials in my hand.
No.
This is not how today was supposed to end.
This is not how everything was supposed to happen.
I’ve screwed up everything by trying to do the right thing.
26
For the rest of that afternoon, I sat on the floor, body coursing with frustration and anger at myself and the people prepared to sell me. Panic came in waves with each door bang, and conversation, and eventually two men appeared. Not Paul and Andy. A deluded part thought Ty had discovered what happened and sent some people, incognito, the way he did last time. I walked with them, into the dimming light, led to a black car. Fighting against these burly men would be futile. Where would I run, even if I did escape? To Ty?
I’m angry at myself for the naivety Ty accuses me of. I wouldn’t have visited the house to buy the drugs if I’d worried this might happen. The disinterest in me last time, the fact a friend was there, shoved me into a false sense of security.
I’m a prize. Sam told me weeks ago.
How much did they pay that bastard for me? Enough for him to afford an amount of drugs to kill himself with I hope, because he handed me over to my own death sentence.
My worst fears are confirmed when the car turns to take the route back to the Enclave, away from the farmhouse’s direction. I slump down and press my head against the car’s cool window and stare at the passing road. All I can think about is Ty. Does he know yet? He must. It’s dark, and the group always return to the farmhouse before nightfall.
Windows in the Hyland house are lit brightly as we approach, a welcome from a place I’d give everything to never see again. Alaric doesn’t welcome me in the entrance hall the way he did the first time. He doesn’t come to me when I’m trapped in the bedroom, this time with security guards positioned outside the door. I spent hours sitting in the window staring at the ink-black sky, void of stars, and thinking about Ty. Last time I sat here, I wanted nothing more than for him to come. Now I want him to stay away. I don’t want to be responsible for Ty walking into whatever trap Alaric lays for him.
Why do I have to keep living this fucked up nightmare?
I barely sleep, on alert at every noise outside my room, but nobody disturbs me. A maid brings me breakfast, and through the doorway, I spot the guards still positioned.
The food stays uneaten on the tray, as I continue to sit on the bed like a condemned man. Alaric’s screwing with me, allowing my fear to build with each minute I don’t see him, and let this feed suggestions into my sickened mind what could happen.
My wait is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Miss Karran?”
A man's voice, not Alaric.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Hyland would like to see you.”
“See me where?”
“In the drawing room.”
“Can you give me five minutes to uh... change?” I’ve ignored the clothes and toiletries lain out for me in the room, refusing to change from my clothes reeking of the disgusting house. And no way was I taking a shower and risking the psycho who rapes his maids walking in on me when I’m naked.
“Of course. Do you need anything?”
Yes, freedom please. “I'm fine. Thank you.”
Footsteps tread away.
I don’t change and, once I’ve steeled myself, I throw open the door, hoping to hit a security guard as I do. One of the men who collected me steps from the side, untouched, and unimpressed.
“This way.”
The place disorientates me, but I've learned the faces and landscapes on the paintings, and I follow them towards the living areas. I pass a couple of servants on my way by who look away as if I’m Medusa and they’ll turn to stone.
A servant stands outside a drawing room and bows as I pass him into the room. The calm sanctuary seen through the large bay window overlooking water gardens and neatly tended flowerbeds is at odds with the turmoil bubbling inside me.
Alaric stands gazing out. He's dressed down for once, and from the back, he could be his brother—jeans with the same fit and his broad back covered by a dark shirt, but his shorter hair distinguishes them.
He turns as I close the door. “Cora! Delightful to see you. I thought we could share afternoon tea while we chat.”
What the fuck? His broad smile and outstretched arms aren’t the welcome I expected. I’d presumed the moment the door closed behind me, I’d be pinned by the neck to the wall, Alaric dripping poisonous threats in my ear, or worse.
“You must be hungry. How was your trip?”
My trip?
“You can’t believe how relived I am to see my beautiful fiancée home and safe. The Enclave were so worried I’d lose you to my bastard brother.” He steps closer and I back off. He wants to hug me?
“Oh. Has he hurt you? I understand if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t treat you the same way.”
I fight back outright laughing at him.
Alaric gestures towards plates containing cakes and sandwiches on the table, beside a teapot and china cups. An old-times tradition but with a taint. The formal room is decorated with fixtures from the past—a chandelier in the ceiling dripping glass, panelled walls, and expensive dark red drapes—but the Hyland touches wipe out the aristocratic human past with magic, runes hidden inside patterns on wallpaper, others carved into door handles or ab
ove doors.
Alaric sits and pours tea into two cups, and I keep my distance. His temper changes scare me, and although I've only been on the brunt once, I'm coiled ready to run and scream if he assaults me.
Now I know there's no point.
“Sit, Cora.” The demanding edge to his voice pushes me into the high-backed plush seat opposite. The china cup shakes against the saucer as he hands me a drink.
“Thank you.” I place it on the table so he can't watch my hands, but the satisfied smirk to his mouth suggests I'm reacting the way he wants.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Hmm.” He picks up a sandwich and bites. “You don't eat much.”
“Alaric, stop playing games. What will happen to me?”
“What a strange question, Cora. I’ve brought you home.”
“This isn’t my home.”
“Of course it is! You’ll spend the rest of your life here.” He sips from the cup, and we both know what lies under his loaded comment. A short stay.
“I’d like to visit my friends. Let them know I’m… back.”
“Friends? There’s only one person we’re waiting for, isn’t there? The person we’re both eager to see.”
I sit on my hands and look away from him. Has Ty sent word to Alaric he’s coming?
“Eat.” He pushes a plate containing a cake bursting with cream across the table to me. “To be honest, I'm surprised he isn't here yet.”
“You have an arrest warrant out for him killing people and abducting me, I doubt he'll be back in a hurry.”
“I think you underestimate him,” says Alaric. He points at the cake again. “Eat something.”
The cream oozes against my fingers as I pick up the cake and hesitate.
“Cora. Do you think I've contaminated your cake with something?” He laughs. “Pathetic magic or poisons like that aren't my style.”
“I said I'm not hungry.” I lick the cream from my fingers and push away the plate. Alaric watches the action and chews on his lip.
