Werewolf Parallel
Page 22
His phone rang. He dug it out of his back pocket.
“Hiya, Amy.”
“Hey, Cam-boy. What’s up? I’m a bit bored now my sidekick’s not here.”
“I thought you were my sidekick?”
“You wish,” snorted Amy. Her voice sounded odd and echoey.
“Where are you?”
“Girls’ loos. I told Mr Robertson it was a ‘girl thing’. He went red and said, ‘Very well, make it quick, Miss
Giovanni.’”
Cameron laughed.
“I reckon I’ve got ten minutes at the most before he sends out a search party. So, tell me the latest. How’s the mysterious Granny?”
“She’s ok.” Cameron was uncertain how much he could tell his friend. “Some of the stuff she comes out with is a bit odd, though.”
“What like? No TV with dinner? Speak when you’re spoken to? Or does she still think it’s 1945?”
“Nothing like that.” He struggled to find the right words. “It’s like… she reckons there’s more going on than most people realise… like there are strange things lurking beneath the surface.”
“There’s always more going on than you realise, Cam.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Oh, stuff. Things you don’t notice right under your nose—”
There was a crackling sound, as if the phone had suddenly been shoved in a pocket. Cameron heard a stern woman’s voice say, “Are you talking on the phone in there, young lady? That’s strictly forbidden during school time, as well you know!”
“No, honest, I’m not! I’m praying. This is my religion, see? I’ve got to meditate three times a day—”
The phone clicked off.
Cameron grinned. Amy could talk her way out of anything. She was a good mate, but she would never believe him if he told her the truth. And Cameron wasn’t sure if he was ready to say it out loud yet. He had to give Grandma Ives a chance, didn’t he? He had to see if she could really do what she’d promised.
He stowed the phone back in his pocket.
The corner shop took up the ground floor of a block of tenement flats. It had obviously been there some time. Beneath posters and flags advertising Edinburgh Evening News, lottery scratchcards and mobile top-ups, there was an older plainly written sign marked:
MONTMORENCY’S GENERAL STORES
Newspapers & Confectionery & Fancy Goods
Cameron pushed the door open, causing the bell to dance and ring. A stocky man behind the counter looked up from a portable telly that was blaring out a daytime chat show.
“No thieving,” he said by way of greeting. He tapped his finger against his glasses, and Cameron noticed one of the lenses was blanked over with sticking plaster.
“I’m gonna get some milk, that’s all.”
“I’ve got my eye on you, mind.” The man returned his attention to the telly.
“Yeah, just the one eye though,” muttered Cameron.
He made his way down the aisle, taking in the usual small shop smells of newsprint, flour and powdery sugar. At the back of the store there was a chiller cabinet and a paper rack. Cameron picked up a pint of Lo Fat, then turned his attention to the magazines. If he couldn’t get online at Grandma Ives’, he could at least read about the bands he should be listening to.
He flicked through Sound Express, which had a good free CD stuck to the front. Something clicked in his ear: a short sequence of pops that rose and fell. He shook his head. Probably a bit of water… It hadn’t been that long since his morning shower.
He put the magazine back, and reached for Axe God. It came with a fingering chart with “the chords every songwriter needs to know”. That’d be useful, if he could ever get his hands on a guitar…
There was the sound again. It was more like music this time, but the tune was indistinct – a sort of mixed-up sound, like you might get out of an old radio tuned halfway between stations. He glanced around to see what it might be, but there was only the shopkeeper’s telly.
“There’s a library on Fountainhall Road,” called the man from the front of the store. “I mention this as a service, that’s all.”
“I’m making my mind up,” said Cameron. “That doesn’t cost anything, does it?”
He fished out his wallet. Great huge wads of tenners were sadly notable by their absence. Grandma Ives hadn’t said anything about an allowance, and he wondered how to go about subtly mentioning it. He’d have to put Axe God back for now.
As he stretched out his hand to put the magazine on the shelf, the mysterious noise came again. This time it positively roared, and a cacophony of random notes filled his head.
“Turn it down!” he yelped. His hand clenched, scrumpling the magazine.
“Headphones playing up, son?” The shopkeeper’s attention was still focussed on his chat show. “Take ’em out. They’re bad for your ears.”
The sound gibbered and howled, and Cameron’s vision seemed to go fuzzy for a second. He dropped the carton of milk – splot – to the floor. He had to get out of here! Clutching his head, he staggered forward.
To his amazement, the shelf to his left started to rotate. The side he had seen when he came into the shop spun giddily to face the wall, and a new side swivelled out. The familiar tins of soup and beans had vanished, and in their place was a line of containers with labels he didn’t recognise.
What kind of crazy shop was this? The other shelves were following suit, rotating jerkily to reveal strange new products. In the chiller, bottles of dark red liquid stood in place of pints of milk. There were still eggs on display, but they were green and rubbery looking.
If that came out of a chicken, it wasn’t well…
Cameron laughed, a little hysterically. Everything was different! The light was dim and yellow, and everything seemed distorted – looking towards the shopkeeper’s counter was like peering into a tunnel. On the paper rack, creamy rolls of parchment hung on pegs. “Which souls in torment make the sweetest sounds?” he read. “Our panel decides!”
“What the—”
“Last copy,” hissed a voice. “I saw it first!” A hand pushed him out of the way, and Cameron stumbled…
The odd music roared again, and once more the shelves began to spin. Cameron ducked as a corner edge whipped past his face, causing him to bump into a stand of cards. A stack of On Occasion of your Wedding – showing a dopey-looking couple holding hands – scattered across the floor.
“Right old mess you’ve made.” The shopkeeper looked up at last from his telly. “What’s up with you? Been hanging about the bus stops, drinking stuff you shouldn’t?”
“Don’t blame me, it’s your shop that went mental…” Cameron started to protest, but all around him, everything had returned to normal. There was only the dropped carton and strewn cards to show anything had happened.
He leant against the chiller cabinet, trying to pull himself together. He couldn’t have imagined it, could he? Cold air smelling faintly of milk and cheese pumped past his nostrils. His stomach churned and his head spun as if he’d just stepped off a fairground ride.
“I think I’m gonna be sick—”
“Oh no, not in here.” The man swung the counter open, and came barrelling down the aisle. “I’m going to call someone. They can come pick you up and shout at you, or take you to the hospital. I’m not fussed which. Come on, lad! What’s your dad’s number?”
“I haven’t got one any more.” Cameron groaned. “I live with my Gran.”
The shopkeeper moved closer. He removed his sticking-plaster wrapped glasses, and brought his hand up to shield the eye that had previously been uncovered. His newly exposed pupil was a bright and piercing green.
“Flamin’ hell, lad. You’ve been world-shifting, haven’t you?” The shopkeeper blinked. “Who did you say your granny was?”
Our world is only the beginning…
What will Cameron do with his new powers?
Can he really bring his dad back from the dead?
Find out in Daemon Parallel.
AUTHOR PROFILE
Roy Gill was born and lives in Edinburgh. In a previous life, Roy researched media fandom at the University of Stirling but he now writes full-time and has published books for teenagers, feature-length audio drama and short fiction in several genres. He was a Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award Winner in 2010, and has been shortlisted for the Kelpies and Sceptre Prize.
The first book in his Parallel series, Daemon Parallel, was published in 2012 and its world-shredding sequel, Werewolf Parallel, appeared in 2014.
Follow him on Twitter @roy_gill and over on roygill.com
Copyright
KelpiesTeen is an imprint of Floris Books
First published in 2014 by Floris Books
© 2014 Roy Gill
Roy Gill has asserted his right under the
Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988
to be identified as the Author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh www.florisbooks.co.uk
The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume.
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 978–178250–065–0