“What your sister has done puts all of us in grave danger. A danger with far greater implications for our survival — for all of humanity’s survival — than I can even begin to explain,” Vashti says, turning to me.
Surprise crosses both Cassandra and Lily’s faces. They’re not just curious about what Jade did, but also wondering why it’s been kept secret from them. I avert my gaze from them and turn it back on Vashti.
“I told her she shouldn’t have done it … that the ring was supposed to stay in the wall,” I say before Vashti can speak. I don’t want to be blamed for my sister’s stupidity.
Vashti slowly nods. “Yes, I thought as much. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it needed to be returned; the ring should’ve been placed back into the Roman wall. The final prophecy is upon us, and if the ring were where it is meant to be, there would be a safe space for us here. The churches designed by Hawksmoor were carefully placed around the city to form a pentagram, an area of magical protection from the dark forces. However, as it stands, Jade’s insolence has rendered Hawksmoor’s protection impotent …”
A loud giggle erupts from Cassandra. She places a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle it.
Vashti’s dark eyes flash with anger. “All of you must leave your juvenile thoughts and behaviours behind immediately,” she says, her voice shaking with emotion. “We are soon to enter the Final Battle. You Seers are our only hope. And if we don’t have Hawksmoor’s protection, absolutely nowhere in all of London that is safe, nowhere to take a moment’s reprieve.” She pauses and looks at Cassandra. “Thus, the Seers and all of your allies will surely be slaughtered.”
“But who exactly are we battling?” Lily asks, her voice quivering like violin strings. “I mean, will it be the demons? Or is it someone, or something new? And who is this Hawksmoor guy?”
Vashti regards Lily silently for a moment as if deciding how much to reveal. “The world is dividing in anticipation of the Final Battle. What we don’t know is who and, indeed, what entities will be joining the forces of Light and who will be siding with the Darkness.” She pauses. “You are not well.”
Lily’s eyes widen. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just recovering from an old injury.” However, her voice betrays the fact that she’s anything but fine. Her skin is a greyish hue and has this strange sheen to it that makes me wonder exactly what is happening to her. Usually, when Raphael heals someone, the effect is immediate. Lily knows this as well.
“Let me try to get this right,” Cassandra says, diverting the conversation, though concern registers in her face when she looks at Lily. She flicks her dark hair behind her shoulder in a way that I think is a little overdramatic. “The ring isn’t in the wall? We went to the Place-in-Between, watched our friend die, my sister get injured badly, and Jasmine have her arm snapped by a demon … and you’re telling us that the ring isn’t there? How can that be?”
Vashti looks over at me. A heavy silence descends over the room like a lead blanket.
“I don’t really know when she did it, or how, or even why,” I say, meeting Cassandra’s gaze. “But Jade definitely has the ring. I put it back in the wall, so she must’ve taken it out when we were battling the demons afterward.”
“Are you kidding me?” Cassandra says, practically spitting each word at me. “Your sister took the ring? Whose side is she on?”
The words hit me like a slap. “I’m not sure why she did it,” I say. Though her actions are indefensible, I still feel the need to stick up for her. “But she must’ve had good reason.”
“Oh, yeah?” Cassandra says, leaning forward with her arms on her knees. “Did she tell you what that ‘good reason’ was?”
My face burns. I’m not my sister’s keeper, I think. And yet, I kind of feel like I am, at the same time. After all, as Seers, we hold immense power. “I don’t know why she did it,” I finally say.
“Your own sister didn’t tell you she was doing this? Or why she did it?” Cassandra says with a sarcastic laugh.
“It doesn’t matter why she did it,” Lily interjects softly. “She betrayed us. And she got Vivienne killed. She’s a Judas.”
I feel as if I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. There’s nothing I can say, and I’d feel exactly the same way Cassandra and Lily do if I were in their shoes.
“How did you know my sister took the ring?” I ask Vashti, trying to avoid Cassandra’s laser-like gaze.
“Raphael told us,” Vashti says. “And that was relayed to your Protector. We’re concerned that Jade is under the influence of some dark forces.”
“Jade?” I say with a laugh. “Really? She’s the good one of the two of us, believe me.”
JADE
Amara grabs my wrist and hauls me to my feet. She’s shockingly strong. I suppose we’re all pretty strong from more than a year and a half of intense training.
“We need to get up this,” she hisses in my ear as she drags me toward a towering tree in the corner of the garden.
She releases my wrist as we reach the enormous trunk, and we begin to scramble up it, with her slightly ahead of me. The bark is dry and practically crumbles under my fingers. So many trees have died due to years of drought; I hope this one still has enough life in its limbs to support our weight. I glance up. The leaves are thick enough to offer us some coverage, but we’ll have to climb fairly high, and it still may not be enough. At a glance, I’d estimate the tree is about thirty feet high, with limbs that are worryingly anorexic toward the top.
We’re halfway up it when the first heavily armed officer enters the yard. He crouches low with his semi-automatic drawn and ready to fire. There’s no way we can climb any higher now without being heard.
There are at least eight officers, all with guns drawn. They’ve really sent in the heavyweights. These are members of the elite anti-terrorism squads that are deployed after CCT attacks. I guess we’re considered part of all that now.
Amara is just above me, clinging to the trunk. I’ve found a foothold in the crotch of a branch and have managed to wedge both feet there, giving me a steady place to stand. I’m not sure Amara’s found a stable position, as I can hear her attempting to maintain her grip on the trunk by shifting her feet ever so slightly, which sends bits of dried bark down onto the top of my head. The combination of heat and adrenaline has made my hands slick with sweat, and I imagine Amara’s are the same.
One of the officers is pushing apart the brush we were just in with the butt of his rifle. “Nothing here,” he shouts at his colleagues.
Two other officers climb the back steps of the house and begin to hammer at the door with their fists. “Anyone in? Police! Open up!” one yells.
There’s a scrabbling sound above me, and what feels like a tsunami of bark falls onto my arms and head. The sound isn’t loud compared to the banging on the door, which I’m glad we’ve got to cover the noise, but it gets my heart racing violently all the same. If Amara can’t maintain her hold on the tree, they’ll find us for sure. She might be trying to climb higher, for all I know. I’m not about to look up to find out.
A series of bangs loud as gunshots fills the air as the officers begin to break in the door to the house. More bark lands on me. What is Amara doing? I try to reach into her thoughts. She’s having trouble maintaining her hold on the tree, just as I suspected, and is trying to climb to a higher and more secure place while the officers break down the door.
The officer that was searching the bushes is coming closer to us. Amara can’t move now — he’ll notice the bark falling for sure. My heart is pounding so loudly against my rib cage, I swear it can be heard for miles.
“Have a look at this,” a female officer says from the middle of the yard. I glance over toward the voice. There’s a sliver of an opening between the leaves to my left, but it’s not wide enough for me to see what she’s talking about.
The officer that was near us walks away, over to her. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
“Is
that where the signal’s been coming from?” he asks. My video watch.
“Yep. They probably got rid of this here in an effort to throw us off their trail. Even the youngest CCT terrorists are clever, apparently,” the female officer says, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“All clear in here,” another one of officers shouts from the vicinity of the back door to the house. “We’ll have to send someone around this evening to explain the state of the house. The residents are likely at work.”
“We’ve found one of their video watches,” the female officer yells back. “Let’s get it back and into forensics. Smith really wants us to apprehend these two by nightfall. If they’re behind the water massacre, there’s no telling what evil they’ll get up to.”
One of the male officers laughs. “I figure Smith wants to get her hands on these young ones to break them. To find out who’s actually heading the CCT. There’s no way those Barbie dolls can be the masterminds behind the water contamination. For god’s sake, they’re just teenagers. Probably more interested in the latest lip gloss than in terrorism. Likely doing all of this for some boy — or girl — they’re interested in.”
“Did you even watch the subway video, Ronnie?” the female officer snaps. “Not only is your rant the biggest pile of sexist shit I’ve heard in a long time, but one of those little bitches snapped an officer’s neck like it was nothing more than a dried turkey wishbone. It’s right there for you to watch. Then the rest of them disappeared. I don’t know if the CCT has new technology, if these girls are some sort of AI, or …”
“Or what?” one of the male officers laughs. “C’mon, Sarge, you’re letting your imagination run a bit wild, don’t you think? That video of the girls disappearing had to be doctored. I mean, we know it wouldn’t be a first for Smith and this administration to be making up dodgy news stories.”
“That’s Sergeant Puri to you,” the female snaps. “And I think what you’re saying is very dangerous. I’d reconsider it immediately, if I were you.”
The male officer laughs. “Or what? We all know this is the most crooked Toronto administration in the last half century. Maybe in all of the city’s history. She’s got an agenda, and we’re just puppets in all of this. Have you seen the Real News holographic broadcasts she’s begun splashing all over every street corner? Just because I’m a police officer doesn’t mean I’m going to bend over and let her shovel her lies up my ass. And she’s in bed with other crooked mayors around the world, too, including the one in New York. Just look at that poor bugger, Moore. He’s no more a terrorist than my grandmother —”
A sudden rapid-fire volley of semi-automatic shots rings out, cutting off the officer’s words and sending sharp spears of pain through my ears. A soft thud follows. Bits of bark fall onto me as Amara shifts her footing. Likely she’s just as shocked by the sudden noise as I am. I hold my breath, willing her to stop moving before we’re discovered.
“If either of you breathes a word of this, you’ll find yourself at the centre of a terrorist investigation yourself,” Sergeant Puri says, her voice as hard as ice. “Regardless of your personal views of our mayor, you’re employed by her, and you need to keep your wits about you. Smith is extremely powerful, and I’m not risking my life, my family, or my career because an officer under my authority has a mouth ten sizes bigger than his brain. Is that clear?”
Amara and I wait around for about ten minutes after the officers pull away before making our way back down the tree, but it seems like hours.
“What the hell was that all about?” she whispers, her eyes wide with shock as our feet hit the dried grass of the yard. She rubs her hands up and down her thighs. “My muscles would have given out if we’d stayed up there a minute longer.”
I glance over at the corpse that is face down about five feet away from us. A crimson halo of blood has spread out around his head.
“I don’t really know,” I say. “But it worries me that Jasmine was so involved with Smith’s government.”
“If you really wanted Jasmine to be safe, if you wanted all of us to be safe, you would’ve followed Mr. Khan and Ms. Samson’s instructions,” Amara says with a smirk. “Suddenly you’re all worried about your sister, but you’re willing to completely mess up what we’re meant to do to keep safe? A good example would be Mr. Khan’s instructions to get rid of the video watch and get as far away from it as possible.”
“I get it,” I say, “and I agree that we messed up by not getting away from here sooner. But you need to trust me on the other things. We’ll transition just like Mr. Khan asked, but we have to go to Beaconsfield first. We can’t just leave when something’s obviously really wrong there.”
Amara glares at me. “Why the hell would I trust you? You realize that you made our whole trip to the Place-in-Between useless? And I don’t mean just a waste of time. Because if we hadn’t gone there …” she stops, her voice cracking with emotion.
“But what makes you think we can trust anyone?” I ask. “Who told Mr. Khan and Ms. Samson that we had to return this ring, anyhow? The very act of going there put us in harm’s way. The demons were on us like dogs.”
“The CCT told them. The CCT, which my father belongs to. The CCT, which is trying to ensure some justice in this world for climate change refugees and which has also been researching us Seers, our Protectors, and the Lost Scrolls for decades.”
It’s obvious I won’t be able to change Amara’s mind unless I tell her everything, but at this point, I simply can’t do that.
“Okay, I understand. Honestly, I do. But can we just go to Beaconsfield before we try to transition? I know you owe me nothing, and I promise you that we’ll try to transition right after. I just really need to see Mr. Khan before going back. I mean, don’t you find it strange that he just hung up and told me not to contact him again, even though he’s my Protector?”
Amara pushes her braids back from her face and stares off into the distance for a moment. “Yeah, it’s weird. I’ll give you that. Maybe he’s really pissed that you took the ring.” She looks at me, obviously wanting a reaction.
Not about to give her the satisfaction, I remain stone-faced. This is practically the millionth time she’s said it.
“Okay, we’ll go to Beaconsfield, but then everything — and I mean everything — is by the book. Got it?”
“Deal,” I say. “Now we just need to stay safe until we get to the school.”
Amara stares out into the distance again. “We definitely need to get a move on. The way Smith is gunning for our heads is pretty intense.”
I nod in agreement, swallowing back the hot vomit that’s risen in my throat. My stomach is doing cartwheels like an acrobat in the circus again.
JASMINE
“Do you know what my mom, what our parents, think is happening?” I ask Vashti. I know it’s a long shot, but if she and Clarence are CCT, they’ll at least be in contact with Mr. Jakande and Noni, who might be in touch with Mr. Khan and, hopefully, my mom. At least Mom knows that Jade and I are Seers, so she’ll hopefully understand some of the craziness that’s been happening because of that. I’m not sure what Lily and Cassandra’s parents might have been told to explain their absence. Maybe Frederick will be able to give Clarence some information about our families.
Vashti presses her lips together. “Again, nothing we speak of within these four walls is to be talked about outside. A great deal has happened in and around Toronto since you left. Of course, you know about the water contamination. Luckily, your families were not impacted by that. Clarence’s brother confirmed that. However …” She looks at each of us, her eyes dark with sadness. “Eva was taken into custody in the subway after you transitioned. She killed two officers, but likely saved your lives in doing so. In the days following, she was coerced into confessing that all of you were responsible for poisoning the water and that you’re all members of the CCT.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Lily. I look over. She’s clutching the cushioning of the
sofa on either side of her as though her life depends on it.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, eyes wide. “We knew she was arrested and that she confessed. She was tortured, though, right? Is she okay?” The question is directed at Vashti.
“Eva is missing at least three fingers and has been burned multiple times,” Vashti says, her voice quiet. “Even seasoned members of the CCT would break under those conditions. In fact, we give members something to take in case they are going to be subjected to that sort of interrogation.”
“You mean to kill themselves, right?” Cassandra asks. “Instead of giving away CCT secrets?”
“Yes,” Vashti answers grimly. She takes a sip from her tea with a shaking hand.
“Then how come that guy Moore, the one who was caught after the last subway bombing in Toronto, didn’t take it?” Cassandra asks. “He’s now waiting to be executed. That’s torture in itself, just sitting on death row. And you can bet Smith is going to make a huge deal out of it. It’s going to be live-streamed in holographic vision in Dundas Square, right outside City Hall, and in every other prominent place in the city that she can manage. I wouldn’t put it past her to make the execution mandatory viewing in high schools. She wants as many Torontonians to view it live as possible. It’s gross. Feels like we’re back in the time of gladiators.”
“Moore’s not CCT,” I say.
“Jade’s right. He’s not one of us,” Vashti says. “But you’re absolutely correct that Smith’s treating him like some trophy animal she’s personally hunted down is barbaric, all the more so because Frederick believes Moore was an addict that Smith grabbed off the streets just months before the bombing. On top of the drugs they plied him with while keeping him in some camp, he was promised boatloads of money and drugs to place some packages in the subway that night. They burned his fingertips down to the fat to help conceal his identity, knowing he would be caught if he followed their instructions. All his memories prior to the bombing and arrest were wiped away, and he was implanted with a new story — a story that has him believing he’s a member of the CCT. An elite member in charge of high-level terrorism. Thus, he would fail any detector test in which he tried to claim otherwise.” She rolls her eyes. “Ironically, no one in the real CCT is allowed anything more mind-altering than a glass of cider with dinner, let alone hard drugs.”
Darkness Rising Page 5
