“Sara, stop being bloody obnoxious,” a voice calls from just above us. A face that looks very similar to that of the girl we’re with leans over the bannister and smiles at us. “Ignore my sister. She’s being a right cow. As usual.”
Lily and I look at each other.
“Shut yer piehole, Susie,” shouts the girl with us who I now assume is Sara. “I’m Sara,” she says to us. “I’m a Millwall supporter like my daddy, and I’m just taking the piss.” She sees the confusion — and in my case, the anger — on our faces and smiles. “Just trying to make sure what’s what with you lot.”
I guess this is supposed to be her very screwed-up, whitewashed version of an apology. She may look like she’s our age, but she speaks like she’s about eight. Being greeted by a sociopathic Seer was not a great way to instill trust in Vashti and Clarence having our best interests at heart.
Susie comes down to meet us. Though they are twins, there are significant differences between them. For one, Susie smiles a lot more than her sister. And her skin is clearer. She just looks altogether healthier — both mentally and physically — than her sister.
“Vashti and Clarence told us you were coming. We’ve been here for two nights, so I expect we’ll be moved on tomorrow. The flat is just up there,” she says, pointing in the direction she came from. She looks at us. “You look hungry and you need poles … in case of demons and stuff because you never know. Come with me.”
We follow Susie and Sara up to the next landing. Susie opens a red door with a silver 4 on it. A long wooden-floored hall stretches out in front of us with a ceiling higher than that of any apartment I’ve ever seen in Toronto.
“Sara, can you get —” Susie pauses and looks at us.
“I’m Jasmine and this is Lily,” I say.
“— get Jasmine and Lily some food. I think there are crisps left. See if there’s anything to make sandwiches with, too.”
My stomach rumbles like the thunder before a massive storm at the thought of sandwiches. Not sure what crisps are, but as long as they’re edible, I’m game.
Sara mumbles something incoherent and disappears into the first door we pass on the right. I assume that’s the kitchen.
“Apologies for my sister. She’s okay once you get to know her. Well, most of the time. She’s just a lot like my dad. And he’s a wanker,” Susie says. “I’m more like my mum.”
We reach another doorway that opens onto a living area, where three other girls are sitting around, playing cards. They look up in unison when we enter.
A pretty, almost elfin girl gives us a friendly wave. She’s really slim with long, incredibly straight, and shiny black hair that flows down her back. Her nose is pierced through the septum. I’ve always wanted a piercing like that. However, I value living more than having a nose ring, and knowing that Mom would kill me if I ever showed up with a hoop hanging from the middle of my nose, I’ve never gotten it done. This girl’s twin, who is equally pretty, gives us a welcoming smile from the other side of the coffee table.
“All right?” she asks.
I pause. Do we look that bad? It’s a definite possibility, considering how long it’s been since we’ve showered or slept.
“I’m okay,” I answer, a bit more defensively than intended.
“Me, too,” Lily says.
The girl stares at us, confusion filling her eyes. “Oh, you’re American!” she says after a moment. “‘All right’ is just a greeting. We don’t actually expect an answer.”
“Oh,” I say as the other girls laugh. My face burns with embarrassment.
“We’re Canadian, actually,” Lily says, “not American. But it’s hard to hear the difference, I guess.”
“Nah, it’s not hard,” one of the other girls says. She reminds me a bit of Vivienne with her halo of dark curls and wide, bright smile. “Americans are an obnoxious bunch. Big mouths and even bigger egos.” She pats the cushion beside her enthusiastically. “Come join us.”
Everyone sits on overstuffed cushions on the floor around the coffee table. Some of the cushions have been taken from the clearly well-loved brown corduroy sofa that fills at least a third of the room. The girls place their cards down on the table, pausing their game for us.
The girl that reminds me of Vivienne pats an empty sofa cushion beside her again. “We don’t bite … at least not much,” she says with a laugh. “I’m Kiki. My sister, Dani, is sleeping. Cramps.” She scrunches up her face into a mask of mock pain. “That time of the month. And this is Fahima and her sister Atika.”
I take a seat, cross-legged, on the cushion. Every muscle in my body is sore, and I need sleep. It takes all my concentration stay upright and to follow the conversation around me.
“So,” says Fahima, the twin with the pierced nose, “you’re both Seers? How did you get here with the borders closed? Especially since you two are —” she pauses and clears her throat uncomfortably “— you know … wanted for those poisonings.”
“But we didn’t do that,” Lily says quickly. “Just so you know. We’re being framed by Sandra Smith, the mayor.”
“Don’t worry, Vashti told us,” Kiki says. “But how did you get to us, to London, in the first place? All the borders into the UK are sealed tight.”
I glance over at Lily. They’re all Seers, so we should be able to trust them. I mean, they’re in the same situation as us … kind of.
“We transitioned here from the Place-in-Between. We were trying to get back to Toronto,” I say, just as Sara kicks open the door and enters the room, balancing a tray unsteadily on her thick arms.
All eyes are on me. Atika’s mouth has dropped half-open in surprise.
“The Place-in-Between?” Kiki parrots. Her disbelief is apparent. “You mean London Below?”
I shrug. “It’s definitely London, and I guess it’s below us. I mean, I don’t know for sure. We often transition there from places that are below ground level, like subways and stuff, so maybe.” I stop speaking because I’m confusing even myself. My exhaustion is overwhelming.
Sara plunks the tray down in the middle of the table. Water spills over the rims of the two glasses in the middle onto the plate of sandwiches and into the bowl of potato chips also on the tray.
“Bollocks!” she says, red splotches blooming across her cheeks. “Demons and lost souls dwell in that place. Seers can’t possibly go to London Below. You’re liars.”
Just looking at the sandwiches, soggy with water or not, is making me salivate. I don’t dare make a grab for them, though, because Sara is practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog now.
“I’ve been there twice,” I say as calmly as possible. Really, this girl is practically begging for a punch in the face, but I realize we’re the new kids on the block and we need to appear sane. Even if Sara isn’t.
“We do get more and more sick the longer we’re down there. I still feel kind of unwell, in fact,” Lily says. She glances sideways at Sara as she finishes speaking. “It definitely feels like it’s below here. Don’t ask me how. Just a feeling. And it’s Victorian times — Jack the Ripper and stuff.”
Susie raises an eyebrow at us. “We’ve learned about London Below, or the Place-in-Between, as you call it, during training,” she says.
“Yeah,” Kiki chimes in. “But we’ve always been told that it’s a death realm. A place where only souls that are trapped between here and the final place exist. Oh, and where demons that have moved from the Darkness dwell. The migrating kind. Same ones that make it here when they’re able to.”
The Darkness.
Just the word sends shivers through the core of my being. Though I know Kiki is talking about a place and not that thing that’s supposedly going to reveal itself in the Final Battle, I still feel as though every last drop of blood in my body has suddenly turned ice cold.
“But Jasmine’s twin was taken there for five years,” Lily says. “She’s still alive, and I’ve been there before, like I said, so I guess it’s not just demons a
nd lost souls down there all the time.”
I flash her a warning look. We don’t need to share this information about Jade. Especially not with Sara in the room. I’d trust a cockroach before trusting that girl.
Lily presses her lips together; a pink hue spreads across her cheeks. Sorry, she mouths silently at me, looking mortified.
Sara snorts. “Then where’s your sister at right now? Why aren’t we meeting her rather than you, if she’s so bleeding special? Or is she still on holiday in your Place-in-Between?”
“She’s in Toronto,” I reply, my voice clipped. I’m not willing to tell them any more than I have to. It’s none of their business, and I’m not 100 percent sure where my sister is. Grabbing a sandwich, I stuff a huge bite of bread and salty brown spread into my mouth so that I can’t answer any further questions — for now, anyway.
JADE
A wide smile spreads across Amara’s face as soon as her father’s face appears on the jumbo-sized monitor hanging above the gas fireplace.
“Hello, my bokkie,” Mr. Jakande says, his white teeth gleaming out at us. “Hello, Jamil. And you must be Jade.” He nods warmly in my direction.
“Daddy, we’re at the safe house,” Amara says, sweeping an arm around excitedly in a half-circle as though she’s at an amusement park or some equally leisurely place. I notice Mr. Khan’s concerned frown return to his face.
Mr. Jakande nods, his dark eyes mirroring Mr. Khan’s worry. “We must be quick, because this call will be investigated. I am so glad to see you, my angel. Where is your sister? And why have you sought refuge there?”
“Vivienne is with the others,” Amara says brightly. “We got split up in the Place-in-Between. We’re going to transition soon to join them.”
Mr. Jakande doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he glances at Mr. Khan, who firmly shakes his head.
Confusion clouds Mr. Jakande’s eyes, but he doesn’t miss a beat with Amara. “I love you, my beautiful, brilliant girl. And your mother loves you more than anything as well. Whatever happens from this time forward, you need to remember that you are eternally loved, and therefore, be brave and carry on. Be like Madiba in the face of challenges and hate.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Amara says, nodding enthusiastically.
“We need to go, Craig,” Mr. Khan says, cutting into the conversation. “If you’re being monitored, which I agree you must be, the authorities will be kicking down the door here shortly. You’re putting yourself in grave danger, as well. I’ll take care of Amara as best I can, I promise you that.”
Mr. Jakande nods. His eyes are full of sorrow. It’s clear he’s realized that something very serious has happened to Vivienne. “Thank you, Jamil,” he says solemnly. “No matter what happens to me, please know that I am eternally grateful.”
“I love you, Dad,” Amara says. Her voice sounds more normal now, less like that of a lost little girl.
There’s a loud bang from behind Mr. Jakande, and his image flickers for a moment like the rippling of a pond’s surface after a rock has skipped across it. He looks away from the camera at something or someone just out of view that we can’t see. His face then disappears into blackness as the communication suddenly ends. This seems to be Mr. Khan’s cue to act.
“The video watch,” he says, nodding to Amara. “We have to dispose of it now. As soon as I’m back inside, we need to try to transition.” Taking the video watch from her, he walks to the sliding glass doors that face the ravine. He slides open the translucent door, then turns back to us. “If anything happens, if anyone shows up here before I’m back, transition. Don’t hesitate. And don’t wait for me.”
I open my mouth to protest but then close it again; he’s already out the door and heading down the brush-entangled side of the ravine to dispose of the watch.
“Okay,” I say to Amara. “Let’s prepare. Can you put some images from present-day London on the monitor? That might help us.” I don’t say anything about how the call to her father just ended. Maybe I don’t want to think about what the loud noise was, either.
She nods. “Images of the city of London in 2032, please. Three-dimensional.”
I grab her hand. “Don’t start to visualize until Mr. Khan is back,” I say.
Images float out of the monitor and begin to move around the room. It’s a pretty cool app, and one I haven’t seen before. But that’s not totally unusual. I missed a lot in the five years I was away. Each individual image does a slow, circular dance around us before evaporating. A voice — that of the computer, I assume — starts to speak:
“Tower of London; Millennium Bridge; Royal Observatory, Greenwich; Jeremy Corbyn Park …”
I stare at the park with its trees and patches of green grass. Though England, like all countries, suffers droughts, it still gets more rainfall than most of the world. The grass in Toronto is yellow and brown so much of the time that I’d almost forgotten its ideal colour is an emerald green.
“I’m getting weird sensations,” Amara whispers.
I’m getting that tingling, odd feeling as well. We’re starting to transition. The best way to describe it is sort of the way it feels when you’re just about to fall asleep. Your body feels heavy and relaxed, but you’re still pretty aware of your surroundings.
“Did you already start visualizing?” I ask.
“No,” Amara says. “At least, I don’t think so. The pull seems more powerful this time, though.”
“The Tate Modern; Dalston’s Cloud Railway; Borough Market …”
I look out the windows of the carriage house. The sun is going down, and twilight is descending on the ravine. There’s no sign of Mr. Khan, though I doubt he went far. Lights flicker on in the room around us, and now all I see is my own reflection. At least we don’t need to worry about demons.
“It’s happening,” Amara says. Fear dominates her voice. I’m not sure if this is better or worse than the happy-go-lucky, kind-of-crazy Amara who’s been around most of today.
“We can’t go yet,” I say, focusing on the windows and trying to maintain our physical link here, hoping to slow down the process of transitioning. “We need to wait for Mr. Khan.”
“I can’t stop,” Amara says, her voice rising. Her panic is palpable. “It’s pulling me. And it’s so much stronger than before.”
She’s right. I feel like I’m not fully in the Jakandes’ safe house any longer. A floating sensation overtakes me — it’s like I’m swimming in a pool of salt water.
Someone grabs my hand and places it in their own.
“The London Eye; the Globe Theatre; Camden Market …”
The sound of breaking glass fills my ears. Then shouting.
I’m falling …
JASMINE
The promise of sleep never felt so good. There are three bedrooms in the flat, each with two single beds — the smallest has a set of bunk beds.
Kiki and Susie lead me and Lily to one of the bedrooms with two separate beds. They give us each a bag of essentials: pads, a toothbrush and toothpaste, hemp oil for washing and moisturizing our faces, and a small bar of soap.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Susie says. “And sorry again about my sister. She hasn’t been right since our dad left. It shattered her. He was her hero.”
“That’s sad,” Lily says, sitting down at the edge of the bed. I hope I don’t look as exhausted as her, because she looks terrible. “Where did he go?”
“Was in prison. Assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm,” Susie says. She watches Lily’s eyes widen with surprise. “Bound to happen,” she says with a shrug. “Mum was always having to go and pull him out of the pub at the bottom of our estate to keep him from fighting. One time she was too sick to go, and he didn’t come home. The police were his escort that night … straight to the clink.”
“Is he still there?” Lily asks.
Susie shakes her head. “We were only nine when he went in. Mum took us every month to see him. When he was paroled, he came home for abo
ut two nights, then disappeared. Meant loads of hassle for Mum for about half a year. I think the police suspected she’d helped him do a runner, and they hovered around her like flies on honey. But she didn’t have anything to do with it. Cried at least once a day for nearly a year straight, she did. Then he was dead to her. Sara blames Mum for him leaving. But the truth of it is he was just a right twat who drank too much and didn’t give a toss about his family.”
“That’s rough,” I say, feeling like I need to respond in some way, though I still have absolutely zero empathy for Sara. No matter what, I won’t be developing warm fuzzies toward that girl. I mean, we’ve all had it tough and lost people. My dad died when I was really young, and then my sister was abducted by a demon, and my mom was deathly ill with lupus for years until Raphael cured her. Just thinking about him makes my chest hurt. And, yes, it’s the left side of the chest kind of hurt.
All of us sit in an awkward silence for a few moments.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Lily says, grabbing her toiletries. “Where’s the washroom again?”
Kiki smiles. “The toilet’s down the hall. Second door to your left.”
I take off my shoes and jeans. I’m not bothering with my teeth and face tonight. Just pulling back the comforter on the bed exhausts me to the point of collapse.
“Thanks for welcoming us and everything,” I say to Susie and Kiki as I lay my head on the pillow. My eyelids feel like they’re lined with lead. It takes all my effort just to keep them open.
“We’re all Seers. You’re one of us. Of course you’re welcome. After all, we’re all in danger right now. If we don’t have each other’s backs, we’re toast,” Kiki says.
I nod. I’m slowly slipping into sleep, images from my subconscious mind mingling with those in my conscious mind.
Darkness Rising Page 9
