And I’m immediately glad I did, because Mick is not going to let us out of here alive if we don’t help him leave. And that’s because Mick is one of the most wanted persons in the UK. I mean, he’s wanted big time. He knows what happens in the camps because he was once a parliamentary minister. Nearly impossible to believe, listening to and looking at him now. His accent and his story are fictional, a way for him to connect with the band of marginalized kids he’s got down here with him — his own little army of troubled, angry South and East London youth.
Mick assassinated the minister of foreign affairs, who, along with the prime minister, was the mastermind of the new camps when the government started to hide these plans from the public. Mick had hoped it might stop the nightmarish camps from being created — it was a long shot. The high-profile assassination was pinned on a climate change refugee who’d come to the UK from Syria a few years previously, before the borders were closed. Still, Mick went underground, knowing that Her Majesty’s secret service would be gunning to make him the victim of a quiet “accident.” And he’s highly aware that if he ever emerges from his underground sanctuary, he’ll be apprehended immediately. He has no identification chip, but his identity is well-known, nonetheless.
I look over at Mr. Khan and Amara. Obviously, since there is no virtual reality machine, we need to think fast. Mick doesn’t actually believe our story, and he’s a lot smarter than we first thought. I’m not sure if he’s just playing a game with us now, or what. The thing is, I highly doubt he’ll give the three of us a moment alone to talk, so we won’t get the chance to make a plan.
Amara raises an eyebrow at me and nods. She’s read his thoughts as well. It’s clear that at least one of us has to get out of here alive, even if that means the other — along with Mr. Khan — is left behind to face the consequences.
Amara’s thoughts come to me. She wants me to make it out since Jasmine is still alive, even though part of her will never forgive me for taking the ring and, in her mind, causing Vivienne’s death. She knows that two twin Seers together are much stronger than one whose twin has passed and who is, therefore, missing half her soul.
I shake my head quickly at her. I’m not going to willingly save myself and sacrifice her. Ideally, we’ll find some way to get all three of us out of here. I feel my pocket for the ring. If something happens to me, Amara and Mr. Khan will need it. We can’t chance its falling into the wrong hands.
“All right,” Mick says, drawing each word out slowly. “I’ll get one of mine to go with each of you.” He stands up. “I’m only giving you twenty minutes, and then I want us all back here. If you haven’t located it by then, we’ll need to have a right chinwag.”
We follow Mick back out to the platform. He sticks two fingers between his lips (which makes me want to vomit due to the dirt that’s deeply embedded under his nails) and lets out three loud, fast whistles.
The guys and girls that were standing around Amara earlier assemble in front of us within two minutes. They emerge from various places in the station above us and farther down the tunnel.
“Simon, you go with the man,” Mick says, nodding toward a red-headed guy who is built like the front of a train. I stare at him. He’s got to be at least six four, his face is marked with freckles, and a long, thin scar runs the length of the left side of his face. The scar is raised and the tissue is light pink, making it look a lot like one of the worms that used to crawl out onto the sidewalks when there was rain. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that happen, though. Those memories are amongst my earliest, from long before the droughts.
“Jerome, you’re with the live wire here,” Mick says, nodding toward Amara. She’s humming softly again, and it takes a moment for Mick’s words to register. As soon as they do, Amara narrows her eyes at him, but says nothing.
“I guess he’s keeping us black folk together,” she says to Jerome as he walks over to her. She gets no reply. Mick seems to have his group tightly controlled.
Martha’s assigned to me. I should maybe be insulted. Mick seems to have gone by my small size and quiet nature. His mistake. For once, I’m glad that I’m short and skinny. I could take Martha down with my pinkie finger. We’re not supposed to use our Seer force on ordinary humans, but this is no ordinary situation. Amara could easily take on Jerome, but she’d have to be a lot more aggressive, which would increase the chance of seriously injuring him. And that’s something we’re strictly forbidden from doing on purpose.
“All of you, meet me back in my office within twenty minutes,” Mick says, scanning us. “And you’d best hope you have that machine with you.”
JASMINE
“What the hell?” I say, making sure to keep Atika’s weight steady on my shoulder. “How did you get away from the police?”
“That’s not for you to worry about right now, Jazz,” Raphael answers, his voice low. “You’re all in extreme danger. Between the legion of demons heading here right now and the lost souls that are trying to merge with this world by inhabiting corpses in various states of decay, the situation is critical. A state of emergency is bound to be called. There are two cars waiting around the corner on the high street. We need to leave here immediately.”
“But we don’t know where Fahima is,” Susie interjects, as Kiki and Dani follow Raphael down the stairs. “We can’t just leave. What if she’s still somewhere in the flat?”
Raphael pauses. He briefly glances back at Susie, his face grim. “She’s definitely not in the flat,” he says.
It doesn’t take long for us to find out how Raphael knows this. As soon as we step outside the front door of the building, we discover the reason for her disappearance.
Her crumpled body is lying almost directly under the living room window. In the shadowy dawn light, I can just make out the shape of her body, her long dark hair spilling out over the sidewalk like water, the strange ninety-degree angle of her obviously broken neck. I’m glad Atika can’t witness this. A halo of dark blood has spread out from Fahima’s head. Thankfully, she’s face down against the sidewalk.
Did she jump? Or did one of the demonic creatures toss her out like a rag doll?
I look away, tears filling my eyes. No one should have to die like this. And certainly no Seer.
I can’t help feeling like this is somehow my fault. Just like I feel the deaths of Vivienne and Penelope (the little girl in the climate change refugee camp) were also preventable. And I have no idea if Cassandra is even alive right now. It brings back the intense guilt I felt for all those years after Jade was abducted and believed to be dead.
“Bloody hell,” Kiki says softly, putting a hand over her mouth. Her dark eyes are wide with shock and sorrow.
“Jesus, poor Fahima,” Susie says, tears rolling down her cheeks. “We should’ve gotten to her sooner … as soon as the knocking started. We should’ve been more defensive — the way we’re trained to be.”
She’s right.
I also can’t help but think that if I’m the Chosen One, and I’m here now in London, why don’t they — that is, whoever is behind all of this, whoever is planning this Final Battle, this Darkness dude or whatever — why doesn’t he or it just show up? I mean, why leave such a heartbreaking trail of bodies before this confrontation actually happens?
“Where are you taking us?” I snap at Raphael, trying not to make eye contact with him. I don’t want to get those butterfly feelings. I’m the Chosen One, and it’s about time I begin to step up. And that means not wasting time worrying about some crush. Especially some weirdo angel crush. I mean, that isn’t even normal. “Are you planning on sticking around this time? Or are you just going to leave when we need you the most? Because as a guardian angel, you are a massive fail.”
“Brilliant,” Sara mutters over Atika’s body. “You’re a nutter on top of it all.”
I glare back at her.
“This is not the time, Jazz,” Raphael replies. “Your emotions are going to draw the demons here like moths to a
flame. But you know that already, don’t you?” He pauses. “Let me tell you, there’s a lot more to this than you could ever imagine. There are people close to you, closer than you could fathom, who have the power to destroy you. To destroy everything.”
“Thanks for vomiting your sunshine and positivity all around here,” I reply, not meeting his gaze.
“I really think we have more important things to do at the moment than listen to you two row,” Susie breaks in, her voice ripe with irritation. She looks at Raphael. “I don’t know you, but I’m going trust you, only because Vashti and Clarence sent you around with the cars. And I trust them with my life. Now let’s get out of here.” She takes one last, lingering look at Fahima’s crumpled body. “We’re sure she’s dead?”
Raphael nods. “I checked before going in.” He glances toward me. “It was too late for me to help her.”
“Oh, okay,” I answer, trying to keep my voice as emotionless as possible. I’m pretty embarrassed about Susie having to take charge, and I vow to keep my mouth shut a lot more around Raphael. The last thing I needed to do was ask him out loud why he didn’t heal Fahima. At least he’s saved me from looking completely crazy in front of our newfound Seer friends.
Soft fingers of pink light reach across the partially clouded sky. The temperature is already warm and humid. Very different than the damp, rainy climate we’ve experienced in the Place-in-Between.
Thought it’s getting lighter, shadows still linger inside the park across the street. We’re trying to walk as fast as we can. The light will make the demons less likely to attack us, but it will also make us a lot more vulnerable to being spotted by police and drone patrols as the city slowly comes to life. We’ll be sticking out like a sore thumb already with Atika’s unconscious body draped between Sara and me.
“There will likely be a few people out and about on the high street,” Raphael says, stopping near the doorway of an expensive-looking clothing store. “Wanting to get their errands done as soon as curfew breaks and before it gets too hot.”
Due to regulations, stores in Toronto carry mainly recycled clothes, but there’s still a pretty big divide between those that carry regular clothing and the ones with designer stuff. I assume it’s the same in London. If so, this store definitely looks like it’s got the designer goods market covered.
“I think Sara and Jazz — I mean, Jasmine — should stay here with Atika whilst we get to the cars. Then I can reroute us over here to pick you up. We just can’t go out there with Atika and expect not to be spotted.” Worry crosses his face. “In fact, because of all the cameras in this city, we’ve likely already set off a cascade of security alerts.”
“Not exactly a plan I love,” Sara says. “But I get where you’re coming from. Just hurry, though, yeah?”
Susie rushes over and gives her sister a huge kiss on one of her pimple-covered cheeks. “Stay safe. We’ll be back super fast,” she says as she turns to follow Raphael and the others around the corner.
An uncomfortable silence descends between Sara and me. Atika is beginning to feel like a gigantic sack of potatoes. My shoulder is aching from her weight.
“Can we put her down for a few seconds?” I ask Sara. “My arm and shoulder are killing me.”
“Fine by me,” Sara says. “Though I reckon they won’t be long.”
We gently place Atika onto the sidewalk. Sara straightens up and stares hard at the corner the others disappeared around. She looks worried.
Despite it being early in the morning, the air is already warm and humid enough that sweat breaks out on my forehead and trickles down my back. I squat down beside Atika and hold three fingers gently against the side of her throat. There is still a pulse, but it’s very weak and fluttery. I press my lips together and join Sara in watching the high street.
“Is she alive?” Sara asks. For the first time since meeting her, I hear some softness, a tenderness creeping into her voice.
“Barely,” I answer. Tears well up in my eyes. Maybe it’s better if Atika doesn’t wake up. That way she won’t feel the pain of losing Fahima. That way they can be together, and their soul won’t be fractured. I stand up and clear my throat. “I’m no doctor, but I don’t think she’s going to be with us much longer if we don’t get her to a hospital or someone who can help.”
“Balls,” Sara says, turning away from me. She’s silent for a few moments, but I can see her discreetly wiping the tears that’ve trickled from her eyes before facing me again. “So you know that bloke that’s showed up? If he’s from here, how do you know each other? You were taking the piss when he said he was an angel, yeah?” She tries to reach into my thoughts during this mini interrogation. Doing this, Seer-to-Seer, without permission is a bit like going through someone’s things when you’ve been invited to stay at their house overnight. Not cool.
“Don’t do that,” I warn. “It’s a long story. If I promise to tell you when the time is right, will you leave it alone for now? I mean, we have much bigger things to worry about.”
“Like how no one’s come back to get us?” Sara asks.
JADE
Martha and I walk into the tunnel, away from the others. We’re using the flashlight of her video watch on full, which helps illuminate our way.
“How do you recharge your watch?” I ask. “I mean, how do you do it, if you’re in here, underground all the time?” Video watches are solar-powered.
Martha glances sideways at me. Her skin is so pale it’s almost translucent. For some reason, she reminds me of a fish. Maybe it’s the googly, perpetually surprised look in her bulgy eyes. She raises an eyebrow at me as she brushes a dusty-looking dread away from her cheek.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she says, her blue eyes narrowing. “How do I know you’re not here to spy on us?”
“Come on,” I say. “Do you really think a big British spy agency is going to have a short, skinny little thing like me working for them? Do I look even remotely dangerous?” I flash her a self-deprecating smile. Of course, I could snap Martha’s neck like a dried wishbone faster than she can blink, but she doesn’t need to know that. At least not yet.
She continues to watch me. I reach into her thoughts. I’ve convinced her that I’m not a spy of any sort, but am a bit surprised by the negative energy that comes at me next.
How can she not be chipped? Her family have likely been on the dole forever. Bloody Pikey. Shite fake accent as well.
It’s hard, but I keep my face as neutral as possible and wait for Martha to answer my question.
“We’re not down here all the time,” she says. “We have shifts.”
She pauses, afraid that she’s revealed too much. She’s deathly afraid of Mick.
“Shifts?” I ask, trying to sound as genuine as possible.
Martha raises an eyebrow at me. “We go above ground, usually at night, in shifts. Mick’s done a schedule for all of us. There’s this abandoned hotel above us. As long as we’re careful and don’t get caught up in the police sweeps for squatters or in any security alerts, we can recharge batteries, gather food and water supplies and anything else we need. We might stay up half a day, give or take. And as long as we’re careful and only interact with trusted allies, it’s okay by Mick. He knows loads of people. People with connections that can get us stuff.”
We’re deep into the tunnel now. Darkness closes in around us like a fist. My stomach is doing its nauseating dance again. Good to know about the hotel.
“I don’t know if we’ll find the machine here,” I say. It’s actually getting a bit damp this far into the tunnel, which reminds me of the Place-in-Between. Anxiety grips my chest and a sudden, powerful wave of dizziness hits me so hard, I almost have to sit down.
Martha turns to me. “You all right?” she asks.
For a second I fall for the fake concern in her voice and drop my guard. It’s only for a moment, but that’s long enough for Martha to wrap her arm around my neck with the ferocity of a boa constrictor. With her
free hand, she slips the cold blade of a knife under my chin.
“One move and I’ll slice you like an apple,” she hisses, her breath hard against my ear.
“What the hell?” I ask. “Why are you doing this?”
But I really don’t need to ask, because her thoughts rush at me. She wants out of here. She hates Mick and the others, and she really believes in this machine and my ability to find it. And when I do, she wants to be the one — the only one — who uses it to get her skinny ass to Toronto. Both her extreme hatred and her unstable mindset are crystal clear to me. Her thoughts pulsate with a manic, dark energy. They feel like bony spiders scrabbling around the inside of my skull. Martha is one sick puppy.
So now I have a couple of choices to make. I can try to get the knife away from her without getting my jugular severed in the process (seems unlikely), I can go along with her plan until she either realizes the story about the machine is completely fictional or gets so impatient that she tries to kill me and I have to take her out for self-defence, or I can kill her right now with one or two strong donkey kicks to her pelvic area and abdomen.
As Seers, we’re never supposed to kill other human beings, not even in self-defence, unless there’s absolutely no way to immobilize them. If I’m fast enough, I might be able to snap Martha’s wrist in two before she can slit my throat. If —
Martha’s arm suddenly loosens from around my neck, and the knife drops from her hand, grazing the sensitive skin of my neck as it falls. Her body drops onto the concrete behind me with a thud.
I twist around, fists up in front of my face, ready to defend myself.
“It’s okay, Jade. It’s me.”
My hands slowly slip to my sides. It’s hard to believe it’s really him, but that flaming shock of red hair, the bridge of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and that all-knowing, hypnotic gaze could belong to only one person: Seth.
I open my mouth to speak, then immediately close it again.
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