Ruins (20 page)

“Legal guardian, huh?” Nicholas said.

“It’s the truth,” Sam replied. “Your parents signed you over to me in their will.”

“And you didn’t think that was something I should know about?”

“You were under the care of the
Vaktarin
within days, what difference did it make?”

It made all the difference,
Nicholas thought. He had a choice. Legally, he was Sam’s responsibility. He needn’t be cooped up in that big fusty house.

“How did you know I’d be here?” he asked.

“Process of elimination. Lad, what happened?”

Nicholas wiggled his plastered fingers at the old man. “Laurent. He was in the Abbey Gardens. Then these
things
came and...” He stopped. Something was niggling at him, but he couldn’t think clearly through the throbbing in his arm.

All the colour drained from Sam’s face. “Laurent,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“It’s my job to protect you.”

“I think that’s more of a two-man job,” Nicholas said. “Anyway, I’m here aren’t I? Even if Laurent did want me out of the way.” He shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. At some point, he had been put into a gown, though he couldn’t remember when, and it was tangled up around his legs. He felt trapped.

“Esus told me that the Trinity chose me,” he continued softly, almost thinking out loud. “Apparently I’m the only one who can bring them back. Laurent knew that.” He checked Sam, seeing that the old man’s face had sagged, though he wasn’t sure why. Concern? Horror? Nicholas continued anyway. “Laurent said that the Dark Prophets had chosen him. I think... he wants to raise the Dark Prophets.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither knowing what to say.

“That is something we’ll have to find out for ourselves,” Sam breathed finally. “You get your rest now, and when you get back to Aileen’s, she’ll have cooked up something extra tasty, I’m sure.”

Nicholas smiled, but his smile slackened as that niggling feeling returned. With a sickening lurch he realised what was bothering him.

“Isabel!” he cried. “Where’s Isabel?”

*

Soft footfalls rustled nearby. A shriek stabbed, wrapped in unfamiliar giggles.

The darkness receded momentarily, just long enough for her to see hands reaching through the undergrowth. She was too weak to resist and Isabel surrendered as she was bundled into rough fabric that reeked of damp.

What must have been some time later, it was darker. The stink of damp remained and she was still wrapped up snugly. Everything ached when she tried to move.

A bowl rested nearby. The smell of warm milk turned her stomach.

In the gloom, a shape moved. Isabel tensed.

There was a ripple of movement followed by quiet footfalls.

A hand scratched behind her ear and Isabel slipped into darkness again.

*

It was dark in Retro Threads. It was always dark. With the windows boarded up, the summer sun couldn’t find its way inside and Rae was grateful for the coolness as she clambered through the latch window.

In the shop corner, Twig lay on a mound of blankets. Despite the heat, he had one pulled up to his chin. Even in the gloom, his black eye stood out and his lip was cut from the fight with the teen from the marketplace. Damon. Rae had always thought Twig possessed a wiry resilience, but now he looked tiny and vulnerable.

“Here,” she said, handing him a half-drunk bottle of Coke. It was crazy what people threw away. Twig took it and gulped it down. She sat beside him, leaning her back against the wall. Her plan to leave town had been delayed a whole night thanks to the fight. She didn’t know what to do. Leaving Twig now would be heartless, a quality she had always prided herself on. So why couldn’t she just go?

“Don’t leave me.”

She rested her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Twig said. She peered sidelong at him. He didn’t look feral anymore. He looked like a scared little boy. “You’ve wanted to for ages. I can tell.”

Rae didn’t know what to say.

“Tell me a story,” Twig said.

“I’m rubbish at telling stories.”

“Tell me about Kay.”

Rae reacted as if she’d been punched. “How you know that name?” she snapped.

“Heard you when you were asleep. Who is she?”

Rule number two.
Don’t talk about your past
.

“Nobody.” She closed her eyes and Kay’s face was waiting for her. Eyes bulging in fear. Rae jumped to her feet and went to the counter. She sorted through the scraps of food, though for once she wasn’t hungry.

“Was she your friend?”

Rae slammed her hand against the counter. A familiar, anxious energy throbbed in her chest. She tried to force it down. Crush it into nothing. But it hurt. It didn’t want to be suppressed.

“She’s dead.”

“How did she die?”

I killed her
.

“Accident,” Rae said. “I’m not talking about it.”

The air had been sucked out of the shop. Her insides tingled. Heat sizzled through her; spiny, angry, insistent. She couldn’t control it. She had to.

Her head snapped toward the latch window. Somebody had lifted it up from the outside and a face appeared.

“What you doing in here?” a voice asked. Somebody sniggered, then a shape clambered awkwardly through the window and dropped to the floor. Two more gangly shapes followed.

“Rae?” Twig asked.

“Rae, is it?” asked one of the shapes. She’d recognise him anywhere. Damon, the pock-faced teenager from the market. Except he wasn’t blushing and puffing his chest out anymore. He jeered at her. “Nice place you’ve got here. Cosy.”

They must have followed her. Rae inwardly kicked herself. She was getting sloppy. There was too much going on and now they’d found her home.

Home
. It was all she’d ever wanted. Somewhere safe. Every new place had the potential, but none of them were ever home. She had to keep moving.

“Get out of here,” she said.

“Careful guys,” Damon said to his friends. “She can do stuff. Why don’t you show us what you can do?”

“What kind of stuff?” his friend asked. He was stocky with greasy black hair.

“Show ’em,” Damon ordered. “Or maybe you really are just a thieving rat.”

Rae was about to throw herself at him, but Twig beat her to it. Warbling, he pounced from the pile of blankets in the corner and hurled himself at Damon. The teenager was taken aback, but he recovered quickly. As Twig clawed at him, Damon seized him around the neck and held him in a choke hold.

“You could work on your hosting skills,” the teenager growled. Twig wriggled in his grip but it was no use.

“Leave him alone,” Rae shouted. Anger roiled inside her like a living thing. The mannequins trembled beneath their plastic sheets.

No
, she thought. Kay’s face came to her and Rae felt her grip loosening on the thing festering inside.
Don’t
, she told herself.
Don’t do it
.

“She’s nuts,” Damon’s friend said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not until she shows us,” Damon said coolly. He shook Twig and the boy yelped.

“Stop it!” Rae cried. Her hands were in her hair. The pounding in her skull was unbearable.

Breathe. Breathe.

But she couldn’t breathe. All she could feel was the fury.

“She’s a freak,” Damon continued. “A filthy freak.”

“She’s not!” Twig cried, squirming in the teenager’s arms.

The light in the shop was dimming.

Breathe. Breathe.

She couldn’t let go. If she let go, it would all be over. She couldn’t let what happened to Kay happen again.

Kay. That look on her face.

It was burned into Rae’s memory. That look of surprise. Then everything had gone black and she’d heard screaming. Rae had come to in the street. She’d passed out. And there was Kay. Broken by a bench. The impossible angle of her neck...

“No!” Rae sobbed.

Pain squeezed her heart. Anxious, pumping. She hated everything and everybody. But most of all she hated herself. If she just let go...

Twig roared and sank his teeth into Damon’s arm. Howling, the teenager tossed him to the floor.

“Get him,” Damon ordered. His friends grabbed Twig and hoisted him off the ground.

“No!” Rae yelled. She groped at one of the boys, but Damon forced her back. She tried to get past him and he threw a punch. Rae reeled back, her cheek stinging.

“Stay back, freak,” Damon warned.

The air simmered. Queasy energy pulsed through her.

“Hold him,” Damon ordered his friends. He raised a fist, ready to lay into Twig.

“NO!” Rae shouted.

The last thing she saw before the shop exploded was Damon’s face contorting in surprise.

*

Fuzzy darkness retreated. Where was she? What had happened?

“Rae,” a voice said.

Rae blinked through the daze, sat up. She was covered in dust. No, not dust. Ash. It rained down on her, fluttering and feather-like. The air smelled burnt. She was sitting in a crater of cinders. Burnt wood and smashed things.

For a moment, she was five years old again. Had awoken in her burning bedroom with her foster parents screaming on the other side of the door. Then she remembered.

The shop.

She gazed around, shock and disbelief coursing through her.

The shop was blackened and burnt. It had collapsed in on itself. And there, half-buried in the debris, was Twig. He wasn’t moving. He looked...

“No!” she cried.

“Rae.”

She turned at the sound of her name. A man stood amongst the rubble. Pale, blond, worried.

The museum man.

“Rae, it’s time you came with me.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Girl

N
ICHOLAS WAS RELIEVED TO BE BACK
at Aileen’s. After a restless night’s sleep filled with thrashing gargoyles, Sam had fetched him from the hospital and driven him back to the safehouse. The landlady crushed him to her bosom and made a great fuss before she let him trudge wearily up to his room.

Isabel’s absence was a yawning hole. He was surprised at how much he missed her and blamed his vulnerable state. He needed to get back out there and find out if she was okay. He had to know that she wasn’t dead.

He remembered her limp body tumbling through the tree and shuddered.

Laurent was planning something. The attack in the Abbey Gardens had been an act of war. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he had found Nicholas in the park. Nicholas was quickly coming to the conclusion that coincidences didn’t exist. He was lucky to be alive.

A wave of tiredness made him dizzy and he shuffled toward the bed, catching his reflection in the mirror as he went. His face was a patchwork of scratches and an ugly bruise coloured his jaw. He drew his T-shirt up to expose his belly. More bruising. A watercolour blend of blue and green. No wonder he ached.

He got onto the bed and propped himself up, unable to find a comfortable position with his arm in the sling. After a while, he finally drifted off. He slept dreamlessly. But then...

The woman in red was dancing. She stared at him as she swept the crimson folds of her dress in silky ripples, swaying to some unheard music.

Nicholas couldn’t move. Thorny restraints snared his limbs, and though he battled against them, they refused to yield.

The woman sashayed closer and he could smell her. The fresh tang of blood. And something else that he couldn’t place. A scent so familiar it made his arm hairs bristle. The woman stretched out long fingers and stroked his cheek. Sharp pain cramped his stomach, but he couldn’t resist her. Blood trickled over her face and her hot breath caressed his lips...

Nicholas awoke with a gasp. He was slick with sweat and he had a crick in his neck. And he wasn’t alone. Startled, he sat up, quickly regretting the sudden movement. He’d forgotten about the broken arm and the bruises. He cursed under his breath and the girl sitting in the chair in the corner fidgeted nervously.

“Uh, Aileen wanted me to bring you these,” Dawn mumbled. She spoke so quietly he could barely hear her. She couldn’t hold his eye for long, either. The purple mascara twitched agitatedly and she looked down at the tub in her hands, which she placed on the bed beside him.

“Brownies,” Nicholas said appreciatively, peaking under the lid. “Nice.”