39. AURORA #2
London launches forward with some kind of somersault that turns into a kick at the last moment. “By the power of Grayskull,” he screams as his foot hits. Instead of a metallic clang, the wall collapses with a hollow, dusty thud, almost as though it were now sandstone.
Instantly, more sirens start, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. The alarms scream from the towers.
A beat later, the dust settles to reveal a rough, three-foot hole. A portal inviting us to the dark, wet forest—and freedom.
Looking around, I see Francois unconscious on the ground.
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“Go!” Tally croaks. He grabs the Frenchman by the collar, dragging him through the three-foot hole. London scoops up Imran, and we scramble through after them, hitting the dark, wet treeline.
Instantly, my chest fills with chaos, beautiful chaos. Like starlight strands twisting and turning inside me.
No time to consider what’s going on.
We drag Francois and Imran deep into the brush, the sirens fading into a dull roar behind us. Tally is panting, leaning against a birch tree, his face gray. “We have to… keep… moving,” he wheezes, then collapses to his knees.
Beside him, lying among the leaves and needles, Imran stirs.
The boy tilts his head back against the damp earth, looking up through the parting clouds at the vast, midnight sky. His sunken, hollow eyes seem to catch, hold, reflect the silver moonlight.
A strange, soft glow begins to leak from beneath his skin, warm and ethereal. It chases away the gray, translucent pallor of the leukemia, smoothing the deep lines of pain from his young face.
For the first time since I met him, Imran looks entirely at peace.
“Imran?” I whisper, dropping beside him. “Immy?”
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t look away from the stars. But his bruised fingers reach out to Tally’s shaking hand.
A faint, beautiful smile touches his lips. “It’s OK,” he whispers.
“Imran, no.”
Time seems to stretch, slowing down to a crawl.
The reality of our escape fades into the background, leaving nothing but the quiet rustle of the leaves. As Imran’s eyes close, his body begins to ripple, and a low clicking and ticking sounds beneath his skin.
The air around him blurs, and as I blink away the rain and the tears he seems to collapse inward, shrinking down and down until he’s almost nothing.
Almost gone.
But not quite.
White feathers, there’s a bundle of white feathers, they twist and turn until a small, snow-white owl emerges. The bird circles its head until the huge eyes land on Taliesin.
It lets out a cry that echoes through the trees like a silver bell—then snaps its wings open, taking flight.
Tally, London and I crane our necks to watch it circle our group, twenty feet up in the air, before it catches a gust of wind and soars up and up. We watch the owl as it disappears into the moonlit sky.
Tears flow freely down my face, hot and stinging against the freezing rain.
He made it. He’s free.
The atmosphere in the clearing shifts to a deathly cold.
Imran’s magic vanishes, replaced instantly by an acrid, suffocating stench that smells like sour milk and battery acid.
The hair on my arms stands on end.
London springs to his feet, whirling around. Tally moves slower, cautiously taking the shiv from his pocket.
Four creatures detach themselves from the thick darkness of the woods.
I don’t know what they are, but their eyes flicker with a red light that screams danger.
“Guys,” I whisper, groping out a hand in each direction.
Wump-ppp.
One of the creatures lets out a low, curdling growl, then lunges.
“Rory, run!” Tally roars, diving toward Francois’s limp body, and dragging it toward him.
“No! Tally!” I scream, reaching for him.
“Take her, London. Keep her safe!”
London’s arms wrap around my waist. “Sorry, Kitten, but the dance floor is getting crowded. Let’s go for a ride.”
He grabs me and bolts.
“No, put me down, we have to go back.”
Francois’s toxin is still thick in my blood, and the freezing wind is turning my body numb.
But the moment Taliesin and Francois are no longer in sight, the trees swallow them whole, I feel a searing pain behind my ribs.
Those starlight strands have solidified into three golden threads, which erupt from my erratically beating heart.
They tear out of me, desperately trying to reach something. Someone.
Three souls to whom I’m tethered.
The sensation is like nothing on earth.
And it’s too much for this human.
I’m screaming into the wind as we fly through the dark, and all I can feel is the silence where they used to be.
Tally. Francois.
I can’t feel them anymore.
THE END OF BOOK ONE
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VALIDUS VALE ACADEMY: BOOK ONE
CHAPTER ONE
United Kingdom
THEO
“Theo, it’s September 9th; I don’t want you to think I’m pushing, but can we discuss your move out?”
My aunt stands, hands on hips, frowning at the mess in my bedroom.
I paste on a smile and give her a reply in the perkiest of tones. “Yep, how about after work, Nancy? But don’t worry, plans are in the works.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Plans are not in the works.
Not even the rough sketch of a plan.
October 1st has been circled in red, on Aunt Nancy’s Celtic Quilts kitchen calendar since January. I’ve had nine whole months to find somewhere to live that isn’t Aunt Nancy’s spare bedroom.
“OK, great. Let me know if you need any help with packing, sweetheart,”she calls over her shoulder, her voice lifting slightly as she heads down the stairs.
“Will do,” I mutter, gritting my teeth against the sound of her retreating footsteps.
I can’t blame Aunt Nancy for wanting me out. It’s been a decade since I was dropped, literally, on her lap. Who wants to be lumbered with someone else's kid?
Not Nancy. I know that for a fact.
I have fuzzy memories of being at the hospital, and a social worker taking me by the hand, away from my dead parents, and depositing me in the waiting room with a tired-looking woman I’d never met before—my aunt.
“Give her a cuddle,” the social worker barked, and Nancy reluctantly pulled me onto her knee. “Looks like you’re coming home with me, Theo,” she sighed.
—Just great—Goodbye retirement—
My time with Nancy has been fine. I’ve no real complaints, but the years haven't exactly been filled with love and hugs. I like to think the timing was to blame, rather than failures on either mine or Nancy's part.
Nancy’s own kids—my older cousins—had just flown the coop, so she’d sold the family home and moved to this smaller, “easier-to-manage” house just before the accident.
As a weird kid whose whole world had imploded, I was not easy to manage.
Now it’s time to find a new place to call home. If I don’t, I’ll be living up to the Failed-Theo name once again. Aunt Nancy won’t be surprised—and truthfully, I don’t think she’ll kick me out onto the street, come October—but I’d love to get my shit together and actually surprise her for once.
“Theodora!” Her voice booms from the ground floor, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Yikes, I need to get moving. I’m already running late, and my boss, Oliver, is on his last nerve with me.
I shove the fat squares of quilting materials aside and finally unearth some clean underwear.
Hallelujah. My shoebox of a room is overflowing; half my crap, half Nancy’s fabric stash.
Her quilting obsession takes up a significant chunk of my already minuscule space, which makes me feel a smidge less guilty about ‘ruining her retirement.’
Now dressed in a pair of purple jean shorts and an orange bralet (three for ten at Tesco), I flip over a heap of plaid quarters until I find a clean SubArmy tee. “All veggies, none of the meat, our flaming hot sarnies are bringing the heat” is emblazoned on the back.
Ugh. Heat. It’s the middle of September, and our usually feeble British summer is in a weird overdrive this month.
The whole country is wilting. Pale people like me are suffering, along with dogs in cars, old people, and soup vendors.
Pulling on the tee, I slather myself in sunscreen and calculate today's potential tips.
Fridays are usually decent; the tantalizing prospect of weekend freedom has a funny way of loosening the purse strings.
Yeah, but even good tips won’t cut it. I’ve been working every possible hour at the sub shop, and I still don’t have enough to cover first and last month’s rent, plus deposit.
Unless some eccentric millionaire who loves the most average of sandwiches is on my route today, it’ll take a miracle to get my own place anytime soon.
Unless—there’s always the sofa.
At Veronica’s.
Veronica’s offer is very much a last resort. Veronica, Mike, and baby Liam live in a two-bed apartment, and my friend keeps offering the living room couch for a token rent. “You can pay me back by babysitting,” she’ll say with a gleam in her eye. “Be my live-in nanny.”
I shudder at the thought. I mean, I guess I do love Veronica’s son, but if I’m honest, he’s a little shit.
Living with a three-year-old sociopath-in-training isn’t, um, shall we say, appealing?
And then there’s her boyfriend Mike; he doesn’t seem keen on having me as a new roomie.
Can’t say I blame him—lots of people feel awkward around me.
“Mike can overlook it, hun, just like I do. It’s not your fault you're a, what’s the word? Animally?” She’s giving me the ‘I’m so tolerant of Theo’s quirkiness voice, that always makes me feel a little…lesser.
“Anomaly, Vee. Anomaly.”
“Yeah, potato, potarto.” I can hear the shrug in her tone. “I’m simply saying I love you anyways. Even though you’re animally.”
Being animally, whatever that is, is probably way cooler than being an anomaly, which is what I am—anyway, staying at Vee and Mike’s?
Negative, Ghost Rider.