Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
A BLAST FROM THE PAST
Later that afternoon, my shoulders and back aching, I catch the bus back to the Safe Zone. My father made me change clothes, then brought me into the practice arena where he and Varin had me do push-ups, stretches and arm movements. I’d done all right, I thought.
But they’d both looked at each other. ‘Sword-fighting uses these muscles,’ Varin said, touching my shoulder blades and arms lightly, then my abdomen. ‘You need to strengthen them before you pick up a blade. Your father and I can help with this.’
‘So, I don’t get to work with swords yet?’
‘Not yet. But you will.’
Another thing I wish I’d started when I was younger.
But I suppose letting me wield razor-sharp blades wasn’t high on my parents’ list of How To Keep Emelia Safe.
So, just like learning the intricacies of ruling, it’s something I’m coming to late, meaning I have to work all the harder.
If I’d actually accepted that I was going to be Raven, instead of trying to run away, maybe I wouldn’t be so overwhelmed now.
But that is a shutter opened which cannot be closed. All I can do is go forward.
I spoke to my mother before I left. About how much I love her and want her in my life. But that I only have a short time to rule, compared to her. She understood, but it hadn’t stopped red lining her eyes. I get that, too. There are still plenty of years left for us.
I also made a decision. One that made her smile through her tears.
It’s time to leave the Safe Zone.
Time to stop being Emily Reynolds and become Emelia Raven.
I came to the Safe Zone because it felt like a starting point, a place to make a difference.
But this is only one small fraction of my realm.
If I want to change it, I first need to understand it.
And I can’t do that while I stay here. Reapers are preying on my people, Mistral’s sons challenging my crown.
It’s time to go home, change the narrative, and become the ruler I mean to be.
Time to meet a challenge with a challenge.
Speaking of Mistral’s sons… I dig my phone out of my pocket and check it again. I messaged Michael before leaving; he was going to meet me at the house when I got back. But there’s no reply. Huh.
I’m going to tell him everything. About his father. About the Challenge. About my plans. Then, together, we can figure out a way for him to be part of my world, if he wants that. As the human son of Mistral, I know it won’t be easy. But I hope he wants to try.
Someone nearby is sobbing. I turn around. A few seats back from me a woman is curled over, her companion, another woman, with her arms around her.
‘Are you all right? Can I help?’
The woman holding her friend looks up. Her eyes are also red-rimmed, but there’s a wild light in them. Not sorrow, but something else. ‘She’ll be all right. She’s just had someone pass through.’
‘Pass through?’ Does she mean they died? I’m not entirely sure how humans talk about such things.
A few other people are looking at us now. One reaches to pat the crying woman on her shoulder. ‘It’s the best thing for them,’ another murmurs. ‘You know it is.’
‘I know,’ the woman sobs. ‘I know it’s the best, and I’m happy for him. I just miss him so much, you know?’
She’s happy that he’s dead? God and darkness. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Is there anything I can do?
‘Thank you.’ The crying woman sniffs, wiping her eyes. ‘Honestly. I’m fine. It’s fine.’
I lean my head on the cold glass, trying not to listen to the whispering behind me, the woman no longer sobbing.
Passed through. I need to know what that means.
I turn around, but before I can ask, the bus comes to a stop, the door opening with a hiss.
The sobbing woman and her companion are already on their feet, and I lose them among the crowd as we head down the hill towards the seafront.
I’ll have to ask Michael. I hug the thought to me, the anticipation that soon his lips will be on mine.
The late afternoon sky is grey, the wind icy.
I clutch my jacket closed as I continue along familiar streets, the finality of my decision hitting home.
Saying goodbye to my house, to living with Laurel, to seeing Michael every day, is going to be difficult.
But ruling demands sacrifice. I don’t get to live a life different to every other human on the planet without there being a price.
And I’m willing to pay it, if it means I can change things.
I pick up the pace, cold biting at my hands, the ground slippery.
I pass the shops, Geneva’s window packed with cosy jumpers, then take the small side road to my house.
I’m not looking forward to telling Michael what really happened to his father, but I hope he understands why I had to keep it secret.
As to what happens next, I’m unsure. My heart, battered and broken by Kyle, feels too tender to give again.
But at the same time, I can’t imagine saying goodbye to Michael when I leave here.
When I get home, there are no lights on, despite the grey day.
Perhaps Laurel is sleeping. There’s no sign of Michael, either.
That’s odd. He’s usually pretty punctual.
I fumble for my key with icy fingers, almost dropping it before I manage to get it into the lock.
The door swings open, letting out a blast of welcome warmth.
I step inside, stamping snow from my shoes, hanging up my jacket.
Maybe I have time for a shower. I pull out my phone, about to text him, when I hear a noise like a gasp.
I put my phone in my pocket, heading down the hallway. The door to Laurel’s room is ajar, her bed rumpled, but she’s not there. I continue to the living area. Perhaps she’s popped out for something or gone back to work.
But I just came from where she works.
Worry starts to pull at me, a claw in my chest. The house is quiet. Too quiet, like an in-drawn breath.
Then I smell it.
Blood. And violets.
The coppery smell swirls in my nostrils, my enhanced senses picking up what human noses usually can’t. Like the scent of violets. Of vampires. But light still slants through the windows, striping the sofa with pale lines.
Something chuckles, a dark noise like the tumbling of grave-dirt.
And I see Laurel. Or what’s left of her, sprawled on the kitchen floor, blood pooling from a jagged gash in her throat, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.
Horror rises, cold as the winter outside.
I only have a moment to process before something hits me, hard.
Arms wrap around me, bony and strong, and I’m lifted and spun as though in a whirlwind, unable to catch my breath. Sharpness grazes my throat, and I smell old soil and leaf loam, mixed with an eye-wateringly strong stench of violets.
Then, just as suddenly, I’m released. I drop to the carpet, landing heavily. When I put my hand to my neck, it comes away red.
Oh shit. I scramble backwards, one hand to my throat, the other reaching for the emergency button set into the wall near the sofas. It will drop the shutters, alerting my guard at the same time so he can come up from the basement, whether it’s day or night.
‘I wouldn’t.’ The voice is clotted, hoarse. Yet also familiar. Something skitters in the shadowed alcove next to the fireplace, nails scratching the timber floorboards.
A face emerges from the gloom. Ravaged by scars, but still recognisable. No. Nononono. Fear slides down my spine, ice cold.
‘Remember me, Raven girl?’
It’s Jessie.