Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

SOMETIMES, THERE REALLY ARE MONSTERS IN THE WOODS

A ll that's left is a pile of black ash.

I hang onto the windowsill, sobbing great gulping sobs. Jessie stares at me, her eyes the only part of her that seem alive. She's terrified; I can see it, the way her gaze swivels, the whites of her eyes. She's also frozen, the blood in her, Kyle's blood, taking over. She can fucking stay that way, as far as I'm concerned.

Screw her.

If the blood magic takes over completely before nightfall, she'll burn. If it doesn't, well, she might live, if the Raven guards don't find her. I imagine they've been tracking me all night, anyway. But I need to get out of here.

I push myself away from the window. Kyle's jacket hangs over a chair and I put it on, rummaging in the pockets. There's pain, for a second, as I touch the smooth leather, remembering how it felt on him. I pull the keys out, flipping Jessie my middle finger as I unlock the bedroom door.

Downstairs there's a long hallway, the coloured tiled floor now dull, remnants of stained glass around a wooden front door. The door is locked from the inside. I fumble with the keys until I find one that fits. The door opens with a cracking sound, dust motes dancing in the bright cold air. I step outside onto a small brick porch, pulling the door closed. The street is deserted, but I stay in the shadow of the porch, conscious of being alone, in a strange place, with no idea where home is from here. My legs shake, my breath uneven, but I have to keep moving. I force myself to take a step. Then another, until I reach the small front gate.

The house I'm in is part of a terrace stretching in an unbroken line down the hill towards a distant smudge of blue. I realise it's the sea. The houses look bright, their faded colours lit by the rising sun, like a piece of the past come to life.

Rust flakes under my hand as I push the gate open, the hinges protesting. I start down the hill, my eyes creased against the light, wishing I had the dark glasses Ruth lent me. It's cold, frost silvering the low garden walls. I zip my jacket and pick up the pace, wanting distance between me and the house where I left Jessie. And Kyle.

When I close my eyes I see him, his silver eyes staring at me as he burned.

Perhaps, if I head towards the water, I'll be able to orient myself. If this is the Safe Zone, I can work my way back to Ruth's house, maybe ask her for help. It's not much of a plan, but it's something. I try not to consider the possibility that I'm somewhere else, much further from home.

As I near the water the houses become larger, some with ornate carved wooden porches. On the corner of a side street are several shops, most of them still closed. One, however, has the shutter raised, the scent of fresh bread floating on the air. I realise I'm ravenous. I check my pockets, and Kyle's jacket, but I have nothing. I unzip the jacket, feeling in the neck of my shirt. My Raven necklace is gone, and there's a moment of sorrow for its loss. But I'm still wearing a silver chain. I pull it over my head, untangling it from my hair.

The glass door to the bakery is locked. There's someone inside, moving around in golden light, wiping their hands on their apron. They look up when I knock, coming out from behind the counter to the door. It's a woman, her hair tucked under a white cap, her brown apron sprinkled with flour and tied tight around her ample waist. Her mouth is pursed tight, a line between her eyebrows. She twists the lock and the door comes ajar.

‘Yes?'

‘Please.' I hold out the silver chain. ‘I'm so hungry. This is all I have?—'

‘I can't let you in.'

‘I don't want to come in. I just need food. Some bread, anything. Please, take this. It's silver.'

‘How do I know that?'

‘Er, I don't know.'

The door opens further. Her hand comes out. ‘Give it to me.'

I drop the chain in her hand and the door closes. The woman examines the chain, running the links through her fingers, squinting at the clasp, then goes behind the counter and takes a fresh loaf from the shelf. She hesitates, looking back at me. I smile, trying to seem as though this is something I do all the time. She reaches for another loaf, this one speckled dark with fruit, and puts it in a bag. Dropping the chain in her pocket, she comes back to the door. She unlocks it again and thrusts the bag out.

‘Here.'

‘Thank you, thanks so much. Can you tell me where?—'

The woman closes the door, locking it, and goes back to her work, ignoring me. I stand there a moment longer. Huh.

The bag in my hands is warm and smells amazing, yeast and fruit and spice. I uncurl the paper top, pulling out a handful of fruit loaf, jamming it in my mouth, my eyes closing as I chew. It's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten.

I start walking, pulling more bread from the bag and eating it as I head towards the ocean. At the end of the road I stop, looking both ways. Oh, thank darkness, I'm in the Safe Zone. There are the blue painted railings, the squat brown towers guarding the shoreline, the large wedding cake hotel I saw on my first visit. I sigh with relief.

I turn right, heading past the big hotel, trailing my hand along the ornate railings. Ahead is the small café where Ruth and I had lunch. It's closed, the striped awning rolled up, blinds covering the windows. Along the seashore people are walking, some hand-in-hand, some with dogs who gambol through the waves, racing for thrown sticks. It's beautiful and peaceful, and makes me sad. I cross the street where the harvesting plant is, a metal square looming against the sky. My mind whirls with tiredness and sorrow. I could stay here, I suppose, and beg to borrow someone's phone. But no one will be able to come and get me until nightfall, and I don't want to take the chance that Mistral might get to me first. It's better to keep moving while I can, during the daylight, and hope to make it home.

I pass a row of shops, some shuttered, some empty, and reach a road leading uphill. I take it, hoping for the best. And I'm rewarded. There's Geneva's clothing shop – her window display has changed, jumpers in autumn colours interspersed with sparkly garlands and snowflakes. Next to it is the toy shop, little cars and worn books grouped together with more garlands, red bows and tags on them.

My eyes blur, the food in my mouth hard to swallow. I roll the top of the loaf bag tight, tucking it under my arm. The breeze is strong and cold, and carries the scent of ash. Tears streak my face, my hair blowing back. It reminds me of running with Kyle, how he would hold me close, my body curled against his.

Don't think about Kyle.

My breath hitches and I walk faster. The road rises, large buildings giving way to houses. I look for the turning leading to Ruth's house, the thought of the bed in her blue room comforting. But, as I near her house, my steps slow. I remember how well she seemed to know Kyle. How he said he'd known her for years. How, despite her kindness, she seemed to have other agendas. And the fact she knew who I was but said nothing. Even though she'd refused to hand me over to Mistral, what would stop her from doing so when I showed up alone, asking for help? I also remember Andrew's anger at my family. How would he react if I asked to call home? For I know when I do, a battalion of guards and probably my parents will descend upon their house once darkness falls. I'm not sure he'll welcome that.

All at once it feels as though eyes are everywhere. A bang makes me jump, but it's only the sound of someone closing their front door, a man in a dark suit. He nods to me and I nod back, my breath coming fast. I need to go home. Even if I can just reach Dark Haven by nightfall, Ira at least knows who I am, and I'm sure he'll help me.

I take in a deep breath and blow it out, feeling better. I've passed Ruth's house, the streets giving way to overgrown scrubland, bits of litter caught in bare brambles and trodden into the mud. Beyond the scrubland is a small copse of trees, then the light towers, their metal frames gilded by sunlight. Okay. If I'm in the right place, I should come out by the guard huts, and from there be able to pick up the road towards Dark Haven.

Fuck. The guard huts. I need to go that way, but I also need to avoid being seen, especially if it's the same guards. I start to panic, remembering how it had felt to be treated like meat, the pain of the guard drinking from me.

Hang on a second.

It's daylight. Even if they can see me, they can't exactly do anything.

I start across the scrubland, stumbling on the frozen mud. I'm cold and thirsty, but it's bearable. There's a path trodden in the grass and I take it, winding between huge mounds of brambles, densely woven and thorned like something from a fairy tale. I eat more bread, then wish I hadn't, the doughy mass sticking to the roof of my mouth. The path leads into the trees and I stay on it, reasoning that, if there's a path, it must be because people come this way. Tangled branches curve above me, painted green with moss and yellow with winter, a few dead leaves still clinging to them. It's peaceful and I relax a little more, proud of myself for getting this far. I can do this. I can make it home. And when I do, I'm going to apologise to my parents and?—

‘Where d'you think you're goin', sunshine?'

A man, dressed in clothing patterned with greens and browns, steps out from a tangle of trees, blocking my path. His hair and short beard are grey, his eyes blue, his cheeks pale above the beard. He's smiling, but he's also holding a gun.

Fuck.