Felix jumped the stream and disappeared into the trees, shouting for us to hurry up. Autumn followed, crossing in one graceful step. I edged downstream a little, strategically picking a spot with stepping-stones. There was certainly no firewood here. The branches were high up and what little wood did litter the ground was covered in moss or rotting leaves. However, it wasn’t long before we were back within the confines of the great oaks. The night darkened and here there was plenty of dry, dead wood. I began picking up handfuls.
‘Cold night,’ I began, directing it at Autumn, hoping to strike a conversation. I received no answer, but persevered. ‘So, how old are you?’
I bent down and picked up a few twigs. Her back was to me when she answered.
‘Sixteen.’
‘You look older,’ I lied.
She turned, examined me for a moment and then curtly nodded, in gratitude I assumed. She continued on in silence, her arms already bundled high with sticks.
‘So where do you come from? All the places are the same in the dimensions, right?’
She nodded. ‘I grew up in London, but I come from Devon.’
Encouraged by her longer reply, I carried on. ‘I grew up in London too.’
This time she took longer to reply and she averted her gaze again, eventually turning away and heading deeper into the forest.
‘I know. You were born in Chelsea.’
I stopped, slightly dumbstruck. ‘How do you know that?’
She paused, turning back to me. ‘Everybody knows.’
She shifted her pile of wood into one arm, reaching into her cloak and pulling out a glossy magazine. She handed it to me.
I looked down at the cover. It was titled Quaintrelle and dated for the first week of November. Subheadings were splashed across the page: HOW WILL YOU SPEND YOUR AD INFINITUM?, OCTOBER’S TOP SOCIALITES and WHAT’S HOT, WHAT’S NEW AND ON THE RISE all featured around the edge of the page. Beneath that was a picture montage – the smiling faces of young Sage, vampires and other, unrecognizable creatures stared up at me, all dressed in suits and dresses.
But what really caught my attention was the heading at the bottom, written in red:
THE LATEST ON VIOLET LEE – TURN TO PAGE 5.
I yanked the magazine open, almost tearing the pages as I searched for the right page. I found it and began reading.
‘Violet Lee – kidnapped and held hostage for months: her story has reached millions of dark beings and humans alike and touched many hearts. We discuss what it means for the second dimension and whether this tale will have a happily ever after – namely in the form of HRH Kaspar Varn.’
I could hardly bring myself to read on, feeling my cheeks glow red. Below the text was a picture of me at the Autumnal Equinox ball, surrounded by vampires. Inwardly, I cringed, closing the magazine and handing it back.
‘No, keep it. It might be interesting for you,’ she said, expression still perfectly unreadable. With that she carried on, occasionally stooping to pick up a handful of twigs. I followed, unsure of how I should feel.
A small part of me was flattered. A magazine – and one that was circulated around all the dimensions – was following me, along with a lot of the population by the look of it. But another, much larger part was humiliated. I didn’t have to keep reading to know what it would go on to talk about.
That was private. It was between Kaspar and me. It was bad enough that the entire court knew.
I sighed. A different, more rational part was telling me I should have expected it. It was not as though vampires kidnapped humans every day.
We carried on in silence and I began to wonder when we were going to return. My arms felt like lead and my feet were beginning to ache. The path was leading us into a thorny thicket and the ground underfoot was mossy and damp. I gazed around and shivered, but not from the cold. A sudden sense of déjà vu had passed through me and with a sickening thump I realized where we were. Where we were heading.
We broke from the thorns and sure enough, ahead there was a stone building, ivy creeping up the walls and invading the huge cracks. Steps, broken in the centre, led up to a plinth, two stone pillars guarding the entrance to a huge, open door. From inside came the stomach-churning smell of decomposing flesh and the dust hung in great clouds, coating my arms in seconds.
I stopped. That was where the cloaked figure had feasted upon a young girl. Killed her. Sarah. She was called Sarah. It was here I was sure the Queen was buried, deep beneath my feet. Carmen. It was not far from here that he had attacked me. Ilta.
I swayed a little on the spot, feeling sick and quite light-headed.
‘Can we go b-back?’ I stuttered, eyes struggling to focus. ‘I’m kind of cold,’ I lied.
Felix, oblivious to my plight carried on. ‘But it’s only a little further and there’s a whole load of dead trees.’
I swayed, dropping a few sticks. As they fell, Autumn abruptly whirled around, her eyes following them until they hit the ground before her gaze bounced back up to mine. Something warm and alien brushed against my mind, before I vaguely heard another voice.
‘I’m cold too.’
I heard Felix sigh exasperatedly. ‘Okay, okay … I get it … we’ll go back …’
I closed my eyes for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths. When I opened them, the other two were already heading back up the path, the sticks that I had dropped at my feet gone.
The moment I stepped back into the clearing, Kaspar’s eyes shot up from where he was silently whittling a piece of wood with a penknife. Questioning, they swept across me before they returned to his carving.
I dumped the wood beside the fire and dropped beside him, leaning against the trunk of a great tree.
‘What’s the time?’
‘Mr Wolf.’ He smiled at his lame joke, but his flat tone told me his heart wasn’t in it. This Dark Heroine business had wiped the smile clean off his face. ‘Almost midnight,’ he added, not glancing up from his work. He stared at it, intent, tiny curls of wood floating to the ground at our feet until eventually all that was left was a shard of useless bark. He dropped it to the ground and folded the knife back up, watching as Felix and Cain arranged the sticks into a rough pyramid in the stone circle. Fallon knelt beside them, whispering words into the cradle of tinder.
Autumn gravitated around her companion, seeming reluctant to get too close to anyone else. Eventually she settled against a nearby tree, a little way out of the circle. Her eyes feasted on the smouldering beginnings of the fire, never leaving it, even as Fallon’s face shone with a child’s glee as flames sprung from the damp wood, or when the boys let out a satisfied shriek of surprise.