A Hero at the End of the World (17 page)

Oliver was lurking outside the door to his family’s flat. He looked damp and miserable, his hands were shoved in his jacket pockets, and his shoulders were up to his ears. Ewan was filled with a sense of déjà vu, remembering Archie standing there only a week ago, waiting for him to come home from the shops.

Once more, the sight of someone waiting on the steps gave Ewan a bad feeling. His pleasant mood evaporated.

“Ewan,” Oliver growled as he approached, scowling through the rain on his face.

“You all right?” asked Ewan carefully.

“I spoke with Sophie,” Oliver began.

Ewan broke out into a cold sweat. “Yeah? And how is sh—”

“Then I went back to Hampstead Heath, to the spot where Ralph the Ravager attacked me,” Oliver continued. He stared Ewan down. “Just how long did you think it would take before I’d figure out that you’d betrayed me?”

“Well, more than three days, at least,” Ewan replied.

Oliver’s eyes flashed. “That’s not funny.”

All the nightmares he’d had of rotting away in a jail cell flashed through Ewan’s head. He took a step back, considering bolting for it, but the thought of what Oliver would do to him if he took off kept him in place. “What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice going high and reedy. “Are you going to arrest me?”

Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know yet. I’m still deciding.”

“I watch crime shows,” Ewan said. “I know you can’t arrest me without evidence.”

“I have evidence all right,” Oliver declared. “I found this.”

With a flourish, Oliver brandished a black and red cassette tape at him. Scrawled on the label was a single word:
Becks
. Ewan hadn’t seen it in years. He was still alarmed, though now

for an entirely different reason.

“Is that my David Beckham compilation?” he asked.

Oliver frowned. He pulled the tape back to himself and squinted at the label. “You made a tape for David Beckham?”

“More
about
him than
for
him—it’s not important. Is that why you were in my room, going through my things? You were after a tape?”

“Don’t you try to make me the bad guy here,” Oliver roared, “not after what I heard you confessing to.” He stepped forward threateningly. “What did she give you?”

Ewan was beginning to feel like he had emotional whiplash. “Who? What confession? Did you erase my mix? I spent a long time on that.”

“Louise Gardener Hobbes.”

He looked at Oliver in confusion for a moment before remembering that Oliver had asked him about Louise right before Ewan had shoved him into the clearing with Ralph the Ravager. He probably should have at least waited to find out how Oliver knew her before sending him into Ralph the Ravager’s waiting arms.

“How’d you know Louise was involved?” he asked.

“Because I’m not as dim as you took me for,” Oliver said hotly. “Now I’ll ask you again: what did she give you?”

“Do you think I’m stupid or something? Whatever’s on that tape, it’s proof of nothing more than me being in a cult,” Ewan pointed out, a bit proud of himself for being clever. “It’s not illegal to be part of a cult. Loads of people are in cults.”

“It is if it’s an
evil
cult.” At his side, Oliver’s hands clenched and unclenched. “That’s a violation of the Villainous Intent Act. You’re facing up to twenty years in prison. They don’t even need to try you if they suspect that you’re evil.”

“What, is it illegal to be evil now?” Ewan asked.

“Yes,” Oliver cried.

“I should really read a newspaper,” muttered Ewan.

“I also have you on tape confessing to conspiring to have me kill someone, which I’m sure even
you
know is illegal,” Oliver replied, jabbing a finger in Ewan’s chest.

“But I was just trying to help,” Ewan said, though even to his own ears it sounded weak.

“Help
who
?”

“Help Britain! The world! You!”

Oliver shook his head. “Help Louise, you mean.” Suddenly, his face softened. “Come with me. We’ll do to her what she did to you and trick her into confessing everything. We can use it as leverage when we speak to the Crown Prosecutor.”

“Confess what?” Ewan asked. “She hasn’t done anything.”

Oliver’s ran a hand over his hair. “Can’t you see she’s using you?”

“You’re wrong,” Ewan insisted. “She asked me to help her. She wanted a real hero.”

“She
asked
you?”

Ewan straightened his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height. “Louise and I did your bloody job for you—we got rid of someone evil.”

“Is that what happened, she came to you and said she had someone evil that needed defeating?” Oliver demanded. “Don’t you think it’s funny that she asked you to get rid of the cult leader, the one person higher than her, in the cult that she’s still a member of? It was a power grab, and you helped her.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re just jealous. You know you’re a—you’re a fraud.”

Oliver laughed meanly. “Oh, yeah,
I’m
a fraud,” he sneered.

They stared at each other. The rain had grown relentless. Torrents of water streamed down Oliver’s face like it was a stone wall; Ewan wanted to punch him in it.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’d love one,” said Oliver, glowering as he stepped aside so Ewan could unlock the front door.

¤

He had just finished making his own brew when the doorbell rang.

“I swear I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here,” Oliver said at Ewan’s accusing glare.

The bell rang again.

Ewan waffled. On the one hand, it might have been the police, but on the other, it could have been the postman or the neighbor or even his parents, who might have forgotten their keys again. He hated to admit it, but while Oliver had many faults, being a liar had never been one of them.

The bell was replaced by a pounding at the door.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Oliver asked, arching a brow at him.

“
You
answer,” Ewan muttered.

“I’ll make toast,” Oliver said.

Ewan stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Oliver behind with the kettle and toaster. As he moved closer and closer to the door, he had the wild, crazy urge to make a run for it. Unlike before on the street, it would take Oliver a few minutes to realize he had left—more than enough time for Ewan to get halfway to the Underground station.

Right then, leaving his entire life behind didn’t seem nearly as terrible as waiting for Oliver to make up his mind what to do with him. Either Oliver would decide to arrest him, or he would let him go and spend the rest of his life lording it over him.

Ewan didn’t know which was worse: he was too soft and weak-willed for high security prison, but, also, Oliver was such a prick.

Yet as his hand closed around the lock on the door, he remembered why he couldn’t run. Louise’s plan to keep Oliver quiet had been to kill him. She had told him as much at the Strangled Hen.

He leaned against the door for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe Oliver was right. Maybe he
had
mucked everything up.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he twisted the latch.

Archie jerked back, his hand inches away from Ewan’s chest, mid-knock. “Finally,” he exclaimed. “What took you so long?”

Standing beneath the world’s largest umbrella, Archie was bone dry. Not a single piece of expensive tailoring had been touched by rainwater. Still, his jaw was clenched, and the skin around his eyes was tight.

“Um,” Ewan said, utterly baffled. “What are you doing here?”

Archie glanced back over his shoulder like he was expecting someone to jump out at him, although he surely wouldn’t have been able to see anything beyond the black fabric of the umbrella. “Something urgent has happened. May I come in?”

Ewan thought of Oliver sitting at the kitchen table. “Now’s not really a great—”

“Ta, lovely,” Archie interrupted. He neatly closed his umbrella and pushed Ewan aside.

Ewan caught a flash of darkening gray sky and wet pavement before spinning around to grab him, horror-struck at the idea of Archie and Oliver in the same room. Quickly, he closed a hand around Archie’s forearm and pulled him into the front room, Archie’s umbrella slamming into his knees, the front door closing with a loud bang.

“Oh, come on, now,” Archie said, wrenching his arm out of Ewan’s grasp as Ewan pushed him into the room and closed the door. He straightened his sleeve, looking flustered. “If you really wanted to get me alone, it was hardly necessary to—”

“What’s going on?” Ewan demanded suspiciously, closing in on him. “I only left you a few hours ago. What sort of emergency could happen between then and now? Did you know he was here?”

Archie looked uneasy. “Who? Who’s here?”

They heard the clatter of dishes in the sink. “Ewan? Who is it? Are you all right?” Oliver called.

Archie’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s—?”

Ewan clamped a hand over Archie’s mouth and shook his head desperately. “I’m coming,” he shouted back.

Beneath his palm, Archie’s lips curved into a smirk. He leaned in, and in that instant, it hit Ewan how close they were standing. He yanked his hand away.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Archie asked, his voice husky. “Or did you need me to rescue you?”

They were close enough to share breath, close enough that Ewan got a noseful of Archie’s lavender cologne and could make out a circle of gold in his pale blue eyes, which seemed even larger than normal. He could feel waves of heat coming off of him as he practically buzzed with intensity. It should have been uncomfortable being nearly cheek to cheek, but instead Ewan’s stomach began doing excited somersaults.

He wondered what would happen if he leaned forward and—

“Shall I get out my massive sword,” Archie continued, “and—”

“
No
,” Ewan said, flinching back. “Why are you here?”

Archie’s smirk slid off his face. “Something’s happened.”

Ewan waited, but Archie just stared at him, chewing his lower lip.

“Well?” he asked.

“I’m not betraying Mother by telling you this,” Archie said. “I believe in the direction she wants to take the organization. But I—but you—” He paused. “I don’t believe you deserve what’s about to happen to you.”

“Is she going to promote me or something?”

“This is serious,” Archie hissed. He ran a hand through his hair, making his curls stand on end. “After you left, I met my mother for lunch. She wanted to discuss the next stage of her plan.”

The hair on the back of Ewan’s neck stood on end. “What plan?”

“That’s what I wanted to know. She said...” Archie took a deep breath. “She’s going to kill Abrams and set you up for it.”

Ewan was at a loss for words.

Avoiding his gaze, Archie explained, “She said that since Abrams and you were getting along so well, it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that Abrams let his guard down around you. And that’s, of course, when you would supposedly attack him. In the meantime, she’ll have Abrams’ power, and she can go forward with the third step of her plan.”

“What—what was step two?” Ewan asked.

“Getting rid of the Lord Ravager,” Archie replied, wringing his hands. “I don’t really know what stage three is. I was afraid to ask, to be perfectly honest.”

There was a dull roaring in Ewan’s ears. Oliver had been right. All those things Louise had said about him being great, about him becoming a whole new person, about him being a hero again—what she’d really wanted was to use him to lure Oliver into her well-manicured clutches.

Every minute of it had been all about Oliver.

Also, Louise was evil, and that was rubbish.

“Ewan, are you okay?” Archie asked tentatively. He reached out but then dropped his hand, looking uncertain. “Say something, please.”

It dawned on Ewan then that if Oliver was right about Louise, it meant she had planned her every move to lead up to the moment when she killed Oliver and took his power for herself. It meant...

“She meant for you to tell me,” Ewan said. “It’s part of her plan.”

Archie’s head jerked back. “Mother would never do that to me,” he said.

“She would do it to me, though, and to Oliver,” Ewan said. He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this. She knew what she was doing. The moment she told me that Ralph the Ravager was evil, I didn’t even question her. Of course she’s

been evil all this time.
Of course.
”

“She’s not,” Archie started to say, but then fell silent.

“She’s using you like she used me. She would expect you to tell me, she wouldn’t have filled you in on the plan otherwise. She wants me to tell Oliver.”

Archie frowned. “Why, what would he do if he found out?”

“Ewan,” Oliver called from the back of the house, “are you in there with someone evil?”

“I said I was coming,” Ewan snapped. To Archie, he asked, “Can
I
kill Oliver?”

“That might defeat the purpose of trying to save his life,” said Archie.

“What happens if we don’t tell him?”

“She’ll give you an ultimatum. She’s going to ask you to bring Abrams to her tomorrow.”

“Brilliant,” Ewan muttered nervously. “She couldn’t have let you in on her plot sooner? What if I refuse? What if
Oliver
refuses?”

Archie swallowed and looked away.

“Oh,” said Ewan.

Clearing his throat, Archie said, “Well, I’m positive that between the two of us, we can come up with a plan to save both of you from her machinations.” He smiled confidently, looking like himself again. “After all, we’re not stupid.”

They stared at each other. Ewan’s brain stuttered to a halt like a car out of petrol. Archie’s smile slowly faded.

“Bugger,” said Ewan.

Chapter 19

E
wan was taking too long, Oliver decided, lingering in the kitchen. The tea he had made right before his guest had arrived had grown cold; Oliver had finished his own cup and all of the toast ages ago.

He drummed his fingers on the table. On the wall across from him, one of Ewan’s old school photos smiled at him, his teeth lined with shiny braces. By the oversized school blazer and the terrible haircut, he might have been in Year Five. He looked so innocent.