beats per minute (33 page)

After standing stock still for at least a minute she finally
relaxed. No-one was coming. At least her eyes had adjusted to the darkness a
little; she was soon able to pick her way over to the curtains and fling them
open without any trouble. Moonlight flooded in. There was a lamp at her elbow,
but she thought better of it. If Declan did come back, the light shining out of
his window would be a dead giveaway.

Taking care to move quickly but quietly, she directed the
thin beam of her torch around the room. It was practically bare. She knew it
was a stupid hope but still, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed – it would
have been cool if some clue, like a sawn-off piece of rope, was just lying
about in the open.

‘If I were proof, where would I hide?’ she muttered aloud,
more to break the suffocating silence than anything else.

A dazzle of gold flared in the darkness. Spots danced before
her as she blinked. Keeping the beam steady, she followed it to where an object
was glinting, caught in its light. It was her necklace. Sharp, twin jolts of
rage and triumph shocked her innards.

Steeling herself to take another look, she was almost more
upset to see the delicate chain lying in a tangled heap on the desk. An object
coveted enough to steal should at least be treated with respect. Lovingly, she
picked it up, hardly daring to coil her fingers around the chain. It was with
the most careful and delicate of touches that she slid it into her pocket.

The brief respite from bitter, churning dislike was buried
with the pendant. It was time to get what she came for.
Time
to put the boot in.
She still had a few minutes; and since she really
had no idea where to look, she might as well start here.

All too soon the last drawer slammed shut.
Nothing.
She stepped back from the
desk,
kicking herself for thinking it was going to be that easy. And then thoughts of
ropes and red-handed villains flew out of her head to be replaced by something
much nastier.

If only she had not looked up. She wished she could turn
away but her legs wouldn’t move; the filth on the walls was mesmerising her,
gluing her to the spot. The sharp taste of bile on tongue finally broke through
the trance.

‘Oh God,’ the plea was instinctive, a barely-voiced mumble
of sheer horror. Clapping a hand to her mouth, already dry-heaving, she
stumbled out of the room and into the night.

***

The library was oddly peaceful, even for a supervised study
period. These sessions tended to be broken up with sly whispers, the crunch of
crisps being munched, the rustle of notes being passed, and the boom of
Ingmar’s voice when he got fed up with the quiet and decided to tell a story.
It was as close to a school scene as you would find at the Unit.

The reason for the silence became apparent as soon as Bree
stepped in. It was deserted.

‘Hullo?’ she called.

A small dark head popped up from the desk at the front.
‘’Allo?
Oh Bree, it is you! You gave me a fright. Be wiz you
in one moment.’

The chairs were pulled out from the tables and there were
papers hanging off the desks in disarray, as if people had been here but left
in a hurry. Bree wondered if Ingmar had whisked the cadets off for one of his
impromptu lessons outside – it had been known to happen. He was a tolerant man
and had treated the cadets’ new punishment regime with an air of bafflement, or
else she would never have risked being late. She hoped he wouldn’t be cross.
She also hoped that he would keep it to himself.

Cakey was straightening up now, her painted pink lips split
in a tired smile.

‘Where is everyone?’ Bree asked.

The smile faded. ‘Oh, you have not heard?
Mon dieu
...
they are all sick, poor things. They had to go to the infirmary.’

‘Everyone?’
Bree’s eyebrows shot up
in alarm. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

‘I’m afraid I cannot be too clear on that point. It happened
so suddenly; they all started to complain of stomach ache, and they were
sweating, their sides heaving, fainting all over the place.  I called the
infirmary right away.’ It was only now, as Cakey took a handkerchief out and
dabbed herself, that Bree noticed how rumpled she looked, with her blouse
untucked and her sleek hair escaping from its pins.

Handkerchief still clutched in her fist, Cakey gestured to
the wastepaper basket. ‘The healers asked if I knew what they had been eating.
I said yes, exactly, because Ingmar brought it ‘ere – shepherd’s pie and
rhubarb tart. They wanted me to see if I could retrieve some from the bin, for
a sample. Perhaps they suspect food-poisoning.’

Perhaps they suspect poisoning, full stop, Bree thought immediately,
but did not say anything. Instead, she patted Cakey’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure
they’ll be ok.’

The older woman had pressed the cloth to her red nose now,
on the verge of tears. ‘Ingmar has always been so healthy, but these things
affect you more when you are elderly. The pain was bewildering to him.’

‘He’s strong as an ox, Cakey. I’m sure they all just ate
some dodgy lamb and the infirmary will take care of that. Can we visit?’

‘Not yet.’

With a confidence she did not feel, Bree forced a reassuring
smile. ‘No worries. Soon they’ll be right as rain.’

Cakey, blowing her nose with a loud jangling of bracelets,
did not answer. After a long moment she seemed to remember that Bree was there.

‘You can stay if you like,
cherie
,
or you may consider this a free period.’ Her eyes fell on the scrumple of paper
in Bree’s hand. ‘What’s that you’re holding?’

Bree had clean forgotten about the book. ‘Oh! Just the name
of a text I need summoning from the Archives. I wrote it down to give to
Ingmar.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Oh no, please don’t bother. You’ve got enough to deal
with-‘

‘Please.’ The small woman waved her over firmly. ‘To be busy
is a help. It is good to take my mind off things.’

‘If you’re sure?’
With a grateful
nod, she handed over the slip. ‘I have clearance – my ranking code is on there.
Thank you so much.’

‘
De rien.
Oh!’ Bending down
hastily, Cakey retrieved a large backpack from behind the desk and plonked it
heavily in front of Bree. ‘On your way, could you drop this into the infirmary?
I don’t know who it belongs to...’

‘Must be a guy’s,’ Bree turned the canvas knapsack over in
her hands. ‘Don’t think it belongs to Warwick.’

‘
Non
. He was not ‘ere. A few of you
were tardy, though I think Warwick had been excused to help Master Rico. Only
Adriana, Tyrell, Sam and Ingmar were here when the illness started.  In
all the confusion it was forgotten.’

As she left the library, promising to update Cakey if she
gleaned anything from the healers, Bree thought about Sukey. If she knew her
well – and well she did – her sister would still be fretting. It was hard to
tell if she was imagining things, but ever since she left the Tower she had
felt a slight tugging at the corners of her consciousness. She wondered if her
sister was still listening in. The psychic link could be draining for Sukey and
Bree was not meant to encourage such behaviour; but she thought on this
occasion it would be justified. Tentatively, she cast her thoughts out into the
ether.
Sukey.
I’ve summoned the book. Will
let you know when it arrives.

The immediacy of the response confirmed her suspicions.
Sukey had been waiting.
You must tell Raegan.

Now?

Now.

***

She only made it as far as the stairwell before the remains
of her lunch forced themselves out of her mouth. Heaving, she collapsed to the
floor.

‘Are you okay?’

Raegan banged her head on the edge of the railing as she
leapt to her feet, brandishing the
torch  like
a
weapon. The beam shook crazily. ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me.’

Sam stepped out of the darkness.  Already fighting
tears, the warmth in his voice nearly sent her over the edge. In the light he
was very pale and clammy looking. ‘You’ve been crying.’

‘I’ve been sick, actually,’ she said weakly. ‘You might want
to avoid stepping anywhere to my left.’

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I guess it must be
catching. I’ve been feeling pretty rough myself.’

‘You should get to bed,’ she said vaguely, rubbing up and
down her goosepimpled arms.

He ignored her. ‘You’re not yourself. Has something
happened?’

She shook her head. A split-second later her face
disintegrated into weeping.
‘Y-yes.’

‘What were you doing here, anyway? Were you...’ An imaginary
lightbulb clicked on behind his eyes as he turned back sharply. ‘Were you
visiting Declan?’

Her teeth were chattering so much she couldn’t get any words
out. He took her face in his hands. ‘Darling Raegan, it’s all going to be
alright. I’m here now. Did he do something to you?’

‘N-no.
He wasn’t there. But I
found-
‘ she
couldn’t bear to say it. Even the warmth
of Sam’s fingers stroking her cheeks did not help. She was numb.

‘You stay here.’ Sam’s voice was authoritative now. ‘I’ll go
and check it out. Then I’m taking you to the infirmary.’

‘No!’ Tears flew frantically out of the corner of her eyes
as she shook her head. ‘Don’t leave me! You mustn’t- you mustn’t go in there!’

‘I understand. Shh, it’s ok.’ Pulling her to him, he rocked
her back and forth. She had not cried like this since her mother died; with
sobs so thick and fast that she could not breathe. It was like it would never
stop. He seemed to understand. After a long moment, he touched his lips to her
dry ones, very gently.  The rise and fall of his breath was soothing
against her cheek. ‘I need to see, so that I can help, d’you see? Will you take
me?’

She stared at the proffered hand, fuzzy with tears.
Something felt off but she couldn’t think. As she reached to take it, he
noticed the red, virulent crescent moons her nails had dug into the vulnerable
skin of her palm.

‘You poor little duck,’ he said quietly.

Hanging her tearstained head, she followed him down the
corridor as meekly as a child.

The smell had been the worst part. As they neared the corner
of Declan’s room and the desk, Raegan held her breath. She forced herself to
look, tried to be cold and clinical, ignoring the wobbling sensation in her
stomach.

‘There.
On the wall.’

Pages and pages of crude drawings – some which appeared to
be in blood – covered the surface. Nearly all were of Raegan in various states
of horrid, graphic mutilation. Excrement and other fluids spattered the paper.
Dead birds, rodents and other vermin were pinned in between the pages. Some
appeared to be crucified whole; others had been disembowelled. This time,
Raegan also noticed a map of the Labyrinth, the valley circled, and a lock of
her hair, crisp and sticky in texture.

‘Sweet Jesus,’ Sam sucked in his breath with a loud gasp.
‘Oh, holy Christ.’

Encircling her elbow in a strong grip, he yanked her away,
towards the door. ‘No more. We’ve seen enough.’

Next moment, light flooded the room. Declan stood by the switch.
With surprise, he squinted at them, pupils narrowing as his eyes adjusted to
the light.

‘What are you doing in my room?’

A bolt of hatred, so strong it shocked her, lanced through
Raegan. She heard herself speak before she was even aware that her lips were
moving. Her voice was hoarse and thick from crying. ‘How dare you.’

Declan looked puzzled. ‘Raegan, what’s going on? I didn’t
know you’d be here-‘

‘No, I bet you didn’t. You thought you could keep screwing
with me until you’d got me where you wanted. Never dreamed I would figure it
out. Well, hard bloody luck. I know all about it.’ She gestured to the wall.
‘You’re a disgusting freak. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.’

‘You’ve lost me.’ The confusion in Declan’s voice was the
worst thing of all. How could he stand there and lie like that? ‘Sam, do you
know what she means? I got your message, so here I am – but I’ve obviously
missed something.’

 Raegan sprang at him then, hands already clawing for
his eyes. The taste of sick was still in her mouth; the lingering acid of pure
fear, and he had done that to her. Sam held her back, speaking over her
struggling form. ‘Drop the act, mate. We know everything.
About
your sick fantasies.
You’re not going to harm a hair on this girl’s
head, d’you hear me?’

‘You bastard.’
There was no
mistaking the loathing in Declan’s voice. ‘What have you done?’

‘Didn’t have to do a thing.
You did
it all for me.’ It might have dawned on Raegan vaguely, as Sam jeered, that he
was enjoying this a bit too much; but she was too angry to think about it.
‘Your artwork was quite enough to show Raegan, once and for all, what you’re
really
like.’ He shook his head in satisfaction. ‘I’m just happy that we caught
you in time.’

‘Happy to set me up, you mean,’ Declan hissed. He gave the
pictures a cursory glance. ‘Raegan, I’ve never seen these before in my life.
You have to believe me.’

This she was not expecting. ‘You think I’m going to believe
that? Like that whole display just magically appeared there? You’re sick,
Declan, really sick. You need help.’

‘I agree,’ Sam smirked at Declan from over Raegan’s head,
cuddling her closer.

With a bellow of rage like a charging bull, Declan launched
himself at Sam. Sam, laughing, pushed Raegan out of the way with such force
that it winded her. She landed with a painful thud, head crashing against the
edge of the desk.