Darkness Watching (Darkworld #1) (3 page)

“It might not be a rejection,” Mum said, consolingly. “This one’s from your Aunt Eve, anyway.”

“But it’s not my birthday,” I said. “She’s either five months too late or seven too early. Can I go to school now?”

“We’re not stopping you.” Mum stepped back into the kitchen, a touch of reproach on her face.

“Right. Sorry.”

I knew I’d pay for being snappish later, but I ranked exams next to interviews in the enjoyment factor. At least I had Milton down now.

No light, only darkness visible.
How appropriate.

I saw another one on the way to school. A dark space, as I called them now. A squarish patch, no more than half a metre either way, but enough to block my path. And, within, a pair of eyes glinted. Purple, as usual. Bigger than human eyes, narrowed, with vertical pupils like a cat’s―and watching. Me.

“What?” I said.

No answer. Well, it was worth a try.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to move out of the way?” I’d already checked; no one else was around. One of these days, I’d no doubt get caught talking to myself, but, right now, I just wanted to get to school.

“Only I have an exam, see.”

Again, no answer.

“Going to be an asshole again? Fine.”

I crossed the road and went the other way. Maybe my luck would hold and they’d stay out of the exam hall.

Yeah, right.

I shivered, feeling the customary coldness intensify as it always did when I saw a dark space. Sometimes I felt like I could never get warm again.
Nothing’s going to stop me passing this exam. Not even evil manifestations of my subconscious.

I glanced at the clock as I entered the school building. One hour to fit in some last-minute revision in the library. Cara sent me a text saying she’d join me in a bit.

“It’s bad luck to revise on the day of an exam,” she scolded me.

I like to think I’ve already used up my bad luck quota for today.
First a rejection, then the demon. Now all I needed was―

I swore under my breath. There was a dark space in the library, too, across the Classics aisle.

For fuck’s sake, really?

“Hi, Ashlyn.”

I dropped my revision notes.
Did that demon just say hi?

“What?” I said, putting my trembling hands behind my back.
This doesn’t happen.
Just when I’d gotten used to things being one way, the demons had concocted something else to torment me.

This particular demon said nothing, just watched me with its sinister violet eyes.

Great. Now I’ve insulted it. Or something. I don’t have time for this.

I scrambled to pick up my notes so I could get the hell out of there.

Thud.
A book fell off the shelf, narrowly missing my foot.

“What the hell?”

“I wouldn’t relax your guard just yet, Ashlyn.”

What?
Since when did demons make threats? Funnily enough, they didn’t usually need to.

Another book fell, this time a hefty volume of the Oxford English Dictionary. This time, I couldn’t put it down to the library’s old shelves falling apart.

Somehow, the demon could move things.

I picked up the dictionary, weighing it in my hands. A reckless daring sprang up in me, and, before my nerve left, I lobbed the book at the demon.

The dictionary sailed right through the dark space, as if it wasn’t there.

I turned tail and ran, nearly colliding with a group of Year Eights, who all sidestepped sharpish without looking at me.
Don’t look at the crazy girl.

“Ash!”

I skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding running smack into Cara.

“What’s the rush? You aren’t late. You’re ridiculously early, actually.”

“Nothing,” I said, absently. “No tables in there. Come on, let’s wait by the hall.”

I steered her away, again having to duck out of the way of a group of students, this time Year Elevens. Why did people walk toward me as if I wasn’t there? Sometimes, I felt like I was invisible to everyone except Cara. Even the teachers often forgot my name.

So much for being the amazing Oxford candidate.

No dark spaces waited for us around the assembly hall this time. Mr Darton stood, barring the door to make sure no one sneaked in to get a look at the exam papers. I raced through quotations in my head, praying to the gods of exams that the right question would come up. Avoiding a panic attack would be nice, too.

Breathe.
I didn’t want a repeat of the interview. The word
fiasco
came to mind when I thought of the day after the demons came, when I’d sat before the stereotypically grey-bearded, distinguished professor of literature and, intelligently, said, “I like, um, reading.”

Thirty minutes of nonsensical rambling later, I’d left the interview room and walked right through a dark space that looked as though it had been torn out of the universe. A patch of air, densely black yet somehow transparent, so I could see through to the other side, where people walked along the corridor, talking, completely oblivious to the darkness.

Only I could see it.

And before I could even gather my thoughts, a pair of violet eyes stated at me from the blackness.

I cracked. I screamed my head off and ran.

“I think you made quite an impression,” said Mum, after I’d calmed down. “Not everyone runs screaming out of their interview.”

“Ha-freaking-ha,” I said sourly. Hardly the impression I’d hoped for―Ashlyn the lunatic as opposed to Ashlyn the knowledgeable literary critic.

The next day, my parents frog-marched me to the doctor’s for anxiety medication.

Like medication would make a difference. No prescribed medicine could cure fear of the dark. Or demons.

The fear never really went away, for all that I treated the demons like a minor annoyance. I’d chosen that over giving into insanity and locking myself away. Slowly, I’d adjusted to their staring eyes, like people who went on those reality TV shows must adjust to cameras being there all the time.

A reality TV show is a pretty good comparison.
The demons watched me like a fascinating performance, just for them. Everywhere: at school, in the street, at the shops. Dark shapes would appear and I’d be greeted by cold, violet eyes and a chill that went bone-deep. But they’d never tried to harm me. Hell, I didn’t even know if they could. They just watched me curiously, as if my seeing them astonished them as much as it did me. After a while, I grew sick of it and stared back. I was bravest in my room, where they couldn’t get to me. Sometimes, when I was alone in the house, I felt that prickling sensation along my spine and just
knew
that, when I looked up, I’d see one, outside my window. But they never came inside, oddly enough; it contradicted their other behaviour because they had no physical substance; if the OED experiment proved anything. I assumed they could materialise anywhere at all. They appeared inside the school building all the time. Strange that they left my house alone, but not something to complain about. The idea of creepy eyes watching me in the shower―well, I’d almost rather have one of those nightmares.

Sometimes, like today, I spoke to them, like a five-year-old conversing with imaginary friends. Albeit vicious ones who refused to let me be. Insulting them brought no satisfaction; it was like swearing at my laptop when it stalled, like hurling insults at the wind.

The clock’s ticking brought me back to the present.
Shit, how do I have only five minutes left?
I pushed my hand to its limits, pen racing down the page, but the stubborn hand of the clock ticked on relentlessly. I wished it would stop.

The clock’s hand stopped.

Holy shit.

I glanced from side to side.
Did I do that? Impossible.

The old school’s clock broke down, that was all. People couldn’t do things like that.

People
couldn’t.

I looked around frantically, searching for any sign of a demon. Any shadow could be a dark space, right?

Don’t be an idiot―finish your answer!

I scribbled the end to my final paragraph, splattering ink everywhere.

A minute later, Mr Darton said to our deputy head, Mrs Cathers, “I make it half past the hour. Do you?”

The two exchanged whispers. I heard the clock mentioned.
I can’t have done that. There’s only so much weird I can see in one day.

But that particular day wasn’t over. I still had to open my rejection letters.

The old nerves tightened around me like a vice as I hurried home after dismissal, Cara rushing to keep up.

“Text me the news!” she panted, as I veered off down my own road.

“Will do,” I said.

No divine force intervened to stop me finding the three ominously thick envelopes on the kitchen table when I let myself in. I took in a breath, my heart fluttering, and picked the most official-looking one.

Come on, you threw a dictionary at a demon today. Just open it.

I slid the wad of paper out of the envelope. One word leapt out:
unfortunately
. It never meant good news. I threw it aside, tears stinging my eyes.
Dammit.

“Maybe if we plead for mitigating circumstances?” said Mum, retrieving the letter.

“For what? Being hopeless at interviews? They’ll never buy it.”

I could plead insanity, I suppose. Or stress. I’d give a psychiatrist a field day if I told them about the dictionary incident.

“Some people get nervous at interviews. It isn’t your fault.”

I shrugged. For some reason, ever since the demon, part of me knew I wouldn’t be going to Oxford and was strangely okay with it.
I should be feeling something,
I thought.
Regret? Despair?

But numbness locked around me, like the cold when I saw a demon, dulling all feeling.

“What’s that?”

Dad handed me another envelope. “Where else did you apply?”

“Good question.” I unfolded the paper. “Blackstone University… where’s that?”

“Don’t ask me, you applied there,” said Mum.

“I suppose I did.” The name sounded familiar. “Was that the place no one’s heard of?”

“I haven’t,” said Dad. “What does it say?”

I blinked. “They’ve apparently offered me a place.”

“But that’s great news!” Mum swept us into a group hug. “Ash, you’re freezing. Are you coming down with a cold?”

“Never mind that now,” I said. “I’m going to uni!”

I felt a grin spread across my face and an unexpected warmth rush through me.
So much for not feeling anything!

Mum looked through the brochures.

“This looks perfect! It’s a small village in the north of England, really small, like the size of our suburb. You’ll have on-campus accommodation. Not too far from Preston, either.”

“What about the reputation?” I said, and instantly felt like a snob.

“Says they don’t do league tables.”

“Their website was a bit dodgy,” I remembered. Cara, insisting that Blackstone wasn’t a real place, demanded to see it, only for the website, then the computer, to crash.

Now, I grabbed my phone to text her the news. Maybe she’d come with me to visit.

“Ash, don’t forget Aunt Eve’s parcel.”

I’d forgotten about the third envelope. A letter, in her illegibly looped handwriting, came with a smaller package. I broke the cellotape and found a pendant inset with a purple stone. Amethyst.

“What’s this for?”

Mum read the letter, frowning. “Early eighteenth birthday present. Make sure you write back and thank her.”

“I don’t know her address,” I said. “I thought she moved to Canada. Five years ago, wasn’t it?”

“You’re right.” Mum’s frown deepened. “I’m sure I must have it somewhere… dear me, I really am getting forgetful. Put that somewhere safe, Ash. You don’t want to lose it. Let’s see how it looks on you.” She pushed back my fine hair and lowered the necklace over my head.

“Lovely.”

It did look beautiful, though its purple glint reminded me a little too much of demon eyes. I picked up the letter, trying to decipher it. The first part told me that it was a family heirloom, but the ink ran through the middle section, making it illegible.

I made out two lines, which made little sense, “Your mind is your own. Guard your heart well.”
She does have a weird way of putting things,
I thought, recalling her strange tales of monsters in the woods when I’d spent summers at her Windermere cottage, before she’d moved.

“We have to celebrate! How about we go out for a meal tonight, Ash?” Dad asked.

“I have to pass my exams before we can really celebrate,” I reminded him. “It’s only a conditional offer.”

“I’m sure you’ll have done fine,” Mum said.

Yeah, maybe those extra five minutes made a difference.

I hadn’t the heart to kill the mood, so I nodded.

My phone buzzed. Cara’s texted reply said,”Yes! Told you so. Yeah, I’ll come with. When is it?”

“Next visit day’s on Saturday,” I typed.