Fear's Touch: A Darkworld Novella (The Darkworld Series) (5 page)

Then I saw what had caught her attention. A handwritten note was pinned in the corner, and it said: “Don’t talk to the blue-coats. If you want a history lesson, come to the Coach & Horses at 6:00 p.m. tonight.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I said. “Blue-coats? It can’t mean…”

The venators,
I couldn’t help thinking.

I glanced at Berenice. “What d’you think?”

“I have no idea.” Her shoulders were tensed, and she glanced behind as though worried someone was eavesdropping.

“You don’t think is has something to do with…?”

“I said, I don’t know,” she said.

I raised my hands. “Okay, chill out.”

There were all sorts of other messages pinned to the board, from student society notices to love letters (seriously). I probably wouldn’t have spotted this one if Berenice hadn’t been staring right at it. And if I hadn’t been so on edge, I wouldn’t have made the jump to think it had anything to do with the crazy. But the urgent tone grabbed my attention. Who had written it? Someone like us—someone who wasn’t affiliated with the Venantium?

Did it matter? I’d wanted to
avoid
this crap. But Berenice was staring at the note like it was a lifeline. And if it stopped her associating with creepy Jude…

“A history lesson?” she muttered to herself.

I didn’t say anything in case she snapped at me again, but that was the other part of the note that set my crazy-sense ringing. Blackstone had a hell of a history, from what my parents had implied. I mean, it was the center of the Barrier, the place the Venantium had formed, and they guarded their own history jealously. Even my parents didn’t know much, other than there’d been a demonic war here a hundred and fifty years ago.

In all honesty, it wasn’t something I liked to think about. Yeah, old English towns were spooky, and we were probably walking over a bunch of buried corpses, but so what? Even if demons had killed them, the past was done.

Someone else came into the building, and Berenice jumped. I moved away from the board to let the girl pass by into the downstairs flat. Berenice reached up and took down the note.

“Are you going?”

She shrugged. “Might as well check it out.”

Her attempt at a casual tone didn’t fool me for an instant.

“Sure,” I said, playing along. “I don’t suppose it means 6:00 p.m.
tonight?
Was it definitely put there today?”

“I didn’t see it yesterday,” she said, still not making eye contact. Re-adjusting her backpack, she started to climb the stairs to our flat.

I followed.

Four hours to kill. Then we’d find out what was going on. Despite my instinct to stay away from the crazy, part of me was intrigued. What the hell, maybe there was some sorcerer out there who didn’t want to force us to sign a register that would give the Venantium a claim on our lives. Fighting demons wasn’t on my life plan. I wanted to live a long and happy life without being attacked by creepy-ass supernatural creatures that could suck the life out of you. No freaking way.

Berenice and I caught the bus to town, even though in theory we could have walked it. But I didn’t much fancy the woodland trail in the middle of the night, and besides, it was raining. We didn’t talk as we rode in the back of the bus, hanging on for dear life as it hurtled downhill. Crazy country driving. Kind of fun, except when I thwacked my head on the ceiling. At least we reached Blackstone in five minutes.

We passed through the cobblestone streets to the pub. The Coach and Horses was a favourite spot for students, and when we reached it, I could see it was packed-out. I hesitated before going inside—how the hell would we even know who to look for?—but Berenice shouldered her way past me, muttering that she was getting soaked. Drawing in a deep breath, I went in after her.

I scanned the room. Would the person who left the note be alone, or was there more than one of them? Checking my watch, I saw that we’d arrived pretty much dead on six, so they should have been here by now. My mind kept racing, much to my irritation. Did I really want this that badly?

Someone walked into Berenice, and she turned and swore at them.

“You watch it,” snarled the guy. Hell, he was scary-looking. At least six feet tall, he walked slightly stooped to fit under the low ceiling. His blond hair was buzzed short, and a hooped earring hung from one ear. He was like Biker Guy on steroids.

“Berenice!” I said, quickly, pulling her away before she caused a commotion. That guy looked like the type who’d cause a pub brawl. We needed to find the author of the mysterious note.

Moving into the center of the room, I looked around again. Crap, this was getting embarrassing. Maybe we’d imagined the whole thing.

“Let’s get a drink,” I said quickly to Berenice, who was still staring at the guy.

I caught the bartender’s attention and ordered two vodka and cokes. While he was pouring our drinks, I cast another look around the pub.

And someone waved at me.

The guy was sitting in the far corner, alone, in the shadow of the roof beams. It was about the subtlest wave I’d ever seen, and it could have been directed at anyone—except no one else was looking that way.

Berenice tapped me on the arm. The bartender was handing me my change. I took it without turning around, picking up my drink with the other hand. Maybe I should have ordered a couple of shots for luck.

“This is a waste of time,” Berenice hissed in my ear.

I gave a slow head-shake. Damn, we were acting like freaking spies or something. The sheer ridiculousness of it made laughter bubble up in my throat.

The guy waved again. At me.

Right. I’ve had enough of this.
Gritting my teeth, I started to walk toward him. Berenice did, too, possibly thinking I was going to find a table. We crossed the room without looking too much like spies or lunatics—at least, I hoped not. I could see the person at the table now. A sandy-haired guy dressed casually in jeans and a threadbare coat. So, not a
venator.
Though, presumably, they were allowed to remove their uniform when they weren’t working.

Just as we reached the table, someone else crossed in front of us.
Crap.
The scary big guy Berenice had almost started a fight with. He pulled out a chair next to the sandy-haired guy and turned to glare at us.

I froze, less than a meter away.
Oh, shit.

ou can sit down, you know,” said the sandy-haired guy. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Berenice didn’t move. “Did you leave this note?” She pulled it from her pocket and threw it down on the table. The big guy narrowed his eyes at her.

“Sit down,” Sandy-haired Guy repeated. “I’m Cyrus. You won’t get into any trouble for talking to me, honest.”

So, he does know.
I felt a rush of relief and pulled out a chair to cover my shaking hands. Putting my drink down on the table, I inched my chair closer to Cyrus and farther from the scary guy.

Berenice still didn’t move. “Who are you?” she asked Scary Guy.

“What’s it to you?”

“Howard!” Cyrus shook his head. “Ignore him,” he added to me and Berenice. “He has a stick up his ass the size of a parking meter, but he won’t get you into trouble, either. Right?” He gave Howard a stern look.

“Are you two related?” Berenice asked. She sat down in the seat Cyrus offered her, not taking her eyes off Scary Guy.

“God, no,” said Howard, encouragingly. “He just won’t leave me alone.”

“Look,” said Cyrus, in a low voice. “I just don’t want any of us to get into trouble with the
venators.
”

Berenice flinched at the word. “You know.”

“Of course,” said Howard. He was frowning at her. “You are a magic-user, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, and I heard a tremor in her voice. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, tough shit,” said Howard. “Well, looks like your shitty little note actually worked,” he added, to Cyrus.

“Hey, I told you it was worth a try,” said Cyrus. “Anyway. I didn’t get your names?”

“Claudia,” I said.

A pause. “Berenice.”

“Cool. Are you both Freshers? I assumed you were, since I’ve never seen you before. Howard is, too.”

“So, how do you two know each other?” Berenice asked, giving Howard a suspicious look.

“This moron decided to start a fire on the first night of Freshers’ Week,” said Cyrus. “And by fire, I mean
set himself on fire.
He’s worse than my brother.”

“Wait, what?” My brain scrambled to catch up. “Set himself on fire—like, with magic? In public?”

“Yeah. Luckily, everyone else was too pissed to remember it afterward, and there weren’t any
venators
snooping around. But it was a close call.”

“So, I got a lecture from this prick,” muttered Howard.

“He’s a delightful person,” Cyrus added. “So friendly and approachable. Anyway, I’m sure you nice people haven’t done anything like that, have you?”

“Um, apart from when a shadow-beast came after us the other day, no,” I said. “But the two
venators
sent it packing, and no one ended up getting arrested.”

“Good to know,” said Cyrus. “I wouldn’t worry about it—they won’t arrest anyone without good reason. Well, most of them won’t. Uh, I don’t want to interfere,” he added to Berenice, “but I saw you talking to Jude the other day. That guy’s one of the bad ones.”

“It’s none of your business who I talk to!” Berenice said.

“Whoa,” said Cyrus. “Just saying. I mean, he’s only been working there a year, and he’s already got, like, ten arrest warrants sent out. He’s not someone you want to mess with.”

“As I said,” Berenice muttered, “it’s
none of your business.”

“Right,” I said, in an attempt to defuse the situation before it blew sky-high. “Do neither of you work for the
venators?
”

“My guardian does,” said Cyrus. “But it’s not for me. I just wanted to help out. I’ve been here a year, and I’ve lived near them all my life, I know what it’s like to be under pressure from them. But you don’t have to join. Just toe the line—relatively speaking—and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Boring,” Howard muttered.

“What, you just called us here to give us a lecture?” said Berenice.