My eyes widened and a breeze rustled through the zinnias, their heads bobbing together as though they were debating this development.
‘Pretty sure you owe me a date,’ he added.
He was right. On my birthday, the two of us had sat in his car outside Bonaventure, Jackson doing his best to take my mind off the terror of what lay ahead, and me agreeing to a rain check even though I didn’t know whether I’d still be alive the next day.
‘A totally platonic date.’ He held his hands out in front ofhim, fingers splayed wide. ‘I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes. Although, if we dance, I might have to take that back. Two left feet over here – don’t wear open-toe sandals.’
The look on his face was so genuine and so hopeful, when I opened my mouth to politely turn him down, nothing came out.
‘Where is it?’ I heard myself ask instead.
‘The DeSoto Hotel. If you hate it, you can totally ditch me and be home in under two minutes.’
‘Is Lydia going?’
Her brother pulled a sour face at the very thought.
‘When I asked if I should get her a ticket she said she’d rather poke out both her eyes with a rusty spoon. Lydia isn’t much for school spirit.’
Stifling a smile, I looked at my friend, kind, clever Jackson, picturing him in a suit instead of his late summer uniform of baggy shorts and basketball jersey, and me in the kind of pretty dress I most certainly did not own. I’d never been to a high school dance. The last four weeks had been nothing but study and stress and waiting for Wyn. I thought back to him, running around the lake, content and carefree. Tomorrow was the full moon. If I stayed home, I’d spend the entire night worrying about him when there was no need. He was safe with his family, with his pack. Wyn wouldn’t want me alone and unhappy when I could be having fun with my friends.
‘I swear we’ll have a good time.’
The corners of Jackson’s mouth tilted upwards and I realized I didn’t want to say no. I wanted to go to the dance with him.
‘OK,’ I said, a flurry of excitement in my chest. ‘I’m in.’
‘Really?’ He sounded more surprised than I’d expected and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. ‘I mean, great! Uh, it’s semi-formal but you can pretty much wear whatever you like and, um, I’ll pick you up at seven?’
‘Seven it is,’ I said, watching as he dashed down the path and out the gate before I could change my mind. ‘See you then.’
‘Everything is going to be perfect, I already know it,’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, we’ll have the best time, I promise.’
And for once in my life, I really wanted a prophecy to come true.
Chapter Three
The city was ablaze. Black flames incinerated everything they touched, racing faster than any fire I had ever known, and filling the air with an overwhelming smell of sulphur that made it hard to breathe as I darted through the streets, trying to outrun the scorching heat that hunted me down with as much ferocity as the wolves at my heels.
Past the Olde Pink House, across Bay Street, hurtling down the steep cobblestoned street to Factors Walk, they didn’t trip or stumble the same way I did. Grey fur, golden eyes, claws sharp enough to tear a soul in two, the wolves gave chase, howling louder than the end of the world. My bare and bloody feet left a bold trail, as if they couldn’t follow the scent of my panic alone. But there was no time to check for injuries, no time to search for a weapon. I’d been sentenced to death by the pack, declaring themselves judge, jury and executioner all in one. If I could get back Bell House I’d be safe, but there was no way I was going to make it that far, not even with my magic. One hundred wolves and one witch, what chance did I have?
Over the roar of the pack, I heard terrible screaming, truemortal fear made manifest. Someone, something, was feeding on it. Not wolves, not witches but another entity entirely, darker and more devious. Whatever it was, it was expecting me, having waited centuries for this moment. And if the wolves had their way, I would be delivered right on time. The Savannah River roared at my side as I took off down River Street, following the disused streetcar tracks, and I felt the charge of the water, surging forward, pushing me on. Not far now, just a little further. Something sharp sliced into the bottom of my foot, embedding itself in the tender arch, and I gasped, falling to my knees. Before I could recover myself, they were on me, fangs and claws, red hair and red blood in front of my eyes as I held my arms up to defend myself. The scream that tore from my lungs blasted through the city like an explosion, black fire filling the sky, and in the near distance, as the wolves tore into my flesh, I heard someone laughing …
I woke with a start, tethered to my mattress by bedsheets turned into ropes. Covered in cold sweat, I disentangled myself, peeling away the damp fabric to free my arms and legs. It was just a dream. I was home, I was in my room. I was safe.
But I wasn’t alone.
Between the bookcase and the bathroom I saw a shuddering in the shadows. A shape, a hunched figure, faced the wall. Long strings of matted hair fell down its back as it clawed at the wallpaper, emaciated arms stretching up, jagged, yellow nails leaving scars on the walls. I tried to call for help but couldn’t, all the air suddenly sucked from my lungs, silencing my cries. It was so much worse than the wolves, so much more terrible than the invisible threat, only I didn’t know why. As the figure slowly turned to face me, its face bone white and hollow, I finally snatched in a breath and screamed so loud it tore up my throat as the thing flew out of the corner and across the room towards me, screeching a single word.
‘Onginnan.’
My eyes snapped open.
I was still anchored to the bed by my sweaty sheets. A dream within a dream, a nightmare wrapped up in a nightmare.
Panting for breath, I tore off the bedclothes and slid to the edge of my four-poster bed, uninjured feet finding the soft rug. Safe and unharmed. At least until my knee collided with the open drawer of my nightstand. Rubbing the injury with one hand and cursing myself under my breath, I switched on my bedside lamp and inspected the contents of the open drawer. The silver filigree pin with its glowing moonstone centre, the smooth pebble of glinting black arfvedsonite, my ice-blue cell phone, and a pouch of protective herbs; lavender, bay laurel, mugwort and yarrow. I flicked off the lamp, somehow safer in the dark, and pulled out the pouch, nursing it to my chest. If these were the dreams I had with protection, I hated to think what my mind might conjure up without it.
Across the room, my window seat called to me, drawing me away from my bed to leave the nightmares behind. It was a beautiful night and the all-but-full moon lit up Lafayette Square and cast a milky luminescence over the sleeping fountain at its heart. The quiet was unnerving, so, almost without thinking, I encouraged the pipes that ran beneath the square to ignore the settings on their timer and spring to life a few hours early. I stared blankly out my window as water began to burble from the fountain, the soothing sound calming my frayed nerves. The window seat was one of my favourite spots in Bell House, somewhere that felt wholly mine. I loved to sit and watch passers-by or stare up at the stars. Wrapping a strand of wavy red hair around my forefinger, I looked up. It helped to know I wasn’t alone, not really. Wherever Wyn might be, he was under the same moon, maybe even counting the same stars. I reached out for him, my search featherlight, andfound his calm, restful energy. He was sleeping, like I should be.
