Page 77

There’s a pompous woman who knocks into me on the way out and sneers. She’s with her three darling little demon children, who wear matching expressions to their mother. They’re loitering by the exit, paying no heed to the others trying to leave, as she powders her nose in the reflection of the glass and the children squabble like a litter of pig-goblins. The showcase finished fifteen minutes ago. I look at Delilah and she gives me what I call her ‘brow raise of encouragement’.

Clearing my throat, I mouth the words before channeling my inner Delilah.

‘Oi!’ I call out, and four necks twist in my direction. My eyes flit back to Delilah, the beginning of a devious smirk pulling at her lips. It’s all the encouragement I need.

‘Fuck off, we’re closed!’

The woman gasps, two of the children stare wide-eyed at each other while the third clutches her pearls.

I hear a loud bark of laughter as I turn for the exit and run down the steps two at a time.

‘Detour?’ He’s waiting at the bottom of the steps for me. And Stars what a sight that is. I have to physically stop myself from sighing.

‘Depends,’ I say, looking quickly away from the cut of his suit. ‘Is this just a ruse to lure me to my demise?’ My eyes narrow.

He wouldn’t tell me if it was, but I like to pretend I can read him. The tapping he’s currently doing with his fingers indicates he’s a mix of bothered and bothered by being bothered.

‘Yet to be decided,’ he says, checking his watch. What need of time do ghosts require?

‘I think I can win you over.’

He mumbles something indecipherable under his breath.

I follow him to the edge of the building and then halt when he steps into the forest. It’s madness. And not the kind I’m known for. If I had any sense left whatsoever, I’d turn back around. I’d turn and back away from the mangled skeleton trees and eyes that peer out of the decrepit caves and hovels.

‘Come on, Chaos,’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘You know what, I think I might stay on this side of the satanic woodlands,’ I call.

‘But the chickens have told me they miss your freckly arse.’ I’m glad he thinks they’re freckles. And you know what, I’d thought as much. The cockerel's crowing has taken on a melancholic lilt.

‘Suit yourself,’ Walker calls back.

Eeeeee. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna.

I fist my hands. Grit my teeth. Take one step. And then two.

And then I book it towards Walker’s fading form.

And… actually, after you get past the crushing discomfort of the lurking evil and general ominousness of the woods, it’s quite aesthetic. In a sort of grotesque rotting-corpse-of-roadkill kind of way. Lots of muted tones and disturbing creatures. I heard actually that there was a chemical spill here, that fucked with all the animals. Would explain the three-eyed dog-duck barking at me from the sludge pond.

I retreat a step and almost lose my footing over a protruding root. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But Walker grips my arm and steadies me.

‘Ah,’ I titter. ‘Thank you.’ I feel his hand tighten, and a strange warmth seeps into my skin, almost like…

‘You’re welcome.’ His fingers leave an imprint on my arm. I look down at where he’d held me.

Wait. Wait.

‘Did you just⁠—?’

‘Yes.’

‘How—?’ How is it possible he just touched me and it felt like he was… living?

He waves above his head, like having to explain this to me is causing great distress. ‘The forest,’ he mildly expounds.