beats per minute (27 page)

Ingmar was none the wiser until one, fateful day.

The
ajar
door to his neighbour’s
flat wasn’t the first sign that something was wrong. Ingmar had felt a strange
tugging at his gut the moment that he reached the outside of the building, a
crackling of energy that sent his senses into overdrive. Whether it was a mage,
a shifter, another Regent, or a Fay, he did not know: but there was a creature
of the
Other
in that building.

Fleet of foot, Ingmar inched in to the apartment, scanning
the space as he went. He knew it well; the family were dear friends of his. All
was still. Quiet.
At once the most hopeful and hopeless of
signs.

A jigsaw lay in the hall, half finished. A Barbie doll hung
out of the right hand door: the room of Sophie, the youngest girl.

But he could not stop there. His senses pulled him on to the
living room.

Image and movement collided as Ingmar stepped through the
arch. They could have been embracing. But then there was the sweet, cloying
smell of so much blood. Else, the mother, and the Fay were melded together; her
golden hair fanned out over the pillow of the couch; a pale glow emanated from
them, pulsing. He was on top of her. His hand was punched through her chest,
squeezing her heart. Her mouth was open in a soundless scream.

Her hair was already turning white.

Rage drove Ingmar on, fuelling movements that seemed faster
than ever before; fast, even, for a Regent of his skill. His blow collided with
the Fay’s gluttonous cheek before he had even formed a rational thought. The
creature flew across the room into the mantelpiece. A large crack appeared in
the marble.

But this Fay was a warrior; his carelessness and greed were borne
of a well-deserved arrogance. Covered in scars, his biceps bulged as he sprang
to his feet before Ingmar had a chance to grasp for his heartbeat.

Instead, the Fay looked into his eyes and, with an almighty
burst of power – Ingmar was being ripped down the middle, his insides were
being turned outside, his head was splitting open – he threw his heartbeat into
Ingmar’s. It was the most powerful, swift, terrible invasion Ingmar had ever
experienced. Instantly, they were locked in, and the Fay had dominance.

‘It was the worst moment of my life… and in some ways, the
best.’ The old Regent’s eyes were filled with a distant light: once more, he
was alive in that long-past moment.

Raegan must have made some sound of shock, as quite a few
faces suddenly turned to look at her. Ingmar was amongst them.

‘You are surprised by this?’ His voice was soft, reassuring.

‘It sounds horrendous.’ Feeling many pairs of eyes on her,
now, Raegan struggled. ‘I’ve only just started experimenting with locking in,
but each time I’ve been locked against my will... there is so much pain. I
don’t understand how such a thing could be good.’

‘The pain was tremendous, this is true. But the fact that he
could do that to me – well, that was everything! I had found my Mark!’

He studied her face eagerly; and then, presumably because
her bewilderment did not dissolve, it dawned on him. ‘But of course! You have
not yet learnt this theory… my child, forgive me! I am rushing ahead of my two
new students.’ He winked at the rest of the crowd, who waited patiently for him
to continue. Only one voice, caustic and impatient, dared interrupt.

‘Aw, come on! A Mark is a Regent’s Fay counterpart. I
thought everyone knew that!’

Why did Declan have to be such a bitch? Raegan thought. Now
everyone thought she was a complete idiot. Someone tittered. It sounded a lot
like Adriana. Doing her best not to look at Declan’s side of the room, she
shrugged at Ingmar unhappily.

He waved her embarrassment away. ‘But how could you know?
This must be quite foreign, still; your first inkling of the Fay’s existence
was only a couple of months ago!’ His words were kindly, but they only made
Raegan feel even more like an outsider. The navy pattern of her dress swam
before her eyes; don’t cry, she told herself firmly.

He was still talking.

‘Young squire Kane has certainly simplified the delicate
nature of the Mark – very obtuse of you, Declan...but the essential concept is
correct. The very nature of our power is duality: we are at once masters and
subjects of Time, gifted with only the meanest position – guardianship. And,
with the Fay, we find ourselves again within a duality. They wish to steal
time. We wish to protect it.

‘Is it perhaps so surprising, then, that each Regent has one
Fay designed to match him or her?
The Fay that many spend
their lives alternately evading and searching for?
The one Fay out of
all the others that is able to instantly lock in with us, as surely and swiftly
as drawing breath but with the same measure of pain as if it had ripped out our
lungs?’

 Before anyone could dwell on the horrible implications
of Ingmar’s description, Max took over smoothly. ‘The Mark is a unique
challenge for each Regent: Optio Ostergaard is absolutely correct. But the
glory of hunting and defeating one’s Mark is unparalleled! Some Regents
dedicate their lives
  to
the chase– it’s your
own, personal Everest. And, when successful, you enter the ranks of our most
esteemed Regents. Your name will live on forever.’

Though the tension in the room eased dramatically, Max’s
well-practiced spiel sounded hollow to Raegan.

Raegan knew that, on becoming a Regent, her life would
change.
Dangerously.
This was obvious; even if it was
easy to be swept along by the excitement of new skills, preternatural powers,
and the mystical grandeur of ‘destiny’. But despite everything that happened
with Christian, the Fay in general seemed kind of vague.
Distant.
She would, perhaps, one day in the fuzzy future, be designated an area in the
civilian population that she would have to protect from dangerous creatures of
the
Other
. But these were shadowy, far-off
possibilities. Nothing she had to think about seriously. Just being a Regent
didn’t mean she had to be a solider; she didn’t have to be like Warwick, whose
aim was to fight on the front line, actively seeking out the Fay in the hope of
destroying them for good. She could play her part in some small, safer way.

That comforting thought had just been blown completely out
of the water – because it turned out that somewhere in the world there was one
particularly dangerous foe designed specifically to beat her. As if the regular
Fay weren’t scary enough. And there would be no hiding from this foe. Ingmar’s
story made it clear that if the Regent did not find his Mark, his Mark would
surely find him. One day it would come for her.

‘So, how did you beat him?’ Declan asked sulkily, still
apparently recovering from Ingmar’s earlier comment. ‘
Your
Mark? That’s what the story is gearing up to, right?’

Ingmar, who was busily enjoying
an icy
vodka poured by Yali from his own native stock, waved his hand at the boy
approvingly. ‘Right you are, Master Kane, right you are.’ He slammed the empty
glass down on the empty shelf of a mahogany bookcase with a flourish. Cakey
looked pained but he did not notice. ‘And as you are keen to hear, perhaps you
will help me to demonstrate? I find the story is invigorated by a physical
realisation!’

Declan made a small noise of protest, but Ingmar was
merciless, hauling him into the middle of the circle with the strength and
speed of a much younger man. Sullen in his baggy Queens of the Stone Age
t-shirt and ripped jeans, he hovered unenthusiastically by Ingmar’s side,
dwarfed by the older man’s dynamism. Raegan almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.
She wasn’t a saint.

‘The Fay, as shocked as I, did not take advantage of his
dominance. The energy flowing into his body, the time stolen from another,
would make him younger; but for now he was weakened, unbalanced. It would not
be the easy victory he envisaged. He fled.

‘I was merely grateful for release. The sky was dark by the
time I recovered and could check on Else. There was grey in her hair that had
not been present before; she was also disoriented and weak, but otherwise fine.
Thank goodness the children had been visiting with their grandmother on this
day. Youth would have prevented their time being stolen, but perhaps not their
death, if he had found them.’

‘And now we had entered the dance, he and I. That is always
the way with these things. It is not simply a case of duty. Fear creates a powerful
curiosity – as surely as I knew I would seek him out, I knew he would also be
seeking me.’

‘But you’d be the one to find him first!’ Warwick crowed,
raising his beer; Ingmar bowed deeply to the accompanying cheer. There was a
lot of hearty back slapping and hooting at this point as a fug of testosterone
descended. Rico and Tyrell took it as an excuse to chug their pints as quickly
as possible. Robert, more reserved, lifted his ale in a silent salute before
drinking.

Bree caught Raegan’s eye and grimaced comically as the male
hoots around her increased in strength. Grinning back, Raegan perked up
instantly. She still had her friend.

Yali called for quiet. Many of the candles flaming in the
old Library died during Ingmar’s story, but attention was so focused on him
that this had gone unnoticed. The room was lit only by the moon peeking in at
the window. Now, in the darkened space, the cold, blue exterior light seemed to
dance through the hush; it cast an eerie glow over the rapt faces of the small
cluster of Regents and teachers, as if they were huddled round a camp fire,
listening to a ghost story.

This sense was heightened as, with a flourish, Ingmar
grabbed Declan. The sudden movement made a few cadets jump; Raegan, the
twitchiest of all, started violently. Sam put a reassuring hand on hers. She
liked the way it felt; big, comforting, completely covering her own. She hoped
he would leave his hand there. He did.

Declan and Ingmar were also clasping hands; the elder Regent
held them aloft, exclaiming: ‘
And
this leads me to the
action, children! After hunting the monster for weeks, I closed in until at
last he revealed himself.

‘I tracked him as he followed a woman from her home, but I
knew that he was aware of me. When the woman turned right and he left, it was
no surprise. He knew as well as I that a battle must be fought, and that we
must not be disturbed. And so he led me down paths and alleyways until we
reached a derelict dock on the harbour, deserted and dusty.

‘We began like so.’ Thrusting Declan away from himself, but
keeping their hands joined, he looked over his shoulder at his audience. ‘No
further away from each other than this, do you see? We circled each other for
what felt like hours. We traversed, locking in with one another at once, but
neither could gain dominance: we jumped from time plane to time plane,
struggling, sweating, with ragged breaths, but still no closer to winning,

‘We were too evenly matched in Heart and Brain. Violence was
all that was left. He made his move.’

He let go of Declan’s hand, but beckoned for him to make a
lunge. Declan obliged; Ingmar caught him just short of reaching the soft flesh
under his left arm. He sent him back. Declan, guessing the game, made another
lunge, this time to the right. Again, Ingmar caught him.  

There was magic in his voice; and though he and Declan moved
roughly, unchoreographed as they were, it was thrilling to watch. ‘He had a
broadsword; I, two daggers. He went to strike, again and again; I parried, but
could never gain enough footing to go on the offensive.

‘There was something foul on the air. The wind was howling,
flinging grit up in gusts and stinging my eyes. But that gave me an idea. And
sometimes the littlest of ideas, against the greatest of warriors, are the best
– his footwork was impeccable, his swordmanship flawless. But he had little
defence against Mother Nature; and so I copied her. In front of me was a large
pile of sand and dust. I kicked it. Straight and true it went, in a horrid
cloud, and right into his face!

‘He was certainly surprised, and furious. Up went his hand,
to claw at his face, and I seized the chance.’ Whirling, dancing around Declan,
Ingmar flew at his back, and made a slicing gesture. ‘I struck him along the
back with my fist, at the same time drawing the blade along both of his legs.
You see? The angle was not quite correct for his left leg, but along his right
I sliced through the anterior tibial artery!

‘Not only did that force him to his knees,’ he gestured, and
Declan fell, to gasps from the closest cadets, ‘but it is one of the main
arteries.’

Raegan knew why Ingmar had mentioned the type of artery. She
was pleased to be able to keep up for once. The killing method, known as the
Triad, was vitally important and had been covered in detail in one of her very
first lessons. There were many ways to weaken a Fay but to finish it off there
needed to be strikes to three main arteries. In essence, this would kill the
Fay; but the blood would need to be drained and the body burned before it could
be truly disposed of.

 ‘But I was not quick enough. As I moved to the front
of him, hoping to next strike at the wrist he was still holding to his face, he
thrust with his sword, quicker than I could have imagined. It had been a ploy.
He was two steps ahead of me, waiting for the split-second, the minutest moment
of my moving into view, peering through his fingers as if he was still
scrabbling at his face - all so that he could strike.’

Ingmar grabbed Declan’s arm to demonstrate how the sword
pierced his right shoulder.

‘Ah, but the pain was unimaginable; he relished it. He
pulled me closer, down on the sword. I let out a yell then. This only made him
smile. He was nearly close enough to punch through my chest… a Regent’s essence
is the most potent of all, and he was ready to feast on my heart….