beats per minute (28 page)

Leaning over Declan, who was supporting his shoulder, Ingmar
made a sudden movement with his left hand. His fist was soon pressed against
Declan’s throat.

‘His greed was his mistake! If he had only held me at a
distance, he could have finished me off with his sword. All would have been
lost. But he was so sure of himself, so cocky, that he did not want to kill me
without stealing my time; and so instead of pushing me backwards, he brought me
within striking distance, his gluttonous fingers grasping for my heart.

I slit his throat. Two major arteries were hit at once and
he was done.’

The awestruck silence was broken by Max’s rather polite
applause. The noise apparently brought the room back to itself, for it soon
sounded as if he’d given the signal for a bomb to go off: the students, rowdier
and more excited than the teachers, clapped and whooped until their hands and
voices were sore. Questions started flooding out; even Regents like Warwick who
had heard the story before had new things to ask, or wanted another move
demonstrated. Declan, still on his knees, looked dazed.

‘Ouch,’ Sam’s voice said in Raegan’s ear, drawing her focus
away from the circle. She looked down to see that her hand was still clutching
onto his. His fingers were white with the pressure.

 She let go immediately, her cheeks flaming into life.
‘Oh bugger, I’m so sorry!’

‘Don’t be.’ His face was close to hers. ‘I liked it.’

Her stomach, squirming anxiously after the story, now seemed
to drop clean out of her body. She tried to be cool but the words still came
out in a rush.
‘Me too.’

‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’

‘Um…’ she wondered if it was a trick question. He was
supervising some of her classes, after all.
‘The usual.
Study hour, Heart, curfew.’

‘After curfew.’

When she looked at him as if he’d grown two heads, he
laughed. ‘You’re coming out with me. I’ll let you know the details tomorrow.’

The thought of time alone with Sam made her giddy, but she
didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion.
‘Out of the
compound?
Like when you and Warwick go out?’

‘Yes to the first, no to the second,’ he said softly.
‘Tomorrow night is for us.
Just you and me.’

A loud whistle broke the spell. Fizzing with excitement,
Raegan whipped round; Sam, amused, followed suit. Declan was holding Ingmar’s
hand aloft. He whistled between his teeth again.

 ‘Let’s hear it again for this champ!’ he yelled. ‘Take
a bow, sir.’

‘I could not have done it without my debonair assistant!’ Ingmar
clasped the young man’s hand, his voice hearty. ‘Please, bow with me!’

There were exclamations of ‘Encore, encore!’ as the pair
bowed. Ingmar roared with laughter. ‘What else can I do for you, you demanding
little
monsters!
I have no more tales. I am no great
warrior. Not like Yali Nureyev over there – do you know he despatched his Mark
without getting a scratch on him? Not one scratch!’ Yali smiled modestly,
waving away Ingmar’s remark, but Ingmar carried on. ‘He is a true champion.
Look what happened to me!’

With his free hand, Ingmar pulled the corner of his shirt
down. The shiny, raised groove of the large scar left by Viggo’s sword was
visible.

‘But you wear it so well,’ Robert said, his voice full of
warmth. ‘It is a proud remembrance of your triumph - and a great triumph it was
too. You are too modest, Master Ostergaard.’

The cries of ‘hear, hear’ and the beginnings of the ‘for
he’s a jolly good fellow’ chant were so loud that Declan’s small noise of
horror was nearly lost.

‘But it’s, it’s-’ the rare expression of happiness drained
from his face as he stared at the scar, revolted and fascinated at the same
time. ‘It’s still… it hasn’t healed!’

Raegan froze.

Ingmar, who was suddenly very drunk, swayed as he tried to
comfort his student. ‘Come, come, Declan. Only a scar remains, it looks worse
than it is, used to give me the odd twinge but not any more…’

‘No! The blood!’ he gabbled, frightened now.

Raegan raised her head to see Declan backing away in panic.
He was white as a sheet. Ingmar still had a grip on his arm, not realising that
he was trying to escape. Over the top of the commotion, her gaze met Bree’s.
The hazel eyes slid away after a moment.

By now the commotion had caught the Praetor’s attention.
‘Declan,’ he said soothingly, insinuating himself between Ingmar and Declan,
breaking their contact. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t touch any
of the food. All this excitement and beer can be a bit much on an empty
stomach!’

Hearing this, Cakey, who was standing nearby, piped up. ‘Ah,
but this is no problem. We ‘ave plenty of food still!
Come,
let me fix you a plate,
cherie...’

‘
No.’ Max’s voice came down like an iron door. ‘The
boy needs some quiet. Mrs Crawfield will attend to us.’ Wrapping an arm of
steel around his shoulders, he discreetly frogmarched Declan, who was shaking
violently, out of the circle. He nodded curtly to Yali as he passed. ‘See that
this finishes in a timely manner.’

‘Of course, Praetor.’
Master
Nureyev, now the picture of military discipline, bowed to his superior.

Euphoric after the dramatic, triumphant story, the party
raged on. The atmosphere was unaffected by Declan’s hasty departure – mostly
because the crowd didn’t even seem to notice that he had gone. Yali, getting
stuck into the vodka with Ingmar, decided that a very loose interpretation of
‘finishing in a timely manner’ was perfectly acceptable. Cakey gave up trying
to place coasters under glasses and wiping up spills, and bopped on and on with
Bree and Adriana to the sound of Tyrell’s guitar.

Only two pairs of eyes would be caught stealing repeated
glances at the door, almost compulsively, long after the Praetor and his
subordinate had made their escape.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock-

‘Coming!’
Sam shouted irritably. He
wasn’t really doing anything important, just lying on his bed staring at the
wall as he did most of the time, but he also wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

Thankfully the knocking stopped. And a good thing too - it
had increased in frequency and weight until it sounded like a thunderstorm was
erupting inside the small room. Sam, who was constantly plagued by headaches,
was not amused.

Finally, slinging on a shirt but not bothering to button it,
he slunk to the door. Opening it a crack, he was confronted by a barrel chest.
He sighed.

‘What do you want, Warwick?’

‘A quick word.
Can I come in?’

‘No.’

Warwick stared at the pale green surface of the door, which had
closed unceremoniously in his face. Idly, he wondered what to do if it did not
open it again. He could easily remove it from the frame but he preferred to be
polite.

Fortunately Sam only kept him waiting a short spell. As he
slid out into the hall, he carefully concealed the interior from view.

 ‘Room’s a mess,’ he said by way of explanation,
shutting the door firmly. ‘What’s up?’

Warwick felt awkward. He hated having to throw his weight
around.
‘Yeah.
I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,
man, but the thing is...’ his voice trailed off as he peered at Sam more
closely. ‘Are you ok? No offence, but you look like hell.’

He wasn’t exaggerating. Sam was handsome in a typically
English way, with pale skin which easily took on high colour, navy blue eyes and
that short, straight up sandy hair favoured by preppy schoolboys everywhere.
Usually, he dressed accordingly: simple, tidy, all well pressed t-shirts,
jumpers and jeans. Who was this dishevelled guy in the tatty shorts, slitty
eyes staring out at Warwick from under a matted lump of hair?

‘I can’t sleep,’ Sam rasped in his north London twang. He
ran a hand over his fringe self-consciously.
‘Haven’t
properly for days.
Booze last night was an error.’

‘Have you told the healers? There might be something they could
recommend, help you get some shut-eye.’

Warwick’s drawl always grew slower and deceptively thick
when he was anxious about something. Sam eyed him suspiciously.

‘I’ll think about it.
So.
Why are
you here? Not just to check on my health, I’m guessing.’

So much for beating about the bush.
‘I hear you are taking Raegan out tonight.’

‘Not that it’s really any of your business but... yeah. We
had a vague plan.’

‘More than vague, the way she told it.’ Unaware of how
seriously he was damaging Raegan’s façade of coolness, Warwick steamrollered
on. ‘You know we can’t let you do this.’

‘We?
Who’s
we?’

‘At the moment, just the Level Fives.
But we could take it further if you want.’

Sam let out a disbelieving hoot. ‘You’re joking, yeah?
Limiting my duties isn’t enough for you lot – you want to restrict who I spend
time with too?’

‘C’mon. We had nothing to do with you being taken off active
duty, you know that. It was the Praetor and the centurions who made the final
call.’

‘But not without speaking to you all first. You just had to
give them the inside scoop, didn’t you?’ Sam hissed.

‘You didn’t exactly give us much choice, man. I’m not gonna
act like I know what you went through-‘

‘You have no idea!’

‘-but that doesn’t excuse what you did. You gotta deal, Sam.
Everyone has to get their shit together at some stage.’

Bootfaced, Sam changed tack. ‘I don’t see what any of this
has to do with who I date.’

‘Oh, so you’re dating now, are you?’

‘Sod off. I like Raegan and she likes me. End of
discussion.’

Warwick was growing impatient. ‘And this has nothing to do
with Declan?’

Sam didn’t say anything but Warwick didn’t miss the slight
smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He lost his temper.

‘Aw, don’t be a dick! She’s a good kid. Whatever you think
about the rest of us, you know she deserves better.’

‘I know exactly what she deserves.’ Sam’s tone was breezy
and, apparently fed up with the conversation, he reached for the door handle.
‘I don’t know what you’re so worried about, anyway. She’ll have a good time.’

‘No, she won’t.’ Warwick’s hand got there first. There was
no way the door would budge if he didn’t want it to.

Sam glared at him.

‘Here’s how this is going to play,’ Warwick said softly, looming
over his much-smaller colleague. ‘You’re not taking Raegan out on some cosy
little outing.
Period.
For one thing, we’re in charge
of that girl’s safety, not you – she’s not leaving the compound illegally
unless we say so. And she’s damn well not leaving without our protection.
Second, I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you. And believe me,’ he
added, grinning nastily, ‘I could throw your skinny ass pretty far.’

Not for nothing was Warwick known as ‘Tank’. He was huge.
Sam was a talented Regent, active duty or no active duty; but now, when wedged
between the door and Warwick’s weighty left bicep, he could only nod mutely in
reply.

‘Good.’ Slowly, Warwick released him. ‘I’m glad we got that
straightened out. Make no mistake, Sam – I don’t want to have to repeat this
conversation. We were friends once. We could be again. But if the message
doesn’t sink in, I’ll happily hammer it home.’

For a moment, the corridor was devoid of sound save that of
their breathing. Warwick’s, deep and calm, provided a slow, steady counterpoint
to the noticeably ragged inhalations of his companion.

 ‘So... what should I tell Raegan?’ Sam asked finally
through gritted teeth. His cheeks were very red.

‘No need to tell her anything,’ Warwick said cheerily.
‘She’s expecting you tonight at 10, right? We’ll come for her instead. It’s
about time she had a night out; time to get her out of Crosshaven and show her
the sights of Carrigaline, Regent style.’

Jauntily, he strode away, whistling. But Warwick was not
unkind; and after a moment he turned back. Sam, wilted against the door, did
not stir. Warwick tried not to dwell on how defeated he looked or the
possibility that he might have been too forceful.

Instead, with a sensitivity belying his appearance, he
offered the olive branch.

‘I’m going past the hospital now, so I’ll drop in and let
the healers know to expect you later,’ Warwick’s voice was gentle. ‘Once you’ve
been, catch up with me, and I’ll fill you in on the details for tonight. You
can still hang out with Raegan. We’ll just be there, too.’

***

‘I can’t believe this!’ Raegan muttered to herself as she
flew down
the via
decumana. What was meant to be a
quick chat with Jasper had turned into a proper natter. And now she was late;
it was nearly nine forty-five, and she had no time to get ready for her date
with Sam. There she went again, calling it a date!
Those
little smiles, looks, the hand on hers – what if she had misread the signs?
Play it down, Raegan, play it down, she chided
herself
.
That way, there will be no disappointment.

 Rocketing into her room, the door slamming loudly
behind her, she lunged for the clothes laid carefully on the bed. She was only
halfway shimmied into the green playsuit – which was flattering but a nightmare
to get out of if you needed the loo – when she heard a tapping at the window.
The peach lace of her favourite bra peeked out from between the undone buttons
of the top. It was not the best look.

Could it be Sam already? He said he’d swing by her room, but
she didn’t think that would mean pelting asphalt at her window...

Hastily pulling the straps over her shoulders and yanking
the playsuit up, she opened the curtain cautiously.

Bree, stunning in leather trousers and a scarlet chiffon
blouse so sheer that it left nothing to the imagination, gazed up at her.

‘You’re not my type,’ she grinned. ‘But you’ll do. Get your
bag, Cinders; Fairy G is taking you to the ball.’

***

It was past eleven by the time Bree led Raegan into the
crowded bar. After an hour in the freezing cold, Raegan was relieved to be
inside.

‘You go through all that every time you go out?’ she asked
her friend as they queued for the cloakroom.

Bree threw back her head and laughed. ‘Just be thankful
we’ve only come to Carrigaline tonight! Sometimes we go as far as Cork. That
takes hours.’

‘But that much effort!’

‘It’s worth it to escape Unit Bore for a bit.’

‘Why don’t you just traverse?’ Raegan asked, stamping her
numb feet. Her sexy leather boots had proved useless against the icy Irish air.

‘But what would be the point? To us, the journey would still
take as long,’ Bree pointed out reasonably. ‘Plus, we’d have to wait until we
were a good distance from the Unit to even try – the mages inside the fort keep
any eye out for any such unusual activity within a certain radius. We are trying
to be covert, darling.’

‘I guess,’ Raegan said grumpily. ‘But why do you have to get
on a boat? A ruddy boat! Why not a car? Or one of those nifty helicopters that
picked me up from Ramsey...’

‘Do you understand the meaning of the word covert?’

Raegan had to admit her friend had a point. Sailing a small
boat down the estuary of water which separated the Crosshaven coast from
Curraghbinny, and which led all the way to Carrigaline, was an ingeniously
discreet method of transport. Still. This wasn’t what she’d expected her night
out with Sam to be like. She hadn’t even seen him yet!

Apparently the separation was totally necessary. To Raegan
it was just annoying.

‘It’s not that we don’t trust you,’ her friend had said
evenly. ‘But leaving camp is against the rules, and we have to be careful about
it – particularly as you are so new to the training. You are our
responsibility.’

Secretly Raegan thought that it was pretty hypocritical to forbid
her and Sam from breaking the rules on the grounds that they would be safer if
they broke the rules en masse.

‘Sam will meet you there,’ Bree continued. ‘We have a deal
with certain Skippers on the Night Watch, but even so, we have to leave the camp
in shifts. It would be far too obvious if we all left at once. You and I are
last on the rota – so at least you’ll be able to make a fashionable entrance,
eh.’

One bonus of the plan was the chance to catch up with Bree,
at last; and now they were safely inside, Raegan wondered if she should bring
up the Trace. She didn’t really want to. What she really wanted was a night
off. At the same time, she was desperate to hear Bree’s opinion on Declan’s
weird behaviour at the party. Could it be possible that he might also have the
Trace? And if so, did he know about it? Was that why he was so hostile toward
her – a sense of competition?

But then Bree handed her a compact, and the moment was lost.
‘Give
yourself
a quick touch-up,’ she suggested
kindly. ‘You look pretty lickable for someone who’s been out on the water, but
I know how you fret.’

‘You’re a mate,’ Raegan took the compact, secretly grateful
for the distraction. The Trace would have to wait. Then, glancing at the
mirror, she gave a gasp of horror. ‘’I take that back! I look like Rudolph! Why
didn’t you tell me…?’

Wordlessly, but with a good-natured shake of her head, Bree
drew a large brush and some powder from her bag. Thankfully Raegan’s long nose
was far less luminescently rosy after a thick application of Yves St Laurent’s
finest.

‘Ready?’

As was typical for one blessed with the kind of natural good
looks that require little maintenance, Bree lost patience with grooming
quickly. She did not wait for an answer before pushing open the black doors
leading from the corridor into the bar. The huge wave of heat, noisy chatter
and a thumping, electronic bass-line hit Raegan like a smack in the face.
Slipping on the fetching neon-pink wristband designated to under 18-entrants,
she followed her friend into the heaving throng.

Bree moved purposefully; and where Bree moved, slinking
through the pulsing bodies like an undulating scarlet flame, crowds parted.
Minutes later she was handing Raegan a brimming cup of non-alcoholic mulled
cider. Not for Bree the commonplace annoyances of barging sweaty fellow
drinkers out of the way or cutting in line; a barman was at her elbow almost
before she’d arrived at the counter. Volcanic charisma certainly had its perks.

A new track started to play. Blue lights pulsed on and off,
illuminating the swarming dancers throwing their hands in the air. Lady Gaga,
Raegan recognised with a start. She knew the voice but not the song. She
couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a new piece of music.

With a pang, she wondered what Marie would have thought of
this place. It was pretty crappy compared to Mojo’s – not a leather couch in
sight! At the same time Raegan could see why the Regents came here. The decor
might be tired but the crowd wasn’t.  It was easy to lose track of the
days in Unit Prime but Raegan didn’t need a calendar to tell her that it was
Friday night; the excitement in the air was contagious. She turned to Bree with
a smile.

‘This place is awesome.’

Bree’s eyes glinted wickedly. ‘I’m glad you’re in the party
mood at last.’ She gestured to the counter, which was covered in dents like a
pot-holed road. On it sat some new additions:  eight fat shot glasses,
filled to the brim with clear liquid.
‘Up for it?’

Raegan looked at the shots nervously.