Blood Entwines (19 page)

Kara knew where he lived. Thanks to the newspaper article she had done a little digging of her own. It had taken both of them to drag Jack to Ben's car. In all that time, Ben had not said one word.

Kara should offer some kind of explanation, but where to start?

What a disaster
!

‘He's a friend of the family,' she mumbled as they drove across town. Kara blocked out the discomfort she was feeling, ignored the prickle of pain as it pressed against her.

Jack stirred in the back seat, moaning indecipherable phrases. She hoped he didn't say anything inappropriate about mutant blood.

Finally, as beads of sweat began to form along the bridge of Kara's nose, they arrived at the wide tree-lined street of Highbury Close, the posh part of town.

‘Which number?'

‘Huh?' Kara's attention was caught by an impressive wrought-iron gate to one of the houses. The gardens were all immaculate. Each with two large cars, sometimes three, parked in the driveway.

‘Which number does he live at?' asked Ben coolly.

Kara glanced at the back seat, checking that Jack was still breathing, though she didn't know why she bothered; her blood was hot, she could feel their connection.

What happens if he dies? She didn't want to have to find out.

‘Kara?'

‘What?' she stared at Ben.

‘House number?'

‘Sorry, he said number nine.'

Number nine was a redbrick house, mock-Georgian style with big sash windows and a porch, but this wasn't the first thing Kara noticed about the house. She saw the boarded windows to the ground floor and the overgrown ivy clawing its way up the front of the building. She felt the potholes in the driveway and made out the marl of weeds in the garden, a craggy apple tree leaning precariously over the boundary wall.

The house looked vacant, like a squat.

Ben parked as close to the front door as he could manage.

She got out of the car and stood gazing up at its neglected façade. Such a shame, she thought to herself. It could be so beautiful.

Jack groaned in the back seat.

‘Best get him inside.' She smiled apologetically at Ben as they repeated the dragging and pulling till they got him to the front porch.

Kara patted Jack's face in an effort to revive him like they sometimes did in the old movies she used to watch as a kid. Ben took a more robust approach and shook him roughly, Jack's head bobbing like a poppy on its stalk.

He mumbled something incoherent as his eyes cracked open. Kara stood in front of him on her tiptoes to gain his attention.

‘Keys?' She held out her hand.

He swayed on his feet like a drunkard before jamming his hand into the pocket of his dirty jeans and withdrawing a silver key. Kara took it gingerly and used it to open the front door, which creaked in protest. They helped him into the dark hallway and propped him upright against the wall.

Jack leaned heavily against the solid structure, panting for breath. He grasped Kara by the forearm and pulled her roughly towards him. His breath stunk. ‘Get out of here.'

‘I'm not leaving.'

His eyes burned black in their sockets and his fierce grip seemed to eat a hole through her sleeve, singeing her skin. She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he held firm.

‘Kara,' he whispered with insistence, ‘I can't control what's coming. At least get him out of here.' His words sent a zip of apprehension through her. Ben was in danger. She had to convince him to leave. There was no way she was dragging him into this mess.

Kara turned towards him, a disingenuous smile on her face. She hoped she sounded convincing.

‘I think I'm going to call Rosemary and ask her to come over. She'll know what to do.'

She plunged on with the deceit.

‘Jack's totally out of it. Drunk off his head.' The lie came easily to her. She saw the look of disgust forming on Ben's face.

She needed to be sure that Ben believed her. ‘He has a problem. With alcohol. His parents and . . . my dad, were friends. I kind of owe him.' She let the sentence settle between them, watching Ben's reaction, gauging if he believed her.

Nothing. Ben had barely said two words to her. Was he mad? He nodded his head and began to turn from the door towards the car. She really wanted to reach out her hand and touch him.
Damn it
.

‘Ben.' The word escaped from her mouth like a treacherous betrayer. He turned around to face her, his face blank.

‘What did you want to talk to me about? Earlier you said you wanted –'

‘Forget it. It's not important.' He turned towards his car, his hands in his pockets, the roll of his shirtsleeves bunched at his elbows. She wondered what the skin was like there, soft and smooth, perhaps?

‘I'm sorry for ruining the evening,' she blurted, selfish for a moment, wanting to stall his departure. ‘I couldn't leave him there and he didn't want to go to hospital. I understand if it's a bit . . . a bit . . .' She was fumbling for words, not wanting to give too much away. ‘Everyone has things in their life they don't want to share.'

He looked at her, his hazel eyes calculating. He was deciding something, right there, at that very minute. Kara could see it.

‘It's cool.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I get it. Everyone has secrets.'

Kara wasn't sure if he meant Jack or her, but she didn't mind because he bent his head towards her and gently kissed her cheek.

‘I'd better go,' he whispered.

‘Your brother and sister. Of course.'

‘Take care of your . . . friend. The thing I wanted to talk about . . .'

Kara nodded, eager for him to confide in her.

‘Can I see you tomorrow?'

‘Yes,' she said, elated. He wanted to go on another date.

‘Can I see you the day after tomorrow?' She looked up at him, a small crease in the space at the bridge of her nose.
What exactly was he getting at?
‘And the day after that? And the day after
that
?'

We're just friends
.

Lab partners, that's all
.

Ashleigh is going to freak when she finds out
.

Kara's brain was doing somersaults, mixing past and present, her thoughts jumbled together.

Ben Shephard had just broken his cardinal rule. He had asked
her
to be his girlfriend.

Kara smiled a megawatt smile, so broad that she was sure her back molars must be showing. ‘I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.'

He kissed her gently on the lips, sending her stomach dropping to the soles of her feet, plummeting as if roller-coasting. ‘Tomorrow, then?'

‘Yes.' She could barely speak.

And he was gone, turning away from her, walking towards the car.

That distance between them, the physical separation, allowed her to think, the fog lifting from her brain. She didn't want him to leave her, but, whatever was happening with Jack, there was no way,
no way
she was getting Ben involved. He was too important for her to risk.

She stood at the doorway until his car lights had receded down the drive. Then she turned, squared her shoulders and marched up the steps of number nine.

Mrs Quinn was making vegetable soup. The steam from the pot filled the kitchen and the windows shone with condensation.

Hannah sat at the table, an orange plastic bowl nestled in her lap. There was a large brown paper bag of potatoes to be peeled. It was her job to get the veg ready. The peeler she was using was old, its blade barely sharp. She pressed down on the utensil, dragging a slippery potato peel from the body of the vegetable. She watched it drop into the bowl. She was thinking about Jack.

She had dreamed about him several times now. Each time the picture was a tiny bit clearer. She felt his hunger in her dreams, his anger, but also his fear. It was as if he was two people stuck inside one body. It frightened her.

She'd been in his mind before. She knew it, she just couldn't think where. He lived on the other side of town. It wasn't implausible that she had influenced his decision for some reason, followed the thread of his choice through the maze of his mind, wrapping the cord for her own devices. But surely she would remember. She only used her skill on certain people and every one of them she remembered.

Not everyone was susceptible to her
gifts
. Her mother, for example, and Ashleigh Jameson – they were all too tight, their decisions unwavering. She had no chance of altering the weave of their choices. And Kara, of course. But with Kara it was different. With Kara, Hannah couldn't see inside her mind at all, unless the girl allowed her, opening up the doors of her mind for Hannah to access.

She picked up another potato, peeling it free of its discoloured skin. She had a whisper of a connection with everyone she had ever invaded. She could feel them still, the gossamer of their minds inside her own. Sometimes she would get a flash of a decision they made, like the other morning, Mrs Byrne, her teacher, trying to decide whether to make eggs Benedict for breakfast with or without hollandaise sauce. It was weird. It just happened. Hannah had never actively sought it out.

She put another naked, freshly peeled potato into the pot of water on the counter. She enjoyed the methodical task. It allowed her to compose her features into a stoic expression and switch her brain to a different kind of activity.

‘Can you do the carrots next please, Hannah?' Her mother's face was shiny from the steam from the boiling water. She looked tired, old even.

Hannah nodded, placing the orange bowl on the table. She would need to count out exactly three carrots, one for each of them, choosing the vegetables from the bag whose sell by date was just past. Her mother was a fastidious shopper, their budget for daily meals calculated to the last penny.

Hannah opened the fridge door, wondering what would happen if she concentrated on the dream that she'd had of Jack. Maybe there was a connection. She reached for the carrots, the same orange colour as the bowl. She concentrated on the thread from her sleep, following its winding weave towards Jack.

The carrots slipped from her hand, rolling across the kitchen tiles. She screamed, banging her forehead against the edge of the fridge. She wanted to crack her skull open. She wanted to claw her eyes out, anything to stop the images in her mind. She slid to the floor. Her mother knelt beside her, calling her name, restraining her hands, pushing her knee into her back, trying to get Hannah into the recovery position, but it was too late.

The energy bubbled around her, radiating from her core, spiralling up. In a single breath she was lost, sucked into it, in the cavern of pain and fear and hate. An epileptic fit, as she had never experienced before. She was in Jack's mind. Only it wasn't his consciousness with which she was connected. It was someone's so much worse.

***

Dark, night-time, a street, the sight of a house, the curtains open, lights on. Bright fluorescent light. Two people, a man and woman. He sets the table, drawing the woman in for a quick kiss. She laughs, a throaty sound
.

Then a wave of disgust, detestation at the happiness in the house. There is
no
fear.

The crunch of gravel underfoot. The door, unlocked. Walk right into the kitchen. The woman at the counter sipping wine, turning. The man, oven gloves on, about to reach for the casserole. The smell, disgusting. Lunge for the woman, hand on her throat. Fingers closing round her neck, eyeballs bulging, fear pooling, her mouth open, silent scream. The lovely fear, oozing from her, the electronic pulse of it. Taking it all, all of the energy, gorging
.

Insipid man, striking, shouting. Inconvenient. One movement, snap of an arm, the howl of pain. Taking time with this one. Slow, rooting through his mind to find the source of it, manipulating it, teasing it out like a string of pearls until he screams, the fear bubbling in him like liquid energy. Take it all, snap his neck. Full, gluttonously full
.

A boy, sleepy-eyed, coming from upstairs. Play with him for a while. There's no more room for his fear. Slit skin and make him drink, changing him
.

There is always need for more foot soldiers. He falls unconscious. The blood will get to work. Claim him. He is marked
.

Keep the links strong, the blood as the connector. The blood. Always the blood. It is the link. Except the one that got away. She cannot hide forever
.

***

Hannah gasped for air, coming out of her memory as if out of icy water. She spluttered, pushing against the weight on her chest, clawing for release.

‘Jack!' she said, her voice wobbly.

Her mother released her arms. ‘Hannah?' She helped her sit up, smoothing hair from her sweat-drenched face. ‘I'm calling Dr Morris. That is the worst one so far.'

‘No.' Hannah crawled across the floor, willing feeling back into her muscles. She needed to find them. She knew what had happened, could feel the connection with him in her head. He was burning up, the mutant blood in his veins about to explode. Whatever had created him, whatever had killed his parents, was about to take over his body, about to engage the blood links. Hannah had to get to him.

Her mother was picking up the phone, trying to figure out the speed dial, her fingers slow with grease from the oil she used for the vegetable soup.

‘No!' pleaded Hannah from the floor, her eyes wild. There was no time. Kara. She coiled the energy in her head like a tight net and flung it as far as she could, searching for her, searching. Nothing. Maybe if she tried Ben. There was a tenuous connection between them since the night at The Loft when she'd altered his decision. If only she could find him. She reached with her mind, scrunching her eyes, holding her breath, concentrating with all her might.

There, on the periphery, a decision to stay or go wavering between two states. To stay or go where?
Where?
Hannah wanted to scream. Then she saw it, the spiral of the decision, the firing of the brain cells, the discarding of one option and the preference of another. To go home. To go home from number 9 Highbury Close.

Kara was at Jack's house.

‘Shit!' Hannah scrambled to her feet. She grasped the phone in her mother's hand and pulled it free, dropping it into the boiling pot of vegetable soup.

‘Hannah!' her mother called after her, but it was too late. Hannah had made her decision. She stumbled along the hallway, pulling her coat and bag from the hook by the back of the door.

Something terrible was about to happen. She crashed out of the front door of the house and began to run.