Hidden Among Us (12 page)

And I
smelled
her before she even came in. Musty woodsmoke, something sweet and intoxicating beneath it all. I turned and there she was, so horribly tall and pale, white-blonde hair like a cloud around her head, smiling. And those terrible clothes, layers of mud-coloured wool and weird greenish silk.

God, she was beautiful. I could tell immediately that she wasn’t human. You could see it in her eyes – something cat-like and merciless. Utterly without pity. I stood in total shock. Of course I’d heard Miles and Virgie’s stories about the Reach, about the Hidden “folk” as they called them. But I’d never actually thought for a moment any of it was true.

It’s all true. All of it.

She smiled, and I saw her glance around the kitchen, her eyes finally resting on a bowl of pink roses I’d cut earlier and left on the table. “I’m Rose,” she said. I had the strangest feeling she’d made it up there and then, that Rose wasn’t her real name at all. “And you’re Miriam. Aren’t you lovely? So perfect.”

I stared at Miles, hardly able to speak. I couldn’t believe what he’d done, the sheer recklessness of it. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A girl who looked human, but wasn’t. Another species.

“How did this happen?” I stammered, stumbling over my words, unable to take my eyes away from Rose. There was something both intoxicating and repellent about her.

All I remember is Miles laughing, walking over to the sideboard by the door, tipping out the contents of a plastic carrier bag.
Iron crosses
. The iron crucifixes which had hung for centuries over every window and door at Hopesay Reach, even the iron knocker unscrewed from the front door, all sitting there in a useless pile.

Miles had taken them all down. He’d removed our protection. I’d listened to enough of Miles and Virgie’s tedious stories about the history of Hopesay Reach, that poor little girl who went missing hundreds of years ago. I knew the Reach was protected by the prayers of a terrified village priest, whispered over each iron cross. I knew why, too.

I’d always thought they were just silly stories. Till now.

The Reach was protected because of the Gateway. Because of the power in those old standing stones that now form the very fabric of Hopesay Reach, some left in their original position when the priory was built, others knocked down, cut, shaped and built into the very walls around us. A vortex of power which, left unsealed, allowed the Hidden to leave their halls and roam free.

“Miles, what have you done?” My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, whispery and terrified.

He grinned. “I’ve opened the Gateway,” he said. “Isn’t it extraordinary? A whole other world, Mirry. Come with me – we’ll be young for ever. We’ll never die.”

“Don’t!” I hissed, thinking of every stupid fairy tale I’d ever heard. “Miles! You won’t be able to get back. You’ll be trapped!”

Rose was looking at the pile of iron crucifixes with the most extraordinary expression – fear and triumph all mixed into one. Yes, the Gateway was open now, but right there on the table was the only thing on earth that could kill her, were it heated, beaten, forged into a weapon with a deadly edge.

She laughed at me, as if I were the boring sensible one telling everyone to stop, which I suppose I was. She turned to Miles and kissed him full on the lips till my cheeks flamed red. They parted, his eyes still lingering on hers, his fingers tracing a line down her exquisite face. Rose turned to me, smiling. “Oh, Miriam, you darling silly thing, don’t worry. I’ve brought someone just for you.”

The way she spoke was so pretentious. Just one of the many things that annoyed me about her.

But as Miles and Rose stepped further into the kitchen, hand in hand, a boy walked in after them, taller than Rose, stooping through the door frame, standing, smiling too, just like her. Black eyes like smears of coal-dust, shiny black hair hanging loose past his shoulders, a gold band around his white throat.

“He’s my brother,” Rose said, so very proud.

And the boy smiled at me. “Hello, Miriam. I’ve been longing to meet you.”

21

I’m dreaming again
.

It starts, as usual, with the clear limitless light of a blue sky on a hot day. And the sky is all around me, air rushes past my face, between my outstretched fingers, into my wide-open screaming mouth, because I’m falling. I look down and watch the ground coming closer every second, the patchwork of green fields and darker smears of woodland, the glittering trail of a river, cars inching along a motorway, the grey sprawl of a town staining the beauty of it all—

I’m falling and I’m going to die
.

Then that physical sensation across my back: muscles stretching, lengthening, something
unfurling.
I squeeze my eyes tight shut. And the lift, that incredible lift, warm air beneath, pushing me up, higher and higher. I want to open my eyes again, to look down and see those fields and forests, that ugly town, but I know what will happen if I do. I soar, wind rushing past my face, and when I can stand it no longer, I open my eyes and—

I woke with a jolt. Everything was dark, soft warmth. I spread my fingers and touched fur, the hard leathery edge of some animal’s skin. One side of my face burned with a faint sting, as if I’d scalded myself.

Fear jolted through my body. Where was I? Not in my bedroom at Hopesay Reach. Not any more. Then where?

Chilly sweat broke out on my back and on my hands, sticking to my skin. My hair hung down, brushing against my neck. What was this place? I’d dreamed of freedom, of flying, but woken up in a dark prison. All I remembered was that woman in the church reaching out as I fell, and Rafe, Rafe
hitting
me. That was why my face hurt.

Why had he
done
that to me?

It wasn’t quite dark. Not really.

“Rafe?” I called. “Rafe?” No reply. Deep down, I hadn’t expected one. I knew even then that my brother was a long, long way away. I felt his absence, deep in my flesh and bones. More tentatively, I whispered, “Joe?
Joe
. Is anyone there?”

I had a sudden, absurd desire to hear Joe telling me not to be a daft cow, like he’d done outside the house earlier that morning.
Not boring after all. Just
safe. I would have given anything to hear Rafe’s voice then, sarcastic and cold, even though he’d just hit me. Even being with Rafe would be better than this – alone, in the dark.

“Let me out!” I shouted, again and again, until I was only sobbing, not even able to form the words.

No one answered. No one came.

I sat back on my heels, trying to calm my breathing, knowing if I went into a blind panic I would lose my grip on reality and never get out. I wouldn’t escape this place without at least trying to think straight.

My eyes were adjusting, and the dark seemed to lift. I crawled towards a circle of silver light like a rising moon, bare earth beneath my hands and bare earth just inches above my back. A tunnel. I
was
underground, soil and sharp stones beneath my hands, digging into my knees even through jeans.

Buried.

Had
he
done this? Rafe?

No. Not even he would leave me in a place like this.

Don’t panic, don’t panic
.

I crawled to the end of the tunnel, broke out into a cave where at last I could stand, but the walls weren’t rock, they were just earth. There were no windows, only a few openings leading off, dark like gaping mouths. But I could still see. At one end of the cave, flames leaped in a stone bowl on the ground. The smoke drifted off, fading into nothing. Lines of ragged silky flags hung from above like bunting left outside all summer, floating in a breeze that came from nowhere. There was a grease-smeared bronze plate on a table and a silver bell looped onto a white stick, trailing a few ragged scraps of what might once have been ribbon. A child’s toy? Animal bones lay scattered on the earth beneath my bare feet. Or at least I hoped they were animal bones.

And now I remembered kicking my boots off before throwing myself on the bed. I’d gone to sleep there.

Woken up here.

Don’t panic—

“They can’t hear. It’s no use trying. I cried till my voice died and no one came.”

I looked up, swallowing my horror, but there was just a little girl standing in one of the dark doorways, maybe seven or eight years old – about the same age as Connie. A little girl, underground. I had to push the thought away, concentrate on the detail, or I was going to panic, start screaming. Her brown hair hung in a tangle all the way down to her waist, bare legs streaked with mud.

“I’ve tried calling so many times.” The little girl
curtseyed
then, before coming towards me, an odd little bowing bob, like it was something she did automatically. There was something strange about her voice, too: a weird, rolling accent I’d never heard before. “Once, I thought I heard my papa, calling back. But I was only dreaming. He never came, so don’t wear out your voice. No one will hear. It’s not worth your tears, boy.”

I smiled at her, even though I felt sick with horror and fear. “I’m not a boy. I’m a girl.”

“Oh. But you’re so tall. And wearing hose.” The little girl was staring at my jeans. “I’m looking for my bell.”

“I’m definitely a girl.” I reached across to the table, not really wanting to touch the greasy surface, handed her the silver bell. The white handle felt smooth, like polished bone. Ivory. She clutched it to her chest as if I’d been trying to steal it.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently, like speaking to Connie when she was upset –
oh, Connie
–  “Mine’s Lissy.” I didn’t want to frighten her away. I didn’t want to be left alone in this dark filthy place.

She smiled. One of her front teeth was missing. “I’m Philippa, but Mammy and Papa and Roger always call me Tippy.” Her mouth twisted like she was going to cry. I wanted to reach out and hug her, as I would if she were Connie. Her eyes stayed dry. I could still see the horror and misery in them, though, this terrible desperate
longing
for Mammy and Papa and Roger, but there were no tears. It was as if she had none left.

She turned and ran.

“No!” I called out after her. “Wait!”

But Tippy didn’t stop, just disappeared through the farthest doorway, her skinny legs pale against the darkness. I stood, helpless. Now I couldn’t even hear the silvery ring of her bell on its ivory stick. She’d gone.

What would Mum do when she got back to the Reach and found I wasn’t there? I couldn’t stand not knowing what had happened to my sister. Standing in the gloom, I dug into my jeans pocket for my mobile. There was no reception at all. I re-read Mum’s text from that morning. I didn’t have much battery left. Why hadn’t she tried to ring or leave another message? Was Connie still in intensive care or— Or something else?

Tears burned my eyes but I rubbed them away.

Crying wasn’t going to help. I’d been wrapped in cotton wool for years; I was the one who’d wanted to prove I could look after myself, catching that train alone. It felt like years ago but was only yesterday.

But how did I even get here? How—

I
had
to get back to the Reach.
No one will hear
. Such terrifying words. I pushed them out of my head.
She’s just a little girl
. I was older. I was convinced I could think things through more clearly.

I’m going to get out of here. I am. I
will.

I tried not to think about Tippy’s strange accent, those old-fashioned clothes.

As if she’d been down here for hundreds of years.

22

I sat on the front doorstep, leaning back against the old wood, gasping for breath. I couldn’t believe I’d made it without falling and breaking my neck. Climbing down from the roof of a house isn’t easy at the best of times, and especially not with one ankle smashed to hell. I patted my jacket pocket, and felt the reassuring presence of the manuscript, safely folded away.

They’d found nothing. Whoever they were. They’d be back soon. I knew I didn’t have much time, and I could have very easily done without Joe to baby-sit.

My hands were shaking so much I gripped my leg, looking down at the mess. Blood everywhere. The level of pain was astonishing: a crazy pulsing agony. I was dimly aware of Joe opening the door behind me, sitting down at my side. He said something I couldn’t concentrate on, pushing a pack of codeine tablets into my hand, then a half empty bottle of red wine.

“You want brandy but I couldn’t find any.” His flat, northern voice was oddly calming and businesslike. Maybe he was going to be useful after all; he’d definitely kept his nerve up on that roof.

I forced myself to focus. I choked back three of the tablets and swallowed a mouthful of wine, eyes watering.

“Listen,” Joe said, “are you going to tell me what’s going on? Who were those people in the house? What makes you think you’re being followed—”

And Joe stopped mid sentence. Just stopped. I followed his gaze.

The creature stepped out between the trees on the front lawn with the silent grace of a deer in the woods. There he was, just standing and watching us, the hood of his black cloak thrown back, red hair everywhere, dark eyes shining like mackerel skin.