Winter's Shadow (31 page)

The perfume of this strange place filled her nostrils and lungs. She breathed it in curiously, more conscious of the effect it had on her than last time. As before, the scented air calmed Winter, soothing her fears like an opiate. The imminent threat of the Skivers seemed to fade further away with each breath.

They drifted closer to the clouds below, and Winter began to see glimpses of the dark shapes of the city
through the grey veil. Here and there a particularly ambitious structure broke through the misty canopy, backlit by the emerald blasts of light issuing from the wells beneath. She could just make out people standing around these circular cavities, arms rapturously outstretched, waiting for the next geyser of light to erupt. Bells chimed close by, growing louder, more hypnotic.

Distantly, Winter felt Blake squeeze her hand and she managed to wrench her gaze from the wells. He was staring at her intensely, his mouth forming words, words she could barely make out through the darkness – ‘
Don’t look!
’ Speech didn’t seem to exist in this place, yet Winter caught the urgency of his warning. It was difficult to obey. The sights of the city begged to be seen.

Ahead of them a small patch of white light appeared in the sky, like a distant doorway being opened in a darkened room. Winter felt their flight subtly change course as Blake pulled them towards its faint glow, which seemed paltry and insignificant compared to the radiance of the city below. The light grew stronger as they neared it, but the opening was small, so small that Blake had to pull Winter close to him to fit through the gap together.

Before they passed from this ghost world, Winter took one last breath, wanting to hold as much of that intoxicating scent in her body as possible, and then they were somewhere else.

Winter’s five senses struggled to accept the abrupt change in environment. There was something cold and
gritty beneath her fingertips – soil. She could hear rain falling somewhere far above. Feeble grey light seeped in from an opening past her head, but it was not enough for her to see the boundaries of this space. Whatever this place was it was dark, cramped and dirty. She blinked in the murk, her head feeling curiously heavy. Images of the ghost city flashed in front of her eyes – the towers breaking through the clouds, the light wells . . . Winter could still taste the perfume of the air on her tongue; its scent soothing in this cold, dirty place. She felt tired, so tired. Her eyelids began to droop, the void beckoned . . .

Someone’s shuddering breath echoed off the walls and brought her momentarily back to herself –
Blake!

She opened her mouth to call out his name, but could only manage a whisper.

‘Blake?’

‘Winter?’ His voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away.

She tried to turn her head towards where his voice had come from, but lacked the strength. The strange lethargy that had plagued her last night had stolen over her again. Her vision began to swim, and then darken. Winter felt the darkness, closing in. She was drifting, falling . . .

Someone was grabbing hold of her shoulders and gently pulling her across the ground. In her semiconscious state, Winter could feel dirt spilling into her shirt and jeans as she was dragged along. Something scratched against her cheek and something hard and blunt jabbed her thigh, but these sensations were distant,
almost as though they were happening to another person.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Winter finally felt herself being pulled into the open air. Icy rain sprinkled down onto her face, but still she couldn’t rouse herself to full consciousness. Blake lifted her up into his arms. Then she was being carried.

Her head lolling, Winter managed to raise her eyelids a fraction, and recognised through her blurry vision the twisted magnolia tree in front of the Velasco place. There was a small hole in the trunk leading down into the dark, hollow depths. It was just big enough to crawl through. Judging by the dirty footprints in the grass leading away from the tree, Winter guessed that was where they’d appeared. In her dream-state, this almost made sense to her.

‘Winter?’ Blake said from a great distance.

Winter couldn’t answer him. She was slipping deeper into the darkness again.

Deeper . . .

A clock was ticking somewhere.

There was another sound, closer . . . a strange crackling and popping sound. Winter felt heat radiating against her face. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

Where was she?

She was lying on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. As her eyes focused, Winter could see heavy curtains drawn across the windows along the far wall. The cracks of silvery light between the curtains suggested that it was still daytime. Winter could only guess how long she’d been asleep. It might be tomorrow for all she knew. The cool leather beneath her creaked softly as she shifted her weight.

There were strange shadows playing across the ceiling. They flickered and danced, shifting in the firelight.
Winter looked down towards the end of the couch and saw the fireplace. Red and yellow tongues of flame gently licked at a pile of charcoaled wood in the grate.

Confused, she raised her head and saw that she wasn’t alone in the room. Blake was sitting across from her in a dusty armchair, a coffee table lying between them. He was asleep. Although he was still beautiful in repose, she noticed with concern that his features were pale and slightly feverish. His thick black curls were pasted to his forehead with sweat; his clothes were dishevelled, covered with dirt.

A rush of images flooded her mind – the Skivers, the chase, the garage, flying through that dark sky above the city, the hollow of the magnolia tree in the front yard. Blake must have carried her inside –
but were they safe here?
Earlier in the week, she’d heard the Skivers in the woods outside. What was stopping them from returning? Panic seizing her, Winter sat bolt upright, dislodging the ginger tabby that had been curled up on her legs.

The cat jumped off Winter and onto the floor where it glared at her reproachfully before padding across to Blake.

This motion roused him, his eyelids fluttered open. ‘You’re awake.’ The cat curled up into a ball at his feet, closing one eye and keeping the other luminous yellow one trained on Winter.

‘Are we safe?’

‘Yes,’ Blake answered hoarsely. He held a fist up to his mouth, muffling a cough. ‘As long as you’re within these walls the Skivers can’t reach you.’

Her gaze darted fearfully to the windows. ‘I saw one of those things reach into a man’s chest. What’s stopping them walking right through the walls?’

‘I’ve set up protections around the house. Wards designed to keep them out. Believe me, Winter, you’re safe.’

Winter took a deep breath. Despite Blake’s reassurances, she couldn’t completely dispel the fear that clutched at her even now. She was a condemned soul – Blake had said as much. How long could this safety last? As she considered this question she was distracted by something lying on the coffee table between them. An object that looked strangely familiar. Leaning closer for a better look, Winter saw it was her missing photograph: the flawed graveyard image that had disappeared from her bag.

‘I stole it from you.’

She looked up from the photograph at Blake watching her through the flickering darkness.

‘Why?’

Blake took a moment to answer. ‘First, let me ask you a question, Winter.’

She placed the photograph back on the table. ‘Ask me anything.’

‘Have you ever come across a locked door?’

‘Of course I have,’ Winter answered cautiously, unsure if she was missing some deeper implication.

‘Let me rephrase the question,’ Blake said, his eyes
glittering in the firelight. ‘Have you ever come across a door you couldn’t open? Think before you answer.’

Still very confused, Winter did as he asked her, and was surprised by what she recalled. Or what she couldn’t recall. It was impossible, of course. There must have been some time in her life when she’d tried a door and been unable to open it.

‘You can’t think of a single time, can you?’ Blake said, studying her closely.

‘I’m sure I have, but I can’t remember one right now.’

‘Earlier, I said that you’d always had the Sight. The ability had simply lain dormant.’

Winter didn’t need reminding. She could see the evidence glowing in Blake’s eyes, the tiny emerald sparks of the Occuluma. ‘Yes.’

‘This was not the limit of your untapped potential. You’re a Key, Winter.’

Winter baulked at the term. ‘I’m a what?’

‘A Key,’ he repeated patiently. ‘You have the power to open locked doors.’

She raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Most people can do that.’

‘Not like you. There are other places, other worlds, besides this one. You can open gateways to these worlds – or close them. It is a rare and powerful gift.’

Winter took a moment to process this. She looked down at her hands, trying to glimpse a sign of this amazing power Blake said she possessed. Her hands looked like she felt – completely unremarkable.

‘How can you be sure I’m one of these “Keys”?’

Blake shifted slightly, as though the question unnerved him. ‘I could tell from the first moment I saw you across the graveyard. There’s a unique light in your eyes that’s different from the Occuluma. A golden light visible only to someone like me. It’s very difficult to resist.’ His eyes locked onto hers. ‘Right now, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.’

The room seemed to have suddenly grown much hotter. Winter wet her dry lips, attempting to retain her composure. ‘Only because of this light in my eyes?’

Though thrilled by his confession, disappointment tempered her excitement. He didn’t want her for her mind, her personality, or her looks – just this invisible light.

Blake leaned forward, his voice softening. ‘Only in the beginning. It was something I had no control over. Now, though . . .’

‘Go on,’ Winter urged.

Annoyance flashed across his face. He wasn’t comfortable showing this vulnerability.

‘You should be afraid of me!’

‘Why?’

‘After last night I thought it would be pretty clear.’

Winter felt challenged to defend her memory. ‘Last night was amazing!’

‘I nearly killed you.’ Blake glowered at her a moment longer before falling back into his chair, exhausted from the exchange.

Winter was shocked into silence. She remembered the alarming lethargy that had stolen over her on the beach –
he had done that to her?
Watching him brooding in the firelight, she finally mustered the nerve to ask the question that had been lurking at the back of her mind ever since he’d pulled her out of this world and taken her to another. ‘What are you?’

Blake’s eyes widened slightly before darting to the flames, avoiding her gaze again. ‘A monster.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘You will.’ He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they had taken on a haunted quality, shadowed by the memory of the tale he was about to tell.

‘Two thousand years ago there was a young girl who lived in a village high in the Carpathian Mountains, on the border of what is now known as Romania. Her name was Lamara and she was revered by the other villagers as an oracle, someone who could communicate with the gods. One day her mother fell deathly ill. Terrified of losing her, Lamara beseeched the gods to spare her mother’s life. The gods cruelly chose to ignore her prayers, no matter how long she prayed, how many sacrifices she made to them.

‘Lamara grew frustrated, angry that they would abandon her now in her time of need. Especially after devoting her life to their will. She resolved that if they would not listen to her then she would find a way to travel to the afterlife and make them listen.

‘You see, Lamara had a power greater than that of a mere soothsayer. Like you, Winter, she was a Key – perhaps the first. She set about constructing a device, a portal crafted from polished obsidian. She hoped this Black Mirror, as it was eventually called, might take her to the gods. Instead, she opened a doorway to somewhere else: a place called the Dead Lands.