Dead Water

Page 9

 

  So however much my body ached for Potter, I knew, just like I had fought my cravings for the human red stuff in the zoo, if I gave in to them, it would only lead me down a nightmarish road of despair. However hard it was for me, I had to let go of Potter – he wasn’t mine to take. I could give in and be happy with him again for a time, but that would be selfish of me. My friends would never go home; they would never get the chance of being together again. I wanted that for them. The hardest thing for me to do was to give away the man I loved to another, but harder still would be to see my friends unhappy.

  Deep down, I knew I couldn’t really hate Potter for going in search of Sophie again. It just proved to me, just like the Elders had said, they were meant to be together. Did he really choose to go in search of Sophie? Or was it just the world trying to push itself back into place again? Potter just didn’t realise that yet.

  Beneath my wings, I uncurled my claws from around the iPod that Potter had given to me.

  I pressed the ‘Music’ icon. Just like Potter had said, there was only one song downloaded onto it.

  It was the song Potter had chosen for me. I slowly unwound the earphones that had been wrapped around the bottom of the iPod and pressed them into my ears. With my eyes shut tight to stop the on flood of tears, I listened to ‘Annie’s Song’ by John Denver.

  With the song set on repeat, I listened to the words of that song, which Potter had so carefully chosen. The music spoke of forests. In my sleepy mind I pictured the secret forest we were heading to and the Dead Waters which were hidden there. John Denver sung about mountains and I could see them in my mind. The peaks were dusted white with snow. Set between the mountains there was a small town. The streets were narrow and cobbled. I had been there before. . .

  Chapter Twelve

  Kiera

  . . . I made my way through the throng of people who crushed themselves in the town centre. There was a fountain, and I’d seen it before. I had been here with Kayla and Isidor after escaping that zoo. I was once again in the town of Wasp Water.

  Tudor-style houses lined each side of the narrow streets. People leant out of the upper windows, all looking in the direction of the town square. What was drawing their attention to it? What were they so desperate to see? The others crowding the narrow streets were just like me. All of them had bright hazel eyes, which burned in their sockets. All of them were wolves. I blended in with them. None of them knew they were being infiltrated by me.

  I wedged my slender frame through the crowds, slipping beneath waving arms, and between bustling bodies. The crowd buzzed with an excitable current, and in the distance I could hear a voice bellowing through a loudhailer. The voice sounded hissy and broken. But it stirred the crowds, bringing them to a feverish excitement. Desperate to find out what was causing such elation, I forced my way into the town square. The fountain had been reduced to rubble, and in its place had been erected what looked like a raised wooden stage. In the middle of this there was a guillotine. It stood tall, its silver blade gleaming in the morning light. Dried blood covered the edge of it, the sides, and the floor of the wooden structure. Before the guillotine sat a large metal bucket. It was then I understood why the crowds of wolves were so excited; they had gathered to witness an execution.

  I glanced left and right at their human-looking faces. But they were not really human; they just hid beneath human skin. They were Skinwalkers. With my eyes as yellow as theirs, I looked just like one of them. They did not suspect there was a traitor amongst their number. I looked back at the stage.

  There was a man standing to the right, a loudspeaker pressed to his lips.

  “Okay, my friends, please get ready for today’s main event!” he roared through the speaker. His voice sounded broken and high-pitched.

  The crowd whooped and punched the air.

  “Please welcome to the stage, our executioner!”

  The crowd erupted again, whistled and cheered as a hooded man stepped onto the stage from the right. His black mask had two narrow slits cut in the front. I could see his eyes blazing out of those two holes like headlamps. He waved at the crowed as they waved back at him. I looked over my shoulder.

  There was a sea of arms waving back and forth in the air. I looked back at the stage. The guy with the speaker spoke into it again and said, “So who are you going to be beheading for us today?”

  “A killer!” the executioner roared at the crowd from beneath his hood. “A killer of wolves!”

  The crowd roared angrily, punching the air with their fists.

  “But he is not just a killer of wolves, this man is a traitor, too!” the executioner barked, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

  The Skinwalkers hissed and booed.

  “He is one of us, but has deceived us all!” the guy with the speaker almost screeched. The loudhailer made an ear-splitting whining sound and I covered my ears.

  “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” the crowd started to chant.

  Who was this traitor the crowd so wanted to see beheaded? I wondered. Then, from the right, another hooded man was shoved onto the stage. Unlike the executioner, this man didn’t have eye slits cut into his mask.

  He staggered blindly across the stage. His arms were secured behind his back with chains. The executioner grabbed him roughly by the arm.

  “Unmask him!” someone roared from the crowd.

  “Show us the traitor’s face!” another yelled.

  “Unmask him! Unmask him! Unmask him!” the crowd wailed as one.

  The guy with the speaker teased the audience by shouting, “What was that? I can’t hear you!”

  “UNMASK HIM! UNMASK HIM!

  UNMASK HIM!” they now screamed.

  Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the guy with the speaker stepped forward and whipped off the prisoner’s hood.

  I looked in shock at my brother’s emaciated face. Jack Seth looked defiantly at the crowd.

  “KILL HIM!” the crowd cried.

  Then, from somewhere deep in the audience pressed into the town square, what looked like a big red tomato was hurled at Jack. It splattered into his chest, and ran in a thick, red stream down the front of his denim shirt. Once one item had been thrown, more followed. Jack’s face and body became covered in red. . . red. . . oh, my God. . . the crowd was throwing human body parts at him! I looked to my right and watched in horror as the Skinwalker standing next to me produced a severed human hand from a carrier bag he was holding. He hurled it at the stage. I watched it fly through the air like a giant flesh coloured spider with five legs. The hand slapped against Jack’s face, leaving a bloody red handprint behind.

  “Hey, you haven’t brought anything to throw?” the Skinwalker with the carrier bag said.

  I looked at him, desperate to hide my revulsion, so as not to give myself away.

  “I’ve got plenty of stuff in here if you want something to throw,” he smiled, waving the bag in front of my face. “I’ve got fingers and toes. There are two hearts in here someplace, and some brain. Brain is always good at these events – it sticks so well!”

  “No thanks,” I said, turning away, fighting the urge to puke my guts up.

  “Suit yourself,” the Skinwalker said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a human eyeball. He then tossed it at the stage towards my brother.

  Jack stood defiantly. Even though his entire face and body dripped red with blood, guts, and body tissue, he stood with his back straight, face turned towards the crowd. A severed foot shot overhead and smashed into the side of his face. His head rocked momentarily to the left.

  “Now that was really a kick in the head!” the guy with the speaker yelled.

  The crowd roared with laughter. When they had run out of human remains to hurl at Jack, the executioner shoved him back across the stage towards the guillotine.

  “Off with his head!” a Skinwalker screeched from behind me
.

  With his hands manacled behind his back, Jack could offer no resistance. The executioner made a swiping kick at Jack’s long legs. They buckled beneath him. He sprawled onto the stage, and the executioner forced Jack’s head beneath the guillotine.

  Why were they doing this to him? Jack was one of them. I edged myself closer to the stage. I had to save him, but how? I was one against five hundred or more. Still I started to push myself closer to the stage. But there were just too many people. I pushed harder, desperate now to save Jack’s life. But I just couldn’t reach him. The stage didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.

  “Take off his head!” another of the Skinwalkers whooped.

  They then began to chant over and over. I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd. I reached the stage as Jack suddenly looked up. Our eyes met. His were bright and spinning.

  “I love you, sister,” he whispered.

  There was a sound of metal slicing against wood as the blade dropped at speed.

  Throwing my hands to my face, I watched Jack’s head drop into the bucket before him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Potter

  “Wake up!” a gruff sounding voice bellowed in my ear.

  I opened my eyes to find Murphy peering at me through a haze of blue pipe smoke. It smelt pungent, making my eyes water.

  “I’m glad to see the little chat we had last night worked,” he grunted.

  “What are you talking about?” I groaned, swinging my legs over the side of the sofa and planting my feet on the floor.

  “I can see you’ve been lying there all night, crying your eyes out,” he said, shoving a mug of strong black coffee into my hands.

  “I’m not crying,” I said. “It’s that fucking thing you have constantly dangling from the corner of your mouth. The smoke is making my eyes water. ”

  “Bollocks,” Murphy said, turning away and heading back towards the kitchenette. “You’re nothing but a big girl’s blouse. ”

  “Look, I’m really not in the mood for your theatrics this morning,” I sighed, squinting at him through the trail of pipe smoke he had left behind.

  “I went and saw Kiera last night. ”

  “It didn’t go well, then,” Murphy said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.