The Beast of Callaire

  Fray laces her fingers through mine, the ring cool against my too-hot hand, and leads us silently to her house. I can tell she wants to speak—the frenetic feel of her mind is bypassing the talisman and making me jittery—but she gives me quiet and lets me think.

  THIRTY ONE

  THE DISAPPEARANCE

  Fray has searched the house from top to bottom but her friends are gone.

  I stand on the upstairs landing watching the wind blow trees into a frenzy. There’s no sign that Niall and his sister were ever here. Fray’s house is as it always was, untidy and homely, and her possessions are all here.

  “Do you think I should call someone?” Fray emerges from the spare room, biting a fingernail. “It’s weird that they’d just leave. I left a note telling them I’d be back in the morning …. They should have left me one.”

  I fight not to smirk. “Planned to stay the night, did you?”

  “Oh, hush.” She bumps her shoulder into mine and joins me in looking at Almery Wood. “Do you think something’s happened to them?”

  “There’s no reason for a Legendary to be in the woods on a normal day. The woods are safe.”

  “I was thinking of the Numen.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. But why would the Phoenix take two Pures? That makes no sense.

  “I’m gonna call their home,” she says decisively. “See if their mum has heard anything.” Her fingers worry the hem of her shirt. “Why wouldn’t he say goodbye? We’ve been friends for years. I know him. He should’ve called or left a letter—or something!”

  “Fray.” I touch her shoulders, make her look at me. “We’ll find out what happened. They might have just gone into Callaire for shopping. They might only have been gone an hour.”

  “But all their things are gone.” She fishes her phone from her pocket, tapping a succession of keys. I strain my Crea hearing to listen but it fails me. I’m too human in this moment to draw upon aspects of my monster. I watch Fray, outlined in the pale light coming through the window, and something inside me softens, withers, becomes unfamiliar.

  I spend so much time staring at her, memorising the little movements her fingers make as she speaks, the way she bites her lip as she listens, that I miss the entire conversation.

  She ends the call, her mouth downturned.

  “What is it?” I brush a strand of hair from her face.

  “Niall’s sister,” she says. “Miranda.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He doesn’t have a sister.”

  It takes me a second to realise her meaning. “What? Then who is she?”

  “I don’t know. Why would Niall say Miranda was his sister if she wasn’t?”

  Something he said the night I met him comes back to me. He said she wasn’t his sister, but I dismissed it because he was drunk. I should have listened.

  I embrace Fray as my mind ticks. It’s possible that Miranda is connected to the Numen I saw in Fray’s memory. It’s also possible that she’s not, that she’s just a friend of Niall’s. But why would they leave without a message?

  “It’s all wrong,” Fray whispers against my neck, sending a shiver along my spine. “He just turned up. He said he got my postcard and thought it’d be fun to surprise me. I didn’t question it because I was so happy to see him but … he’s never had money for a plane ticket before. His family is struggling. They don’t have money to spare.”

  “Maybe he didn’t come by plane.”

  Fray touches my face. “What are you thinking?”

  “That you were right when you said a Numen might have taken him—but I think it happened long before he got to Callaire. When I reached out to Miranda’s mind I couldn’t hear anything. People have thoughts crowding their minds and even when they don’t, there’s background noise. But she had nothing. It’s happened before, but only twice, and both those times were when I tried to read—”

  “Numina,” she finishes. She scrubs at her eyes. “This is my fault. It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because of whatever I am?”

  “I don’t know.” I can’t lie to her. “It might be.”

  “I can’t—” Her breathing shudders. I wrap my arms around her, hoping I’m not as stiff and awkward as I feel. “How are we—supposed to find Niall when we—”

  “Fray.” I tip her face up. “We’ll find him.” I smooth her hair down her back, carefully shielding my thoughts.

  Fray said Niall came because of her postcard, an object someone Majickal would be able to sense Fray’s power on. Our possessions hold tiny residues of our Majick. Fray being able to bypass the talisman around my neck suggests she has a lot of it.

  If someone were to pick up on Fray’s Majick and follow it to its destination …. And if they can manipulate a Pure—Niall—to that extent, they must be a Numen. There’s no other explanation. No Legendary could do that.

  I choke on a gasp. “Fray, where is Niall from?”

  “Charleston. South Carolina. Why?”

  I pry Fray’s phone from her fingers and navigate to the map application. Her phone is more hi-tech than my brick of a mobile, which would be useless for this task. I tap in Charleston and wait for the phone to respond. South Carolina is on the east coast, a few states below Virginia. “Oh Gods.” My heart picks up. Fray has questions but I ask, I beg, her to wait.

  Mavers we need to talk right now!

  Yasmin? I’m a little busy.

  The Legendaries being drained? The thing that’s doing that? It’s here. In Callaire. It sensed Fray’s Majick on a postcard and tracked her here.

  Explain.

  I start with the first time I saw Niall and Miranda and end with the epiphany I just had, telling him every little thing in between.

  It makes sense. Something draining Legendaries of their Majick along the east coast of America. Niall being American and having never visited Fray before.

  Miranda must have been searching South Carolina for Legendaries when she caught the scent of Fray’s Majick. It all falls into place—she followed the postcard to Niall, dragged him to Fray so she’d trust them, and came here to drain Fray of her Majick.

  But why leave? I think. Why go without what she came for?

  She could be biding her time, Yasmin. Take Fray to your home or bring her here. She needs protection.

  She has protection. She has me.

  Good. She’ll need you if you’re right, if the creature draining Majick indeed turns out to be here.

  Mavers, I say, trembling at this point. What if Miranda comes for us? What if she drains all our Majick?

  If it comes to that, we’ll kill her.

  How? We won’t have any power.

  We have allies, and the Numina are watching the situation still. If we are attacked, it may force the matter forward, bring the Numina into action. This could be a good thing. It may cut the time of suffering in half.

  I don’t like it. I’m scared, Mavers.

  You’re also brave. And you’re not facing this on your own. The Red is with you. Take Fray home and stay there until this has blown over.

  Err, I think quieter. I can’t do that. I sort of … accepted a task from the Phoenix. He said he’d back us up if we were attacked by the Numina.

  Mavers’s mental voice is grave. I imagine him wringing his hands. What do you have to do?

  Find his son and bring him to you so he’s safe.

  That’s it?

  That’s it.

  Then you find this boy and you come right back to us.

  I close my eyes, the pressure of the quest heavier in this moment. Fray squeezes my fingers. Alright, I say.

  I break the connection and repeat the conversation to Fray, softening the parts about Miranda draining Legendaries. I tell her it weakens us instead of leaving us essentially paralysed. She has enough to worry about without this.

  “What about Niall?”

  “I have a plan for that. You’re coming home with me, okay? You can’t stay here alone. Miranda might come back.”


  “Because she wants my Majick?”

  I nod.

  “How can she know I have Majick? I haven’t done anything yet and I’ve been trying so hard.”

  I don’t tell her I hear her thoughts sporadically or that heightened emotions seem to unlock her power. “Even if you have no Majick, it’s not safe to stay here.”

  “So we go to yours?”

  “Yeah. With a detour. I have a friend who might be able to find Niall.”

  Fray winds her arms around my neck, her body sagging with relief. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “For looking after me. For everything you’ve done for me. I’d be able to do it myself, obviously, but thank you for helping.” She smirks up at me. “You’re a very good helper. Almost like a knight in shining armour.”

  “Thanks,” I laugh. “Almost.”

  “I mean it. You’re very good to me.”

  I frown. “I put you in danger. That’s not being good to you.”

  “You don’t mean to. That makes a difference.” She leans up and kisses the bridge of my nose. “Also you’re quite nice to look at and that always cheers me up.” I blink. She grins. “Come on, let’s take that detour.”

  THIRTY TWO

  THE SEARCH

  When Willa answers the door she’s not wearing clothes. She’s in a red bra with fancy black detail, underwear that comes high on her stomach, and fluffy red slippers.

  “Maybe you should get dressed,” I say as she shepherds us into the sitting room.

  “I am dressed.” I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic. She gives Fray a grimace. “She has no eye for fashion, this girl. Completely hopeless. You are different.” Willa pats Fray’s arm. “That is a very nice coat. Much nicer than Yasmin’s.”

  “What’s wrong with mine?” My coat is a simple khaki duffle with wooden toggles. I thought it was quite elegant when I bought it.

  Willa waves a hand. “No detail. No embellishment. Fray’s coat has epaulettes.”

  I wait for Fray to explain; she just smiles as if my ignorance is adorable. What’s an epaulette?

  “So, ladies.” Willa arranges herself on a chaise longue in front of the fire. “You need my help, yes?”

  “Yes,” Fray breathes. “My friend … I think something’s happened to him.”

  “I thought you could Scry for him,” I add.

  Willa sighs dramatically, throwing herself across the chaise. “Always wanting something. Never coming to see your friend Willa. Only coming for my eyes!”

  “Oh!” Fray gasps, holding her hands to her chest. “Are those Russian dolls? I love those.” She peers into a glass cabinet with wonder. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting a smile. She’s sly and sneaky and terrible. Willa launches to her feet, beaming as she explains the origins of each particular doll. Fray, apparently, can diffuse any situation, overdramatised or not.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Willa states when she’s finished the tale of her 2006 holiday to Bangkok. She aims a serious look at Fray. “Now tell me about your friend.”

  Fray explains everything about Niall and Miranda. It’s a different series of events coming from her. Fray’s words are passionate and horrified, more openly emotional than I could ever be. As she talks I see everything from the past few weeks in a new darkness.

  Willa is biting her nails by the time Fray’s finished speaking. “So I am to Scry for Niall?”

  “Yes,” Fray exhales. “Please.”

  Willa fills a bowl with water and sets it on the coffee table, kneeling. “I’ll need something of his, or something he has touched.”

  Fray produces a necklace from under her shirt and unclips a silver Deathly Hallows charm. I don’t want to upset her with any memories she might have of her friend so I don’t ask about it.

  Willa folds her fingers over the charm, hovering above the bowl. She touches the still water with a fingertip and her brow puckers. “I can’t see anything,” she mumbles. “There’s nothing.”

  Fray’s misery bleeds into my mind. “Does that mean—? Is he dead?”

  “Not necessarily.” Willa gives the charm back. “My Majick is temperamental. It’s not like Yasmin’s. My ability comes and goes of its own will. I’ll keep looking.”

  “Do you need this?” Fray holds up the necklace with its replaced charm.

  “You keep it. I know what to search for now. I’m sorry I could not help.”

  “No it’s—” Fray forces a smile. “Thank you for looking.”

  Willa bows her head, blonde curls wavering. She eyes the bowl and says, “Yasmin, help me with this.”

  I brush Fray’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort as I trail Willa to the kitchen.

  She empties the water into the drain without my assistance and fills one of her many kettles. She has six, all in varying sizes, brands, and colours. I’ve never asked why. I’m not sure there’s even a reason.

  “You have found the sun to your moon.” Willa side-eyes me. Now I understand why she made me come with her. Secret talk time. “Do not let her go, you hear me?”

  I smile at the floor. “I hear you.”

  She doesn’t speak until the kettle has boiled, cleansing the Scrying bowl with hot water. “Good. Look after her.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  Willa nods her approval. “Now leave. Trick will be home soon and I had planned to make dinner.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be busy.”

  “You never do.”

  “We just … really needed you. I should have phoned to make sure it was okay first.” I pretty much ruined Willa’s night.

  She touches my cheek. “Sweet girl. It’s nice to be needed. But now you must leave, and I must make pasta.”

  “Thanks, Willa.” I hug her, taking her by surprise and getting my arms around her before she starts squirming. I’m grateful to have such a good friend. “I’ll come back soon.”

  “You had better.”

  THIRTY THREE

  THE WHITE HAIRED BOY

  The Phoenix was right—I do know his son by his white hair. But what makes him impossible to miss is that he’s on top of a table in a crowded pub, pouring vodka over his shirt like a Coyote. Fray and I only came in to ask if the barmaid knew of a guy with white hair.

  He stands out in a room of brunettes and dirty blondes, his slim body set apart from the portly men watching him in shock. His clothes are ordinary compared to the rest of him, a white shirt bright against the dark gold of his skin and black jeans framing his hips. He looks like a normal eighteen year old but acts like anything but.

  As he dances, lights converge around him. The patrons stare, transfixed as bright points of light hover around the white haired boy.

  Fray grips my arm. “Is that—?”

  “Yes.” My palms become slick. Bringing someone back to the Red is one task. Cleaning up after exposed Majick is another. “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “I can tell everyone it’s just a magician’s trick, that he’s some kind of illusionist but ….”

  “No one’s going to buy that. You’re Psychic. Can’t you alter their minds?”

  “I’m not that powerful. I don’t have—it would take a Numen’s Majick to clear the memory of everyone in this room.”

  I hear the beginning of murmurs, questions. We need to do something now. “I’m going to stop him.”

  I straighten up and approach the dancing boy. He gazes down at me with a dreamy smile that falters when I drag him off the table. His Majick persists.

  I yank off my talisman. Stop it! I scream in his mind. You’re using Majick in public. Don’t you know what that means? You’ll expose the Legend Mirror! The Pures will know about us. They’ll hunt us.

  So dramatic, is his lazy reply.

  Please! Please stop.

  Fine. The lights vanish instantly and I slump in relief—only to notice the entire room watching us. My attention automatically falls on Fray and I gasp a ragged breath. Her hands are raised, her palms facing the staring peop
le. I don’t know what she’s doing but it chills me. I haul the white haired boy with me as I approach her, slowly. It feels, for the first time, like I’m not the dangerous predator but the skittish prey.

  Up close Fray’s eyes are changed, her pupils a tiny shock of white in a sea of gold. The beast flees, leaving me to face this terrifying version of Fray alone.

  She murmurs a word in a language I don’t speak and the room shudders. I grip the Phoenix’s son by the arm, refusing to let him go even as the people around us drop one by one to the sticky floor.

  I can sense the power of Fray’s Majick, coming and going in waves that steal my breath with their intensity. There’s no question of whether Fray has Majick now. Whatever she’s doing is nothing a Pure could do. I’m not sure it’s something a Legendary could do. This Majick is heavy and vast.

  The ground steadies and Fray collapses against the bar. Her eyes close, her breath coming shallowly. I’m paralysed, infinitely fearful that she’s changed irrevocably, that she’ll never be Fray, my Fray, again. But when she opens her eyes some seconds later, they’ve returned to normal: gold and green with a black pupil and an endless amount of fear.

  Her bottom lip quivers.

  I pull her close and she pushes her face into my shoulder. Her tears soak into my skin and I just stand there.

  “Did I kill them?” she whispers, barely loud enough for my human ears to hear. I press a kiss to Fray’s temple, warn the boy if he runs I’ll catch him, and leave them both to check the closest unconscious person.

  “They’re just asleep,” I tell her. She runs to me. As soon as my arms close around Fray, a wave of sobs tremors through her thin shoulders.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, her searching for comfort in my arms and me holding her as tight as humanly possible.

  A man regaining consciousness breaks the spell. “What happened?” he asks himself.

  I don’t answer.

  Fray utters the truth first. “I have Majick.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m—”

  “Amazing,” I supply. She frowns at me. I mean it. That idiot exposed his Majick to Pures. These people would have told everyone and soon enough there’d have been a branch of humans hunting us. People get scared of things they don’t understand and we defy logic. They’d kill us just to be safe, in case we turn out to be vicious. That’s why we can’t tell humans about us, why we can’t expose our Majick. They’d hunt down every one of us.