Shadow Breakers Page 4

  “And bossing you all about,” says Cal as she lines up her shot. “Someone has to.”

  “Our little Lyssa.” Josh puts an arm around her shoulders, and she looks up, smiling. “She’s our genius. Math, languages, obscure bits of science. And Ollie’s our tame geek and gadget boy. Keeps the computers fed, gets the pizzas delivered, and, er, makes bad jokes. Usually.”

  “But you’re just a bunch of kids,” I say doubtfully.

  I mean, it’s just daft. Ollie’s in the same grade as me, Cal the grade above. Josh, the oldest, is still only fifteen. And Lyssa, well, she’d be in elementary school if she didn’t have a brain the size of Big Ben.

  “Yup,” says Josh.

  “Rather helps, in fact,” says Cal. She slides the cue with a smart flick of one hand, and sinks the eight ball. “Yesss!”

  “You see,” says Ollie, “once you know the weird and you accept it, you can move on — toward understanding it.”

  “And you’re investigating what’s happening?” I ask them.

  “Like you say,” says Cal, gesturing with her pool cue, “we’re just a bunch of kids. And that makes us the perfect investigators. Undercover, underground, underhand.”

  “Underfunded,” adds Miss Bellini over her shoulder. She’s moved to a desk on one of the higher-up platforms, surrounded by computer keyboards and screens. I am about to ask who does pay for all this, but then something else happens.

  “Put these on,” says Lyssa, behind me, and before I can stop her she has slipped a pair of headphones over my ears.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, panicking.

  “Only a little test, Miranda,” says Miss Bellini with a reassuring smile. “Just want to confirm something.”

  I don’t see why I should do this. They aren’t holding me here by force. I could get up and leave right now if I wanted to.

  But then I wouldn’t have answers. And I’d have had a wasted journey.

  I may even learn something by playing along. I lean back in the soft, enveloping leather chair and adjust the headphones so that they sit comfortably on my ears.

  Ollie, from over by another computer screen, says, “It’ll help if you close your eyes.”

  Okay. Nothing to lose.

  Nervously, I let my eyelids close and realize that I am in need of sleep. I feel myself drifting almost immediately.

  • • •

  Is this dream or reality? It’s like that odd time when you’re waking up in the morning, and you only realize afterward that you were hearing conversations from the radio alarm, picturing them in your half dreams.

  I think I open my eyes — do I? I can’t tell, I am in darkness. I am alone. It’s cold. Not just chilly, but depths-of-January freezing.

  Something is wrong.

  The Shape is here. Fire and water and darkness.

  “Who are you?” I ask. I don’t know if I ask this out loud, or just think it. Why haven’t I asked this before?

  The Shape does not respond. There’s no whisper this time. But there is a whistling, an echoing tune. I know it, the tune . . . it’s . . . it’s . . .

  I’m trying to remember it, to place it, but the Shape’s growing bigger and bigger. No, I realize — not bigger, but closer. Coming toward me through a vortex of darkness.

  Coming to get me. And now the whisper comes.

  Miranda . . .

  • • •

  “No!” I shout, and my eyes snap open.

  I’m back in the hotel basement again, and I’m standing, looking down at the chair where I’ve thrown the headphones.

  I don’t remember jumping up from the chair.

  But the headphones are still rocking back and forth, so I must have dropped them just a few seconds ago.

  “Josh?” says Miss Bellini, looking up from her clipboard.

  I realize Josh is standing there with a stopwatch. “7.1 seconds,” he says. “Not bad at all. Good assimilation.”

  “Lyssa?” says Miss Bellini.

  “Intensity 44,” says Lyssa. She’s standing by a computer screen right next to me. “Wow.”

  Ollie nods. “Same reading over here.”

  “What is all this?” I snap. “What were you testing?”

  “Interesting,” says Lyssa. “I’d actually calculated a thirteen percent chance that she might fail.” She looks at me mischievously.

  “What did you see?” Cal asks, leaning forward. “Tell us.”

  I glower at her. “I’m not a test subject! I’m not some animal in a cage! Will you guys tell me what this is all about?”

  “Josh,” says Miss Bellini gently, “why don’t you take Miranda for a little walk and explain everything? We can get on with analyzing the bus.”

  “He doesn’t have to take me anywhere,” I say. “I’m out of here.”

  I storm up the stairs, clang-clang-clang, hitting the door at the top with the flat of my hand so it stings. I’m half expecting the door not to open, but it does.

  Into the abandoned parking lot and then back up into the decaying lobby of the Seaview Hotel, and in one, two, three, four steps I am out of the doors and onto the seafront again, breathing deep gulps of the seaweedy air.

  The spring sun is bright, harsh in my eyes.

  As I’m grabbing my skateboard I half hear someone shouting something after me, but I really don’t care anymore. I’m striding again, burning with anger, my eyes fixed on the churning sea.

  It’s like I am moving in slow motion, with the jagged fans of spray caught on a camera, the seagulls circling above me as if they’re about to attack me, and at the corner of my eye I see —

  It’s here. A column of shimmering darkness, there on the beach, beyond the Esplanade. Something the size of a human, but not human . . . outlined in fire . . . at the water’s edge . . . And that whistling tune. In my head. I’m not asleep — I know I’m not. . . .

  Without thinking, my eyes fixed on that half shadow on the beach, I am in the road.

  A screaming, squealing sound.

  A deafening klaxon.

  A huge wall of metal and glass bearing down on me.

  There’s no way I can get out of its path.

  And in that second, I know I’m about to die.

  PROPELLED BY SOME force, something kicking within me, I half jump, half throw myself to the edge of the road, slamming right up against a parked car as a huge truck thunders by at enormous speed, trailing a smell of hot exhaust and rubber. It doesn’t even slow down, let alone stop, just hurtles on along the bay.

  Bruised and dazed, my back aching where I bashed myself against the car, I try to pick myself up.

  People have gathered around me. I’m shaking.

  I’m trying to work out how I did that.

  An old lady in a purple coat grabs my arm and helps me to stand. “Are you all right, love? What a bloomin’ maniac! Some people oughtn’t to be allowed on the roads!”

  “Naaaah, she walked out in front of it!” says a man behind her, waving his cone. “Don’t they teach road safety in them schools no more? Eh?”

  “I . . . I’m fine,” I say, giving the old lady a weak smile. “Really, I am.”

  And I am, really. Worse things have happened in my life, after all. But I’m still shaking.

  “Are you okay?” says a familiar voice, and I feel a hand on my elbow. It’s Josh.

  So he followed me out, then. Sent by Miss Bellini, no doubt, or by Cal.

  “Fine,” I say, glowering at him. “It . . . it really wasn’t anywhere near me.”

  Eventually, the oldies leave me alone — after a bit more clucking and fussing, and once they’ve been reassured by a charming Josh that I don’t need an ambulance. I only think then to check my watch. I pull back my sleeve, heart pounding, but it
’s fine. Unbroken. It’s pretty resilient in its tough chrome casing. I see it’s just gone five. I can’t stay out much longer without letting Mum know.

  “Look,” Josh says, “I’m sorry, okay? Come to the café. We’ll talk.”

  I shrug. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got questions. And I’ve got a few answers.”

  He turns, starts walking back along the Esplanade. I watch him for a second or two. Then I curse quietly and hurry after him.

  SEAFRONT CAFÉ, ESPLANADE: THURSDAY 17:05

  So I’m sitting opposite Josh. This place has red plastic seats and tables, the specials chalked on old blackboards, a cheap-and-cheerful feel. Rain’s beginning to speckle the windows and turn the sea hazy. Out on the Esplanade, people are struggling with umbrellas and shopping. Kids skateboard and roller-skate past.

  The world carrying on despite it all.

  And I’ve texted Mum to tell her where I am. In a café with friends. All quite normal. Tum-ti-tum. If only she knew. The sea mist is prowling the beach, and now and then curls of spray dash the pier. Deckchairs flap, their canvases pulled taut in the wind like parachutes.

  It’s as if the world is restless.

  My head is spinning with all kinds of possibilities. I’m scared but . . . nervous. Excited, even. What’s coming next?

  Josh brings a tray from the counter. He puts a large bowl of vanilla ice cream down in front of me.

  “What’s this for? Keeping me quiet? I’m not seven, Josh.”

  He laughs and pours us both a cup of tea.

  “So . . . close shave out there.”

  “Yeah. Well. I’m fine.”

  “Stop, look, and listen?” says Josh. “Ring any bells?”

  I just scowl at him, arms folded.

  “Didn’t you have the little ‘Cross at the Green’ talk in primary school?” he goes on. “That road safety video with the hedgehogs? We did. We had a poster competition. I got summoned to the principal’s office because mine was ‘too graphic.’ Seriously! I thought that was meant to be the point.”

  Still scowling, I look away.

  He tweaks my cheek. “You’re trying . . . not . . . to . . . laugh.”

  “Get off!” But I can’t help letting out a half smile. “Look, Josh. This is some kind of lame joke, right? Some . . . thing you do to newbies at school to see if they can hack it? Because I’m not impressed.”

  Josh smiles. “You really think so? After seeing inside the hotel? After what you saw happen on the bus?”

  “Okay,” I say, “tell me about the bus. How exactly did that happen?”

  Josh grins. “Cal’s been trying to read it.”

  “To read it?”

  “One of her abilities. You’ll find all that out soon enough. So, do you want to know what that little test was all about? With the headphones?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I do.”

  “It was a test of mental intuitiveness,” he says. “A bit of autosuggestion, designed to tease out the subconscious. You pulled out very quickly — before you even went fully under.”

  “And is that good?” I ask cautiously.

  Josh presses his fingers together and looks at me intently. “What did you really see?” he asks softly.

  I stir my tea. “None of your business. Why do you want to know?”

  “Eat up, and I’ll tell you. Come on, you see things, Miranda. And that test only proves it. You need convincing?”

  I was thinking, while he was buying the tea and ice cream, what to say to him. How can I speak to him about the test without mentioning the dream or the Shape? I give it a go.

  “Well,” I say carefully, “obviously there’s something weird happening. But . . . I don’t believe it can’t be explained. I mean, you hear these things on the news, don’t you? Disappearances, plagues of frogs, and all that. They turn out to have some simple explanation.”

  Josh sighs, leans back. “There’s never been a plague of frogs in Firecroft Bay — well, not yet. Don’t believe what you read on the Internet. And don’t trust television. Especially television.”

  “My dad used to be on television,” I snap at him. I feel myself blushing again. He seems to like making me feel stupid.

  “Ah, yes. So he did.” Josh doesn’t seem surprised or embarrassed. “And what about Mum?”

  I concentrate on my ice cream, spearing one of the cream-yellow domes with my spoon. “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

  “Why not? Tell me, Miranda. . . .”

  I look up, suspicious. “What?”

  “Does your mum ever say anything? About you . . . sensing things?” He leans forward intently. “You can sense something, can’t you?”

  I put down my spoon and slump back in the chair. “Sounds like you know all about me, Josh,” I say, perhaps a bit too loudly.

  People are turning to look at us.

  He spreads his hands. “What have I said?”

  “Do you enjoy this? Power games? Is this why you got me here? Some gullible tween to make fun of?”

  “It’s not like that,” he says calmly.

  I push the ice cream away. “All right,” I say. “Supposing what you say is true. What happens now?”

  I look into his eyes and I realize that something has happened. Since the test, and the near-miss with the truck, and this conversation. I’ve become a part of his world, and he’s a part of mine. And I’m not going to get rid of him, or the others.

  Because you know what? I didn’t hear or see that truck coming.

  I walked out in front of it, and right now I should be dead.

  But I’m not.

  I jumped away in time. And I don’t know how I did it.

  Josh is right — I can sense something here, right now, that scares me more than anything.

  THE BEACH: THURSDAY 17:30

  We’re walking on the shore near the Esplanade, pebbles going kssh-kssh under our feet. The pier’s just opened. We can hear the jangle of fairground music and smell the sickly sweetness of cotton candy.

  “The test,” Josh says. “It showed . . . you’re sensitive. You respond. But I think a part of you knows that already.”

  I’m looking down, poking at the pebbles with one foot, not meeting his gaze. I keep my hands firmly shoved into my jacket pockets, and shrug.

  “We need you,” he goes on. “You do sense things. And so we think you might be the key to finding out what’s really going on in Firecroft Bay, what’s causing the increased paranormal activity here.” He gently puts a hand on each of my arms, and bobs down so that his blue eyes are level with mine. “Look. Miss Bellini, she . . . well, we all trust her. And she’s got an instinct about you.”

  “She barely knows me,” I argue, squirming a little at the way he’s holding me.

  He smiles. “She’s a good judge of character. We all owe her something, Miranda. Me, I was kicked out of a school that was costing my mum and dad an absolute packet, and I washed up here. Fish out of water. But this . . . it gives me a proper purpose. And Cal’s mum and stepdad barely know she exists. Their life is running a pub.”

  “Really?” I’m interested, in spite of myself. “What about Lyssa and Ollie?”

  “Little Lyssa — can you imagine how she was picked on at her old school? Mega-brainy and sucks at sports? When she first came she was a timid little thing, hardly dared speak. Look at her now — she’s got the confidence of someone twice her age. And Ollie, well, he’s got a story or two to tell. I’m sure he will when he knows you better.” Josh lets go of me and stands up straight. “Then there’s you.”

  I glance at him, look away. “Sounds like you’re saying we’re a bunch of misfits.”

  He grins. “Nobody’s a misfit. Some people take longer to find the space they fit into, that’s all
.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you all tricked me into coming to the Seaview.”

  “Yes. We did. And I’m sorry. But you’ve got something special, Miranda. You seem to . . . I don’t know. . . . You seem to be like a compass. A homing beacon. A . . . a sniffer dog.”

  “Oh, thanks. Charming.”

  “Okay. Sniffer dog is bad. Forget I said sniffer dog. I’m sorry. But you’re . . . I don’t know what word to use. Intuitive? But not like Cal. Psychic, even? In your own way. I picked up on it that day in the quad. Remember? And we tested it, back there, with the headphones. You want to know how good you are?”

  I stare at him. “How good I am at what?”

  “Your ability. Your gift.”

  “I don’t have a gift.”

  “Oh, but you do.”

  “I don’t believe all that rubbish, Josh. Okay? I don’t believe any of it. The whole lot. Mind reading, ghosts, fairies, invisible pink unicorns . . . Give me a break. It’s all made up, invented to . . . to stop people from asking questions.”

  Dark shapes in the night.

  Dreams where darkness is alive.

  A tune echoing through my mind as I cross the Esplanade.

  Something making me get out of the way of a speeding truck.

  All made up . . .

  “You think?” says Josh, and he looks amused.

  “Yes,” I say, trying to brazen it out. “It can make people feel better about themselves, make them think the world’s more interesting than it really is. But that’s about all it’s good for. So, if you and your . . . friends back there want to play with your expensive toys, get the Ouija boards out, and go ghost hunting . . . well, you can do it without me.”

  “Oh, fine,” says Josh. “If you want to spend the rest of your life being a Mundane.”

  “What do you mean, a Mundane?”

  “You know. Eating cotton candy in amusement arcades. Doing your homework like a good girl. Having nothing more exciting in your life than exams, netball practice, the latest manufactured boy band. That’s fine. It’s good enough for most of the masses out there. But I think you’re better than that. And I think you’re denying your true nature. But what do I know?”