I had to get out of there. I tugged ineffectually at Pete, but he didn’t move. “Did you ever like me the way I liked you?” he suddenly asked.
“I… I…” I blinked up at him. “It was complicated. And this isn’t a good time.”
The businessman reached us and smiled. I grit my teeth and tensed, but he didn’t hesitate. He reached past Pete’s arm and grabbed my hand, pressing his palm on to my knuckles. My skin froze as if I’d held my hand to a block of ice and an almost electric shock shivered up my arm. Then a familiar black Mark spread across my tendons like spilled ink.
“Crap.” Immediately I yanked my hand free, terrified that I might accidentally touch my friend’s skin.
“You’re a cold bitch.” Pete swung around and strode away.
The words to stop him caught in my throat. Pete had been wavering, maybe even considering leaving Justin’s clique. Hannah and I could have had our friend back. Now he was gone again, utterly out of reach.
Venomously I glared at the ghost who had cost us our chance. Then I pulled away from Hannah who was staring after Pete with surprise.
“Did he just say he liked you?”
“It was a long time ago, when Mum was still around. I couldn’t go out with him.”
“I remember you had a lot going on.”
“Yeah.” The ghost drifted closer, wanting to speak to me. I pulled the white glove from my bag and tugged it over my hand.
“Hey, your eczema got bad fast!” Hannah caught at my wrist trying to see and I leaped back. I didn’t dare let her touch me in case she was accidentally branded. The thought of the Darkness coming for my best friend made me sick to my stomach.
“It’s OK, Han. Listen, I’ve got to be somewhere. I’ll call you later.”
Hannah nodded, but her face had fallen. She had waited for me, now she would have to go home alone.
Pete was right, Hannah put up with a lot from me and I wondered once more, with a shiver, how much longer she’d stick around.
6
A TWINGE OF SYMPATHY
I followed the suit away from Ken High Street leaving behind the shoppers, street hawkers and laughing groups of workmates heading for bars.
In this more sedate area shops were open by appointment only and metal grilles obscured half-glimpsed chandeliers and antiques. None of the retailers here were open past five but a few were still shutting up as I walked past. The rattle of descending shutters kept breaking the deathly quiet and making me jump.
The only other person on the road was a woman with a shopping bag from Whole Foods Market. She was obviously heading for home but she turned off before I reached the Crescent where tall white houses loomed like ribs in an elephants’ graveyard, turned purple by twilight.
A glowing taxi passed the end of the road and disappeared.
I rubbed my hands on my skirt. “You’re sure this is the place?”
The suit nodded. “This is it. It’s been five years since she left the house. You’ll have to go in.”
My throat closed up as silence blanketed the street. But there was no way the Darkness was coming for me, not this soon; I’d only been Marked a couple of hours ago. The usual London noise was simply unable to penetrate the labyrinth of high white houses.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The gentle creaking of a tree seemed frighteningly loud and I jumped as a pigeon flapped almost apologetically to roost in its branches.
The murderer’s home was dark and still. “Maybe she’s out.”
The suit shook his head. “No chance. After she had me killed and he left her anyway she lost it. My so-called wife is in there, trust me.”
“And you’re sure she won’t answer the door?” I flexed my hands, hoping he’d say no and that I could simply ring the bell and shake her hand when she answered.
“Not if there’s no delivery expected.”
I sighed and checked out the house opposite. It had high walls, but lights glowed in the upstairs windows. I couldn’t see anyone, but I still opened the gate to number three and walked down the path as if I had a right to be there. The first lesson of breaking and entering that Mum had taught me was that skulking draws attention.
The suit preceded me down the side of the house. I risked one furtive look over my shoulder and when I saw that the street remained quiet I followed and breathed a sigh of relief as the road disappeared from view behind the hedge.
At the back of the house large windows overlooked a decked garden. A few plants in urns provided glimmers of green, but mostly the space was decorated with stone sculptures and mirrored water features.
I turned my back on the centrepiece of a jagged, rippling mirror and regarded the house.
The windows were all shut fast. The double doors that opened on to the decking were locked and a security alarm blinked above them.
“There’s an alarm.”
The suit shrugged. “Can you do this, or not?”
I glared at him and removed the glove from my stained hand. “Thanks to you I don’t have a choice.”
I looked closely at the lock. It was a pretty standard deadbolt. Nothing I couldn’t handle with a tension wrench.
Which was at home. I’d come straight from school. I opened my bag with a sigh and pulled out my History homework amidst yet another small sandstorm. The papers were connected with a metal paperclip and it was the work of a moment to create a makeshift pick.
I tapped my teeth with it and fixed my eyes on the alarm. It was a home security system from Everest. I sucked air in through my teeth, knowing perfectly well that Everest used pre-entry detection.
“I can’t get in while that alarm’s on.”
I was glaring at the blue logo when the light on the box blinked.
“She’s switched it off.” I frowned. “Why?”
The dead guy shrugged. “Maybe she’s letting the cat out.”
“Jeez.” I threw myself behind the water feature as a dumpy figure appeared in the darkness and cracked the door. A soft yowl told me a cat had just joined me in the garden. Briefly I considered rushing the killer. Then I shook my head. She might get back inside before I could reach her, then I’d lose my chance to transfer the Mark. I had to stay hidden.
After a slow count of one hundred I peered around the side of the mirror. The rear of the house remained dark and the figure had vanished.
I ran across the decking on my toes and stood outside the French doors. In the growing darkness my reflection appeared in the window. It was as if my own ghost had come to warn me to stay out. I put my nose closer to the glass and peered past my pale face to the room beyond. Before my breath fogged the window I saw a sitting room; uninhabited, cold and dark.
I flexed my fingers, shook my head and inserted the paperclip into the lock. Quick as I could I turned it, then I found my little metal nail file, slid the tool into the key hole and began.
Sweat made my grip uncertain and the roaring blood in my ears almost stopped me from hearing the pins fall into the housing. The hair on my arms rose and my back prickled. I was certain I was being watched.
Despite my mother’s rule to appear as if I belonged, I had to look over my shoulder. Movement caught my eye and my breath caught. Frantically I pulled my tools free, and tried to look like as much like an ordinary visitor as possible.
I heard no challenge. When my heart stopped hammering I realised that I’d reacted to my own movement reflected in the mirrored sculpture. The only audience I had was the cat who was peeing loudly in the gravel.
