The Weight of Souls

outside.

“Murderer.” I spoke with fervour.

The Professor gestured with the gun. “I don’t care about that. As for you, die out here, or take your chances in there. And don’t even think about turning on me, unless you think you can find the way back to civilisation alone.”

Left with no choice I reluctantly took the gun. Then, half in a daze, I pressed my right palm to the back of the Professor’s hand. An unnatural effervescence seethed beneath my skin and when I pulled my hand free, the Mark imprinted by the Sunbird’s touch was gone. Now it lay over the Professor’s tendons like a spider pressed in a natural scientist’s book.

The Professor gestured impatiently. “Get on with it.”

Fearfully I looked into the shadow coating the fourth step. Then I frowned at the mathematics of the situation; hadn’t I been able to see five steps before?

And now there were only three. The shadows were advancing.

The Professor, determined to send me into the tomb, shoved me from behind. I wriggled sideways and pointed to draw his attention to the Darkness that now spilled into the camp.

Titus barked. He scampered towards the living shadow that blotted out a body length of sand and stopped at its edge, claws working furiously to keep him out of the boundary. He snarled continuously, a low sound of menace, and the Professor retreated. “What is it?”

I shook my head and watched the Darkness follow the Professor’s movement.

For his part the Professor ran for his tent. “Make it stop.” At his feet blackness reared like smoke, thicker and darker than the smog I had seen on my journey through London.

“Shoot it!” the Professor’s scream rent the air.

I stood petrified as the Darkness struck. Titus howled and the Professor shrieked once then disappeared.

After a while the Darkness receded back into the tomb. The murderous Professor had been taken to Anubis, just as the beast had promised.

And now I understand my mission; the path my life will take.

Even now I see a shadowy figure approaching across the sand. Alone in this great desert he cannot possibly reside among the living. I hope he will at least lead me back to Giza.

I am so very sorry my children. Please forgive me.

25 THE WHEEL KEEPS SPINNING

We stood outside the church, the last to arrive.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”Justin's anxiety was making him restless. “No.” I wrapped my arms around my chest as if I could protect myself from what was to come. “After that last dare, James could set anything. What if I can't do it?”

Justin said nothing.

“Your last dare killed you. My initiation nearly killed me. This isn't a good idea.”

He looked up at the stained glass window as if it held an answer and I rubbed my hand.

“I don't have a choice, do I?” I sighed and started forward.

“There has to be another way.” Justin caught my arm. “Perhaps we could get hold of my police records or something.”

I raised my eyebrows. “First of all, do I look like Nancy Drew? And second, if it was possible for me to hack into Scotland Yard, or break in or whatever, I wouldn't find anything.” I grimaced. “If your murderer wasn't going to get away with it, your touch wouldn't have transferred a Mark.”

Justin held his hand to his face, as if he'd see something on it. “I'm sorry.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “I didn't know. I would never have touched you otherwise.”

I nodded and stood with one foot on the church steps. “Thanks for saying that and I know you didn't even know you were dead. But you would have come for me eventually. In the end they all do.”

Justin opened his mouth and I stepped forward. “Come on, let's get this over with.”

The room was laid out as before, with a large circle of chairs overseen by the Icarus poster. Only instead of a chair in the centre of the ring, there was a bicycle wheel mounted on an easel with a large circle of wood behind. The wooden circle had each of our photos on and the wheel had a pointer attached.

I stared at it, searching for the missing image: Justin’s. Of course it wouldn’t be there. My own face had probably taken his place.

James’ picture was an old one; in it he was slimmer and his skin was bare of tattoos. The arrogant facial expression however, was the same. The image had a big pair of scarlet wings stuck on top with blu-tack. I figured that meant he was exempt from the wheel: the challenger.

“Nice of you to join us, Oh. Are you going to stand there all night?” James sneered.

The empty chair was between Pete and a boy I recognised from the year below. Alan fidgeted uncomfortably as I slipped into the circle and sat next to him. I shot him a glare, remembering the feel of sand in my clothes. It was obvious what he had done to get into the club. Justin took up a position at my back just as, with a death’s head grin, James rose from his seat and put one hand on the black tyre. His eyes met mine as he whipped the wheel downwards.

I swallowed. Half of me; the sensible half, wanted the wheel to keep spinning, to land on any of the other fifteen smiling faces. The other part clenched my blackened hand and prayed for it to stop with the pointer covering my own image.

As the wheel spun, Justin stepped from behind my chair. Once inside the circle he raised his eyebrows. Feeling sick as a dog, I gave the smallest possible nod and he waited next to the wheel, like a compere, for the spinning to slow.

Tension thickened the air as the wheel started to clack less and less quickly and faces around the ring tensed and paled. I could hear Alan breathing through his nose, hard on the inhale, as if he couldn’t get enough air.

I glanced around. Even Harley was leaning forward. His curls were a greasy tangle around his eyes as he waited for the outcome with gritted teeth.

Yet Pete seemed fairly relaxed. He sat on my left, arms dangling by his sides, legs crossed at the ankle. Then, there it was; the little muscle on his jaw that twitched when he was stressed. He was pretending not to care, but he did. No one wanted the wheel to land on them, not even Pete.

Today, they didn’t have to worry.

Now I could see the individual spokes as the wheel turned. It wouldn’t be long. Finally the wheel was barely moving. It was coming to a halt, stopping a full half turn away from my image.

The little pointer brushed Alan’s cheerful face and he winced as if it had actually touched his skin. But it was still moving on past Harley whose exhalation made his curls shiver, past Tamsin who blinked and dabbed at her mascara, past a younger girl called Ella who sagged into her chair, past Pete. No, not past Pete. It was going to stop on his picture. I couldn’t help myself, I turned with everyone else to look at him, see how he was taking it. James raised his arm, but then…

Then Justin gripped the wheel.

Sweat stood out on his forehead as if the tyre was resisting him. He only had to get it going again, just enough to move it past three more pictures.

My breath stopped as the wheel moved fractionally.

Pete groaned audibly as it moved past him, turning on, past one then two, images. Mine was next.

Then James reached out and touched the easel and Justin’s hands slipped through the tyre as if it had