BA (Hons) Creative Writing Zine 2015

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The Collective Worlds within Worlds

Copyright Š 2015 retained by contributors.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the contributor.

Published by the Publishing Lab, Bath Spa University, April 2015.

All characters in this anthology, except where an entry has been expressly labelled as non-fiction, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Ellie Stores

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Table of contents Tutor: Elen Caldecott Editor: Elena and Inky Elena Andersen | Ankou 6 Matthew Anson | Child of Sherwood 7 Olivia Beatrice Davies | Indistinct Voices 9 Katherine Day | The Nine Woods 10 Stephanie Hetherington | Broken Affinities 12 Laura Jayne Hill | The Blacklands 14 Inky | The Beginning 14 Aynsleigh McGhie | The Void Thief 16 Grace McGregor | The Importance of Being Invisible 17 Charlotte Robinson | Lucifer’s Death 19 Tutor: Joanna Nadin Editors: Rochelle and Eleanor Eleanor Broadbent | Saint City 20 Leia Evans | The Remora Chronicles: Bloodlines 22 Lisa McEvoy | Star Chasers: The Space Race 23 Rochelle Scott | Rheme 24 Gemma Tugwell | Sleepers 25 Rebecca Ward | A Brief History of the Wardrobe

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Jo Waterworth | Hazel 28 Biographies

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Elena Andersen Ankou Chapter one Death Boy Elli The moment I laid eyes on Death Boy, I knew I had found my story.

And oh boy – did I end up being right about that.

More right than I cared to be.

Now it’s done. The story of Ankou has been written. I am reading through it now, realizing one fatal mistake.

No one will ever believe a word of it.

Just my luck.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sorry. Let’s rewind.

The yellow bus finally came, rolling slowly up the hill, huffing and puffing, like the hills were exhausting, even when you were made of metal.

Well, I couldn’t blame it. Getting up that hill was hard work. I had left the house at six am, walked nearly two miles through an unfamiliar part of town, to an unfamiliar bus stop, waited in line with unfamiliar faces, and now my legs were aching as well.

Oh come on Elli, it could be worse, I told myself. If this had happened back in Clovedale it would be raining.

Well, moving to Florida had to provide a few perks.

Luckily the bus driver didn’t check my bus pass very carefully, or he would have noticed that I was assigned to another route. He just grumbled and waved me onwards.

I breathed in heavily. All I had to do was recognize him. A disciple of the Devil could not be hard to find. Besides, Lana had given me a vague idea of what he looked like. Black hair, black clothes, emo-ish.

The description was pretty straightforward. That couldn’t be hard.

The bus was full of talk and laughter – girls gossiping, applying makeup with tiny hand held mirrors, boys loudly joking and fooling around. A particularly large monkey-like guy squashed a sandwich into the hair of a freckled boy with specs in front of him, and his friends all laughed stupidly. In one seat a girl was curled up with a book in her hands. Her bag, covered in badges, occupied the seat beside her. Another seat was taken by a boy who was scribbling away on a worksheet, books and notes spread around him, clearly desperate to finish his homework.

None of them looked especially like devil worshippers.

I was just coming to the conclusion that he prob6

ably wasn’t on this bus after all, that maybe he was at home sick, when I saw him. Leaning against the window on of the last seats in the bus, a bored look on his face.

He didn’t look like I had expected him to. No tattoos, or pierced body parts, or dramatic eyeliner.

No spikes, no chains, no fangs, not even one of those heavy metal band T-shirts.

Actually, he looked sort of – frail. His skin was the palest I had ever seen, especially in this city of sun and palm trees. He was skinny and on the short side for a fourteen year old boy. He showed absolutely no sign of facial hair either, or skin problems for that matter. I had heard the term porcelain skin before but this was the first time I could apply it to someone. His ruffled black hair swept smoothly over his face, almost touching his shoulders. He was dressed plainly in black jeans and a black T-shirt.

Around his neck hung a leather string with a blue stone attached, and on his head a pair of dark red headphones blared some way too loud music into his ears.

‘Eh… Hi! Can I sit here?’

No reaction. Well, no wonder.

The bus took off and suddenly I was clinging on to the nearby seats for dear life. The moment I regained some sort of balance, I did the natural thing – I reached over the empty seat and yanked the headphones off the strange, rumored dangerous, boy in front of me.

At once I understood what everyone talked about. Why this boy freaked everyone out.

That black glare was the darkest I had ever seen.

The earphones in my hands were blaring at me: ‘They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly, They go down to the lake of fire and fry Won’t see them again till the fourth of July - ’ He turned off the device. In the short moment his eyes left mine, I could breathe again.

‘Hi.’ I tried to say, but the words came out in a hoarse whisper. I cleared my throat.

‘Hi!’ I repeated. ‘Can I sit here?’

The boy just looked at me, seemingly shocked that someone was actually speaking to him.

I made a decision then, that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would end up changing my life forever.

I sat down beside the boy on the school bus.

‘I’m Elli Sanwips.’ I said, reaching out for a handshake. ‘I’m new here.’

The boy just kept staring at me. He didn’t shake my hand, so I let it fall to my side.

As I was considering what to say next (and also considering if the boy was mute, though that had not been part of the rumors) I noticed the deafening silence that seemed to have taken over the bus.

Leaning slightly to the side to view the passageway,

I realized that everyone was staring in my direction.

Everyone.

The boy with the homework had evidently given up on getting a good mark and was now sitting on his knees in his seat, staring at us. The badges and book girl was leaning over the seat where her bag was, just her head visible, her hair almost touching the bus floor. She quickly retreated when I caught her eyes.

Others were not as tactful. The freckled boy with specs had gone as far as having one leg on his seat, one out in the hallway, his mouth open in shock, jam silently dripping from his hair. His bullies were also peering at me, standing on their seats, leaning over to get a better view. I doubt any school bus had ever been this quiet. Even the bus driver seemed to be looking at us through the rearview mirror rather than watching the road, which wasn’t exactly the most comforting thing to know.

‘Did you say your name was Sandwich?’

The quiet voice made me jump in my seat.

Turning around, slowly, I was met by those dark eyes again. This time, they didn’t look as scary as before. This time, there was confusion in the black eyes and a frown on the pale lips.

‘Eh… No.’ I said. My heart was still pounding in my chest, something still telling me to be careful.

‘Not sandwich. Sanwips. Elli Sanwips. Well, Ellen, really. But please don’t call me that.’

‘Ah…’ he said, clearly uninterested. Or so I thought, until – ‘My name is Ankou.’

I already knew that, he didn’t need to know.

‘Great!’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘Nice to meet you!

I was thinking…’

‘You shouldn’t be here.’ Ankou interrupted me and then went back to looking out the window.

‘Excuse me?’

Ankou looked me in the eyes again. And again, when I saw the intensity in those eyes, a deep seeded

instinct returned. He’s right. I shouldn’t be here. Run now. Run away.

‘Well, this is a the school bus, and I’m going to school, so I’m pretty sure I should be here.’ I tried to be cocky about it but my voice was clearly shaking.

Ankou furred his brows, like he was confused or angry or didn’t really know what he was. He narrowed his eyes, making his stare even more intense.

RUN! RUN! My insides were no longer whispering. They were screaming. My heart was pounding hard in my chest.

I stared back. Raised my eyebrows. Hoped I looked nonchalant, and that I wouldn’t puke all over him.

Ankou gave up first, averting his gaze, making my heartbeat slow down slightly. I breathed in heavily, and couldn’t help a wide smile spreading on my lips.

I was pretty sure I had just won something; though I still wasn’t sure what game we had just played.

I did have a feeling it wouldn’t be our last.

Matthew Anson Child of Sherwood Robin was lying in the middle of one of the largest clearings of the woods. The autumn leaves, crippled and tainted orange, floated gracefully around him in the gentle breeze. The furs around his shoulders and the emerald cloak kept his body warm whilst leather gloves preserved the feeling in his finger tips. The terrain had a slight dip to it meaning that travellers along the Sherwood Road would not be able to see him lying down. This gave him the perfect advantage for when his brother, Joseph, came looking. He could cover himself in leaves and lie flat on his stomach and Joseph’s calls would fly across him. Wild animals also made the same mistake and entered the clearing only to bound away as soon as Robin jumped up at them.

Robin had been warned about entering the forest many times before. Father would tell him stories of the savage outlaws who lived in the woods. Hiding on the edges of the roads or the tops of the trees, only to jump out to slit the throats of wealthy travellers. No care if they were man, woman or a child, for whatever gold or valuables they possessed.

There was a sound beyond the clearing. He knew now it was not an animal from the sounds of the footsteps and the brush of a cloak on the leaves.

Robin crouched lower, his bow grasped tightly in his right hand, an arrow ready to fly. His eyes strained wide.

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A young girl appeared at the top of the slope.

She had braided black hair and a billowing red dress which looked like an expensive kind of fabric far beyond what even his father could afford. She clearly had not grown up with the same stories as Robin, for she did not seem to be carrying a weapon. The girl must have been about Robin’s age; with the same look of awe and curiosity he had when he first explored the forest. She looked down to see him lying on the ground, staring back at her.

‘Hello?’ she said, suspiciously. ‘I can see you down there.’

‘Who are you?’ Robin called back, angry that his peacefulness had been disturbed.

‘I could ask the same of you.’

She began to walk down, eyes gazing around the clearing as if she had lost interest in his presence.

Robin sat up slightly and loosened his grip on his bow, but did not lower it. She noticed the weapon in his hand, but rather than looking scared, she smiled.

‘Yours?’ she asked, nodding at the bow.

‘Yes, it was made for me.’

‘Any good?’

‘It fires really well—’ ‘I meant you,’ she interrupted. ‘Are you a good bowman?’

‘My father says I will be the best shot in England one day.’

‘Big words to live up to.’ She paused. ‘Well?’

‘What?’

‘Are you going to show me or not?’

Robin stared blankly. He had never fired in the presence of anyone but his father or Walter. He did not even know this girl.

‘Are your parents not missing you?’ he snapped.

She shrugged, lowering her head to look at the ground. ‘My father will not notice, he is always too busy to notice me. I could be gone for weeks and he would not realise. He only ever wants me to appear presentable in front of our dear Lords and Ladies.

And as for my mother…’ She spoke more to herself than to Robin before she suddenly stopped and stared at him. ‘It is fine. You do not have to show me.

I just wanted someone to talk to.’

Robin sighed, he could relate with the loneliness the girl obviously felt. He raised the bow upright again, gripping the arrow tightly.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Shoot that?’ she said, smiling and pointing towards a curved branch; it was jutting from the top of one of the tallest trees. Robin pulled back his bow as far as he could, slightly nervous that he would not have enough power to strike the branch; the bow was small and could prove weak at long distances.

He fired skywards and he felt the brisk rush of feathers as the arrow and string flew past his cheek, 8

stinging it immediately. The bow straightened as the arrow was let loose, the force of which made Robin stumble slightly. The arrow itself soared higher and higher until it began to dip. Robin watched as it fell, standing upon the tips of his toes, hoping it would hit the branch on its journey downwards.

It missed.

‘That is a shame,’ said the girl; from her voice Robin knew she was not patronising him. ‘Although, it was always going to be unlikely for you to hit it, certainly not at your age, well done for getting it so high. Plus, the angle is a little bit awkward.’

‘Thanks,’ muttered Robin, feeling embarrassed about not being able to live up to his words. The girl skipped over to the bush to where the arrow had fallen and plucked it out of the ground. She held it out for Robin to take once more.

‘How about that branch?’ she replied, gesturing to a target which was much lower.

Robin took more time with the next mark.

The string rested against his cheek for a brief few moments, as Robin gave himself a few calming breaths, and the arrow was released. They watched as it sped through the air and buried itself into the centre of the wood. Robin smirked and the girl beamed back at him.

‘Now that branch?’

Once all of his arrows were decorating the looping trees around them, Robin showed the girl how he made the arrows. They sawed off small branches and began carving them with a knife he had stolen from the kitchens. They would not do much damage, and would be lucky to pierce an orange, but they found it enjoyable all the same.

‘I have feathers at home, I could decorate your arrows with them if you like?’ she asked, as she made a continuous soft ‘twang’ noise from the string of the bow which was sitting in her lap.

Robin smiled and nodded, carving out the head of another arrow. They sat in silence for a while until Robin asked, ‘Why do you have feathers?’

‘I love birds. Whenever I find a feather in the forest or the road, I collect it thinking that the bird it belonged to has left it there for me, and that I will one day have enough feathers to join them.’

‘You want to fly?’

‘Who would not wish to fly? Birds are the most free of all beings, do you not agree? You could wake up one day, leave this forest behind and by tomorrow you could be in London, or France. You would never be constrained to the rules and laws of those rooted to their wingless lives. We could escape.’

The day moved on pleasantly and soon they had enough wooden arrows to share equally between them, but as the sun began its descent, Robin knew he needed to get home. He had stayed out well

beyond the hour he had promised to Father and had to face the consequences.

‘All this time and I do not yet know your name,’ the girl laughed, sitting cross-legged and looking up at him as he prepared to leave.

‘Oh, I’m Robin.’

‘Robin?’ the girls eyes widened and giggled softly.

‘You think it’s funny?’

‘No, not at all. It’s my favourite bird!’

Robin smiled at this, not sure if she genuinely meant it or if she simply did it in order to make him feel good so he asked, ‘What about your name?’

The girl returned his smile.

‘Marian.’

Olivia Beatrice Davies Indistinct Voices ‘Do you think he’s dead then?’

My sketchbook dropped to the table instantly, and the old man in the booth next to us jumped at the loud thud, his elbow knocking a bottle of vinegar to the floor. Everyone else sat in Al’s Diner turned around in their seats to spot the source of the commotion. Nobody looked that surprised to find my face staring back, a humiliated deep flush of scarlet. Before I could step out of the booth to dab at the mess with my napkin, the waitress barged past with a rag in tow, grumbling under her breath.

Apparently, ‘service with a smile’ wasn’t exactly her mantra.

When I turned back to face April, I found her poised, still waiting for my reply. In one hand she a held a French fry. In the other, a flyer with Drew Bishop’s face on it.

‘He’s been missing for more than forty-eight hours now. And if those CSI re-runs have taught us anything, the statistics aren’t exactly in his favour.’

Her eyes seemed to glitter at the idea.

I frowned and snatched the piece of paper from her, smoothing down the creased image with my palm. Ketchup and grease stains were splashed over half of Drew’s face. Someone must have put the flyer on our table during that evening. I had been too busy doodling to notice.

‘Who’s even printing these out?’ I asked, scanning the diner. ‘Wasn’t the radio alert enough?’

April shot a puzzled look my way.

‘And why would they use his yearbook picture?’

‘Probably the same reason Mariah Carey’s Instagram only features photos from the 90s.’

I stared blankly for a few seconds, then shrugged when no further explanation was given.

‘Because Violet,’ April sighed, leaning in for effect, ‘people are desperate to hold onto the past.’

She did make a good point.

In the picture Drew looked like any other normal teenager. Sort of like a poster boy for good dental hygiene, or the star of a ‘Gap’ commercial. He looked like the guy you would want on your soccer team, or the friend you would save a seat for on the bus. With his awkward smile, just like every other kid on school picture day, he had a grin that seemed to say ‘I really don’t want to be here’. But for once, he appeared approachable.

‘You know, I just feel bad for his mother. This isn’t the first time he’s disappeared…’

April snorted in retaliation. I could almost see the cogs working in her brain, forming a cutting remark about Mrs. Bishop’s parenting skills, or lack of. After a few minutes of simmering away in silence, she swallowed the last bite of her burger and let loose.

‘She should have sent him off to military camp!

Or whatever it was the school board suggested. But there we go, you can’t expect trailer trash to make decent life decisions.’

‘April!’ I hissed, horrified. ‘Lower the tone a little, would you?’

‘Oh puh-lease. I’m just saying what everyone else in this dump is thinking! We all know that if Mrs Bishop had been a better parent, then we wouldn’t be sharing airspace with such jerks.’

I shook my head. ‘Whatever, I wouldn’t wish what she’s going through on anyone.’

It was probably best to diffuse the situation and leave. I couldn’t stand listening to another one of April’s tirades, especially those about boys with messy hair and questionable morals.

‘I should go. We have a booking from California arriving this evening. I better get a move on if I’m 9

going to give them the great grand tour.’

I smiled weakly, sliding out of the booth and picking up my keys.

‘Ah yes, the amazing history of the Odell Mansion awaits,’ April muttered, picking at the rest of the French fries in the bowl. ‘I take it you’re not going to Kyle’s tonight then?’

‘Nope, Dad’s out of town again – duty calls. Have fun, though.’

I made a swift exit out into the parking lot, the flyer secretly stashed away in my pocket.

Heading home, I walked past a long stretch of identical suburban picket fences. On most of the driveways were freshly washed minivans, each gleaming in the sunlight. It should have made my eyes roll; how almost every lawn was trimmed to perfection, or the amount of novelty mailboxes to be seen – why people insisted on having miniature replicas of their home remained a mystery to me.

But after what felt like an eternity, I finally came to the outskirts of town, where things felt a little less uniform.

With my hands on my hips, I stood firmly in place and assessed the hill which lead up to my house – it was the last leg of my long journey, and could only be described as one of the easiest ways to torture a teenage girl. Readjusting my backpack and readying myself for the pain, I cursed my body for being athletically challenged, and then cursed my Dad for never offering to carpool.

When I finally arrived at our gate, tired and panting, I stopped, taking a brief moment to appreciate the property in front of me. When we first arrived in Astoria, we were told that our estate was part of the historical homes association. That meant my parents had to make sure that every original Victorian feature remained intact during the renovation process. Their efforts appeared to pay off though; Odell House, original home to that of Pioneer Walter Odell, did seem to attract the odd history buff every now and then, and sometimes those simply passing through Astoria. I suppose we offered an experience more appealing than your standard Holiday Inn Express.

But the one thing I had truly grown to appreciate over time was how Astoria felt sort of alien in the evening. It was as if all the city activity decided to take a momentary breather. The sound of anyone still functioning felt like a gentle whirr of life in the distance. At least from where I was standing.

High on the hilltop with a spectacular view across the Columbia River, my home was far away from the actual residents of Astoria. In fact, our house was pretty much far away from everything.

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Katherine Day The Nine Woods Chapter 1 Autumn, 1767th Year of the Elder Day 0 Pan tore through the air. The spindly twigs and leaves of the weeping willow were swept aside by his wings as he raced towards its roots. He stopped suddenly when he saw her, and sunk to the ground, his bare feet crushing the springy moss.

Venus lay at the base of the willow’s trunk in the shadow of its roots, in a nest of red and orange, one leaf acting as a blanket beneath her. Curled up slightly on her side, she had her back facing towards him. He could see her shoulders shake with each ragged breath. Blood poured from the two slits in her back where her wings should have been, staining the tips of her blonde hair red. His pulse quickened and the blood rushed in his ears as he took in the sight of her ravaged body. A crimson pool spread out beneath her, and her dust shimmered faintly in the evening’s light. The willow obscured the moon’s rays, casting long shadows towards his feet. He bit his bottom lip to stop the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and started to make his way toward her.

With each step a phantom dagger plunged into his skin and twisted maliciously. Running the remaining short distance that separated them, he fell to his knees beside her.

His wings fluttered anxiously as he held her broken body in his arms. He turned her face towards his own.

‘I am sorry.’

Venus’ eyelids fluttered before opening to meet his gaze. Gasping for air, she muttered, ‘You were not to know.’

‘How could I not? I should have been with you.’

‘I can … take care … of myself … you know,’ Venus laughed weakly. Coughs racked her chest. Drops of blood erupted from her throat onto the surrounding leaves, leaving a crimson trickle at the corner of her lips. Her voice was becoming fainter as her rattling breaths broke up her words, causing her shoulders to heave with each breath. Her dress, once white, was now ragged with holes from blades and dyed with her lifeblood. She cradled her stomach gingerly with her blood-stained hands.

‘The Green Knights?’ Pan asked her as he enveloped both her small, shaking hands in one of his and held them against his chest.

‘Yes.’ Pan’s breath caught in his throat, his chest constricting as he blinked back the hot tears that stung his eyes. His face grew hot and his hands started to quake, trapping Venus’ within his tightening grasp.

‘Listen,’ Venus said quietly. Curious eyes in the surrounding bushes crept closer and the rustling leaves of the weeping willow listened.

‘The Goddess has blessed us,’ her voice became shakier with each breath, and her skin was becoming paler with each word that she dared to utter. ‘I was coming to tell you, but now … Name her Autumn.

She will be the one to bring peace … The Goddess has shown me …’

‘But – ’ ‘Protect her, Pan … You must.’

‘I do not understand, Venus.’

‘I love you, my husband.’ As she uttered those final words her eyes began to flare a vivid violet for one last time before going dim. Releasing her hands, he began to shake her shoulders, hoping to wake her from her final slumber, before bowing his head in defeat.

He brushed his lips against hers. ‘How am I meant to do this without you?’ he asked her still body.

Placing her gently on the moss, he leaned back onto his heels and looked down at her. Gripping his hair, he pressed his arms against his head. He could hear the blood pumping in his veins, like the roar of the ocean battering far off shores in other realms.

His body started to shake as guilt threatened to overwhelm him. His stomach churned as his vision turned red and he clamped his eyes shut. This is all my fault. I should have left sooner. The image of the fallen oak from his dream appeared in his mind, Venus trapped beneath its branches. Opening his

eyes he caught sight of her ring from their handfasting ceremony, hanging from a chord around her neck. The red tinting his sight began to dissipate as he lifted it over her head and hung it around his own neck. The silver circle glinted in the low light of the moon. Then he took his own ring from the pouch on his waist and placed it upon his finger, with a lump in his throat.

He took a step back from her body and turned to see some of the woodland creatures. Bowing his head toward them, he turned back to face Venus.

Her silver dust that had coated the ground around them now rose into the air, encircling her.

Lights began to shine through her, purple, pink, green and blue, mixing with the dust, filling the clearing with a bright light. Pan had to lift his free hand in an attempt to protect his eyes from the brightness he watched, not wanting to look away.

Rising into the air, the tips of Venus’ toes touched the moss, and the ground began to climb up towards her, embracing first her feet and then her calves, turning them into a green stem. Pan watched, entranced as he saw her transforming. The dust began to swirl faster, until Venus was hidden completely behind the mix of silver dust and coloured lights. Squinting, he reached out and, as his fingertips brushed the dust, Venus’ laugh echoed through the glade.

The whirling dust began to slow and settled upon the ground. Lowering his hand, he took in the sight before him. Where Venus had lain, a rose bud now grew. Its white petals curled pink at the tips, with blue, purple, green and fuchsia lines tracing each of the petal’s veins. They were the mirror image of Venus’ once beautiful wings. Reaching up he stroked his hand against one of her leaves. It was smooth against his skin as he sketched the patterns of the veins across the blade, tickling his fingers as he left red smudges across its surface.

Eyeing his hands, Pan saw that they were covered in Venus’ blood, dry and cracking across his palms. Her dust cruelly sparkled within the crimson stains. His feet started to move towards the edge of the stream, cutting through the clearing. Looking down in the rippling water he could see the moon and his own pale reflection. His green eyes stared hollowly back at him. His brown hair, limp and dirty, hung around his face, just reaching his shoulders.

The green markings of the Oak Tribe that framed his face and decorated his arms were too dark against his skin. One single streak of red across his cheek hid part of the design beneath. It was not his reflection.

It was a ghost’s.

He plunged his hands into the stream’s depths and began to furiously rub off the blood. Standing once more, Pan could feel his face getting hotter, as his hands started to shake, the nails biting into 11

his palms. The serpents ripped off her wings. Turning once more to the rose, he saw Venus’ weapons discarded on the moss, where they had fallen in the struggle. A scream was wrenched from Pan’s mouth, the frustrations and anger that he had been trying to suppress escaping from their prison. He strode across the clearing and picked up her weapons and fastened them onto his belt, balancing the knife in his hand for a moment. The cold hilts of his own swords pressed against the top of his back and their weight resting between his wings comforted him.

‘Cowards!’ His wings beat harder and harder against the nervous breath of wind until he was lifted into the sky. His green eyes burned in the night. ‘Her wings,’ he growled as his own pounded the night air as they carried him away. He left behind the animals that were standing vigil to the single rose nestled in the roots of the weeping willow, and wept for the Elder Princess.

Stephanie Hetherington Broken Affinities Just a few more strokes… Done.

I stand back and look at the enormous canvas in front of me. I think it’s alright, definitely my best painting yet. The people look like people so that’s always a good sign. I grab the crumpled photo off of the table and compare. Well, King Hayden looks about right, better even, but there’s something off about Queen Enya: I just can’t get her mouth right.

Defeated, I hold my hands out at my sides and concentrate on the air. I can feel the moisture in it and focus on the Fire within to try and warm it.

Nothing happens. I try again. The room gets damper.

My frustration starts to rise and I am about to give up when I feel the room heat up. The moisture is gone and the temperature rises to just the right level for my painting to dry.

Yes, I did it!

I turn to grab my paintbrushes and see Tandie standing behind me, lowering her hands.

Oh. Her hair is in a French braid today, her chestnut curls escaping at the sides. I can’t help but envy her a little; when her curls fall loose, they only add to the hairstyle, when that happens to me, I look like a 12

mutant ginger tumbleweed.

‘Sorry. I’m sure you were almost there but as per usual, we’re late,’ she says.

I look at the clock. We were supposed to be at gym two minutes ago. I rush to clean my paintbrushes, fling my paint covered overalls in the corner and grab my bag.

Together we hurry down the crowded corridor.

The lockers are littered with various dress shop posters advertising their latest designs and prices for the Grand Coronation, all of which are too expensive for me.

‘It’s so good,’ Tandie says.

I look sideways at her. ‘What?’

‘Your painting,’ she replies. ‘It’s good. You could totally win.’

‘Hardly.’ I blush and shake my head. ‘Oh well. It will have to do. Time’s up.’

‘No, no. It’s brilliant. I can see it now,’ she thrusts her arm up in the air dramatically as if imagining a sign of sorts. ‘Ember, the famous Royal Painter. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

I smile at her as she barges through the door leading to the changing room. I hope she’s right. The strong smell of soapy deodorant with an undertone of dirty trainers invades my nostrils.

Here we go.

Words cannot justify how much I hate gym class.

Have you ever heard of a Fire Affinity who finds it easier to put out fires than start them? Didn’t think so. Most of the class – Tandie included – has already mastered the advanced levels of Fire control. I am still on the beginners’ stage, alone. It’s not for lack of trying. I do try, really. I just appear to be devoid of any real Fire talent. I believe they call it “affinitably challenged” – just a bit insulting, don’t you think? I guess it makes me special because, well, there aren’t exactly many of us. It should be instinct after all.

Mr Kegan says it’s as easy as breathing. Mr Kegan is wrong about a lot of things.

Even though it’s summer now, the gym still somehow manages to retain that winter chill. It’s one of those huge ones with high ceilings and various scorch marks on the pale brick walls. I tug my sleeves down to conceal the ginger hairs all over my freckled arms standing up like a porcupine. Tandie huddles in close at my side.

‘Jeesh, would you look at the shorts on Aideen.

I mean seriously, any shorter and her arse would be on show.’ And thus commences Tandie’s rant about popular people. It’s not that we’re unpopular … just completely invisible.

‘Hey, Orphan Girl, you’ve got something on your face,’ Blayze – widely proclaimed Mr Teenage Heartthrob – taunts. Okay so not completely invisible – that would be far too easy. Although it’s not official, Blayze clearly has a thing going on with Aideen. It’s

so stereotypical. Blayze, the best looking guy in our school – and clearly knows it – with his dark auburn hair, molten chocolate eyes and muscles that are clear through his forever tight t-shirts. Then Aideen with her strawberry blonde hair swept up into a preppy pony tail, perfect figure and non-existent pores. Gag! Tandie glares daggers at him, causing his posse to erupt in a fit of exaggerated laughter. She turns to me, muttering something that sounds a lot like mouldy snot burger under her breath.

‘It’s just a bit of paint,’ she says, reaching up to wipe it off of my eyebrow – who knows how that got there?

At that moment our teacher, Mr Kegan, strides in and everybody shuts up. I don’t know exactly what it is about him that’s so intimidating; surely not the shorts that put Aideen’s to shame. The bristly moustache with matching eyebrows, maybe? Or his huge arms? Yes, I think it’s definitely the arms that look like they could turn you into human pâté and spread you on his toast.

‘Right, today we’re going to carry on with what we started last lesson. I want everyone in pairs.’

Aideen automatically moves away from her devoted sheep and closer to Blayze, catching Kegan’s attention. ‘Tandie,’ he barks, turning to her.

Tandie snaps her head up. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘You’ll be working with Blayze today.’

Both of their faces drop simultaneously before Tandie begrudgingly leaves my side and joins Blayze.

Aideen scowls at her and moves back to her duplicates.

‘The rest of you. Pairs. Now.’ Everyone quickly shuffles around, finding partners and it quickly becomes clear that there’s an odd number, leaving, guess who, alone. Not that I’m surprised or anything, but it would be nice to have a partner every once in a while. Kegan has been constantly putting Tandie with other people once he saw how much I was holding her back. What he doesn’t see is that she’s the

best in the class so I couldn’t have been doing her too much harm.

‘Looks like you’re with me again, Ember,’ shouts Mr Kegan from the front of the class. I look around the class one last time. Damn. ‘Right then. You know the drill.’

Everyone spreads out in a line facing each other.

Tandie unfolds her arms and turns to Blayze who creates a fireball and throws it at her as fast as he can. It soars through the air and she catches it effortlessly, hurling it back with considerable strength and scorching his shoulder. He pats out the flames quickly and looks at her with surprise and admiration? Surely not. A small smile plays across her lips as she readies herself for the next attack.

‘Come on then, Ember, let’s get to work.’

The small smile that I hadn’t realised I’d been wearing, fades quickly as Mr Kegan comes to stand opposite me.

‘You go first,’ he says.

I cup my hands together, trying to concentrate on the energy inside. I feel the flame within and urge it to manifest itself. A ripple of heat flows from my centre and down my arms, causing a fireball – about the size of my fist – to emerge from my hands. It’s not half as big or vibrant as the others’ but for once it stays there. I turn and throw it at Mr Kegan.

Have you ever heard of a Fire Affinity who finds it easier to put out fires than start them? Didn’t think so.

I whoop triumphantly as it actually reaches him without fizzling out.

‘Good. You’re getting better,’ he says, taking the ball within his hands and making it about ten times bigger until it’s roughly twice the size of my head.

‘Are you ready?’

He’s joking, right?

Before I can protest, the fireball is airborne and coming straight at me. I fling my arms up defensively.

A strong current of foreign energy courses through my body and the ball explodes into steam, leaving my clothes damp. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares.

Ignazio, one of Blayze’s friends sniggers and shouts, ‘Looks like sir makes you a bit wet, Orphan Girl.’ The room explodes in laughter.

13

Laura Jayne Hill The Blacklands Prologue Nathan sits in a worn, beige armchair. Legs crossed, he lazily rests his chin on one hand. A leather bound book lays open on his lap. He looks at it, musing with dark eyes. He’d known Adeline had been powerful but he’d had no idea just how much she had hid from everyone. She’d never been fond of him, he knew, even when he had married Nancy – her daughter.

He’d never been particularly bothered by it before, but to learn now, after all these years, how strong the power was that ran in Nancy veins. A power bestowed to her from her ancestors, was enlightening to say the least. It is power he plans to use. Matched with his own nothing would stop him. His dream could be realised. Magic is a precious in this world, and gifted upon only a few. He himself had been one of the fortunate ones. To be born into magic, he always consider it a privilege, a privilege the world needs to know about.

Nathan smirks. Now even Nancy hated him. It had been a high price to pay, he’d once loved Nancy, deeply, despite what they all might think of him.

But his mission had been more important. It still is. None of them can see it his way, yet, but they would… soon.

He’d waited years for this moment and finally everything is slipping into place; all the seeds he’d sown were beginning to bloom.

He shuts the journal and slips it into the pocket of his long coat. Black, like the rest of his outfit. The only colour he wore these days, it made it easier to travel through the shadows. Then he stands and walks towards the window, careful not to get too close. He doesn’t want to be seen, not yet. The bluish light follows him, like a mystic rain cloud. There’s no electricity in this place. That didn’t surprise Nathan – Adeline was so predictable in some ways. He’d cast a witchlight spell to be able to read the journal. Now the cloud is the only source of light. There is no point dimming it. He has no intention of leaving Now, looking down at the damp ground outside, he can see Kali standing outside. He stands staring at her for a while and a strange array of emotions passes through him but no linger for any length of time. It’s been so long since he has laid eyes on his daughter and here she is; standing, maybe, thirty feet away from him. He’d been waiting for this moment for such a long time and now he is sure that the magic that runs through her veins isn’t just his but Adeline’s too. She is powerful, more powerful 14

that Nathan could of hoped for. A smile starts to form at the edge of his lips and the witchlight glows a little brighter.

He looks at his protégé more closely. She is wearing a thin cardigan over a red dress with big, black, lace up boots. Nathan smirks again. She really does look like Nancy he thinks, and gives a sigh, except for her eyes. Her eyes are exactly the same as his and for the first time he gives what can only be described as a genuine smile.

He continues to watch her, like a snake in the garden, waiting for its prey to come home. Waiting to see what she will do next. He sees her pale face even though she wearing her long hair down and the wind is whipping it around her. Suddenly she goes very still. Afraid, Nathan thinks briefly, but then he sees the light flush of her cheeks and her eyes harden.

No, she isn’t afraid at all, she is angry. Her mother’s cheeks would flush in exactly the same way when she got angry. Nathan remembers that well.

Good, he thinks, anger he can use. He needs his daughter, needs her power and using her anger was going to be the easiest way to make it happen. He keeps staring through the window and he crosses his arms. Leaning slightly on the wall; he doesn’t move.

Kali starts to approach. Slowly at first and then with determination, her steps quicken, until she disappears out of Nathan’s eye line. He closed his eyes and focuses. He can see her as she reaches the door and enters the old abandoned tree house.

Nathan keeps his eyes closed, trying not to smile, and waits for his daughter to enter the room.

Inky The Beginning Posted: 01/07/2016. Post no. 2093840.

User no. 73305. Location: UK Title: Wendover Woods If you’re reading this post then I need your help.

My name is Rose O’Malley, I’m eighteen years old, and I have been witness to the birth of a great evil.

We are all in danger. This whole world could be ended before our very eyes if we do not come together now. You may be thinking that I am crazy, or some spoiled kid starved for attention, but you haven’t

seen the things I have. It is almost like it happened to someone else, like my memory is just a movie. Like slow motion. Maybe I’m going insane. I don’t know.

I just don’t see any other way to write it, other than as I see it.

Sometimes, even I begin to think that I have started on the path to crazy. I mean, maybe I have. My therapist certainly thinks so, but she doesn’t know.

She doesn’t believe me. Doesn’t believe in malign spirits, haunted houses or Evil with a capital ‘E’.

That’s why I’m writing this for you. Because maybe you do. Maybe you can see the shadows in dark corners. The daemons that breed and fester in the night.

‘Kitti?’ I whisper.

The chanting doesn’t stop.

‘Kitti,’ I say louder.

Now it does.

The silence is deadly.

I call her name again, and a candle ignites in the middle of the room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust but when I do…

Jesus…

Kitti is wrapped around the candle like a python, bent in ways I’ve never seen a person bend. She is looking straight at me. Eyes wide with a grin plastered across her face. Her spine winds around some invisible coil.

‘Kitti?’

She slithers away from the candle, away from the door, pulling herself along the ground with her hands. Her tongue darts out towards me, long and pink.

‘Hey, Rosie.’

Her voice leaves her throat like a hiss but I don’t see her lips move. Her twisted body slowly pushes itself from the ground, snaking around itself. A python unravelling from its coil. Her eyes never leave

mine. I can feel my guts rise into my chest and hold there. I am frozen, watching my best friend’s head click back into place. Inhuman.

‘Rosie.’

She looks at me with the same eery, wide-eyed grin. Now the smile expands. Her cheeks tear from the corners of her lips up to her earlobes. Her eyes seem to grow and glow in yellow, red and orange.

‘Rosie,’ her voice comes again. It’s her voice, but it seems to echo with a deep resonance, like someone else is speaking with her, controlling her voice. She moves in close. I can almost feel her breath on my neck. Blood is oozing from the breaks in her skin. I can see the teeth beneath her huge grin. The layers of muscle that contort and pulse as she moves. The skin from her bottom jaw that sags away from the frame of her face. Each time she moves, the skin that has torn away from itself slaps back against her flesh with a sickening squelch that makes my insides turn.

She extends a hand and I flinch. Her skin is rougher than I remember.

Her fingers drag over my cheek. It burns. Nails trace the shape of my skull then wander down to my neck. Suddenly they press deep into my skin. She brings her arm down across my body. I scream. I collapse. Broken. My hands hit the hardwood floor.

I can feel blood rolling down my chest. Forming large beads of sticky red liquid that drop to the wooden flooring with an audible smack.

Kitti pulls up. For a moment, I stare at her feet.

Pointing inwards like a small child. Then I look up.

It takes all my strength. Every muscle is repulsed by her.

Run, I think, but I’m stuck. Staring.

She stands with her feet slightly apart, her shoulders level, like she’s trying to appear human again. But it’s not quite right.

It’s not her.

Her hips are uneven, and her hands are packed to her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Her neck is stuck slightly to the side. That hideous grin, carved across her face.

It’s not Kitti.

She extends both her arms towards me, palms facing in.

This is a dream.

I can feel my pulse in my neck. It’s so loud. Not as loud as the screaming. A chorus of pain filling my head up.

Just a bad dream!

But even through the chaos, her voice penetrates.

‘Come to mama.’

It’s like I snap into full throttle. I can’t stay any longer. I turn on my heel, breaking eye contact for the first time, and bolt out of the door.

15

Aynsleigh McGhie The Void Theif ‘Aaaaand step right up! Step riiiiight up! Priceless wares, exotic creatures-’ ‘Young lady, pretty lady, buy my jewels, buy my scents! Half price for the pretty ladies, half price-’ ‘Two for one! Two for one at Merchindels Weaponry for one hour!’

Cax’s ears ached with Keeper’s bargains bellowing throughout the market. They shouted at no one in particular, waved their hands dramatically and thrust stock over their tables. Some had taken to harnessing their assistants with trays around their necks, teeming with bottles of venom, mismatched earrings. The assistants ran through the crowd, enticing unsuspecting customers to part with their credits, drawing them over to their Keeper’s tables.

Cax took notes on their nimble footwork as they darted here and there, avoiding cuffs from veterans and recently graduated cadets who didn’t want to be bothered on their way to the inn house. She wrinkled her nose when she saw most of the assistants dipping their hands into many open credit purses; she pushed her own further into her pocket.

‘Cax.’ Dodge tugged at her arm, pulling her to face a stall that seemed to vibrate and rustle amongst the others. The Keeper had draped hunks of meat on ropes around his neck as his arms and legs were wrapped in thick pieces of burnt, chewed leather.

He stood silently amongst the other merchants, absently twirling his sleek beard with his fingers.

The two cadets followed his other hand holding a straining rope and gasped.

‘Dodge,” Cax stammered, “is that a-’ ‘It’s totally a leon, oh my gaaad!’ Dodge squealed.

He clapped his hands excitedly before looking at them, frowning, and putting them in his pockets. He continued in a much gruffer tone. ‘Yeah, it’s a leon.

Cool, whatever.’

Cax rubbed her eyes and looked again. The leon strained against its harness as it salivated towards the crowd, its barbed tail twitching and a black pointed tongue licking its lips. Muscles rippled across its hairless shoulders and back, as its smooth, tawny skin shone in the dim lights of the Night Market. Its legs easily came up to Cax’s shoulder, sinewy and slim that ended in clawed paws. The face resembled that of a guard dog, but contained cat-like pointed ears and flashed golden-yellow eyes. Caged animals that gave the stall it’s quivering appearance occasionally yowled or threw bones from last night’s dinner through the bars of their temporary home.

16

The leon’s eyes would narrow, but never moved from the sifting crowd before it.

‘No one back home is ever going to believe...,” Cax breathed, “that we’ve seen a real leon!’

‘I know.’ Dodge was equally as quiet. ‘I wish you didn’t skip so many tutorials, you’d have learnt so much about leons. That Keeper must be a nutcase.

Did you know that a leon’s saliva has acidic qualities?

That means when it bites you, it’s literally dissolving flesh! Its teeth are relatively weak, so the acidic spit means that they can get through most thick bones without- jeez, Reno! What is that?!’

Reno’s huge frame bashed through the crowd, his face beaming over his arms carrying an enormous bag of‘Snack sticks!’ Reno shouted. ‘10 credits for all of these! Isn’t that amazing? And a guy came up to me with a tray and it had my favourite sweet treats on them. It’s a shame he tried to to pickpocket me though, I thought we could’ve been- good grief, is that a leon?’

‘Oh my god, I know! It’s a leon!’ Dodge flapped his hands in the air again. Cax flicked him on the ear so he squeaked.

‘Ow! Thank you, I don’t know what’s come over me today.’

‘Pull yourself together, we need to find people who know Mum.’ Reno swallowed the snack stick he was munching on. ‘I’ve been asking around about the Viper. Some Keepers said anything seedy can be found at the Dock. That’s where your mum usually gets people to trade with us when we drop off trade anyway.’

They pushed their way through the crowd, Reno offering his precious snack sticks to anyone who would listen. (‘They’re just too good not to give away.

Just 10 credits!’). They moved out of the crooked, bustling centre and towards the quieter, shadowy Docks. The three cadets had the sense to hush their voices as they moved past pairs dealing with hopping squanderfracks in jars, or playing cards on old petrol kegs. Cax recognised other Ship Leaders she’d seen in the Leader’s Pod of the Celestial.

‘There.’ Cax nudged her friends and pointed to a short man with a scar on his cheek. ‘I know him.

That’s Roso, the Ship Leader of the Astro. I’ve never met him, but he definitely knows my mum. Let’s go, he might know where to find the Viper.’

She made a start towards the Leader, but someone pushed past her. She opened her mouth to protest but a deep voice cut her off.

‘Move aside, girl. This is official business, you clear off back to your Keeper.’

Cax looked up to throw the worst barrage of insults she’d learnt from the kitchen in the Celestial,

Grace McGregor The Importance of Being Invisible Chapter One

but the acid yellow uniform of the Chan Guard Force made her teeth shut together with a loud click.

She pulled Reno and Dodge behind a repairs station, and peered over the edge.

‘I can’t hear a thing,’ she muttered disappointedly.

‘Well, you might be able to, if someone would stop crunching so loudly.’

‘Are you absolutely, positively sure you don’t want a stick? You’re always grumpy when you’re hungry.’

‘Reno-I-swear-if-you-don’t-get-those-things-outmy-face-I’m-going-to-hit-you!’

As Reno and Dodge scuffled behind her, Cax strained her eyes at the Chan and Roso. Roso held his hands in the air whilst the guard pulled out a piece of paper. Cax gasped and ducked back down again.

‘Guys, we’ve got to go.’

‘What? Why, I was winning!’ Dodge whined from underneath Reno who was sat on top of him.

‘Psh, in your dreams, pipsqueak.’

‘No, guys...’ Cax pulled her friends apart and began to crawl back towards the market. ‘The Chans are here. And they have posters.’

‘The Chans never struck me as people who would advertise themselves in that manner,’ Reno muttered as he followed Cax. ‘Not for themselves, idiot, of us! Wanted papers guys! They must know we survived the crash.’

Reno started. ‘They know we’re here? How?’ ‘How are we supposed to know, Reno?’ Dodge sat up for a split second. ‘Damn it! There’s more than one guard. This place is covered in Wanted papers, with a bounty.’

‘We have a bounty?’ Cax reached up and snatched one of them off a pole and studied it carefully. ‘1000 credits, cool!’ w ‘Let me see!’ Reno swiped the paper out of Cax’s hand.

‘Come on, guys, we’re surrounded by Chan guards and pirates, who would -to sweep up an easy bounty! Just put down the poster and let’s find- please say that’s not what I think it is.’

‘It is! They used your end of year photo!’

‘Not that, you silly giant, that!’

As the Monday morning bells chimed, the corridors of Franklin House School flooded with pupils. I, on the other hand, hid in the toilets until the crowds dispersed, because pre-teen crowds bring me out in hives. Yeah, that’s me, Sebastian Crimp, the socially awkward, seventeen year old with no mates.

Monday mornings were always the worst - registration, assembly and then football practice with Mr Herbert. It was the same every week: an hour of being kicked in the shins by Jake Pritchett and his army of blockheads.

When the screeching and giggling had died down outside, I poked my head outside the door of the boys toilets. Luckily enough, the year seven vermin were long gone, and I could finally make my way to football practice in peace.

The boys changing rooms were clammy and the pong of sweat hung heavily in the air. Disgusted, I reminded myself that after this year I’d never have to endure another hour of football, or stand barefoot on a floor that guaranteed a verruca. Just one year until I could leave school. A fresh start… Maybe even get a girlfriend? Perhaps that was pushing it.

But you know what? In spite of my tragic unpopularity, I wasn’t unhappy. I didn’t care what the kids at school thought of me. I always had my laptop and my online friend, Kookygirl42. We met in a chatroom for social anxiety when I was fifteen, and we’d been chatting ever since. She couldn’t defend me against Jake and the blockheads or sit with me at lunch, but she was always there when the Wi-Fi permitted. That was all I needed. I never really cared about real friends - I’m just not a people person. In fact, I actively dislike most people.

I stuffed my bag into my locker, making a protective nest for my laptop, and ventured out in the morning mist to the dreaded football pitch. ‘One more year, Sebastian,’ I muttered to myself in a half-arsed motivational tone, ‘one more year…’

‘Right, boys, I want to see three laps of the pitch!

No stopping! Anyone who stops can drop and give me twenty - make that thirty! I don’t want any stopping!’

The shrill tone of Mr Herbert’s voice was enough make anyone want to drop dead, especially at this hour of the morning, but I knew he wasn’t kidding.

He was the kind of teacher who never achieved his childhood sporting goals, so spent the remainder of 17

his life barking orders and watching students squirm.

‘Keep those knees up, you bunch of sissies!’

I felt a piercing pain in my lungs as I began the third lap of the pitch, all the while being jeered at by Jake. The air was cold and sharp, and my legs could hardly run for shivering. I was about to admit defeat and drop to the floor, to Mr Herbert’s satisfaction, when the fire alarm echoed throughout the school.

Mr Herbert panicked, rallying the boys towards the fire assembly point while I tried to compose myself, mentally debating whether my lungs were in fact about to explode or not. Exploding lungs aside, I suddenly remembered my laptop was still in my locker. Crap.

Looking back at the P.E. block and then to the fire assembly point I considered my options. Mr Herbert was nowhere in sight; this was my chance. Legs shaking, I dragged myself back to the locker room. Beads of sweat rolled down my temples, but I had to rescue Kookygirl42 from her potentially flaming grave.

The P.E block was full of billowing smoke clouds when I got there. I panicked, struggling to breathe, as the clouds grew thicker. I could hardly see the short distance to the boy’s locker room, and my eyes were burning. Hands out in front of me, I edged through the door and fumbled, trying to fit the key into the locker. After three failed attempts, I managed to steady myself and rescue my laptop – relief.

With my laptop safe in my arms, I prepared myself to face the smoke again. The heat was so intense; I could tell the flames were near. Holding my breath, I swung the door open and started making my way outside, using the light of the glass doors to guide me to safety. I was close, but something stopped me before I could leave.

‘Help! Please! I’m trapped!’ I tried to ignore my conscience, but even I couldn’t leave without trying to help. The cries were coming from the girl’s locker room; a place I had once dreamed of, but not in these circumstances. I peered from behind the door, laptop in hand, stunned to see the wall of flames that contained the screaming girl. I looked around in panic, and then I spotted it, the source of the fire.

Rolling my eyes, I realised there was only one girl in year thirteen who would be stupid enough to leave polyester bibs on an electric heater – resident bimbo Beany Matthews. And now it was my responsibility to rescue her. Brilliant.

Judgement aside, I had to be quick. The smoke grew thicker and the flames began to spread – I pushed my laptop outside the door to safety and instinctively grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher.

“Stand back!” I shouted to Beany, ‘I’m going to… uhh… put out the fire! Watch out!’ Pulling the pin out of the fire extinguisher, my arms were jolted back and forth by the pressure of the hose, but in a 18

total fluke, I managed to extinguish the majority of the flames. Beany was free. It wasn’t over yet though, we still had to make our escape.

When the firemen reached us, they were stunned. Beany had passed out and there I was, heroically dragging her towards the door; one gangly arm wrapped around Beany’s chest, the other wrapped protectively around my laptop. I know which one I would’ve saved had things got really serious. Still, I’d done it. The laptop was safe and so was Kookygirl42.

Oh, and so was Beany Matthews…

After the fire, things got really weird. Everyone at school knew who I was. Actually, everyone in Hampton knew who I was; my name was on the front page of the local newspaper. Admittedly, it was in tiny font, below a staged photo of Beany looking traumatised; but her dramatic recounting of the story only made matters worse. I was dubbed a local hero.

But that wasn’t even the weirdest part. Beany was dating – wait for it – Jake Pritchett, and apart from his comment about me ‘touching her boob’ while I carried her to safety, he hadn’t said or done a single horrible thing to me since. In fact, he was being nice. I almost missed the shin kicking; at least before we had a mutual understanding - we hated each other’s guts.

When Friday came around, I was making my way to the bus stop, when I felt a sharp prod in my back. I turned around, surprised to see Jasmine Dear – Beany’s loyal sidekick – staring back at me, eyes wide, like some kind of psychotic bush baby.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Hey, Seb!’ ‘My name’s Sebasti- never mind. What do you want?’

‘I’m having this get together at mine tonight. My parents are yachting in Monaco and they told me not

to have a party in case someone, like, spills something on the Persian rugs, but it’s just like... a small thing and it’s going to be ah-may-zing. Beany said she wanted me to invite you, since you, like, saved her life and all. We’re going to get totally bloody bladdered on Pimms and champagne!’

‘I don’t kno-‘ ‘Cool! See you at eight! Bring booze and dress to impress.’

I had no time to reject her invitation before she had flounced off, leaving me bewildered. Jasmine had never acknowledged my existence until that day, and suddenly I’d been invited to rub shoulders with the Franklin House Elite. I had to tell Kookygirl42 about this when I got home.

Charlotte Robinson Lucifer’s Death As most dramatic scenes do, this one began in the middle of a heavy storm, rain banging against windows and wind howling through alleyways. Methalis would have appreciated the irony were he not fighting for his life against his best friend. Gabriel was giving no leeway as his scythe came down once more. Methalis was weaker than Gabriel, but what he lacked in strength he made up for in sheer determination.

‘I know you think that you’re going to win, but it won’t be easy!’ A scythe swiped past his ear. Methalis dodged; while he was a skeleton, he could still feel the ghost of pain and preferred to avoid it if possible.

He adjusted and fixed his eyes once more on Gabriel.

Dust, Methalis’ pet crow, cawed from above him, the sudden noise distracting both fighters.

Another sound, above the pounding rain, made its way down the alley, echoing off mouldy walls.

It was a deep growling, the click of claws, the snap of jaws. The two boys looked around but could see nothing. Gabriel raised his scythe, only to catch a glimpse of haunting red eyes.

‘Methalis. I think your sister is here.’ Gabriel whispered, edging his way towards the son of Hell, near-transparent wings pulled close to his body.

Methalis however was inching towards the entrance of the alley-way.

‘Hopefully she’s not here for us.’ he whispered back.

‘Quit it guys, I’m not that scary.’ a voice said from behind them, making them both jump. Whirling around they found themselves faces to noses with

three drooling heads.

‘Ceris! You look … well. Been spending too much time with the hounds?’ Methalis asked, resting his scythe on his shoulder. Dust swooped low, avoiding one of Cerberus’ snapping jaws as he came to rest on Methalis’ other shoulder.

‘I’m behind Cerberus, Methy.’ the boys leaned around the three heads and found Ceris looking decidedly unamused.

‘So, er, what are you doing here?’ Gabriel asked, leaning casually against the monstrous hound.

Cerberus gave a small growl, his teeth brushing Gabriel’s hair in complaint. Ceris stepped forward, pulling out her staff and releasing the blades in a gentle twirl.

‘I want to play too.’ she said with an easy smile that somehow still had Gabriel taking a step back.

His wings spread open, the angel settling into fight or flight. Methalis swung his own scythe, disturbing Dust from his shoulder.

‘Have at thee!’ Methalis cried. Gabriel gave a long suffering sigh before lunging forward to protect Methalis’ back from a hound. Fighting Ceris was always a challenge, not only due to her skill with her blade, but also because the hounds refused to leave her side, giving her a decided advantage. Luckily Cerberus rarely played with them. He was getting on in years and preferred to sit back and growl occasionally. What he said only Ceris knew, but from how she adjusted her stance they assumed he was correcting her.

In the end, victory was Ceris’. The boys chose to believe that they had gone easy on her rather than having their assess handed to them.

‘You know, if you fought without your hounds you wouldn’t last half as long.’ Methalis told her, as he popped his shoulder back in to position, ignoring Gabriel’s flinch.

‘Not much incentive for me to fight without them then.’ Ceris said. One of the hounds placed a damp cloth in her hand, and she proceeded to wrap it around a gash in Gabriel’s arm.

‘Please tell me that’s damp from the rain.’ Gabriel said, eyeing the lump of drool hanging from the dog’s mouth.

‘Sure.’ Ceris said. Gabriel’s wings slumped with his shoulders as he looked up to see her smiling.

‘So little sis, what now?’ Methalis asked before Gabriel could complain. He held out his hand for Dust, who had been eyeing the siblings from afar.

The crow landed on his fingers, hopping across to Methalis’ shoulder when he raised his hand.

‘Well, I believe that ice cream is always a good decision.’ Ceris replied.

‘We’re soaked through to the bone, and you want ice cream?’ Her brother said, glancing at Gabriel, 19

who shrugged. Ceris poked her brother, her finger passing between his ribs, causing him to jump.

‘Ice cream is always the answer.’ she laughed.

‘Don’t do that!’ Methalis said, rubbing his side to try to get rid of the tingles. ‘I can still feel it even if I don’t have skin.’

‘It’s amazing you can still frown at me.’ Ceris commented while peering closely at his face.

‘Get away!’ Methalis cried, planting his hand on her face and pushing her to the side, ignoring her muffled complaints. ‘Feathers, you up for ice cream?’

Gabriel shot him a glare for the nickname before shrugging and standing.

‘Sure. I call first dibs though!’ he said, swinging his scythe through the air and stepping through the portal his blade created.

‘Hey, no fair!’ Ceris shouted, running through after him. Methalis stood himself, nearly being knocked over by the hounds following Ceris. Dust let out a sound that resembled a laugh before flying through the portal in front of Methalis.

-The ice cream parlour resembled an American Diner in the 60s, with a jukebox and an awful white and red square pattern along the walls. The booths were made of easy-clean red leather with pictures of Elvis and other famous Americans. The counter was modern with sleek silver tops and a large freezer filled with an assortment of ice creams. It was this glass front that Ceris had pressed her face against and was now steaming up. Gabriel meanwhile had ordered three hot chocolates and was peeling the drool covered bandage off his arm with a grimace.

Methalis joined Ceris at the ice cream counter, giving a small smile to the bored waitress. The hounds and the crow passed through, unnoticed by the humans populating the little café. Ceris glanced up at Methalis, noting his human appearance before pointing to a vanilla ice cream.

‘I want this one,’ she said, with all the airs and graces of a princess or a four-year-old. Methalis leaned forward.

‘Stracciatella.’ he read, glancing up at the waitress to check his pronunciation. She smiled.

‘You have to roll the r.’ she said. ‘It’s Italian.’

‘Stracciatella.’ Ceris tried, frowning as she did so.

‘Stracciatella.’ Methalis repeated, his ‘r’ rolling perfectly. Ceris elbowed him before pointing to the ice cream.

‘That one please.’

‘You have to pronounce it correctly first.’ Methalis said with a smug smile, side stepping her elbow as she glared at him.

‘Just because your mouth has a deformity doesn’t mean I have to subject mine to the same thing.’ she complained.

20

‘Just because you can’t do it.’ Methalis taunted, laughing as she stuck her tongue out and stormed off to the booth with her ice cream. He ordered the same ice cream and reached the table just as Ceris tried again, with little success. He kicked her leg to make her shuffle along the seat, collapsing next to her. Gabriel pushed a hot chocolate towards him, ‘Don’t fancy an ice cream, Feathers?’ Methalis asked around a mouthful of chocolate chips.

‘Close your mouth when you chew.’ Gabriel admonished. ‘No, all I want is a warm drink.’

‘You’ve taken your bandage off.’ Ceris piped up, pointing her spoon at his arm.

‘It was covered in drool Ceris!’ Gabriel whined, rubbing his arm.

‘Oh don’t be such a baby! A little drool won’t hurt you. You’re already dead!’ She said, waving a lump of ice cream around. Methalis sniggered next to her, hiding behind his hot chocolate when Gabriel sent a glare his way.

‘She has a point!’ Methalis added after a moment.

‘I am not wearing anything that has been drooled on!’ Gabriel said, Ceris smirked at him, ‘Is that why you’re letting Snorkel drool on your knee?’ Gabriel looked down to find a black hound sat underneath the table, and his knee suspiciously damp. He glared at a smug Ceris.

‘I hate you and everything you stand for.’ the angel said, his feathers rustling angrily behind him.

Eleanor Broadbent Saint City Dreaming Argent’s footsteps echoed all around him, bouncing off the walls of the long corridor. He recognised this place with its pale blue paintwork, dim gas lights and shadowy portraits of long-dead aristocrats looming over him.

He knew the paintings well. They always appeared in this nightmare, their lifeless eyes following him as he ran. As always, they were talking about him; he could hear the hoarse whispers of their painted lips. Argent didn’t have to listen to know what they were saying, he’d had this very same dream dozens of times before.

‘He’s here, he’s here!’

‘Find the boy, find the boy.’

‘There’s no way out Argent, they’re coming for you.’

‘He’s here, he’s here...’

mare where the floorboards began to warp and turn to quicksand. He tried to run faster, tried to outpace it. The floor buckled beneath him and he went crashing to his knees. He tried to push himself back up, but what had been wood just a second before was now a thick, cloying mud. Argent panicked as the quicksand began to drag him down. He couldn’t run.

He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t even move.

He heard footsteps behind him and shouted out as the masked shadows crowded in around him.

Light danced and skittered across his vision, making him screw his eyes up tight against the wounding reflections.

But it was too late. For a split second Argent caught a glimpse of his side in one jagged shard. He couldn’t stop himself from screaming.

He kept running, his heart hammering in his chest.

Then the paintings ended and the doors began.

Row upon never-ending row of them, stretching down either side of the endless corridor. The first two burst open with a crash. And then the next, and the next. The sound rippled after him, getting closer and closer with each second.

He knew what was happening. The paintings had summoned the wolves.

Except... something was different. The usual wailing howls were missing, and there was no scrabbling of claws on wooden floorboards. Argent gave a quick, panicked glance over his shoulder and felt his stomach lurch. The dream had changed. For the first time ever, it had changed.

Ever since he’d started to have this nightmare, it had been wolves. Skinny, black, twisted creatures with mouths full of silver knives instead of teeth.

But this time it wasn’t wolves. This time the shapes that followed him were human.

They wore the same black uniform as Argent had been wearing the day before, and the same expressionless gas masks. He knew though, through the strange logic of dreams, that it was Amarul and his gang. They laughed and shouted threats after him, their voices distorted by the masks. Somehow that made it so much worse.

Argent risked another glance as a glint of silver light caught his eye. Was that glass? No, not glass, exactly-mirrors. The spectres of his classmates were chasing after him with mirror shards clasped in their gloved hands.

He knew with the abstract certainty dreams provide, that catching even a glimpse of himself in any of those pieces would leave him slashed and bleeding.

He also knew that this was the part of the night-

His eyes snapped open in a dark, unfamiliar room.

There was a moment of confusion as his brain tried to piece together what was real and what was not.

Someone had been screaming, hadn’t they? He could swear there’d been a scream. Argent swallowed, noticing how raw his throat felt.

There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. It had been him, hadn’t it? He’d been the one yelling. He’d been having that old nightmare, but different. Worse. Amarul’s gang had been chasing him, and he’d dreamt that he’d been hurt.

He could feel himself shaking.

There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. It had been him, hadn’t it? He’d been the one yelling.

It had just a dream. Just a dream. None of it was real.

There was a jug of water on a low stand next to the bed. Nothing of anything he was seeing felt familiar, but he pushed his confusion away for the moment as he reached for the water. A sharp stab of pain lanced down his right side, making Argent yelp.

But it had just been a dream. Just a dream. None of it was real.

He pressed a hand to his side and felt damp fabric beneath his fingers. Argent pulled his hand away and stared at it. Even in the dim light of the moon, he could see the blood on his fingertips.

21

Leia Evans The Remora Chronicles Bloodlines As it turned out, nothing was better when he woke up. Noel jerked awake as everything suddenly flipped sideways. Screams came from all around him.

‘Wha?’ The boy next to him looked at him in terror.

‘Are you blind? Why can’t you see it!’

Noel looked back blankly. ‘See what –’ He cut off when he saw behind the boy a very large, very angry looking Greagle. Unlike its mortal cousin, the eagle, greagles were highly territorial and could easily crush a large scouting ship in one claw.

And its beady eyes were fixed straight on them...

Gritting his teeth, Noel grabbed a hold of one of the bench’s metal leg bars as it swooped in for another strike. Damn. Damn. Damn. He knew he wasn’t paranoid. He should have signed up for Divine Arts after all.

The Greagle’s massive weight slammed into the coach and it took all of Noel’s strength to cling on as they literally hung sideways. If he lost his grip then he would fly straight through the open doorway and plunge to his death.

‘Kitara!’ A voice yelled above him.

Noel didn’t need to look up to guess what was happening. He had to do something. Holding out one arm, he prepared for the strain it was about to take. When she slammed into him, he focused only on grasping a bit of material but it slipped through his fingers like silk. He grasped for her sweaty hand and held it like she was the lifeline, not him.

Kitara’s golden eyes burned into him, molten flames crashing into each other as she felt the terror all creatures threatened with death. His heart was pounding in his chest, as if to burst free of its confines. His fingers ached as he continued to hold onto both the bench and her hand. His fingers were slipping, trembling, but he held on.

‘Don’t let go,’ he yelled at her.

‘You can’t hold me and yourself up!’

‘Don’t say I’m going to let go!’

‘Maybe not willingly!’

BANG! They swung back and forth like a pendulum, his stomach rolling at the abuse. His fingers... he couldn’t...

Noel let go.

Pain raced through him as his side caught the doorframe. Gravity clawed at him, making him descend faster. Kitara’s voice rang in his ears like a 22

shrill station whistle.

He was going to die. Just like the little wimpy coward that his father called him.

No! He had a mother that was risking her reputation and honour on him. He had a uncle that was proud of him. Him! Noel couldn’t die. But what could he do?

A flicker of gold and blue whipped past him, shooting ahead before twisting around mid-air. Noel met intelligent blue eyes and with all his heart he pleaded with the animal, in that instance something seemed to form between them. Noel pleaded for it to save them or to at least save Kitara. She didn’t deserve to die. He may not know her very well and she was a little too forward for his liking but she had been kind to him.

It rushed forwards, swooping below him and snatched Kitara. Thank Bemuda. At least he had done something right. Noel closed his eyes.

‘Noel!’

He slammed into the ground.

Pain... Then softness touching his face. A guardian to guide him to the afterlife? But it was so soft beneath him; he hardly thought the ground would feel so utterly delightful.

‘Noel, open your eyes you little snot! You ain’t dead yet!’

It rushed forwards, swooping below him and snatched Kitara.

Noel peeked an eye open. Up, down, up, down, up, down, went the feathery wing in front of him.

Kitara’s irate face then poked into view. It was bright red and she was breathing heavily.

‘What is wrong with you?’ She screamed, ‘Closing your eyes like that! Like it was okay to just fall!

Did you think it would only save me?’

As if in agreement, the Griffin squawked.

‘See! Even the Griffin agrees with me!’

Noel was taken aback, why was she so angry?

‘I-I’m sorry?’

She growled, ‘Just you wait till we land - then you’ll be sorry!’

Noel then looked around wildly as he remembered just why he was sitting on a Griffin’s back.

‘Where is it?’

Kitara’s brow furrowed before she too began to look around furiously for the giant thing.

‘I can’t see it!’

Lisa McEvoy Star Chaser: The Space Race ‘This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.’ With the shuffle of his metallic legs, he ran a hand through short messy hair, as the comforting hum of the gravitation pulse sounded from beneath the floor. The wide expanse of the station stretched out before him as he saw the looming gas giant fill the starry sky. Javen was uninhabitable but rich in metallic hydrogen. The planet was heavily mined and allowed for many satellites in orbit to trade the precious resource. From his place high upon one of the many walkways, above the buzz and bustle, he could see tiny figures busily loading cargo.

‘Me either!’

A screeching cry came from above them. An outraged scream. They looked up. It looked down.

‘That’s not good!’ Kitara gasped.

Noel didn’t reply. His throat had suddenly closed up. They had to do something. He could remember a little of his riding lessons on horses, though somehow he didn’t think griffin riding worked quite the same way. Picking up the reins, he gave their saviour a firm nudge with his heels. It shot downwards with a caw.

‘It’s following us!’ Kitara yelled in his ear.

‘No, really?’ Noel snapped, his voice swept away by the wind. He tried to pull the reins left but the animal kept going downward and closer to the ground. Okay, definitely not like a horse then.

Pulling his body further against the creature’s body, he leaned his weight to the right. The Griffin pulled back sharply with him, as if reading his mind.

The Greagle raced passed them, scrambling to re-gather its wits but the weight of its body pulled it down. The resulting sonic BOOM ruptured through the ground, tearing it apart.

He watched as the air rippled and like a whisper could set off the mountains, the pressure ruptured Iceria’s temper. A tsunami of snow began sliding, gathering speed and size as it tumbled down... down...down...

‘Get us out of here, Noel! Before we go down with the mountain!’

Noel snapped back to the present and pulled the griffin up and away from the avalanche nipping at their heels like hungry dogs starved for food. They raced through the air but he could still hear the terrible roaring. Was it getting louder?

Noel looked behind. He would later regret it.

The wave of snow slammed into them and Noel was drowned in a world of white.

He scratched his head and unbuttoned his shirt collar. ‘How did we get to this? If we fail, we are dead.’

‘Well, I can’t do it. Everyone knows that Captain Starchaser was of Terria. Also, you know... he was male.’ Twitching her long cone-shaped ears atop her head, she gave him the best frown her brow-less face could give. Reluctantly, he turned to her, studying her black-and-white striped appearance as she drew herself up to stare back into his fearful eyes.

‘I can’t do this, Momo.’

‘Of course you can!’ She spoke brightly as she reached out to neaten the collar of his shirt and delicately button it up. Sweat dripping down his temples; he fiddled with his eye patch. Momo offered a reassuring fanged smile as her ears set back against her head, golden eyes set upon his shaking hands.

He scratched his head and unbuttoned his shirt collar. ‘How did we get to this? If we fail, we are dead.’

‘Well Edden,’ Momo began as she re-buttoned his shirt collar, ‘another month of supplements and we’d be dead anyway. Desperate times and all that.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he huffed.

Momo searched the many pockets in her oil-stained pinafore and retrieved a small rounded white object filled with numbers and dials ticking away, none of which Edden understood.

23

‘Is that it? Is that the RE:scanner?’

‘Yup.’ Edden ran a hand through his hair once again, turning from the dials and counters of the RE:scanner and back to Momo’s feline face. ‘Is this going to hurt?’

‘Don’t be such a cub, Edden,’ she growled as she closed in on him with the RE:scanner. Edden gulped and gave his hand to the small woman. ‘Ready to become Captain Starchaser?’ she asked, but before he could reply she took his hand firmly in her paw and started scanning. Edden jumped at the RE:scanner’s jolts of electricity and the smell of singed flesh.

‘Ouch!’

‘Cub.’ She tutted back at him.

Rubbing where it was sore, Edden scrutinized the red circle burnt onto his palm before narrowing his eyes at Momo’s short furry form.

‘Don’t look at me like that.’ With the shake of her head, she lowered her long ears. ‘We have to get this right.’

‘Yeah, yeah... let’s get this over with.’ Furrowing his brows, Edden gave out his painful hand.

Momo offered her paw and both shook as if greeting for the first time.

PING! Turning his wrist, Edden saw the boxed notification appear on his personal communicator:

Rochelle Scott Rheme: Chapter Three He was in there; I hadn’t expected him to be anywhere else to be honest, even at this hour. What was the time? Damn, five thirty. I needed to get on with this and get out before it was too late.

‘What did I do with that part?’ Ewan muttered to himself. ‘Over here I think—’ I slipped in past the curtain that segmented his working space and stood just behind him. His back was still to me.

‘This…should…connect…ah, yes,’ he continued.

Glancing down at myself, I clenched my hands at my sides to keep from adjusting my top. My throat was dry and I quickly swallowed hoping my voice still worked. I’d borrowed the lowest cut vest I could find from Tandi’s room, but she had a smaller frame than me, which meant I was exposing a lot more than I wanted. Ewan wasn’t the type to chase girls, but he was still a guy. Well, so I hoped anyway.

24

‘Hey Ewan…’ I said, practicing my sweetest smile.

I was sure it came off more like a grimace.

He jumped slightly, dropping the screwdriver he was holding.

‘Oh, Ruby, hi,’ Ewan said, gathering himself.

He’d recognised my voice. As he turned, he quickly pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger.

His eyes widened slightly as he glanced at my chest, and I struggled to contain the urge to slap him. You wanted him to notice. This is good, now get on with it!

‘What can I uh…help you with?’

His eyes flitted between my face and my breasts so quickly I was getting dizzy watching him.

‘I was just wondering if you’d fixed my mobiliser yet,’ I said.

‘Uh not quite, I’m nearly there…two minutes?’

‘I can wait,’ I said. But he didn’t move. ‘Ewan?’

‘Ugh.’ I couldn’t suppress a groan as pain burned through me.

‘Yeah? Oh right!’ He turned away again and began clattering around.

I rolled my eyes and then glanced around the room. Nearly all of the work surfaces were covered by some gadget that he was fixing or a new project.

Several screens flickered black and white images of the camp. The cameras were hidden, there for our protection, apparently. Keeping an eye on us more like. Pushing that thought away I concentrated on my task.

I edged towards his desk, scanning the surface for what I needed. There.

‘Done.’ Ewan turned to stare at me expectantly with a nonchalant smile. He blew some stringy blonde hair from his eyes. ‘So, are you going somewhere?’

I must have looked startled because he continued. ‘It’s just you look…your hair is down.’

That wasn’t just a metaphor. My hair had grown a lot since I’d last let it loose and it fell in waves all the way to my shoulders. It felt strange.

Don’t lose your cool. Without breaking his gaze I leant against the sideboard, allowing my fingers to slide slowly over the desk. Change the topic! ‘It must be quite boring in here all day. Do you get many visitors?’ I asked, trying to keep a smile on my face. My fingers danced around the objects. Got it.

‘Uh, not really,’ he looked down at my top again.

‘Only when—’ ‘—Great, Thanks Ewan,’ I rushed. ‘See you later!’

‘Wait what about your—’ Ignoring the bewildered look on his red face, I rushed past him and through the curtain. Grabbing the backpack I’d dropped by the door before I’d gone in, I rounded a corner, crouched in a cupboard cubicle, and opened my hand. The chip was small, the size of a five pence piece. I’d never inserted it myself before. It wasn’t allowed. Tito’s regulations stated that he or Ewan had to do it so no mistakes were made. It seemed simple enough though. I leaned my back against a flat wall to brace myself for the sharp sting I knew was coming, slipped a small knife out from the side of my pack, and, before I could blink, pushed it under my thumb nail.

‘Ugh.’ I couldn’t suppress a groan as pain burned through me. Pulling the blade sideways, the skin that held the nail to its bed split, creating a flap. Blood bubbled on the surface but, before it could erupt, I slipped the chip over it, pressing my nail back down.

I squeezed my eyes together as tears escaped. Five, four, three, two, one. I sighed in relief as the chip repaired the damage and released a drug that blocked the pain. I wiped away the few drops of blood that had dribbled down my hand and stood.

After tying my hair back into its safe ponytail , slipped out of the compartment and continued down the hall, taking a few side passages until I reached the emergency drop vine. No one would see me leaving this way. I clipped my pack around my waist in case it slipped from my shoulders and then, with one quick glance around me, slid down the vine.

The Scheme building loomed over the city in a huge arc, casting a shadow of depression. Rheme was grey and quiet. Its streets were close to empty, except for the small business owners and market traders who tiptoed around at the crack of dawn, desperate to catch any early risers before the Scheme stores opened. Local shops and businesses had been allowed to stay open, for the sake of tradition. But somehow the Scheme businesses could get hold of stock that the local ones couldn’t, so their supplies were dwindling. They wouldn’t last much longer.

Satisfied that it was safe enough to enter, I shoved my telescope back into my rucksack and zipped it up quietly.

Somewhere close behind me a fox screeched. I jumped at the unexpected noise accidently stepping back onto a broken twig that snapped with a resounding crack. Holding my breath I stepped behind a tree to avoid being seen as two officials turned to stare at the forest. When they’d looked away I ventured further along the tree line, far enough that it looked as though I’d walked down the road. Taking a deep breath this time, I walked back towards the guards

and their scanners.

‘Thumb,’ one official barked, taking it roughly and holding it against a metal plate inside the scanner.

Both were tall men with dark hair and aged faces.

They wore dark grey suits with a logo imprinted on the left shoulder. ‘Officials of the ICIPS, ’it read with an S’s underneath to denote the Scheme Systems. I’d worn that uniform once.

‘What’s your business here?’ the same man asked, without paying much attention to me. Instead he watched the screen as the other guard waited for my information to load.

‘I’m just visiting a friend,’ I replied. ‘She’s sick.’

Not exactly a lie. The people inside the walls were sick. Sick of the Scheme’s injustice. I was trained for this. I knew how not to get caught.

The scanner beeped my innocence and the second official released my thumb.

‘Enjoy your visit, Miss Hawks.’

Nodding my thanks, I widened my eyes in slight disbelief as I ambled past them. I can’t believe it… I was surprised my mug shot hadn’t been circulated among them. I smoothed my hair to still my shaky hands and let my eyes flick to the screen before the information disappeared as I passed. Jenny Hawks was my name for now. I just had to hope I didn’t wear it out before noon.

Gemma Tugwell Sleepers Rookman’s face was so close to Anna’s that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

‘Admit it, Carrow,’ he whispered. ‘Just say what kind of filthy traitor you really are and I won’t kill him. I’ll let him go.’

Leo sat slumped against the chair, his wrists tied with tattered rope. Blood trickled down the side of his face from his matted hair. Anna tried not to think of the crowbar hitting his skull, or the horrifying crack that had filled her ears. After all this time, after all those years, she’d found him. She’d actually found him. Fifteen years ago, Leo had chosen to save her; he’d left her in the luggage rack. Now it was her turn to choose. But it wasn’t that simple this time. How could she admit her guilt, admit who she really was, if it meant condemning her friends? Signing their lives away? How could she betray the people who had been her family when she had none?

Rookman’s hand was pressed so hard against 25

Anna’s chest that it felt like her lungs wouldn’t inflate.

Her breath caught at the back of her throat. The clasp of Leo’s locket dug into her skin as if he was urging her to confess. His eyes were on her, waiting for her to say something. But he didn’t know what saying it would mean. The thing was Leo hadn’t grown up like them. If he’d laughed with them, survived with them, loved with them he’d feel differently. He would know what Rookman was asking of her. Yes Leo had suffered, worse than she had. Anna had lain next to him, the night before the Embassy raid, listening to his whimpering and moans. At times she’d prayed he’d scream, let all the pain flow out of him, but she knew it wasn’t that easy. Sometimes fear was too entrenched. So instead she put her hand inside his, hoping her presence would protect him from whatever demon was haunting him.

‘Ah, Miss Carrow, I think I’ve given you enough time,’ Rookman said.

Anna felt the pressure release and she slumped to the ground. Her chest moved rapidly, greedily trying to fill her lungs. Rookman moved towards Leo, his back to her. He signalled to one of the guards by the door, who turned and left. The silence lingered.

Maybe if she could just reach Leo, she’d be able to untie him. She wouldn’t have to choose.

The sound of shouts and scuffling came from the corridor. When the door flung open, the guard re-emerged, dragging a body behind him. Solly. God, what was Rookman doing? The guard pulled Solly to a chair opposite Leo, binding his legs and hands. Anna noticed a large gash across his forehead. When Rookman turned around, he held a small black revolver in his hand.

‘I gave you the easy option, Miss Carrow,’ Rookman said, ‘but it seems you didn’t feel the need to cooperate. So now it’s time to do things my way.’ He raised his gun. ‘The choice is simple. Admit who you really are and I kill him.’ He pointed to Solly, struggling in his chair. ‘Or tell me more lies and I kill your brother. Say nothing and I kill them both.’ Rookman smiled, his scar twitching with pleasure. ‘You have five seconds, Miss Carrow, to decide who you love more, the Russian or the traitor.’

Acid burnt in Anna’s throat as she tried to fight down vomit.

‘Five...’ Rookman twisted the bullets into place.

‘Four…’ He pointed the gun towards Leo. ‘Three…’

Leo started to squirm in his chair, desperately pulling against the knotted rope. ‘Two…’ Rookman aimed his gun at Solly, whose brown eyes were wide with fright. ‘One…’ ‘I’m Russian,’ Anna shouted. ‘I’m a Russian spy.’

For a moment, Rookman took one long look at Anna. Then he turned to face Leo and pulled the trigger.

26

Rebecca Ward A brief history of the wardrobe It began with an acorn. It was buried by an oscillating squirrel, a breed only found in high areas of magic, and promptly forgotten. Then it rained and an oak was born. It was a beautiful specimen, with tough bark and a traditional face made from knot holes and seams of bark. Its leaves were a deep emerald and sang in the wind, but, oh horror of horrors, the tree couldn’t utter a single word. Around it the other trees talked: the old ones moaning and chattering alternately as the younger trees whispered and shouted to one another, and the saplings bent to the winds, struggling to make their quiet voices heard. Yet the tree couldn’t speak. She tried, oh, how she tried. But alas, not a sound but for the singing of her leaves in the wind. It was good singing, but, ah, she bowed towards the ground weeping like a willow.

Day after day until she was cut down by the woodsmen and turned into a wardrobe.

A good wardrobe. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t grand.

It was a wardrobe. Two plain doors hung on a plain frame. Two smooth handles carved with little flowers, and stood on four feet. Plain, simple feet, not a trace of a paw or scrolling. This was a wardrobe.

‘You put clothes in it,’ muttered the carpenter, in response to his wife’s comment thrown over his bent back.

‘It’s magic, isn’t it?’ retorted his wife.

‘Why should it be?’ muttered the carpenter, hoping the words would go unnoticed. But like so many wives, this one had sharp ears.

A good wardrobe. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t grand. It was a wardrobe.

‘The wood,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘was from a magic tree so it must be magic.’ And the wardrobe was. She stood in her sawdust and listened, as more flowers were added, small florid details traced in as the carpenter grumbled. Until, finally he dropped the sandpaper and padded away to find his wife. She examined the wardrobe and declared it good but try as she might she couldn’t discern a hint of magic. So

groaning and complaining the carpenter loaded the wardrobe with his wife into his cart and they went to see the wizard.

The wizard tapped it, ran a wand over it, opened the great doors and pushed his hand against the smooth back. Finally, in a cracked voice, he said, ‘It’s definitely magic...’

‘You’re going to say “but” aren’t you?’ asked the wife, glaring at the wizard.

He gulped, fiddling with his beard, ‘It doesn’t have powers.’

The wife flung her arms in the air. ‘No powers.’

‘How much is it worth?’ asked the carpenter, shooting a cautious look at his wife.

They negotiated for a tense ten minutes before, reluctantly, the wizard paid. The carpenter and his wife left. The wardrobe watched woodenly as they walked out of the door, hand in hand. With a plaintive creak her doors parted slightly. With a sigh the wizard thumped them shut and bustled away muttering under his breath. And there the wardrobe stayed.

On an unremarkable day the shop door was flung open and a merchant bustled in. Behind him came his wife towing in their sullen daughter. A mousy girl dressed in an unflattering pink lacy dress. This explained the sullenness.

The wardrobe shivered as her oak heart ached for the girl and slowly, so slowly, her doors creaked open.

The girl’s head turned and she pulled herself away from her mother. The wardrobe’s doors fluttered as visions of soft greens, a tangy yellow and absolutely no lace danced through her imagination. Bitten nails reached out, the girl’s lips parted slightly, she was almost touching the handle.

‘Perpetua,’ snapped the mother.

Perpetua scowled and stomped back to her mother with a rustle of her ridiculous bustle. The wardrobe nearly wept. So close. Solemn. with only the smallest of squeaks, she shut her doors.

Years passed. The wardrobe became pitted and worn, her once gleaming hide marred by thewoodworm she could have prevented. She was losing

herself. It happened sometimes to magical objects.

Too many were unwittingly chopped up for firewood or smelted for a few ounces of metal. With a soft tinkle the shop door opened and the wizard peered over the counter. There was no one there, or so it appeared. But small strong hands with pinching fingers pulled open the wardrobe’s door and she jerked awake as small feet in iron boots thumped inside. The wardrobe shuddered her complaint and the dwarf fell out. Grumbling he got to his feet and strode over to counter he lifted himself up so he was nose to nose with the wizard.

‘Twenty for the wardrobe.’ he growled.

‘You don’t want that one,’ said the wizard, nervously eyeing the dwarf’s axe, ‘it doesn’t do anything.’

The dwarf grinned. ‘Then you’ll be glad for twenty.’

‘Fifty.’ retorted the wizard, fingering his wand.

‘Twenty.’

This went on for a while.

They negotiated for a tense ten minutes before, reluctantly, the wizard paid.

‘Fine, twenty-five,’ said the wizard, nursing his broken fingers, ‘and that’s the lowest I’ll go.’

The dwarf slapped down the money and as the wardrobe was loaded into the dwarf’s cart the wizard looked down at him.

‘What do you want the wardrobe for? Your kind usually build better.’

The dwarf grunted. ‘It’s for a dragon, we’re expanding his cave.’

‘Why does a dragon want a wardrobe?’ asked the wizard.

‘I don’t know. Why does a dragon want a wardrobe?’

The wizard frowned at the dwarf. ‘I asked you.’

‘Oh, I thought you were making a joke.’ said the dwarf, ‘I was sent by my brother to get a magic wardrobe for a dragon.’

‘Fair enough. Fair enough.’ The wizard thumbed tobacco into his pipe. He could say this with the money now in his pocket. ‘It’s not exactly magical.’

The dwarf raised one hairy eyebrow and climbed into the drivers seat as he drove away he shook his head at the stupidity of wizards. In the cart the wardrobe listened to the wheels shuddering on the road and her wood hummed with happiness.

27

Jo Waterworth Hazel ‘Nan, I can’t see! I can’t see.’

Everything is black. My head hurts.

Warmth. Someone’s rocking me. I can hear Nan’s voice singing to the Spirits.

I wake up confused and weak. The sun’s shining on my face. I can hear the morning noises – the rasping of flint on wood, the grinding of nuts pressed between rock, the voices of Ma and my brothers outside, Shell giggling. Where’s Nan? I push back the fur covers and try to sit up. A hand touches my shoulder, supporting me. I feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks.

‘It happened again, didn’t it? The Spirits dancing in me. I don’t want it, Nan, make them go away!’

‘Hush, Hazel.’

Bony arms round me, soft wrinkled skin. The smell of safety that is Nan. ‘The Spirits can’t be denied. I’ll bring you water.

Don’t get up yet.’

I lie back down and try to feel all my body.

Sometimes parts are numb after the jerking dance, or my tongue is sore from where I’ve bitten it. Last night I couldn’t see, but today everything looks clear again. I look around for comfort. The yellow morning sun is lighting up the back wall so clearly I can see the shadows of our handprints in the dry clay, and I remember the time two summers ago when we’d all helped to build Nan’s House.

My older brother Flint was shaping the uprights with Da while River was happily digging out holes with the shoulder bone shovel. Ma and I were preparing hazel rods to weave between the posts, and the next day all of us came together treading the pit of clay and leaf mould until it was ready to slap on all over the walls. The uncles walked over from the other huts by the stream to help with raising the branches for the roof, and Flint was sent up to lay brushwood and turf. Finally we all joined in stamping down the floor with a shouting and clapping dance, and Ma carried in sand to lay the hearths.

Nan walked slowly up the hill, chanting all the way, to call the Spirits in for the first fire-lighting.

Was that when the Spirits saw me and marked me out? Maybe they’d been watching me since River’s accident anyway. It was that winter the Spirit Dance first happened.

I can’t remember anything of that first time, except Flint staring at me in the morning. He 28

wouldn’t say what was wrong. Nan made a fuss of me, and Ma kept looking at me sideways and pursing up her lips into a thin line, then sighing. I felt really weak and tired, that was all. We carried on living, collecting food, making things, visiting the other families.

Nan comes back in and asks me the usual question.

‘What do you remember?’

‘I couldn’t see, Nan. It was all black.’

‘That was after. What about in the Dance? Did you smell or hear anything?’

‘I’m not sure – maybe a roaring? Like the river in flood or a big storm.’ I sip at the water she’s brought me, fresh and cold. Nan must have walked to the stream for it. She hands me some nut cakes and I let them melt in my mouth. Then I remember.

‘Yes, there was a taste, Nan. Like blood. Thick and strong. But then it turned sweet, like honey.’

‘Good girl. Go back to sleep if you need to. I’ll stay near, today.’

She stands up and moves to the entrance, blocking the sun. Her shadow cast against the back wall wipes away all signs of handprints and I start to drift off to sleep, snuggled under the skins.

A lump lands on me, squashing my breath out.

‘Not now, Shell,’ I moan, but she won’t leave me alone. My darling little sister, born in this house the Autumn after we’d built it. It’s my job to mind her, of course.

‘Hazy, Hazy, get up!’

‘Nan said I had to stay here. I’m not allowed to come out and play with you today.’

She hits me with her little fists until I grab them and tickle her, and she worms her way under the skins to get warm. Her cold feet kick my thighs and belly and her wriggling pulls the furs off me.

River comes to my rescue, his skinny body appearing in the doorway.

‘Hey Shell, time to pick up sticks,’ he says, holding out a hand for her. She jumps up and runs to him. I turn my back on them both and try to settle back to sleep. It’s not fair that she always wants to be with River. I’m her big sister, but she won’t do anything I tell her. She’ll only do things if he says it. And Ma doesn’t want him spending his time with little kids either, he should be off with Flint learning all the boy stuff and hunting.

But we both hate Flint.

Ma and I are sitting in the shade of our house, feet straight out in front of us. Flies are buzzing round and there’s no breeze. I’m getting really fed up with making baskets. Ma’s so good at it but mine always come out wonky. I wish I was off in the woods with the boys but Ma says I have to learn

women’s work for when I have children. But if I’m a Spirit Speaker no-one will want me for a wife, Flint says. And I can catch fish just as well as River. It’s not fair.

I reach across for the water bag and offer it to Ma first. She drinks most of it.

Shell clambers over me and grabs it in her chubby fingers.

‘No, Shell, you’ll spill it,’ I say, trying to take it off her.

She pulls back and I land awkwardly on my elbow. A sharp pain – the flint knife I’d been using to trim the reeds slices into my thumb.

‘Ow! Look what you’ve made me do, you bad girl,’ I shout, standing up to chase Shell and get the water bag back. Drops of bright red blood fall on the basket I was halfway through making. I stick my thumb in my mouth to stop the bleeding and turn to Ma. ‘Ma, tell her!’

‘Oh, stop it, you two. It’s far too hot for fighting. Hazel, go and fetch more water and wash your hand at the stream.’ Her voice changes, cajoling, tender. ‘Shell, come to Ma, come on, give me some water to drink, I’m still thirsty.’

Why am I always in the wrong when it’s never my fault?

Ma takes the water bag off her and hands it up to me.

‘Go on, off with you,’ she says with a sigh. ‘And don’t be long!’ She settles Shell into her lap and starts to sing softly to her.

I wish I was little again. I remember when Da used to throw me up into the air and catch me, when I’d follow Flint around and he’d play with me, before River’s accident, before Shell was born.

I was happy then. Before the Spirits came to me.

I trudge down to the stream fill up the bag, tying the top so it won’t spill. It’s so hot, I can’t resist having a quick splash in the pool to wash the dust off. It’s deliciously cold and my wet clothes will keep me cool all afternoon now. Hair straggles in my eyes as I climb up the bank. Mustn’t be long, Ma will only shout at me again.

There’s a rustle from the alders and willows in front of me. It could be a big animal – a boar? I’m ready to run.

But I’m knocked off my feet and something goes over my head. I try to scream but no noise comes out. People are grabbing my arms and tying them behind me. They’re totally silent, pushing me along. I can’t breathe. I stumble and fall. Hands all over me, I’m hoisted up onto shoulders. I can smell my own fear and the sweat of young men. I kick out …

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Biographies Elena Andersen Elena is a third year creative writing and drama student. Her first novel Ankou uses mythological aspects and follows the son of Death’s adventures with a young aspiring journalist.

Matthew Anson Matthew, originally from Worcestershire, is a third year creative writing student. He spends a lot of his time playing cricket, running a radio station and dressing like Matt Smith.

Olivia Beatrice Davies Olivia has always demonstrated great enthusiasm for YA fiction and its community. Her first novel Indistinct Voices explores small town tensions and the benefits of forming unlikely friendships.

Katherine Day Katherine is a Creative Writing and English Literature student. Her loves in life are Disney, Harry Potter, Disney, Jersey Milk, Disney, the sea, Jersey, and oh, did she mention Disney?

Stephanie Hetherington Stephanie is a Creative Writing student who will never feel like a proper adult until she likes the taste of either tea or coffee. For now though, she is content with her hot chocolate.

Laura Jayne Hill Laura Jayne is in third year of her studies, planning to study a MA in Writing for Young People in September. She loves music and going to poetry readings.

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Inky

Rochelle Scott

Inky is an aspiring healer and conlang enthusiast.

She has created one and a half languages and believes that fiction is pure truth. Her totem animal is a woodpecker.

Rochelle Scott was born in Bath and attends Bath Spa University, studying English Literature and Creative Writing. Always found with a book in her hand, she draws inspiration for her own writing from the scenery and people around her.

Aynsleigh McGhie To Aynsleigh, being a professional writer means she can write books without being bothered by other responsibilities. She plans to evolve into one just as soon as she gets all her laundry done.

Grace McGregor Grace McGregor is lover of YA fiction and food writing. The Importance of Being Invisible is her first novel, a glimpse into the life of an accidental hero.

Charlotte Robinson Charlotte has always been an avid reader, and naturally this progressed to writing. This extract is the beginning of a story about the children of Hell, based on jokes between friends.

Eleanor Broadbent Eleanor Broadbent is a third year Creative Writing with Publishing student. She was born in Lincolnshire but spent most of her childhood in various fantasy lands.

Gemma Tugwell Gemma Tugwell studies English Literature and Creative Writing at Bath Spa University. She’s been fascinated with the Cold War since studying the topic at A Level and has recently enjoyed experimenting with the genre of alternative history.

Rebecca Ward Rebecca Ward is a student at Bath Spa University, studying English Literature and Creative Writing.

She writes fantasy and occasionally crime. Usually found with either a pen or a book in her hand, she only abandons them to walk along the river looking for birds and tripping over inspiration.

Jo Waterworth Jo Waterworth is a part-time mature student who has been writing for many years. Better known as a poet, she has also been published in short story magazines.

She blogs at https://jowaterworth23.wordpress.com

Leia Evans Leia Evans is a third year at Bath Spa University who aims to become a published author in children’s literature. One day she would love to visit San Francisco and get over her fear of rollercoasters.

Lisa McEvoy Lisa McEvoy is a woman who spends too much time dying her hair, playing video games and writing novels about strange new worlds with equally strange people

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