Tristan stared up at the ceiling. Beside him, Dylan was sleeping, each breath a warm puff of air against his shoulder. He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable without turning over and waking her. He shut his eyes and concentrated on deepening his breathing, trying to match his rhythm to hers, hoping that would lull him to sleep.
It didn’t.
The same thoughts tumbled round his head and he couldn’t stop seeing the ripped and torn carcass of the horse. He imagined the animal as it had been: unblemished chestnut coat gleaming as it wandered aimlessly, cropping the grass. It would have been easy prey for a wraith.
But Dylan was right. It couldn’t be. There was no tear in the veil there, and what wraith would bypass a handful of people-filled towns just to snack on an animal? It didn’t make sense.
Yet the uncomfortable niggle deep in his chest wouldn’t leave him alone.
Giving up on the idea of sleep, he rolled off the bed, careful not to disturb Dylan, and tugged a T-shirt over his head before ghosting out into the hall. Dylan’s parents’ bedroom door was closed and he tiptoed past it into the living room. He grabbed the television remote from the coffee table before sitting down on the thick pile of blankets that was supposed to be his bed.
According to James, when they moved, Tristan would have a room of his own, but until then his official sleeping place was the sofa. Tristan was pretty sure James knew where he spent each night, but he hadn’t said anything so Tristan continued the ruse, waiting until all was quiet in the flat before sneaking in with Dylan.
He turned on the TV, dialling down the volume until the music on the advert was barely audible. Squinting against the sudden flare of light from the screen, he scrolled through the digital guide until he reached the 24-hour news channel. He turned it up a little, just enough to hear the cultured voice of the news anchor as he interviewed a guest – some author trying to pimp his latest novel. Tristan had to wait through a sports bulletin and then the weather forecast (more rain) before at last the presenter moved on to the headlines.
Nothing.
No murders, violent incidents or unexplained deaths in Central Scotland. In fact, there was no news from north of the border at all, the main stories about an earthquake in South America and a famous footballer who’d been arrested for drink driving.
Unable to rid himself of the feeling that something just wasn’t right, Tristan grabbed James’s tablet from where he’d left it, balanced haphazardly on the arm of the sofa. He trawled through news sites, even looking at smaller, local newspaper websites, thinking they might catch something not considered important enough news for the main news providers.
Still nothing that fit the pattern.
Tristan blew out a breath, releasing the tension that was keeping him on edge, keeping him from sleep. The relief was temporary, though. If it had been a wraith, or even a small group of them, who’d slaughtered the horse, it would be sated. Sluggish. It might not resurface to eat again for days.
He’d need to keep a close eye out, be ready to investigate anything that looked even the slightest bit suspicious. It was part of the bargain with the Inquisitor that allowed Tristan and Dylan to stay in the real world, together. The stakes were too high to fail. He knew if he ever saw the Inquisitor again, it would be for the last time.
He’d be lucky to be returned to the wasteland, returned to his duties.
And if that happened, Dylan would die.
“Can’t sleep?” The deep, slightly gruff voice was pitched low, designed not to startle, but Tristan jumped anyway. Turning on the sofa, he saw James in the doorway.
“No, I—” Tristan offered a small smile as he muted the TV. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would be loud enough to wake anybody.”
“It didn’t.” James waved away his apology. “I was just headed to the bathroom and saw the light.” A quick flash of teeth in the light from the screen. “En-suite in the new place, I reckon.”
“Right,” Tristan agreed.
“And you’ll probably sleep better on a bed rather than that lumpy sofa.” James’s tone said he knew fine well that Tristan wasn’t fighting a nightly battle with the uneven cushions and rogue springs on the ageing piece of furniture. Well, not after the first half hour anyway.
Tristan nodded, trying to look innocent in the face of James’s knowing look. The older man’s face suddenly sobered and became watchful.
“Something on your mind, son?”
It was an opening, an opportunity for Tristan to share. But it was more than that – it was James offering him a chance to shift their relationship into something other than the father-and-slightly-troublesome-boyfriend dynamic they’d been warily dancing around.
For a heartbeat Tristan considered it. James knew some of what he and Dylan had been through, understood that there were things beyond the world they lived in. And it would be a relief, Tristan thought, to be able to pass the burden to someone. But almost as soon as the idea had taken root, he dismissed it. James’s knowledge was scant, and the reasons they’d kept the details from him when he first discovered the tie between Tristan and Dylan held just as true now. The more he knew, the more danger he was in from the Inquisitor.
This burden was Tristan’s to bear. If he shared it with anyone, it could only be Dylan.
“I’m fine,” Tristan said. “Just… thinking.”
“All right.” James looked disappointed, and Tristan could tell he didn’t believe him, but Dylan’s dad didn’t push any further. “Try to get some sleep, though, eh? You’ve got school in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Tristan replied. He switched off the television, made a pretence of lying back among the blankets. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
James disappeared down the hallway and a minute later Tristan heard the toilet flushing and the quiet sounds of doors opening and closing as James returned to the room he shared with Joan.
It was a long time before Tristan crept back to Dylan’s room, thoughts of wraiths still heavy on his mind.