She had a stitch in her side and her legs were burning, but Dylan barely noticed. Her every thought was focused on Tristan running in front of her, and it took everything she had to keep up with him. Whenever he pulled ahead, the pain of their stretched bond reverberated around her body, and she had to force herself to pump her legs and pick up speed. Tristan reached their building a good few metres ahead of her, but Dylan was grateful. By the time she careered down the little path that led to the front door, Tristan had it unlocked and she was able to barrel straight through to the stairs.
They were nearly the death of her, but she used the handrail to haul herself up each step, each flight. By the time she’d reached their landing, though, Tristan was inside the flat. Dylan paused, leaning heavily on the railing, and stared at the open front door. Stars were exploding in front of her eyes and she thought she might topple over if she left the safety of the banister. She did it anyway, wobbling across the landing into the flat.
“Tristan?” she gasped out. “Tristan, where are you?”
He appeared a moment later, a silhouette at the end of the hallway. His hands were clenched into fists, but because of the light streaming in from the living room behind him, she couldn’t see his face. She felt it, though, the ominous atmosphere that shrouded the flat. Something had happened, something bad.
“Is it here?” she whispered, lingering near the door, afraid to move. “Is the Inquisitor here?”
Tristan shook his head slowly and Dylan sagged against the wall with relief. That seemed to spur Tristan into motion and he walked down the hallway towards her. His steps were slow, measured. Reluctant.
“What is it?” Dylan asked. “What’s wrong?”
Tristan didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything until he’d closed the remaining distance between them. Then he reached out for her. “Dylan—”
Something in the way he said her name had her dodging back, out of reach. He was being hesitant with her, careful. That frightened Dylan.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated. She shifted to the side slightly, trying to see further into the flat, but Tristan blocked her. “What is it?” she demanded. “What are you hiding?”
“Dylan—” Tristan gently took hold of her hands and tried to ease her backwards. “Let’s go and sit out on the step for a little bit, OK? We’ll just sit and—”
“No!” Dylan wrenched herself away from him. She set her feet and stared at him, willing him to see her determination. “Tell me what’s wrong. Has the Inquisitor been here?”
A slow nod. Tristan’s face was like stone, except for his eyes. They were pained, full of sympathy, of pity. Not for himself, she realised. For her.
“What has it done? Has it done something to the flat?” No, as soon as she said it, Dylan knew that wasn’t right. Tristan wouldn’t act like that if it was only things, only belongings…
“Mum! Dad!” She tried to explode forwards, her thoughts turning into one single, panicked scream, but Tristan was there, in the way. Blocking her. “No.” She shoved at him. “Move! Move! Mum!” She pushed and shoved and kicked at Tristan. “Dad!”
She was dimly aware of a door opening in the landing behind her, but it didn’t matter who came out, what they said. All that mattered was finding her parents and—
Tristan cursed quietly and then he was helping and restraining her both as he eased her down the hallway a little so that he could close the front door. Dylan took advantage the moment he took one hand off her to slide the lock across, twisting free of his hold and falling down the hallway.
There was nobody in the living room, and nothing amiss.
She turned to her parents’ bedroom, put her hand on the doorknob.
“Dylan, stop.” Tristan’s hand covered hers, held her there. It wasn’t forceful this time, wasn’t imprisoning her in his grip. For some reason, that was the thing that made Dylan pause, made her stop.
Cold dread settled in her stomach and she was afraid to open the door, afraid of what waited for her.
“Please,” Tristan whispered. “You don’t need to see.”
He was wrong. She did. She did need to see.
When Dylan had been beyond the line and Eliza, the old woman, had told her how to get back to the wasteland, back to Tristan, she’d said that anyone could do it, they just had to have the strength, the bravery, to open the door. To know that they were risking their lives, their very souls, by going back there. Dylan had stood in front of her chosen door and thought she’d have to summon every ounce of her courage, to stand there for hours, searching within herself, but to her surprise it had opened easily in her hand.
This door would open if she simply turned the handle, there was no magic holding it closed, but Dylan found she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make her fingers squeeze, her wrist turn.
Tristan tried to lead her away. “Let’s go and sit down in the living roo—”
Dylan opened the door.
Her parents were lying in bed. They looked like they were sleeping, James on his side, Joan cuddled into his front, both of them facing Dylan where she stood in the doorway. They could be resting, taking a nap, except for the stillness in the room. The quiet. The fact that the duvet wasn’t shifting with the rise and fall of each breath.
Dylan took a step inside. She felt Tristan behind her, his body almost touching hers, standing with her in silent support.
There was no blood, no claw marks or gaping holes that would indicate a wraith attack. Their expressions were peaceful, their skin unmarked. Dylan could see their hands, just visible beneath the duvet, were entwined together. Her mum’s wedding ring glinted slightly in the low light from the bedside lamp. It was like someone had snapped a picture of a perfect, loving moment.
A picture, unmoving and immobile. A life together, frozen.
Dylan wasn’t aware of her legs collapsing beneath her, but Tristan caught her round the middle. He lowered her gently to the floor and folded himself down behind her, his arms wrapped around her, his chest against her back. It seemed like his embrace was the only thing holding her together. She floated somewhere outside her body. Screaming, she was screaming – but that couldn’t be right, because her lungs didn’t have air to breathe. The sound echoed in her head, though, reverberating on and on and on.
They were gone. Her mum and dad were gone. No, not gone. Dead. Joan and James, her parents, her family, were dead.
“Why?” she wheezed, still unable to haul in air. “Why would it do this? Why?” She tried to go on, to give voice to the questions that were racing round her brain, but all that came out was a wordless keening, like an animal caught in a trap.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. Time lost meaning as Dylan drowned. Grief overwhelmed her, until she was nothing but her tears. Tristan kept up a steady stream of words, muttering quietly in her ear, but she had no idea what he was saying. It didn’t penetrate. Nothing could.
After a while she realised Tristan was trying to get her to stand. She didn’t protest: she didn’t care what happened to her or where she went, so she let him manoeuvre her up onto her feet. Pins and needles stabbed at her legs as blood rushed back into her lower limbs but the burn was nothing. Insignificant. She stood where she was, staring blindly, until Tristan started urging her to turn. She did so, unresistingly, until her mum and dad slipped out of sight. Then she came to life in a blaze.
She tore free of Tristan and stumbled to the bed. From here she could see the lines on Joan’s face, the slight peppering of grey at her dad’s temples. Tiny markers of age, signs of a life half-lived.
It wasn’t fair.
“Why?!” she asked again, this time in a voice edging on a shout, edging on hysteria. “Why would the Inquisitor do this?” She whirled to face Tristan, who looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved that she’d resurfaced from the dwam that had gripped her or nervous of the heat in her eyes.
He regarded her solemnly, his throat working. “I don’t know,” he said.
“No!” she said, the word a strangled scream. “It’s isn’t right, it isn’t fair! It can’t, it can’t take them!”
“Angel—” Tristan advanced on her, his hands reaching, but he stopped before he was close enough to draw her in to him.
“They’re mine!” Dylan shouted. Grief was being subsumed by a haze of red rage inside her mind. “Mine! It can’t just come in and take them. It can’t!” Her whole body was shaking with adrenaline, with fury. She screamed, hands clutching at her head, fingers tunnelling in her hair and gripping, pulling. Twisting until it hurt.
“Dylan.” Tristan’s hands were on her then, tugging at her wrists. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
She jerked away from him. “Is it still here?” she demanded. “The Inquisitor, can you sense it? Is it here? Is it watching?” She tore her eyes from Tristan and looked up, to the ceiling and the sky beyond. “Can you hear me, you f—”
“Dylan!” Tristan barked her name, drowning out Dylan’s curse.
“Do you sense it?” she demanded again. She waited, pulling in short, sharp breaths as she fought the urge to start tearing things about, smashing things, breaking things. Destroying anything she could get her hands on.
Her back was to her mum and dad and she needed to keep it that way. She couldn’t look at them and hold on to her anger, and she needed her anger to stay on her feet. She needed her anger to keep breathing.
Tristan closed his eyes and she watched a tiny crease appear between his brows as he concentrated. Suddenly he snapped them open and Dylan didn’t even need to ask. She knew.
“Show yourself!” she screamed. She tore past Tristan and into the living room. She stopped in the middle of the floor space, needing the room because she felt like the walls were squeezing in on her. “I know you’re here!” she yelled.
“Dylan!” Tristan sounded afraid. Dylan didn’t care. She’d say worse than that if it would get the Inquisitor here, in front of them. It was damned well going to give her parents back! She and Tristan had done everything it asked of them; it had no right to punish them like this.To punish her mum and dad, who’d done nothing!
“I’m talking to you! Show yourself!”
Tristan blindsided her, wrapping her in his arms from behind and clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Dylan, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, but you can’t do that! It can send us back to the wasteland. It can separate us, make you a wraith. It could make me disappear, Dylan!”
She didn’t care. Fury and heartache boiled up inside her, making her irrational and nihilistic. “Show yourself!”
Tristan’s grip on her suddenly tightened. He drew her back against him, imprisoning her with his arms. His entire body was strung tight. “It’s here,” he hissed. “The Inquisitor is here!”
Just like that, the fire snuffed out within Dylan. Her anger disappeared and all she was left with was pain. Pain, and fear.
“Where?” she whispered.
She didn’t see it… then she did. Between one blink and the next it stood before them. It looked exactly as Dylan remembered: the slight blur that made it hard to fully focus on, the eyes that seemed to see right down to her soul. A creature of nightmares, it exuded menace. It didn’t move, just stood there, watching and waiting.
It was almost impossible to break the silence, but Dylan forced her mouth open with grim determination. She would fix this. Her parents would not pay for what she’d done.
“Why?” she said.
She felt Tristan’s tension behind her, knew he wanted her to exercise caution, but Dylan needed answers.
The Inquisitor didn’t speak, it just inclined its head in a slight tilt, as if it didn’t understand the question.
“Why would you take them? They didn’t do anything!”
The Inquisitor didn’t seem fazed by the heat in her voice. It considered her, then answered calmly, “I took them because of you.”
Dylan gaped.
“We did everything you asked of us!” she said. “We upheld the bargain.” She shook her head, both in denial of the Inquisitor’s words and the tears that wanted to start up again. “We closed the holes, we killed the wraiths. We made a deal with you and we haven’t broken it! You had no right to take them!”
“You have not fulfilled your bargain,” the Inquisitor disagreed.
“But we have!” she shouted.
“Dylan,” Tristan murmured warningly, then, to the Inquisitor, “Is this because of the wraith that got through? The one that killed the animals? Because it’s dead. We couldn’t find a tear in the veil, but the wraith is dead.”
“Not by your hands,” the Inquisitor said mildly.
“Please,” Tristan pleaded, echoing the desperation Dylan felt. “Don’t do this to Dylan’s parents.”
“It’s done.”
“But you can undo it,” Dylan gasped. “You can bring them back!”
It had to be able to. It had to. She couldn’t accept anything else.
“I’ll do anything,” she said.
The Inquisitor stared at her for a long moment, as if considering it, then it slowly shook its head. “You have upset the balance,” it told them. “There is no tear in the veil, no other ferryman has tried to come through with their soul, but the wasteland is not holding. This is because of you. A wraith managed to claw its way through, an entire vehicle of children was swallowed by the wasteland and thrown to the mercy of the wraiths. And that is not all. The safe houses are failing, a ferryman was lost amongst the mists.” For the first time Dylan heard emotion in the Inquisitor’s voice. Fear: she heard fear there. “You have upset the balance and it is my job to reset the equilibrium. I made a bargain with you, and I will hold to it. But if your souls are to be allowed to remain here, then I must take two others with me. I chose.” It looked towards the bedroom where the bodies of Dylan’s parents lay.
“But why them?” Dylan gasped. “You could have taken anyone! Murderers or paedophiles. You didn’t need to take my mum and dad, they were good!”
She should feel ashamed, she realised, trying to barter other souls to be taken in her parents’ stead, but had been serious when she’d told the Inquisitor she would do anything.
“You would steal the life of another for your gain?” the Inquisitor asked. It shook its head. “No.”
“Please,” Dylan begged. “Please, there has to be something.”
“There is only one choice,” the Inquisitor said. “Your parents or yourselves.”
She didn’t give herself time to think.
“We’ll do it,” she said. “We’ll go back to the wasteland in their place.”
The Inquisitor fixed her with its unnerving gaze, reading her. She let it. It could look right down to the bottom of her soul and it would see the same thing: absolute resolve.
“Take us,” she told it.