The Fandom(26)

The tarmac blisters and curls as the road reaches an abrupt end. I come to a halt. The term ‘broken bridge’ is an understatement. The bridge isn’t broken, it’s gone. Bombed into nothingness. Seeing it for real and not behind the pane of a television screen – encircled by home comforts – really knocks the air from my lungs. I look along the river; not a single bridge, the city carved in two by water. No evenly proportioned buildings illuminating the skyline, their lights reflecting off the water like lanterns on a lake. Just the jagged remnants of what used to be. I can’t help feeling this sense of loss for the city I know and love.

Katie and Alice reach my side.

‘Jesus,’ Katie whispers.

I feel an overwhelming urge to sink to my knees and sob. But I think of Nate, possibly with Thorn at this very moment, and my strength returns. I swallow down a mouthful of fish-tainted air and continue running towards the church.

‘Violet, slow down,’ Alice yells.

I don’t stop. The smell of fish and sewage gain strength, filling my lungs as I leap over stones and cracks and thistles.

I step into the shadow of the church and the air temperature dips a degree or two. I’m there – Rebel Headquarters. Without the thumping drums and violins blaring in my ears, it looks kind of serene. It’s based on the church of St Magnus-the-Martyr, a real church which Alice and I visited after we’d watched the film. The porthole windows have been replaced by polythene and rags, and part of the roof is missing, but without the surrounding tower blocks and the bluish glint of The Shard in the backdrop, the church seems bigger, more imposing.

The wooden doors stand before me, sturdy and closed. I try the iron handle. Locked. I slam my fists into the wood and begin to shout. ‘Nate!’

Alice grabs my hands and tries to silence me. ‘Violet! Are you mad? You can’t be hammering down the rebels’ door. They’ll kill you.’

I bash the wood harder. ‘Nate? Are you in there?’

Katie and Alice try to drag me away, but the adrenalin fills me with strength.

‘Stop it, you nutter,’ Alice says. ‘Do you even remember Thorn? The way he scalped that Gem for insulting his dead girlfriend?’

‘Yeah, let’s not piss off the psycho,’ Katie says.

Panic winds around me again, a serpent constricting my chest, crushing my heart. ‘What if that psycho’s got my little brother?’ I lay my palms against the wood, close my eyes and try to sense Nate. It feels like my body gives up – throat closes, lungs freeze, mind empties. Finally, my arms dissolve beneath my weight, allowing my cheek to press against the door. Cool and coarse and real. I wish I could just sink into it. But the door has other ideas. It creaks and falls away from me. I see a woman’s face peering through the gap, an unmistakable stain on her forehead.

Saskia.

‘You found us,’ she whispers.

Before I can jam my foot in the gap, she darts outside and pulls the door shut. I try to move around her, but she clasps my body in an awkward embrace. I feel so surprised, so desperate, I just let my arms hang limply by my sides.

‘We’ve been worried about you,’ she says.

‘Is Nate OK?’ I attempt to sidestep her, but she won’t budge.

‘Yeah, course. He’s fine.’

I feel like I’ve been tossed high into the air, like I hover at the point where I can’t go any higher – the peak of my arc, magenta trampoline below – just waiting for gravity to kick in. Suspended, weightless, free.

‘Really?’ I whisper.

‘Yeah, he’s fine. He’s just meeting the rebels. Come on, I’ll show you in.’

‘I don’t like this,’ Alice says. ‘You’ve never been nice to us before.’

Saskia throws her a stern look. ‘Shut it, princess.’

‘Alice is right,’ Katie says. ‘Something weird’s going on.’

I wipe my eyes on the back of my sleeve and laugh. A strange, shaky warble which doesn’t belong to me.

Saskia steps aside and gestures to the door. ‘Just go on in,’ she says, smiling.

I feel strange, like my feet no longer connect with the ground. But I command my body to move. I heave open the door and step forward. Katie stands beside me, her hand clutching mine, and I barely notice Alice hanging back, her trembling voice begging us not to enter.

The church is a vast, open space. Elegant pillars reach towards a pale, scalloped ceiling, and the late-afternoon sun trickles through the portholes, worming through the gaps in the rags, softened and marbled by the polythene. I see no pews, only rows upon rows of desks. It looks so similar to the film version, yet certain details make it alien and new – the smell of stone infused with incense, the way the dust hangs in the air like specks of gold, the stone flags pushing into my feet. My skin pricks with sweat.

‘Violet!’ I hear Nate’s voice. He runs to me, arms outstretched, and almost knocks me over with the strength of his embrace.

He repeats my name, but he doesn’t sound happy – he sounds terrified.

That’s when I see the other Imps. Standing in the shadows. Smiling and holding out their arms like they carry presents. But they don’t carry presents. They carry firearms. And every flash of metal is aimed at my head.

A tower of a man steps from behind the rebels. Thorn. He wears his signature eyepatch; perhaps because his remaining eye is so intense, so piercing, it appears to do the work of two. He smiles this perfect, grid-like smile, catching me off guard with his beauty. He’s even more striking than the actor from the film, even more formidable. His skin has the colour and gloss of coffee beans; his hair so black it almost looks blue. And he wears different clothes – the leather trousers and trench coat have been replaced with a tatty grey blazer and black jeans, making him seem less pantomime.