The Fandom(28)


The creak of the door wakes me. Two dark shapes slip into the room, gaining detail only when they flick on the overhead light. My eyes quickly adjust. It’s Thorn and another Imp, striding across the boards towards me.

Thorn pauses beside Katie for a moment, watching as a dream causes her lashes to tremble. He then kneels beside me and removes the cords from my ankles and wrists. ‘They tell me you look just like her.’

I wait for the rush of blood to my feet and hands, but they feel completely dead, and when I try to pull the rags from my mouth, my fingers just bang awkwardly into my face.

‘Here.’ He leans forward and pulls the gag free, his gloved fingers surprisingly tender.

‘Who?’ I manage to say. ‘Who do I look like?’

‘Like Rose,’ he replies. ‘I never met her, but Saskia and Matthew swear you’re her double.’

Alice mumbles something through her gag. He turns to her. ‘It’ll be your turn shortly, princess, don’t you worry.’

She falls silent. I briefly let my palm settle on her knee.

Thorn extends his hand towards me. I don’t know what to do, so I take it. For a moment, I feel thankful he wears a glove, sure that his flesh would otherwise sear my own, like it seemed to Katie’s. He pulls me into a standing position, and I force myself to look into that single eye. It holds me like a spotlight.

‘I apologize for the rough treatment of you and your friends.’ Again, his gaze settles on a sleeping Katie. ‘I fear years of oppression have dulled our humanity somewhat. It’s something we hope to reinstate. And the death of Rose, the failure of the thistle-bomb mission, have left the rebels rather shaken and confused. I’m hopeful you can answer some of our questions.’

He looks at me again – he’s terrifying. His size, his power. But I refuse to appear weak, so I just stare defiantly into that single, piercing spotlight.

He smiles. ‘Come, I’ll show you around our humble abode.’

I can’t help wondering why he’s singling me out. I guess it’s because I look so like Rose, or perhaps it’s the canon, dragging me along again. I follow him from the room, casting a quick glance over my shoulder to Nate, whose mouth remains fixed but whose eyes blink firmly, reassuring me, lending me strength.

Thorn leads me down a dark staircase. The Imp with the rifle follows me, so close I can hear the rattle of phlegm in his chest. We step into the main body of the church. Just like I remembered, hundreds of night lights bathe the stone in a warm glow – a glow which never reaches the ceiling, giving the appearance that the roof is missing and we stand beneath a dark, empty sky. Most of the rebels have returned to their nearby shelters to rest. I suddenly feel very small, except for my heart, which feels all swollen and ready to split my chest in two.

Thorn stares at a boarded-up window, and I imagine how it once looked, filled with stained glass, a kaleido-scope of colour. But the Gem bombs put an end to that. A plaque rests beneath the window, roughly engraved with the words: Apes became Imps, Imps became rebels – the pinnacle of human revolution. I recall this from the book, a play on the old Gem motto: Apes became Imps, Imps became Gems – the pinnacle of human evolution.

‘You like our motto?’ Thorn asks. He asked Rose this exact same question. The threads are twisting together again.

‘It’s very clever,’ I reply, just like Rose did. It makes me feel safer, knowing the lines.

‘And what about our cause? Imp emancipation, equal rights,’ he says, again, straight from canon.

‘Your cause is the same as mine.’ I know it’s optimistic, but I can’t help hoping that if I just keep saying what Rose said everything will be OK. He’ll invite me to meet Baba, and I’ll say yes – just like Rose – and then I can ask Baba how we get home.

Thorn continues to stare at the boarded-up window. Slowly, he pulls my smartphone from his blazer pocket. ‘What’s this?’

Shit. Those threads have just diverged, big style.

‘My phone,’ I answer numbly.

‘Saskia thought it was Gem technology. But it isn’t, is it?’

‘No.’

‘It’s old technology. Very old. And I’m guessing it’s Imp.’

I nod.

‘Care to enlighten me how you and your little friends have ancient Imp technology in your possession?’

I swallow. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Try me.’

‘We’re ancient Imps.’ It must sound so ridiculous, but I can’t think of anything else to say.

He scowls and taps the phone against his chin. ‘A comedian, hey?’ He slips it into his blazer pocket. ‘So why kill Rose?’

This sudden change in conversation throws me, and I have to replay the words in my head several times before I can extract their meaning. My hands start shaking, my nails bite against my palms. ‘We didn’t kill Rose,’ I reply.

‘Not directly, I agree. But your presence got her killed. Saskia told me. Your pretty red-haired friend alerted the guards.’

‘I know. I’m sorry . . . We never meant for it to happen.’

‘So what were you doing at the Coliseum?’

I stare, transfixed by that single eye. In canon it was grey, like a piece of broken slate, like the city itself festered inside him. But current-Thorn’s eye is lavender blue . . . and full of hate.

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