The Fandom(29)

‘Well?’ he asks.

I try to formulate some clever response, something that will keep us alive if not get him onside. But it’s like the rags sucked all the words from my mouth. ‘I don’t know.’

He moves towards me. A candelabrum sends an angular shadow scudding across his face, making him all the more terrifying. He holds my face with his gloved hands, the leather cool against my skin. ‘Saskia swears you could be Rose’s sister. Are you?’

‘No,’ I whisper.

His voice hardens. ‘Were you sent by the Gems to replace her and infiltrate the rebels?’

‘God no. I was at Comic-Con.’

His hand drops from my face and it’s like he’s pulled the rags out all over again because the words start tumbling out of me. ‘I’m from the past, well not the past, from a different reality, which is your past. That’s how we’ve got the phones – the Imp technology. You see, in my world, Rose is a character from a book, which they made into a film. She’s this really cool heroine – she’s brave and strong and beautiful and everything I’m not. That’s why I’m dressed like her, so I could pretend to be her, just for one day.’

He chuckles. ‘You don’t think you’re beautiful?’

I shake my head, and my eyes drop to his boots.

My vulnerability must rile him – he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me forward. The sudden movement extinguishes several night lights; their thin lines of smoke escape towards the ceiling. I find myself envying that smoke.

‘Stop playing games,’ he shouts. ‘Tell me the truth or I’ll bring your little friends downstairs and slit their throats, one by one, as you watch.’

‘No!’ I feel a stabbing pain in my head. A layer of sweat coats my skin and the rat meat churns in my stomach like it still has claws and teeth and attitude. I must look a little peaky because Thorn slips his hands beneath my elbows, taking my weight.

‘Darren,’ he shouts over his shoulder. ‘Go and fetch the boy.’

He sounds like he’s far, far away, and I suddenly feel strangely detached, like I really am about to watch a scene from a film.

‘No, not Nate,’ I manage to say.

But Thorn doesn’t even look at me. ‘You heard me, Darren. Bring me the boy.’

Darren darts back up the stairs. I watch him go and this shapeless, horrible emotion rises up my throat. ‘No, no please. I’ll do anything.’

Thorn clasps my hands into his chest as if forcing me to pray. ‘Tell me the truth.’

The emotion takes form: fear. ‘I am telling you the truth, I swear it. I don’t know what else to tell you. In my world, you’re a character from a book set in the future, a dystopian one, you’re this . . . this flawed hero.’

He throws his head back and laughs, revealing the ridges of his palate. ‘A flawed hero?’

I know I’m babbling, but the adrenalin seems to have dulled my brain and roused my vocal chords. ‘Yes, a flawed hero. You’re brave and strong, but you’re also mean and blinded by revenge.’

I hear Nate before I see him; a muffled cry followed by a series of thumps as Darren hauls him down the stairs. Nate looks so young, so helpless, his eyes revolving in their sockets like a hunted animal’s. Darren shoves him to the ground. Nate trips on his own feet, and with his hands still bound behind his back he’s unable to break his fall. I rush to catch him, but Darren pulls me back, digging the nose of the rifle between my shoulder blades.

‘It’s OK, Nate, I can fix this, I promise.’ I feel my tears, cold against my skin.

Thorn moves behind Nate, swamping his torso with a heavily muscled forearm. With his spare hand, Thorn pulls a switchblade from his belt and presses it against the smooth stretch of Nate’s throat.

‘Please, don’t!’ A high-pitched wail I barely recognize as my own.

‘The truth,’ Thorn says.

I can see the slight dent in Nate’s neck where the knife pushes in, a peach about to be sliced, the skin only just protecting the soft tissue beneath. I think I may be sick. ‘Please don’t hurt him, I’ll tell you anything.’

Nate keeps his eyes on me, and I get a strange wrench of sadness. Thorn was your hero, and now you’re going to die at his hand. But Nate doesn’t look sad, he looks determined, clear-headed, his light-brown eyes desperately trying to tell me something. I need to think like Nate. I need to be smart.

‘What do you mean?’ Thorn shouts. ‘Tell me or I’ll slice him like a pig.’

Something slots into place and I don’t feel scared any more. Because I am a diehard Gallows Dance fan, I don’t just know things about Thorn, I know what makes him tick. If anyone can talk their way out of this, it’s me. ‘Ruth . . . you want revenge because of what they did to Ruth. The Imp-girl that you fell in love with when you were young. The Gems hanged her at the Gallows Dance because she had a relationship with a Gem – you.’ I watch Thorn’s grip loosen a little, the blade easing against Nate’s skin. But I don’t stop. ‘You see I know things I shouldn’t, don’t I? Because I’ve read them and I’ve watched them – you’re a Gem. And underneath that eyepatch is another working eye. You just wear the patch to break up the evenness of your features, because you’re ashamed that you’re one of them. And every time you punch a Gem, or scalp a Gem, or kill a Gem, you’re actually trying to kill that part of yourself that you loathe – the Gem part. Because deep down you blame yourself for her death, because if you hadn’t loved her, she would still be alive.’