The Fandom(91)

‘What’s he on about?’ Ash says. ‘And what’s this canon you keep mentioning?’

‘You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,’ I say.

‘More secrets?’ Ash twists his hand from mine and begins to climb the ladder.

I feel a stab of loneliness. Right now, that wall of secrets feels more like an impenetrable forest of thorns and brambles. A voice interrupts my thoughts. Deep and familiar, and so very out of reach. And the Princess slept for a hundred years. Though she never did have the face of the dead, her cheeks remained pretty and pink like the day she was born. It’s Dad’s voice again.

I look upwards. ‘Dad?’

A mixture of excitement and concern crosses Nate’s face. ‘You heard Dad again?’

I pause, listening intently to the drip of water, the scuffle of rats, the clang of Ash’s boots on the rungs. I shake my head. ‘No, no, I’m just hearing things. Ignore me.’ I don’t have space in my head for anything else right now.

I place a hand on the ladder, ready to haul myself upwards, but Nate shines the torch in my face and whispers, ‘Violet, I’ve been thinking . . . How did the Gems know about the raid at the Meat House?’

‘I don’t know, and Willow couldn’t tell me in the hovercraft.’

He wrinkles up his nose. ‘I can’t figure it out. In canon, the only Gem who knew about the raid was Willow, because he made it happen. But in the current, Willow wasn’t even captured by the rebels, so how could he have possibly known about the raid . . .’ He shoves his hands in his hair. ‘Agh, it’s messing with my head.’

Ash interrupts from above. ‘Are you guys coming or what?’

I look up at him, the soles of his boots so badly cracked I swear I can see the blisters on his feet. ‘Yeah, just a sec.’ I turn back to Nate. ‘Willow said his father told him about the raid.’

He frowns. ‘What really gets me is the Gems knew we would be at the Coliseum – that didn’t even happen in canon.’

‘I know. But the Meat House is only a few streets from the Coliseum. If the Gems knew about the raid, likelihood is they flew over the Coliseum and saw us. There must be a mole, maybe one of the Imp rebels. Someone we don’t know, or maybe even Saskia or Matthew.’

‘Maybe. Or someone else who knows the canon.’

We stare at each other. The realization scrapes out my insides. I reach for the split heart and end up pinching my bare throat instead.

‘Why would Alice do that?’ I ask. Everything seems to slow. The dripping water, the scuffling rats, even my own heart.

Because I already know the answer.

I can’t complete the canon if I’m dead.





Love. People talk about it like it’s a mental illness. Crazy in love, addicted, lovesick, obsessed . . . And maybe they’re right. Alice has loved Willow for two years. And I don’t just mean the actor, Russell Jones, I mean the fictitious character, Willow. That’s verging on insanity, surely? And if anyone should know, it’s me, having suffered from the same affliction.

OK, so Alice has dated the odd footballer, the odd boyband (yes – the whole band). But she always returns to her keyboard, tapping out her fanfic, the only place she could enact her Willow-related fantasies . . . until now, that is. But would she really have her best friend killed in the name of love? Perhaps, if she’s lost her mind. I risked the canon because of Ash after all. But kill someone?

‘I’ve known her since primary school,’ I say.

‘I’ve known her since I was born,’ Nate says.

‘She’s . . . good.’ The image of those four bronzed legs wrapped in satin appears in my mind’s eye. ‘Well, she’s not a monster, at least.’

Nate nods. ‘You’re right. This place is making me paranoid.’

‘Come on, you two,’ Ash shouts. He’s already shoved the manhole cover to one side and a downward breeze caresses my face. My heart starts pumping again. We clamber from the hole, leaving a patchwork of soggy marks on the surrounding concrete – hands, feet, knees. Even though the night is cold and dark, just the movement of the air, the sense of space, makes it feel like we’ve burst from a grave into a summer’s day. Of course Alice didn’t tell the Gems about the raid. I feel guilty for even considering it.

I glance around. The bolthole from canon – just another stinking alley with an orange garage door. We flatten our bodies against the wall. Ash circles his weapon through the air as though searching for trouble, but the alley remains still, just like it should. We creep towards the familiar door, coated in blotches of flaking paint. I pull the latch and it swings open.

‘Bingo,’ Nate says.

I can see little in the dark, but the stagnant air tells me the door hasn’t been opened for a while. Nate runs the beam of his torch over the contents of the room. Shapes rise up from the ground, concealed beneath oil cloths and sheets. A forgotten museum. More like I imagined it when I read the book. In the film, the room was bigger, better lit, less claustrophobic. Quickly, we pull the cloth from the Humvee, flipping up dust and matted cobwebs. I stifle a cough. Ash finds a water bottle in a cabinet and hands it to me.

I hadn’t realized how dry my mouth feels – the inside of my throat caked in a fine layer of grime – until the cool liquid hits my tongue. I only think to stop swallowing when Nate coughs.