Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (22 page)

"Nine," says Blake, starting his countdown.

I reach up and try to prise Dad's fingers from my throat but the grip is impossibly strong.

"Eight."

With my oxygen supply dwindling, my legs start to feel numb.

"Seven."

Spots are bursting in front of my eyes like fireworks, and I feel my asthma bubbling up.

"Six."

Too late. My asthma explodes. No, not now!

"Five."

My chest is instantly tight, going into spasm. My crushed inhaler is in my pocket, useless to me now.

"Four."

I'm being strangled by Dad and the biggest asthma attack of my life is coming.

"Three."

I know I only have seconds before I pass out; three, to be precise.

"Two."

I've come so far, surely it can't end like this?

"One.
Time's up," says Blake. "Time to die."

It's midnight.

None of the clichés about the last moments are true: my life isn't flashing before my eyes and time isn't slowing down.
Menzies Blake has used his powers of Necromancy to control the Hangman Ghost, who is using Dad to kill me.

But then something happens.

Instead of breaking down in my final moment, I am colder. Harder. I suddenly feel alive with energy, like every organ in my body has been injected with a shot of adrenaline. I feel a cold heat; it's the Athame. And that's when everything slots into place.

It's now midnight: the Witching Hour.

I have my mother's Athame; my Witch's tool.

I am a White Witch.

A lock of black hair falls across my face, but I don't brush it away. As I wrap my fingers around the hilt of the Athame I feel a sudden surge of energy. I feel powerful. Every vein, every bone, every nerve in my body tingles as though charged with electricity. With the Athame in the palm of my hand, I push Dad away from me, sending him reeling backward as though he's received a massive electric shock. Free from his grip, I'm able to breathe again. My earlier fear ebbs away. I'm no longer conscious of my asthma, only the energy surging through my body. Menzies Blake notices the Athame in my hand. He sees the crimson glint in my eyes and for the first time, he looks frightened.

I point the
Athame at Dad. Without thinking about what to do, I will Jack Ketch out of his body. A swirling blue light shoots from the end of the Athame, the like of which I've never seen before. It looks like a bolt of liquid lightning. I flinch as the light hits Dad on the chest and sends him into a convulsing spasm. Am I hurting him? It looks wrong, yet something inside me tells me that I have to do this to force the Hangman Ghost out of him. I have total belief not only that it's possible, but that I can achieve it.

For an agonising few seconds Dad fights the blue light, clawing at his chest. Only it's not my Dad who's resisting; it's Jack Ketch. I lock my arms and keep the
Athame pointed at him. He opens his mouth and spits out the dark shape of the Hangman Ghost. The ghostly form becomes trapped within the Athame's blue light; it's now under my control. Menzies Blake staggers back into a corner.

"What have you done?" he screams, "Hunter was meant to be the host!"

I feel like what I have become is halfway between my father and mother; my mind is calm but surges with power. I move the Athame in his direction.

"Not anymore
…"

Blake drops to his knees and cowers as I point the
Athame directly at him. As the blue light strikes his chest the dark shape of Jack Ketch slips inside his screaming mouth.

Then everything goes silent.

I relax and lower the Athame. The blue light fades, leaving Blake a gibbering wreck curled up in the corner of the room. As the rush of power leaves my body I slump to the floor, feeling more exhausted than ever before.

"Sash, are you okay?"

Dad is by my side in an instant; the dad I know. He helps to support me into a sitting position, then brushes the hair from my forehead tenderly. Too out of breath to reply, I nod and rub my bruised neck. Somehow, I've defeated Jack Ketch, Menzies Blake, my asthma and — most of all — my fear.

"
What happened to him?" I ask, staring at the twitching figure of Menzies Blake in the corner of the room.

He babbles senselessly in high-pitched noises I never thought a man's vocal
chords were capable of making.

"Jack Ketch needed a host; an innocent person to possess," says Dad, "and that person was meant to be me. An evil ghost can't control an evil soul
. Now that Ketch is trapped within Blake they are in a constant state of conflict. Misery loves company, so they say."

"Did I do the right thing?" I ask.

"Your mum would be proud," replies Dad. "Now let's get out of here."

Chapter 2
7

Friday 20 September 7.34pm

My life suddenly feels very complicated, way more than it did a week ago. But I feel happier. Back at the
The Agency mansion I'm with the people I care about most. Dad has prepared the dining table for us to sit and eat together like a proper family, for the first time in as long as I can remember. There will be no secrets anymore, just a father and daughter enjoying each other's company. Not forgetting my two new best friends; Zara and Aaron.

I've been living in a nightmare for the past week and now, with the threat of
Menzies Blake and the Hangman Ghost eradicated, the world seems a much brighter place. For once, I've made an effort to wear something colourful; a red and blue checked dress which Zara helped me pick out. And just for today, I don't wear any of my clothes inside-out. My look is finished off with some subtle make-up and not-so-subtle dark red lipstick. It's the same shade as my mother's and it feels good to have her close to me.

As I make my way to the kitchen-diner, Aaron is waiting for me in the corridor. He's leaning against the wall, a thumb hooked into the loophole of his fitted jeans. He straightens and moves to pull me into an
embrace, then looks down at me and releases a low wolf whistle. He leans in close to whisper.

"Wow, you look
so. . . different. Beautifully different."

I recall him saying the exact same thing the night we met on my doorstep. His eyes look slightly glazed over, probably from the pain medication he's taking. I can tell by the questioning look on his face that his
Empath skills are lacking at the moment. It's as though he's waiting for assurance that I share his same feelings. He gives me a smile and an unexpected warmth rushes through me and ends up on my cheeks.

The events of
this week have consumed my mind and not allowed me the room or energy to think about Aaron and what we may, or may not, have. While I am confident of my feelings for him, I am not so confident that I can compete with Zara for his affections. She is smart, brave and perfect in every way. I could never come between them and getting caught up in a love triangle is the last thing I need right now. Yet, as I stand here, so close to him that I can smell his scent, I find myself hoping that he will want me.

"I need to ask you something," I say.

Aaron takes my hands into his and our fingers intertwine. If he wasn't on pain medication he'd probably know exactly how I feel right now.

"Anything."

"Do you love Zara?" I ask.

He looks at me with a frown and a half smile.

"Of course I do," he replies.

The penny drops and so do my hopes. My heart sinks and my legs go numb, like all the life has drained from them, and I wonder how I'll walk away. The conversation feels all wrong. I'm a bundle of aching muscles ─ more sore ones than not sore ─ but nothing hurts more than my heart. I promise myself I won't cry.

"I always knew you did," I say, my voice trembling. "I just want to say that I'm sorry for kissing you and that I won't ever come between you."

Aaron pushes a lock of dark hair from his face. He looks confused for a second and then his expression totally changes.

"Sasha, what on Earth do you mean? Zara is my half-sister."

As I try to work out how this can be possible, Aaron starts to laugh.

"You knew that, right?"

"No!" I say, slamming him in the chest. "Of course I didn't! What kind of an
Empath are you?"

"Not a very good one, clearly!
I mean, you didn't think we had some kind of love triangle going on, did you? Zara actually thinks you're good for me."

Sometimes, crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels like the better choice right now. Aaron grabs me and holds me and we laugh together. All the times I thought Aaron and Zara were flirting was nothing more than sibling banter
. And of course they are close ─ they're family. I've met each of their mothers, so it must be the missing father they share. This explains why they think the world of my dad.

"I thought you were going to ask me to be your
boyfriend," says Aaron.

"Not yet," I reply. "
Maybe. . . sometime."

"You will," he says, and presses his lips to mine.

I release Aaron's hand reluctantly as we enter the kitchen together. I'm not quite ready to show our affection in front of Dad. Zara looks to me
and raises an eyebrow, like she knows exactly what's going on. She probably had a premonition. Aaron plays the gentleman, helping me into the chair next to him with his good arm.

Dad has prepared a belated birthday meal of pizza and chips; a small marvel considering he's a stranger to the kitchen. He's even bought me a birthday cake. I manage to blow the candles out in one go, which ─ for once ─ is lucky for me
, as I get to make a wish. We haven't spoken about the events of the last week, but this time the silence is comfortable. As we finish the meal Dad clears his throat to speak.

"So, I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?"

He looks tentatively at the three of us gathered around the table.

"Always the bad news first," I insist. "It's bad luck to hear the good news before the bad."

Three sets of eyes peer at me warily. They are not nearly as consumed with superstitions as I am. I shrug my shoulders and motion for dad to carry on. He smiles and shakes his head, then his amused expression fades and stress lines appear in his forehead.

"I've not been able to track down
Katalina yet."

In the grand scheme of things, this is a small downside. Our former housekeeper-turned-
Metamorph escaped from the Tower of London and hasn't been seen since.

"I have some unfinished business with that one," says Zara.

She bears the marks of her duel with Katalina, with bandages covering her upper arms.

"Did Kat hurt you badly?" I ask.

"It tried to, but I decided not to let it."

Aaron makes an attention-seeking cough.

"Ahem, you're not the only one with battle scars."

He pulls down the neck of his tee shirt to reveal a shoulder heavily bound. I could swear he's secretly proud of his war-
wound, but I'm no less grateful for his help.

"The bullet glanced off my shoulder, luckily."

I wouldn't call it lucky. He took a bullet for me and that makes him my hero forever.

"I owe my life to both of you."

It's a genuine sentiment, but when it leaves my mouth it feels like a line from a film. Aaron speaks up, saving me from my embarrassment.

"Don't mention it Sasha. You're worth it, sort of."

He can't help but crack jokes, even when it's about a near-death experience.

"I'm just glad you're
all alive," says Dad. "You all risked so much for me, and I can never thank you enough." There's an unspoken warmth around the table; a sense of unity the like of which I've never felt before. "Now, do you want to hear the good news or do we keep comparing battle scars?"

Dad unfolds a newspaper and displays the headline Break in at the Tower. He puts on his glasses and begins to read the article: "Police have arrested a man following an incident at the Tower of London. The man, identified by the name
Menzies Blake, was found to be deranged and has been committed to Cane Hill Mental Asylum."

Dad spreads the newspaper across the table.

"It seems that the ghost of Jack Ketch has been permanently trapped within Blake. I don't think he'll be leaving Cane Hill anytime soon."

"Then I'll make sure my mother keeps an eye on him," says Zara.

Blake is now the second Agent to wind up at the mental institute; it's a sobering thought.

"No mention of
Ludvig in the article," says Aaron, wincing in pain as he leans across the table.

"That's because there was nothing left of him," replies Dad.

My mind conjures up the image of Ludvig melting away as the water from the sprinklers dissolved his hulking body. I shudder and push the thought to the back of my mind. Zara flips open a notepad and starts scribbling notes like a crime-scene investigator.

"Necromancer, check.
Poltergeist, check. Pyromorph, check. That just leaves a Metamorph on the loose that we need to track down. So who's making the decisions here nowadays?"

All three of us look toward Dad. He clears his throat.

"Well, with Blake gone, I was thinking of stepping up as Team Leader, unless anyone has any objections?"

"I always considered you so," says Zara.

"Does that mean we have to call you boss?" asks Aaron, grinning.

Dad cuts a reluctant figure of authority but we all know he'll make an excellent leader of The Agency.

"I'll take that as a vote of confidence," he says awkwardly. "I'll inform the other Agents who are working away. You won't be the only ones glad to see the back of Blake. Hopefully The Agency can focus on its true goals now." Dad turns his attention to me. "It also means that there is a vacancy here. We're looking for somebody with plenty of experience, especially with Poltergeists…"

His eyes fill with hope and expectation and I swell with pride. When I glance at Zara then Aaron they both look like they're doing a bad job of keeping a secret. I think about The Agency, with Dad and my new friends. Everything between us ─ friendship, family and love ─ is twisted together. It all feels right. I compare it to the prospect of college; a place full of people wrapped up with trivial dramas: worrying about exams, falling out and making up with friends, trying to get over hopeless crushes. I have much more important things to deal with now. I still don't fully understand my
powers, but I'm more than willing to learn. In the end, it's the obvious thing to do.

I leap from the table and give Dad a massive hug. It feels good to be able to do that to him these days.

"I take it that means you're interested?"

He looks at me with hope in his eyes. For the first time in as long as I can remember, my father looks proud.

"Welcome to The Agency," says Aaron. "I'm just happy not to be the rookie anymore." He chuckles, then winces and grips his wounded shoulder.

"You've earned it," adds Zara.

I feel so indebted to both of them. Zara feels like the sister I never had and behind Aaron's bravado and arrogance is a dedicated and courageous young man. They both put their lives on the line for me and I'd do anything for them.

"There is one small detail that Zara and Aaron may have forgotten," says Dad. "Sasha is n
ot officially an Agent just yet. . ."

They both look perplexed, until a wave of recognition spreads across their faces.

"Of course, The Academy!" says Aaron. "I had such a good time during my training in Germany."

Just when I thought I had a handle on things I'm totally confused all over again. My brain feels like it's buzzing with information.

"My training was in Moscow," says Zara. "It was the toughest month of my life."

Ok, this
doesn't sound good. I look to Dad for reassurance and some kind of explanation.

"All prospective Agents must attend a course at The Academy
," he explains. "It's an international training centre which relocates each year. The Agency is very much a world-wide operation. You didn't think the supernatural was contained to England, did you?"

"But surely I've had the best training possible?" I plead. "I defeated a Level 3 ─ a Poltergeist!"

"That's true, and it's all good experience. But you'll still need to do your training like all other new Agents. This year, America is the host country."

I've
never been outside London, nevermind abroad. I don't know whether to feel excited or nervous. My body opts for both simultaneously. Dad pulls out a file and tosses it torward Zara and Aaron.

"I also have an assignment for you two."

It didn't take Dad long to settle into his new role.

"It's not another deadly ghost, is it?" asks Aaron. "I'm still kind of getting over the last one."

"Not this time. As you know, ghosts are only one type of paranormal entity we deal with. The Agency has been asked to provide our expertise in an investigation, also in America. There has been an outbreak of Hysteria at a site which is believed to be connected to the events of Dystopia Day. This will be a team effort and we can all travel together. In fact, it's something that Sasha might be able to help with too."

"Really," I ask, mystified. "So what is it?"

"The cause of the Hysteria has been linked to a coven of Black Witches."

Dad folds his arms and waits for my reaction. I run that sentence through my mind, just to make sure I heard it right. If I'm a White Witch ─ someone who uses their powers for good ─ does this mean that a Black Witch is the complete opposite? The only sane reaction I can think of is to make light of the situation.