I never thought he’d do it, he told himself. Maybe he thought he could fly.
It was a long way down, and Antoine was breathless by the time he reached the warehouse floor. He sped across the dark, cavernous space, eager to get out before anyone discovered the body.
He reached for the door handle.
Just as he did, someone opened it from the other side.
A silhouette appeared in front of him, backlit by a distant streetlamp: tall, lean, dishevelled, but very much alive. And cocky as ever.
‘Can I have my phone, please?’ Sacha held out his hand.
Drawing a sharp breath, Antoine stumbled backward, tripping over a piece of rusted machinery that lay forgotten on the dirty concrete floor. Regaining his balance he reached behind him as he continued to back away, never taking his eyes off him.
‘Non. It’s impossible! You can’t…’
Sacha frowned. ‘Did you bring my phone, or what? I’d like to go home. It’s late, you know.’
His mouth agape, Antoine stared.
Sacha couldn’t have survived that fall. It wasn’t possible. But aside from a couple of bloody scrapes on his face and hands, he looked… fine.
It wasn’t possible.
Shoving past him, Antoine stumbled out to the point of impact, where Sacha should be spread like marmalade on the ground, soaked in his own blood.
Nothing.
He turned back. The boy stood in the doorway, watching him with open amusement.
‘But… but…’ Antoine couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.
Sacha rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, Antoine. Give me my money and my phone. We had a deal.’
With a shaking hand, Antoine reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. Then he counted out the bills.
But he tried not to touch the kid’s hand as he handed it all over.
There was something very wrong with him.
The Secret Fire - 2
‘What are you wearing tomorrow night?’
Standing at the mirror in the utilitarian school bathroom, Taylor ran a brush through her hopeless blonde curls.
‘Dunno. I haven’t thought about it.’ She spoke absently; the brush had become trapped in a tangle of curls and she struggled to tug it free without yanking out a clump of hair.
This happened all the time.
On more than one occasion she’d had to cut the brush free and walk around with an empty space on her head for weeks. She could really do without that happening right now.
In the mirror she could see Georgie’s perplexed expression.
‘I don’t see how you can do that,’ Georgie said. ‘I’ve planned my entire outfit already. Down to the nail varnish. Ocean pink.’
‘Ocean pink?’ Taylor laughed. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Who gives nail polishes such crappy names?’
She yanked the brush free at last, and stared in dismay at the mirror. Her hair seemed to be responding to some unseen force, frizzing in front of her eyes. It was enraging. Blonde hair should be straight and silky. Hers was a hot mess.
With a sigh, she gave up, shoving the brush into her handbag. ‘It’s just Tom, anyway. He already knows what I look like.’
‘It is traditional,’ Georgie said primly, ‘to care what your boyfriend thinks of your appearance.’
Taylor didn’t reply. As if she had time to worry about clothes. After studying for her A-levels, tutoring, volunteering… there was no time left to think about anything else. In fact, she wouldn’t even go on this stupid double-date at all if she hadn’t promised Georgie she’d be there.
‘I’ll wear something, Georgie,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
‘Or you could go naked,’ Georgie suggested, studying her perfect brown skin in the mirror. ‘You’d be famous forever.’
Taylor headed for the door. ‘You know, advice like this is why I go elsewhere when I have real problems.’
‘Oh, Tay. You wound me.’ Georgie followed her out. ‘Hey, are we still studying tonight after dinner? I have that history essay…’
‘And you want me to write it for you?’ Taylor finished the thought for her.
Georgie beamed, dimples deepening. ‘If you’re not too busy.’
They walked out into the school hallway, crowded as students rushed from the dining room to their next class after lunch.
Two boys punched each other as they passed, looking to see if Georgie had noticed. But she didn’t even glance at them.
‘You tosser,’ one of them shouted at the other.
‘Whatever,’ the first boy said, and they took off down the corridor.
Taylor cast a sideways glance at her friend. She knew they made an odd pair. Georgie’s glossy, dark pony tail bounced with each step. As always, she looked perfect. She’d altered her outfit herself – a low-cut white blouse nipped in at the waist, emphasising her slim figure and smooth, espresso-dark skin. Her pleated skirt had been shortened to better display her long legs.