Page 5 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

A small whimper caught in my throat as the realisation drove itself into my racing heart like a roughly carved wooden stake.

I’ll lead them straight to my family if I go home. If I make it home.

Footsteps resounded on the road.

Slow. Confident. As if they knew exactly where I was and exactly what kind of indecision was keeping me pressed against the wall.

I searched for the voices of the fishermen again, but I could no longer hear them. I could no longer hear anything except the heavy tread of shoes scraping on the road behind me and the bang of my heart, riddled with splinters, slamming against the inside of my chest.

Move!

The voice in my head came back with a vengeance. I could feel the rage in its tone, furious that I hadn’t gotten any further away from the bookstore. Realistically, I couldn’t blame it.

I tried to move my feet, but they were glued to the ground by the panic shrieking through my veins. My knees locked against the trembles racing down my body, starting from the pinprick of fear that was rooted into the nape of my neck.

Don’t look back.

Too late.

My internalised voice of reason came too late.

Two figures were in the middle of the road, drifting between the circles of white light cast by each streetlamp. One was impossibly tall and thin; the other short, wide, and bent in ways that looked entirely unnatural. Both were cloaked in darkness, hoods pulled up to conceal any distinguishing facial features.

I forced my legs to move, and I ran.

Sprinting out into the middle of the road, I made a beeline for the bridge. The sound of rushing water grew louder as I approached, rivalling the whoosh of my blood pulsing in my ears. Stone was replaced by wood, rattling hollowly beneath my shoes, sending vibrations up my legs as I charged across.

The shorter one looked as if their size might hinder their speed.Perhaps if I can lose them, I can go home.

Up ahead, the road cut through the two residential villages. To my left, stand-alone cottages and large houses were set along a maze of streets, their interior lights flickering on like a cave of fireflies waking up. That side of town belonged to the upper-class residents of Belgrave. To my right, the lower-class dwellings sat hunched against the cobalt horizon. Rows and rows of small townhouses piled up on top of each other like a small-scale metropolis were flashing with the blue light from television sets by the windows.

I ran for my life towards the housing estate on the right, my bag aggressively smacking against my legs. I did not dare another glance over my shoulder.

The breeze turned icy, blowing the scent of freshly pollinated flowers and chopped grass over me. It swirled and circled, changing direction until the smell of brine and algae from the docks took over and paired with a distinct reek of rotting flesh.

Not fish from the river.

Something else.

Something old and discarded, left to gradually decay in an untouched corner of the world.

Gagging, I covered my mouth and nose with one hand and gripped my bag with the other as I stumbled over a ditch where the road had become unpaved. Drawing closer to the estates, I could make out the furniture in the windows of the grand houses to my left and the washing, strung up with fishing line across the balconies, billowing out over the edge on my right. I was close enough to be heard if I screamed.

But if I scream—

Headlights blinded me when a car pulled out of the wealthier estate.

I skidded to a stop along the side of the road while the vehicle slowed, gravel grating beneath my shoes. The automaticwindow rolled down with a faint buzz as the car crawled towards me.

“Auralie?” a masculine voice called out. I recognised it as belonging to Jonah Young, the son of The Water Dragon’s owner. “Are you okay?”

Silently, I turned and stared down the road, following the harsh beam of headlights shining brightly onto the bridge in a wide yellow glow. The reeds along the riverbed were bent over and rustling in the breeze, and a few dinghies knocked against the docks. Across the water, dotted like stars in the suddenly full night sky, the streetlamps lined the upwards slope into the heart of town on either side of the empty road.

Empty—because nobody was standing there anymore.

And the smell of death was utterly gone.

My body started to warm again.

---