Page 67 of Fallen Thorns
A song started playing in my ears, and Ben leaned over to see which one Casper had picked before winking and nodding and the two of them turned to face me like parents on Christmas morning.
It was good. I liked the melody. It was a little weird, butgoodweird. I started to show my reaction and slowly nodded my head along to the beat. Ben and Casper were quite a few years my senior — most of The Thorns were — but these two were the closest thing I had to older siblings, and while we hadn’t been acquainted for long, we clicked in an indescribable way that made me smile inside and out. Friends. Family.
Ben began nodding along with me, despite him not being able to hear it and then we were all feeling the music in this silent room, all swaying to the rhythm and grinning and I was… happy.
We werethere for about an hour. Casper asked me how I was finding university, I responded with a generic ‘it’s okay’ answer, but the response didn’t satisfy him.
“I got a culture shock,” he said. “I was very excited to come to England, but y’all were another level of mean.”
“Southern snobs in a northern land.” Ben finished off Casper’s sentence.
“Quite.” Casper nodded, head flicking back to me.
They had a point. I had noticed the divide, almost immediately. I knew I’d be entering into some level of classist society with the university having the reputation it did, but there were times when I was dumbfounded with the sheer audacity on some people. It was quite frankly frightening sometimes — hence why I always tried my best to blend into the scenery.
“Mummy and Daddy’s money.” Ben sucked in his teeth.
“Avoid the societies and you’ll be fine. You play the character well,” were Casper’s final words on the matter.
* * *
I missed another lecture,though the longer I spent in the hideout, the less I seemed to care. I still wanted to do well; after all, there was no point in me wasting all that money to come here andnotsucceed, but I reminded myself that I still had time to figure stuff out — or so I kept telling myself.
I wasn’t sure where Rani went that morning. It worried me how comfortable she was surrounded by all thesevampires,creatures that could leave her for dead in a back alley in a second, just like me.But as much as I hated to admit it, I figured she was in the safest hands with Carmen — the only other human buried in this mess. If Carmen could manage, Rani could tenfold. I’d never met someone so at ease with every situation they found themself in. Rani had the ability to justblend in, regardless of circumstances and mould herself to suit every predicament, even when she was completely out of her depth. And as I came to think of it, it should have been The Thorns who were afraid of whatshemight do. How couldtheybe so content in their trust in a human who could expose their existence at any moment. I would have thought creatures like us should have understood the dangers of letting in an outsider into their own ranks. Our kind had been so unbelievablyundocumented throughout noted history, we really were living on thin ice every single day of our existence.
But it was the lack of stories about us that reiterated the shocking strength of the Manipulation: the gift all of us were capable of. A single look, and no one would ever remember us.
I wondered when Carmen would call me for our training and my gut clenched. Trust is a complex thing.
“Hey, Arlo.”
I was stunned mid walk on my way back to my bedroom. I had planned to reorganise it to make it more my own — a task to keep my mind from wandering and perhaps gain some understanding and closure as to what transpired the previous night.
I glanced behind myself to see the origin of the call, the tone unfamiliar, but I was greeted with an empty hallway, the torches and lamps not yet lit.
I scratched the uncomfortable itch at the base of my neck.
After a moment of staring, convincing myself that I had not in fact heard anything and piecing together a rational explanation of wind and stone cracks, I turned back around to commence my walk, having an expression battle with my own thoughts.
The next corridor was probably the highest point in the hideout, the closest to the surface it would take me. Light crept through the slits of stone where the wall met the ceiling, not large enough to see through but enough to light the hallway naturally during the day. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and paid no attention at first to the fact that one of the cracks was blocked.
“Arlo.”
There it was again. Louder, closer that time. Not a wail of the wind or a crack underfoot. My ears pricked, and… my jaw ached. I instinctively stopped to massage the spot just to the left of my nose. My canines.
I smelled blood. Rich, thick, blood.
I spun, panic stricken, to face the only place where the voice must have emerged, for no one could have followed me this route without making themselves known.
I couldn’t tell exactly what shape shadowed the light, but it spanned the entire width of the crack, leaving no room for even a single light particle.
All awareness of my peripheral surroundings faded as I looked up.
I did not speak. There was no need to.
But my breathing faltered, and my head tightened.
“Thank you, Arlo,” it spoke again, the voice more recognisable: low but not harsh, more like velvet.
