Hello! I just joined up so I thought I'd introduce myself and all. I'm posting chapters 1-4 of my novel. Other chapters are up in my journal :)

Username: Violet Corona (Naomi in the real world)
Title of your work: Ill-Met By Moonlight
Genre: Supernatural
Brief blurb about what it's about if you want: Werewolves and pyromancy and of the such
Rating: PG - some death scenes



ILL-MET BY MOONLIGHT

ONE

The warm air smelt of rain, jasmine and the lingering odour of the swamp. A full moon rose over the marshy land, bathing it with silver light that cast long, strange shadows. Summer was fading into autumn but the land hadn’t realised yet. Flowers still bloomed and the sky was clear of clouds. A beautiful night.
The mournful howl of the wolf was out of place. It bounced off the trees and rocks, trailed through the gullies and streams, a banshee’s wail that haunted the balmy air. No answering cry came bouncing back; this wolf sang to himself. He sat at the edge of the swamp, head thrown back to the moon. He was, perhaps, large for a wolf, pale-pelted and blue-eyed. A handsome specimen, there was no doubt of that, young and healthy, lean-limbed and strong. But still alone.
In sunlight he had no trouble attracting company. Pretty girls flocked around him, attracted by his looks and charm. The money probably helped too. And in the sunlight, his fleeting encounters with pretty girls was enough to keep him happy. He lay down, resting his nose on his paws with a wolfish sigh. In the sunlight he didn’t lack for friendship. But under the light of the distant moon, he longed for a real pack.
Being a werewolf is a lonely business.

‘End of the line, sweetheart. Time to wake up.’
Scarlett opened her eyes and glanced at the man opposite her. He was smiling brightly at her as he gathered up his briefcase and jacket and left the train. She breathed out slowly, glad he was gone. She nudged the sleeping form beside her. Kas shifted his heavy black hair from his eyes and looked at her sleepily.
‘Has he gone?’
‘He’s gone,’ she confirmed. ‘Leaving behind only a mass of cigarette butts and happy memories.’ She stood, stretching her arms. Their fellow traveller had smoked constantly all the way from Raceland. Sharing a train seat with him was like breathing in cancer. ‘Where are we?’ she asked Kas as she collected their meagre belongings.
Kas rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘Bijou-Ghislaine, about twenty miles from New Orleans. Are we stopping here?’
She slung a navy blue sports bag over her shoulder. Inside were a few changes of clothes for them both, a personal stereo, a copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare and a wallet she’d stolen at the last station. ‘We’ll have to,’ she replied, ushering him off the train. ‘We’re running out of cash.’
Outside the confines of the smoky train, the sun was bright, the air humid and sticky. The platform of the small station was almost empty; just a few people milling towards the exit and whatever lay beyond. Scarlett blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. ‘What time is it?’
‘Six-thirty,’ Kas replied. ‘How much money do we have?’
She set the bag down and rummaged around for the wallet. ‘Twenty-six dollars and fifty-two cents.’ She sighed. ‘Would have been nice to get to New Orleans.’
‘Can we eat?’ he asked plaintively.
‘C’mon.’ She picked up the bag again and they left the station. Although it was early and still bright out, the streets of Bijou-Ghislaine were quiet. It was a small town, Scarlett observed, the houses built during the Colonial period, close to the Mississippi. The air carried the faint, distant aroma of the river, along with a spicier tang. She had seen plenty of small towns in the past three years, but none of them charmed her like this one. There was something comforting about the tree-lined streets and the hum of cicadas just on the edge of her hearing.
‘Hey.’ Kas tugged at her sleeve, cutting short her assessment of the town. ‘There’s a place.’
She followed his pointing finger and saw a cafe across the road, a clean and well-maintained building. Gold lettering on the window announced it as “Leon’s Grill.” The doorway was framed by tall potted plants and a menu framed in wood hung in the window. A quick glance at this told Scarlett they couldn’t afford it. ‘If we eat here, that’s all our money gone,’ she told Kas, ‘no matter what we actually eat. We need to find somewhere cheaper.’
‘Isn’t there a credit card in that wallet?’ he asked impatiently.
‘I’m not using a stolen credit card,’ she said firmly. ‘We have enough problems without the cops on our back. If we eat here, we’re sleeping rough tonight.’
He sighed. ‘I am starving,’ he said wistfully, reading the menu. ‘I think I could sleep anywhere with a square meal inside me.’
She pulled a face. ‘You could sleep anywhere, period.’
‘Lets go in,’ he said finally. ‘We both need something proper to eat for a change.’ He took her by the wrist and led her inside before she could argue.
The grill was air conditioned, a relief from the humidity of the streets. Most of the tables were empty, just a few couples sharing bottles of wine here and there. The lights were low, candles glowed on the tables. A waitress stood by the door looking bored. She woke up when they entered, ran her eyes over them quickly and smiled unpleasantly.
‘Can I help?’
‘Table for two, please,’ Scarlett said, wondering what caused the unpleasant smile. They didn’t look that bad, did they?
The waitress lead them to a corner table, well away from the windows. Two menus were set out before them and the waitress vanished.
‘Happy in her work,’ Kas remarked, opening the menu. ‘I want jambalaya.’
‘Good,’ Scarlett replied absently. ‘It’s cheap.’
‘What’cha thinking?’ he asked.
‘Wondering where we’re going to sleep tonight,’ she lied, twirling a lock of dark red hair around her fingers.
‘You can’t lie to me, Scarlett,’ Kas said patiently, tapping his head with his forefinger. ‘What are you really thinking?’
She smiled wearily. ‘Give it up. I’m not sharing.’
He shrugged and returned his attention to the menu. He knew when not to push her; when she decided she wasn’t going to tell him something, nothing would force her to speak. Sometimes stray thoughts and emotions would slip through; that was the nature of their relationship and Kas’ own peculiar gift. But he tired virtuously not to read her mind. Now, with her tired and clearly anxious, he would have to try extra hard.
In truth, where they would sleep was a minor concern to Scarlett. She glanced around the restaurant and thought again how quiet it was, how empty the town seemed for such a beautiful evening. It was weird. She didn’t like weird. Life was weird enough as it was.
The waitress returned. ‘Get you a drink? You ready to order?’ she asked, tapping a pen impatiently on a small notepad.
‘Jambalaya and a sparkling mineral water,’ Kas said promptly.
‘Same.’ Scarlett drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. ‘Is it always so quiet around here?’ she asked. The waitress looked up from her pad, surprise on her face.
‘You’re new in town.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘This is a small place. People mind their own business. Your food will be along shortly.’ She snapped her pad closed and walked away. The town lost some of its charm.
‘Okay, what are you thinking?’ Kas looked Scarlett straight in the eye. ‘Spit it out.’
She shrugged. ‘Quiet towns...unfriendly locals...Sound familiar?’
He frowned. ‘Don’t say stuff like that. I like this place. I’ve got a good vibe about it.’
‘The last small, quiet town we were in was swarming with LAT guys,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t think we should hang around here.’
Kas’ dark eyes clouded over; he ducked his head. ‘I’m sick of running away, Scarlett.’
She sank back in her seat. ‘So am I, Kas.’
They sat in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes until their drinks came. Scarlett used it as an opportunity to visit the bathroom. Like the rest of the restaurant, it was clean and softly-lit. She leaned on the rim of a cream porcelain basin and examined herself. Maybe, she reflected, there had been reason for the waitress’ lack-lustre smile. She looked a mess, older than her nineteen years.
Her hair, unwashed for several days and uncut for several years, was tied back, but greasy dark red strands escaped and wrapped themselves round her neck. Her pale skin seemed ghostly in the low lights, making her green eyes, bright with tiredness, shine unnaturally. Her clothes were rumpled and travel-worn, the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat sticking to them. I would have kicked me out, she thought, running a hand over her hair and grimacing. I’d kill for a shower.
Their food would cost them most of their slender reserves of money, meaning there was little chance of booking into a guesthouse for the night, unless Kas was willing to manipulate someone into giving them a room. He saw it as a gross abuse of his psychic gift, immoral and iniquitous. Having seen her appearance, Scarlett was willing to be a little immoral in exchange for a hot shower and a warm bed, just for one night.
Because regardless of Kas’ good vibe, she didn’t want to linger here. LAT liked small, quiet towns, the better to conduct their studies in private.
The League of American Theosophists billed themselves as students and scientists of the supernatural, harmless observers and examiners of everything that lay beyond the pale. Scarlett’s experiences of them didn’t exactly correlate with the public presentation. She had been inside one of their institutes. She never wanted to return. She and Kas had spent the past three years staying one step ahead of LAT. Kas’ psychic abilities helped, but the League was spread wide across America and there were never any guarantees of safety.
No, it would be safer not to linger in Bijou-Ghislaine, no matter how charming it looked.
Back at the table, Kas was staring resentfully into a bowl of jambalaya. ‘Why do we have to do this?’ he asked as she sat down. ‘I hate living like this.’
‘So do I,’ she said patiently. ‘But surely it’s better than the alternative?’
‘You don’t even know the LAT have a branch anywhere near here,’ he argued. ‘We haven’t seen a trace of them since Arkansas! You’re just being paranoid.’
The words stung but she didn’t react, just sipped at her water. ‘Maybe I am. I’d rather be paranoid than some mad scientist’s pet project.’
‘We should have stayed in Sante Fe,’ he muttered darkly.
She did react then; she couldn’t help herself. ‘And done what?’ she asked sharply, keeping her voice low. ‘Lived in a slum, stealing from fat business men for the rest of our lives? I’m not dragging us around the country for fun, Kas! I’m doing it to keep us alive!’
‘You’re doing it to protect yourself,’ he retorted, voice just as quiet, just as heated. ‘And don’t say you’re not, I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking, Scarlett. What happened with Conrad was awful, I know that! But it’s history and it’s not a reason to live like a couple of gypsies!’
She bit her lip and looked away. ‘That’s not fair, Kas.’
‘Food okay? Can I get you anything?’ The waitress was back.
‘Food’s fine,’ Kas said, aware he might have gone too far. The waitress vanished. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t be.’ Scarlett began eating half-heartedly. ‘You’re right, it’s history.’
They ate in silence: Kas’ guilty, Scarlett’s melancholy. In a way, Kas was right. Part of her did just want to keep running away from the LAT and what had happened at the Lightwood Institute four months ago. But, psychic or not, he couldn’t possibly understand how much it haunted her. That was something she never wanted to share.







TWO
They ate in silence; each aware of the other’s wounded feelings, neither willing to offer the olive branch first. They rarely fell out, they depended on each other too much. But the better you know someone, the easier it is to hurt them. You always know where to stick the knife.
Scarlett counted out their bill slowly, reluctantly pressing the notes down on the table. ‘We’re broke again,’ she said quietly, not meeting Kas’ eyes.
‘We could just run,’ he suggested half-heartedly.
‘I thought you were tired of running.’
He sighed. ‘Just pay. There’s bound to be a doorway we can sleep in somewhere. At least it’s a warm night.’
‘Yeah, thank God for small mercies.’ She bit her lower lip, hating how bitter she sounded. I’m too young to be this jaded, she thought, pushing her chair back from the table. ‘Let’s just go,’ she said aloud.
He followed her out of the restaurant, hands jammed into his pockets, head bowed. Shuffling along behind her, lips pouting, doe eyes mournful, the thirteen-year-old was the epitome of repentance. Scarlett found herself suffused by feelings of sorrow and affection. She was pretty sure they were Kas’ and not hers. His psychic power was spread across a wide spectrum, including empathy, the ability to pass his emotions onto others.
‘Stop that,’ she said, resisting the urge to embrace him. ‘I’m pissed off.’
The feeling of affection grew stronger. ‘But not with me, right?’
She could picture his smile, bashful and adorable under that mop of unruly hair. He was a miniature of his dead father: sweet and honest, unshakably loyal. That was her own opinion, not his forced onto her. She gave into her urge and spun round, pulling him into a tight hug. ‘Yes, with you. Fortunately, I can’t manage without you, so you’re forgiven.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said sincerely. She felt the wave of artificial feeling recede, replaced by the warm swell of real affection. ‘I didn’t mean to sound like I resent you or anything. I just...I just wish we didn’t have to live like this.’
‘I do too.’ She released him and wrapped an arm round his shoulders, guiding him down the empty street. ‘And it won’t be forever, Kas, I promise. We can -’
A deep, desolate howl rang through the night, stopping them both. It echoed through the tree-lined streets, fading into nothing before striking up again, a rhapsody of misery. ‘What was that?’ Kas asked. ‘A wolf?’
‘I didn’t think there were any round here.’ Scarlett listened, entranced by the sound. They had heard wolves howling before, in Colorado, but they had been packs. A whole choir of canines, calling to each other across the mountains to affirm their partnership. This was one wolf, calling out to the night and hearing only its own voice replying.
‘It sounds so sad,’ Kas said, echoing her thoughts. ‘You think it escaped from a zoo or something?’
‘Maybe. That would explain why nobody’s out on the streets.’ She looked around, noting once more the stillness of the town. Lights peeped through blinds, candles flickered on windowsills, confirming that life went on behind closed doors. But those doors would stay closed, she sensed. Bijou-Ghislaine belonged to the shadows and the moonlight.
‘Maybe we should head back to the train station?’ he suggested, cutting short her reverie. ‘It’ll be sheltered.’
‘Okay,’ she agreed absently, still listening to the wolf’s howls drifting on the light breeze. She allowed Kas to guide her steps back to the station, listening to their footsteps strike off the stones underfoot, suddenly hyper-aware of everything around her. The night was vast and black; the moon sailing solemnly through the starless vault of the sky. The wolf’s cold baying tugged at her heartstrings, like the beginning of a familiar song, unheard for too long. She felt a kinship with the animal. The world could be an empty place, she thought, hugging herself. At least she had Kas.
The station was empty except for one night watchman. He paid them no attention as they settled down on a bench at the edge of the platform. Tiredness washed over her in a warm wave as they snuggled up together in their regular positions. Scarlett wrapped her arms around Kas and rested her head on his. He slid his own arms around her waist, nestling into the curve of her hips. She tucked her legs up on the bench, making herself as small as possible.
‘Night,’ Kas said sleepily.
‘Sweet dreams.’ She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
She drifted off to the sound of the wind rushing over the platform and the cry of the wolf creeping into her dreams.

In her dreams she was back at Lightwood Institute, strapped down to a table while doctors and scientists puzzled over the mystery of her existence. She felt again the horror of losing control of the fire that rolled under her skin, felt it explode from her in a torrent of white-heat, consuming everything before it. Screams thundered in her skull, screams of people trapped and dying, burning alive because she had lost control.
She saw Julian Conrad, handsome face contorted by pain and surprise as he clutched at the bullet wound piercing his chest. Kas had turned his own gun on him to save her life. Another man dead because of her, even if it was a man she had hated. A man killed by a thirteen-year-old already too worn out by life’s tragedies to regret his actions.
After Lightwood, they had fled Colorado, heading south through Oklahoma and Arkansas to the heart of Louisiana. She drove them on when Kas wanted to stop, terrified that LAT were still after them. In her dreams, dead people chased them both, desperate to dissect them, measure and evaluate their gifts and offer them up on a plate to a world appalled by such things.
In her dreams, Conrad was alive and he pursued her endlessly. There were worse things than wolves in the darkness.

Warm sun woke her. The early morning light was grey-gold as dawn broke over the station. The dawn chorus was growing louder, the insistent chatter of the birds ensuring a return to sleep wasn’t an option.
She opened her eyes and stretched, dislodging Kas as she did. He glanced up and groaned. ‘It’s morning.’
‘These things happen.’ She dragged her fingers through her ponytail and looked around. At the far end of the platform she could see a few people, waiting for early morning trains. There were no other signs of life. ‘We should get out of here.’
He nodded, rubbing his eyes. ‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe there’s a homeless shelter somewhere in town,’ she mused, massaging her cramped legs.
‘I’m hungry again.’
‘You’re always hungry. If it was up to you, all we’d do is eat and sleep.’
He grinned. ‘Sounds like the life for me.’
Last night the town had felt lonely, abandoned. In daylight it was alive again, bathed in the sun’s gentle light and full of energy. Scarlett felt hopeful again, lifted by the early morning smells of damp earth and fresh jasmine. The streets were still quiet, but now it was the quietness of people waking from dreams, beginning their days in sleepy silence.
Peering into store windows as they walked, Scarlett learnt a little about Bijou-Ghislaine. There was a market, held on Thursdays, a local reading club, a lively Blues scene...A normal town, a town to get lost in, a town to vanish into. If you were given the chance...
She glanced at Kas. His dark eyes were hooded by sleep, his unwashed hair a dark halo around his too-thin face. He deserved better than this life, she thought. Who was she to say where was safe and where wasn’t? Who was she to deprive a boy already an orphan of some kind of stability? Her memories and nightmares chased her through the labyrinths of sleep, but nothing seemed to bother Kas for long. He simply accepted events and carried on. She envied him that; for Scarlett every little incident lodged in her heart like slivers of glass, constant reminders of the past.









THREE
Bijou-Ghislaine stretched out from a clustered centre of restaurants, bars and shops into a circle of houses that became sparser and sparser as the land turned to forest and swamp. An hour of aimless wandering revealed no evidence of LAT activity, which reassured Scarlett slightly. As the sun climbed higher over the town and more people filled the streets and roads, she and Kas found themselves heading out of the town centre into the neat, tree-lined avenues and lanes of the houses.
Most of them had been built in the Colonial period, like the buildings in the town centre: panelled doors topped by curling crowns of stone, long, low buildings in red brick and gleaming white-painted wood. As they moved out towards the edge of the town, the houses became further and further apart, bigger and fancier. The amount of land separating each property grew, the driveways became longer. She doubted she’d ever see the amount of money needed to live in one of these houses. Kas’ father had left them a small inheritance, but that had been frittered away in the three years since his death, spent on train and plane fares, food, clothes and hotel rooms.
Scarlett’s own parents had left her nothing except her name. Miguel Lopez had found her, a mewling babe wrapped in wool and dumped without ceremony outside a church. Miguel had taken her home to his new wife and raised her as his own.
His wife had been less than thrilled. But that was Miguel’s nature. He couldn’t see an injured bird or abandoned puppy without taking it in. By the time Scarlett was old enough to talk, she had seen countless stray animals nursed back to health and sent on their way again. It was only natural that Miguel would do the same for a child as any other lost and lonely creature.
His wife, Pia, had borne with the animals with good grace. She loved the man, after all, and his compassion was contagious. A human child, however, was a far bigger commitment than a homeless kitten. Scarlett knew she had been the cause of many arguments. Pia thought the responsible thing to do was take Scarlett to the authorities. Miguel thought the responsible thing to do was to keep her where he could see her.
As a child she had never questioned his attentive devotion to her, accepting it as simply part of the way things were. But maybe Miguel had already realised there was something unusual about his little foundling, already sensed that weird and wonderful power blossoming inside her. And maybe that was why he kept her so close.
She started her first fire when she was five, a response of pure anger and energy to a denied request. She’d incinerated an armchair, singed a set of curtains and melted several porcelain ornaments before she’d managed to get that fiery surge under control through instinct alone. Even at that age she’d been horrified, understanding only too well what she’d done - what she could have done.
Pia had been hysterical, weeping and screaming. Scarlett didn’t blame her, she’d felt pretty hysterical herself. And Miguel had simply lead his wife from the room, speaking constantly in a soothing, soft voice, seeing she was safely ensconced in her bedroom before returning to Scarlett.
She was sitting, shamefaced and tear-stricken, in a pile of ashes. Miguel knelt before her and fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘Scarlett, how did you do that?’ he asked.
‘Dunno,’ she muttered, unable to meet his eyes. ‘It just...happened.’
‘Well, you can’t let things like that ‘just happen’ again, okay?’ There was no real anger in his voice, but she’d sensed some other emotion lurking behind his calm facade. Shock? Disappointment?
‘I couldn’t help it!’ she burst. ‘I didn’t mean to!’
‘I know, sweetheart, I know. But it’s dangerous. Not just to me and Pia, but to you too.’ He sat down, cross-legged and smiled his crooked smile, thick black hair falling over one dark eye. The other eye, unveiled, sparkled as he spoke. ‘There are people in the world who can do things like that, start fires like that, and there are people who can’t. And the people who can’t do it get scared by the people who can. So it’s best never to let them know, do you understand?’
She’d eyed him suspiciously. ‘You can’t start fires,’ she’d accused.
He grinned. ‘No, I can do something much better.’
Five-year-old Scarlett tried to imagine something better than starting fires at will and failed. ‘What?’
He’d sat back then, placing his hands on his knees. ‘Promise not to tell anyone?’ he asked. She’d nodded furiously, swearing her soul away to him. He closed his eyes and a grey mist began to coalesce between them, swirling around and chasing itself in endless loops, filling with colour. As Scarlett watched, fascinated, pictures began to appear in the mist; dragons and humming birds danced and coiled around each other at Miguel’s command. She was enchanted.
It was the first illusion he ever performed for her, the first of many telekinetic tricks performed for her amusement, always in secret. If Pia knew of her husband’s gift, she never mentioned it. It became a game between girl and man, a reward for her efforts in curbing her ferocious will and the spontaneous fires that came with it.
Looking at Kas now, Scarlett felt a stab of sorrow for his dead father. The man had been her protector and teacher. The world was a cruel place to take someone like Miguel away.
‘I can smell something strange,’ Kas said suddenly, breaking into her reverie. He veered off their random path, towards a thick bank of cypress trees that served as a natural boundary between town and swampland.
Following, Scarlett scented it too, a fetid tang that pulsed in the air, drowning out the sweeter smells of wild flowers and damp grass. It was sickly smell, like something was both rotting and flourishing in the marshy earth.
The land dipped sharply into a bowl filled with long grass and the whirring chirp of crickets. Kas slowed down as the smell became overpowering. ‘It smells like something dead,’ he said, wrinkling his nose.
Scarlett overtook him, heart thumping. ‘Here.’ She shoved their sports bag into his arms as she passed. Scrambling down the slope into that bowl of earth, she tripped on something wet underfoot and slid down to the bottom of the bowl, feet stopping inches from the corpse.
‘Oh, shit,’ she breathed, eyes drawn to the body without her brain’s permission. How do you persuade yourself to look away from things like this? she wondered.
It was a woman, although only the tattered clothes proved it. A long white skirt, splashed liberally with blood, clung in shreds to bloodied, sliced skin. Her top was missing, her chest as gore-splattered as her skirt. Huge chunks of flesh had been carved from her, revealing slick, shiny strands of muscle and claret-stained bones beneath.
Scarlett’s eyes were drawn upwards, to the ravaged face. Had this woman been beautiful? Plain? Young, old? She couldn’t tell. There were too many gashes in her skin, too much blood masking her features. Only her eyes gave anything away; they rolled back in her skull, milky white and glassy. She had been blind. She hadn’t even seen her killer. The idea sickened Scarlett. To be ripped apart like this was awful enough; to never know your attacker was salt in the wounds in her mind.
‘Scarlett?’ Kas’ face appeared over the edge of the hollow. ‘Oh man...’
She heard a gagging noise, a thump as the bag fell from his hands, and Kas vanished. Retching sounds drowned out the hum of the crickets.
She didn’t feel any nausea, only grief and disgust that this could have happened. And shock at all that blood...Surely there wasn’t that much blood in a human body? Although...
Pulling herself onto her knees, she groped around in the long grass for a stick. Her fingers closed over an old branch, rotted and dropped from an overhanging maple tree. She gripped it, feeling splinters of bark crumbling under her touch, and gingerly stuck the end of the branch under the woman’s skirt.
There was no blood in the grass, no blood around the body. Only on the body. Surely that couldn’t be right?
‘Scarlett! What are you doing?’ Kas sounded faint. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His olive skin was sallow, sweat beaded on his brow and clung to his thick hair. ‘Don’t poke it with a stick! That’s gross!’
‘She’s not an it, she’s a person,’ she said sharply.
‘She’s a dead body. Man, you could pick up anything from that.’
‘Just because she’s dead, doesn’t mean she’s not human anymore,’ Scarlett said firmly. ‘Stop being so squeamish.’
‘Well,’ he said, drawing back from the edge of the hollow. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get a kick out of hanging around with corpses. Shall I leave you two alone for a while?’
‘Kas, are you even looking at this?’ she demanded, letting her branch fall to the ground. ‘Somebody killed this woman - they tore her apart!’
‘That’s why I’m not looking,’ he muttered, then sighed and slid down the slope to join her. ‘This is so gross,’ he told her again.
‘There’s no blood in the grass.’
‘That’s because it’s all over her.’
‘No, some of it would have ended up on the ground,’ she argued. ‘It would have splattered when...you know...’
Kas paled again. ‘Why are we still sitting here? We should go to the cops.’ Scarlett poked at the woman’s skirts with the branch again, both intrigued and horrified. What could do this to a full-grown woman? An animal? Maybe the wolf they’d heard howling last night. Although she didn’t think wolves were man-killers...
‘You’re tampering with evidence,’ Kas informed her, rising. ‘C’mon, lets go! Lets tell the police.’
‘Yeah.’ She stood too, still unable to look away from the body. This close, the smell was overpowering and she was glad there was nothing in her stomach to bring up. Will power alone kept her from retching as Kas had done. ‘Yeah, okay. We’ll head back into the town.’
Relieved, Kas raced up the slope, steadfastly refusing to look back into the hollow. Scarlett lingered, seeing something out of the corner of her eye as she turned away from the dead woman. Tiny flickers of gold light danced around the body, spinning up and down and around it, too quickly to see clearly. All Scarlett saw was a sheen of gold, shimmering like sunlight on water.
‘Scarlett!’ There was an impatient edge to Kas’ voice now. ‘Come on! Please!’
She made her way back up the slope, glancing over her shoulder in time to see the golden shimmer vanish. She’d seen it before many times, though never around anything dead. It was always the living; Miguel’s injured animals usually. Once or twice around Kas when he’d fallen and cut himself badly, or slipped and twisted his ankle. She knew what it meant, knew what it did, although it wouldn’t work on the dead woman. It was something she longed to control even more than the fire. Because if she could control that gold mist, she need never fear the consequences of not controlling the fire.
Kas set the pace back into Bijou-Ghislaine, almost running in his effort to get away from the body. Scarlett kept up easily, letting his tirade of revulsion and fear wash over her.
‘Can you believe it? That was gross - just like the movies - all that blood! Man, d’you think there’s a serial killer loose round here? That’s just what we need. Why can’t we ever end up anywhere normal, with normal people?’
‘We’re not normal people, Kas,’ she said, amused. ‘We obviously attract abnormality.’
‘I’m more normal than you,’ he argued. ‘By all rights, I should attract normal people.’
‘There’s nothing normal about a boy who wants to sleep for twenty-three hours a day.’
He pulled a face. ‘At least when I’m asleep, nothing weird’s happening.’
‘You must have been a sloth in a past life. Maybe we should head to South America so you can be among your own kind,’ she teased.
Kas spun and swung the sports bag at her. She dodged easily, moving ahead with a laugh. He chased her, the corpse forgotten. ‘You shouldn’t make fun of me,’ he said amiably as he drew level with her again. ‘I’m very sensitive.’
‘I know. I heard you being sensitive all over the bushes a few minutes ago.’ She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a hug as they walked. ‘Most boys your age get off on blood and guts, don’t they?’
‘Probably only because they never see them in real life. It’s all so much cleaner in computer games.’
‘Huh.’ She fell silent, thinking of the dead woman. Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone even know she was missing?
‘Wonder where the police station is?’ Kas mused. They were entering the town centre again, busier now, the wide streets accommodating cyclists and pedestrians who wove their way around each other with practised expertise.
‘Do a little psychic sweep of the area and find out,’ Scarlett suggested.
He sighed. ‘I’d rather just ask someone. It makes my headache, trying to see a whole town at once.’
She nodded, scanning the building signs as they walked. Bijou-Ghislaine was a big enough town to warrant a sheriff’s office, right? ‘Excuse me,’ she called, grabbing the sleeve of a passer-by. ‘Is there a sheriff’s office round here?’
The man she’d stopped turned to glance back at her and Scarlett found herself taking a step back, conscious of how dirty she was. He was pristine; platinum hair falling in freshly-washed, shampoo-scented waves around a model-handsome face. Cornflower blue eyes peered at her over the top of designer sunglasses. The sleeve she’d grabbed was leather; she could smell it mingling with the shampoo. Under the leather jacket was an ice blue shirt, probably Egyptian cotton, she thought wryly. The trousers had to be designer too; everything about him shrieked designer. He probably had designer toilet paper.
She felt like a leper in comparison, especially when she saw the woman on his arm. An auburn-haired sylph, beautifully made-up, casually elegant and clearly unimpressed by Scarlett’s interruption to whatever story she’d been telling her golden-haired companion.
‘A what?’ the man asked, too busy running his eyes over Scarlett to hear her question.
She wet her lips. ‘A sheriff. Police.’ His face went charmingly blank. Scarlett’s impatience muscled aside her awkwardness. ‘You know, the ones in the black and white cars with the little sirens on top? Always seem to show up after the event?’
He grinned, a smile that turned him from a magazine cover to a real person, eyes sparkling. ‘And what’s a pretty girl like you done to need the police?’ he asked wickedly. His girlfriend frowned.
Scarlett resisted the urge to stamp on his designer shoes. ‘I started a fire down town and I’m afraid I might do it again. I want to turn myself in,’ she said dryly.
‘Scarlett!’ Just behind her, Kas sounded appalled. Alright, maybe that was a bit too close to home. She cleared her throat and tried again, fluttering her eyelashes at the blonde man.
‘I have some important information to pass on,’ she said sweetly. ‘Please tell me where I need to go.’
He opened his mouth, clearly about to deliver a pick-up line; she could see it in the way he leaned in towards her, lowering his eyelids to mould his expression into something suggestive. She could smell his cologne now, a powerful, musky scent that just disguised another scent beneath that, something earthy and almost-familiar. ‘Well, honey -’
‘Toulouse Street. Go to the end of this road and turn right. It’s the stone building at the first turning. You can’t miss it.’ The woman’s clipped tones cut in. She fixed Scarlett with a disapproving look, then turned a wide smile on her male companion. ‘Come on, Christian. We’ll miss our train.’
Christian pouted at Scarlett before turning a wide smile of his own on the woman. ‘Relax, Sadie. We’ve got half an hour.’ He gave Scarlett a more genuine smile. ‘Don’t confess to anything I wouldn’t confess to,’ he said lightly before the pair moved on.
‘Something tells me that wouldn’t leave much,’ Scarlett said, just loud enough for him to hear. His rich laughter drifted over his shoulder, making her smile in spite of herself.
‘Did you smell his cologne?’ Kas remarked as they made their way towards Toulouse Street. ‘Bet that keeps the vampires away.’
‘I don’t think he’s interested in attracting vampires,’ Scarlett replied.
‘He so wanted you. I could feel it. If that woman hadn’t been there, he’d have tried it on.’
‘In the middle of a street in broad daylight?’ she laughed, dismissing his words.
‘Some men have no impulse control, Scarlett,’ Kas said, faux-prim. ‘They’re just animals.’