Right.’ She blinked, and I could almost hear her brain processing this information. ‘I dunno...’
‘I just...’ I lowered my head and looked at my hands. They were knotted together for warmth, so I couldn’t tell which fingers belonged to which hand. ‘We won’t stay long. I just... I want to see it.’
It was Ameena’s turn to lean forward. ‘She won’t be there,’ she said, her voice taking on a soft edge she hardly ever used. ‘Your mum. The papers said she was still in the—’
‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘I know that. But that was three days ago, and it’s...’ I untangled my hands and stared down at my open palms. ‘I just need to see it.’
‘It’s a long way.’ Ameena looked around at the inside of the bus. ‘And we’ve got it good here. Roof over our head. Something to sleep on. It could be a lot worse.’
I didn’t say anything. Ameena wasn’t going for the idea, I could tell.
‘Of course, we could have it even better,’ she continued, ‘if someone would use his magic powers to—’
‘Stop it,’ I said flatly. ‘They’re not magic powers. And I told you already, I’m not using them again. Not unless it’s an emergency.’
‘But you could—’
‘We don’t know what I could do!’ I snapped, and I realised I was standing up now, glaring down at her.
I’d first discovered my “magic powers” while fighting Mr Mumbles. It started with an itchy tingling across my scalp. Next thing I knew, things I imagined started to become real. I’d used the power to defeat Mr Mumbles, but I’d since found out that it was more dangerous than I could’ve guessed.
‘The Crowmaster told me that every time I use my, my... abilities, I’m playing right into my dad’s hands.’
‘The Crowmaster said a lot of things,’ Ameena shrugged. ‘Don’t think he was the most trustworthy of sources, to be honest.’
‘Well, I’m not taking the chance. Not unless there’s no other choice,’ I replied, lowering my voice again. ‘My dad told me that one day I’d help him kill everyone on Earth, and I don’t want to risk proving him right.’
Ameena shook her head, then gave another half-hearted shrug. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said. ‘But you could just conjure us up a cake or something. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s ever been killed by a French Fancy.’
I opened my mouth to argue, but then saw the smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
‘Shut up,’ I said, smiling on the inside, if not the outside. ‘So, are we going home or what?’
Down at the front of the bus, the door slid open with a soft hiss. We ducked at the same time, dropping to the floor behind a row of seats. The bus dipped to the left a little as someone heavy climbed inside.
Ameena mouthed something to me from the other side of the aisle. I had absolutely no idea what it was, so I just shrugged in reply. She shrugged back, leaving me even more confused than I had been. As I tried to guess what she’d said, the door of the bus hissed closed.
There was silence for a moment, before footsteps clacked along the aisle, slow and steady, like the ticking of an old clock. With every step the floor beneath us gave a slight shake. The vibrations got worse as the steps drew closer and closer, until...
‘Ruddy Nora!’
The voice was sharp and panicked. I looked up into the wobbly face of a grey-haired man. ‘Oi!’ he cried. ‘Who are...? What are...? Why...?’ His voice trailed off. ‘Oi!’ he said again, although you could tell his heart wasn’t in it this time.
Ameena stood up first. I was a second or two behind her. The man took a step backwards, eyeing us nervously. He was slightly shorter than Ameena, a little taller than me, wider than both of us combined. He wore a light blue shirt with a dark blue tie and a badge identifying him as “Dave Morgan, Driver”.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his eyes constantly flitting between us. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’
‘Says who?’ Ameena demanded.
‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. Ameena had a lot of strengths, but diplomacy wasn’t one of them. ‘We didn’t... It was freezing. We didn’t have anywhere else to go.’
Dave Morgan, Driver, kept his gaze on me. ‘What,’ he began, ‘you homeless or something?’
I nodded.
‘Bloody Hell,’ he mumbled. His round shoulders seemed to sag. ‘How old are you?’
‘Thirteen,’ I told him.
His eyes opened wide. ‘Thirteen? And you’re...’ He shook his head. To his credit, he looked genuinely concerned. ‘Bloody Hell. That’s not right. That’s not right, that. There must be somewhere you can go?’
Neither of us replied.
‘We could get you to the police,’ he suggested. ‘They’ll find a—’
‘No!’ Ameena and I both said it at the same time. The driver must’ve heard something in our voices, or spotted something in our eyes, because he took another step back, suddenly suspicious. He looked at Ameena for a long time, then back to me. A flicker of a frown crossed his face.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘I know you. You’re them kids from the news, aren’t you?’ He glared at me. ‘You’re the one what killed that woman.’
Ameena swung out from behind the seat, slamming her shoulder into the driver’s bulging belly before he had a chance to react. He stumbled backwards, then thudded down on to a seat as Ameena gave him a sideways shove.
‘Barney!’ he bellowed, his fat fingers grabbing for Ameena. ‘Barney, get in here!’
He moved to get up, but Ameena pushed him back down. ‘Don’t just stand there!’ she cried, shooting me one of her looks. ‘Leg it!’
Ameena caught me by the wrist, pulling me up and on through the grey, early-morning light. We ran along the side of our bus and sped down a narrow alleyway between two more parked coaches.
‘Barney!’ We could still hear the driver shouting. ‘Barney, where are you?’
A shape, impossible to make out clearly, moved through the gloom up ahead of us. Ameena ducked low and we froze, waiting for whoever it was to pass.
‘Come on,’ she urged when the coast was
