underpants, by the way.”
“Shut up, Gemma.”
She laughed and they got to the corner of Tesco. “This is me,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Ashoka.”
Wow. Ashoka sounded so much better the way she said it.
They waited at the traffic lights. Cars went by.
Go on. Do something. Kiss her. You know you want to.
Ashoka shuffled. “Yeah, tomorrow. G’night.”
The traffic lights changed from green to red and Gemma crossed.
You are a total coward.
That was a golden opportunity and he’d blown it. Why didn’t he just go for it? What was the absolute worst that could happen?
She’d say no. Face it, that’s what she’d say, isn’t it? Better not even try than suffer the rejection. Girls like that don’t go out with guys like you. Especially once they know you wear Doctor Who underpants.
Ashoka adjusted his backpack and took the gap between the shops, his shortcut home. The alleyway wasn’t wide and they still hadn’t fixed the lights, but he’d done this route a million times and his feet went on autopilot. It was along the estate and the rubbish wasn’t collected till the morning so he had to watch his step around the black refuse sacks. Two red-eyed rats watched him pass.
“Gross.” He kept away. The things looked evil.
A dog barked nearby, then whimpered and shut up.
Someone chuckled ahead of him.
“Who’s there?” said Ashoka.
The chuckle turned into a grotesque howling laugh and a figure appeared at the end of the alleyway. The light from the courtyard behind cast an eerie light over everything.
A woman, dressed in a white suit, stood waiting for him. She leaned against the wall, arms folded, her thick, tawny hair framing her face like a mane. She wore a pair of dark glasses and a hungry grin.
“Ash Mistry?” she asked. Her accent was posh, clipped, with each syllable bitten off.
“Do I know you?” He was tempted to correct her, tell her it was Ashoka, but a large part of his brain was sending signals to his mouth warning him that this was not the sort of woman who liked being corrected or made upset or angry on any level.
“My name’s Jackie.” She stepped forward and her fingers flexed. Her long, curved nails shone like daggers. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
A snarl from behind him raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned to see two men standing there. They glared at Ashoka, smiling with crooked, jagged teeth in their thin mouths and long, greasy whiskers under their rodent-like noses. Their eyes were malevolent, burning crimson.
Cold terror flooded Ashoka. He held out his bag. “Here, take it.”
Jackie tutted. “Oh, Ash, that is not what we want.”
“What then? What do you want?” said Ashoka. How does she know my name?
She smiled. Even the darkness couldn’t hide the brilliance of her fangs. “We want to kill you, dear boy.”
“There must be some mistake, I … I don’t know you,” stuttered Ashoka. “Please, it’s a mistake.”
He looked at the woman, hoping to see a glimmer of pity, or compassion. But she just smiled, and there was no humanity in those fangs. “Please,” he repeated feebly.
“Begging, Ash? How disappointing,” said Jackie. “But then we can’t all be heroes.”
Without thinking, Ashoka slammed the bag into one of the rat mens’ face. He didn’t think about it; it just happened. The bag contained three huge hardback books, a large bag of dice, some lead miniatures and his boots. Rat-face Number One squeaked as the bag smashed into his nose. Ashoka then kicked Rat-face Number Two between the legs.
He’d seen it done a million times in movies and the guy always went down. Always.
Rat-face Number Two didn’t go down. He just leered.
Ashoka charged. The two tumbled into a pile of rubbish and knocked over a bucket of compost. Ashoka pushed the rat-face down into a bag of rotting, stinking onions as he scrambled to his feet.
Claws, hot and sharper than razors, tore open the back of his coat and sliced his skin. But he was too full of fear and adrenaline to feel the pain, and was up and running a second later, stumbling out of the alleyway.
“Run, Ash, run!” Jackie laughed.
What am I doing? What am I doing?
He’d never been in a fight before and this was for real – life and death. His heart was pounding violently in his chest and his boots beat the pavement, the heavy impact echoing like a drum in the night. He was only a few hundred metres from his front door, but suddenly the alleyways through the estate turned into a labyrinth. He ran down one and came out into a small enclosed green, empty but for a pair of swings and a see-saw. He stared at the blank, unlit windows of the apartments that overlooked it.
“Help!” He raced past the swings, throwing them behind him in a desperate attempt to stop Jackie. She moved on all fours and bounded over them. How is that possible?
Lights came on in the estate around him, but he didn’t dare stop to call for help. One swipe of those claws and she’d have his head for a football. He ran on, down into another narrow gap between the apartment blocks—
—and crashed straight into the rat-faces, who grabbed him. Ashoka wrestled and punched but couldn’t get free.
“Hold him,” Jackie ordered. She panted and her tongue hung red and loose from her wide jaw. The rat-faces twisted Ashoka’s arms behind his back until they felt as if they’d break.
“What do you want? I don’t even know you!” Ash shouted. This was insane.
Jackie looked him over, coming so close he could smell her breath. Worse than a dead dog’s guts. “No, but I know you.” Jackie stroked his face with the back of her nail. “And I’m here to make sure you never do.” Then she turned her hand and dragged her fingers through his shirt. The cloth ripped open and she drew three thin, bleeding lines down his chest. She pulled his shirt wide open and peered at his skin. Her nail pressed against his belly. “No scar.” She grabbed his left hand and stared at his thumb. “Interesting.”
She flexed her fingers and the nails struck like a butcher’s blades. “Hold him still. I don’t want his blood on my suit.”
“Please …” begged Ashoka.
A steel scream
