Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) (23 page)

When I woke up, Chesney Hawkes was telling me with
conviction that he was the one and only. It was quite disturbing, really, as I
was quite sure he was
not
my one and only. That was –

‘Scarlett? You awake?’

I prised open an eyelid. Squinted as bright daylight hit my
retinas. Groaned as squinting made pain flash through my head. Gagged as
groaning made my something-died-in-my-mouth tongue stick uncomfortably to the
roof of my mouth.

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Jude from somewhere beside me.

‘Now I remember why I don’t drink,’ I whispered.

‘Now I remember why I’ve always stopped at two beers,’ said
Jude.

I forced myself to shift and look at him. He was sitting on
the other side of the corner sofa on which I was lying. His hair was wet and
his clothes clean, but there was no concealing the greenish tinge of his skin
and his bloodshot eyes.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘I’ll live.’

‘Can’t heal you. Not up to it.’

‘Me either.’

‘We deserve to feel crap anyway.’

‘I guess.’

I pushed myself upright and groaned again. ‘Why do people
do
this?’

‘Beats me.’

‘I’m going to shower.’

‘You should.’

‘I smell that bad?’

‘Bit spew-y.’

‘Nice.’

I stood and lurched over to the doorway, where I paused to
wait out an almighty head rush.

‘Hey, Scarlett,’ called Jude.

‘Yep,’ I said without turning round.

‘Thanks for getting me home. Hope I wasn’t too much of a
nightmare.’

‘Right,’ I said and staggered off.

*

In the bathroom I ran the tap and downed three glasses of
water and a couple of painkillers from the medicine cabinet. Then I stripped
off my clothes (yesterday’s again; this was becoming a skanky habit) and stood
in the shower for a really long time until the hot water began to melt away the
fog in my head.

It wasn’t until the third shampooing – sand in the hair,
really itchy – that I realised what Jude had said. I’d got him home? Funny, I
didn’t remember that.

As I massaged my head I replayed the previous evening,
trying to work out when the memories cut off. Playing Monopoly. Dancing to
music. Walk on the beach. Sitting. And then…

My hands dropped to my sides and I slumped against the cold
tiles, letting water and eye-stinging shampoo flood my face.

We’d kissed. Me and Jude. Jude and me.
Kissing
.

I remembered that. I remembered the feel of his lips.

I sank down to the floor of the cubicle and laid my head
back on the wall.

I felt… relieved. Because I’d felt nothing. Absolutely
nothing. I may as well have been kissing the back of my hand. And hadn’t I
wondered, deep down, just a little for these past months, whether I
could
feel something for Jude – hadn’t I thought how much easier that would be than
loving Luke still, loving Luke always? Now there was no doubt at all. I had my
definitive answer.

But at what cost? If Jude remembered the kiss, he’d think I
made a move. He’d take it as a signal that I liked him – that I wanted to be
with him.

‘Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett,’ I muttered darkly, ‘what did
you do?’

The words sounded odd to my ears. Like an echo of a
different voice I’d heard once. A different voice, but one as familiar to me as
my own.

*

Showered and dressed in ill-fitting jeans and a t-shirt, I
made my way tentatively to the kitchen, fixed a bowl of cereal, took it to the
dining table and began to eat it. Slowly. Eyes down.

Jude came to sit at the table with me.

Dread turned the cornflakes to slimy mulch in my mouth.

‘Er, Scarlett,’ he began. ‘About last night… the thing is, I
don’t remember anything beyond us walking down to the beach.’

My head snapped up. ‘You don’t?’

‘No,’ he said, grey eyes intent on mine.

‘Not our… conversation at the water’s edge?’

‘We talked? No, sorry. Blank.’

I’d have sung ‘Hallelujah!’ if it wouldn’t have hurt my head
and alerted Jude to the fact that I was strangely delighted by his amnesia. I
settled for a large mouthful of cereal instead.

‘So, I can’t remember getting home,’ he continued. ‘And I’m
just wondering – did we Travel? Because I understand why you may have needed to…
I, er, saw the state of my clothes when I woke up this morning. But I didn’t
explain how to Travel with someone else in tow, and –’

‘I don’t know how we got back,’ I told him.

‘You don’t?’

‘Last thing I remember was you passing out on the beach.’

Jude cringed, then said, ‘So I guess we just got up and
walked home at some point, and conked out on the sofa.’

‘You woke up on the sofa too?’

‘Yep – the other end.’

‘Why did we lie down there?’

‘No idea.’

Cornflakes finished, I stood up and walked over to the sofa.
Two white duvets were folded neatly and stacked in the middle.

‘And we got covers from the bedrooms and brought them out
here?’

‘Looks like it.’

Something red caught my eye, sticking out between the sofa
arm and the cushion where I’d slept. I pulled out a flier, folded over a white,
rectangular sheet of card. The flier was advertising a ladies-only night at
Club Infinity tonight. The card was printed with the Club Infinity logo and the
words
VIP Room Pass
.

I turned around and held up the flier. ‘You never mentioned
it was girls only tonight at the club?’

Jude’s face scrunched up and he came over and took the flier
from me.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘It was right there, where I was sleeping. I thought you –’

He was shaking his head. ‘Never seen this before.’ He saw
the VIP pass in my hand and took it. ‘What’s this?’

‘The flier was folded around it.’

The lines on Jude’s face smoothed out the moment he read the
card. ‘You know what this means?’ he said, looking up with wide eyes.

I shrugged dumbly.

‘It’s an invitation,’ he said. ‘To go to the club tonight.
You. Just you.’ He dropped the papers to the floor. ‘Someone’s been here, Scarlett.
The Fallen – they’ve found us!’

*

That night, as I queued up outside the club along with a
whole army of women in their glad-rags, I struggled more than usual to keep my
balance. It wasn’t the high heels. It wasn’t the hangover. It wasn’t the shoves
in the back from the lary women behind. It was the fact that my heart was
racing fast enough to explode and my breath was coming in quick, shallow
bursts.

Jude had done his best to calm me down: ‘It’s okay. I’ll be
right outside. You’ve got the mobile we bought in town. I’ve got mine. You can
call me anytime. And if anything happens – if you feel threatened, or
uncomfortable – you just Travel. To the apartment. And you call me and I’ll be
right
there
.’

I glanced across the road now to where he was leaning with
faux-nonchalance against a shop doorway. He saw me looking and fixed a
reassuring smile on his face – but he wasn’t quick enough; I’d seen the worry
there.

The woman in front shuffled forward, and I followed suit. I
eyed the woman’s basic black trousers and simple white shirt with envy. I was
in the flappy slit trousers again, with the silver top, which had lost most of
its shape and at least half its spangles the other night in a ‘stuck to a woman
in a Velcro dress’ fiasco. Completing the outfit was a pair of pink sandals
which were an uncomfortable combination of slipping all over the place and
crippling my toes, given the fact that I’d managed to pick up one size four and
one size seven.

The mobile in my clutch bag beeped. I pulled it out.

You doing okay?

I shot a smile across the road at Jude and then texted back:
Wish we’d gone with the idea of you dressing in drag to get in.

Across the road, I heard his laugh. My message tone beeped
again.

No way could I pull off the high heels. Seriously,
though, don’t be scared. I’m right here.

Don’t worry,
I replied.
I’m okay.

It was a lie, of course. I wasn’t okay. As far as I figured
it, one of the Fallen had found us on the beach last night, taken us back to
the apartment and left the invitation – and now he was waiting inside for me,
in the VIP room. If not Gabriel – club owner – then one of his guys. What was
okay about any of that?

‘You goin’ in or wot, luv?’

I started. The line in front of me had disappeared and the
gorilla of a bouncer was tapping his clipboard impatiently.

‘Sorry,’ I said, and flashed him the card. He barely gave it
a glance before grunting, ‘In yer go, then.’

So, with a final, desperate glance at Jude, I scooted past
and into the club.

In the main room, the heat hit me like a slap in the face
and the booming bass did nothing to calm my pounding pulse. My eyes flitted
straight to the VIP section – the connecting room, sectioned off with a rope
usually, where I’d sat with Luke and Cara and Si and the others on our weekend
away. Today, the purple velvet curtains that had always been open before (and
were, I’d assumed, only for show) were shut.

I had a little cowardly moment then. I leaned against the
back wall and struggled to get my breath and wished desperately that one of the
Ceruleans’ talents was time travel, and then I could just go back in time and
undo this whole big mess – back before I died, back before Sienna died. But
then I’d never have gone to Twycombe and met Cara and Luke. Scrub that, I
wished we were superheroes – impenetrable, unstoppable, immortal – then I’d
have nothing to fear in that room. But then I’d never grow old while those I
loved did, and…

Dammit. Why was I so
pathetic
! Why had I been born
the little mouse sister? Why couldn’t I be more like Sienna? She wouldn’t cower
in a corner. She’d be fearless, feisty, formidable. Her motto, after all, was:
‘Head up, shoulders back, chest out, take no prisoners.’

I was here to save her. And to save her, I’d have to step up
like her.

‘Right!’ I declared loudly, startling a weedy-looking man
walking past.

I snapped my head up.

I shoved my shoulders back.

I thrust my chest out.

I marched across the room, shoving, elbowing, stamping on
feet.

I reached the curtain. Grabbed it. Flung it back.

‘Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett,’ purred my sister. ‘What did
you do?’

I’d pictured this moment for a year, since the day I’d been
told she’d drowned. At first, when they told me my sister was dead, I’d had
desperate fantasies of her walking in the door and saying it was all a mistake.
Then, when I knew she was dead and gone, I dreamed of us reunited one day in
some beautiful heaven. Then, when I realised she was dead but not gone – well,
since then I’d imagined pretty much every scenario (though admittedly not the
two of us alone in the VIP room of a club). In each Sienna was glowing, radiant
with relief and happiness that I’d come for her. Not as she was now: perched on
a banquette seat, sipping a cocktail and looking kind of blasé.

But it was my sister, my sister! Here! Alive!
Here!

‘Sienna!’

I flung out my arms, took three steps, tripped over the
too-big shoe and fell on top of her.

‘Oof!’ she said. And then, ‘My mojito!’ And then, ‘I forgot
how clumsy you are.’ And then finally, when the fact sank in that I was gasping
for air and clinging to her like a limpet on a rock, she gave me a squeeze and said
quietly, ‘Missed you too, Lettie.’

I held on tight. Would have held on for ever had she not
said, ‘Er, mojito spillage?’ and squirmed under me until I shifted to sit
beside her.

As Sienna tutted and brushed at the liquid seeping into the
velvet of the seat, I stared at her, drinking in every detail. Her hair was a
vibrant red and spiked in all directions. Her eyes were green and framed by
lashes thick with mascara. Her lips were full and pouty and outlined with
deep-red lip pencil. Her face was all edges.

I looked down. She was wearing a simple black empire-line
maxi-dress that reached her ankles – a new look for her. But otherwise:

‘Same old Sienna,’ she said, ‘as you can see.’ She eyed my
outfit. ‘But not quite the same old Scarlett – what are you
wearing
,
sis?’

The causal way she said ‘sis’ brought tears to my eyes. It
had been so long since I’d heard that.

‘Scarlett, keep it together, eh?’

Her tone – a little sharp – snapped me back to the present.
My head shot around to check behind me. The curtains were closed. Turning back
to her, I barked a torrent of questions:

‘Who’s out there? Gabriel? Daniel? What have they done to
you? Are you okay? What are they planning? Why am I here? Why are you here?’

My sister said nothing; I didn’t give her a chance to before
changing tack.

‘Never mind – you can tell me later… Come on. We have to get
out of here.’

I stood up. My sister did not.

‘Sienna, come on. Jude is right outside.’

I reached for her hand. She pulled away and scooted along
the seat, away from me.

‘What are you –?’

‘I’m not coming with you, Scarlett,’ she said.

There was a look in her eyes I didn’t recognise. A new
emotion. Fear; it must be. I’d never seen my sister frightened before.

‘It’s okay,’ I said kindly, sitting next to her again.
‘You’re scared. But you have nothing –’

She snorted in a ‘you have that so wrong’ way and glided
even further from me until she ran out of seat, then stepped gracefully off the
banquette. ‘Scarlett,’ she said, ‘we’re not little kids and I don’t want to
play chase.’

Ignoring her, I kept slithering toward her even as she said,
‘Stay there. Shut up. And listen.’ But then, finally, she added words that make
me pause, half-dangling from the edge of the seat.

‘
What
did you say?’

‘You heard me, Scarlett. I don’t want to come with you.’

‘You… what?’

‘I don’t need rescuing. I don’t need your help – or Jude’s.
I’m perfectly happy with the Fallen.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘That’s the truth.’

I stood up, so that our eyes were almost level. She didn’t
flinch at all under my stare, but then, she never had.

Glancing at the curtain – still closed but billowing with the
movement of people behind it – I said in a low voice, ‘I know what you’re
doing. I know the deal you made with Gabriel at the end: if you’re one of them,
they’ll leave me alone, right?’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘I see Jude gave you my
diary. Interesting reading, was it? It tells a story, but not
all
the
story. Here’s what happened after The End: I woke up and realised I picked the
right people. These are my people. This is the side for me. Not for you,
though. You’re too…
Scarlett
.’

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Stared at this stranger
who looked a lot like my sister until an idea clicked into my head.

‘Stalingrad Syndrome,’ I said. ‘That thing where a hostage
bonds with their captors.’

Sienna snorted. ‘Stockholm Syndrome, you mean. And yes, I
have bonded. But no, they’re not my captors.’

‘What?’

‘Let me spell it out to you. I am
not
captive. I’m
perfectly free. You shouldn’t have come for me. I never wanted you to come for
me. I don’t want you here now. Go home with Jude.’

I looked around, for cameras, peepholes, any sign of outside
influence. ‘What is this – who’s put you up to this? They’re forcing you
somehow.’

‘No. They’re not. I went with Daniel of my own free will.
And I’ve stayed with the Fallen of my own free will. And I will be staying with
them,
always
, of my own free will.’

Her cool tone – so calm, so matter of fact – did nothing to
cool
me
. ‘I don’t believe you! I didn’t go through all this,
all this
,
to find you, only to discover you don’t give a damn. You’re lying, and we both
know it.’

She said nothing, but she moved further away from me,
towards the curtains.

I didn’t bother stalking towards her, though I wanted to – I
wanted to grab hold of her and shake the truth out of her. She clearly wasn’t
going to let me anywhere near her. I needed backup. I needed Jude.

I grabbed the clutch bag I’d abandoned on the table and
pulled out the phone. As I did, the message alert tone bleeped. Two words from
Jude:
You okay?

No,
I wanted to type back,
my stupid, pigheaded,
idiotic sister refuses to be rescued.

‘Is that Jude?’

I looked up. Nodded.

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Text him and tell him to meet us in
the alley out back.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ said my sister, ‘it’s quite clear neither of you
is going to leave me the hell alone without some proof that I don’t need
rescuing. So that’ll be my gift to you tonight.’