But now I couldn’t pretend anymore. Everything I’d tried had been a failure, and I’d lost my confidence. If I tried to do something else, I felt like I’d just screw that up too. Worst of all, there was a nagging voice at the back of my head wondering whether this was what I deserved. Will had been right all along: I had killed his sister, it had just been Rachel who’d delivered the final blow. I knew I was leaving Anne and Luna and Variam in the dark, but I couldn’t face talking to them, not now. Instead I just walked, flitting from shadow to shadow through the London night. Eventually I realised where my feet were taking me.
The cemetery was in Camberwell, tucked away behind an old church with a faded sign. Black iron spike railings surrounded it from the outside, and trees were planted around the edges, giving it a sheltered, shut-in feel. The gates were locked and I had to climb them to get in.
The inside of the cemetery was quiet and empty. The nearest main road was two streets away and the trees had a muffling effect, silencing the area so that the loudest sounds were the echoes of my footsteps around the tombstones. I suppose most people would have found it creepy, but I’ve never really been scared of cemeteries. It’s living people I’m afraid of, not dead ones.
The headstone was small, and it took me a long time to find it amongst all the others. It had once been white, but wind and rain had darkened it to grey. Flicking on my flashlight, I crouched down in front of it. The inscription read:
CATHERINE HELENA TRAVISS
1984–2002
BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART,
FOR THEY SHALL SEE GOD
Two larger headstones were set a little way behind it. I didn’t read them: I knew who they were for. I sat cross-legged on the grass and stared at the small headstone. The cemetery was dark and silent, and any wind was kept out by the trees. I was alone with the dead.
Catherine’s body wasn’t here. Shireen had told me that. Rachel had been the one who’d killed her, and Rachel hadn’t been concerned about funeral rites . . . or maybe she just didn’t want anything left to remind her of what she’d done. She’d disintegrated the bodies and left the dust to blow away. But at some point someone had found out what had happened, learnt that Catherine was dead, and cared enough to leave a headstone, and I wondered who it had been. Will, maybe? But he would have been in America. Maybe some other relation—a cousin, an aunt or uncle. Everybody has someone who’ll miss them, even if it’s just to notice they’re gone.
“So this is where it ends,” I said. My voice sounded very loud in the quiet of the cemetery. “All this time, you were just waiting here . . . I wonder how many people still remember this grave? You must have had people who cared about you, but it’s been ten years. They’ll have gone on with their lives.” I was silent for a little while. “Maybe I’ll end up in a place like this someday. Just a little headstone, and a few people who’ll forget . . .”
A train passed by along the railway lines one street over, the rumble of its wheels echoing over the rooftops. “I’m sorry I screwed things up,” I said. “I wanted to save you, but the only person I saved was myself. I just ran and I didn’t go back. All this time I’ve been trying to forget what I did, but now your brother’s here and he’s trying to kill me for it. What do you want? If you were here, would you tell Will to go away and live his own life? Or would you tell him that he was right, and I deserve it . . . ?”
There was no sound but the wind in the trees. Shireen might have stayed on after her death—or at least some part of her had—but Catherine wasn’t Shireen. Wherever she’d gone, either she couldn’t hear me or she wasn’t answering.
I sat by the grave for a long time, then got to my feet and left, leaving the cemetery empty behind me.
My memories of the rest of that night are fuzzy. I know I kept moving, but I don’t remember where I went or how. Most of the other people in the city were asleep and the few I met on the streets seemed to blur past without seeing me. I didn’t know where I was going and wandered aimlessly through the London night. The streetlights hurt my eyes, and I found myself sticking to parks and back streets where I could merge with the shadows. I felt strange: hyped and on edge, yet thin and stretched. I felt tired but my movements were quick and I could sense the presence of the people nearby. It seemed to be getting easier and easier to hide from them.
By the time the sky started to brighten in the east, I was on Hampstead Heath. I don’t know how I ended up there but I guess it’s like they say: home is the place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in. I didn’t want to go down to talk to Arachne but the grey light of dawn was spreading across the sky and the thought of being caught in the morning sunlight made me flinch. I found the ravine that hid the entrance to Arachne’s lair and touched the spot on the root that signalled her. I don’t remember what I said, but she opened the door.
I was stumbling by the time I made it down into Arachne’s cave, weaving from side to side. Arachne was working on something blue and white, but as she saw me she stopped, turning her head towards me. “Alex?” she said, the clicking rustle of her mandibles an undertone to her words. “What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing,” I said, shielding my eyes. “Can you turn the lights down?” I didn’t remember Arachne’s lair being so bright, but the glare was making me squint.
Arachne stayed still. It was hard to tell but I had the feeling she was staring at me. “How long have you been wearing that?”
“What?”
“Alex.” Arachne’s voice was sharp and clear. “How long have you been wearing your cloak?”
“I don’t know?” The light was making it hard to concentrate. “I just need to rest until the sun goes down. I’ll be—”
“Take it off,” Arachne said.
“What?” I squinted at her. “Why?”
“Take off your cloak,” Arachne said, pronouncing each word carefully. “Now.”
It was a simple enough request but I felt reluctant. The cloak was the only thing keeping me hidden; without it I wasn’t safe. “Look, just—”
It’s easy to forget how fast Arachne can move. She’s the size of a station wagon and by all rights she should be slow, but she’s much, much faster than she looks and she can go from a standing start to full speed in the time it takes you to blink. I should have seen it coming but my precognition’s tuned to sense danger, not movement, and by the time I realised it wasn’t registering, Arachne was on top of me. Her two front legs caught the mist cloak and yanked it off me in a single precise movement.
Light stabbed into my eyes, burning through my brain, erasing everything in white fire. My skin seemed to ignite, flaring in sudden agony, and I couldn’t see or hear or feel. All I could feel was light burning into me, too bright, too—
When I came to my senses I was lying on one of Arachne’s sofas. I tried to open my eyes, and the light sent a flash of pain bouncing around inside my head. I winced and screwed my eyes shut again.
“Why were you still wearing your cloak?” Arachne asked. I could smell her herbal scent, and from the sound of it she was right next to me.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” I muttered. I felt groggy, but also more awake; it was as though something that had been making my thoughts fuzzy was gone.
“I warned you,” Arachne said, and her voice was sharp. “When I gave you that cloak, I told you to be sparing about when you used it. Did you forget?”
“It was ten years ago, okay?”
Arachne sighed. “I suppose for you that is a long time, isn’t it? I keep forgetting how short human memories are.”