Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (23 page)

"If there's one thing I hate more than ghosts, its people who give Witches a bad name."

We finish off the pizza and Dad hands out slices of birthday cake.

"I have one more surprise for you all," he says.

I throw my hands into the air in mock surrender. I'm not sure I can take any more surprises. Dad hands me a wooden frame with an old faded photograph inside.

"I found this locked away in Blake's office."

It's a photograph of a group of young people standing in front of The Agency mansion. I look at the faces closely, scanning from left to right.
The first one is Menzies Blake and the sight of him makes me recoil. He looks much younger and less conniving as he stands apart from the others. The next person along is unfamiliar. I show Zara and Aaron but they look equally perplexed. Dad decides to help us out.

"Zara, Aaron: the man standing next to Blake was your father."
They fall silent, each lost in their own thoughts. "He was a good Agent," says Dad. "I have lots of stories I can tell you about him. We don't need to keep secrets here anymore."

Dad allows
Zara and Aaron the time to digest the information and study the face in the photograph. I'm sure they had both assumed that their abilities came from their separate mothers.

"It's sad that your father succumbed to his powers. It's a reminder to us all that the gifts we have do not come without a debt."

This is the unspoken darker side to The Agency. Zara and Aaron's father is not the only victim of his abilities. Zara's mother ended up in a mental hospital and Aaron's mother turned to a life of alcoholism as a coping mechanism. And then there's my mother, and whatever happened to her. . .

"Mum!" I point to her in the photograph. She's standing right next to Dad who has his arm around her waist. She looks so young and happy. When my mother
disappeared, I lost a parent, a best friend and a part of me. Nobody could ever replace her. The numbness of her loss had passed, but every now and then the pain hits me out of nowhere.

"You know, your mother gave you the name Sasha for a reason."

My eyes widen and I'm anxious to hear more. Dad's eyes look watery. A lump in my throat stops me from speaking. The pang I feel at the mention of her name wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face.

"Sasha means "Defender of Mankind." Your mother realised that you were born with special abilities. You're a special person too, Sash, just like her."

A pang hurts my chest, but the memory of my mother doesn't overwhelm me as it did a few days ago. Maybe it's because I finally understand who she was, and who I am, and that I have a part of her that lives in me. It's a small detail, but has profound significance to me. I now know that Dad will talk to me — can talk to me — when he's ready. I long to hear more, but for now I settle safe in the knowledge that in time I'll learn about her life.

There's a warm silence, the kind only close friends and family share. It's eventually broken by Zara.

"So, little-miss-superstitious, do you know the origins of the number thirteen?"

I shake my head, unsure of whether I want to know the answer.

"One theory is that it originated in Witchcraft. The idea of the number thirteen being unlucky started with Witches' covens having twelve members, the thirteenth being the devil. So, do you think you're ready to help us banish a coven?"

I consider her offer with a smile.

"Born ready. I suppose."

Misery is our business at The Agency but I've never been happier than right now. I may have lost a mother, but in the last week I've gained a father, a sister and a potential boyfriend. I know them, and they know me. All people, it seems, are made up of layers and layers of secrets. It just so happens that our secrets are a little more complicated. Today is the first time in a long time I've removed my hoodie, taken off my scarf, and allowed people into my life.

As for tomorrow, the future for me is an uncertain one; Dad may be the new leader of The Agency but I have a distinct feeling that life isn't about to get any easier. The mystery of Dystopia Day, and what happened to my mother, is in America. And who knows what lies ahead in my training at The Academy? Old habits die hard and I'm not completely convinced that my bad luck streak has come to an end. But for the first time in my life I'm learning who I am without knowing why or how. The powers I've inherited from my mother are still new to me. As for the coven of Black Witches, the mere thought makes me shudder. If I really was born for this life, I guess I'll find out soon enough.

TO BE CONTINUED

The story continues in
Hysteria
. Read the first chapter now. . .

Chapter 1

Sasha Hunter

We walk cautiously toward the graveyard, the night time mist slithering and twining around our legs. A half moon shines down on us but the dense fog stifles everything, making our path through the dark grounds shadowy and treacherous. I shiver as a chilly, sideward wind scatters the fog to reveal a pair of old, iron gates and the heavy chain that holds them. Aaron points a flashlight to illuminate a rusty padlock, enabling Zara to work her lock-picking skills. She tried in vain to show me how to do it recently. I sat there for an hour, rotating the small wires and doing nothing but frustrating myself. In less than thirty seconds, Zara has the lock open, although I've seen her do it much quicker.

We pass through the moss-covered gates which seem to groan in warning when forced open. The moonlight outlines a small chapel and before it the scattering of headstones, tombs and memorial plaques. I tread
cautiously across the uneven ground, then almost jump out of my skin when a rat scuttles across our path.

The perimeter of the abandoned chapel is sealed off by
blue and white tape which warns 'Police Line ─ Do Not Cross'. Aaron pulls the plastic line down, inviting us over with the flourish of his hand.

"After you ladies," he says with a grin.

It's a gesture that would be more appropriate at a posh restaurant than a cold, dark graveyard. Zara ducks underneath the section behind him, no doubt seeing Aaron's gentlemanly gesture as an infringement on her status. Dad has made her Team Leader for this assignment and she's keen to impress. Aaron offers me a hand as I almost trip in the tangle of ivy and half broken headstones. I'm nervous, and when he wraps his fingers around mine, his Empath senses pick up on it immediately.

"Don't worry, Sasha, this will be a piece of cake." He rubs a hand over his taught stomach. "
Mmmm, I could just eat some cake. . ."

Aaron never fails to make me laugh, no matter what the situation.

Barely a month has passed since the events at the Tower of London. After everything we've been through, I expected a little more recovery time before our first field assignment. Aaron still moves stiffly from the gunshot wound to his shoulder and Zara bears visible scars from her battle against the Metamorph. It feels surreal to think that the deadly creature masqueraded as our housekeeper and my friend. I'm still distraught over Kat's betrayal and I shudder as I recall how close she came to ending my life that night. Zara motions us toward her as we approach the chapel and I'm forced to focus on the task at hand.

"Alr
ight, let's recap on the assignment," she says, ever the professional. "This burial site was part of a recent police investigation where three graves were exhumed. Incidents of paranormal activity have since been reported. It seems that the police disturbed more than just the earth under our feet. We're dealing with a Level Two Apparition, the malevolent kind."

I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, telling myself that it's jus
t the cold wind giving me goose bumps.

"Sounds like a grave situation," says Aaron, nudging me with his elbow. "Get it, grave situation?"

Zara stares at Aaron, shutting him up in a way that no words could have.

"Do you both remember the drill?" she barks, flicking a moth out of the way irritably.

The last few weeks have been a case of sensory overload and my mind has gone completely blank. Thankfully, Aaron has no problem recalling the important rules that I'm unable to remember.

"It's the three 'Fs'",
he says confidently. "Find them. Face them. Force them away."

I give myself a mental head slap. Of course, how could I forget? The Agency rules for banishing ghosts are about as basic as it gets. Firs
t of all we need to locate them. Secondly, we must face up to them without showing any fear. Finally ─ and most importantly ─ use our sixth-sense abilities to banish them.

"You make it sound so easy," I mutter.

Zara places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You've taken on much worse than this," she says, and she's right.

I'm just hoping that my handling of The Hangman Ghost wasn't a case of beginner's luck. If it was, it would be the first time in my life I've had any form of good luck.

"Wait," says Aaron. "I forgot the fourth 'F'."

Zara and I share a confused glance. Aaron seems to enjoy a moment of suspense, revelling in the fact he knows something Zara doesn't.

"Find t
hem, Face them, Force them away. . . then Funky dance!"

He starts to wiggle his hips,
making crazy movements with his legs. I press my lips together, trying hard to suppress my laughter, but it bursts out anyway and irritates Zara even more.

"It's my victory dance," he explains, making robotic movements with his arms.

Zara shakes her head then makes an interrupting cough.

"If you don't mind Hart, you happen to be dancing on someone's grave." Aaron looks down,
then sidesteps sheepishly. "Now, do you think we can get on with this?"

I can't look at Aaron without laughing again, so I turn my attention to the chapel. It's a small building which has suffered the ravages of dereliction over time. Dense ivy clings to its spire and weeds spill out of the guttering at roof level. Graffiti adorns the walls as though the place has been claimed by a local teenage gang.

Aaron drops to one knee and places both palms onto the dew covered grass. He closes his eyes in concentration and I can tell he's completely focussed on the job at hand. While Aaron loves to joke around, I know him well enough to realise that it's all just a ruse and underneath he's a truly professional Agent.

"Hundreds of souls reside here but none have passed recently." His voice is hushed and serious. "Most are peaceful but I'm sensing an unsettled female spirit."

Zara pulls out a notepad and flips it open.

"That will be the ghost of Elizabeth Grey," she says, reading aloud. "She was an Eighteenth Century Countess accused of poisoning her entire family. After some of the graves were exhumed, a group of teenagers were hanging around here and reported a ghostly sighting. Days later, they all fell seriously ill and were hospitalised due to the inhalation of a mysterious toxin. This place has been sealed off ever since."

"Pesky kids, eh?" says Aaron with a tut while brushing the dirt from his knees.

The irony of his statement isn't lost on me; I'm
only sixteen years old and Aaron is barely seventeen himself. Zara flips her notepad closed and flicks on a flashlight.

"We'll split up," she says.
" Step one: find the Apparition. You two cover the graveyard, I'll take a look inside the chapel. We'll meet back here in ten minutes."

She's brave to
venture out alone but deep down I know that Zara would sooner perform this investigation on her own, given the choice. At twenty-three years old, she's an experienced Agent and has taken part in dozens of previous assignments. She nods to us, straightens her designer glasses then heads off toward the chapel.

"Just you and me now, Sasha," says Aaron, slipping his fingers between mine.

He smiles at me warmly, no doubt sensing that I'm still on edge. I grip his hand as he guides me across the undulating ground. There's something about being around Aaron that makes me feel safe and confident; his physical presence relaxes and reassures me. We've spent very little time alone over the last month. Shortly after our return to The Agency, Dad called a gathering of all the other Agents. The mansion became a hive of activity as people arrived from all over the country. I was amazed at their diversity; there was such a vast range of backgrounds and age groups. I am the youngest, of course. But then I'm not an Agent just yet ─ it all depends on coming through challenging situations like this.

Aaron scans his flashlight across the headstones, searching for the grave of Elizabeth Grey. I run the rule of Three F's through my mind in preparation for what's to come. Finding the Appar
ition should be fairly straightforward with the help of Zara and Aaron. Facing up to it is harder than it sounds. When confronted by a ghost, natural instincts take over urging you to scream and run, and that's what most people do. But that's also what malevolent spirits want; evil feeds on fear. I recall my first face-off with The Hangman Ghost in the forest behind The Agency mansion and I reassure myself that I can do it again. The last 'F' is Force and refers to the act of Banishment; this is the bit I've struggled with the most.

"Remind me of what I need to do to force a spirit away," I say, turning to face Aaron.

"Really, Sash? We've only been through it like a hundred times." He's teasing me as usual but also doing a good job of distracting me from our sinister surroundings. "OK, one last time. Once you face up to the spirit and show no fear it will try to flee. You have a few short seconds to control it using your powers. If it's a harmless spirit, a blue orb will appear and you simply guide it back to its own world. If it's malevolent, a red orb will emerge and the spirit will fight against being forced into it. Are you following me?"

He gi
ves me a cursory glance to make sure I'm OK. I nod, repeating the key words in my mind: blue orb for good spirits, red orb for bad. Aaron chuckles to himself as the chaos of my emotions flow through our joined hands.

"Banishment is the fun bit," he continues. "Everyone has their own style. I call mine 'The Superman' ─ one arm locked out in front, fist balled. It's simple: channel your energy to control the spirit and
guide it into the orb. It's just like flying a kite."

I was always useless at flying kites. My only experience of handling a malevolent sprit was at the Tower of London, when I extracted The Hangman Ghost from my father and transferred it to the corrupt
Menzies Blake. I managed to do it using the Athame knife, my Witch tool passed down from my mother. It's currently nestled in my pocket and never leaves my side.

Aaron stops in his tracks and I almost bump into him. He fixes the
flashlight onto a leaning headstone and I train my eyes on the inscription.

IN MEMORY OF ELIZABETH GREY

DIED FRIDAY 13 SEPTEMBER 1813

R.I.P.

"Looks like we got lucky," says Aaron.

I wouldn't have put it that way. She died on the same date that I was born ─ Friday the Thirteenth ─ in the thirteenth year of that century. That's a whole lot of thirteen. I wonder whether she was cursed with bad
luck, like me. Aaron lowers the flashlight onto the stone slab that marks her grave.

"No sign of a disturbance here," he says. "I wonder how she managed to poison those
teenagers?"

A hissing sound cuts through the air, timed as though in answer to his q
uestion. Through the flashlight, I watch as a green mist escapes from the edges of the stone slab.

"Don't breathe in!" Aaron claps a hand over his mouth while dragging me backward.

I press my scarf against my nose and mouth. I've not had to deal with an asthma attack for several weeks but now I start to feel the trademark symptoms: tight chest, dry mouth, snatched breaths. My eyes widen as a pale shape rises from underneath the stone, forming into a human frame. It wears a white, flowing garment ─ like a night gown ─ and has luscious dark hair. It could be beautiful if it had skin. Instead, its arms and fingers are made of exposed yellowed bone and its face is skull-like, with black holes for eyes. The skeletal jaw opens into a gaping grimace and more green mist spurts out.

"Get back," shouts Aaron, stumbling on a broken headstone and falling
backward.

He hits the ground and groans as he clutches his already injured shoulder.

I instinctively drop to his side to support him, not realising it's the wrong thing to do.

"No," yells Aaron. "Don't look at me, you've got to face it and control it!"

I turn but it's too late. The ghostly form of Elizabeth Grey drifts across the graveyard as though on castors, heading toward the chapel. By failing to face it, I've allowed the spirit to escape. I stand rooted and watch as it drifts through the wall of the small church where Zara is performing her investigation.

"I messed up," I confess to Aaron, helping him to his feet and away from the dispersing green mist.

"Don't worry about it," he reassures me. When he tries to walk he cries out in pain. "I think I've twisted my ankle. Go and help Zara, she doesn't know what's coming. And Sasha, please be careful in there."

I nod and steel myself, determined to make up for my stupid mistake. Nervousness wracks my system as I race across the graveyard and up to the chapel door. "Stay calm,
Sasha," I tell myself. "Find it. Face it. Force it away."

I open the wooden door slowly, the same one Zara used to
enter. Without the moonlight, the chapel is dark and eerie looking. Once my eyes adjust, I'm able to take in the surroundings: the rotting roof beams above, upturned pews in front and spray-paint defaced walls around me. At the far end is a dilapidated altar, with a door to one side. There is no sign of Zara, or the ghost of Elizabeth Grey.