sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

four | et invenies mea fiet

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Which station are you getting off at?"

"Llandudno," she replied, butchering the pronunciation despite having only just heard it.

"You're welcome to buy another ticket, if—"

"But I can't," she interrupted, "I don't have any money. Can't you just be a dear and replace the one I had?"

His face was reddening now in both impatience and discomfort. Devan felt a smug sense of satisfaction at the sight of it; humans were so easy to wind up and toy with. "Ma'am that's not possible. If you're not willing to pay, you're going to have to come with me."

Devan stood up. She was taller than him, and she used it to her advantage, glaring down at the small little man. She'd had enough of being told what to do today, enough of humans and sisters and Protectors. "No."

The conductor raised his eyebrows. Devan realised the passengers in the seats surrounding them were looking at them now, silently witnessing the exchange so that they could go home and gossip about it later, no doubt. She couldn't help but smirk as the adrenaline began to rush through her veins, dulling her frustration. This was a game, now, of cat and mouse.

The moving carriage rocked the two of them from side to side as they weighed each other up. "Ma'am," the conductor said again, his voice no longer cheerful but timid. "Would you mind removing your sunglasses?"

"Yes. I would mind."

He bit his lip, debating his next move. "If you're not going to co-operate, I have to ask you to alight at the next stop. Whatever the issue is, you can take it up with a station manager."

Devan looked around, plucking the ticket that the businesswoman in front of her had been clutching in her hands and shoving it at the conductor. The woman watched, her mouth agape in bemusement. "Here. My ticket. Is that enough co-operation?"

The conductor shook his head, giving the businesswoman her ticket back. His fingers were rough as he pulled away the ticket, his nails bitten down to the quick. "That's it. I'm calling the police. Come with me, ma'am."

He grabbed her by her upper arm, pulling her from the aisle. On instinct, Devan slapped him, her nails scratching the flesh of his cheek and leaving behind three red, jagged lines running parallel to one another. The conductor held his cheek in shock, gasps and mutters erupting behind her. He opened his mouth to say something, but Devan stopped him as she felt the train slow. The announcement that they had arrived at an unfamiliar station stop echoed through the train.

"Next stop, Shotton. Shotton is your next stop."

"Oh, look at that," she said, smoothing down her clothes and picking up her bag. "It's my stop. Don't worry about the ticket. I'm sure someone here will help me."

She pushed past the conductor quickly, glad now she was at the back of the train so that she was closer to the doors. She stepped down onto the platform, looking at her hands, which were now clenched into fists. Her knuckles were white from the tightening of her skin over the bone, and as she turned them over, she found dried blood under her long, black nails. 

She looked up as the doors closed and the train began to depart. A few passengers had their faces pressed to the grotty windows, watching her with curiosity. The conductor was motioning angrily to her, talking to someone who was shrouded in the window's reflected shadows, but it was too late. The train was disappearing, and with it the adrenaline and anger. She had been childish, but she didn't care. She had felt it building up inside of her all morning; the need to do something she shouldn't. Now that she had, it was as though a weight had been lifted off her.

An elderly woman passed her on the platform, huffing and puffing. She stopped and turned, her eyes a steely grey. "Excuse me, love," she said. "Was that train you were just on going to Llandudno?"

"Yes, it was," Devan answered in a monotone voice.

"These bloody trains are always too early or too late," she muttered under her breath, wandering away from Devan. Devan watched, narrowing her eyes at the woman's handbag. If she was waiting for the train to Llandudno, she would have a ticket.

Devan tried to picture it from what she had seen of the woman's she had taken on the train. It had been green and orange, the destination and time stamped on it in bold black letters. She imagined it rattling around with her old coins, loose and slightly crumpled at one corner, still tainted with the elderly woman's fingerprints. Then, she closed her eyes, feeling the wind brush through her hair as she whispered under her breath:

Ego vocare te tessera

Veni in latus meum:

Et invenies mea fiet.

I summon you ticket

Come to my side

Find me and become mine.

The wind dropped, the familiar thrum of power that seemed to synchronise perfectly with Devan's heartbeat pulsing just beneath the surface of her skin. She smiled, putting her hands in her pockets and feeling the smooth piece of card fall into her palm. She pulled it out to be sure it had the right destination printed on it.

Llandudno.