Wren Shadow had only ever recieved three gifts in her seventeen years.
They weren't the type of gifts you could put on your bedside table, or read, or wear, or play with. They weren't the type of gifts you could take to school or show to your friends. You wouldn't put them on your birthday list or your christmas list. These weren't the type of gifts you ask for.
Morning sunlight streamed in through the windows, reaching around the edge of the thin net curtains- the type that kept no light out whatsoever but seemed to look fancy from the street below. It didn't bother Wren all that much. She never needed her sleep anyway.
She pushed off her cover on her bed and stumbled across the room. The wooden floor was cold under her feet, after the carpet was ripped up to heat the orpahnage during the winter of 2998, her first year at the orpagnage.
She opened the window and leaned out, savouring the rare British sunlight on her face. There was a knock at the door, and the hatch at the base of it opened. Typical, thought Wren, as a tray of porridge slid through. The hatch was hurriedly slid shut. It seemed like the whole world was scared of her now. They won’t even go into my room anymore, she thought, poring the bowl of lumpy porridge down the sink. She’d eat later.
She stood in the shower, letting the warm water pour over her pale skin while trying and failing to drag a comb through her knotted hair.
Of course there’d been the scientists. Ever since she was abandoned at the orphanage by her terrified mother, scientists had been trying to get hold of her for tests. The problem of this was that scientists couldn't seem to keep their damn mouths shut, so, naturally, the whole world knew about her, and her 'dark and powerful talent' that people couldn't stop talking about but seemed to be scared of at the same time.
She looked in the mirror as she finished beushing her very dark brown hair. It was curling, as usual, and stood a stark contrast between her pale skin and green eyes. Sighing, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt then her blue DMs. She snatched up the scrap of paper that had arrived on the tray, and penciled down a few things she needed; conditioner, bar of soap, 10 pounds phone credit. Not that she needed phone credit. She had no-one to call. In fact, she used her phone more for listening to music and feeling the time then anything else.
The orphanage workers spoiled her rotten, giving her anything she wanted, in exchange for her staying permanently in her room. And she did just that. Or so they thought.
After putting in her earphones and slipping her messenger bag over her shoulder, she clambered onto the window sill and jumped off, landing five storeys down on the quiet back street behind the orphanage.
She still preferred her old home, Prague, to London; Prague had just been so much prettier. But she’d exceeded the age when the orphanage there stopped looking after kids when she was 15, so she came to London. London had it’s benefits, she supposed as she turned into Regent Street. London was so big and busy; it was easy to blend in. Also, whenever she needed to get out, Regent’s Park was literally a few streets away.
She stopped at a Pret and brought a breakfast bap, being careful to keep her hood low over her eyes as she payed.
She looked down at the pavement as she walked, watching the footprints outlined in their usual shining blue ink appear and fade. The lines that created a street map on the pavement were there as usual for her to follow; one of the things she could see and others couldn't.
From the beginning of her life, Wren had been abandoned by her so-called mother. But Wren had always managed to find her way home, thanks to the map on the ground that was always there, in it's shining blue ink. Before she was ten, she couldn't understand that her mother no longer wanted her, so just kept on coming home again and again. But one day, it finally clicked. She lost her mother in the crowd and found her way to the local orphanage, never to see her mother again.
She shouldered her way through the crowds of people on their way to work, shouting into phones and clutching briefcases. In the park, she wondered down the path, eating her sandwich and listening to the music blaring into her ears. She marvelled at the way music was so capable of drowning out things she didn't want to hear.
There was always the occasional child who seemed to be able to see everything, however hard she tried to disguise herself. This time, it was a little ginger girl with more freckles than skin. She pointed a chubby amr at Wren.
“Look, mummy! It’s that girl again!”
Wren silently cursed herself for not turning up her music more. But some things just have to be heard. Wren thought vaguely of a quote in one of her favourite books, The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green. ‘That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.’
“Lily!” The mother of the girl pulled her daughter by the arm, away from Wren’s path. She kept looking back at her over her shoulder while gripping her child’s wrist, eyes wide with fear. Wren sighed and kicked a pebble along the path a bit. She was suddenly glad of her long hair that masked her green eyes. Everyone associated those eyes with her now. Who else had eyes like hers; green, almost like grass mixed in with a sea-like blue, with a ring of brown around her iris. From the days when she used to go to school, all the other kids called her 'creepy eyes' along with the ususal nervous taunts that were thrown at her.
She decided eventually that she was bored of the park, and turned off at the next gate. She had money in her pocket, so she decided to stop by the book shop. She needed the final book of John Green’s anyway.
That was the second thing that kept out what she didn't need to hear. With books, Wren could just fall into a new world and make a home inside it, often finishing a book in one sitting because she didn't want to come back to reality. Books were the only thing that kept her sane; the only thing in that was always there in a world where people avoided you, and feared you, kept their children away from you.
A tiger in a zoo.
The Waterstones on Regent Street was heaving. Wren skirted the crowds, making for the Classics section. The books were lined in uniform rows, shelf upon self of them, reaching up to the ceiling. She reached around a bunch of chattering twelve-year-old girls and grabbed Looking for Alaska off the shelf. Wren winced as she brushed the book against a girl’s shoulder. The girl whirled around before Wren could retreat. She wanted desperately to engage her powers; if she wanted to she could’ve escaped the bookshop in one 10 metre leap, but then everyone would notice her.
If she concestrated hard enough, Wren could hear the thoughts that raced through the girl's head, not that she wanted to.
“Aren’t you-?” The girl began, but Wren had turned and left, loosing herself in the crowds.
_______________________________________________________________________
One Hundred and Thirty Six Days Before
The week before I left my my family and Florida and the rest of my minor life to go to boarding school in Alabama, my mother insisted on throwing me a going away party…
Wren closed the book, placing it on her beside table. She was too tired to read tonight. But yet she was dreading falling asleep. For tonight, like every other night, she’d have her dream…
There was a brief knock on the door. Wren threw down the book she’d been holding and went to open it, sighing irritably. A little girl with blonde plaits and closed eyes stood in the doorway. She looked about nine.
"What?" Wren asked, arms folded. The girl didn’t respond. Instead, her large eyes opened. But they weren't usual eyes. They were endless black tunnels, dark and wide. Wren wheeled backwards into her room. The little girl snarled, and leaped across the room into a corner, leading on all fours. Still on hands and knees, she advanced, teeth bared.
"You are one of us, Wren. You don't belong in this world."
Wren looked around wildly for something, anything, to fend off the hideous creature before her. But nothing came to hand. She tried to scream as the beast came towards her, but nothing came out. The girl leaped forward, and the world went dark.
The scene disintegrated, and Wren sat up, panting and sweating, sheets in a twisted mess at her feet. It was just a dream. Not real.
These dreams were recurring. Wren put it down to her powers. Usually, she would get up and sit on the window sill, watching the cars and taxis creep by. It was relaxing and took her mind off the dream.
But tonight was not usual. Every time she had the dream, she would always manage to kill the creature in her dream; with a lamp, a book, a chair. But tonight, she hadn’t. She didn't know what she meant, only that it scared her. Tonight her room felt stuffy and enclosed.
Shrugging on her hoodie over the clothes that she was still wearing and pulling on her worn blue DMs, she slipped the through the open window, landing lightly on the pavement below. It was dark and drizzling, the light from the street lamps blurred by the rain. She could see each falling raindrop with absolute clarity, clear and glittering as it fell though the air and hit the pavement. She pushed her hood up over the curtain of dark brown hair, staring at the wet road beneath her feet. A police siren wailed in the distance.
As she turned onto Carlton Avenue, she stopped dead. A dark, shadowy figure dressed all in black was standing in the spotlight of a streetlamp, facing away from her. It was a boy, slim and dark skinned. His hair was hidden by a hood. He turned suddenly, fixing a pair of dark blue eyes directly on her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she caught sight of what he was holding. A silver knife, gleaming in the yellow light. He was turning it over and over in his hands. He grinned maliciously.
Wren’s heart threw itself against her chest. She looked down at the pavement and hurried on, feeling the boy’s gaze digging into her back.
She turned into a deserted cafe a few streets down, picking a booth near the rain spattered windows.
"Can I get you anything?" A tired looking waitress arrived at the booth. Wren scanned the laminated menu for a second. She could see the blue outlines of previous finger prints covering the card.
"Just a cappuccino, please." She didn't look at the waitress. She scribbled on a pad of paper and stalked off. Wren sat back, eyes closed. She looked up as the bell on the door tinkled. A shadowy figure stepped into the cafe, wearing a long leather, sleeveless coat, the hood drawn up around his face, underneath which he wore a black t-shirt and pair of black jeans. He threw himself down into a booth, looking at Wren through a lock of dark brown hair. Wren’s stomach flipped. It was the boy.
The waitress came by with her coffee and went to serve the boy, who was sitting in the booth opposite her. He spoke quietly, without taking his eyes of Wren. She panicked. She could run, she supposed, but she didn't have to see it to believe that the boy would be faster, or, at the very least, be able to keep up with her. Her powers did give her the ability to run pretty fast.
When the waitress disappeared, the boy got up and loped over Wren’s booth. He slid in opposite her, and Wren felt her eyes widen. He was tall and muscular, with tanned skin and dark blue eyes that were seemingly bottemless. His brown hair fell was cut long enough that it fell into his eyes. She was about to call out, but the boy grabbed her wrist.
“Shh, she’ll hear you.”
Wren was about to point out that that was the reason why she was going to call out in the first place, but the look in the boy’s eyes silenced her.
“Don't talk. Listen,” he said, not letting go of her wrist. “I know about you, and what you can do. You’re not alone, I promise you. I can do it too. And if you let me, I can take you away from this world and bring you to ours, where’ll you’ll fit in and be one of us.”
Wren opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came to her.
"Look, Wren, I know that I am almost abnormally hasdsome, and yes, I should have a modelling job, but you must stop staring at me and say something. Anything? WOuld really help, ya'know."
Wren felt herself blush.
“I don’t even know your name. What makes you think that I’ll just come with absolutely no idea who you are? And how do you know my name, creep?”
“They warned me about your defensive personality. Cara will approve. Oh, and I am not a creep, thanks.”
Who was Cara? And who the hell warned him about her 'defensive personality'?
“Give me one reason why I should come with you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the boy planted his hands on the table and fixed his gaze on Wren. “The opportunity to get away from people who think you’re dangerous. An outcast. People who actually fear you. How can you decline something like that? Or do you enjoy being a freak?”
Wren was silent.
“Tell me your name. Then I’ll come,” she said after a while. The boy grinned, dropping his gaze. He leaned back against the padded booth.
“My name is Hale. Just Hale. Are we happy now?”
“Oh, I’m more than happy.”
______________________________________________________________
“Right. So, you tell me I’m not alone. There are more of me." Wren pulled her hood up around her face.
"You could say that. You've heard about the Fire Triangle? Please tell me you have."
Wren nodded. She knew from her chemistry lessons that the fire triangle was how a fire burned. A fire needed only three things; heat, fuel and oxygen. If you removed an element, the fire went out. If you put them together, the fire will burn,
“Our motto is ‘Simul aut ne vix quidem’; together, or not at all,” continued Hale.
"But unfortunately, I lied slightly when I told you you would 'fit in'." He made the quotation marks in the air with his fingers.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, well, I'll explain everything when we get back. There's a guide to these things, you know."
Wren was silent.
"Here we are."
Wren looked up at the tall, faded brick building before her.
“You brought me back to the orphanage?”
“You seriously think I'm gonna let you leave with spare clothes? What kind of a monster would I be?”
Wren shrugged. “Fair enough.” She bent her knees, and pushed herself off the pavement, grabbing the familiar windowsill of her bedroom. She pulled herself up with her forearms, and swung in through the still open window. The covers were still in a mess, half on the floor. She reached for the tattered rucksack that hung on the edge of her bed, and threw in as many clothes as she could either pick up off the ground or pull out of her wardrobe. She swept her small collection of books off her bedside table and grabbed her toothbrush from the pot in the bathroom. She scribbled a short note on a scrap piece of paper:
Gone somewhere where’ll I won’t be treated like an animal. You know, E-Q-U-A-L-L-Y. Don’t bother looking for me.
She felt a small surge of defiance as she placed it on her pillow. They’d find it eventually. She poked her head out of the window, then lobbed her rucksack out of the window. Hale dodged it at the last second, then looked up, his face baring an expression of mock annoyance. Wren rolled her eyes and dropped out of the window. Hale picked up the rucksack and handed it to her. She snatched it and slung it over her shoulder.
“What do you have in there?” Hale wrinkled his nose.
“Books,” she answered shortly. “Where next?”
“Follow me, and I will show you.”
Wren felt a short surge of annoyance. How could this boy be so laid back?
She almost had to run to keep up with Hale’s long strides.
“God you're irritating. And don't think for one second that I'm 'enjoying' this sectretism. I don't come from a crap romance novel.” Wren folded her arms. It was still raining.
“Exactly how many romance novels do you read?” Asked Hale without looking at her. Wren could see his lips moving discreetly as he counted silently.
“A few. I like John Green,” she admitted. "Not that I think John Green is crap."
This seemed to have no effect.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Wren noticed that they were now out of the centre of London, and were now making their way down a wide street lined with large, modern flats with loft conversions. Hale reached the end of the street, and stopped outside a slightly dilapidated looking flat, a world away from the others that lined the street. Hale shouldered open the door, and walked inside. Inside, the floor was covered with grey dust sheets, the walls bare and concrete. Dust hung thickly in the air. Hale moved to go up the stairs, making no sound, whereas Wren clumped noisily in her DMs, disturbing the dust. She winced every time she hit a sore floorboard. Upstairs, there was only a narrow corridor with identical doors on each side. Hale walked slowly along them, counting under his breath. He stopped outside the fifth one, arms flung wide.
“Wren, let me introduce you to the Dimension Doorway.”
Blue light spilled out of each crack in the door, flooding into the otherwise dark corridor. Hale’s dark blue eyes shone as he pulled open the door, revealing a swirling, silvery blue surface, much like a swimming pool but seemingly thicker.
"Ok, so when I go in, I'll stick my hand back through. Then you'll follow me. If I'm not back in ten minutes, re-dial the most recent call on this thing." He threw a phone at Wren. Hale walked up to the doorway, and placed a hand on the surface, squeezing his eyes shut. Wren didn't ask what he was doing. She’d seen enough strange things that night to know that it was probably best if she just took it in her stride.
Hale’s eyes reopened, and he walked though the doorway, letting the blue swallow him whole. Wren held her breath. She sighed in relief when Hale’s hand appeared though the blue, his long, calloused fingers forming a thumbs up. Rolling her eyes, Wren stepped forward, and let the blue consume her.