Creaole

Creaole moved slowly. Her gaze was fixed on her feet, and definitely not on the space beneath her feet where the floor should be. As far as her eyes were concerned, she was a very, very long way above the ground. She placed each step against the flawlessly transparent surface with care she did not have time to take, whilst trying not to concentrate on the fall into twilight that stretched beneath her. Creaole knew the glass would take her weight, but she also knew that somewhere around here there was a gap. Likewise, she was fully aware that this place was just one room of many – there were many below it, and as many above it – and yet if she fell through the hole the fall would be as real as if she really was suspended three hundred metres above the ground.

The first time she had passed through this room she had brought flour, chucking it before her feet to mark a path in palest cream. This time flour wasn’t an option. She glanced behind her. Walls of glass distorted the air between her and the suspended black door she had come in through. The door remained closed.

Creaole took a deep breath to calm the frantic thrum of her heart. She fixed her concentration on the nothing in front of her and took another step forward. Through trial and error she found the limits of the hole, breathing through clenched teeth as she edged around it. Then she threw caution to the wind. Her blood throbbed in her ears as she ran the last fifty metres. Her palms were tacky as she grasped the handle of the twin to the door she had come in through, one of three identical exits suspended in the twilight sky. It swung open easily. Creaole rolled through, closing her eyes in relief as endless nothing was replaced by stolid stone worn smooth by the eons.

On the other side she slumped for just a moment to catch her breath and try and calm the frantic beating of her heart. She didn’t dare stop for long, and soon she was sprinting down the hallway in front of her. Above her head the ceiling disappeared into the grey twilight that engulfed everything in this place. Creaole’s bare feet met the ground, tangles of her dark hair came free of the nest above her head, the end of one of her ribbons worked loose to curl behind her like a beacon. She tucked it back against a matted fold and pressed her pin and spare light ball in more tightly against her scalp.

Seemingly at random she ground almost to a halt and turned a corner that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The walls of the hallway cavern faded into striped grey wallpaper that framed a cylindrical room. A set of wrought iron stairs wound up, fading into the darkness. Creaole jumped the first two steps, steadying herself against the banister as she landed on the smooth metal. Then she was running up into the pressing darkness.

Up and up she went, her head beginning to spin with the endless twists. Her lungs burnt and her heart beat quickly for a very different reason. Until just as abruptly as it had appeared, the stairs ceased. Creaole didn’t waste a moment, she launched herself forward into the nothing, rolling through the impact as she landed in a hallway that was identical to the one below. She took three steps forward, then turned one eighty and ran back the way she had come.

Such were the rules of the Gateway. Follow them and you would be fine, but if you didn’t know what they were, the chances were you would never find your way out. Although in this place there were far worse things than getting lost.

Creaole returned to the previous landing, but as she left the last step, the wallpaper didn’t fade to stone. She strode into a corridor lined with doors, the pale pink of the walls stripped of all but the barest hint of colour. She was so close, and the knowledge brought a grin to her parted lips.

Her smile was cut off by a chill breeze that ran up the back of her neck. She peered over her shoulder, eyes suddenly wide as she darted through the nearest door. The room on the other side was black. Not the twilight darkness that prevailed everywhere else, but full soul sucking darkness that tugged at her edges. She could feel smooth stones beneath her feet, but that was all her senses could pull from the utter darkness.

Without thinking, her hand wrapped around the object that hung from the chain around her neck. Her fingers closed over a sphere, no larger than a quail’s egg. She felt it warm against her palm, but she grimaced, and tucked it back down beneath her blouse. She couldn’t risk a light.

Once again she was reduced to inching her way forward step by step, checking the way with the soles of her feet as all her other senses screamed against the nothing. With questing footsteps she reached an edge to the little cobbled path. She took half a step backward. Panic flared beneath her skin as her mind refused to bring up the answer to which way she needed to turn. There were five directions: one was the way she had come, one was the way she needed and three would slowly fade into nothing, leaving her floating aimlessly in the dark until she became part of the emptiness. Or until she was found by one of the creatures that haunted this place.

The soft click of a door closing brought her heart up into her throat. Creaole froze in place, her mind running circles. Snuffling broke the suspended silence. She peered the way she had come, but she could see nothing.

The sounds of padding footsteps joined the thundering beat of her heart.

Creaole bared her teeth, defiance coursing through her as her hand scrabbled for the necklace she’d tucked away. She turned to the left, her steps hurried as she chose a way. Her hand wrapped around the familiar warmth, and shook. Light seeped from between her fingers, pressing against the darkness with difficultly, to fall thick and tinged grey against the pale cobbled path that appeared beneath her feet. She released the ball and it bobbed against her stomach as she ran.

Her eyes adjusted and she broke into a full blown sprint. The faint sound of sniggering erupted behind her and Creaole risked a glance over her shoulder. There, just within the dirty grey light that was cast from her necklace, stood a dog. It was hairless and dusky black, its form shimmered and twisted against the darkness. Bright as diamond eyes fixed on Creaole and an entirely too human lopsided smirk bared teeth that were blindingly white and terrifyingly sharp. She muttered a faint curse beneath her breath and lengthened her stride.

She could see the exit. The door that would lead back onto that striped pink corridor; to the part where she needed to be. The distance melted away with every pounding step, but she could hear the dog’s slobbering breaths growing louder. She could sense the exhaled warmth with every snap at her heels. But she was so close.

She launched herself against the door, scrabbled for the handle, jarring her wrist as she tumbled through the doorway with none of her earlier elegance. The dog followed her, the breath forced from her lungs as its paws landed against her shoulders, ploughing her into the ground.

A bellow was forced from her lungs as she scrabbled round, pushing at limbs that gave way oddly beneath her touch, the skin elastic but the teeth very much not so.

‘Oi! You elastic brained lummox, you cheated!’ she snarled as she wedged a hand against the dog’s chin to keep its tongue from her face. It made no difference, and a sticky lick was her loosing present before Shin sat back on his haunches in his new form.

‘Didn’t cheat.’ The voice wasn’t really human, but it certainly didn’t sound like it should have been coming from an evil hound.

‘I said no powers.’ Creaole smeared slobber from her cheek and pushed herself up. She had landed in the middle of a circular room. The roof was an arch of the same strangely colourless pink wallpaper as the previous corridor, the stripes twisting in a way that made Creaole’s head ache if she stared to long at the apex. The walls were made up of doors, the edge of each one touching the next, and if Creaole peered too long at any particular one her eyes started to ache and they blurred into each other.

Creaole ignored the doors, her attention only for the black dog. It chuckled just before its skin began to shift from beneath. Shin blurred for a fraction of a moment, and then he was morphing; his skinny canine limbs drew back into themselves, his snout flattened, until suddenly there wasn’t a dog anymore. Shin was sat cross legged on the floor, back in his usual form, which mostly resembled a teenager around the same age as Creaole. Although his shape was about the only part of him that looked like a human. His skin still shimmered with darkness, it swirled across his skin, somewhere between grey and black and a surprising number of shades in-between. His eyes were still two bright white circles, though they were set beneath brows, and the shape of a nose rose between them. He parted grey-black lips in a triumphant grin, giving a brief glimpse of the same pointed teeth as his canine form.

Creaole didn’t really notice any of this. In this place Shin was the normal one and she was the one that looked odd.

‘You said that I couldn’t use my Shadow powers to find you. I didn’t, I used my powers to turn into a dog, and used the dog’s senses to track you.’

Creaole crossed her arms across her chest and watched Shin from narrowed eyes. He wouldn’t have even known what a dog was if she hadn’t told him.

‘I still won.’

‘I found you before you got here,’ Shin countered.

‘But I got here before you caught me.’ Creaole waved a hand above her, demonstrating her position in the place that had been set as the finishing line.

Shin’s grin tempered a little. ‘Which you wouldn’t have done if you’d been careful like you’re supposed to.’

Creaole rolled her eyes as she pushed herself to her feet.

‘Don’t you start, I have enough of that from Darm.’ She worked a creak from her shoulder and grimaced as a twinge of pain shot through her wrist. Behind her Shin let out a low growl that rumbled through her bones and lungs.

‘Yeah well, you’re the one that complains when I can’t hand around with you,’ Shin said through clenched teeth, his white eyes fixed on Creaole’s wrist.

Creaole glanced away, a flash of guilt finally winding its way through her. She fished around in the satchel that hung at her side and came out with what looked like a small shoe polish tin. With deft fingers she twisted off the lid. The stuff inside was faintly green. She contained a grimace as she dug two fingers into the viscous liquid and dolloped it on her sore wrist.

‘Better?’

‘A bit.’ Shin’s voice was still doing the strange rumbling thing against her bones, his eyes turned away from her and his dark shoulders stiff with tension. ‘You really do need to be careful, especially when Darm is away.’

Creaole’s response was cut off by the sudden sound of tearing wood. She darted back, pressing herself against the opposite wall as chunks of plaster rained from beneath torn wallpaper. One of the doorframes was peeling from its place, leaving the door behind. Splinters rained down as the wood jerked forward, twisting and fattening as it did. Two leg shapes stepped away from the wall, peeling away the last section. With a jerk the top strut came free. Two overly long arms disengaged from its side, and two white eyes blinked into existence in the empty space beneath the now black horizontal that still vaguely resembled the upmost strut of the door.

‘The First has a point.’ A mouth opened in the wood textured blackness above the eyes. ‘While the Gatekeeper is away, it is your responsibility to ensure your own safety. This place is not designed to be your playground.’

Creaole brushed lint from her shoulder and took a half step forward so that she was no longer pressed quite so tightly against one of the doors.

‘Then it’s a good job I’m not playing then, isn’t it.’

Creaole shifted her feet against the sudden rumbling of the ground, bracing herself for action, until she realised that the shaking ground was nothing more than the laughter of the final guardian.

‘Creaole, you are like a daughter to many of us, play if you want to play. Just do not do it here.’

Creaole cast her gaze around the circular room. Trying not to look at any particular door for too long. Apart from its tendency to give her a headache the room was one of the less dangerous places in the gateway.

‘I don’t see why.’

‘And I would have it stay that way.’ The final guardian turned the frame of his face toward Shin, the carved hollow of his face still managing to express disappointment. ‘You should know better, First.’

Shin hitched one shoulder, shadow fingers drifting just above the curve of one door handle. ‘You would prefer I let her come alone?’

‘I would prefer you prevent her from coming, full stop.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ Shin mumbled beneath his breath, loud enough for Creaole to cuff him around the ear. Or at least where his ear would have been, his skin gave way slightly beneath her hand.

‘Oi. Like I said, I’d be happy not to come if someone would just explain what the big deal is.’

‘And like I explained, Darm said I wasn’t allowed.’

‘Since when do you listen to Darm?’ Creaole said, hip cocked out. Shin rolled white eyes.

‘I listen to him more often than you do.’

‘Yeah, but what’s the point in listening, it’s not like he’s ever here to actually do anything about –’

‘Creaole.’

Creaole winced, her back to the origin of the voice that she would recognise pretty much anywhere. Darm had this special way of saying her name so that it sounded like a reprimand. She looked at the final guardian, who hitched one carved shoulder. It was impossible to tell if it was in apology or otherwise.

She risked a look over her shoulder. Shin gave her a marginal shake of his head. Then disappeared. The only thing to mark where he had been was a faint whoosh as air rushed into the spot he had vacated. Creaole sighed as her gaze rose through the space Shin had occupied, and settled on the new figure.

Like everything in the Gateway except Creaole, Darm was black skinned. He had two arms and legs, a head and a body, but there were no bright white eyes or sharp little teeth, in fact the leathery hide that coated his body gave way to no features on his face; there were no eyes, no ridge of a nose or curl of lips. At his back, his dirty grey wings flustered as he settled them. The peaks stretched just above his seven foot height, and the tips almost dusted the floor.

Like everything in the Gateway, Darm was a thing of nightmares. The other shadows called him the Gatekeeper, but to Creaole Darm was the closest she would ever get to a parent. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

‘You swore to me, Creaole.’ His voice was an infallible monotone, but Creaole had grown up with his blank face and unwavering tone, and she was fairly sure he was about as angry as he got. ‘You swore that you would not return to this place.’

‘I lied. I’m a human, it’s what we do.’

Darm was silent a long moment. ‘What exactly has the Lady been letting you read?’

‘None of your business.’

The floor seemed to groan under the weight of his steps as Darm came forward. He stopped in front of Creaole, forcing her to crane her neck or look away.

‘Your safety is my business, Creaole.’

‘Why, you don’t care. You go off, disappear for weeks, do you think I just sit at home and bake cookies? I hate to break it to you, Darm. But I’m not a human.’

‘You are human, Creaole. Whether you like it or not. Now, we are going to finish this discussion at home.’

Creaole snatched her arm out of his reach, bouncing backward with narrowed eyes.

‘No. We’re not.’

‘Do not test my patience, Creaole. We are going home, whether you wish to or not.’

She glared at him, grabbing at the nearest handle. But as her fingers went to brush the smooth metal a shooting pain pulsed through her hand. She stumbled backward, wrist grasped in one hand. The door framed strode forward. She looked behind her, but the final guardian was gone, a pile of shadows fading into nothing even as she stared. Darm was still there, his limbs moving like through treacle as he continued to reach for her through stretched seconds.

‘Haste and anger makes fools of men, Creaole,’ said the final guardian, eyes blinking into existence as his frame arm came out to rest against her shoulder.

‘You can’t stop me. I made it here. Those are the rules.’

The guardian nodded the frame of his square head folding somewhere near the middle. ‘You made it here. Indeed. You of all people probably know the Gateway best. But you have not passed my test, and so I do not have to let you through.’

‘Then tell me what you want.’

‘No. I shall not.’

Creaole’s jaw worked in frustration, her hands balling as she stumbled back, jerking the guardian’s touch from her shoulder. ‘You’re as bad as Darm.’

‘Perhaps. I am sorry, Creaole. But these doors are not like the one to the Lady. There is nothing you want on the other side. I promise.’

Creaole felt her skin prickle, and then another hand landed on her shoulder. This one cool and heavy. She looked up at Darm, eyes bitter a she allowed herself to be pulled against his chest. The final guardian raised one square hand in farewell, as Darm wrapped Creaole in the embrace of his battered wings. With a rush of air they disappeared from the hallway.

Ayana

It was chaos. Worse than the airport. Worse than the train station. Worse than the high street on Saturday afternoon. Everyone was talking, everyone was looking at the person next to them rather than where they were going, those that weren’t were looking at their phones. The blue socked, grey jumpered girls moved in groups, and there was no order to it, no side to stick to, no right of way or logic in who moved and who stayed put. And the noise. It just kept getting louder as everyone fought to be heard of the escalating chattering. Ayana pressed one arm against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible, whilst also trying to remember how on earth to get to her classroom.

She needed to ask someone, but everyone was so busy, lost in their own bubbles of chatter as they obeyed some law of movement that hadn’t been in the guidelines Ayana had read last night before bed. She spotted a smaller group that seemed about her own age. There were only three of them, Ayana had been unconsciously following them for a bit now, only succeeding in getting more lost. She raised a hand to tap the nearest girl on the shoulder. A quiet ‘‘s’cuse me’ on the fall of parted lips. Then something crashed into her arm, a bellowed ‘sorry’ echoing down the hallway as the culprit barged between groups of people at something a bit slower than a sprint. Ayana gawked, lost sight of her friendly looking group of peers. She stopped, bemused and disorientated for a moment, a half-memory of turning left here slipping just out of focus.

‘Don’t just stop, idiot,’ someone growled as they were forced around her.

Ayana stepped back automatically. ‘Sorry,’ already falling from her lips.

But her backstep didn’t land on solid ground. Betsy had insisted that the patent pumps currently on Ayana’s feet were what everyone would be wearing. She was right, but it didn’t make any difference as Ayana’s ankle went over and her foot slipped clean out of the pump.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Ayana turned, attention torn between the affronted indignation of the owner of the foot she’d accidentally trod on and the location of her shoe. She spied the gleaming sheen of patent in a brief parting of feet.

‘Sorry about that I didn’t –’ Ayana said, already going for her shoe, when a hand grasped her shoulder. A shimmer of tension ran down her spine, but even as she was forcibly turned Ayana’s worry was still more for her shoe.

‘You’re sorry. Sorry doesn’t cut it, you worthless little toad. These are two-hundred pound pumps that you just scuffed.’

The scuff was more of a smudge, it would probably wipe off with a damp cloth. What Ayana wanted to know was why someone would spend so much money on shoes. Betsy would know. Although asking Betsy required Ayana to make it home, and by the cold fury in the liner rimmed gaze above her that didn’t seem all that guaranteed.

‘I’m really sorry, but could I just –’ The hand tightened in her collar bone.

‘No. You can’t “just”.’

A shiver of something hot and electric ran down Ayana’s arms. Her fingers clenched, shoulders straightening as she brought her other hand down on the elbow of the girl that held her. Ayana’s mind was blissfully clear for the first time in weeks as she twisted out of the grip.

She didn’t wait to see what would happen. The sock of her shoeless foot was perfect for twisting, she darted forward, dodged a group of puzzled looking year sevens. Dropped into some kind of roll that she had no clue she knew how to do, then went straight for the nearest set of stairs. Somewhere shouting was following her. But Ayana wasn’t listening. For one blissful moment she was just a body, the wood of the banister warm beneath her hand as she used it for balance, she jumped the last four steps, pivoted round the bend, felt the ground disappear and a moment of exhilarated ‘what in two hells am I doing’ then she was back on the ground, in some kind of basement, the walls lined with old tiles and a smell of cobwebs and bleach on the air. She had no idea where she was. She picked right, ran, darted into her first left then up another set of stairs.

Somewhere a bell went, ringing out half past eight in ancient dolling of metal. Ayana stopped, her breathing hurried but not strained as she looked behind her. The buzz was fading, her adrenaline slowly being replaced with incredulity for what she’d done. She’d jumped down half a flight of stairs. She could have broken her ankle.

But she hadn’t she realised, looking down at her bare sock, now twisted and bunched round her ankle. She pulled it back to her knee and slipped the stupid pump back into place.

On the plus side, the notice board on the opposite wall said ‘welcome to biology’ which was handy.

‘Miss Istoria I presume?’ said the teacher at the front of the room as Ayana hesitated in the doorway of biology classroom 2. The woman didn’t look up from her register, straight blonde hair pulled back from a pinched face. ‘May I suggest that tardiness does not make for a good first impression. You are already two weeks late starting term, try not to be late to class as well. I’m Miss Bell, and I will be your form tutor.’ Miss Bell finally looked up, fixing Ayana in a gaze that expected to be disappointed.

‘I’m sorry. I got lost.’

Miss Bell clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

‘I thought you’d spent a couple of days here at the end of last term?’

Ayana felt her cheeks flush with heat as she nodded, gaze sinking somewhere near the edge of the room.

‘I forgot, sorry.’

‘Yes, well, Maisey is in your next class I believe, follow her for now. Take a seat.’ Miss Bell waved toward one of the desks of girls, one looked round curious at hearing her name, then turned back to the others. Ayana memorised the back of her head and shoulders, then went and sat at one of the empty tables.

That definitely could have gone better, she thought as Miss Bell stood and started addressing the rest of the form group.

‘Ayana…?’ Ayana’s name threaded through the expectant silence of the classroom. ‘Miss Istoria!’

Ayana looked up from her textbook, blinking in confusion as she stared at the physics teacher, who sighed, weary resignation heavy on her tissue paper eyelids.

‘Perhaps you could pay attention, Miss Istoria? You will find we cover quite a lot of the text book in class if you give me a chance.’

There was a rumble of amusement, barely a breath of whisper from the other girls in the classroom. The pages of the textbook in question were smooth beneath Ayana’s hand, cool compared to the sudden flair of heat in her cheeks. She dropped her chin just slightly.

‘Sorry, Miss Thresher.’

‘Hmm, yes. Well perhaps given that you’re so keen, you may now deign to answer my question.’

‘Sorry miss, I didn’t hear what it was.’

Miss Thresher pursed her lips, the same weariness asking internal questions that were breathed away with a sigh. ‘I asked, what is Einstein’s equation that relates mass and energy?’

Ayana opened her mouth. And stopped. She blinked again, though not in startled confusion this time. Her chin drew in, cocking slightly to one side, her back straightened, and she tried again. She took another breath, trying to ignore the familiar sensation that she knew the answer to that question.

The teacher sighed, ‘perhaps you need to work on your reading as well as your listening skills. Sylvia?’ There was muffled laughter from the rest of the girls and Ayana sank into her chair as Sylvia answered. The equation settled in Ayana’s memory, familiar and yet unknown. She closed her eyes, wishing this day out of existence.

England was miserable and grey. It had rained constantly since she arrived last Friday. It wasn’t even a nice kind of cold, it was muggy and too hot with a coat to protect from the rain and too cold without one. Her hair was a permanent untameable frizz and now this. The home she was staying at was nice. Just… nice. Nora Smith wasn’t interesting, or particularly clever, or stupid, not harsh or kind. Even though she must have been warned, even though someone must have told her why Ayana was delayed.

They’d said that familiarity might help, and Ayana had wanted to believe it. She had tried. All morning she had tried to stay calm, to ignore the frustration that boiled just beneath her skin as she failed to answer question after question. But it didn’t matter how calm she stayed or whether she tried to force it or let it flow. She couldn’t remember. Not the answers. Not the last time she’d been in the school, when the world made sense and Ayana was just a normal girl.

She swallowed down the tight swelling of something that threatened just beneath her breast bone. She was damn well not going to cry on her first day.

She stayed quiet for the rest of the lesson, resisting her curiosity over the text book in favour of paying attention to the teacher. She made notes in her brand new notebooks with her brand new pens, and when the class was over she packed them away in her brand new pencil case. She shot a brief wistful stare at the battered one that belonged to the girl next to her, the scratches and names full of memories. Then Ayana lingered, dropping down to pull up her itchy blue socks back up to her knees. She was the last out, and the teacher gave her a tight lipped smile before turning back to her pile of marking.

The corridors were chaos. Unmanageable chaos, and after this morning Ayana just tried to stay close to the wall, her textbooks clutched to her chest and her gaze fixed on the floor as she headed for the locker rooms. She’d only been shown once, but while her memory was still playing tricks on her, her sense of direction was just fine. She grabbed her lunch. Pressing the wooden door to, she turned, leaning back as she surveyed the rest of the year eleven lockers. Conversation swept around her, talking about homework assignments that Ayana had missed, about people Ayana didn’t know, and about things Ayana didn’t know. Or didn’t remember.

Ayana looked from group to group. Taking in clothes and styles, long hair short hair, straight hair, plaited hair, she saw bags and glasses and shoes and she knew they all meant something, had learnt again on some basic level, but they didn’t mean anything to her. Just like the question the physics teacher had asked. It was like the memory was there, only she was deep under water and she couldn’t quite see the answer through the liquid haze.

Six months ago it had all been different. Six months ago Ayana knew all the answers and understood the world she lived in. She had come to this school, had sat the entrance exams and won a scholarship. Then everything had changed. Her councillor suggested she go back to her old foster home, but that would have meant giving up her scholarship to Saint Serenity’s and Ayana still knew enough of herself to remember that she wanted to learn. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She met the gaze of one girl, who snickered and turned back to her group of friends, giggling something beneath her breath. Ayana grabbed her lunch and went for the door, shoulders drawn in and lips curled to one side.

Outside it was still raining. Ayana pulled up the hood of her waterproof, hunched her shoulders and dashed for the protection of a covered picnic table. She wiped droplets from the plastic seating and settled herself in the otherwise deserted yard. Her surety in her need to learn had taken a sound kick to the shins this morning.

She ate her sandwiches and read her physics text book, feeling the information bounce off the surface of her understanding.

‘Oh, for sh –heavens sake!’ Ayana slammed the book shut.  E’s and MC-squares clattered uselessly between her thoughts. A group of sixth formers had come into the quad. They stood in a miserable huddle beneath the CCTV camera and out of the direct view of the door. Blue socks slumped around their ankles, grey skirts rolled at the top to reveal pale thighs, blue shirt tails hanging beneath the hem of the same grey woollen jumper that itched Ayana something terrible. They had cigarettes between damp fingers and their hurried drags sent puffs of smoke from the edge of gloss coated lips. A couple of them looked over as Ayana broke her silence. Chuckled mutterings of ‘freak’ fell to the floor with the rain.

Ayana dropped her gaze to her sandwich. Took a bite of the tuna and cucumber, and wished she could be back in France, where the bread was fresh and everything came with cheese and ham. And where at least she had made a friend. She missed Betsy, missed her smirking eyes and her dancing smile and her uncanny ability to appear whenever Ayana started to get restless. Saint Serenity’s term had started without her. Even so, everyone knew each other already, and what use did they have for one strange gypsy girl with frizzy hair and half her memories missing.

The sixth formers left in a haze of giggling and whispered excitement. Ayana finished her sandwich, feeling wretchedly sorry for herself. She tucked her long plait back inside her hood and headed for her locker. Feeling marginally safer in the knowledge that at least things couldn’t go much worse.

She was right, and in fact the afternoon was a positive sunbeam. Mostly because of double French, which she was fairly certain she hadn’t known before but had picked up just fine over the last four months. The teacher beamed at her when she answered something right, and her glowing pride over Ayana’s achievement finally made Ayana feel like she wasn’t a complete idiot. The day was finished off with music, another class Ayana was pretty sure she hadn’t really done before, and like French the lesson went much more smoothly without the confusing sensation of having known the answer once.

At the bus stop she hunched beneath the protection of her coat, rain running from her shoulders as she was ignored by the other pupils. Until a crack formed in the clouds and the late summer sunshine slipped through. It turned the edges of the sky golden, shards of light chased wet shadows across the tarmac road and a smile touched Ayana’s lips. She flashed her bus pass to the driver and filed on board with everyone else. She stood for the twenty minute trip that dropped her off at the end of Evenstar Road. The rain was just a fine mist by then, and she pushed her hood back for the stroll to the yellow door of number 22.

Someone was sat in the bay window of number 24, between the curtain and the glass. He had a book propped against bent knees, but the whites of his eyes, so stark against the rest of his dark skin, followed Ayana as she walked the pavement in front of the house. She dropped her eyes as she realised she was staring back, head down as she scurried up the path next door.

‘Hello, Nora,’ Ayana called through as she let herself in and peeled off her damp clothes.

‘Good evening, dear. How was your first day?’

Nora Smith was a pleasant looking woman, she was broad to match the square of her jaw, her hair was streaked with storm cloud grey and tied back from her face in a practical bun. She had a ready smile, and she offered it to Ayana as she went through into the kitchen.

‘It was okay.’ Ayana helped herself to an apple, a practiced smile on her lips and even touching her eyes. It was Betsy who had taught her the valuable lesson that was people rarely want the truth when they ask a question.

‘Oh I’m so glad.’ Her relief was evident in the warm creases around her eyes. Nora was a good woman, it was kind of a given with people who fostered kids, but undoubtedly she had phone calls to make and emails to send confirming that Ayana was behaving herself. ‘Dinner will be ready in about an hour, go and get changed and make a start on your homework please.’

Ayana did as she was told, taking the remains of her apple with her. Wishing there was a way to fast forward the next two years of her life and turn eighteen already. She wrote a letter to Betsy instead of starting her homework, wishing her friend was in Chester not London with every curve of her pen.

Tuesday went much like Monday had. Ayana kept her gaze out of the reach of other people’s and learnt to navigate the school at the edge of the corridors and through the quiet places that other pupils didn’t seem inclined to use. The school was old and sprawling, and there were plenty of narrow, wood panelled corridors that ran almost parallel to the main ones, round the backs of classroom, winding up and down through stairs with bitterly cold hand rails. The smell in those small spaces reminded Ayana of a home she didn’t remember. She found the library on Wednesday lunchtime, eyes lighting up as she opened the squat, unlabelled door and found herself in a room where the air was stained with the scent of paper, old leather and bowing shelves. Narrow tables were nestled in the cramped spaces at the end of rows of stacks. Curious eyes glanced up momentarily, only to return to whatever wonders the words before them held. A sigh escaped Ayana’s lips unbidden, half-contentment and half-remorse. She chose a row, and let her fingers run over the spines, settling on one at random before she found a deserted table and set herself to reading.

The smile that graced her pale lips was one of being immersed in someone else’s world. It lasted through afternoon registration, and down across the school grounds to the brand new physical education facility. It lasted so well that Ayana forgot, right up until the moment her hands touched the hem of her blue school shirt.

Ayana’s skin was pale like the face of the moon on a clear night, with freckles like blown autumn leaves coating her from her cheekbones to her little toes. Ayana didn’t care for them, Betsy said they were cute. But it was the scars, as pale as the rest of her, only distinguishable by their lack of freckles and the strange glossiness they left behind. Irregular streaks up her forearms, a strange jagged white thing on her right thigh, an equally bizarre blotchy patch the size of both her hands on the small of her back, a trio of lines that looked like she’d been attacked by a dog on her stomach. She heard the girls nearest go quiet in that way that was just whispers replacing words, heard it spread out as she tried to hurry the blue polo shirt over her head.

Then those words – ‘orphan’ ‘abuse’ ‘self-harm’ the whispering tinged with pity, and relief that it wasn’t them. There was one fresh injury, the scab two weeks old and just peeling off, the only remaining evidence of where she had tried to escape from the centre in France. There was a shift of something in the corner of her eye, Ayana twisted, knees bent, eyes suddenly hard.

There was nothing there. Somebody muttered ‘freak’ as they passed with a group of girls. Ayana sighed, heart calming as her shoulders folded back over and her gaze returned to the floor. She pulled on her socks and trainers and followed the loiterers out into the gym.

‘Good afternoon, girls. Start doing laps please.’ The teacher ticked off the names of the girls in front of Ayana and waved them into the already jogging pack. ‘And I guess you’re Ayana Istoria?’ she said as she looked up. Her smile faltered just slightly. Ayana nodded.

‘Welcome to Saint Serenity’s, Ayana, I’m Miss Bain.’ Miss Bain’s eyes lingered on the marks on Ayana’s arms. ‘I understand that you’re keen on running, athletics and gym?’

Ayana gave her a tight smile, chin down and eyes up. ‘Was.’

‘Yes, terrible business. But muscle memory is an incredible thing, we have an athletics club that may interest you, and you’re welcome to try out for the cross country team.’

She was pretty sure Miss Bain wouldn’t think normal memory was so un-incredible if she didn’t have hers intact. She gave the woman a tight smile.

‘We’re playing hockey today, go and warm up with the others.’

Ayana nodded and jogged into a gap in the circuit of chatting and half-heartedly exercising girls. She stood on the edge for the stretches, not really paying attention as the names were called for groups.

‘Ayana… Ayana!’ Someone nudged her arm, laughing as Ayana jumped half out of her skin and awkwardly tried to fold herself back into an un-noticeable package.

‘You’re in Miss Gryne’s group, Ayana,’ Miss Bain said, she looked unimpressed with Ayana’s day dreaming, her hand folded outwards toward the group of girls on her right.

Ayana noticed two things at once. One was that everyone was staring at her, and the second was that one girl was grinning. Ayana dropped her gaze, finding an empty space near the back of the group as Miss Bain continued to split the class into four groups. From the corner of her eye Ayana watched the grinning girl shove the others out of the way with soft elbows and mocking comments. She stopped in front of Ayana.

‘Hey, I’m Kaelin.’ Ayana was forced to look up and meet hazel eyes rimmed in sparkling blue eye shadow. She was tall, easily 5’9” to Ayana’s hunched 5’4”, her pale brown hair was pulled back in a glossy pony tail, and she had the effortless grace of the naturally sporty.

‘Ayana.’

‘Oh sure, I know who you are. Everyone does, you’re like, the only thing that anyone is talking about, it’s flipping annoying.’

Ayana blinked at the other girl. Who was still smiling, nonchalant and carefree because she remembered who she was and what she could do.

‘Sorry.’

Kaelin snorted. ‘Sure. So, like are those marks on your arms and stuff self-harm or what?’

Ayana grabbed one of her arms, her fingers worrying the edge of the freshly peeling scab. Her gaze darting behind Kaelin, to where the rest of the group were watching with unabashed curiosity.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Huh. Weird.’

‘Your attention please, Miss Gryne, if you don’t mind,’ interrupted Miss Bain.

‘Sorry, miss,’ Kaelin said, and offered the teacher an abashed grin and hunch of her shoulders before she turned back to Ayana. ‘You any good at hockey?’ she said beneath her breath as Miss Bain gave instructions.

‘Not sure.’ Nervous excitement prickled Ayana’s skin.

‘It’s easy.’ Kaelin grabbed Ayana’s arm, dragging her over to a pile of once glossy wooden sticks with rounded hooks at one end. She thrust one into Ayana’s grip, grabbed one for herself along with a ball a bit bigger than Ayana’s fist and dragged the both of them over to an empty space. ‘Just catch the ball on the end of the stick and hit it back to me.’

Ayana’s heart sped up and the world slowed down as Kaelin drew the stick back, winding up to hit it. Around her the other girls had split into pairs too, doing the same thing, but significantly slower and Ayana could see, even though she didn’t know how she knew, that Kaelin’s ball was going to come straight at her. Her skin went cold, fire pricking between the hairs on her arms and then Kaelin’s stick made contact with the ball. The thwack rang in Ayana’s ear, echoed again in the vibrations of her bones as she stopped the ball against the face of her stick.

Kaelin laughed, straightening  she rested her stick over her shoulder. ‘Sweet. You’re a natural.’

‘Kaelin!’ Miss Bain’s voice echoed in the drafty gym hall. ‘If you injure the new girl you will have detention.’

‘Sorry, miss.’ Kaelin turned back to Ayana, a conspirator’s grin rounding out her otherwise angular cheekbones. ‘Right, hit it back at me, hard as you like.’

Ayana eyed up the small ball, her arms still felt like they hummed from the force of stopping Kaelin’s hit. She looked at the tall girl, set herself how Kaelin had stood, reached back and hit the ball. It wasn’t nearly so fast as Kaelin’s had been, but it went where she wanted it to go.

‘Sweeeet. Now turn your body more. And set your feet more one in front of the other when you catch –’ she’d already hit the ball as she finished her instructions, sending it off to Ayana’s right. She ran, bursting forward, mind kind of blank and oddly calm, feet landing one just in front of the other, as she gave a little to cushion the impact. ‘Hah! Nice. There is no way you haven’t played hockey before. Hit it two metres to my right, Ayana and we can start the drill with the others.’

Ayana didn’t realise she was smiling until her cheeks started to ache. When Miss Bain called an end to the drill, Kaelin closed the gap between them with a hop, skip and a jump, and swung herself off Ayana’s shoulders.

‘Good work, now the match is a bit more complicated, but just do as I say and you’ll be hunky dory.’

‘Kaelin…?’ a droll voice drew Kaelin’s attention over Ayana’s shoulder. ‘Are you about done messing around? We were supposed to be practicing for tomorrow’s match.’ The new girl was stood with her arms crossed beneath the swell of an ample chest, one hip kicked out.

‘Some of us don’t need to practice, Roxy.’ Kaelin hitched one shoulder, releasing Ayana with a whistling chuckle. ‘But anyway, who’s to say that you won’t get a red card, or an injury and I’ll just have to get used to playing with someone else in the wing.’

Roxy stepped forward arms dropping from beneath her chest. ‘We’ll see who gets an injury.’

‘Oops,’ Kaelin said, turning to Ayana, teeth bared in a guilty grin. ‘I hope you’re a fast learner.’

‘Why? What’s –’

‘Positions please girls. Groups A and B at this end, C and D at the other. Three, two, one –’ Miss Bain blew a whistle and all hells broke loose.

Kaelin was shouting something at her, some other girl was running toward her, stick held ready, the thwack of the ball bouncing between people merged with the general roar of ‘here!’ and ‘open’ and names that Ayana didn’t know. Then suddenly it was her name, and the ball was cruising along the ground heading for a space just in front of her. Ayana ran for it, caught the ball against her stick, felt a thrill of panic as someone ran toward her. Kaelin hadn’t covered that. Ayana darted right, turning her back on the person running toward her to shield the ball, head up as she searched for the blinking flicker of sparkly blue, and hit the ball into the nearest gap. Kaelin hit it on, someone scored and the tall girl bounded over to slap Ayana on the back. From the other side of the pitch, Roxy glared at them both.

It was frantic and Ayana was breathing heavily, her cheeks still aching as she hit the ball to someone else. They were blocked, they turned hit it back to Roxy, who wacked it to Ayana with her teeth bared. Someone else bowled for her, lips and eyes thin as they drew back their stick for a tackle. Ayana blinked, startled as her feet touched the ground, the girl who’d tried to take her legs out with her stick stumbled forward. Ayana scrambled for the ball she’d lost track of, trying to work out how in two hells she’d known to jump, thoughts lost as she went to hit the ball. Something shifted in her peripheral vision as the ball left her stick. She turned, half-bracing and half-diverting the impact so that the tackle glanced across her ribs, the momentum allowing her to roll them both to the ground.

The gym had gone silent. The chaos drawn down to nothing but the harried breathing of forty out of breath sixteen-year-olds. Ayana stared at the girl underneath her, lowered her fist, rolling back to her feet she left the girl on the floor.