Page 6 of Savage Elites

“I’m not letting you anywhere near that den of psychopaths.” The steel in his voice told me he would take me back to his apartment, whether I consented or not.

A sigh heaved out of my lungs, and I gave him a sharp nod. Until I remembered what the hell had happened, there was no point in returning. Whoever attacked me could strike again.

My mind conjured up images of Geraldine and Bianca, who probably didn’t want me to press charges about their assault during that awful initiation.

* * *

After a few days, I read through my discharge notes in the car. Although the neurologist had told me I had post-traumatic anemia, he had written it up on the records as retrograde amnesia caused by a traumatic brain injury. A cocktail of drugs rolled around in the pharmacist’s bag: a codeine-based painkiller, sleeping tablets, and mild anti-inflammatory medicines that also acted as a painkiller.

My condition would resolve itself without further treatment, but there was a follow-up appointment in two months. I stared out of the window at the array of shoppers milling outside The Lanes shopping precinct, wishing I could be one of the anonymous crowd. None of them worried about night-time abductions and murder attempts.

Uncle Trevor lived in a huge house converted into smaller units in Upperby, another suburb of Carlisle on the east side of the River Caldew. As soon as he opened his apartment door, the noise of shrieking children filled the air.

I followed him into the living room, a ten-by-ten space filled with overlarge sofas and a huge, flat-screen TV. The two and three-year-olds, Anne and Stevie, chased each over around the rug, while Peter, who was four, lay on the couch his back, kicking Aunt Hortense in the thighs.

“What’s happened to you now?” Aunt Hortense ushered Peter off the sofa.

“Don’t give her a hard time,” said Uncle. “She’s been through an ordeal.”

Aunt Hortense tried to pull herself off her seat with one hand but flopped down. I would have told her she was better off on the armchair so that she could use both arms as leverage, but she would probably snap at me for the unsolicited advice.

A wave of dizziness swept over my head, making me grimace and suck in a deep breath. “How long do you have now?”

Aunt Hortense groaned. “Tomorrow’s my due date, but the contractions started this morning.”

Uncle Trevor lurched forward and helped her up. “You should have said!”

“Someone had to help Willow. Besides, we still have a few hours before my waters break.”

Uncle turned to me. “Take the sofa. I’ll move the kids to their room.”

“You’re relegating us?” Aunt Hortense shouted over the strains of Ring a Ring o’ Roses.

“Willow has a serious head injury with post-traumatic anemia. She can’t be left alone for the next few days.”

Aunt Hortense swept her narrowed-eyed gaze over my body as though she could diagnose neurological conditions with the naked eye. “She doesn’t look cross-eyed to me.”

“Come on.” He placed her on the armchair and flicked his head toward the now empty three-seater sofa. “Try to get some rest, alright?”

* * *

Between my head throbbing, the children speaking in loud whispers, and Aunt Hortense’s crashing about in the kitchen, it was nearly impossible to get any rest, let alone sleep. I was better off lying on the sofa at Mom and Dad’s house, but the doctor had warned me about the possibility of blackouts over the next few weeks.

I lay on the sofa, reached for my phone, and sighed. Someone had either taken it, or it had fallen down the side of the mountain. With no way of contacting Sebastian, Leopold, or Miss Claymore, I would have to wait until I was well enough to leave the apartment on my own.

The autumn term would finish on Friday, giving us two weeks to celebrate Christmas and the new year before the start of winter term. I blew out a breath. Would I remember who had attacked me before then, or would I return to Brittas Academy not knowing whether Geraldine or Bianca or both had staged this accident?

Aunt Hortense’s contractions had turned out to be a false alarm, but each passing day reminded me that the baby would arrive at any time and worsen the already cramped conditions. If it wasn’t for the bouts of dizziness and light-headedness, I wouldn’t have continued burdening the young family.

One evening, as I dozed to the theme tune of Sesame Street, Uncle Trevor tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hortense’s water has broken, and I have to take her to the hospital.”

“Oh.” I rubbed my sore eyes.

“I’m so sorry to burden you like this, but Mrs. Stokes isn’t around to babysit. Can you keep an eye on the kids?”

I nodded. “No problem.”