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Blinkingback the fog that always accompanies a vision, I step into the ruins of an old castle. It’s mid-winter, a frosting of snow covering the ground and stone walls. In front of me are a group of boys sitting around an open fire talking animatedly.
No wait. Three boys and a girl.
A girl I recognise.
Thirteen.
She’s wearing boy's clothing and a flat cap, her hair tucked up beneath it, but there’s no mistaking who it is now that I can see her more clearly.
“Just take a drag and this will all be over, Cyn,” one of the three teenage boys says, his voice melodic. The accent is southern Irish, thick and lyrical. He has dark hair that falls forward into his bright amber eyes that are almost the colour of the flickering flames. He’s holding a joint, the tip sizzling as he drags in a lungful.
Thirteen shakes her head, folding her arms across her chest as he releases the smoke from his lungs. Her body language conveys everything her voice cannot as she draws up her jean clad legs and hugs her knees to her chest.
“You’re seriously not going to get high with us? This is your recipe,” the boy with the silver-blonde hair sitting next to her says. He too has haunting eyes, the shade not dissimilar to his hair. The fairness of his skin and unusual colouring would suggest that he may have Albinism.
Thirteen shakes her head, picking up her notepad and pen, scribbling furiously:It messes with your head. I’m not making anymore. It’s bad for you.
“Yeah, you are,” the third boy retorts, his light brown hair cropped short to his head as his coal black eyes narrow at her. “We tell you to do something, you do it, Cyn. No fucking argument.”
She scowls at him, her pen rushing over the paper before she turns it around and taps the pad furiously.Fuck you, Carrick!
She moves to stand, but the black-eyed boy, Carrick, grabs her wrist and tugs her into his lap. “Now, now, Cyn. Don’t fucking tempt me,” he growls into her ear whilst simultaneously pulling off her flat cap. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders and he presses his nose into her tresses, breathing in deep. She wriggles in his lap, her elbows meeting his stomach, but he just laughs, gripping her tighter.
“Stop fucking with her, Carrick. She’ll only go blab to her father and we don’t need that old shit on our backs,” the boy with the silver eyes says. Of the three, he looks the most uncomfortable with what’s going on.
“Fuck Niall O’Farrell, he’s just the Collector’s bitch.” Carrick replies, tightening his arm around Thirteen and clamping his teeth on her ear. She instantly stills, her eyes wide with pain and shock as he bites down hard enough to draw blood.
“Which is precisely why she’s off limits,” the boy with the amber eyes says. He looks between the two boys, a muscle feathering in his jaw. His shoulders are tense, his spine rigid.
“But, Arden…” Carrick replies, releasing her ear and licking at a spot of blood dripping from her lobe. “You and I both know we always get what we want, and I happen to want Cynthia O’Farrell. Don’t fucking lie and tell me you don’t feel the same. We all do, don’t we Lorcan?”
Lorcan looks away, refusing to answer him.
“I said, let her go,” Arden replies, his amber eyes flashing with warning.
“You always did have a soft spot for Cyn. Shame her old man is in cahoots with your bitter enemy. Doesn’t that make her guilty by association? Or maybe it’s you who’s guilty by association, huh?” Carrick taunts, trailing his tongue over Thirteen’s cheek. “Your dad would turn over in his grave knowing you’ve made a deal with the devil’s right hand man.”
Thirteen stills, her wide eyes flaring with shock. Clearly she didn’t know that her father was doing business with Arden.
“Yep, Arden here is working with your father, cailleach,” Carrick says, running the tip of his nose over her jaw as he squeezes her breast. Rage flashes over Thirteen’s face and she forces her head back, managing to crack Carrick’s nose, forcing him to let her go. “Motherfucker!” he exclaims.
Lorcan laughs, taking the joint from Arden as Thirteen scrambles towards her pen and pad, her anger a blaze of words across the paper.
Don’t touch me ever again!She writes.Next time you do, I’ll be the witch you accuse me of being and turn you into a toad!
Lorcan tips his head back and laughs raucously, passing the joint to Carrick who swipes at the blood trickling from his nose. “You’re feisty tonight. I fucking like it.”
Thirteen narrows her eyes at Carrick before giving him the middle finger, then turns her back on them both and starts gathering her things.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Arden asks, pushing to his feet. He takes the joint from Carrick and strides over to her. She shuffles backwards on her arse as he approaches, the pad and pen discarded as he crouches down in front of her.
She shakes her head.No!
“We call you cailleach because that’s what you are, a witch. It’s a compliment, Cyn,” he says, his hard eyes softening. “Come on, one toke. That’s all I need.”
She shakes her head again.No!
Ignoring her, he takes a deep pull of the joint and grasps a fistful of hair, roughly yanking her head back. The look she gives him is one of pure hatred, and whilst everything about his body language suggests he feels the same way, the look in his eyes as he lowers his mouth to hers speaks an entirely different story.
