The Fandom Rising Page 10

  Footsteps beat the ground behind us as we reach the top.

  ‘Katie, stop,’ I manage to say. ‘We need to stay here. We need to help Nate – however much we want to run.’

  We stumble to a halt as Thorn thunders up beside us, several Imps in tow. They surround Katie and me, yanking at our arms with gruff movements. Pain shoots into my shoulder, panic explodes in my chest.

  Thorn looks at me and smiles. ‘You must be Violet.’

  I blink in astonishment. A thousand questions drown out the terror. How does he know my name? Does he remember me from last time I was here? Is he aware of the loop? Is he one of the Gems with enhanced memories?

  He studies my face. ‘Baba told me you were visiting.’

  I try and make sense of his words. What has Baba told him? I’m scared of saying the wrong thing, so I offer a stilted nod.

  He turns his attention to Katie. His features momentarily freeze up, and then his expression transforms into one of yearning and loss. He’s remembering his murdered lover and his unborn child – Katie’s potential resemblance to the latter brought him up short last time we were here too. It’s impossible not to feel a stab of sympathy, even as his face re-hardens into something cruel and cold.

  He spins to face me, any sign of his vulnerability gone. ‘Tell me, Violet, why were you running? Only the guilty run.’

  My heart beats wildly beneath my shirt, and he must be able to sense my anxiety, because he smiles like he’s enjoying it.

  ‘Scared people run too,’ I reply, cursing my words for trembling so. ‘And watching your hostess roast is beyond scary.’

  ‘She said you were coming to save the Imps?’ A thin note of danger taints his voice.

  When I don’t reply, he begins to laugh. The Imps join in, even Katie offers a nervous chuckle. But my face doesn’t even crack a smile.

  ‘Relax,’ he says. ‘You’d be dead by now if I truly suspected you. I took the opportunity to question Baba when she told me of your imminent arrival. She said you were harmless, that you weren’t in on the betrayal. She said you were here to learn about the London Imp–Gem alliance. And at that point, I think she was beyond lying. Removing body parts has a way of cutting through the bullshit, wouldn’t you say?’

  I swallow, clearing my mouth of the rage, the distress, the terror, desperate to keep me and Katie off his kill list. ‘She was telling the truth,’ I say. ‘There’s so much we could learn from your alliance. It’s the flagship of Imp–Gem treaties, after all.’ Silently, I thank Baba for telling him this. It gives us an excuse to be here, to spend time with Nate.

  Thorn nods. ‘Well, Ash and Willow can show you around when they return from the Pastures. You’re welcome to look around, but you must stay out of my business.’ He extends his hand towards me.

  Every fibre of my being screams at me to stop, and yet I take that hand in my own. It sits in my palm like something hot and unsafe. His fingers curl around mine and almost crush them. I force my face to remain still; I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing me wince.

  ‘You will stay with me, obviously,’ he says. I open my mouth to object, but he cuts across me. ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’

  So I do the only the thing I can. Nod.

  I hate this place.

  ALICE

  Danny lounges on my bedroom floor, his face reflecting the light from his laptop. He kicked off his trainers before he came up and his socks are mismatched and riddled with holes. He’s scrolling through Fanboy’s site with interest. ‘The graphics are dope.’

  I sigh. ‘I know, right.’

  ‘Nothing we can’t handle. If you want, I can help you set up a new site, give it a new look?’

  I flush with gratitude. ‘Thank you.’ I’m more than capable of setting up a site, but it’s so nice having someone on my side.

  ‘No problem.’ He begins tapping away on his laptop. ‘So, what do you want to call it?’

  I shrug. ‘Something classy. No puns allowed. It needs to show that we’re fighting back, the Fandom, I mean. We won’t let Fanboy ruin our utopia. We’re rising up, we’re revolting.’

  ‘Maybe leave out the revolting bit.’

  I laugh, an idea forming. ‘The Fandom Rising,’ I say, loving the way it sounds when I say it out loud. ‘The Fandom Rising, like we’re a flock of birds taking off. It’s perfect.’

  Danny nods. ‘Yep, that sounds great . . . and the graphic?’

  ‘Birds, let’s stick with the bird thing. It fits for lots of reasons. It’s not just about the Fandom rising up, it’s the freedom of the Imps, and it ties in with The Gallows Song, which was meant to be the final book, the swansong if you like.’

  ‘You want swans in the graphics?’

  I shake my head, excitement zinging through my body. ‘No, not swans, swallows. They’ve got an amazing silhouette, they’ll look really striking.’

  ‘Are you a secret birder or something?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I wiggle my eyebrows then laugh. ‘Nah. Winter 2015, the swallow print was everywhere.’

  Danny sits next to me on my bed. He pulls up some images of swallows on his screen and we spend a few minutes picking out our favourites. ‘There’s something I need to ask,’ he says, turning to look me in the eye. ‘Why the sudden interest in Fanboy? Violet and Katie are unconscious, and suddenly you want to track down a mysterious fanfic writer.’

  What can I say? I want to tell him the truth. But he’ll never believe me. God, this is how poor Violet must have felt when she was trying to tell me about The Gallows Dance. I open my mouth, ready to just tell him the whole mixed-up story, when I see those gorgeous dark eyes staring back at me. I stop. I don’t want Danny to think I’m mad. I wave my hand in front of my face. ‘He’s messing with the Fandom, that’s all. Violet would hate it, and so would Nate. I mean, he’s actually making Nate bad, can you imagine that? Nate is the best person I know.’ My voice snags on the lump in my throat.

  ‘I remember Violet’s little brother. He was a cool kid, really good with computers, better than me.’

  I can’t hold them back any more. The tears begin to fall down my face and I don’t try to stop them or dab at them. I just let them fall. ‘He’s the best. They’re turning off his life support in a few days.’ I snort back a sob. ‘He’s going to die.’ I bury my face in my hands and weep like a child.

  Danny lays a hand on my back and I’m surprised by how light his touch is. ‘Alice, that’s just . . . well, it’s just awful. I’m so sorry.’

  I cry for a while, and Danny just leaves his hand on my back, not speaking, not moving. The warmth from his palm gives me comfort. Eventually, when I’m all cried out, I look up at him. He looks really beautiful, nothing like Willow, or any other Gem for that matter, but beautiful all the same. ‘Everyone I love is unconscious in that bastard hospital, and I’m still here. How has that happened? How am I still awake?’

  He breathes in long and slow. I’m expecting words of comfort, words which match the lightness of his touch. But I’m learning that Danny has this bluntness which he isn’t afraid to wield, even in the presence of a weeping damsel. ‘A better question would be – why is everyone you love unconscious?’ He studies my face. ‘What are you hiding, scary Alice?’

  I choke back another sob. ‘It’s complicated. I’m not even sure I understand, but Fanboy has something to do with my friends being in comas, I know it sounds insane . . . I need to find him and make him stop.’

  His brow creases beneath his mess of black curls. ‘OK. Well, if that’s the case, we better find out who he is.’

  15

  ALICE

  I leave Danny working and fetch some drinks. I’m just firing up the coffee machine when Mum glides in, dressed head-to-toe in lycra. She’s either heading for a late-night workout or an eighties revival concert.

  ‘Who’s the boy you came in with?’ she asks, grabbing a couple of mineral waters from the fridge.

  ‘Just a friend.’

  She raises a penci
lled brow. ‘He’s not your usual type.’

  ‘I don’t have a type.’

  She laughs. ‘Yes you do. And they’re normally at least three inches taller than you.’

  ‘And that’s worked out just swell, hasn’t it?’ I give her a cheesy thumbs up.

  She sighs. ‘Well, you’re an adult now, Alice. I can’t tell you what to do. Just make sure you use protection.’

  ‘Jesus, Mum. The only protection we’ll need is Norton spyware.’

  She scowls, her foundation cracking between her eyes. ‘Spy what?’

  God, she pisses me off sometimes. Telling me who I can and can’t fancy, sticking her nose into my sex life. I can feel the anger heating my cheeks. ‘You know I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Violet’s probably getting more than I am, and she’s in a coma.’

  ‘Alice, what a terrible thing to say.’

  The anger turns into embarrassment; it was a terrible thing to say, she’s right. I slide a cup beneath the coffee machine and push the button, letting the gurgle of liquid drown out my shame.

  ‘See you later,’ she calls over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

  The gurgling stops and I shuffle back to my room, slopping coffee on the cream carpet and not giving a crap. Why does Mum turn me into this pathetic version of myself?

  I hand a coffee to Danny, who smiles gratefully at me. My Mum-induced downer begins to lift.

  ‘Take a look,’ he says, angling the laptop so I can see.

  I sit beside him on my bed and look over my sparkling new site. He’s already done an amazing job. ‘Danny, you are quite simply the best.’

  ‘It still needs some work. Why don’t I finish it off while you do your creative thing?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fanfic. We can copy and paste it in when we’re both done.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I pull out my laptop, which has actually gathered a little dust, and set myself up at my desk. I listen to Danny tapping away on his keyboard and I begin to relax.

  OK. I need to undo the damage Fanboy has done.

  But how?

  The calmness I felt listening to Danny’s rhythmic tapping has gone. My fingers begin to tremble as I think about the enormous responsibility of the situation. I could so easily screw this up. And it will be my friends who feel it. My mouth dries and my forehead pricks with sweat.

  I need to stop thinking about the bigger picture. I need to focus on the screen before me . . . think like a writer, not a saviour. Writing, I can do.

  Deep breath.

  OK. Let’s stop Nate being such a tool.

  Changing Nate back to a good guy can’t be too sudden, that would be unbelievable and the readers won’t buy in. I need to start by building empathy, all the best redemption stories do this. And what better way to build empathy than to help the reader understand why Nate turned traitor in the first place. Fanboy touched on this, but I can flesh it out, make it zing, because if anyone understands what it’s like to not fit in, it’s me. I focus on the words as they spill from my fingers on to the screen.

  It’s time to tell Nate’s story.

  NATE

  Most people, most things, belong somewhere. Books on shelves, flowers in beds, laughter in children. We all need family, friends, groups of people who make us feel accepted and part of something bigger than ourselves.

  Not me. I’ve never belonged anywhere, not really.

  My name is Nate, and I’m an Imperfect. And may it be said quite rightly that my body, face and immune system are, indeed, imperfect. But my brain – my big, beautiful brain – is as perfect a specimen as you’ll ever know. I’ve always been clever. Some say I’m a genius. But the problem remains that I’m an Imperfect. And in spite of the Imp–Gem alliance, the words Imp and genius remain paradoxical.

  And this haunts me every day.

  I’ll start at the beginning. You see, I’ve never had a family; I was orphaned when I was very young and was raised by the streets of London. It quickly became clear that I was brighter than the average Imp. This helped me make friends. After all, I could con bread from a starving man if I had to. But these so-called friends did not love me for who I was, they loved me for what I could provide. And that is not belonging. That is bribery.

  I thought becoming a rebel would fill the hole. A ready-made family bound together by a united goal. I spent years imagining the day I would be old enough to join the cause. The comradery, the friendship. The belonging. But when that day finally came, the only rebel who truly accepted me, who wasn’t threatened by my big, beautiful brain, was Thorn.

  Thorn. The Gem.

  And that got me thinking.

  There are lots of Gems beyond the streets of London.

  Maybe I could belong.

  I sit back, feeling happy for the first time in ages. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy writing fanfic.

  Danny watches me for a moment. ‘Wow, you look completely zen.’

  ‘Call me Gandhi.’

  ‘Can I read it, Gandhi?’

  I nod, eager to see what he thinks. He crouches beside me and falls silent, his eyes moving rhythmically from side to side. When he’s finished, he grins his lovely grin. ‘It’s really good. You’ve totally got inside his head. But it reads like he’s still going to the dark side – I thought you didn’t want that.’

  ‘Yes, but this is just step one in a bigger plan. You see, I need to help the Fandom understand why Nate went bad in the first place, you know, build empathy. Once they feel sorry for him, they’ll not only invest in his redemption story, they’ll positively beg for it.’

  He smiles. ‘You’ve got it sussed, Al. I’ll finish the site tonight, send you your login details, then you can hit that publish button.’

  He called me Al. Literally nobody has ever called me that. I kind of like it. ‘Thanks so much, I really don’t know how I can ever repay you.’ I want to kiss his cheek, but something holds me back. I settle for squeezing his arm.

  He blushes. ‘Meh.’

  True to his word, Danny sends me my login details later that night.

  The site looks incredible. He’s really talented. There’s a cloud of swallows climbing upwards against a black background, the words Fandom Rising above them in gold. He’s left a space for me to write something under the header. I bite my lip. I want to write something which Violet would like, something which makes her feel closer. I stare at the cloud of swallows and it suddenly seems so obvious. Her favourite song from when she was a kid was about swallows. I wonder if I had this at the back of my mind all along. Jane used to sing it to us at sleepovers after we’d overdosed on Haribo and Stephen King movies. It’s one of those boring, folksy songs the Girl Guides probably still sing around a campfire. I quickly google some of the lyric fragments.

  I find it with ease. My throat begins to ache again. It’s prettier than I remember – no wonder Violet loved it. I type out a verse:

  Let me fix your broken wing,

  A swallow should fly free, my love,

  For you were born to dance and sing,

  And you will soar with me, my love.

  Then, I write my message to the fans:

  You’ve all read Fandalism.

  The tale of a lost Imp who turns traitor. The tale of a utopia rotting from the inside.

  Now it’s time for Nate’s story.

  There. Let’s see if I can’t start a fanfic war. That will help my ratings at the very least.

  I copy and paste in my first chapter, check it over a few times, then I hit publish.

  I message Danny.

  It’s alive. It’s alive. IT’S ALIVE!

  Well done, Dr Frankenstein

  I tweet the link to my followers, with a message saying Anime Alice is back! Check out my new fanfic site, Fandom Rising.

  Quickly, I update my other social media accounts, and then, like a total Kardashian, sit back and watch the views on the webpage. They tick upwards, but way too slowly to be any use to Violet and Katie. I need someone to he
lp with promotion. There’s only one obvious candidate, though it pains me to say it: Russell Jones. I drop him a quick message on Twitter, dangling the carrot of that third book he kept blathering on about.

  Hey Russell, thanks so much for helping me today. It was so kind of you. Sorry I wasn’t very chatty, I’m sure you understand. I would really appreciate some boosting, trying to get back in the fanfic saddle. It could provide some inspiration for that third book we were discussing

  He replies a few minutes later, in spite of the late hour.

  Sure thing, beautiful.

  Slightly patronizing, but he does retweet my post.

  It works. Within an hour or so, views are in the thousands.

  Game on, Fanboy.

  16

  VIOLET

  We sleep at Thorn’s house. An old red-brick terrace with balconies which were once painted white and adorned with flowers. There’s no torture chamber, no creepy stuffed animal heads. It’s almost an anti-climax. Katie and I share a double bed which feels like a spring could burst free any moment, impaling our spines, but it’s a huge improvement on the Imp-hut from my last visit. Still, knowing Thorn sleeps only metres away makes me crave that hay-dusted bench back at the Harper estate.

  I console myself with a single thought: tomorrow I’ll see Ash.

  Katie turns down the paraffin lamp so I can just make out the edges of her face. She stares at me, blinking slowly. ‘Well, today sucked.’

  This almost makes me laugh, but the scent of roasting flesh still sticks to my hair, and I can’t quite muster a smile. Instead, I drop my voice low. ‘The room could be bugged.’ I glance quickly at the walls, suddenly regretting how readily I flung my shirt off. The shabby furnishings, the lack of electricity, the general poverty combines to make you forget about the Gem technology which could be hidden anywhere.

  ‘How could it happen?’ Katie asks, her voice barely a whisper. ‘How could he do that?’

  ‘You mean Nate?’ I say, afraid to use the word traitor, especially now the bug idea has lodged in my head.