The Beast

Before my fingers were anywhere near it, the door opened noisily, folding inwards like a concertina. I stepped back, tripping over the step and landing heavily on the floor as a figure stepped from the darkness, bringing with it a cloud of cold, frosty air.

‘Morning, kiddo,’ Ameena said. Her teeth were chattering as she pushed the door closed and held up a flimsy white carrier bag. ‘Say hello to breakfast.’

I ran my finger along the inside of the plastic sandwich-pack, scooping up the last few stray crumbs. We’d had half the sandwich each, washed down by swigs from a one-litre carton of milk.

Only when we’d finished the lot did I ask where it had come from.

‘Petrol station,’ Ameena replied, crushing the milk carton and stuffing it back in the now-empty bag. ‘Found some money on the floor when I was going to sleep. Thought I’d give us a treat.’

I suspected Ameena wasn’t telling me the whole truth, but I wasn’t about to start asking questions. The sandwich had been the only thing I’d eaten in the last 24 hours, and I was beyond caring where or how she’d managed to get her hands on it.

‘I was worried,’ I admitted. ‘Thought someone had...’ I left the sentence hanging there, not quite sure what I’d thought had happened to her.

‘Kidnapped me?’ she said.

I nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘Murdered me?’

‘Well...’

‘Fed me to their evil crow army?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

She shook her head. ‘Nope. Just buying sandwiches.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s OK then.’

We were both on the back seat, facing each other, our feet almost touching. She slid backwards and leaned against the window. I did the same, then leaned forward again when the frosty glass began to bite at me through the thin coat.

‘So, what’s the plan for today? Some fine dining? A shopping spree?’ Ameena asked. ‘Roaming the streets for hours, then legging it every time we see a cop? The decision, Mr Alexander, is you—’

‘I want to go home.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She blinked, and I could almost hear her brain processing this information. ‘I dunno...’

‘I just...’ I lowered my head and looked at my hands. They were knotted together for warmth, so I couldn’t tell which fingers belonged to which hand. ‘We won’t stay long. I just... I want to see it.’

It was Ameena’s turn to lean forward. ‘She won’t be there,’ she said, her voice taking on a soft edge she hardly ever used. ‘Your mum. The papers said she was still in the—’

‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘I know that. But that was three days ago, and it’s...’ I untangled my hands and stared down at my open palms. ‘I just need to see it.’

‘It’s a long way.’ Ameena looked around at the inside of the bus. ‘And we’ve got it good here. Roof over our head. Something to sleep on. It could be a lot worse.’

I didn’t say anything. Ameena wasn’t going for the idea, I could tell.

‘Of course, we could have it even better,’ she continued, ‘if someone would use his magic powers to—’

‘Stop it,’ I said flatly. ‘They’re not magic powers. And I told you already, I’m not using them again. Not unless it’s an emergency.’

‘But you could—’

‘We don’t know what I could do!’ I snapped, and I realised I was standing up now, glaring down at her.

I’d first discovered my “magic powers” while fighting Mr Mumbles. It started with an itchy tingling across my scalp. Next thing I knew, things I imagined started to become real. I’d used the power to defeat Mr Mumbles, but I’d since found out that it was more dangerous than I could’ve guessed.

‘The Crowmaster told me that every time I use my, my... abilities, I’m playing right into my dad’s hands.’

‘The Crowmaster said a lot of things,’ Ameena shrugged. ‘Don’t think he was the most trustworthy of sources, to be honest.’

‘Well, I’m not taking the chance. Not unless there’s no other choice,’ I replied, lowering my voice again. ‘My dad told me that one day I’d help him kill everyone on Earth, and I don’t want to risk proving him right.’

Ameena shook her head, then gave another half-hearted shrug. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said. ‘But you could just conjure us up a cake or something. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s ever been killed by a French Fancy.’

I opened my mouth to argue, but then saw the smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

‘Shut up,’ I said, smiling on the inside, if not the outside. ‘So, are we going home or what?’

Down at the front of the bus, the door slid open with a soft hiss. We ducked at the same time, dropping to the floor behind a row of seats. The bus dipped to the left a little as someone heavy climbed inside.

Ameena mouthed something to me from the other side of the aisle. I had absolutely no idea what it was, so I just shrugged in reply. She shrugged back, leaving me even more confused than I had been. As I tried to guess what she’d said, the door of the bus hissed closed.

There was silence for a moment, before footsteps clacked along the aisle, slow and steady, like the ticking of an old clock. With every step the floor beneath us gave a slight shake. The vibrations got worse as the steps drew closer and closer, until...

‘Ruddy Nora!’

The voice was sharp and panicked. I looked up into the wobbly face of a grey-haired man. ‘Oi!’ he cried. ‘Who are...? What are...? Why...?’ His voice trailed off. ‘Oi!’ he said again, although you could tell his heart wasn’t in it this time.

Ameena stood up first. I was a second or two behind her. The man took a step backwards, eyeing us nervously. He was slightly shorter than Ameena, a little taller than me, wider than both of us combined. He wore a light blue shirt with a dark blue tie and a badge identifying him as “Dave Morgan, Driver”.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his eyes constantly flitting between us. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

‘Says who?’ Ameena demanded.

‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. Ameena had a lot of strengths, but diplomacy wasn’t one of them. ‘We didn’t... It was freezing. We didn’t have anywhere else to go.’

Dave Morgan, Driver, kept his gaze on me. ‘What,’ he began, ‘you homeless or something?’

I nodded.

‘Bloody Hell,’ he mumbled. His round shoulders seemed to sag. ‘How old are you?’

‘Thirteen,’ I told him.

His eyes opened wide. ‘Thirteen? And you’re...’ He shook his head. To his credit, he looked genuinely concerned. ‘Bloody Hell. That’s not right. That’s not right, that. There must be somewhere you can go?’

Neither of us replied.