A Shimmer in the Night Page 2

  Sometimes, it worked.

  Whisperwood would be no different as far as the spirits were concerned, but early on, I became aware of how much more prominent their presence there was. Early in the term, sounds coaxed me out of bed and into the hall. I heard them. I felt them. Whispers and sobs and fingertips against my cheek. Now and again, I caught glimpses of a shadow from the corner of my gaze, always gone when I turned to look.

  For the first few weeks, they seemed harmless enough. A distraction at worst, and I could deal with distractions.

  The first time I fully saw one of the dead boys was during drills class as I jogged the perimeter of the school grounds with Davies. The figure stood off in the distance at the tree line, wide-eyed and watching with its mouth agape in a soundless scream.

  I stumbled, breath catching in my throat. No sooner had I straightened up than someone slammed into me from behind, and I landed face-down in the dirt, hard enough to knock the wind right out of my lungs. Gasping, my head snapped up. The ghost was gone, but the boy who had nearly run me over towered over my prone form with an ugly sneer plastered across his face.

  “Look, I’ve made the Oriental boy dirty. Is that an improvement, do you think?”

  His friends laughed. The sound was drowned out by my heartbeat in my ears. I pushed myself to my elbows, wiping the mud from my face. My drill clothes were a lost cause, but it wasn’t that nor my wounded pride that hurt.

  No one at school knew about my Chinese background. True, they could have guessed; I could pass well enough most of the time, unless someone looked closely, noticed the shade of my dark eyes, the tint of my skin—not as noticeable as Mother’s, but not quite the right shade for a white boy, either. But the more likely scenario was that they heard it from someone else, and there was only one person who knew.

  That person was Davies, who had stopped some ways off when he realised I was no longer at his side, and only watched me helplessly. After a long moment of hesitation, he turned his back and fled, leaving me alone.

  As I attempted to pick myself up, the large boy crouched beside me. “Oi, not sure I said anything about you getting up, did I?”

  I went still, on my hands and knees and all too aware that, out here running laps around the perimeter, the likelihood of an instructor coming to my rescue was slim to none. I turned my head, studying that sickeningly amused face.

  I got to my feet.

  Another boy shoved me back down. I had no hope of keeping traction in the muddied grass, and that time, a foot planted itself against my stomach, holding me in place.

  “Tanner said to stay down, didn’t he?” the second boy drawled, bearing down with enough pressure to make me wince.

  I could do little to get away, and so I did what Mother always did, what I witnessed her do more than once growing up when someone hurled vicious words at her on the street. I kept my chin up, my lashes lowered, a look of utter disinterest and pride upon my face, and I spoke not a word.

  Tanner, the larger boy, continued to peer down at me, but his triumphant smirk quickly vanished. “You not know a lick of English, lad?”

  From out of my line of sight came a voice I didn’t recognise: “Probably a sight more than you do, Beckett.”

  Of the two boys who stepped into view, I recognised one of them as another new student. He’d been in the small group of boys, like myself, who were new arrivals to Whisperwood at the beginning of second year. Frances, I thought his name was.

  The pair were otherwise only familiar because we held a few classes together. Frances was shorter, though they shared a similar style of mussed hair, the difference being that Frances looked as though he at least tried to tame his into place. Frances was the one who had spoken, but when the four didn’t immediately back away from me, it was the taller of the two who stepped closer and loomed over Tanner and his friends with his eyes narrowed in warning.

  “The real question is whether or not your mothers taught you any manners,” he said.

  Beckett sneered, and although he didn’t immediately move, I felt the pressure on my stomach ease just a little.

  Tanner rose to his feet, hands held up. “Easy, Alexander. We were just havin’ a bit o’ fun.”

  “Call off your dog,” Beckett growled.

  “You know what would be really fun,” Alexander drawled, “is getting off that poor boy and writing a letter to your mother apologising for what a sorry disappointment you are.”

  Beckett went still, rage flashing across his face before he let out a sharp laugh. “Say that again?”

  He grinned, tight, all teeth. “I said back off, Beckett.”

  “Yeah? Or what?”

  Alexander took a slow step closer. “Or I’ll show you exactly what got me sent to Whisperwood. And I assure you, it’s not because I’m some prissy little shit who doesn’t know how to watch his tongue.”

  Even from my rather low vantage point, I could see the way Beckett shrank in on himself, the way Alexander towered over him with his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. Had Beckett been alone, I think he might have backed off right then and there, but his eyes flicked to Tanner and then to his other companions, who all watched him expectantly, and their presence seemed to give him the nerve to snarl, “Fuck off.”

  Alexander smiled. “All right. The next time you get the urge to show off, I do hope you reflect back on this moment.”

  Then he slammed his fist into Beckett’s face.

  Beckett hit the ground beside me with his hands over his nose, wailing like a banshee. I immediately rolled away, positive a fight was about to break out. Except instead of a fight, Tanner and the other two bolted while Beckett, still cradling what I suspected was a broken nose, clambered to his feet and scuttled after them.

  “What a bunch of pricks,” Frances muttered.

  “I told you they were cowards.” Alexander closed the distance between us and extended his hand to me with a smile that was impossibly gentle, the complete opposite of what it’d been seconds ago. “You all right?”

  “All right,” I quietly agreed, accepting the offered help up. Alexander caught hold of my elbows as I began to slip again, and together we took a few steps back onto a patch of dryer grass. I could only imagine what a sight I looked, but our nearness never seemed to bother him a bit.

  “Sorry about all that,” he said. “The lot of them are wastes of space. Sure you’re all right? Not hurt?”

  I could taste a bit of blood in my mouth, now that he mentioned it, but it was so interlaced with the taste of dirt that I’d missed it at first. “Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you both for your help.”

  Frances turned to me then, looking me over. “No thanks necessary. Prichard, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Not my father’s last name, nor even Mother’s real surname…simply a name she took on for us to avoid sounding “too Chinese.” She thought it would make things easier for me.

  Frances grinned. “Oscar Frances. Nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure.” I found my gaze returning to the other boy, who still had a hand braced against my arm like he thought I might fall again or had simply forgotten to move it. Either way, I was not going to complain. “And you are…?”

  He graced me with a sunny smile when our eyes met. “Preston. Preston Alexander. And I think you should let me walk you back to the building and get you cleaned up.”

  While Frances resumed his run and promised to tell our instructor there’d been a small accident, Alexander fell into step alongside me back to the changing room off the main school building. Inside, I headed straight to the cubby containing my regular uniform and began the arduous process of peeling off my muddied drill shoes and clothes. Everything down to my socks was soaked through, and I stood in my undergarments a moment, shivering, as Alexander jogged to the opposite side of the room and then returned with a towel dampened in the wash bin the boy
s used upon finishing drills.

  I took the towel with a quiet thank you and made quick work of cleaning up. When I finished, Alexander was seated on the bench opposite me, watching in quiet curiosity. With the oddest, most overwhelming flush of modesty washing over me, I turned from his gaze and began to dress. “So…were those friends of yours?”

  He laughed curtly. “Beckett and them? Not a bit. Just had a run-in with them already this year. They tried roughing up Frances the second day of the term.”

  “Wasted no time, did they? Whatever for?”

  “Being poor, I suppose. For not being one of them. I can’t say I understand it, just that I don’t much like those who look down on others.” He rolled his broad shoulders back into a shrug. “It they try to bother you again, you let me know.”

  “You aren’t worried about being reprimanded for fighting?”

  “I never fight without good cause. If this is the kind of place that wants to throw out people for protecting others, then I don’t care to be here anyway.”

  “Well, I do appreciate it, but if you were to be expelled, I would be very disappointed.”

  Alexander glanced up at me. “Why is that?”

  Perhaps I was being too presumptuous, standing there half-dressed, my hair a mess, and feeling overly exposed to this boy I found exceedingly lovely to look at and feeling my courage bolstered just enough to say, “Because if I’ve just made a new friend, it would be a shame for him to leave suddenly.”

  He smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to be careful, then.”

  It was a smile I returned in kind, and it lingered maybe a moment too long before I returned my attention back to the task at hand. Namely, finishing getting dressed. When I turned fully to carry my dirtied clothes to the laundry pile, Alexander stood, catching me by the elbow to draw me back to him.

  “Hold a moment,” he said, plucking the towel from my grasp.

  He leaned close and placed a damp corner of the towel to my lower lip, which I had, in fact, bitten when knocked to the ground earlier. I’d noticed the discomfort of it on the walk there and hadn’t thought much of it. Alexander dabbed away the blood with the utmost care, as fixated on his task as much as I was fixated on him.

  When he pulled back, I dragged my lower lip between my teeth, still catching the faint metallic taste there, and how swollen it was. I doubted it was anywhere near as bad as the broken nose Beckett was sporting. “Thank you.”

  “Drill will be over soon. Likely no reason to go back out if you don’t want to.”

  “I can’t say I do. Do you think they’ll go to Mr. Myer to complain about you hitting him?”

  “Doubtful, unless he wants another pummelling.” His green eyes positively sparkled when he grinned. “Especially with Frances dogging his heels, he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  “You needn’t stay with me if you want to get back to him, you know.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine on his own. Probably made three new friends since he left.”

  That, and the fond and amused smile that danced across Alexander’s face, told me all I needed to know about Oscar Frances and the friendship they shared.

  “Do you two room together?” I asked.

  When I took a seat upon the bench, he sat beside me. “Yes. I got lucky with that one. I attended Whisperwood last year and never quite got the hang of making any good friends. What about you? Get on with your roommate all right?”

  Normally, I would have answered with an easy yes, but my feelings were still a little raw from Davies abandoning me earlier and the notion he might have spread information about me told to him in confidence, so there was a brief second of hesitation before I brought myself to answer. “Edwin Davies. We get on well enough, I suppose.”

  If Alexander caught on to my reluctance, he didn’t comment on it. “Hm. Well, since class is about over, do you want to go and grab lunch?”

  Such a simple question, and yet it made my hopes soar. “You don’t mind me sitting with you?”

  Alexander gave me a grin that made every other unfortunate thing about my day slip away. “I asked, didn’t I?”

  Being invited to join Alexander and Frances the first time was exciting enough, but when they continued to wave me over at meals and started to seek me out in their free time—truly, I’d never been happier. My heart felt full, and never did I fail to brighten at the sight of them, as though every interaction was unexpected and exciting. I wrote home to Mother of it, telling her about the friends I was making, and that Whisperwood wasn’t shaping up to be so bad after all.

  Oh, the teasing continued. Mostly, it was reduced to snide comments from Beckett, Tanner, and their friends in the halls. I gathered none of them were willing to take on someone like Preston Alexander, who had already asserted himself early in the school year as someone who would not hesitate to hit back…and hit back hard. Frances, too, had a similar reputation as someone who was far fiercer than his sweet and sunny disposition let on.

  Davies joined us at meals, too. He apologised to me for the incident on the field, citing his fear of getting caught up in it, and I brushed it aside and chalked it up to my own oversensitivity. After all, what had I truly expected him to do that would not have resulted in him also becoming a target?

  Still, I noticed the rift between us. I couldn’t quite get past the niggling suspicion about who might have spilled my secret about my parents, because up until that day on the field, the only one who knew was Davies. It was also clear his presence at the table was more because of the high respect he held for Alexander and Frances than anything to do with me. He trailed after them like an over-eager puppy, and they took him in. Whether because they truly enjoyed his company or because they had a penchant for bringing in anyone who clearly needed a bit of kindness, I wasn’t certain.

  I’m not a person prone to jealousy. At least, I never thought that I was. Except every now and again, when I walked into the common room and saw Davies engaged in a game of cards or schoolwork with Alexander, I suffered a quiet, subtle twinge of something in my chest that did not feel pleasant. My jealousy was quiet, and not a vicious creature by any means. Just an ache that struck soundly and sharply.

  It never failed that Alexander would catch me standing there and wave me over with a smile. “What are you looking like that for? Come here.”

  That was all it ever took to chase those feelings off. Such simple words to breathe life back into me.

  Before I’d realised it, I found myself at Alexander’s side, standing in his shadow where the world felt right and safe and comfortable. Upon returning home for Christmas holiday, I wrote him three times. I might not have spoken much in person, but I found in letters, I could carry on quite well. The break from school and its restless spirits was appreciated, but I spent the entire time overly eager to return.

  It was upon getting back to school that I became aware of what my feelings were evolving into, beyond admiration and maybe a simple physical attraction. That my eyes were lingering on Alexander longer than they should when he changed for drill, or during meals, when my gaze would wander the lines of his neck and jaw and his lips, and I would wonder what it might be like to touch them.

  Oh, the fact that I fancied men was no new revelation. But fancying Preston Alexander certainly was. And it wasn’t wise. In our months together, I’d come to view Alexander not as just a companion, but my closest friend. It was only to him that I permitted small details to slip here and there about my home life, nor did I hesitate to answer when he asked me questions I might have dodged with anyone else.

  Our time for such conversations was typically reserved for late in the evenings, when curfew drew near and most of the rest of our floor had retired for the night, but Alexander and I lingered in the common room by the fire.

  He asked me outright one evening, “What is your mother like?”

  It didn’t even catch me o
ff-guard, really. Alexander’s mind seemed to go at its own pace and sometimes he would ask things seemingly out of nowhere but had, in reality, been stewing in his head for days.

  “She’s quite lovely, actually. Soft-spoken, gentle.”

  “You must get that from her.”

  “Oh? I suppose.”

  “So, your father, then,” Alexander began, and the hesitation in his voice suggested he was treading carefully so as not to offend me. The effort was appreciated, but I knew what he was asking. I smiled.

  “He’s a business man. He runs a series of factories in London.”

  He gave me a sidelong look, curious. “Miscegenation’s a bit of a scandal, especially in a place like London, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I agreed, looking back to the fire. “Mother came to England as a child with her family. Her parents died when she was young, and the most profitable work for an orphaned girl her age was either working the mines or…well, selling herself.”

  “Oh.”

  “My father happened upon her and hired her services.” I cleared my throat. The story was a familiar one to me, one I’d grown up with, but repeating it to someone else was different. “He returned again and again to see her. Eventually, he decided he wanted her to be his, exclusively, but he was a married man. Even if he hadn’t been, I doubt he would have degraded himself by marrying a Chinese woman.”

  I was aware the words likely sounded as bitter on my tongue as they tasted, and I gave myself pause to bite it all back.

  Alexander’s gaze was gentle as he watched me. “If it’s uncomfortable, we don’t need to speak about it.”

  “You want to know, though.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “Then I’d rather you hear the truth from me than listen to whatever nonsense the rest of the school conjures up.”