Col pushed his cereal aside. “Well, reading that has ruined my breakfast. I hope Connie doesn’t get to see it. She’ll be furious that he even mentioned her. She’s depressed enough as it is.”
“So I’ve noticed. What do you think’s wrong with her?”
“She’s…”—he knew this couldn’t go on; Connie had to tell someone—”She’s worried about something.”
“Did she say what it is?”
Col wanted to tell her but knew it shouldn’t be his decision. “Not sure.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the wedding. I’m a little worried, if the truth be known. My son is a wonderful man, but even I recognize he is not the easiest of people to live with.”
Col glanced at the clock and realized he would miss the bus if he didn’t hurry.
“Gotta go!” he said, leaping up from the table and pulling on his jacket.
“That hair of yours hasn’t seen a comb for a week!” his grandmother called after him.
“No point—I’m flying after school!” He hopped into his sneakers on his way out.
“You’re just like your father was at your age!” his grandmother said in exasperation.
“I hope not!” Col yelled, waving good-bye as he jogged off down the road.
At lunchtime, Col cornered Connie by the drink machine. This could not wait any longer.
“Look, Connie, we’ve got to tell someone.”
She fumbled with her purse, pretending not to hear. “Have you got ten?”
He dug in his pocket and handed her a coin. “You know what I’m talking about.”
A carton of juice clunked into the bottom of the machine. Connie knelt down to retrieve it. “It was nothing.”
“We both know something really bad happened that night. You can’t act as if it doesn’t matter.”
Connie stabbed the straw through the hole at the top of the carton.
“Gran was asking after you—and I’m sure Dr. Brock suspects something.” Col was getting annoyed. Didn’t she realize how serious this was? She was acting as if she could ignore the problem and it would go away. “If you don’t say something, I’ll have to”
“You wouldn’t!” Connie glared at him.
“Think how I’m feeling—I know you’re in trouble, but hiding the truth will only make it worse! If anything happens again, it’d be my fault.”
“But it might not happen again,” she pleaded desperately.
Col shook his head. “You don’t know that—I can’t know that for sure.”
“Please don’t say anything.” She seized on the first excuse she could think of. “It’ll spoil the wedding.”
Col ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Isn’t this more important? I’m sure Evelyn would think so. Look, as soon as the wedding’s over, you must tell someone, okay?”
“Maybe—when I’m ready.” She crumpled up the carton and threw it in the trash. “Let’s find the others.”
Col trailed after her, feeling badly that he had to bully her like this. He understood why she was panicking—he’d probably feel the same in her place—but he was convinced he was right to press her. She’d end up killing someone—maybe herself—if she dabbled in storm-raising again.
Out in the schoolyard, they found Rat with Anneena and Jane.
“There you are!” exclaimed Anneena. “We were wondering where you’d got to. Look at this.”
She handed Connie a clipboard: it was a petition in favor of the wind farm.
Rat bounded onto the bench beside Connie. “Yeah, I wanted to get involved. Evelyn asked me to collect signatures from kids our age.” He leafed through the pages already filled with names.
“It’s a good idea,” said Anneena. “We’ve got to show the town council that we care about stuff like that. They listened about protecting Mallins Wood—maybe they will again.”
Connie tried to act interested, but really her mind was still on the argument with Col. “So, how many people have signed?”
“Nearly everyone I’ve asked,” said Rat proudly. “I even got Mr. Conrad to sign during detention, didn’t I, Col?”
Col nodded. “Yeah—though it might just’ve been to get you to shut up.”
Rat grinned. “Well, it worked—don’t diss the strategy. Not that it always works out like that,” he admitted. “A few people are still against.” He glanced at Col. “I think someone’s organizing a local protest.”
“Mr. Quick,” Jane informed them as she shuffled through some photos she’d taken.
“Who’s he?” asked Rat.
“Manager of the oil refinery in Chartmouth—we met him a couple of years ago. When he fired my dad.”
“So I take it he’s a nice man?” Rat balanced on the back of the seat.
“Not really. But he does live in Carstones, right below the site of the wind farm.” Jane found the photo she had been looking for—showing the little fishing village with its picturesque houses clustered around a bay, on the other side of the headland from Rat’s home. “Can’t blame him for not wanting it on his doorstep,” Jane said fairly.
“I s’pose you can’t win them all.” Rat tapped the clipboard on Col’s head. “So, are you going to sign now?”
Col shook it off. “I still haven’t made up my mind. Not everyone I know is in favor of it.”
Connie and Rat understood that he was referring to Skylark’s continued opposition to the scheme. Col’s loyalties were divided: as a human and as a companion.
“Go on, Col. Think about my friends for once,” Rat urged. “Some of us can only survive at low temperatures; Erik told me that a degree or two more warming and they would have to go even further north. I mean, what’s a little inconvenience compared to extinction?”
Col passed the board back. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Rat was beginning to get angry with him. “Look, if it was the other way ’round, if it was your friends that were suffering, I’d sign. We need more wind farms—we’ve got to stop global meltdown.”
Col sighed. “Of course I agree with that.” Rat shoved the clipboard into his chest; Col pushed it away. “It’s just, why here? Why this wind farm in our home?”
“They’ve got to go somewhere. Why not here? It’s on my doorstep—I’ll see it and hear it every time I step outside, and am I giving everyone grief about that?” Rat turned to Connie. “What about you?”
“Yeah, I’ll sign.” Connie decided she had wavered long enough; she was ready to put her name to the scheme. “I think wind farms are something we’re all going to have to learn to live with.”
Rat suppressed the urge to howl in triumph—he had the universal’s signature! “Thanks, Connie—that means a lot to me and my frosty friends,” he said, his grin stretching from ear to ear.
Col felt self-conscious being the only one of them not to put his name on the petition. He got up and stretched, pretending to be cool about it. “I think I’ll go play soccer. See you later.”
“What did he mean, he’s got friends against it?” asked Anneena, her curiosity piqued by a conversation she hadn’t quite understood. “What friends were you both talking about? Friends from your society?”
“Col, the Man of Mystery.” Rat put on an American TV announcer’s voice and began fooling around. “Hides his secrets in his secret Society. And he would’ve gotten away with it, if it hadn’t been for you meddlin’ kids.” He tweaked Anneena’s braids.
Connie pulled him away before he did any more damage to Anneena—or the Society.
“What?” Rat asked innocently.
Connie rolled her eyes.
“Look, O-Miss-High-and-Mighty Universal, sometimes the best way to hide something is to make it obvious. Anneena likes a mystery—if we make fun of it, she’ll lose interest.”
Connie stopped in her tracks and looked back. Anneena was laughing with Jane; it seemed that their conversation had moved on and she’d forgotten about Col. “You know, Rat, I think you may be right.”
She just wished she could make Col forget about the storm-raising so easily.
Evelyn and Mack’s wedding took place in the register office in Chartmouth Town Hall that Saturday. It was a small affair with only family and close friends invited. Connie was her aunt’s bridesmaid. Evelyn stood beside her, wearing a simple white gown that clung to her slender form like a glove. Her long hair rippled down her back, her only ornament a headdress of red berries, her bouquet a bunch of scarlet roses. Connie had never seen her looking so beautiful. As for herself, she was wearing a red silk dress with a posy of white roses, and her hair was caught up in a small circlet of red-berried holly. Mack, for once, had put aside his leather and donned a black suit with a white collarless shirt. His best man, a rather stunned-looking Col, was dressed to match.
Col had been surprised when his father asked him to be his best man, though the offer had been made in a typically off-hand manner that morning.
“Can you look after the rings for me?” Mack had asked him. “I can’t trust Casey or Digger to remember to turn up.”
Col had decided to take it as a compliment that his dad had entrusted him with this task, even though he had come third on the list of options. Standing straight-backed in front of the registrar’s desk, Col cast a sidelong look at Connie, who was swaying slightly on the other side of her aunt. She would have no more excuses now. He was determined that either she would talk to Dr. Brock today as soon as the ceremony was over—or he would.
“You are now husband and wife,” announced the registrar.
Mack bent down and kissed Evelyn. “You must be crazy to marry me,” he told her when they broke apart.
“I know,” she replied with a laugh.
Mr. Masterson had offered his barn for the wedding reception so that as many creatures as possible from the Society could come. A band of young musicians from the Sea Snakes had been hired to provide the entertainment, and the dancing was already well under way. Connie watched from a hay bale as her aunt whirled around in Mack’s arms like a white spinning top, her head thrown back in a raucous laugh. Connie could not remember seeing her aunt so happy. Whatever others might think of the marriage, Evelyn was clearly content with her choice.
Rat and Col clambered over the rows of bales toward her, balancing plates piled high with food.
“Mighty craic this is,” Rat said through a mouthful of baked potato, nodding over at the dancers. Argand was now darting in and out of the people, making a few of them stumble as she tried to catch up with the end of one line. Skylark lingered longingly at the edge of the dance floor, twitching his ears in time with the music.
Col nudged Connie and nodded toward Dr. Brock, who was sitting near the band. “So, Connie, shall we tell him now?”
Connie opened her mouth to reply but, at that moment, the double doors to the barn burst open, letting in a blast of cold air. Above the music, a shrill keening noise could be heard, clashing with the tune, growing louder and louder. Col’s jaw dropped as a stream of dark figures poured into the room, their long shaggy hair flying behind them, their ragged, rotting clothes trailing on the ground. Col and Rat stuffed their fingers in their ears; Connie sat rigid, her hands clenched at her sides. The creatures had pale, gaunt faces, gray like mist, and their skin shone with a clammy, cold luster. Their mouths were open in a constant wail—dark circles of grief.
The banshees converged at the center of the barn, scattering the other dancers, until they had surrounded Mack and Evelyn. The band flagged, the music died away, drowned out by the rise and fall of the banshees’ cry. Then, responding to a secret signal, the banshees began to sway from side to side, rolling their heads on their scrawny necks, tossing their hair to and fro in a strange jerking dance. Their wail echoed through the barn like the wind that frets in the chimneys of Dartmoor’s isolated houses. Answering their call, Evelyn dropped her hands from Mack’s shoulders and began to sway in time with the banshees, flinging her hair from side to side; the berry wreath skittered to the floor to be kicked into the dust by the horny-soled feet of her companions. Mack looked lost.
“Hey, this is wild!” Rat exclaimed. He threw his plate aside and leapt down the terrace of hay bales onto the floor, mingling with the writhing banshees. Picking up the rhythm, he too began to sway in time with the keening. His move broke the spell that they had all been under. Getting the idea, Mack shrugged and began to copy his wife, at first self-consciously and then letting himself go. Others began to follow suit, stepping nervously back onto the floor before allowing the dance to sweep them away. The floor resembled a forest of trees swaying under a buffeting gale.
Now that everyone was distracted, Col decided it was the perfect moment to get Dr. Brock on his own. He stood up. “Are you coming with me to tell him, Connie?”
Connie did not answer. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, and her breathing labored. The wail of the banshees had penetrated her deeply, blowing her off to the lonely places on the moor where they lived, winding her into the sad secrets of blemished lives and sudden deaths that was the lot of many creatures. Their wailing filled her with a hopelessness that was too painful to bear. Grappling for her shield, she raised the protection of the universal over her head and shut out the anguish, fencing herself off from them.
“Connie?”
“No,” she said bitterly, full of self-loathing. “I don’t want anyone to know that I’m…I’m like that.”
Col gritted his teeth, hating himself for what he was about to do. “Well, if you won’t, I will.”
He jumped down the bales before she could stop him. Connie watched horror-struck as he approached Dr. Brock. She saw them put their heads together, saw Dr. Brock turn to look up at her wide-eyed.
That was enough. Getting quickly to her feet, she left the swaying mob of wedding guests and ran outside.
Anger swelled inside Connie as she fled back to her great-uncle’s cottage. Too full of feelings to sleep, she climbed to the summit of the hill and turned off the path, recklessly stepping onto the rough grass that led to the very edge of the cliff. Just then, she hated Col—but most of all she hated herself. A storm of fear pounded inside her as she recalled Dr. Brock’s expression.
It was too, too horrible. She had been exposed as a monster—a liar.
She didn’t know what to do with herself. If only she could find release for her overcharged emotions! Her skin crackled with power. The feelings seemed to be fizzing out of her—out of her control. Thunder rumbled in the distance; lightning flickered on the horizon. Connie raised her arms above her head and let go, shouting her anger to the storm. A breeze picked up, soon growing into a gale. It whipped up the waves to rise against the base of the cliff, clawing their way toward the universal. Connie stood firm as the wind buffeted her, hair flying like a flag behind her. Clenching her fists at the sky, she pummeled the clouds to drop their load. They obeyed, and rain began to lash down, soaking the grass at her feet, icy droplets stinging her cheeks with their kiss. Next, she stabbed her outstretched fingers at the sky and forks of lightning hissed down to their tips, glancing off to the earth so that she became surrounded by a glittering web of light. Darkness welled up inside her and swept her away, plunging her into the storm so that she became one with it.
Down by the cottages, a motorbike drove into view.
“Dirty weather brewing,” Dr. Brock shouted over his shoulder to Col who was riding behind him. Col did not answer; he was staring at the little figure on the headland, illuminated in intense shafts of light. Dr. Brock screeched to a halt. “Oh, no!” he breathed, spotting what Col had seen.
“What’s she doing?” Rat asked, his enthusiastic face peering out of the sidecar. “What creature’s she encountering?”
“Good question,” said Dr. Brock, taking off his helmet. “Is this what you meant, Col, when you told me about that night on the beach?”
“No, not like this—she was asleep when I found her.” Col couldn’t believe what he was seeing—Connie creating a thunderstorm. She w
ould get herself killed if she carried on like this! “We’ve got to stop her.” Without waiting for the others, he jumped off the bike and began to run at full speed up to the headland. The wind battered him back, trying to prevent him from reaching her; hail pinged off his face like shotgun pellets. “Connie!” he yelled as he climbed up onto the hilltop. “Connie! Stop it!”
She did not turn. It was doubtful she could hear him with the noise of the storm howling in her ears. She was standing on the very edge of the cliff. Col started forward to reach her, but he was abruptly pulled back by Dr. Brock.
“You can’t touch her—you’ll be killed!” he shouted in Col’s ear.
Col could see now that he was right. Connie was conducting the lightning to glide over the grass, picking off targets to reduce to cinders. A field away, a sheepfold exploded apart, a stack of hay bales scorched and withered.
Col yelled again: “Connie!”
An echo of his cry penetrated her mind. Wrapped in her glittering web, she turned to them, her eyes cold. There he was: the boy who had betrayed her.
Suddenly Col was afraid—that wasn’t his friend looking at him.
“Dive!” shouted Dr. Brock, pulling Col and Rat to the ground beside him as overhead a lightning bolt whistled past.
“What’s she playing at?” Rat protested indignantly.
“She’s not playing,” Dr. Brock hissed. “If we stay here, we’ll be fried.” He shuffled back on his stomach, beckoning Col and Rat to follow him. But as they beat a hasty retreat, a streak of gold zoomed overhead, flying straight for Connie; Argand plunged through the mesh of lightning, unharmed by its burning touch, and landed at Connie’s feet. Her tongue flickered across Connie’s toes. With the abruptness of a switch being flicked, the lightning disappeared and Connie crumpled to the ground, her arms around Argand’s neck.
Hesitantly, Col raised his head to check that all was clear and then dashed over to Connie to pull her away from the cliff edge. Dr. Brock and Rat were in close pursuit.
“What were you doing!” Col yelled at her, angry beyond words by the fright she had given them all.