Stig strides through the crowd of dead and I rush forward, shaky with relief. At the same time, a shadowy figure breaks ranks and lunges for me. I drop to the ground and it dissolves in a swirl of black smoke where the light touches it.
Stig’s face is ashen, and his voice wavers with disbelief. ‘You’re afraid of me? I know what you think, but you’re wrong. I didn’t hurt Nina.’
His words unpick a stitch in me and a sudden rush of affection fills my heart. I’ve been afraid to have feelings for him because I didn’t want to get hurt, and then when I thought he killed Nina . . . I shake my head, unable to form the words I need to say. How could I have thought such a thing? How could I have hurt him like that?
‘I’m sorry, Stig. I know.’
He hesitates and I hold out my hand. ‘Please?’
He pulls me to my feet and I catch my breath. ‘It was Ulva. She pushed Nina.’
‘What? No, Ulva wouldn’t do that.’ He shakes his head and takes several steps back, and I have a sudden urge to throw my arms around him, afraid he might leave me.
‘It wasn’t her fault. It was the wolf mask.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The mask did something to her. She wasn’t herself.’
The wind whips Stig’s hair around his face and he pushes it behind his ears. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I touched the catsuit Nina was wearing when she fell. I saw her last memory. I’m so sorry for what I said. I was wrong about you.’
‘You were wrong about me and you’re wrong about Ulva! She loved Nina.’
I look at the dead and a wave of coldness crashes over me. ‘Please, you have to take this to Karl.’ I hold out the carrier bag, which flutters in the wind. Stig raises his eyebrows. ‘What is it?’
‘Nina’s harness. The police were right; she was wearing one. Ulva helped her into it after you left. You need to take it to Karl. It’s evidence.’
‘Evidence? But you said it wasn’t her fault!’
Another shadowy figure lunges at me and I cry out.
Stig spins around. ‘What is it? What’s there?’
I swallow a sob. ‘The dead. They’re all around us.’
He turns and peers into the darkness, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. ‘Why can’t I see them? I saw Nina in the cabin. If I saw her, then why can’t –’
‘Please, Stig, help me get into the light!’
He stares, panic written on his face, and then he takes the bag and nods. I tighten my grip on his arm and his coat buzzes with determination. He gives me a tiny smile and a flicker of warmth catches inside me. ‘Ready?’ he asks.
Before I can answer, he ploughs into the shadowy figures. Cold hands snatch at my coat and tug at my hair, pulling me on every side. I gulp and struggle to breathe. I want to tell him to turn back but I can’t speak. Shadows dart before me, appearing and disappearing. A woman howls in my face, a young boy screams, men shout. I flail with my arms, trying to knock them away, but there’s nothing there.
Something slashes my face and I scream. Stig pulls me onwards and I try to run, but my legs are shaking so much I trip over.
Dozens of icy fingers grab me, their grip stronger than ever, as if they can sense I’m weakening. They’re pulling me down, dragging me to the ground. The dead are swarming all over me. I can feel them on my arms, my legs, my face, ripping my clothes, tearing my hair.
‘Stig!’
A thousand voices cry out, just like when the dead followed the rope into the tree. Dark shadows swirl around Stig’s face. He’s saying something but I can’t hear what.
‘Get me to the light, please!’
A solid hand hauls me up. We run a little way but something tugs at my ankles and I go down. Icy hooks claw and dig at my face. I writhe on the ground and try to pull them off. I open my mouth to scream and cold fingers force their way into my throat. The air freezes in my lungs, my chest so full of ice I can barely breathe. The cold plunges deeper, razor-sharp teeth biting into the flesh of my stomach. They’re inside me.
Wails and moans build to a shriek and I wince and cover my ears.
Pain rinses my mind of thought. I try to shout but my voice has gone.
‘Martha! We’re nearly there!’
He sounds terrified. I want to tell him it’s too late. I don’t have the strength to fight. I don’t even feel cold any more. I feel nothing.
A strong hand reaches under my arm and pulls me upright. I grit my teeth and Stig drags me along, my feet pounding on the wooden walkway.
He stops and rubs my arms. ‘You’re safe now. You’re safe.’
I blink through blurry lashes and see bright white light. A sob escapes me and I wrap my arms around his neck.
He holds me tight. ‘It’s OK. You’re OK.’ His coat is overflowing with love and worry. I wish I could stay wrapped in his arms. He’s so solid and warm. I pull away and try to speak but my teeth are chattering and it takes a while to get the words out. ‘Please, take the harness to Karl. Tell him to come quickly. Tell him he’s right, the circus is in danger.’
‘No, I’m not leaving you.’
‘I need to find Ulva and make her confess. There isn’t much time.’
‘But you can hardly stand.’
‘I’ll be OK. Please, Stig, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. You need to get Karl. Tell him to come. Now!’
25
FETTERS WILL BURST AND THE WOLF RUN FREE
S
tig races away and I wrap my arms around my sides. I take a few shaky steps and my body slowly begins to thaw, the numbness in my limbs replaced by aching stiffness. I text Mum to say I’m OK, then search for Ulva. Karl will be here soon; I just have to keep her talking until he arrives.
I move to one side as a gaggle of visitors approaches me, bundled up in coats and hats. They’re chattering excitedly, their breath forming tiny white clouds on the night air. Dozens more people spill out from the big top and then head into the smaller tents, or they turn right and congregate around the food vans, where they hand over notes in exchange for steaming trays of noodles and crêpes wrapped in serviettes.
A costumed performer stands outside each tent promising ‘wondrous feats’ and ‘amazing sights’. I glance towards the psychic tent and see Sandrine in her feathered mask, shrilling and flapping her arms. Not that she needs to drum up business; there’s already a long queue. Thinking about Ruth makes me feel bad. I hate letting her down, especially after our conversation in the canteen tent. I shouldn’t have brought up her past like that; it wasn’t fair of me. For a moment I consider going to apologise, but there isn’t time.
A muffled shriek sounds behind me. I turn and see a woman pointing at the sky, her eyes wide. The impossibly tall creature I saw earlier is striding down the path, sending visitors scattering in all directions. More than twice the height of the other performers on stilts, it glows bright red, long tubes of neon snaking around its wicker torso and limbs.
I enter the nearest tent, where dozens of people sit on benches watching a magician. He whips away a cloth to reveal a birdcage with a woman squashed inside, and the audience claps as she climbs out, then flips onto her back and arches her body. She crawls across the stage on her hands and feet with her head hanging down at a disturbing angle, and there is something repulsive about the spider-like way she moves. The crowd cheer her on, their hunger for the weird and extreme almost distasteful. I scan the room, desperately searching, but there’s no sign of Ulva or anyone in a wolf mask.