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Spook

1. Prologue

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-Barcelos, Portugal, 1801-

The townspeople of Barcelos stood close together, watching the gruesome scene that stretched before them. Their black attire was a mark of mourning, for nothing could be darker than this day, as parents and siblings watched their kin meet a swift downfall of the nefarious guillotine.

An ice-cold atmosphere of misery and torture clung to the air, already tainted with the smell of freshly spilled blood. In the distance the church bells sang a gloomy tone, reverberating across the town like thunder - but not even their sound could obliterate the deadly slice of the guillotine’s blade.

The soldiers dragged a dirty, bedraggled boy to the front of the lineup after carelessly discarding of the last poor, decapitated corpse. The onlookers gasped, recognizing the blacksmith’s apprentice, with his gorgeous face and strange green eyes that had always been admired by all. Had he really defied the King’s rule by organizing rebellions, leading to his walk of death upon this very hour? They watched in silence as he was aggressively thrown forward and his neck tightly secured. His face was solemn but measured, and he tried not to turn and look at his sobbing mother in the crowd. He had done what he had believed was right. He wouldn’t take it back, if he could.

People shook their heads or wept at his state. So young, they thought. Only seventeen. He could have had a promising future without drabbling in talk of revolutions and the overthrow of the King.

“Eu não não tenho nada temer,” he whispered up at the demonic, black mask of the executioner. Slowly, a smile spread over the boy’s face.

Eu não não tenho nada temer . . . I have nothing to fear.

The executioner cut the string. The crowd screamed. The blade glinted and sheered downwards in less than a millisecond. But that faint smile never left the boy’s face.

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Wellington, New Zealand, 2010

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The evening was unusually dark. Rain fell, dreary and relentless as it splattered to the ground and swelled in the streets. Most people preferred to remain inside in such dreadful weather such as this, but some brave souls had taken to gripping massive umbrellas or dark ponchos as they stepped outside and braved the oncoming storm.

There was one person, however, who cared not for the rainfall, nor the chilling winds that may as well pierce the bone. He was tall, slim, and brown-haired, not to mention completely drenched from head to foot. His piercing green eyes were set directly into the distance as he ran, ran, ran, completely oblivious to the downpour around him. No force on earth could stop him as he tore down the water-logged streets, the icy dampness leeching unpleasantly into his shoes. Passerby shot him questioning stares, watching as this bizarre teenager bolted past them as though it was completely normal to run through the rain.

The museum lay behind him, far behind him. But he needed to get somewhere else and quick, perhaps to the nearest graveyard where he would indeed be safe. They were following him, they were coming for him . . . and there was only a little amount of time for him to escape their clutches. His breath was coming up fast, although he wasn’t tired, not in the slightest. It was just a habit he had picked up from most humans – running fast equals breathing fast. If the boy did it his way, he wouldn’t be breathing at all.

A girl’s impatient, scolding voice whirled in his mind and trailed off into a hiss. “Hurry up, Tiger.”

I am trying, he thought back. Patience.

He didn’t notice that in the silver car driving along the street there was a dark-haired girl, goggling at him in perplexed curiosity as he sped down the sidewalk. He didn’t know that tomorrow his dazzling eyes would send her heart to flutter. Nor did he know that this girl would someday mean more to him than existence itself. Instead, he was all too intent on his rain-swept escape, scanning for a loophole out of his current situation.

Then – bingo. He spied a shadowed alley just before him, settled between two rows of houses, and a grin broke over his face. Sanctuary.

In a graceful bound he cleared an overgrown hedge and vanished into the darkness of the alleyway, with only a whisper of laughter left behind in his wake.

The girl stared at the point where he had melted away, her dark eyes as wide as they could possibly be.