Blood by K. J. Wignall Read Free Book Online Page A

wondered if she’d hit her head as she’d fallen. She was alive, he knew that much.
    He turned back to the pole boy, whose face had become even more pinched and full of venom, and immediately spotted the glint of a knife blade. A true coward, thought Will.
    One of the others said, “Leave it, Taz, it’s not worth it.”
    Another joined in, the one who’d wanted to visit the scene of the fire, saying without any conviction, “Yeah, Taz-man, chill.”
    The fifth member of his gang didn’t say anything. He was the youngest by a year or two, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Will could sense this boy staring at his face, could sense that he alone was possessed of enough intuition to know that Will was not what he appeared to be.
    Taz, for that seemed to be the pole boy’s name, was having none of it. He jabbed at the air with the knife and said to Will or to the others or perhaps even himself, “I’m chilled. You want it? C’mon, Goth boy.”
    Will took a quick step towards him. As he did so, he noticed Taz’s advisers backing away. The fat boy was still groaning on the floor and cursing about his tooth. Only the fifth boy kept his ground, staring, mesmerized.
    The blade flashed again as Taz made a panicky lunge, and then he looked alarmed as he realized that Will had caught his fist in his own hand and was now holding him firmly. His mouth looked on the verge of speaking, but Will’s hand was crushing his fingers around the blade of the knife and the pressure was beginning to tell.
    Will stared into his eyes, catching him with a hook that pulled him out of the world he knew. Taz could no longer see or hear his friends, no longer knew whether it was day or night or where he was. He’d lost the power to cry out, so even as the pain twisted his face, he remained mute and his tear-filled eyes never once strayed from Will.
    Will tightened his grip further and felt the pressurized crack as one finger broke against the handle, then another. The noise of slowly breaking fingers was enough to send two of the gang running into the night.
    He listened to their footsteps thumping away towards the background noise of the city traffic, then let go and heard the knife drop to the floor. He smiled and said softly, “Run away home, Taz, and never come back here again.”
    Will stood aside and watched as Taz came back to himself, as he looked down at his shattered hand and cried and stumbled forwards, breaking into a run. His fat friend shouted after him and, realizing he was being left, scrambled to his feet and lumbered off in the same direction, still cursing about his tooth.
    There was a sudden movement in the doorway as the girl came to with a start, letting out an offended, “Ow! Bloody hell!” She was holding her head with one hand, searching for her bag with the other.
    But Will didn’t go to her. He looked instead at the fifth member of the gang who still stood exactly where he’d been the whole time. He didn’t appear afraid in any way, but nor did he seem threatening—he looked like someone who’d experienced a revelation or a religious conversion.
    Without saying anything, he bent down and picked up a couple of small objects, the things Taz had discarded from the bag before Will’s arrival. He walked over then and held them out. It said something for his spirit that he didn’t even flinch as Will reached out and took them from him.
    â€œSorry about the book,” said the boy. Up close, Will noticed that he had the ghost of a scar on his left cheek.
    â€œThank you,” said Will, and the boy stroked the scar as if it bothered him, and then walked away towards the road.
    He looked back several times, and when he reached the road, he stopped for a moment before raising his hand in a wave. Will raised his hand in return, and the boy disappeared into the city.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Will turned to look at the girl who was