Homing by Henrietta Rose-Innes Read Free Book Online

closer. They paused, so close he could hear the squeak of their shoes. Callum opened his eyes and there they were, at the end of the aisle. Black Tracksuit still had his hand in his pocket, and now Callum saw the bulge where the knife must be. His eyes settled lazily on Callum. Brown Shirt kept on going, on into the other rooms. Black Tracksuit kept staring at Callum. His eyes were neutral, but his mouth was open, showing silver in his teeth, and he seemed to be panting slightly – not from exertion, but with a kind of eagerness. Callum could barely breathe; he was sure the man could smell the blood. He stared back at Black Jacket’s face, unable to look away, despite what his mother had told him. Brown Shirt appeared again, shaking his head.
    Black Tracksuit didn’t shift his gaze. He crouched down next to Callum, leaning his face in close. Callum pressed himself back against the books. He could feel their spines sliding back in the shelf. The man leant in further, his mouth opening, so that for a moment Callum thought he was going to bite him with those silver teeth.
    Then Callum heard a joyous sound. The pistol shots of Miss Galant’s shoes. The men heard it too: Black Tracksuit stood up quickly just as Miss Galant appeared, wearing her fiercest look. She looked from Black Tracksuit to Callum and back again. She did not flinch or hesitate. Not for one moment did Callum suppose that Cleopatra might fear these men.
    “It’s closing time,” she said in a voice of chilled steel. “Please leave.”
    And without a murmur, Black Tracksuit and Brown Shirt shuffled out of the aisle, with nothing more than a muttered “Sorry, lady”, leaving Callum pressed into the shelf between the books. His heart welled with love for Miss Galant, and he beamed up at her as he struggled to his feet.
    “Uh uh,” she said in the same deathly-cold voice. She held up the ruined copy of The Siege of Ladysmith , considerably slimmer than it had been before. “I’m not finished with you, sweetheart.”
    Callum was quiet in the car. His mother was very cross. Miss Galant had told her that Callum wasn’t allowed back to the library because of the damaged book; so there would be no more Saturdays like this. But staring out of the window, Callum felt secretly happy, as if he’d passed a test. Being shouted at by Miss Galant had been terrible, but he’d endured; he hadn’t told about Neville. Craning his neck up at the clock tower on top of the town hall as they pulled away, he wondered if the young man was still up there, or if he’d found a way to fly free.
    It was as they were passing the station that Callum saw the baby-blue of the jersey. Neville was moving quickly along the pavement, one hand still held against his side. As the car pulled alongside him at the red light, Neville’s head came up shiftily. Callum pressed his face against the glass, and for a moment they looked at each other. Neville slowed but did not stop walking. Just as the lights changed, he raised his hand away from his injured side and held it up.
    Callum returned the gesture, bringing his hand to his temple, fingers straight.
    Then the lights changed and the car pulled forward, and Callum watched the figure in the pale-blue jersey slipping behind, the young man’s hand falling slowly away from his face.

The Leopard Trap
    Daniela had taken to leaving town when things got bad. If trouble was coming – and she could usually tell – she’d take the car and go somewhere random for a few days. A nice little bed and breakfast, some place where she didn’t have to explain.
    Before, in her old life, she would never have done this: go somewhere strange, all on her own. But the trips had become necessary. She’d almost started to look forward to them.
    It had been building for the last few weeks: Thom had been irritable, drinking too much, sleeping in the daytime. She knew the signs. His last bad spell had been months ago, and she’d started to relax a little. But