‘The gods would take exception to that.’
‘The gods would take exception to most of what I say.’
Loren looked at Felix straight on. ‘You know what I think? You’re more truthful than you let on.’
‘Being blunt and being honest aren’t the same,’ Felix said. ‘I lie to survive.’
Loren had nice eyes. Kind eyes. Warm as cinnamon to match the spray of freckles across his nose. When he stared, he studied, and Felix couldn’t shake the feeling that his skin, his muscles, his ribs had gonetransparent. That Loren could see right through him, see every twinge and scar of Felix’s heart.
No. Silly. Loren knew no part of him. If Felix stuck to his rules, they’d separate as strangers.
Felix shook his head to clear it, the day finally catching up. This time last night, he’d been eyeing the Forum guard in the tavern, wondering how best to pull off his theft. The guard had been the one to pay for it. Guilt swarmed in Felix’s chest, but he forced it down. Regret, remorse, recompense – those feelings brought a quick end to any thieving career. Another lesson from his father.
‘It’s late,’ Loren said, reading the sweep of Felix’s exhaustion. ‘You should sleep.’
Felix stood, arms and legs and skull aching. He made to walk from the window, but he paused. Lingered. ‘See you tomorrow.’
He could survive a few more hours here. He could endure Loren’s scrutiny until he drifted off to sleep. He could outsmart the streets and make it to the gate. Then Felix would peel off, run far and free, leave Pompeii and politics in the dust, onward to a future with the helmet as his prize – where no one knew a damn thing about him.
Felix wouldn’t look back.
Chapter VIII
LOREN
Loren hoped the nightmares would stop, that whatever strand connecting Felix’s psyche to his was satisfied now they’d met in the flesh, but that was before he blinked awake – not awake – to a knife running through his chest.
Cold pain punched a hole in his core. Loren gave a rattling gasp, the act ripping him in two, and fought for context. Details didn’t immediately solidify. He stood suspended in a void while his pain-lagged brain slowly filled in the rest, staring at the blurry handle protruding from his ribs.
Revenge, Loren thought with sour irony, for stabbing Felix in his dream the night before.
More details trickled in, mist wisping into shape, and the image of Felix stepped from the darkness ahead, lifeless and ragged as ever. Ghostly. Seeing him after meeting real-world Felix gave Loren a startling sense of dissonance.
The ghost said something, but, as usual, Loren heard nothing – frustrating to no end. If he could only hear the ghost, work out what he needed, maybe Loren could put the spectre to rest.
He swayed. Black spots bloomed across his vision. The dream world inched towards clarity, familiar cobblestones formingunderfoot, buildings lining the street, colourful awnings sending a throb through his heart that had nothing to do with the knife.
They were about to be destroyed.
‘Why?’ he demanded in a bloody choke. Every part of him blistered from icy shock. He fought to take a single stumbling step forward, and Ghost-Felix mirrored it backwards, stepping onto one of the road’s crossing stones.
Loren had hopped across those stones yesterday. Nonna’s yellow shop was ahead. The Temple of Isis stood a street away. This was his sharpest dream yet, accurate to the cluster of dandelions growing through the kerb.
Of course. Because Felix was in Pompeii now. He’d seen these details himself.
Dark clouds churned. Heavy. Noxious. Smouldering ash drifting down singed Loren’s braid.
Vesuvius distilled last, peak visible amidst the storm. Loren looked to it with futile, desperate hope. If only it could stop this. If only it could form a shield against the ghost collapsing the sky.
The ghost’s face twisted, mocking. His mouth moved again, and Loren couldalmosthear him, but his voice was muffled and distorted, the way sounds vibrated underwater.
‘Why?’ Hot tears burned Loren’s cheeks, the only warmth in a body cold as stone. ‘What did I do to you? What do youwant?’
Another step. Then his legs gave out, so he crawled. He wanted to grab Ghost-Felix’s face, close the distance, force him to whisper his demands straight into Loren’s ear. Gravel dug into his flesh. He hardly felt it.
Still on the stone, the ghost stooped. His flat gaze held enough edge to be cruel. More words. Loren stared at his lips, reading the shapes.You.
‘You.’ Loren coughed. ‘You do this every night. To me. But I’m close, Felix. I’m so – close to figuring you out. When I do—’
