Fyrefall (Phoebe and the Wanderers, Book 1)

2 - A long, long time ago

Cold. Cold. Cold.

Why can’t I breathe?

I jerked up my head. Spat out icy powder. Gasp. I was half-buried in a mound of white. I yanked free my hands and reared back onto my knees. My heart beat double time. Cautiously, I touched the ground, fingers sank into the frozen softness. Snow? I looked up.

I was face to face with a gravestone. I jerked backwards, thudded onto my bum.

Above me, was a twilit sky. A full moon, white and pearly as the ground beneath, glowed between the bare limbs of skeleton trees.

What happened to my bed?

What happened to my house?

I twisted round. Behind me stood a tall stone building, with a wooden spire on top. Stones and wooden crosses were half-buried in the snow. Ice crystals glimmered in the moonlight. I heard a soft sound, the faintest, lightest crunch. Fear gripped me, like an icy hand on my shoulder. Someone stepped out of the shadows, someone slim and tall. My heart beat faster, but fear gave way to something else, something that made a nerve tingle deep in my gut.

There he stood, the boy from the lake.And for some stupid reason I murmured, “Romeo?”

He approached, cautious steps, feet sinking in the snow. “Who goes there?”

“It’s me.” I waved. “Phoebe.”

He wore a grey-green woollen cloak hanging loose around his shoulders and brown leather boots on his feet. His eyes looked into mine, deep brown into grey, but there was no warmth in his gaze, only distance. “Phoebe, who?” he said.

“Phoebe Truelove.”

“What?”

“That’s my name, Phoebe Truelove. Laugh now and get it out of your system.”

“Why would I laugh?” He had a bit of an accent, a faint hint of the North.

I shrugged. “The guys at school seem to find it funny.”

He cocked his head and examined me. “School? Guys? Twenty or twenty-first century?”

“What?”

“Which century are you from?”

“Urm.” It was a odd question and it rattled me — for a second I couldn’t remember the answer.

His gaze traced up and down my body. “Judging by the fabric....”

I looked down and clasped my hands across my chest. I was still in my pyjamas, my stupid all-the-other-pyjamas-are-in-the-wash pyjamas. The ones with the cuddling bunnies on the front. A hot flush spread quickly up my neck.

“…I’d say early twenty-first century. Right?”

 “I think so,” I said. “And can you please stop staring at my pyjamas. The bunnies are a little shy.”

He didn’t look away. “Who sent you?” he said.

“No one sent me. I just sort of got here.”

His hard gaze slid into a glare. “Who are you?”

“Phoebe.”

“Who?”

“Phoebe from the lake this afternoon.” I reached up and yanked my hair out of its ponytail, letting its coppery length fall around my shoulders. “Don’t you remember me?”

His eyes aged a hundred years in a glance. He leaned away. “You’ve met me before?”

“Of course.” I touched my lips, remembering the warmth of his kiss. “You gave me…You…um…” I blushed and struggled to meet his gaze. It felt like he was looking under my skin, and his cold glare left a trail of shivers in its wake. “Don’t you remember?”