Darren Shan - Slawter

Finally Dervish releases me. When I look at him, he’s shaking his head, confused. “I don’t understand. I was certain. You shouldn’t have been able to… if there was nothing there… if you’re not a mage… It doesn’t make sense!”

“I assume that means no magic,” I grin.

“Not even a trace. I thought I was zooming in on it, but then… nothing. I carried on looking, went deeper than necessary, because I was so sure…”

“You can try again if you want,” I tell him.

“No point.” He manages a brief smile. “It’s either there or it isn’t. I’d have found it if it was. You can’t hide magic, not from those who know what to look for. I was wrong. You were right. You’re clean.”

“So I don’t have to sign up? The Disciples can struggle on without me?”

Dervish pulls a face. “I don’t know. The magic isn’t there now, but I suspect, if we placed you in an area of magic again or took you into the universe of the Demonata… Our leader, Beranabus, is more powerful than any of us. He spends a lot of time among demons. Perhaps…”

I feel fear creeping back, but then Dervish scowls. “No. I’m not going to sign away your life to him. Maybe you’ll choose to go down that path when you’re older. But I haven’t the right to pass that sort of a sentence on you. Beranabus plays rougher than the rest of us. I’ve seen how he treats those closest to him, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Then I’m free?” I say hopefully. “I don’t have to…?”

“No.” Dervish smiles, warmly this time, pleased for me, even though he’s disappointed not to have found a powerful new recruit. “Congratulations, Grubbs. You’re ordinary. I hope you enjoy a long, happy, boring life.”

“Coolio!” I laugh. Then the pair of us settle back, turn the TV on and spend a few hours surfing channels, chatting about things deliriously unimportant.

In my room. Dark. I haven’t turned the light on. Sitting on the end of my bed. Thinking about what happened earlier, Dervish’s probe, what it would have meant if he’d found magic, how awful my life might have been. I should be celebrating the fact that I’m not one of the magical breed. Rejoicing. But I can’t. Because I know that’s a crock.

I rise, walk into the bathroom and stand in front of the basin, facing the mirror above it, even though I can’t see it in the darkness. I don’t want to do this. But I have to be sure.

I think I outfoxed Dervish. I think there is magic inside me, but it responded to my wishes and hid itself or deflected my uncle’s probe. He said that wasn’t possible, but if you’re powerful enough, maybe it is. I could be wrong—I’m praying that I am—but I’m not sure. And I have to be. Even if nobody else ever knows, I need to.

I focus on the light bulb overhead. For a long second nothing happens. The darkness holds. I begin to hope.

Then the light comes on. A warm, steady, unnatural light. And the hope dies away as quickly as it was born.

I look at my scared reflection in the mirror. Make it disappear, so only the wall behind me is reflected in the glass. Then I let my reflection reappear and the light fade. I stumble back to bed. Lie down on top of the covers. Silent. Shaking. Terrified. Unable to sleep. Certain now—I’m not normal. I tricked Dervish, but I’m part of the world of magic. I can’t escape. The universe of the Demonata will call to the magic within me and suck me back in. I know it will. This isn’t over, not by a long shot.

There are no happy endings.