Six of Crows: Cloaked in Shadow

Chapter 22 - Wylan

Once, on a whim, Wylan had asked Jesper to read him his book aloud. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and the front cover had only reinforced that: a lurid image of a woman walking down an alley whilst the shadow of something monstrous loomed on the wall behind her. When he still lived with his father he'd often wished he could have read books like that, well-thumbed paperbacks that only cost a kruge at the second-hand-store, and though he wasn't reading it himself, listening to Jesper say the words felt like sticking his middle finger up at Jan Van Eck.

He'd never regretted a decision more.

Halfway in, Jesper had taken pity on Wylan and asked if he'd like him to stop. But Wylan had had the half-horrified, half-captivated feeling of watching two carriages crash and not being able to look away, a sick fascination that drove him to say no. The story continued, growing more and more horrific, and by the time Jesper decided enough was enough and closed the book it was too late.

Wylan had never been able to look at a corridor the same way again. It always brought back the image of the woman, her face twisted with terror, standing frozen in the doorway as the creature advanced. And now here he was, reliving that very horror story.

And like the woman, he couldn't look away.

Because there was undoubtedly something there. A man-sized thing, crouching behind the chest of drawers.

He'd woken during the night, too cold to fall asleep again, pressed tight to Jesper's chest and listening to his soft snores. The duvet – and his clothes – were probably somewhere across the room. Wylan had shivered, gently extricating himself from the tangle of long bare limbs, and gotten out of bed, putting his pyjamas back on. He'd always found it difficult to fall asleep, and tonight would be no different. He had decided to go and make himself a chamomile and so had padded downstairs, making sure to tuck the duvet round Jesper before going.

When he'd dropped the mug, he'd heard a sharp gasp from the corridor. Immediately, awful images had begun to form in his head. But he had to go see. He convinced himself that it was probably nothing anyway. And now here he was, crouching in the shadows of the corridor, only a few meters away from the chest of drawers and the thing that lurked behind.

Again came the slithering sound of a cloak. Wylan couldn't help himself. Slowly, awfully slowly, he moved towards the chest of drawers. Around it.

And came face to face with a Zemeni sharpshooter holding a metal poker.

Wylan dropped to the floor, the poker whistling over his head an instant later. There was a startled noise and a clang as the poker was dropped, then Jesper's arms were around him and he was being vigorously shaken.

"What the hell were you playing at?" Jesper said, halfway between a gasp and a sob, then hugged Wylan fiercely. "You scared me so much. Saints, Wy."

"You were scared? I though you were going to kill me!"

"Idiot," he said fondly.

"You too."

"We're both idiots, then. A pretty pair."

Wylan reached up and kissed him. A hand wrapped itself in his curls and they stayed like that for a few blissful minutes, two boys kissing on the floor of a darkened corridor, oblivious to the world around them. When they pulled away, Wylan was warmer. He buried his face into Jesper's chest. "Love you," he said, voice slightly muffled.

"I've missed you. This."

"What?"

Jesper played with Wylan's hair. "The merchers, work, Kaz..."