Subsequently, we've been chatting on and off and although MFB no longer take part in official blogtours, we wanted to make sure we tell our readers about Tom's upcoming novel - The City's Son. We are big fans of urban fantasy and especially UF set in the UK and it so happens TCS is exactly that.
Tom let us have an extract of his new novel, introducing us to the two female characters: Beth & Pencil.
Chapter 2
‘Beth, come on,’ Pencil whispered,
‘we need to go.’
Beth studied the picture she’d sprayed on the tarmac of the playground.
She flipped her aerosol over a couple of times in her hand. ‘Beth . . .’
‘It’s not finished yet, Pen,’ Beth
said. In the dim backwash from the lights nearby she could just make out the
Pakistani girl’s fingers worrying at her headscarf. ‘Don’t be chicken.’
Pencil paced fretfully back and
forth. ‘Chicken? What are we, like ten? Have you been sniffing your own paints?
I’m not kidding, B. If someone comes, this will get us expelled.’
Beth started shaking the spray can
up. ‘Pen,’ she said, ‘it’s four a.m. School’s locked up. Even the rats have
given up and gone home. We covered our faces from the cameras when we jumped
the wall, but there’s sod all light there anyway. There’s no one around and we
can’t be ID’d so what exactly are you worried about?’ Beth kept her voice calm,
but there was a taut knot of excitement in her chest. She swept her torch over
the picture at her feet. Her portrait of Dr Julian Salt, Frostfield High’s Head
of Maths, was coming out well, better than she’d expected, especially for a
rush job in the dark. She’d got his frowning eyebrows down perfectly, and the
hollow cheeks and the opaque, threatening glasses. The weeds bursting through
the tarmac added to the effect, looking like unkempt nasal hair.
In fairness, Beth had also given him
necrotic peeling skin and a twelve-foot-long forked tongue, so she was
obviously using some artistic licence, but still . . .
It’s unmistakably
you, you shit.
‘Beth, look!’ Pen hissed, making Beth
jump. ‘What?’
‘Up there—’ Pen pointed. ‘A light .
. .’
Beth glanced up. One of the windows
in the estate overlooking the school was glowing a soft, menacing orange. She
exhaled irritably. ‘It’s probably just some old biddy going for a midnight
wizz.’
‘We can be seen from there,’ Pen
insisted.
‘Why would anyone even care?’ Beth
muttered. She turned back to the picture. Everyone in year 12 at Frostfield
knew she and Salt were enemies, but that was just the usual
teacher-versus-student aggro, and it wasn’t why she was here. It was the way
Salt treated Pen that demanded this retribution.
She didn’t know why, but he seemed
to derive this vicious delight from humiliating her best friend. Salt had put
Pen in maybe half the number of detentions he’d sentenced Beth to, but she was
always like on the verge of tears when she came out of them. And in Monday’s
maths lesson, when Pen had asked to go to the toilet, Salt had point-blank
refused. He’d gone on talking about quadratic equations, but he hadn’t taken
his eyes from Pen. There’d been this smile on his face as though he was daring her to defy him – as
though he knew that she couldn’t. Pen’d kept her hand raised, but after a while her arm
had started to shake. When she’d doubled-over with the pain of holding it in,
Beth had dragged her bodily her from her chair and bundled her out of the room.
As they ran down the corridor, they’d heard the laughter start.
Afterwards, standing behind the
science block, Beth had asked, ‘Why didn’t you just leave? He couldn’t have
stopped you, why not just walk out?’
Pen’s face was fixed in the
clown-smile that meant she was panicking inside. ‘I just . . .’ She’d half
swallowed the words, and kept her eyes fixed on her shoes. ‘I just thought
every second that went by, if I could hold on just one more second, one more,
it would be okay. And I wouldn’t have to . . . you know.’
Cross him. Beth had filled in the end of the sentence.
She’d hugged her friend close. Beth
knew there was strength in Pen, she saw it every day, but it was a strength
that withstood without ever resisting. Pen could soak up the blows but she
never hit back.
It was then that Beth had decided
that something needed to be done. And this – this was something.
She trained the beam of her torch
onto the painting and the tension in her chest was replaced by a warm glow of
satisfaction. A nightmare in neon, she thought. Ugly suits you, Doc.
‘Beth Bradley,’ Pen whispered. She
still sounded scared, but this time she also sounded a little reverential. ‘You
are a proper grade-A nutcase.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Beth said, a smile
creeping onto her face. ‘But I am really
good—’
A high-pitched whine cut through the
night: police sirens, fast approaching. Instinctively Beth dropped to a crouch
and yanked her hood up over her short, messy hair.
‘Bloody hell,’ Pen whispered, her voice
panicky, ‘I told you they’d seen us! They must have called it in – they probably think
we’re here to steal something.’
‘Like what?’ Beth muttered back.
‘The canteen’s secret recipe for mouse-turd pie? It’s not like the school’s got
anything worth nicking.’
Pen tugged Beth’s sleeve. ‘Whatever
– we need to get out of here.’
Beth yanked her sleeve away and
dropped to both knees, frantically adding extra shading to the jaw-line. This
had to be just right.
‘B, we need to go!’ Pen was hopping
from foot to foot in agitation.
‘Then go,’ Beth hissed.
‘I’m not going without
you.’ Pen sounded offended.
Beth didn’t look up. ‘Pen, if you don’t get
running, and I mean right now, I’ll tell
Leon Butler it was you who Tipp-Exed
that poem on his desk.’
There was a moment’s shocked silence, then, ‘Bitch,’
Pen breathed.
‘Leon, my lion,
I would be all your pride. And not merely in it . . .’ Beth
quoted in a
sing-song whisper. She couldn’t help
grinning as Pen took off, swearing under her breath. Beth got her feet up under
her, ready to run even while she drew. The sirens were
really close now. Waaaoooh— The whine soared
once more, then cut off in mid-cycle. She heard car doors open and then slam.
There was a rattling on the gates behind her. The school was locked up and the
cops were climbing in just like she and Pen had. Beth sprayed colour into a fat
cluster of warts under one eye.
‘Oi!’
The shout sent a jolt of fear down
her spine. Gross enough, she thought. She stuffed her stencils and paints back into her rucksack,
snapped off the torch and ran. Heavy boots thudded on the tarmac behind her,
but she didn’t look back, there was no point in showing them her face. She
sprinted with her head down, the wind rushing in her ears, praying that the
police behind would be laden down with stab vests and truncheons, praying she’d
be faster.
She looked up, and panic clutched at
her gut. The cops were chasing her into a dead end. The highest wall in the
school reared in front of her. It backed onto the dense tangle of scrub and
trees around the train tracks: ten smooth, unclimbable feet of it. She drove
her legs harder, trying desperately to build momentum, and jumped.