through it. There wasn’t a sound on the staircase, so whoever it was must have gone outside. Ryan

opened the door and stuck his head out. He looked right, seeing only a young couple with a push-chair

down the road. He looked left, and saw Ash walking away briskly.

“Ash?” he called out. “Ash!”

He didn’t turn around. Maybe he didn’t hear? He was quite a way off, almost at the traffic lights

now. Ryan stared after him, as realisation dawned. If Ash was storming away in a huff, then where was

Fizz?

Ryan dashed back in, yanking the door shut. “Rachel! I’m just going upstairs!”

He didn’t wait for her reply. The bar wasn’t busy, and Rachel could cope. Ryan took off, climbing

the stairs two at a time. Why did he have a bad feeling about whatever this was? His heart pounded; he

told himself it was just the exertion of running. After the two flights of stairs, he paused. Music was

coming from the pub kitchen down the hall, but it wasn’t Matt’s usual aggressive black metal.

It sounded like pop music.

If he hadn’t been in a hurry, Ryan might have gone to check on that. As it was, he kept going. He

punched in the security code on the staff door, leaving it open in his haste. He took a deep breath, and

ran up the next flight of stairs.

“Fizz?” he called when he reached the top, only slightly out of breath. The TV was on in the

kitchen. Ryan hurried inside. It smelt of coffee and spice, but there was no one here. He turned and ran

back down the hall, into the pigeon loft, then Fizz’s room. His relief at seeing Fizz lying on his bed

was quickly overshadowed by concern. When Fizz was in bed, he usually curled up on his side,

listening to his music.

Right now, the boy was sprawled on his back, one arm flung out, as if he’d fallen there.

Heart in his throat, Ryan burst into the room. It felt cold; usually it was hot and stuffy in here. A

chill brushed over his bare arms. “Fizz?” Ryan crouched beside him, checked his face, his pulse. Fizz

was breathing – thank God – though the breaths sounded wheezy. Fizz wasn’t asthmatic, was he? Ryan

tried to think. No, he was sure Ginger would have mentioned it if he was.

“Fizz?” Ryan cupped his cheek, surprised at how cold his skin felt. “Fizz, are you okay?”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered.

“Fizz?”

“Ash,” he breathed. “Tell Ash...”

“Yes?”

“Tell Ash...I’m sorry.”

“What?” Ryan’s mind jumped to a hundred conclusions at once. He tried to keep a hold of his

panic. “Fizz, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words barely a whisper. “He’s here...he...” His breathing was ragged, like

he was struggling for air. Ryan thought he saw mist coming out of Fizz’s mouth. Was he cold? Was

the room cold? But this place was usually so hot.

Oh no, Ryan thought. He’s ill. He’d caught some sort of fever. They never should have put him in

this stupid pigeon loft. Ryan pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He’d have to call Ginger.

Maybe he could leave out the part about Ash storming off. Why on earth would Ash leave Fizz like

this?

Ryan didn’t get it. There had to be more to it than he realised, but he could deal with that later. He

pressed his speed dial. The screen on his phone crackled, then blipped before disappearing entirely.

Even holding down the power button wouldn’t bring it back to life. Ryan couldn’t believe it. Did his

phone need charging? He’d have to use the phone downstairs.

Well, first things first, he wanted to get Fizz out of this God-awful room. Ryan slipped his phone

away, then grabbed Fizz’s arm, trying to loop it over his neck to support him. “Fizz, hold onto me.

Can you walk?”

Fizz moaned in reply. Ryan tried to yank him up, as gently as he could. The boy’s eyes opened,

staring around blindly before he focussed on Ryan. “Oh,” he said, a smile curving his lips. “Where are

we going?”

“Can you stand?” Ryan asked. “Lean on me.”

“Mmm, with pleasure,” he murmured. His arms wrapped around Ryan, holding on tight. Ryan was

about to put all his effort into hoisting Fizz up, when Fizz surprised him by covering his mouth with

his, tongue slipping in to taste him. With a squeal, Ryan dropped Fizz back on the mattress, and

almost fell on top of him. Fizz held onto him, trying to pull him down.

“Fizz! What the hell?” Ryan struggled away. Fizz laid back, stretching his arms out over his head.

He chuckled, low and dirty. Ryan stilled, his confusion making him slow.

What the hell’s going on?

As he stared at Fizz, the edges of his body looked blurry. But that couldn’t be real, could it? Unless

whatever was in this room was making Ryan ill, too? Affecting his sight?

A shiver passed over him, jump-starting his reactions. Ryan hated leaving Fizz here, but he needed

help. He stood, and hurried out of the pigeon loft without looking back. He went down the stairs,

through the open door. Taking several deep breaths, he quickly walked along the hall to the pub

kitchen, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Matt?” he said, pushing open the swing door. “Are you –”

Matt was there, with Sammy. They’d obviously been standing close together, in the midst of some

deep discussion, but as soon as Ryan entered, they flew apart. Ryan didn’t have the wherewithal to

decipher what that meant.

“Matt,” he said again. “Can you...can you come and help me a second?”

Matt’s cheeks flushed. “Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Ryan said firmly. “No, it really can’t.”

“It’s fine,” Sammy mumbled. Matt looked at Sammy, an undecipherable look passing between

them.

Ryan didn’t have time to stand around debating this. “Matt. Please.”

“All right, all right,” Matt said, moving into action. Ryan held the door open for him, then dashed

back along the hall. Matt sensed his haste, and hurried to catch up. “What’s going on?”

“There’s something wrong with Fizz,” Ryan said over his shoulder. They passed through the staff

door, then up the stairs.

“Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “I just want to get him out of that room.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and stood at the threshold to the pigeon loft. Matt gazed into it

with a frown. “And put him where, exactly?”

“Anywhere but there,” Ryan said. “I don’t know. We can put him in my room.”

Matt’s frown intensified. “What happened?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I think he’s ill or something, caught some kind of bug. Come on.” Ryan

steadied himself, then strode back into the pigeon loft. Having Matt close behind him steeled his

nerves. “There.” Ryan pointed at Fizz, still lying on his bed. The boy wheezed his breaths, laying quite

still.

Matt was hesitant. “So, you want me to just pick him up, or what?”

“Yeah.” Ryan swallowed. “I tried to, but I couldn’t do it. I’m not strong enough to lift him.”

Rolling his eyes, Matt huffed out a breath. “All right. If I catch this cold, I’m blaming you, Ryan.”

It was on the tip of Ryan’s tongue to reassure Matt, but his words stuck. Please, he thought, please

don’t let this be contagious.

Matt approached the mattress, bent his knee, and gathered Fizz into his arms. He rose up, lifting

Fizz with ease. “Great,” Ryan said in relief. “Let’s go.” He walked backwards out of the room,

watching as Matt followed.

Matt muttered under his breath, walking carefully. He manoeuvred Fizz through the doorway, then

along the hall. Fizz sighed, squirming against him. Ryan hoped he’d stay asleep just a little longer.

Ryan was first out of the pigeon loft. He kept walking backwards, watching what Matt was doing. The