Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness. Sarwat Chadda

said Ashoka.

      The boy felt along the lock, probing with his fingertips. “Everything has a weakness. You just need to find it.”

      He shook the padlock again, then squeezed it between his forefinger and thumb. He jerked it, hard.

      The padlock held.

      Ashoka tried not to laugh. “Er, well done.”

      “I used to be better at this,” the boy muttered. He punched the padlock.

      It snapped apart.

      “Wow,” said Ashoka. “How d’you do that?”

      “Just a trick, nothing special.” The boy drew the rattling chain out and pushed the gate open.

      “Thanks.” Ashoka gazed down the path out of the woods. If he was quick he could be back before dinnertime. “Thanks a lot.”

      “Anytime, Ash.”

      Ashoka half opened the gate. “My name’s Ashoka. Not Ash. Not any more.”

      “Since when?”

      “Since—” He turned around. No one. He looked towards the trees. Just trees. The boy had been standing right there. Ashoka glanced up at the branches overhead. The boy must have flown away to vanish like that. Weird. Ah well. At least he was safe.

      Ashoka set off, not fast, but steady. This last bit was downhill, thank goodness. He got to the Lordship Lane exit and stopped. Hold on.

       “Anytime, Ash.”

       How did he know my name?

      “You heard that the next Doctor Who’s going to be a woman?” said Akbar. “Seriously, it’s all over the blogs.”

      Ashoka bounced his dice in his hand. “Never going to happen.”

      “Oh, and why not?” said Gemma. “I think a female doctor would be great. And about time too.”

      “Yeah, Ash,” said Josh. “Why not a girl Who? You’d still watch it if they had Kermit as the Doctor.”

      “How many times do I have to tell you, Josh? It’s Ashoka. Three syllables. Not complicated.”

      “Joshua,” said Josh.

      “What?” said Ashoka.

      “If I have to call you Ashoka, you need to call me Joshua.”

      “Fine. Joshua. Whatever. Can we get back to the game? My paladin aims his magic arrow at the necromancer.”

      Tuesday night was Dungeons & Dragons night. Ashoka, Josh (sorry, Joshua), Akbar and Gemma were in the middle of exploring the ‘Caverns of Chaos’ and right now they were trying to stop an evil sorcerer from turning the entire population of the Greyfalcon into zombies. Or vampires. Or miscellaneous undead types.

      Gemma picked up her dice. “My thief sneaks around the back of the columns. She’ll try and get closer to the Big Bad.”

      Gemma had only joined a few months ago, right after Guy Fawkes Night. He’d thought she’d play once or twice, then stop and go off and do something cool with the other cool kids like Jack, but, proving that there was a God, she’d turned out to be a closet geek. So Tuesday night, as well as being Dungeons & Dragons, was Gemma night.

      They reached over the table and repositioned their miniature figures. Akbar started describing how the evil necromancer was raising a horde of skeletal warriors from the ground, and Josh – Joshua – retaliated with his elvish sorcerer casting a fireball spell.

      “Ignore Josh,” said Gemma as the battle progressed. “I like ‘Ashoka’.”

      “Thanks.” It still took people a bit of getting used to. Most of the teachers remembered and his parents too, but half his mates still slipped up and he reckoned Josh – Joshua – was doing it on purpose. But Ashoka’s trip to India last year had changed his outlook on a lot of things. It had been the best holiday ever, and after coming home he’d decided to use his proper ‘Indian’ name from now on.

      The battle wrapped, the bad guy dead and the city saved, they began to tidy up. Ten minutes later and Ashoka and Gemma were strolling down South Croxted Road. The wind blew along the path, carrying a vortex of leaves that swirled in the amber light of the streetlamps. Ashoka adjusted his coat, zipping it up to his chin. The cold went into the bones. Gemma had her hands stuffed in her jacket. They walked in silence.

      I should try and hold hands, or something, he thought. How hard can that be?

       Yeah, Ashoka, and while you’re at it you can try leaping that building in a single bound.

      “Saw you coming back from cross-country,” Gemma said. “I assume it was you: covered in leaves and mud and your shorts all ripped at the back?”

      Oh, no. Ashoka pulled his cap down, hoping she couldn’t see him blushing.

      “Nice underpants, by the way.”

      “Shut up, Gemma.”

      She laughed and they got to the corner of Tesco. “This is me,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Ashoka.”

      Wow. Ashoka sounded so much better the way she said it.

      They waited at the traffic lights. Cars went by.

       Go on. Do something. Kiss her. You know you want to.

      Ashoka shuffled. “Yeah, tomorrow. G’night.”

      The traffic lights changed from green to red and Gemma crossed.

       You are a total coward.

      That was a golden opportunity and he’d blown it. Why didn’t he just go for it? What was the absolute worst that could happen?

      She’d say no. Face it, that’s what she’d say, isn’t it? Better not even try than suffer the rejection. Girls like that don’t go out with guys like you. Especially once they know you wear Doctor Who underpants.

      Ashoka adjusted his backpack and took the gap between the shops, his shortcut home. The alleyway wasn’t wide and they still hadn’t fixed the lights, but he’d done this route a million times and his feet went on autopilot. It was along the estate and the rubbish wasn’t collected till the morning so he had to watch his step around the black refuse sacks. Two red-eyed rats watched him pass.

      “Gross.” He kept away. The things looked evil.

      A dog barked nearby, then whimpered and shut up.

      Someone chuckled ahead of him.

      “Who’s there?” said Ashoka.

      The chuckle turned into a grotesque howling laugh and a figure appeared at the end of the alleyway. The light from the courtyard behind cast an eerie light over everything.

      A woman, dressed in a white suit, stood waiting for him. She leaned against the wall, arms folded, her thick, tawny hair framing her face like a mane. She wore a pair of dark glasses and a hungry grin.

      “Ash Mistry?” she asked. Her accent was posh, clipped, with each syllable bitten off.

      “Do I know you?” He was tempted to correct her, tell her it was Ashoka, but a large part of his brain was sending signals to his mouth warning him that this was not the sort of woman who liked being corrected or made upset or angry on any level.

      “My name’s Jackie.” She stepped forward and her fingers flexed. Her long, curved nails shone like daggers. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

      A snarl from behind him raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned to see two men standing there. They glared at Ashoka, smiling with crooked, jagged teeth in their thin mouths and long, greasy whiskers under their rodent-like noses. Their eyes were malevolent, burning crimson.