Blue Angel

by Phil Williams

  “Yeah,” Pax said. “I had a bit of trouble pulling it out of Chaucer Crescent.”

  “You what?” Letty said. “There was nothing there!” She shot a look to Lightgate, as though the other fairy could back her up. “I checked –”

  “There was something there,” Pax said. “I dealt with it.”

  “I knew it’d be trouble,” Holly piped up. “I knew you shouldn’t have –”

  “I dealt with it,” Pax repeated. “But I used that liquid, and I saw what it does. If the Blue Angel manipulated the things we think we know, couldn’t it manipulate this liquid too? Maybe corrupting what it reveals?”

  “What did it reveal?” Barton asked, cautiously. He was looking at her with the same look as when he’d tried the glo in the morning, which made total sense now. Casaria was, too. Yes, they’d seen the same damned electric veins she saw.

  “Enough for me to escape something,” Pax said, avoiding the issue.

  “Well, we certainly shouldn’t be going on any more dangerous wild goose chases for it,” Holly said, shifting onto her haunches. “You ask me, it’s all sorts of suspicious. These blue screens always being so far away from this liquid is weird on its own.”

  Pax paused. It was a curious detail, especially if they considered the screens themselves might have transported the glo. “I’d still give you good odds on there being screens near those glo drop-offs,” she said, addressing Barton, “but you just never saw them. The Angel wanted to hide the pattern.” She recalled the feeling on Chaucer Crescent. The feeling in the chapel basement. Not the pained pull of the surges, but the way she’d sensed something was there, beforehand. She took a breath. “My theory is the Blue Angel’s using those screens for more than just communicating. It sent a creature to attack me in the chapel. It put this jar,” she pointed, “in Chaucer Crescent. And there was another creature there, like before.” She twisted to Letty. “There’s every chance it wasn’t there when you checked. And an equal chance a blue screen was.”

  “So,” Barton said, starting to get angry, “you’re saying everything connected to this drink, everything we saw, everything we did – is mixed up in their trickery?”

  “Possibly,” Pax said. “But it’s not all a lie. This liquid works. The Blue Angel needed to give you something that worked so you could survive the Sunken City and herd the monsters. You just weren’t herding them the way you thought. You were reporting to the Blue Angel so it could keep track of its monsters.” The word herd called to Pax’s mind exactly what they were doing. “When you told the Angel where to find the minotaur, it used its blue screens to suck energy for itself. It was milking that thing, and you were its farmers.”

  “Yeah?” Barton held off accepting it on principle alone. His accusing eyes fell on Casaria, a way to process it. “And now the MEE do the same?”

  “Yeah,” Pax said. “Maybe. There’s only one thing that I’m certain of about the Blue Angel. Its highest priority is to stay hidden. If the Ministry are helping it, chances are they don’t know so, either. Agents like Casaria, even their InterSpecies Relations division, they don’t even know the screens exist. I think that’s something we can use. They’d be less inclined to kill us if we could explain what’s really going on.”

  Lightgate made a sound that could have been amusement. She said, “You like to make things complicated.” Pax glared; it was the second time today she’d been accused of that. “If the Ministry’s a bit corrupt or a lot, they’re still a plague, aren’t they?”

  “They think they’re doing good work. The Ministry believe the minotaur has a positive effect on the city. They’re trying to preserve that effect, securing and hiding the Sunken City. They aren’t fully aware of how fucked up it is.”

  “That’s generous,” Barton said, and gestured to Casaria. “You’re getting this from him?”

  “Partly. I ran into a woman from InterSpecies Relations, too, and she –”

  Casaria grunted like a pig choking, making Rimes and Holly jump in surprise. He coughed, putting a fist to his mouth to conceal his alarm. “You spoke to Sam Ward?”

  “Yeah, her,” Pax said. “She’s been hounding me. But I get the idea she was questioning where they’re at, the same as us. Why, what’s wrong with her?”

  “She sold me out,” Casaria snarled. “All she’s interested in is climbing their ladder.”

  Aware his judgement of character wasn’t entirely trustworthy, Pax said, “Is there anyone in the Ministry you would trust?”

  “I work alone for a reason,” Casaria said. “That way no one can let you down.”

  “Except yourself,” Pax pointed out, to a few murmurs of agreement.

  “Unlikely,” Casaria huffed. “You’ve done well to rely on me, Pax, don’t worry. I’ll get that boy out of there alone, we’ll beat answers out of him if we –”

  “No!” Pax exclaimed.

  “You try it and see what I do to you,” Barton threatened.

  It only made Casaria’s eyes light up. He said, “Oh, I’d like that.”

  “No,” Pax repeated. “Absolutely not. We want to help Rufaizu, for fuck’s sake.”

  Casaria went quiet, but his eyes narrowed like he was picturing violence.

  “Damn, Pax,” Letty said. “How you gonna stop him from killing the kid before we get a chance to talk?”

  “Sorry,” the agent said, “I just assumed that as you’ve thrown your hat in with these monsters, anything goes.”

  Lightgate sprang into the air faster than anyone could track. She reappeared a metre in front of Casaria, pose squared-off elegantly with a bent knee and a straight, outstretched leg. She had a highly polished pistol, glistening in the lantern-light, aimed towards Casaria’s face. He looked at her cross-eyed, his surprise shared by the rest of the room. The speed of her movement was counterbalanced by her slow voice, as she said, “Why don’t I make this easy and suggest you leave the necessary violence to me? Then you can focus on doing...” She paused to give Pax a thoughtful look. “Whatever she tells you to.”

  Casaria’s concerned eyes ran to Pax. Pax was frozen herself, for the first time appreciating this fairy might be as dangerous as her reputation suggested.

  “All clear, now?” Lightgate asked. He didn’t respond, which she seemed to take as acceptance. She turned in the air to question the others, all too startled to answer. Grace alone offered a nervous nod. Lightgate turned back to Casaria. “You’re boring me, and we’ve already established the plan, yes? I suggest you all sleep on it. I’ve got better places to be, now.”

  “What?” Letty jumped off Pax’s shoulder. “Where?”

  “Places.” Lightgate paused and yawned loudly. “Places you can’t come. Fun as this is, I’ve got other plates spinning. You need anything...” She waved loosely Rolarn’s way. “My butler can assist you.”

  “What other plates?” Letty called out, but Lightgate drifted towards the escalator with a dismissive wave. She veered from side to side, as though she couldn’t pick out a straight line. Pax gave Letty a concerned look, suddenly feeling Lightgate was more complicated than she seemed.

  Once she was out of earshot, Casaria commented, “Useless fucking fairies.”

  “Whatever, she’s right,” Pax said. “It’s time to get some rest.”

  She turned away and exhaled her own relief that this hadn’t devolved into arguing or fighting. The others sounded like they were relaxing behind her, too, whispers passing between the Bartons and Rimes. Letty flew close to her, though, and quietly said, “So? Shall we?”

  “Tomorrow,” Pax said, almost inaudibly. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I need to take a break. More than you can believe.”

  Letty didn’t argue, but her eyes said an explanation would be necessary soon. Pax wanted one herself. But she wanted to sleep more. She wanted, at least for a little while, to pretend everything would be okay.

  Part 2

  Tuesday

  1

  Casaria watched them sleeping. An innocent family hudd
led on blankets, in desperate need of protection. Half-innocent, anyway; the bruiser of a father was at least partly responsible for their problems. The ratty doctor was hardly innocent, either. She looked like something found caught in the sluice gates of the River Gader. It had taken him a little while to realise who she was; he had met her once, when the MEE sent him to deliver samples. Once was enough. She was plainly as loopy as Apothel, but Management deemed her worth keeping around. Then there was Pax, sleeping apart from the others, near the counter, closer to the Fae than the humans. On her side, arms and legs folded gently, breathing lightly. Almost delicate. In need of protection, too, even if she commanded this group like she knew what she was doing.

  If she knew what she was doing, there was no way she’d be able to sleep.

  No way any of them would.

  They were in a lair of villainous insects who’d done precious little to prove their worth. The one called Letty, of course, had a thing for Pax, but that would prove fickle. Casaria understood that Pax had a strange effect on people. Like most women that drew you to their will. When the dizzying effect wore off, the vile little creature would turn on them. The other two might not even wait that long.

  The plump one with the simple aspect, he was the worst.

  Casaria had noticed him watching, not sleeping either, sitting on top of the till. Murderous, looking for a chance to strike. Casaria stared, making sure the Fae saw the white of his eyes in the dark. Bad things might happen if the Fae thought he was asleep.

  Just as well Casaria didn’t need to sleep. He’d rested when strapped to that torture chair, and even more during the lengthy bike ride across Ordshaw, even if he’d been too close to Pax for comfort. His wounds weren’t troubling him now. Much as he despised the drink that had been forced on him, it didn’t seem to have had any ill effects. And he’d been careful to keep hydrated, the large bottles of water his single concession to Pax’s stolen goods. That and the shoes. He could hardly function without shoes. He would return money to the shop they came from when all this was over. If he could find it.

  With the stealing, and the Fae, was Pax any better than that gypsy boy? Why was Casaria still here, waiting on her, involved in this? Who was she to decide such things as the fate of the praelucente? This gambler, this thief, this friend of animals.

  She rolled over, away from him, soles of her feet facing up. Wearing fresh socks, at last. The new clothing was a step up; at least she was no longer dressed like a derelict. It was easier to take her seriously, now.

  And some of what she’d said, difficult as it was, needed serious consideration. The MEE had agreements with the Fae, Mathers had confided that. The creatures down there were dangerous, no one could deny that. And he’d seen what the praelucente had done to Pax. What it might have continued doing, if he hadn’t been there to help.

  What if it happened again? What if it did get worse?

  His eyes ran back over the room. There was no choice, really. If the praelucente was dangerous, someone needed to do something about it. It wasn’t about her, it was about saving Ordshaw. It was about him doing what others couldn’t. The Ministry weren’t prepared to get their hands dirty enough.

  He was. He could do whatever was required to stop the monsters once and for all. Even if it meant cooperating with Fae scum. And when he did, Pax would see it. A hand on his arm as he stood over the bodies of their enemies. A whispered thanks in his ear.

  Excuses, like propping him on that bike, excuses to get close to him.

  She couldn’t do this without him.

  His eyes fell on the till again. The little man might have been looking his way, or might have been asleep sitting upright. No, he had to be awake. Casaria pointed a finger at him, to let him know he knew. The shape moved, offering a gesture in return, impossible to make out at this distance.

  Casaria imagined the coming glory. He’d grill Rufaizu for whatever he knew, as he had intended to do before the Fae’s Friday ambush forced him to bring the boy into the office. And he’d play the Fae before he let them play him. And what of Pax drawing Sam Ward into this? Yes. He would approach her with the truth of the trouble the Fae had caused. She’d see him for what he was, and she’d know the futility of her work, defending these bastards.

  The little shit was just sitting there. Staring.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Casaria hissed, making Barton’s teenager stir with semi-conscious mumbles. She blinked. It was too dark to make out anything but her doe-like eyes, wide and fearful. She was as bizarre as the rest of them, really. A girl that beautiful coming from that ingrate father? It didn’t make sense. He could scarcely bear to look at her. He whispered, averting his eyes, “Don’t worry, miss. Everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  He could feel her, still staring, like she needed to process it.

  On the till, the tiny silhouette hadn’t moved either. Casaria glared at him again.

  Let them look. Let all of them see what he could do.

  There had to be thirty. At least thirty.

  Like stars in the night, isolated, moving through an abyss. But connected. Electric current flowing between them. Fizzling, snapping, cracking, communicating wordlessly. Burning with unified purpose.

  At least thirty.

  Lightning lances shot between them, connecting, combining. Meeting in the middle. Liquids bubbled from the force. Vats overflowed with sizzling sludge.

  The beast exploded, the blinding beast, rising, roaring, glowering, snorting.

  Eyes of a dragon, horns of a bull.

  Its skin shimmered with blue fire, growing then waning. There a second and gone the next, an illusion, but a ferocious one, a terrifying one. Watched by thirty hungry eyes.

  Messages passed between them, in words that didn’t exist. And they were everywhere, watching, talking, feeling each other’s needs and pains and ideas. She rolled to avoid the closing walls. She whimpered and shielded her eyes from the light.

  The lightning came from her fingers, before her face. It jumped through the darkness and touched them. They glowed brighter as they registered her.

  Her eyes shot open and Pax found herself breathing sharply. Looking into the vague silhouettes of the old shop, nothing more. She blinked but kept still, trying not to disturb the others.

  Letty walked across the floor a foot from her face, her artificial wing and its hefty strap absent. The fairy folded her arms, staring with concern, as unreal as the dream, this shadow of a miniature single-winged woman on an empty shop floor.

  “Having a bad dream?” Letty whispered, voice tiny. “Your man hasn’t slept. He’s still watching.”

  “Mm,” Pax replied, trying to pass it off as a snore.

  “You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, aren’t you?”

  Pax nodded, slightly, but said nothing, waiting for Letty to take the hint: Later.

  The fairy sat on the floor, crossing her legs. Pax rolled her eyes to the side, indicating Casaria, as the fairy had said. Not in front of him.

  “You spasmed like that fucking thing still had its claws in you,” Letty said.

  Pax inclined her head, another little nod. That pretty much summed it up.

  Letty kept staring. She must have suspected what Pax had been going through. It didn’t help, though, did it? There wasn’t anything she could do.

  “I’m right here, Pax,” Letty said. “I can’t help if you’re gonna keep shit from me.”

  “It’s an aftershock,” Pax whispered, as quietly as she could, “that’s all.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  Pax offered a slight smile. All they could do was stop the Blue Angel, anyway. Letty kept staring, clearly with some inner turmoil of her own. She pointed at Pax’s brow, to where she’d hit Pax with her pistol at the chapel. “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve been more willing. Don’t freeze me out thinking I won’t help. I will.”

  Not waiting for a response, or not wanting to deal with one, Letty turned and lay on the floor her
self, facing away. Going back to sleep, or at least pretending to. Pax watched her tiny form, how delicate and peaceful she looked now. Yeah. Better to keep at least some of the pressure off her.

  2

  Having forced herself up at the sound of three different dawn alarms (just in case), Sam only fully awoke when she saw Landon waiting for her in Greek Street. Impossibly, he looked no more tired than when she’d left him, insisting a few stolen kips on Ministry sofas had recharged him. Leading her through the building his mood bordered on excitement, as he explained that he’d corralled help after Mathers disappeared around midnight. The lightness in his tone told Sam that, despite appearances, he definitely needed some sleep. He’d sent a fax to Lord Asquith and persuaded Roper to look into Dr Rimes’ map as soon as it was clear that there were no residual effects from the disaster in Nothicker. They’d also traced Dr Rimes’ phone and found it rapidly moving out of the city – a satellite image picked it out on the roof of a lorry before they wasted more time on that. As if that wasn’t enough, Landon had even got another member of the IS team, Ryan, to come in early and monitor for any correspondence from the FTC, freeing Sam of her responsibilities. Whatever she planned next, she’d need to be quick, he said. Asquith was yet to respond and Mathers might be in any time now.

  Sam thanked him and told him to go home, suspecting his exhaustion under the surface. He said no – not until she’d seen what they’d found.

  In the bullpen, Roper sat at a cluttered desk with Rimes’ map spread amongst reams of number lists like the ones he’d shown Sam before. Another analyst joined them, along with a field agent – Devlin? He had wide eyes, a high voice and a thick head of black hair. Tori the receptionist stopped, too, on the way to drop off some mail.

  Based on Sam’s questions about the energy from the praelucente being transferred, Landon and Roper had gone back to six major novisan surges over the past twelve months and cross-referenced them against the marks on the map. Each time the praelucente had drained novisan, small spikes had occurred over some of the marks. Even the single anomaly Roper had previously found matched a circle on the map in Hanton.