Corrigan Lust

by Helen Harper

  She barely lasted ten minutes. Once the Bull spotted her, staring at her with dark glittering eyes, his skin suffusing with a mottled angry red, she was ushered away and scolded for drawing attention to herself. Since then she’d kept well out of his way, even risking the wrath of the cook by taking the long way round the dusty palace and arriving even later for her daily duties than she normally did. Frankly, she’d do just about anything to avoid the Bull’s terrifying gaze.

  Rounding the corner at high speed, and worried about what was expected of her, she was less alert than she should have been. Colliding with the delicate, elfin form of Tipsania, she sent them both crashing to the ground; her bare feet became tangled with the other girl’s ornate skirts, the heavy fabric inextricably wrapping itself around her ankles.

  ‘You stupid bitch!’

  The girl yanked hard, attempting to free herself. There was an ominous rip of fabric as she finally pulled away, then she received a hard kick from Tipsania for her efforts.

  Ignoring the sharp burst of pain, she scrambled to her feet then bent down to help the other girl stand up. Tipsania glared at the proffered hand as if it belonged to a cockroach instead of a child. She still took it, though.

  ‘You should bloody well watch where you’re going,’ she hissed. ‘Now I look as if I’ve been dragged through a muddy puddle. Don’t they teach you how to keep clean?’

  The girl ducked her head down, mumbling an apology.

  Tipsania clicked her teeth in disgust. ‘Byron will think I’ve been raised in a hovel. I’ll simply have to go and change.’ She spat, an astoundingly unladylike gesture for someone of her rank.

  The girl’s eyes flew upwards. ‘Byron?’ She’d heard of him, of course. The privileged son of the Sidhe Steward Aifric Moncrieffe was well known around the court for his youthful misdemeanours. Only seventeen years old, he was already living up to his namesake as mad, bad and dangerous to know. It didn’t make sense, however, that he’d be coming here. Little as the girl knew, even she was aware that the Moncrieffes held little love for the Scrymgeour Clan, even though they worked together from time to time.

  She swallowed the knot of pain that appeared in her throat. Was that why she’d been summoned? Was it an opportunity for the upper echelons of Sidhe royalty to sneer at her, as well as the lower ranks she normally dealt with?

  Tipsania’s lip curled. ‘You don’t think he’s going to be interested in you, do you? A dirty urchin?’ She leaned in more closely, her smooth honey-coloured hair tickling the girl’s cheek. ‘A bastard?’

  The girl drew back. Her parentage wasn’t her fault. If she could change it, she would. It was incredibly unfortunate for her that her pure white hair and violet eyes reminded everyone of just who her father was.

  She opened her mouth to answer back then snapped it shut again, thinking better of it. Tipsania had made an art form out of underhand cruelty that could extend for weeks when she thought she had been slighted. There was no point in antagonising her unnecessarily, tempting as it might be.

  The girl dipped her head again, casting her eyes downward and hoping that her act of submission would encourage Tipsania to forget the flare of rebellion that had flickered across her face.

  A door opened several metres away and the low hum of voices reached the girl’s ears. Her eyes snapped up, wary of who was about to join them. She received another sharp kick from Tipsania in response.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ drawled a deep voice. ‘What do we have here?’

  This time, the girl kept her head firmly down.

  ‘Byron!’ Tipsania tittered, her previously harsh tone now muted to a breathy giggle. ‘Are you lost? We’re supposed to be in the grand hall.’

  ‘Just exploring, Tipsy,’ he replied easily. ‘Who’s this?’

  The girl with no name felt his gaze burning into her. She told herself not to look up.

  Tipsania’s lip curled. ‘She’s the one.’

  ‘Really?’ Byron sounded curious. He reached out, his fingers brushing under the girl’s chin, tilting it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

  She shrank back, terrified of the new horrors that were about to visited on her. Byron’s appearance certainly lived up to the hype. His hair, so golden in colour that it mimicked burnished bronze, fell artfully across his forehead. His skin was tanned, without a blemish, and his eyes glittered emerald green. He towered over her, a tiny furrow on his forehead as he took in her appearance.

  ‘She’s a filthy thing,’ Tipsania dismissed. ‘I don’t know why you’d want to bother with her. Look at what she did to my dress! She’s going to pay for that.’

  Byron’s expression turned stony, flecks of frozen ice reflected in his brilliant irises. He flicked a glance at the older girl then back again. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally, ‘she is pathetic. If I were you I wouldn’t even speak to her.’ Without another word, he withdrew his hand and bowed in Tipsania’s direction. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. Then he strode off.

  Both girls watched him go. When he was out of earshot, Tipsania turned to the girl again. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t want more from you,’ she hissed.

  The girl with no name dropped her head again. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists and dropped her shoulders. Please, she thought, just leave me alone. I’m nobody.

  Her submissive posture seemed to do the trick; Tipsania sniffed loudly and stomped off, no doubt to find another example of gold-edged finery with which to impress the Sidhe princeling.

  The girl with no name waited, counting to twenty in her head to ensure Tipsania was not about to return and cause more grief. It would make her eventual appearance in the grand hall even more delayed and she risked the Bull’s anger increasing. She was already late by now, however. One minute or ten – either way she’d get her ears boxed for her troubles. Not from the Bull, of course. He never touched her himself.

  Trembling from her encounter, she took several short, rapid breaths. Byron Moncrieffe’s supercilious attitude, combined with Tipsania’s venom, swirled around her head. When she was older, she decided furiously, she’d make both of them pay. She sniffed to herself.

  She dusted down her apron and set off once more, her mind working feverishly as to why she’d been summoned and just what the Bull could possibly want with her. A door at the far end opened and bright sunlight spilled in. There was a shout and the guard, who’d been standing there silhouetted against the sun, turned to answer the call, leaving the gateway open.

  The girl gazed out at the bright light, then back at the dark corridor behind her. She gnawed her bottom lip and looked again. After a brief moment of indecision, she began to run.

  She wasn’t a prisoner. She’d never been told she couldn’t leave. But until that moment, with the glow of the outside world and its golden uncertainty contrasting with the darkness that no doubt awaited her in the grand hall, she’d never considered leaving. There was nowhere else for her to go.

  In years to come, she’d describe her action as foolhardy and reckless. The right move, without a doubt, but one in which the possibility of success was hampered by lack of planning and foresight. Still, sometimes the stars simply align and the time is right.

  She skidded down the corridor, emerged outside and blinked at the light. Without pausing, she veered left –towards freedom.

  The guard, startled by the sudden movement, turned to watch her. His companion arrived, shading his face from the sun and squinting in her direction. Even without her long white hair whipping behind her and the determined set to her chin, her intent was obvious.

  ‘Isn’t that…?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Should we stop her?’

  One side of the guard’s mouth crooked upwards. ‘Leave her be. I’m only surprised she’s not done it sooner.’

  ‘What about the prophecy?’

  He shrugged. ‘What about it? It’s mumbo-jumbo. Even the Sidhe don’t believe it.’

  ‘She’s still alive tho
ugh, isn’t she? After what they say her father did…’

  The guard tutted. ‘Who’s going to kill a kid?’

  The girl was oblivious to their attention. She zipped ahead, down the well-worn path and away. No-one stopped her speedy descent down the drive and out past the ornate gates that were standing open to admit the Moncrieffe heir and his entourage. The Sidhe were far more concerned with keeping people out than forcing them to stay in. It was a hangover from the days of the Fissure and probably pointless now.

  She ran out, pushing past the magical barrier that separated the Sidhe world and all its Clan members from the Clan-less, with little more than a shiver. Then she emerged onto a narrow country road and simply kept running until she reached the dual carriageway leading to Dundee in one direction and Aberdeen in the other. Confronted by the speeding cars and the lack of pedestrian walkways, she came to a stumbling halt in a layby. Less than a minute after she collapsed, breathless and shaking, a car pulled in.

  Like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights, she froze. The vehicle was far removed from the gleaming sports cars and limousines that she was used to. This one was battered and rusty and gave every appearance of being unroadworthy. Indeed, after it came to a juddering halt, the exhaust coughed up a belch of black smoke.

  The door swung open and a man peered out. Human – not Sidhe. Thank heaven for small mercies.

  ‘Need a lift?’ he asked, his voice rasping in the cold air.

  The girl blinked. This was far from what she’d been expecting. She looked him over. He had carroty orange hair, a quick smile and a friendly light in his eyes. He didn’t look particularly strong and he was definitely human. It didn’t mean he was good, though.

  As if sensing her indecision, he held up his palms, indicating that he was weaponless. ‘I’m not very trustworthy,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to hurt you.’

  She considered his words. ‘I’m Sidhe,’ she answered finally.

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘It means I’m very powerful,’ she lied.

  He nodded his head gravely. ‘I have no doubt.’

  She weighed up her options. Climbing into a car with a perfect stranger wasn’t ideal but there was something about the man that made her trust him – and she had little alternative. If he tried anything, she could always make a grab for his groin and twist. She’d seen Tipsania do just that to one of the guards. It had seemed to hurt. A lot.

  The girl pursed her lips then slowly nodded. His face broke into a smile and he jerked his thumb towards the back seat. After some difficulty, she opened the door far enough to squeeze herself inside. The radio was blaring, some political pundit jabbering away. ‘What Sidhe royalty lack is integrity,’ he argued. ‘They’re not like the rest of us.’

  She stiffened. She’d thought that once she was out of the Clanlands, she’d be free of the Sidhe. Less than five minutes into her escape and already they were being discussed on the radio. That didn’t bode well.

  ‘What Clan are you?’ she asked.

  The man flicked her an amused look. ‘I’m not with any Clan. I don’t hold to those Sidhe ideas.’

  She frowned. ‘But everyone’s in a Clan.’

  He laughed. ‘No, they’re not. I’m Clan-less. I don’t follow their rules. If that bothers you, you can still change your mind.’ He gestured towards the door.

  She glanced outside. ‘No. I’m here now.’

  He pointed downwards. ‘Seatbelt then.’

  The girl stared at her new benefactor. He frowned and repeated the word. Finally understanding, she hastily pulled the seatbelt across her body, clicking it into place. With a satisfied grunt, he re-started the engine. ‘Anyone asks,’ he said, ‘you’re my niece, alright? We’re on our way to see your grandparents.’

  Confused as to why anyone would care, she bit her lip and nodded. He opened the glove box and rummaged around, then tossed her a faded baseball cap. No less baffled, the girl put it on, tucking her hair inside. Her stomach had a strange squirmy sensation that she didn’t like very much.

  Less than half a mile down the road, when the talking on the radio had given way to a jazzy song, blue-and-red flashing lights appeared and the man threw her a meaningful glance. The car rolled to a stop and the unsmiling face of a uniformed policeman appeared.

  Certain that this was for her, she squeaked and shrank back in her seat. While the police might technically be considered Clan-less and they certainly had no jurisdiction within the Clanlands, their wages were paid out of the twenty-four Clans’ pockets. There was no doubting where their allegiance lay.

  ‘License and registration.’

  The man calmly handed them over. The policeman inspected them briefly then turned to her. In a fit of desperation, she burst out, ‘We’re going to see my gran. She’s sick. She needs us.’

  The policeman’s expression softened. He waved them on, already focusing his attention on the car behind them.

  Once they were safely away, the man spoke, glancing at her in the mirror as he drove. ‘That was good work,’ he said. ‘A bit shaky but the improvisation was clever.’ He nodded. ‘It’s been a real stroke of luck meeting you. Perhaps we can help each other out. I’m Taylor. What’s your name?’

  The girl, eyes wide and hands clenched tightly in her lap, took a deep breath. ‘Integrity,’ she said suddenly, her voice clear. ‘My name’s Integrity.’

  Taylor laughed aloud. In fact three hours later, when they finally pulled into a dark Aberdonian street, he was still laughing. It was a long time before she realised why.

  Chapter One

  You have to do bad shit to get ahead. Taylor had told me that a million times and for a long time I’d bought into it. After tonight, however, things were going to be different. A new leaf and a new me. That was what I was planning.

  I’d been thinking about it for a long time but since I’d received the letter in elegant, handwritten script demanding my appearance at the Sidhe court, I felt I had no choice but to step up my plans to vamoose out of the city. I didn’t want anything to do with those bastards. Not unless it meant ripping them off. Frankly, I’d rather head down to the Lowlands – and the Veil – than venture near the Clanlands.

  At least Taylor had promised that my final hurrah was going to be a straightforward job. ‘In and out,’ he’d said. ‘The place will be empty.’

  ‘You know I’m leaving after this one,’ I reminded him. Not that it was likely it would have slipped his mind but with Taylor sometimes certain points bore repeating.

  ‘Of course, of course! As if I could forget.’ His eyes took on a knowing look that I chose to ignore. ‘You’ll miss it though. You won’t get many thrills from tramping around the countryside.’

  ‘It’s not tramping around the countryside. It’s mountain rescue. I think saving lives will be thrilling enough.’

  He grimaced at that. ‘You’ll be bored.’

  I simply smiled back. We’d had this conversation often enough in recent weeks. My mind was made up and even he couldn’t change it.

  ‘I’ll always be here,’ he said. ‘If you do want to come back, that is.’

  I hugged him impulsively. ‘I might not come back to work but I’ll always come back. You’re my family.’ I meant every word. We’d had a few rough times over the years but who hadn’t? Taylor had been there for me when no-one else was, even if his motives weren’t always pure. I worried about him more than he’d ever know.

  He looked abashed at my heartfelt words and ran an awkward hand through his hair. It was no longer the carroty mop he had when I first met him all those years ago. Now it was more silver, far closer in colour to my own locks, which still drew curious looks and the odd question about my ancestry, even amongst the Clan-less underbelly. For the most part I shrugged them off.

  It was a very long time since I moved in Sidhe circles. I crossed the road to avoid passing close by any of my kin, no matter how distantly related they were. And one of the reasons I was leaving Aberdeen wa
s because they’d contacted me.

  It wasn’t that I was afraid of what they might do if they got hold of me, although that was a part of it. I just wanted a quiet life. My childhood with the Sidhe was little more than a distant memory; in fact sometimes I felt as if it had happened to someone else.

  I ignored the gossip mags and whispered rumours about what each Clan was up to. I lived in the underclass, far away from them. I didn’t care whether Aifric remained Steward and was therefore still in charge, or which man Tipsania Scrymgeour was currently stepping out with. I didn’t even care that her father, the Bull, appeared to be making more money than Bill Gates. The Sidhe could spend their days worrying about politics, jockeying for position and doing whatever they could to rise above other Clans. I only cared about me and mine. And none of mine were Sidhe. Or Clan.

  I tested my kit, adjusting the harness at my back to ensure it was secure, and skirted round the back of the building. It might be the middle of the night during a bank holiday weekend but I still needed to be circumspect. It would be sod’s law if I got nabbed on the very last day I spent as a career criminal. Tapping my forehead three times with my index finger to signal to my waiting crew, I gave one last look around then sprang up.

  My fingertips curled easily around the first ledge. Despite the typical Scottish chill, I was barefoot. It made it far easier to gain purchase on the smooth glass surface of the towering bank. I also admit that I rather enjoyed it when I glanced down and caught a flash of the sparkly nail varnish adorning my toenails. It felt appropriate for this job; we were, after all, going after some more sparkles ‒ albeit of the more expensive kind.

  Clambering up with fluid, nimble ease, I made fast work of my ascent. Beads of sweat were only just appearing on my brow when I reached the assigned floor. Piece of cake. I tightened my grip with my left hand, using my right to reach behind and unclip the glass breaker that was hooked to my belt.

  It was a nifty piece of kit, designed to help trapped motorists break out of their cars. While I’d never heard of anyone actually using one to save their own life, I found mine particularly useful. It was a gift from Taylor when I graduated from simple manipulation tactics and dull look-out posts to full-blown thief. The others might scoff at its hot pink colour but I’d had it for seven lucky years and it had never let me down. I might wear black to stay camouflaged against the night sky but that didn’t mean that everything I carried had to be boring monochrome too.