A Crack in Everything

by Ruth Frances Long

  ‘Jesus, Jinx, I don’t like any of this either, but we’ve got to get that thing out of you, no matter what shape you’re in.’

  He bent his head, licking at the wound, trying to get at the knife himself. But he couldn’t reach. And even if he could get a grip on the hilt, she doubted he’d be able to pull it out.

  She reached out again and the growl turned even more threatening.

  ‘Bad dog,’ she told him. ‘Stupid dog, in fact. Stupid, rude, ridiculous dog who’s going to die in a gutter if you don’t let me help.’

  The mark on the back of her neck sizzled as she touched the hilt and Jinx yelped. She grabbed hold of it, didn’t think or hesitate, even as his jaws opened and made for her arm. But he shied away at the last minute, the teeth snapping closed in front of her instead of tearing into her flesh. She needed his help, any information he could provide, needed him whole and well. No matter what sort of mythical creature he had turned out to be. Besides, she wasn’t the kind to leave any sort of animal in pain, was she? Not even one so … so …

  Izzy yanked the knife free and the howl of rage and pain became a voice, a voice screaming in agony and despair.

  The air shimmered, moved, and Jinx sprawled on the wet, blood-spattered cobbles before her. Izzy stared at him, realising that yes, the tattoos really did go all over his body. His head thudded against the cobblestones and his voice choked to silence.

  ‘Are you okay? Jinx?’ She couldn’t make her fingers release the knife. It shook violently.

  He struggled to push himself up from the ground, but slumped down again. He was still bleeding, his body trembling all over now. Shock, perhaps. Or grief.

  ‘My clothes,’ he said at last, his voice strained and weak. Defeated, but not in pain.

  ‘I don’t know. What’s wrong with you?’ Stupid question to ask a man who’d just had half a foot of iron in his body. She touched his shoulder delicately, but found the wound gone. Just a smear of blood remained. ‘Jinx?’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ He pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at her, dipping his head to do so. His dark hair snaked across his face and his eyes were more alien than ever before. Cú Sídhe indeed. Every legend, every nightmare made form. The fairy dog, the hunter, the hell hound.

  Old stories like Gran would tell, stories Dad liked to spin as well. Things that had made her laugh or shiver in the darkness. Things she’d never believed in. Not until now.

  Hard to not believe in something you’d just seen with your own eyes. Hard to not believe in something when it was hunting you down and brandishing a knife. Or when it saved you.

  Not real, her rational brain was still trying to scream at her. Not real!

  But it was. Her stomach sickened every second she acknowledged that.

  ‘I just … I just want to go home.’

  If she went home everything would go back to normal, wouldn’t it? Home was safe. Home was mundane and quiet. Normal. Mum and Dad, the TV, a quiet shift in the coffee shop tomorrow morning. She wanted that. Not this.

  ‘Very well.’ Just like that. ‘But could you find my clothes first? I don’t think walking around like this in either your world or mine will go down particularly well.’

  ‘No. Probably not.’ Her face heated and she tried to look anywhere but at him. The naked tattooed man who had been a huge, supernatural dog thing, and had saved her from a lunatic with a knife.

  She closed her eyes, screwed up her face as if she could make it happen just by willing it to happen. Normal, she wanted normal.

  And the world had just taken another lurch deeper into the bizarre.

  Because he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t insisted he needed to take her to his grandmother, however dangerous that was, and he hadn’t done anything to hurt her.

  Despite what the Magpie twins has said.

  Jinx had just agreed to her going home without any sort of argument and that worried her most of all.

  Chapter Eight

  Leaving Dubh Linn

  The clothes lay strewn on the ground where the Magpie twins had cornered them. Thankfully no one had come by so Jinx took them and quickly pulled on his jeans. One indignity dealt with, thanks be. Izzy was desperately trying to look anywhere but at his torso. Her face had turned scarlet, her eyes too large.

  Just a girl, really, when you came down to it. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Not much younger than him, but she’d seen nothing in her short life – nothing like the blood and betrayals he’d seen. She was just a girl.

  The iron blade should have killed him. Even had he been able to pull it out – unlikely in his hound shape and the iron would have prevented him sliding into Aes Sídhe form too – even then, the traces of its poison should have remained to destroy him.

  A slow agonising death. Just the kind the Magpies loved to gloat over.

  But Izzy had pulled the knife free and everything had gone with it. She was a healer of some kind, perhaps, with a fairy doctor in her lineage, or a wise woman with healing hands. Something had to explain it. The spark alone, powerful as it was, wouldn’t be enough. Old blood perhaps, just a drop of it would be enough to let her hear the music and follow it. Or just gifted in some way, the type of way liable to attract the attention of the fae world. That could still happen in the modern world. Something like that, anything.

  Because he didn’t want to think about what else it could mean.

  She had pulled iron from his body. She’d saved his miserable life.

  Why? Because she’d wanted to? No one did something like that without a sound reason.

  He didn’t believe in pity. Nor in kindness.

  He pulled his boots on, tugging them so sharply Izzy winced, reading his anger. She was a smart one, intuitive, a fighter. She’d been trying to take on Pie when he’d got there.

  ‘Who’s the Old Man?’ she asked.

  Jinx looked up. ‘Someone you don’t want to be anywhere near.’

  ‘You keep saying helpful things like that.’

  Ah yes, sarcasm. She was fine if she was taking that tone with him again.

  He struggled into the t-shirt. ‘It’s the truth. Why did you come here? Sídhe-space, especially Dubh Linn, isn’t safe for someone like you.’ Especially not for someone like her – with a divine spark attached to her. Her healing ability could be natural, but if it was, the spark amplified it. All of which made her a target. And the something else. Her solidity in his world. That glow he’d seen from the first time he’d met her. What was she?

  ‘Dubh Linn?’ she asked, making it sound like English – Dove-Linn – rooting the magic of the words themselves in mundanity. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s here,’ he replied. ‘You’re looking at it. The world of the Sídhe lies alongside yours, like a ghost image, there and not there at the same time, two layers so close that they touch in places, like pages in a book. We live on the horizontal, as opposed to heaven and hell on the vertical. Once, our two worlds were one, when we first came here, before the humans, but the Milesian tricksters split them into two when they promised to share with my people, and banished us from their world to ours. Parts of your world drift here, parts of ours drift into yours. One can’t exist without the other. Humans and fae stand on the same horizontal plane, which is why you can travel from one world to the other. Stepping from one to another can take a moment, or a hundred years. Dubh Linn is its heart, locked in position here, the anchor between worlds. The centre of everything.’

  ‘Town,’ she whispered. ‘You’re talking about town.’ She sensed it then, the places where the two worlds locked together, where their touches overlapped. Many did. Normally though they had no idea what that meant.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked again.

  To his surprise, she turned her back on him and pulled her hair up on top of her head. With her other hand she jerked down the neck of her sweater.

  The mark stood out, starkly beautiful on the pale skin of her slender neck. The silver chain she wore an
d the small bumps of her upper vertebrae just accentuated the ancient, living wonder of it.

  ‘Where did you—?’ He was on his feet, reaching out, and only just managed to stop himself before he touched her skin. His hand hovered there, above it. He could snap her neck in a moment, overpower her and drag her to Holly, or even just … just run his fingers over that cool, smooth flesh until she sighed for him. With a little touch of glamour she could be his entirely, begging for him. She didn’t even know how to defend herself against fae wiles. Just a touch of skin on skin and a human would be spellbound. A glamour was a Sídhe’s spell of choice when it came to humans, a cross between a disguise and an enchantment. It was so easy. But it hadn’t worked on her before, had it?

  ‘It just appeared,’ she said in a rush. ‘When I got home. And all the shadows were moving like something alive. But they stopped. When I told them to, they stopped. And then I …’

  She dropped her hands and turned to him, so quickly she almost ended up in his arms.

  Stepping back was his only option and the hardest thing he had ever done. She wasn’t for him. Couldn’t be. He had to get her to Holly and that was that. He had to get her out of his life.

  She’d pulled iron from his body, his geis screamed at him. She had saved his life, asking for nothing in return. Yet he was her enemy. The man who would give her over to his psychotic matriarch. Holly would do unspeakable things to her in order to claim the spark. Any of the council would, any of the Sídhe. And Izzy didn’t know, didn’t understand. She had no idea.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Jinx asked. ‘Your true name?’ There had to be a reason. Had to be. For her being here, for the way she fascinated him, for her getting the spark when she didn’t even know what it was. If he could gain her true name, that was one small power. And in these days no one knew not to give one of the fae a true name.

  For a spark to attach to a human was rare, but not unheard of. But more usually there was something about them – old blood or fae blood or some sort of gift. But no spark could make this mark, though its touch may have triggered its appearance. To be marked like this with the symbol of heaven, earth, human and fae, with the cross of the four races and the circles binding them together, to mark her with something representing all the planes of existence …

  The spark inside her made her a target, but this – this marked her as something more.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked again, more insistent this time. He stepped closer, using his frame to intimidate her, as his anger, defeat and horror, as the sense of being trapped by her, spilled into his voice.

  She paled, her breath quickening. But she still didn’t back down.

  ‘Isabel Gregory.’

  And there he had it. Gregory. Grigori. His head sank like a millstone. Was she even aware that he bowed? Did she know he had no choice?

  She bore the mark of a Grigori, and the name too. He’d had no idea. The Council had even tried to warn him. But he thought the Grigori was older, a man. He thought–– Well, what did it matter now? What did any of it matter? He was lost already.

  ‘And what would you have me do now?’ Whatever she said, he was bound to obey. And Holly would take her vengeance for that. She’d enjoy it, make sure she took her time. It didn’t matter. His geis had made him someone else’s slave. He couldn’t bring Izzy to Holly now. Not unless Izzy told him to; the prophecy Brí had laid on him with his name left him no choice. Izzy had saved his life.

  Bands of iron tightened on his mind, on his will.

  This was what it felt like to be collared.

  And by so gentle a saving hand.

  She sighed again, weariness marking her face, darkening the shadows under her eyes. She didn’t even know. ‘I came for answers. But I want to go home, Jinx. I just want to go home.’

  He nodded and that was that.

  Holly would give him an eternity’s worth of pain in return for this.

  But what choice did he have? The geis compelled him. His life belonged to Isabel Gregory, and hate it all he might, there was nothing he could do about it.

  A peal of laughter made Izzy jump out of her skin and inwardly cringe all at once.

  ‘Sheesh, I thought you’d gone.’ Marianne. She’d never thought she’d be quite so glad to see Marianne, even if Mari herself didn’t look thrilled to see her. ‘Oh, well, I guess we can share a taxi or—’

  She broke off, staring past Izzy at Jinx, who was still rearranging his clothes.

  Irrevocably, Mari’s gaze slid to Izzy. Her eyes turned knowing, teasing. ‘No way,’ she mouthed.

  Izzy just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She felt her face flare with heat. Why did it have to be Marianne? And at the same time, she kind of wanted to throw her arms around the other girl and hug her. Mortifying though the moment was.

  ‘What?’ asked Clo, stumbling out of the club, a bottle of overly bright alcohol still clutched in her hand. Dylan and the blonde singer followed, standing too close together.

  ‘Izzy?’ Dylan started forward, but the singer moved too and he hesitated. ‘Izzy, what happened?’

  ‘Oh, Jinx.’ Underlying laughter rippled through the blonde woman’s voice. ‘What have you done?’

  Jinx scowled at her and ran his long fingers through his hair.

  ‘Saw off the Magpies. That’s all, Silver.’

  The steel in his eyes made Silver’s smile fade away. ‘You’re all right?’

  ‘Izzy? Did you’ve a problem?’ Clo slurred a little and shook her head, as if trying to clear the slightly dazed expression.

  Oh, good, she was going to have to get a tipsy Clodagh home on top of all… all this… But at least that didn’t venture beyond the realms of normality.

  ‘No. Jinx—’

  — turned into a giant dog-thing and almost got killed anyway —

  Not something you could say to normal people. And her mind stumbled over that thought a moment too late, filling her with dismay.

  Was she not normal people anymore?

  She tried again, needing it to be no big deal. What could she say? She kept her voice nonchalant. ‘Jinx sorted it out.’

  ‘Go home.’ His voice rumbled through her. She could feel him, standing right behind her, the warmth of his body, the hum of his anger. ‘That’s what you wanted. They’ll go with you.’

  She glanced at him. No matter what she wanted, there were things she needed as well. And the real world, the normal world, wasn’t going to give them to her. ‘I still want those answers.’

  To her relief, he nodded. Something in his face changed – it didn’t soften, it was more like a wave of sorrow passed through him so strong that he couldn’t shield himself from it, or stop his expression betraying him. ‘And you’ll have them. I will find you.’

  Logic told her to give him a phone number or her address. Yet a more rational form of logic, laced with her mother’s voice, insisted that giving strange men contact details was something only an idiot would do. She hesitated too long.

  ‘Awk-ward,’ Mari chimed, leaning in against Dylan. ‘So, are you heading home or …’ She glanced at Silver, unable to keep suspicion out of her glare.

  Silver had already stepped away from them, leaving Dylan behind her. Izzy watched in dismay as she slid her hand up Jinx’s broad shoulder. It was too intimate a gesture to be a comfort. Her own reaction surprised her. Why should she care? What did it matter to her? And yet somehow it did. She shivered, reminding herself that she didn’t owe him anything. She’d saved him. Jinx hung his head and the concern on Silver’s delicate features grew even more pronounced.

  Dylan’s face flinched with a sudden shock of an emotion far stronger, one that looked a lot like jealousy. And something else. Self-disgust? Emotions in conflict played out over his features and Izzy could read them all, just for a moment. She didn’t like what she saw.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he snapped, turning away as fast as he could. ‘Izzy, come on.’ He’d never talked to her like that in his life. But her su
rprise was overshadowed by another concern.

  ‘How do we get out of here?’ asked Izzy, her hands balling at her sides.

  Jinx pointed down the alley behind her. ‘Just head straight that way. Don’t stray from the path, even if the alley seems to turn about on you. Head straight.’

  She nodded, but Dylan was already off, heading down the alleyway with angry strides, his head down.

  ‘Dylan,’ Silver called after him and he jerked to a halt, as if her voice tripped him. ‘My offer still stands.’

  He didn’t give her an answer.

  ‘What offer?’ Marianne demanded, hurrying after him.

  Dylan didn’t pause, just started marching forward again. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mari. Just music stuff. Like a gig. I don’t need her anyway. No more than Izzy needs the Hulk back there.’

  The Hulk. Yeah, funny. Don’t get him angry.

  ‘Hunk more like,’ Clo grinned at Izzy. ‘And as for you, sneaking off with him to do dark deeds in an alley, no less.’ She slid her arm around Izzy and before she knew what was happening Izzy was all but holding her friend up. ‘Oh, wait until I tell everyone.’

  She ought to be irritated, but somehow she couldn’t keep hold of the emotion. Relief at being back with them again kept washing it away. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  Her protests fell on deaf ears. ‘Oh, yeah, sure.’ Marianne gave a chuckle as they caught up. ‘His shirt just fell off. And what else?’ The dirty grin should have seen her locked up by the thought police for public indecency. ‘You picked an awesome time to start building a reputation, Izzy. Just awesome. I wish my phone had a signal here. I really do. Freaky blackspot. Come on, Facebook’s calling!’

  They sped her away, towards the real world, to their Dublin far from Sídhe-space. Back to safety, she hoped. It felt safe with the three of them and she could breathe again, try to forget everything she had seen, all the madness. If she hadn’t been afraid of dropping Clodagh, or of looking even more of a fool in front of Mari, she would have run. She didn’t want to look behind her, but couldn’t help herself.