A Crack in Everything

by Ruth Frances Long

  ‘The grail will be in her treasury, and Silver in her prison. Either side of the Market, deeper underground.’

  ‘Should we split up?’

  ‘Not on your life,’ he muttered and his grip tightened still further.

  Izzy pulled back, her free hand straying towards the knife. ‘Jinx, do you think we’ll be able to do both? Really?’

  ‘We have to.’

  She could hear it in his voice, how desperately he wanted to get to Silver, to rescue her, to help her. And she hated herself for what she had to say next. ‘The grail first.’

  His shoulders sagged and he turned away, setting off towards the nearest wall. He’d hoped she’d choose Silver. And she’d just commanded him to leave his only friend and help her instead.

  Because according to his geis, Jinx had to do as she said.

  Something twisted inside Izzy’s heart, and the angel laughed.

  Mistle stayed with them. Part of Jinx was relieved because if he was here, he couldn’t be elsewhere making mischief, like telling Holly where they were. But it left him unable to argue with Izzy without giving his position away.

  Argue? Who was he trying to kid? Plead was nearer the mark.

  They skirted the edge of the Market, towards the entrance to Holly’s treasury.

  Suddenly, Izzy stopped, frozen in her tracks, right in the middle of the path.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  She stared at the walls and he followed her gaze to the after-image of a broken figure. It might have been painted there, might have been sprayed on the wall. The image of an angel. One of the ones Holly had killed whose sparks now fuelled her touchstone and lent her vast power.

  ‘What is that?’ She didn’t sound like Izzy. She didn’t sound like Izzy at all. Her eyes had that cold, flat look again.

  ‘It’s a …’ He grabbed her arm, pulling her away. ‘Don’t look at it.’

  Nothing like the angel she’d described. This one was twisted, its face stretched in pain. Holly’s favourite pastime.

  ‘We have to go,’ he told her. ‘We don’t have much time.’ But she wasn’t listening.

  There would be guards here, of that he was sure, but if he could talk his way past them they might just make it. His plan was looking shakier by the second. Izzy followed him, her body stiff and unresponsive, her hard as stone eyes seeking out and finding other images now, fallen angels, bound and murdered by Holly. The glow in her had faded completely.

  ‘Don’t,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t think of that right now. You can’t let it throw you off, Izzy. Are you even listening to me?’

  She looked at him like he was insane. Or a monster.

  That look, he knew too well.

  The doorway to the treasury was unguarded.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ He frowned at the entrance but nothing changed, reached out with his mind in search of something, anything that might denote a form of magic he couldn’t see. None of his senses indicated anything at all.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Izzy asked.

  ‘Nothing, I just …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Over there,’ said Mistle, nodding back down the nearest aisle. Two of Holly’s guards stood by the first stall, talking to the pretty little brownie tending it. They had mugs of something hot and fragrant in their hands.

  ‘They’re on a break?’ Izzy’s whisper shook.

  ‘No. They don’t get breaks. It’s not like your average day job, Izzy.’

  She stiffened, her eyes growing distant in an all too familiar way. Eyes like stones, so cold and hard. She was talking to the angel, communing with the serpent coiled inside her.

  ‘It’s Sorath,’ she said on a breath. ‘She’s doing it. Quickly, Jinx. She says go now, before it wears off.’

  He didn’t stop to think about it. There wasn’t time. Opportunities were to be seized when presented. All three darted into the inner warren of chambers that made up the treasury.

  Chills ran with Jinx’s blood at the thought of an angel, especially one like Sorath, lodged inside Izzy’s mind. Right now it felt like several vital organs had encountered liquid nitrogen. Messing with other angels, driving back Shades, healing him, even seeing off an archangel – that was all well and good. He’d thought it was Izzy using the power of the spark, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  He didn’t like it. Not at all.

  Izzy moved on ahead of him, her neat little form radiating determination and something more. Excitement? Hardly the terrified girl he had first encountered in the alley with the graffiti angel. And Mistle.

  Jinx glanced back at the old fae, but Mistle, tricksy as ever, had vanished.

  ‘Damn. Hurry it up, Izzy. Mistle’s gone.’

  She swore softly in a language like church music, words he didn’t understand, but that made his hackles rise. Enochian. How did Izzy know the language of angels? There was only one way and he didn’t like that prospect either.

  ‘Can you turn hound?’ she asked, in a voice unlike her own.

  ‘Now? Why?’

  ‘Your senses. We may need them.’

  He wanted to tell her that they were as good in Sídhe form, although that wasn’t strictly true. But he didn’t want to be the beast now. Especially not now, when danger crept up on them. Illogical, sure, but mind and heart screamed it. Not in this place. Not with Holly so close.

  Callous, vindictive Holly. Grandmother who should have been there for him, who should have cared. His first memory of her was of a woman far more terrifying than any demon, standing over him while those who served her marked him, ringed him, cut and beat him. It came back now, so clearly that the silver piercings sizzled with their freezing fire, and every tattoo writhed and squirmed beneath his skin in an effort to escape.

  The grail, he reminded himself, shaking off the past, resigning it to the shadows where it belonged. Pain be damned. Get to the grail, get Silver, get out.

  Those were commands a dog could understand.

  He slid to hound form, leaving his clothes behind him on the polished floor. The world turned sharper. So much easier. Friend. Enemy. Everything made sense. Black and white – no nuances of understanding, no shades of grey. The silver in his body might burn and the markings rebel against twisting into this shape, but what did that matter? There was no balance to him, not like the other Cú Sídhe who inhabited both sides of their forms with ease. His duality was a mess.

  Cú Sídhe preferred their hound forms, so everyone said. Blythe, along with all her kin, had been horrified by the charms Holly had woven around him. Charms to make him revert to Aes Sídhe, to be more comfortable as Aes Sídhe. To make him more Aes Sídhe than hound. To twist his nature. Being hound was his one rebellion. His only true freedom. Why else would he change, if not to assert his own will? That might have been why Silver had taught him music too. To give him something else into which to pour his frustrations and pain, a single echo of that true freedom.

  He followed Izzy on silent feet, her scent wrapping itself around him, his loyalty secured by his geis and by her kindness. Those kindnesses he had repaid with cruelty.

  She had saved his life. From the Magpies, from the merrow. He owed her everything. When she smiled the sun shone on him. He didn’t deserve her, couldn’t ever hope to be worthy. Not after all he’d done to her. She smiled less and less, her eyes held ghosts instead of delight. Her glow was gone. And it was his fault.

  The air charged around them, electrifying with energy of another kind. Jinx’s ears pricked up and his fur bristled. This was it. Ancient energy flowed out of the chamber ahead of them. Like a different kind of song. The sweetest song of healing and peace, of relief. Even for him.

  Jinx nudged Izzy’s side with his head, pushing her in the right direction. Her hand touched his head, caressed his long ears, her fingers so very cold now. From her pocket the phone rang, the jangly unnatural tune out of place here. Dylan again, no doubt, checking on her. But this time Izzy i
gnored it. She hadn’t done that before. Never. Especially not where Dylan was concerned. It fell silent, forgotten, unwanted.

  The cup stood on a pedestal in the centre of the little chamber. So small a thing, easily held in one hand. Plain gold, patterned with leaves and fruitful vines. Of another age. Of another world.

  ‘Thank you, faeling,’ she said and stepped inside.

  Golden light formed around her in a nimbus and he knew it wasn’t Izzy anymore. Not completely. She was Sorath as well. Perhaps Sorath more than Izzy at this stage.

  A growl started in the back of his throat and then, from behind him, he heard a laugh. One he knew too well.

  No. Ancestors, no!

  He turned, too slow, as a silver-tipped crop descended, slicing through his skin and forcing him to the ground. Its stroke was expert, designed to hurt and humiliate all in one go. Well practised and as familiar as her voice. He changed as he hit the marble, back into Sídhe form, naked and helpless before her.

  ‘Well, it’s about time,’ said Holly. ‘I thought we were going to have to wait all day. Take her.’

  Holly’s guards stepped out from behind her and Jinx tried to move, tried to go to Izzy’s aid. Holly’s foot came down on his back, the sharp heel grinding into his spine.

  ‘Oh no, boy. You should stay exactly where you are. We have quite a lot to discuss, you and I.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Holly’s Web

  Holly paced across the podium beneath the huge crystal, studying her iPhone and sneering at whatever she saw there. Izzy couldn’t stop watching her, couldn’t avoid the woman. Not when she couldn’t move.

  Wires of silver stretched across her body in a net that pinned her to some freakish kind of Roswell-esque examination table. It was like being wrapped in the web of a rather elegant spider. And there was no doubt that Holly was elegant. Part diplomat’s wife, part supermodel, all psychopath.

  ‘She’s dangerous,’ Sorath whispered. To which Izzy wanted to reply ‘no shit’, but didn’t dare in case the words came out aloud.

  Jinx had been dragged off somewhere out of sight. There was no sign of Mistle and, but for the occasional, unhelpful murmur from the back of her brain, Sorath wasn’t saying much either.

  Izzy was alone. Completely alone.

  Holly stopped her pacing and held out the phone until a servant scurried in and took it away. She studied Izzy with eyes of crystal blue, pale and frightening. And in all that time she didn’t blink. She barely moved.

  ‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t say you’re what I expected. Yet here you are – infiltrating my stronghold, stealing my belongings, beguiling my favourite hound and even turning my own daughter against me. That makes for a pretty impressive résumé, Miss Gregory. If I were looking to hire a spy or an assassin I might be impressed.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Izzy tried, keeping her voice as calm and reasonable as she possibly could under the circumstances.

  ‘Really? How very human of you.’ Holly smiled an empty smile. ‘That’s nice. Polite and well said. Do we have a ‘but’?’

  ‘I need the grail.’

  Holly’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I need the grail. For my father. That’s all I want.’

  ‘Oh, is it? My grail? This grail?’

  She snapped her fingers and it was brought to her. Izzy’s gaze latched onto it. It was her one hope. Maybe if she could just explain everything, just get Holly to see what the situation was, use reason, then—

  ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘It’s my only hope for him. He’s in a coma. It could wake him. I could—’

  Holly’s thin smile silenced her. ‘Let me show you something, little girl, so you know from the outset what you’re dealing with. I have three words for you – I don’t care.’

  With one hand, she crushed the grail. The metal twisted in her grip, folding in on itself; golden, molten drops dripped from it to the ground where it sizzled and popped until the stones swallowed it up like scraps from the table of its mistress. With impossible Aes Sídhe strength, Holly destroyed it. The grail, Izzy’s only hope, transformed from a cup to an unrecognisable mess of twisted metal in her hand, spilling from her grip. Holly opened her fingers one by one until it clattered onto the stone floor. Then Holly brought her designer shoe down on it and crushed it. It remained on the floor for a moment, broken, until it lost all cohesion and leaked away into the rocks and the earth beneath.

  ‘There now. That’s that,’ said Holly with a pretty laugh that made her think of Marianne at her most petty. ‘No grail for you to fret over. There’s nothing to bargain about, nothing to win. You aren’t leaving here, Isibéal Ní Bhrí. So we’ll move on, shall we?’

  Isibéal Ní Bhrí – she didn’t even need a translation for that. She’d learned Irish in school, enough to get that much. Isabel, Brí’s daughter. Izzy’s stomach opened up onto an abyss of pain and despair. This couldn’t be happening.

  ‘It’s just a cup,’ said Holly, gazing intently at her face, reading her emotions as they played across it. ‘Just a vessel that can heal. So am I. So are you.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  Holly laughed, cutting her off. ‘Ah, it has a voice again, but not an angelic voice. Where is she? I want to talk to her before I crush you both like the cup.’

  But Sorath remained silent, burrowing even deeper inside Izzy’s mind. Afraid. Damn her, she was afraid.

  And so was Izzy. More so than ever.

  She marshalled what little bravery she had left. ‘Where’s Jinx?’

  ‘Jinx?’ Her laugh sounded again, a curiously joyless sound. From outside Izzy’s field of view, other voices joined in. So many. Was the whole Market watching? Her stomach twisted as she cringed. ‘Jinx,’ said Holly. ‘Come.’

  In a silent moment, Jinx walked to Holly’s side, his head bowed so his long black hair hid him from Izzy. His chest was still bare and the tattoos, like graffiti painted on his skin, stood out all the more starkly, their intricate patterns beautiful in their primal nature, horrible in their intent. His hands were clasped in front of him and he wore only a pair of black jeans. But his elegantly shaped feet were bare. It made him look so vulnerable. So defeated.

  ‘Mistress,’ he said. His voice sounded dead, empty. He refused to make eye contact with either of them.

  ‘Our guest is worried about you. Show her you are unharmed.’

  Then he did look up and it was worse, far worse. Hopeless eyes examined her face, not silver anymore, but the dull grey of an execution morning’s sky. His mouth, his full and beautiful mouth, formed a line that showed neither joy nor despair. She watched his hands tighten their grip on each other.

  ‘Jinx,’ she whispered, even knowing that it would do no good, knowing that Holly would hear too and laugh at them. ‘Help me. Please.’

  He dropped his gaze, deliberately avoiding looking at her.

  Izzy’s heart cracked and cold pain flooded into the place where it should have been.

  ‘Jinx,’ she tried again. ‘Jinx, please.’

  ‘Mistress,’ his voice rumbled from deep inside the shell of his body. ‘Is this all? May I leave?’

  Holly ignored him. She stepped right up to Izzy and reached out her perfectly manicured fingertips. Izzy tried to shy back from her touch, but slammed her head against the contraption holding her.

  Holly just brushed away tears Izzy didn’t even know she was crying.

  Always crying. Just like Jinx had said. It was pathetic.

  I’m not a child.

  ‘He made you cry to escape the selkie’s rock. He told me everything, not that he had much of a choice. But he’s able to make you cry so easily. You care for him, even after so short a time. Or maybe because of it. The nature of youth, I suppose. A survival instinct, this need for protection, this need to mate. Your hormones rioting inside you just make it all the more intense.’ She tilted her head to one side, catlike in her movements. ‘So strange a thin
g to study. Humans. You always have been. I suppose you haven’t truly experienced betrayal yet. You think you have, but no. Not in so brief a life. That makes this trust, this emotion, so much stronger. You haven’t learned what others can do, the damage they can wreak on your emotions. You haven’t learned fear. Like a baby. But you will, little girl. Before I kill you.’

  ‘Mistress.’ Jinx’s voice made Izzy tremble. With Holly silent, he tried again, his voice hoarser than before. ‘I’ve done all that you asked. I brought the spark to you intact. Silver needs me. May I go?’

  ‘No, you may not,’ Holly snapped. ‘You will stay. And be silent unless I order otherwise.’

  For a moment, he lifted his head and his eyes flashed – anger, defiance, rebellion – but then it was over in a instant and he dropped his gaze once more.

  Izzy swallowed down a sob of frustration. ‘Why kill me?’

  Holly turned at the sound of Izzy’s voice and a slow smile opened her full lips.

  ‘If you want the spark, you can take it,’ Izzy continued, helpless when faced with the silence and that dreadful, patient smile. ‘I can’t stop you. If you want Sorath, she’s here. Why kill me?’

  ‘Because I can. But first, to make sure my old friend Sorath doesn’t think of going anywhere …’

  Holly’s touch scraped like steel nails against Izzy’s forehead. She squirmed in the tight bonds, trying in vain to twist away but it was useless.

  ‘Just like you,’ Sorath snarled with unexpected venom. ‘I told you not to trust him. I told you! Why didn’t you listen to me, Isabel?’

  But Jinx hadn’t betrayed them, had he? He couldn’t have. And yet he stood there now without making a sound or lifting a finger to help her. He hadn’t fought when Holly had captured them. He just lay there at her feet.

  ‘Jinx!’ Izzy screamed as pain welled up from a deep, dark well and swallowed her. Lines like molten metal spilled through her mind, thundering along the runnels in her brain, searing the tendons in her arms and legs, coiling around her spine, crushing her vital organs and ratcheting her muscles, little barbs of fire hooking in all over her body. His name became inarticulate, a long roar of agony.