by Mike Shevdon
"If they do they'll know we're here long before we see them, so there's no point waiting. They'll make a mistake eventually, and then we'll see."
"What does that mean?"
"We'll know the answer to that question when it happens." She turned towards the stairs.
"You know, sometimes your accent slips and you sound quite the Londoner."
"You know," she said, "Sometimes you poke your nose in where it's not wanted."
"You could have killed them," I called after her. "Why didn't you?"
"Because then we'd have to dispose of the bodies, and I don't particularly feel like digging. Do you?" She glanced back and then headed back down the stairs.
I had hoped for a better answer, something about the nobility of human life, or at least of saving killing until the last resort. Instead I got cold practical Amber. Then again, if she had killed them I was sure it wouldn't be her doing the digging. I was grateful for that much at least.
I sighed and looked around. The factory was chaotic and squalid. I wondered what they used for toilets, or washing. They probably smelled to high heaven living like this. A life in the courts would seem like luxury, if only I could find a way to persuade them before someone like Amber shoved a blade through their hearts.
I picked out a book that had slipped down the side of the sofa. The title emblazoned upon the cover was The Golden Dawn: The Original Account of the Teachings, Rites & Ceremonies of the Hermetic Order.
Amber was right. Someone was filling their heads with dangerous rubbish and the sooner we found them, the better.
I tossed the book aside and followed Amber downstairs. She was waiting, leaning against the concrete.
"Amber?"
She lifted her chin slightly, indicating that she had heard me.
"Why are you always such a hard-arse? You could be really nice if you wanted to be."
The faintest of smiles touched her lips, and she shook her head.
Alex wasn't sure how long she'd been there. She'd done what she'd always done at the worst moments, the really bad times. She'd run to Kayleigh's house. Now she was standing across the road, waiting for something to happen.
It was getting late. Kayleigh's dad was putting on the lights and drawing the curtains, but still Alex hesitated.
Kayleigh's mum had always been great. She never asked too many questions about Alex turning up at odd hours and with no warning. She just let her in and left her to sort it out with Kayleigh. She'd even wait for a bit before calling Alex's mum and letting her know she was safe.
This was different. Alex wasn't safe. She was dead.
She watched Kayleigh moving around her bedroom upstairs, putting things away, tidying things up. Alex smiled. Kayleigh had always been tidier and more organised. Why can't you be more like her, Mum had demanded. Why can't you be tidy like Kayleigh?
Even from the road she could see the pop star posters on the wall, the trinkets and keepsakes arranged along the window sill. Alex tried to imagine herself with keepsakes, with a family, with a bedroom and a routine. Perhaps that was the answer. She could be Kayleigh's long-lost sister, or her cousin, come back from abroad. She could even look like Kayleigh, it wasn't that hard. Or she could be adopted, a late decision, not wanting Kayleigh to grow up an only child.
Except none of it rang true. She could imagine herself, using her new name, telling stories about places she'd never been. She could be someone else, a nice girl, Kayleigh's second cousin, except for the lies.
Blackbird had warned her it would get harder. She'd told her that the more she used her power, the harder it would be to lie. Alex had sniffed and ignored her, but now she could feel it – the tongue-twisted, wrong-fisted, numbness of saying something that wasn't true. If Blackbird were here, she'd be smug.
The phone rang inside the house and she heard Kayleigh's dad answer it. There was a pause, then he appeared outlined against the light from the front door. Looking up and down the road. Was Mum on the phone, asking vague questions? Just some light query, nothing that would make it sound like she was looking for Alex. Had he seen so-and-so? Was there anyone wandering around outside?
But no one saw Alex if she didn't want to be seen, not since Porton Down. They would pump stuff through the air ducts that made your stomach cramp and your joints ache, just to stop you using glamour, but not any more. Now she was free.
He went back inside. No sign of anyone. Who were you looking for? What would her mum say? Would she blurt it out? No, she would draw a line under it all and pretend it never happened. We can't be an embarrassment in front of the neighbours, can we?
She looked up again at the girl in the window. Poor Kayleigh. No one else would befriend her, no one else had the same ideas, the same loves and hates, crushes and crashes. As far as Kayleigh knew, Alex was dead, killed in a nasty accident. She'd been there when it happened, seen for herself. She'd had to cope with losing her friend.
And that was the trouble. Alex was still lost.
The girl who was Kayleigh's friend died in the changing rooms, drowned in sewage. The girl she was now had seen and done things that Kayleigh couldn't even imagine, let alone understand. How could she tell Kayleigh about being held under water, about being drugged, beaten and starved. How could she explain that she was poisoned, stripped and left naked for all to see? Nothing in Kayleigh's world came close. Kayleigh could never feel the exhilaration of surfing down the Ways, or understand the intricacies of glamour. She was and always would be the way she was – kind, noble, straight-forward Kayleigh.
The hole in Kayleigh's life was the same shape it had always been, but Alex no longer fitted it. The Alex she'd been had wanted to be blonde and bubbly, and fun to be with. That Alex had been consumed, eaten away, leaving someone else in her place.
Alex looked down. Around her arms, strange vines and coloured leaves emerged in patterns on her flesh, winding down to emerge in coiled tangles around her wrists. There strange buds emerged, dark and shiny. They were a lot cooler than butterflies. She shook her head and her hair was long and wavy where it had been softly curled. It was tinted the deepest black, almost blue. She lifted her chin and felt her eyelashes darkened, her lips stained with raspberry tint. It would do for now.
Turning away, she shoved the silver ring on her finger, the last vestige of a life she couldn't have. She would keep it to remind her that there was no going back – only onwards. Walking away from Kayleigh's house, she headed back towards the tube station. She would have to find somewhere safe to stay, and that would be easier in town.
As she walked away, the faint sound of a phone ringing began again.
NINE
Back at the courts we were met by Garvin.
"No luck?"
"They were prepared," said Amber, "maybe even organised."
"That's a new development," Garvin commented. "Did you track them?"
"No point. They were settled in, but they knew we'd found them. We could go back when it's quiet, see if they return for what's left, but they've stolen what they had. My guess is they'll just steal some more. It's easier and safer than risking an ambush."
"So we wait," said Garvin.
"They'll pop up again. Their kind can't keep their heads down for long."
"Let's hope they don't pop up in a way that's public and violent."
It occurred to me that Garvin was more concerned about the publicity than the violence. He turned to me.
"Blackbird asked if you'd go and see her when you got back. I think she has another lesson planned."
"Where is she?"
"She was heading out to the courtyard, but she might be back inside by now."
"I'll go and find her."
Amber accompanied me as far as the stairs up to our rooms.
"Listen, thanks for not telling Garvin I messed up back there," I said to her.
"If I had told him, what good would it have done? You need to stop worrying about screwing up and focus on the job in hand. Garvin's the least of your w
orries. He's not going to crack your skull open with an iron bar."
"Even so, you could have told him and you didn't. I'm grateful."
"Don't get the idea that I'm on your side, Dogstar. I'm on my side. Always."
"I'll try and remember that."
"Go to your lesson. Seems like you need it."
I watched her retreating back as she walked away. Was she going soft on me? It was hard to imagine – Amber was an ice-cold exterior wrapped around an ice cold interior. Nothing touched her.
It left me wondering why she'd built such a wall around herself.
I found Blackbird upstairs sat on our bed. I glanced towards the darkened side-room where the door was ajar so that she could keep an ear out for our son. All was quiet, which I took as a good sign.
"Garvin said you were looking for me?" I said.
"Did he?" Her answer was curt. She'd been in a funny mood earlier and my absence didn't seem to have improved it.
I tried again. "Did you want me for something?"
"How was your trip? Did you find what you were looking for?" The question was lightly framed, and felt as if it should hold some hidden meaning, but I couldn't fathom it.
"No. I messed it up, well sort of. We were intercepted by some hoodies who wanted to mug us. Amber dealt with them."
"More to add to the body count?" she said stiffly.
"She scared them off, actually. She's not as bad as you make out."
"One Warder is much like another, I find."
That was a little pointed. "Does that include me?"
"I don't know, does it?" She was folding and unfolding a nappy on her lap, as if she couldn't get it right but couldn't stop until it was.
"Have I done something wrong?" I asked.
"How would I know? I haven't seen you all day," she said.
"Garvin said you wanted to have another session with me," I suggested.
"Have you done any of the exercises I set you last time?"
"I did try when I was waiting for Katherine, but I haven't had much chance to practice."
"That would be a no, then. Too busy galavanting around the country chasing hoodies, ex-wives and wayward daughters, I expect," she said.
This wasn't the time to ask if Alex was back. "No, it's just that I've been busy."
"Well," she tossed the nappy to one side, letting it fall haphazardly across the bed, "there's not much point in teaching you things if you're not going to practice, is there?"
"It's not that I don't want to," I said. "There are only so many hours in the day, you know?"
"I'm well aware of how many hours there are in a day."
"I'll try and find some time to practice later, maybe you could help me?" I suggested.
"Of course. I'd love to sit there and watch while you concentrate on creating stillness. I can't wait, thought the excitement may be too much for me."
"OK, then. I'll do it alone."
"Like you do everything else?" she said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm simply remarking that your approach may not be as inclusive as it could be."
"Is this because I went out with Amber? You're not jealous, surely?"
"Why would I be jealous? What is there to be jealous of?" She brushed imaginary specks from her skirt.
"Nothing. If you think there's something between Amber and me you've got entirely the wrong end of the stick."
"I never said anything about Amber. It was you that mentioned her," she pointed out.
"Well, there isn't anything, OK?" I was feeling like I'd done something wrong, though I didn't know what.
"Whatever you say," she said.
"What do I have to do to prove that there isn't anything?"
"Well you could stop protesting about it. Drawing attention to it only makes it seem worse than it is."
"There isn't anything to draw attention to," I said.
"So you say."
"Is something the matter?" I tried to keep my enquiry neutral.
"With me? Why should any thing be the matter?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. You're acting strange, that's all."
"I'm acting strange? I expect it's probably my hormones."
"That might explain it."
She stood up, genuinely angry. "How dare you! What gives you the right to blame your conduct on my body? You know nothing about it. What makes you think you're so damned perfect?"
"Keep your voice down, you'll wake the baby. I only meant…"
"Meant what? That I'm not in command of my feelings because there are chemicals in my bloodstream? That I can't be expected to control myself because I'm female? Who do you think you are?"
"I wasn't meaning that. You're the one who keeps going on about how being pregnant changed everything. How do you expect me to know how it feels?"
"You can't possibly know how it feels. You swan off here and there, doing what you like when you like, you never offer to change him or look after him while I go out."
"Where do you want to go?"
"None of your damned business! I've been going to places and doing what I wanted to do since before you were born. Why should I have to tell you where I'm going?"
"You only had to ask," I protested.
"Ask? Why do I have to ask? Do I need your permission now? Is that what you think, that I'm sitting here like your bloody secretary, waiting for you to give me permission to leave?"
"No, I just meant that if you let me know you wanted to go out, I would come and look after him for a while."
"When you're not treating me like a secretary, you treat me like some kind of babysitter," she said.
"Oh no, that isn't true."
"Isn't it? You leave me here day in and day out. I never see the light of day."
"No, hang on a minute. You were the one who wanted a child. You were the one who suddenly got interested in me when you found out I was fertile."
She shook her head. "That's not true."
"Isn't it? When you found me that day on the Underground, you were all ready to abandon me to the Untainted, and then you found out I had a daughter. All of a sudden the old lady was gone and you were all long legs and shy smiles. What would you like to do for your last day, you said, all come-to-bed eyes and pouting lips. You think I didn't know? You think I didn't notice?" I was shouting now, but I didn't care.
"That's not how it was." There were tears in her eyes.
"You didn't think I'd make it through the night, did you? That's why you left me at Leicester Square. You didn't want to be around when the Untainted came for me. You damn near admitted it."
She shook her head, but she couldn't get the words out to deny it.
There was a knot in my throat, but I swallowed it down. "Even then, when I survived and you found I was wraithkin – it didn't put you off, did it? What could be a powerful enough incentive for you to overcome your revulsion? What would it take for you to put that aside?"
"No, no, no," she whispered.
"It wasn't me you wanted. It was what I could give you. All you ever wanted was a child. It was written all over your face at that inn in Shropshire. The first time you thought you might be pregnant you looked like the cat that got the cream. You hit the jackpot, and now you've got what you wanted you couldn't give a damn about me."
"It's not true," she whispered.
"Tell me truthfully. Before you knew I was fertile, did you have any interest in me at all?"
She shook her head, denying my question.
"That's not an answer, Blackbird. You never wanted me, did you? It was only ever about the baby. Now you've got what you needed, you want out. Don't worry, I know how it goes. I've been there before. I've got the bloody T-shirt."
She shook her head again, scattering tears, wringing her hands together. I turned and reached for the door handle. "Let Garvin know when you're leaving. I'll keep out of your way until then."
I stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind me. I was breathing hard, ad
renaline coursing through my veins. My head felt like it would burst. I wanted to kick the door, the wall, anything. How could I have been such a fool?
I knew what she wanted from the start, but I kidded myself. I told myself that when she got to know me it would be enough – we would find a way to be together. I'd let my sex drive override my common sense and look where it had got me. Another bloody disaster. Another lesson in letting your heart rule your head. You'd think I'd bloody well learn.