by Mike Shevdon
"This is not about assuaging your guilty conscience. I have a job to do and you're supposed to be helping me – instead you're making it harder."
"She won't tell anyone."
"Of course she'll tell someone! She's bound to, sooner or later. There'll be someone close, someone she trusts. It's like pissing in a pond. You break the banks and then it leaks into the bigger pool, before long it's in the stream and then the river and before you know it the entire ocean is tainted with piss. It's what happens."
"I'll talk to Katherine and ask her to be discreet."
"I think you've done enough talking, don't you? I asked you to be discreet. Asking her to keep it quiet will only stimulate her interest and encourage her to ask more questions. No more, Niall. Is that understood?"
"I understand."
"You said that last time. If you're not cut out to be a Warder, with all the privileges and comforts that come with it, then other arrangements can be made. If you want to be a Warder then you need to start acting like one. I gave you a job. Have you done it?"
"Not yet."
Garvin sighed. "There are a group of them holed up in a squat in north London, an old factory. Amber will go with you."
"Amber?"
"Yes, Amber. Perhaps if you see how the job should be done, you'll get on with it. I've sent Fellstamp and Fionh elsewhere. If you won't do this, Dogstar, then I'll send someone who will. Amber's waiting for you downstairs. She won't wait long. Get your kit and get moving."
I said nothing, pressing my fist over my heart in acknowledgement and left, pulling the door shut behind me, then leaned against the wall next to the door, breathing slowly in and out. Garvin was usually the measure of control and diplomacy, but today I'd seen another side of him. If he'd sent Fellstamp and Fionh in search of some of the escapees then that was bad news. They would not treat them as carefully as I would. I needed to get on top of things if I was going to save any of these people, and keep my job.
I also needed to talk to Katherine, which meant going against what he'd just told me. If Alex turned up at her mother's then Katherine would need to know what the situation was, otherwise she might go complaining to the authorities, or draw further unwanted attention to Alex, when what we needed was a calm, careful, approach.
None of which were words I would normally associate with Katherine.
Alex always liked Oxford Street. All the top shops were there, all the ones with the clothes that her mother would never let her wear. Unsuitable clothes, matched with unwearable shoes. She loved it.
Of course, there were the designer shops, but even wrapped in glamour she didn't think she could get in and out of one of those without drawing unwanted attention. Those shops didn't have clothes on rails, and changing rooms you could just use. You had to have an attendant and someone to tell you how marvellous you looked. Having earned her freedom she was not so willing to risk losing it again.
Instead she wandered around the better teen shops, looking at the fashions and checking out what the other girls were wearing. Of course she could just shift her glamour and look however she wanted, but that wasn't the same as having the clothes for herself.
She went down a rail and picked out a top with a sparkly emblem, and a short denim skirt, a skimpy tee, some leggings, and took all of it to the changing room where a stern-faced shop manager gave her a token which showed how many items she as trying on. The woman was dressed in clothes from the store, but frankly she looked too old for them.
After a short wait in the queue, she slipped into the communal changing area. Inside, girls squeezed themselves into a variety of outfits, some with more success than others. There was a lot of chat, and a fair amount of swearing as girls found that they were no longer able to fit in a size six or whatever. One girl was fighting a losing battle with a bustier thing while her friend tried to stretch it around her. Alex smiled.
She shed the shapeless sweatshirt and jeans and wriggled into the short skirt, pulling the zip up hard when it stuck. She pulled the sparkly top over her head, stretching it over her budding curves and smoothed it down. Only then did she look up into the mirror.
The girl who looked back was a stranger. Alex almost looked around to see if she had caught the reflection from some other girl. Sure, she'd had a mirror in her room, and there were mirrors dotted around the courts, but this was full length widescreen. Alex blinked and her reflection blinked back.
She caught a smug look from the girl who'd been trying to squeeze into the bustier. Alex almost told her where she could get off, but then looked again at the girl in the mirror. The sparkly top was stretched tight across her bust – too tight. It bunched into lines and left a line of pale midriff where the over-tight skirt pinched in her waist, making her look like she had a roll of puppy fat.
Her face gave the lie to any weight gain. It was lean and angular. She brushed her cheek where the bones were outlined under the skin. Her unruly hair coiled around her fingers and she teased out the curl, wondering when this had happened to her. When did she become this bony angular waif?
She stepped sideways as one of the other girls edged in front of her for a better view of herself; giving her attitude, like Alex was hogging the mirror. Looking around the changing room, Alex was suddenly conscious that the other girls would see the strange girl, in clothes that were too small, in a bra that bulged in the wrong places.
Quickly, she stripped off the top, hearing the seams stretch and crackle as she pulled it over her head. She unzipped the skirt with relief and pulled on her jeans and shirt. There was no point in trying on the leggings and tee shirt – they were all too small. She tugged things back on hangers and headed out.
She passed the token back to the woman at the changing room entrance.
"Did you find anything you liked?" she asked.
"S'all too small," said Alex, handing back the clothes.
The woman took them from her and checked them before hanging them from a rail behind her.
She turned, assessing Alex and then checking the sizes on the clothes she'd just hung up. "These are eights and you're definitely going to need a ten," she said. "What size bra are you wearing?"
Alex told her, and the woman sighed. "It's very common with young women – you don't notice how your shape is changing. You're going to have to buy a new bra before you try anything else on," she said. "The one you're wearing is too small for you and nothing is going to fit right until you do. I'll ask one of the assistants to advise you, if you'd like?"
"No, really," said Alex, "I'm OK."
"Of course," she said. "You'll find lingerie in the far corner over there." She gestured towards the back corner of the store.
"Thanks," said Alex, drifting away.
Since she got back she'd been preoccupied, what with the birth of the baby and having lessons with Fionh. All the rules about what she could do and couldn't do – it was worse than Porton Down. Her appearance hadn't been an issue, though. Maybe it was the drugs she'd been given, but she didn't feel drugged, she just felt… different, as if she didn't quite fit in her own skin. She'd just thrown on the clothes she'd been given, only now she realised they were shapeless and baggy or just didn't fit.
She found herself in front of another full length mirror along one of the aisles. Her hair wound in dark curls around her face and her eyes looking hard and cold. She smoothed the sweatshirt down, trying to visualise the figure underneath. A girl with a dress walked around in front of her. She stood between Alex and the mirror and held the dress up against herself.
"Do you mind?" said Alex. "I was using that."
The girl glanced around at her, taking in the crumpled sweatshirt and the faded jeans. "Seriously?" she said. She turned and checked the dress again.
"Stuck up bitch," said Alex, but the girl had already moved away.
Alex stared at herself and realised that the girl had a point. She did look a bit of a state. The jeans hung from her hips and the formless top did nothing for her. Now that s
he was conscious of it, her bra was too tight in all the wrong places and she felt frumpy.
A couple of girls passed between her and the mirror, debating the merits of the skirt they had chosen for one or other of them. Alex had no one to debate with. Did anyone care how she looked? Did anyone even notice her? Standing in the middle of the shop, she felt the people moving around her. She felt each heartbeat swishing by, heard their chatter, was jostled and stepped around, but comprehensively ignored. She'd never felt so alone. Even at the worst of Porton Down, people knew you were there. They didn't just step around you.
It came to her that she could could stop it all. She could slow every heartbeat, cause the blood not to flow. She could make it thicken and slow and they would all die, all of them.
She twitched as she felt her hands wrap around the heavy blade, the handle slick with blood. She felt the weight of the blade in her hand as she lifted it, heard her exhalation as she swept the blade down, felt the shock travel up her arms as it bit into bone, biting into the severed head in front of her…
She shook herself, wiping her hands down her front, trying to push the memory that had risen, unbidden, back where it came from.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Stupid. Just stupid." Her hands were shaking. She interlaced her fingers to quiet the trembling.
"Are you all right?" A girl with a shopping bag slung over her shoulder appeared at her arm, face filled with concern. "You're very pale. Do you want to sit down?"
Alex shrugged her off. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."
"I was only asking," said the girl, but Alex was already moving away between the racks.
She had to pull herself together. It was no good being flaky when she was out on her own. It would only attract attention she didn't want or need. She needed to get a hold of herself. She was tougher than this. She had been through worse and survived hadn't she?
On impulse, she walked back down the racks. She checked the sizes as she collected a violet skimpy tee, a teal bolero cardigan and a blue and purple kilt that looked kinda funky. She added to this a handbag, a pair of silver high-heeled shoes and a bra with a bigger cup-size. Then she headed for the exit.
She didn't need to pay; she didn't have any money in any case. She was cloaked in glamour, no one would notice. No one would see. Even the CCTV wouldn't register her image. Unfortunately she'd forgotten about the security tags on the clothes and as soon as she passed the door the alarms went berserk.
"Shit!" she swore and ran.
She dodged around people walking slowly down the pavement, hearing the heavy thumping of the security guard's boots on her tail. She intensified her glamour and swerved into a doorway. People walked past ignoring her. A large white guy in a blue uniform stopped in front of the the doorway. Her heart beat in her chest.
Don't look around. Don't look around.
Another guy in uniform, a tall skinny black guy, stopped, failing to notice the girl with her arms full of clothes in the doorway, just behind his colleague.
"Where'd she go?" said the black guy.
"I had her, and then she vanished," wheezed the other one, bending forward and resting his hands on his knees. "I'm getting too old for this. Either that or they're running faster."
"Come on, old man," said the black guy, punching the white guy on the arm playfully. "Did you see what she looked like?"
"Nah, but we'll get her on the cameras." They walked back towards the store, leaving Alex in the doorway with her prizes.
"You stupid silly bitch," she said to herself. "What did you do that for?"
But she had her prizes.
EIGHT
Returning to the suite I shared with Blackbird, I found her folding nappies into a drawer. I collected my sword.
"Going out again?" she asked.
"Garvin wants me to round up the escapees. He's sending Amber with me. She's waiting down at the Way node. If I don't get a move on, she'll go alone."
"I see. Pushing you up to the sharp end again, is he?"
"If Alex comes back, could you ask her to wait," I asked her.
"I'm not your secretary, Niall."
"Look, I have to go out, OK? If I don't go… who knows what Amber will do. I'm only asking that if Alex comes back while I'm out, you'd ask her to wait until I get back so I can talk to her."
"She's used to waiting."
"What does that mean?"
"Only that your daughter, like many other things, doesn't seem to take priority."
"She's not even here," I said. "I can't talk to her if she's not here, can I? What am I supposed to do? Sit around on the offchance that she appears?"
"I'm sure you could find something to do," she said quietly.
I sighed. "I have work to do, and I really don't have time for this now."
"Off you go then. Have a good day at the office, darling." She smiled but there was no joy in it.
"You're in a strange mood. Is something wrong?"
"No. I'm fine. Go and save the world, or whatever it is you have to do," she said, turning back to the laundry.
I shrugged and left, unable to untangle whatever it was that Blackbird was not telling me. It was as if she was sending me a message I couldn't decode. She'd always wanted a baby, that much was obvious, and now she had one. She'd got what she wanted, so what was the matter? Didn't she like being a mother?
Heading down to the room where the Waypoint was, I found Amber leaning against the wall, showing no sign of impatience, or indeed any emotion whatsoever. The contrast between them struck me. I couldn't imagine having the conversation I'd just had with Blackbird, with her. Amber watched everyone, but no one watched Amber.
I made a point of assessing her. She had one black leather boot forward, where she leaned against the wall, the other boot was back against the wall, ready to propel her into action. I noticed for the first time that her boots had heels, not high, but enough to give a small lift. Her favourite weapon, a straight blade with a cord-bound hilt long enough to be wielded two handed, was slung from her hip in a black lacquered scabbard, over dark grey trousers. She wore a grey top loose enough to allow movement, tight enough not to snag or catch.
"Like what you see?" she asked, candidly.
"You're not used to being noticed, are you Amber?" It was more a statement of fact than a criticism. I wondered if merging into the background was part of her glamour.
She watched me with dark eyes under the black tousled fringe while I took in her hard chin and sharp cheekbones; she was angular. Her shoulders were sharp and bony, she was lean without Fionh's curves or Blackbird's softness and that gave her a wiriness that none of the other Warders had. The only time I'd seen Amber show any emotion was at the memorial service held for Alex and the dead girls. After the speech, she had embraced me with tears in her eyes and told me to be strong. It was so uncharacteristic that it stuck in my memory like a thorn. There was no sign of that emotion here. It was another Amber, carved from something hard and uncompromising.
"I'm ready," I told her.
She smiled faintly, then stepped forward onto the Waypoint. There was a twisting vortex and she vanished. I stepped forward after her and felt beneath me for the rising wave of the Way. I could feel her track through the Way, not warm like Blackbird, but cold and precise.
I followed it.
Having nearly been caught stealing clothes, Alex was a lot more careful about what she took after that. She made sure that none of it had security tags, or if they did, it was a moment's thought to remove them. They were tamper proof, but that was against people, not fey. It was just an opening, after all, and with a little practice she could look at a security tag and it would fall off.
She was wearing the kilt and top. The high-heeled shoes she had stolen were ditched – they were party shoes; she could barely walk in the damned things, let alone run. It had taken more ingenuity to acquire the white calfskin baseball boots she now wore. She'd had to persuade the girl in the shop to let her try them on, then foll
ow her quietly into the stockroom when she put them back. She had swapped the silly heels for the boots and walked out. When the next person wanted to try that size they would find the heels, but by that time she would be long forgotten.
She sat on the tube train in her new clothes looking at her distorted reflection in the curved window opposite. She had make-up in her new handbag, along with a comb and a rather nice purple silk hair clip. She'd tried the clip in three times before abandoning and stuffing it back into the bag. Her hair had a mind of its own, and rejected the clip no matter how firmly she pushed it in.
She'd stolen a sandwich too, and wolfed that down. She'd wanted a burger and fries but you had to order and pay for those, and she still didn't have any money. She'd considered stealing a purse, but taking from shops was one thing, stealing from people was another. Shop stuff didn't belong to anyone until it was bought, but people's stuff was personal. She wasn't a thief.