Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  We walked together until we reached Edwin’s car.

  “So, what happens now?”

  Edwin turned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “About the investigation?”

  “About the Bear Garden. What’s going to happen to them in the meantime? Are they going to operate out of someplace else?”

  Edwin turned to Millie. “Have you not told her?”

  “It’s been one thing after another,” Millie looked and sounded exhausted.

  “The Bear Garden’s operations have been suspended. Indefinitely.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m afraid it makes perfect sense. What’s happened here has changed everything,” he nodded in the direction of the blast site. “The Inner Council are treating this as an act of direct aggression on behalf of the Sidhe. The question is: what are they going to do about it?”

  “Are we talking about the same Inner Council? The group which oversees supernatural licenses and magical ethics. They’ve never been involved in policy making or working at the sharp end.”

  “You saw MacMillan back there. He represents the council and he’s taking this very seriously. He’s called for a special meeting of representatives from all the Thaumaturgical Arts. Change is happening.”

  “But that’s going to take weeks to organise. Months, even.”

  Edwin said, “It’s happening right now.”

  For some reason, that scared me more than anything I’d heard all day.

  “The first meeting is tomorrow afternoon,” Millie confirmed. “They’ve taken over The Globe Theatre on the south bank.”

  I struggled to take it all in. Representatives from every field of the magical arts. In London. Tomorrow.

  “Anyway,” Edwin opened the driver’s door. “As you can imagine, there’s a lot to do.”

  He climbed behind the wheel. Millie went around to his side and crouched down to speak with him. I couldn’t hear what was being said but I didn’t need to. Her body language said it all.

  As he drove off, Millie came over to stand next to me.

  I said, “What was all that about?”

  “What? We just had a few things to sort out.”

  “And was one of those things a date?”

  “No!” Millie did ‘moral outrage’ surprisingly well. “It’s not like that.”

  I mimicked her bending over to talk to him, blowing him kisses. “Did you arrange a date with him or didn’t you?”

  Millie’s eyebrows arched in indignation. “He’s trying to work out where the two blasts occurred. He needed someone to show him around the Bear Garden’s blue-prints.”

  “Which are in the Ptolemy.” The magical library at the far end of the road we were standing on. “When was the last time you went down to the Ptolemy?”

  “I use the files at the Ptolemy all the time. To check stuff.”

  “I know. Because I’m the one you ask to go and get them. You can usually come up with a hundred reasons for avoiding the library. Then suddenly Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome shows up and you can’t get in there fast enough.”

  I could tell that I had hit the mark from the defensive way she had folded her arms.

  “I’m just trying to be helpful, that’s all.”

  “Well, be careful. I don’t want the pair of you getting lost down there. Those corridors can be very confusing.”

  She punched me in the arm so hard that it hurt.

  “What?” I protested. “What did I say?”

  *

  The hospital was overly warm so that I arrived at Kinsella’s floor feeling hot and sweaty. I took my coat off and folded it over my arm, then followed the signs for the ward. There were lots of visitors milling around the corridors which I found slightly unsettling. No matter how many times I told myself that the renegade Sidhe would stand out like a sore thumb amongst normal humans, I still couldn’t suppress my growing sense of alarm.

  I found the door I was looking for at the end of a long corridor. I looked through the window to re-assure myself that I was in the right place, knocked and went straight in.

  They’d given Kinsella a private suite and I found myself in a little ante-room designed for socialising. There was a wide-screen TV, a coffee machine and a refrigerator.

  Sitting across from me in a red leather arm-chair was Marcus Rolfe. He didn’t notice me enter. He was too busy checking his tablet. The middle finger on his right hand was heavily strapped and he held it at an odd angle as he touched the screen.

  I stood by the door, waiting for him to notice me but he was too engaged in what he was reading.

  Finally, I just said, “Knock, knock.”

  “Help yourself,” he indicated the coffee machine but didn’t look up.

  Even when I went and stood in the centre of the room, he still didn’t respond. Eventually, I cleared my throat.

  “Bronte? I thought you were in Scotland.”

  He stood up to hug me. He was wearing after-shave. Something fresh and subtle. I liked it.

  “I came back when I heard about this. What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I guess. I was worried.”

  I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected to see Marcus’ caring side. It threw me a little.

  I said, “Are you here in an official capacity?”

  “You mean, am I in charge of security? No, I’m not.”

  I went and checked out in the corridor.

  “So, you’re saying that there’s no one here? After all that’s happened.”

  He shrugged. “I talked to one of the nurses. She said that he came in with a security detail but then, a couple of hours ago, there was a phone-call and they just up and left.”

  That didn’t make any sense. Not now with two Sidhe still unaccounted for. But I didn’t feel that I could share that information with him. After what had gone between us in the past, I still couldn’t bring myself to trust him.

  “Are you still working at the Bear Garden,” I asked.

  “No. Probably just as well after what’s just happened. I broke my back when that wall fell on me and that triggered my medical insurance. Big lump sum. Anyway, I’m looking to set myself up as a security analyst.”

  This was the Marcus I remembered.

  “Corporate work?”

  “Gotta pay those bills somehow.”

  I felt better with all that out of the way. Relieved even. Marcus was a huckster at the end of the day. A good-looking huckster but a huckster nonetheless. It didn’t make him a bad person though, and I could deal with that.

  I motioned towards Kinsella’s room.

  “Have you had a chance to see him?”

  “Briefly. He’s been in and out of consciousness. But he asked to see you. I don’t know whether you heard but they were worried about the build-up of pressure on his brain. They managed to treat it while he was in surgery but it’s still pretty much touch and go.”

  “He is going to pull through, isn’t he?”

  “You’ll have to see for yourself. You’re going to have to be prepared though. He’s been through a lot.”

  Marcus opened the door through into an adjoining ante-room and then we were at the door to his room.

  “Keep it short. No more than a couple of minutes.”

  He pushed the door open and I went inside.

  The first thing that struck me was that they’d shaved his head. There was a big gauze patch on the left side of his skull. He had a saline drip on one arm and a blood bag on the other. I didn’t think that it could get any worse but the next thing I saw brought tears to my eyes.

  The drape of his bed-sheets seemed to mock me. I just needed to leave.

  I wasn’t prepared for this.

  “Bronte?” his voice was hoarse, barely recognisable. “Is that you?”

  “I’m here. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’d like some water.”

  There was a plastic feeder cup on his bedside table. I held it to his lips while he took a co
uple of sips. The effort seemed to exhaust him.

  “Can you help me sit up a little?”

  I didn’t understand what he meant but he tapped his finger on the mattress to indicate a control pad. When I eventually managed to get the bed head to rise I saw his face tense with pain.

  “I’ll go and get a nurse.”

  “No time for that. Come here.”

  I got close enough to smell his breath. A sweet smell, like aniseed.

  “This attack. It’s not what it seems.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This was all planned in advance. The Sidhe do pose a threat, but they’re not known for their organisational skills. It’s not as though they don’t have problems of their own. And be wary of the Inner Council. They’ve been trying to close us down for years. Trying to limit our powers.”

  He wasn’t making much sense. I felt like I should be recording this.

  “You’re suggesting that the Inner Council was involved in the bombing?”

  “Not sure about that. But it does suit their purposes. The Council’s become bloated and inefficient of late. Easy to manipulate, if you know how.”

  I smiled. “I seem to remember that you were pretty good at doing that.”

  “Can’t have been that good. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ended up here.”

  He was fighting to catch his breath now. I wondered if he needed a nebuliser.

  “Wait. Are you suggesting that someone in the Inner Council might be behind all this?”

  “That’s exactly right. Disgrace me and discredit the Bear Garden. That’s happened overnight. Someone is laying the seeds of panic and confusion.”

  “D’you think Macmillan might be involved?”

  Kinsella’s eyes widened at the mention of the name.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He was at the blast sight, earlier. Wearing a red jump-suit.”

  “That sounds like him. And, remember, he does have a history with the Sidhe.”

  I wanted him to tell me more but he was suddenly wracked with a coughing fit. I tried to get him to drink some more water but he couldn’t manage it.

  I heard the door open behind me.

  Marcus said, “Better finish off. They’re here.”

  I reached down and took Kinsella’s hand.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He indicated for me to wait until his coughing died down.

  “Very important. Whoever is behind this is going to be painting the Sidhe as being blacker than black. They need a creditable threat, so don’t believe all you’re told. This is not over, Bronte. In fact, it’s barely begun.”

  His head dropped back onto his pillow and within seconds he was asleep.

  *

  Marcus accompanied me back to the elevators. Neither of us spoke until we were inside.

  “What did he say?”

  Not: ‘how was he?’

  “He didn’t say much. He’s not convinced that the Sidhe are behind this.”

  “And yet he was the one who arrested them.”

  “Doesn’t think they have the organisational capacity for something like this.”

  “Yeah? But what if they’re massing their armies as we speak?”

  I caught sight of Marcus in the mirror. He had his hands in his pockets, feigning nonchalance though his voice suggested something different.

  The lift stopped and the doors opened but there was no one there.

  “What about the Inner Council? Did he say anything about them?”

  Yes, he did, though you’re not going to hear that from me.

  “Didn’t mention it.”

  When we arrived at the ground floor, he made no effort to move.

  I said, “You not coming?”

  “Oh, no,” he looked distracted. “I’ve just remembered: I left something up there. You go, though. Don’t wait for me.”

  So, I didn’t.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After I left Marcus, I headed straight for the nearest tube. The platform was thronging with people. It was just after six o’clock so I was struggling with the tail end of the evening commute. I had to change at King’s Cross and it was only a short journey then to Finsbury Park.

  I was feeling nervous as I emerged from the station. It had been over two months since I’d visited the flat and I was anxious about returning. No real reason why, but there had been one point when I thought I might never go back. I decided to postpone the inevitable by popping in to Costa in a bid to cheer myself up.

  Someone had told me that the baristas in Costa were allowed to give away a free coffee each day to a customer they thought really needed it. Clearly, I didn’t look as bad as I felt because I had to pay for mine. While I was waiting to collect my drink, I decided to give Millie a ring. In an effort to repair any bridges after my long absence, I had already resolved to cook dinner. I wanted to give Millie the option of choosing what we had but, when she didn’t pick up, I collected my drink and headed for the local supermarket.

  It’s directly at the bottom of my road and is run by a large Algerian family. The shop goes back a long way and, with its narrow aisles and teeming shelves it can be quite intimidating at first but, over time, I’d gradually begun to work out where everything was. Its most attractive feature though, other than the fact that it stocks some of the freshest produce in North London, is the fact that it doesn’t sell cigarettes. In the past, that would have been a complete deal-breaker but, of late, that come to seem more and more desirable.

  It wasn’t that I was actively trying to give up the evil weed, more to do with my efforts to cut down. Apart from the fact that it was so prohibitively expensive was the idea that I wasn’t actually enjoying smoking. It had become too much of a habit. It was no longer an active choice. And I didn’t like that.

  I left the super-market with the ingredients for a curry and a proper sense of smugness. If I’d have gone into one of the other super-markets, the temptation would have probably been too much. They’re staring at you across the check-out.

  No. I’d done the right thing. I had resisted temptation. The idea that I had an emergency pack hidden at the back of my wardrobe also helped.

  I was just crossing Seven Sisters’ road when a black Daimler pulled up directly in front of me, blocking my path. It’s such a busy road that stuff like that happens all the time and so, I thought nothing of it. The whine of the rear window opening made me look up.

  Perhaps they just wanted directions?

  But they didn’t want directions. The passenger put his head out of the window, regarding me over the top of his glasses. He gave me the once over and then nodded. The chauffeur got out and came around to my side of the vehicle. He was an over-weight black man with a head shaped like a bullet. He didn’t say anything, just opened the rear door and indicated for me to enter.

  I looked up and down the street, instantly suspicious expecting to be accosted from behind. But there was no one there. Three women were approaching with their children. They paid no attention to either me or the car.

  The driver inclined his head, inviting me to get in. He seemed discomfited by my hesitancy making me, in turn, feel uncomfortable. So, I got in.

  The back of the car was extremely spacious and I found myself sitting with my back to the driver facing the man with the glasses. He regarded me coolly as the car pulled out into traffic.

  He was in his early sixties and of middle-eastern origin. The top of his head was quite bald and totally smooth but he had the most expressive forehead. It was almost a second face: rising and falling, undulating and shifting like the dunes of the desert.

  His suit was dove grey and exquisitely tailored. On top of that, he was wearing the shiniest pair of shoes I’d ever seen.

  He glanced disapprovingly at my carton of coffee and I realised it was resting on the finely tooled leather upholstery. I lifted it into the air and held it there self-consciously while he pressed a button on
his arm-rest. A red lacquered table slid out of the arm-rest next to me and I rested my cup on that.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us at such short notice, Miss Fellows.”

  He had a slight mid-Atlantic accent and the way he spoke convinced me, fleetingly, that I must have agreed to this meeting at some point. He was so extremely self-assured that he’d got me doubting myself. I was also unsure of who exactly ‘we’ were. I was pretty sure he wasn’t including the driver in this.

  I made a few quick mental calculations and then ventured, “I take it that you being here has something to do with the Sidhe.”

  His forehead rose and fell in a pantomime of surprise and, when he looked at me again, his eyes had lost some of their solemnity.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ibrahim bin Faisal Al Salazar and I am honoured to be the legal representative of Aleena delle Shonosh Thirabitrubis, Aleena the Stormbringer, Queen of the Cursed Crown, the Once and Future Queen of the Unseelie Court.”

  I gave a polite half smile. What were you meant to say to that?

  “She would very much like to meet you herself but feels that her presence at this time may well, unintentionally, act more as a provocation rather than anything. Please forgive her absence but these are particularly trying times and it would be deplorable if she were to make this tragic situation even worse.”

  “I understand,” I said when really I had no idea what he was talking about. “But what does she want with me?”

  He sighed. “That is a very delicate matter and I must approach it with utmost caution to ensure that her majesty’s intentions are not misconstrued.”

  He indicated my coffee. “Would you allow me to get you a fresh cup?”

  I handed it over to him. He must have pressed a button on his console because the off-side rear window slid open enough for him to throw the cup through it.

  He turned to his left and eased back a partition revealing a mini espresso machine. There were two cups inside. He dispensed coffee into one and then handed it to me on a saucer. I waited for him to pour a cup for himself before taking a sip. It had none of the harshness that I normally associate with espresso. It had a really heady, earthy texture.