by Lucy Inglis
‘Oh I know, but I’m hungry too. Let’s drink this and go.’
In the square by Temple Church, Lily paused, looking cautiously through the passage and out into the yard beyond. There were only a couple of cars there now, no van.
‘Can we go to Hall?’ she asked suddenly.
Her father looked surprised. ‘But you hate Hall. Why don’t we go to the Italian up near Holborn?’
Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I just fancy it tonight. Staying close to home.’ The home I almost just got abducted from.
He grinned and offered her his arm. ‘Fine by me. I think they’re doing treacle pudding.’
As usual, Lily wasn’t dressed properly, but as usual the porter and the waiting staff chose to ignore that. Most of them had known her so long she was like one of their own children or grandchildren. The vast dining hall of Middle Temple, known to everyone as Hall, was a panelled room filled with long wooden tables and benches. Portraits of judges, centuries dead, gazed down from the walls around them, which were studded with coats of arms and lists of names. The atmosphere was at once tranquil but filled with busy conversations, conducted in hushed tones. Silverware and glasses clinked. Candles burnt in silver candelabra.
Everyone sat together, which was part of the reason Lily didn’t like it. As her father was one of the most prominent lawyers in the place, they always ended up with men sitting down next to them, interrupting their conversation and droning on. Still, the droning was good for one thing – they never knew what piece of information they were giving away to Lily and her father, what tiny gem might provide a breakthrough on something they were working on. The food was what Lily imagined a boarding school would serve. Her father said that was half the appeal for most of the people who ate there.
They ordered their food from the waiter, who gave them a choice of two things, chicken or beef. ‘And you should have something green,’ her father said.
The waiter arrived with a bottle of white wine. He poured them both a glass. She looked at her father, surprised.
‘What?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
A man in a blue suit came over and shook her father’s hand. ‘Magnificent win today.’
‘Thanks.’
The man sat down uninvited on the bench close to her father. ‘Did you hear about Michaels?’
‘No. I hear they’re going to appoint him judge any moment, though.’
‘Not after what happened today.’ The man lowered his voice. ‘Locked his entire staff in the conference room and was disarmed by police later in the outer office.’
‘Disarmed?’
‘Said he’d seen something. Something terrible. Was just trying to keep them safe. Complete psychotic break, apparently. He’s in the loony bin as we speak.’
‘What had he seen?’ Lily interrupted.
The man stared at her.
‘You remember Lily?’ her father asked.
‘The very image of Caitlin, what?’
Her father rearranged his knife and fork. ‘Isn’t she?’
The man in the blue suit got to his feet, and cleared his throat, embarrassed by his mistake. ‘Sorry, Ed. Bloody clumsy of me, that.’
The terrible silence that descended whenever people blundered over her mother settled over the three of them.
‘But what did he see?’ Lily pressed.
‘Like the Hound of the Baskervilles or something. He was jabbering on, that’s all. Anyway, think about it, Ed. You know where we are.’ He walked off, barking a greeting to another man on a nearby table.
‘Did he mean Charlie Michaels? The man with the chambers next to yours?’ Lily asked. A bandogge? Here in Temple? Regan said it was a sanctuary.
‘Yes. I missed all this. I was in court all day.’ He looked worried. ‘Poor Charlie. I’ll call his wife when we get in. I knew he was under pressure, but this is awful.’ Shaking his head, he paused before speaking again.
Lily was only half listening. How could she contact Regan? She cursed his antiquated views on mobile phones.
‘Lily, I think we should talk.’
She jumped guiltily. ‘About what?’
He held out his hands flat. ‘I know we’ve never spoken about . . . boys, but—’
‘Dad, really, there’s no need.’ Lily took care not to sigh with relief.
‘No need as in, you know everything, or no need as in, there haven’t been any others?’
‘Both. None.’ Lily fiddled with her fork, determinedly not looking at him. ‘Smart mouths and flat chests aren’t a winning combination.’
‘Don’t you ever look in the mirror? You’re beautiful, Lily.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘All dads have to say that, but thanks.’
‘I mean it. And I think I’d rather thought you’d start out in the, er, relationship business with . . . someone from school, perhaps.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Matt’s a nice boy, and he’s obviously quite keen on you from what I’ve seen.’
Lily pulled a face. ‘Matt? You are joking.’
Her father took a breath. ‘It’s just that, well, Regan seems, er, quite, grown-up and—’
‘Please tell me you are not trying to have The Sex Talk here,’ Lily hissed across the table, looking around at who might overhear.
‘I’d rather not either, but I’m trying to be a responsible parent,’ he said with dignity.
She shook her hair back. ‘Well, don’t worry. They teach it at school until they put you off the idea. You signed all the papers for the classes years ago.’
‘I did? Oh. Right. So,’ he said hopefully, ‘we don’t need to talk about it?’
‘No, we really don’t.’
Her father cheered up considerably. ‘I meant it when I said we all should go out for something to eat.’
Lily looked around, unable to imagine Regan sitting amongst the Temple lawyers. ‘I think he’s shy.’
He cleared his throat disbelievingly.
‘Maybe shy is the wrong word. I don’t know.’
‘You mean he’s reserved?’ he suggested.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I think that’s more what it is. His family, he lost them when he was young. His parents and a brother.’
‘Were they in an accident?’
‘They . . . disappeared. Here in the City. He doesn’t really know what happened to them.’
He looked surprised. ‘Extraordinary for you to have that in common.’
‘Yes. That’s what we think too.’
They were silent for a few moments. ‘Go on, then, tell me more.’
‘After that he was fostered and brought up by two very old men,’ Lily went on, thinking about Lucas and Elijah. ‘They’re strange, and old-fashioned.’
‘Really?’ He steepled his fingers, looking interested. ‘In what way?’
‘Hm, well, they’re really formal and polite and there’s no television or computers, or anything. Just rows and rows of books.’
Her father raised an eyebrow. ‘They sound even more old-fashioned than me. But books are good.’
‘And there’s books everywhere in his flat. Just everywhere.’
‘Oh, his flat?’ her father said politely.
Lily stalled, realising she had given away more than she intended.
‘Where’s that then?’
‘Um, near Cheapside.’
‘So, you’ve been to his flat. And he’s been to ours. And you’ve met the only family he’s got.’
Their food arrived and there was a pause as they fiddled with their cutlery.
‘Good,’ he said firmly, as if to himself. ‘That’s good. Now, eat before it gets cold.’
They chatted in short, stilted bursts over their food.
‘What happened to your mother’s necklace?’
Lily touched it on the end of the black ribbon. ‘The chain broke.’
‘Shame. We’ll get you another. We should really get you a new one altogether. With your own name on it.’
‘I like
this one. It’s the only thing I have of hers. And it has my emergency code on it instead of hers, so it’s fine.’
He watched her for a while. ‘You know, like you, she never knew her mother. She was only a few days old when she was found outside the police headquarters. Up near the Barbican.’
‘Wood Street? She was born in the City? I didn’t know that.’
He shrugged. ‘She might not have been, but that was where she was found. I always thought that was why she was so driven. It was a tough start in life.’
Lily nodded, always eager for any tiny scrap of information her father allowed to slip out from the tight grip he held on everything to do with her mother.
‘I often wonder what she might have achieved,’ he said, lost in thought. ‘She had so much potential.’
Lily sat forward. ‘The thing she was working on, the doctorate—’
‘Inherited mutations. She was obsessed with genetics. I think she linked it to her own identity. Like finding things out about herself that she’d never been told, and could somehow read from her DNA. She already had job offers from two or three companies, and the government.’
‘The government?’ Lily’s ears pricked up.
‘Yes, but she said she wouldn’t work for them as they didn’t have a clear ethical stance. She didn’t like the people who interviewed her. Although she did say that they had plans to create an incredible new facility. They showed her the plans, even down to her office.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know . . . not Westminster. Somewhere else. No, can’t remember. So, what’s brought all this on?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lily said slowly, shrugging one shoulder.
‘Regan isn’t encouraging you to dig through all this, is he? I don’t want it to become some sort of obsession between the two of you. Lost family members.’
Lily shook her head. No, it’s not like that. I just wondered if you had a theory, about why she disappeared. That was all.’
He watched her. ‘Not as such. For a while I convinced myself she had just wandered out of the hospital, confused. But she would have been found. And she was too sick for that, or so the doctors told me.’
Lily bit the inside of her lip.
‘Things weren’t easy at the time. I was working hard, wanting to establish myself. Your mother had put herself under intense pressure to finish her thesis, and then you were born, so early.’
Looking down at the table, Lily fidgeted. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looked surprised. ‘What for? It’s not as if you could help it. Here we are, sixteen years later, trying to find ways to blame ourselves. But the reality is, Lily, your mother is dead.’ He looked towards the window, the candlelight showing up the lines on his handsome face.
They finished their meal. As always in Hall, her father signed a small piece of paper instead of paying. A bill appeared each month, like clockwork. They started the short walk back to the flat. In the shadow of a buttress on Temple Church she saw a figure hunched against the wall. It was Gamble. Next to him on the ground was a can of lager. As they passed him, he called out.
‘Got something for Gamble, have yer?’
Lily stopped in her tracks.
‘Come on, Lily. He shouldn’t be there. I’ll call the porter when we get in.’ Her father’s voice was sharper than usual.
Lily hesitated.
He squinted up at her, one eye tightly shut, the other bleary and bulbous. Then he nodded firmly, almost tipping forward. ‘I seen it. And ’t’ain’t shiftin’ from my mind. Terrible bad.’
‘It is?’
‘It ain’t good. No it ain’t,’ he told himself. ‘’T’ain’t good for you, nor him. But you got to remember . . .’
‘Remember what?’
‘Lily,’ her father called from somewhere in the hall.
‘What you have to do! Remember Candle . . . no, that’s not it,’ he faltered, then brightened. ‘London stain.’ Then belched.
Acrid fumes of alcohol and tramp-stench reached Lily. She grimaced. ‘Stain? What stain, Gamble?’
She pulled some spare change from her pocket. His hand lifted out of habit, though his head was down, almost between his knees. Lily tried to drop the money into it without touching his blackened fingers, the nails rimed with filth. It rattled and clinked down on to the stones.
Gamble’s head came up. ‘Throwin’ yer bloody charity at me. Gerrout of it. Just bloody gerrout!’
Lily backed away. Her father took her arm. As they entered their courtyard, through the yellow pool of light from the lamppost, he squeezed her shoulders.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Gambling is a terrible addiction. One of the worst. And you have to accept there are some people you just can’t help.’
Back in the flat Lily turned on the television and slumped on to the sofa, taking five minutes before she looked at Jack’s emails. Her father grabbed a pile of thick white paper and sat down near her, beginning to read. It seemed like only a minute later when he put his hand on her head.
‘Lily? Up to you, but probably time for bed.’
‘Oh.’ She unfolded her arms, rubbing her face. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost eleven, you’ve been asleep for a while. Sorry, I lost track of time.’
Lily stumbled to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and threw her clothes on the floor, standing under the hot water. Yawning, she towelled her hair and ran a comb through it before pulling her nightshirt from the back of the door. After brushing her teeth she buried her clothes in the laundry basket and wandered through to her room.
‘Night, Dad,’ she called again, hand on the handle.
‘Night.’ He looked up from his papers, the light of the TV on the side of his face.
In her room Lily clambered into bed and sighed, snuggling down.
Her eyes flew open as a hand covered her mouth. Before her loomed a filthy figure with wild hair in a black cycling mask. She wriggled, kicking out.
Regan pinned her down, reaching behind his head and ripping the neoprene mask off forward, shaking his head in disgust at her struggling. ‘It’s me.’
Lily put her hands around his wrist and pulled. He sat on the edge of her bed, breathing hard, and dumped the mask on the floor. Cold air from the open window flooded over them. His clothes were torn and bloody and he wasn’t wearing his coat. Across his face, above the clean outline where the mask had been, were black finger marks, and he smelled of grease, dirt and rust.
‘What are you wearing that for? It’s enough to give someone a heart attack.’
‘You’d wear one if you had to work in the same stinking conditions I do!’ he shot back.
‘Are you okay?’ She pushed up on to her elbows, looking at his torn shirt.
‘I’m fine.’
Her fingers touched a large rip in his shirt. Beneath it his skin was filthy but unbroken, his stomach hatched with sharp, flat muscles and the roiling flames of his tattoo. ‘What happened?’ she breathed.
‘Busy night,’ he said. ‘I need you to do something for me.’
‘What?’
He passed her the old laptop from the desk. ‘Help me. Look for anything unusual happening in the City.’
Lily pushed up against the pillows, opening the computer, regretting leaving her new one on the sofa. ‘This is ancient, and slow. And I thought you didn’t do technology.’
‘I’m taking your advice, and I need a heads-up.’
‘Like what?’
‘Anything.’ He wiped his bloody, dirty face on his shoulder. ‘Dead people is usually a giveaway. But failing that accidents, anything out of the ordinary.’
Her eyes flicked up. ‘A man here in Temple today, locked all his staff in the conference room and had a meltdown. Said he’d seen something terrible. Was just trying to protect them.’
‘What did he see?’
‘I couldn’t find out more without giving myself away but I think it was a bandogge. But his chambers are right next to Dad’s.’
‘A bandogge? Here?’
‘You said it was a sanctuary, a strong one,’ she reminded him. ‘You said it was safe.’
He nodded, then shrugged. ‘But I suppose if they’re going to come into the Rookery, they’ll go anywhere.’
‘Was it looking for me? Or Dad?’
He thought about that. ‘I don’t know. You, most likely, and was drawn in by your connection with your father.’
Lily frowned. ‘So he’s not safe either? What’s out there tonight?’
He tilted his head to one side to stretch his neck slightly. ‘So far? Two dragons . . . demons . . . some very bad things. There’s too much going on. I need to know where my priorities are.’
The laptop illuminated the room finally. Lily crossed her legs beneath the cover. ‘I’ll tell you, if you tell me where to find Stedman.’
He stared at her. ‘That’s blackmail.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s bartering. Information for information.’
They looked at each other for a long time.
‘You first,’ he said.
‘Nope. You first.’
His jaw clenched, but he gave her the address.
She frowned. ‘But that’s Stoke Newington.’
‘You think I’m lying?’
‘No. Okay. My turn.’ She typed quickly. ‘Nothing. Nothing I can see. Everything’s fine. Wait. On the Tube?’
He groaned under his breath. ‘Not the Metropolitan Line?’
‘How did you know?’
‘It runs along the old northern border of the City, straight under three of the gates. Terminates at Aldgate. It’s like a sinkhole for the stuff I need to keep out, particularly tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Felix. We’ve taken a calculated risk and he’s going to use the Museum of London to try and settle the dogge and the banshee. We’re running out of time; they’ll rise if he doesn’t get them bound good and tight tonight.’
‘Great,’ Lily muttered.
‘The museum is built on the roundabout on London Wall. And it’s deserted at night.’
‘So why don’t you use it all the time?’ Lily frowned.
He pushed his hair back. ‘There’s a slight problem with it . . . in that stored beneath the roundabout are about eighty-five thousand sets of human remains.’