by Lucy Inglis
He listened, then took the phone from his ear and looked at it. ‘I didn’t leave that.’
‘I know. It’s your brother.’ There was a long pause. ‘You’re twins, aren’t you? Identical.’
He looked at her warily. ‘So what?’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘S’pose not.’
‘Yes. We are. It’s the first time it’s ever happened to my kind. We’re only children – sons – always.’
‘But not this time?’
He shook his head.
Lily caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like a drowned animal, her skin stark white, a blue line around the edge of her mouth. Regan walked out, taking her phone and leaving the room without closing the door. She almost fell, twice, taking off her boots. Increasingly shaky, she dropped her things into a wet pile and clambered into the steaming water. It felt painfully icy, the nerves in her chilled skin so confused they didn’t know hot from cold. She sat shivering, hugging her shins, chin on knees to stop her teeth chattering.
By the time she felt clean and a little warmer, the water was cooling. The door creaked a fraction and a shirt flew through the gap, puddling on the floorboards. Clambering out, Lily pulled the only towel from the hook on the back of the door and dried herself carefully from head to toes, skin prickling. She picked up the shirt and pushed her hands through the long sleeves, fumbling with the buttons down the front. It came almost to her knees.
There was no comb on the sink, but there was a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. She brushed her teeth thoroughly, spitting white foam into the sink, glad to be rid of the taste of Thames water and fear. Then she looked in the mirror and ran her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it behind her ears. There was still a bluish tinge to the edge of her bottom lip but her cheeks were flushed with colour from the heat of the water.
Cautiously, she opened the door and went into the hall. Regan was in the bedroom, putting a match to the fire. Her outer clothes were ranged over an old wooden rack near the hearth. A candle burnt on the bedside table, next to another crooked tower of books and her phone. Regan had taken off his wet shirt and replaced it with a tight white T-shirt with just a ragged hem where the collar had once been. The long sleeves were pushed above his elbows, showing his tattooed arm. He crouched with his left leg bent, foot bare on the floorboards, a black flicker behind his prominent ankle bone, and Lily saw the last of the flames creeping over the top of his foot.
He watched the fire kindle. She came closer and he straightened up as it took hold. He was suddenly too close. She stepped back. ‘Ellis is working for the Agency,’ she told him. ‘He took Vicky Shadbolt, made her think they were in a relationship. And I think she’s with Mona Singh, and who knows how many more.’
‘But where?’ He pushed his hand into his hair, scowling.
‘Battersea, the old power station.’ She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for warmth.
‘And you know this how?’
Lily took a breath. ‘Your brother told me on the way there. It’s the perfect cover. Far enough away from Westminster for the government to have plausible deniability. Derelict for years, always supposedly under development – though nothing ever happens – but still close to the City. Heliport a stone’s throw away. All very convenient.’
Regan went into the kitchen and returned with an inch of tan liquid in a glass. He offered it to Lily. She took a sip, coughing slightly, and grimaced, shivering at the same time. ‘Cold?’ he asked her.
She nodded. He shook out a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her. She huddled tightly inside it. ‘So cold. Can I get into bed?’
‘If you want to.’
Lily climbed in, sliding her legs beneath the covers, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. Regan sat on the floor, his back to the old whitewashed plaster.
‘What are you sitting down there for? Why would you?’ Suddenly, to her surprise, she sniffed and a tear bounced off her cheek.
He frowned, his face confused.
She pushed her hand across her cheek. ‘Ignore me. Overload, that’s all. Sit where you like. I don’t care.’
He got to his feet and came to sit next to her on the bed. Another tear tipped on to her cheek. She brushed it off. He watched her again carefully, then held out his arm. Lily slid under it, burrowing into his chest and absorbing his warmth like a drug. She breathed a sigh of relief, reassured by the physical contact, rubbing a last tear away on the material of his T-shirt.
‘Are all human girls like you?’ he asked after a long silence.
‘Meaning what?’
‘Impossible.’
‘Only the best ones.’
He huffed a laugh, relaxing slowly. His arm curved around her shoulder and he rubbed her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Lily took a breath. ‘Ellis appeared on Blackfriars Bridge, and there was a van. A black one, like the van in the alley today. Well, yesterday now.’
Regan nodded.
‘They took Vicky. Your brother is the “David Smith” from the message app. And he pretended to be you to get me to the bridge. And he’s the one who’s been following me online. He told me I would understand soon. That I was part of the future. And then the man who tried to take me yesterday arrived, and he . . . well, I forgot to tell you yesterday, what with everything . . .’ Lily pushed up the cuff of the shirt she was wearing, revealing the talisman and her bruise. ‘His skin, it’s turning like snakeskin. Look at the pattern his hand left on me last night. And tonight it’s got worse. It was all over his neck.’
‘You think they could be experimenting on him? Using Mona?’
Lily nodded. ‘Yes. Ellis said Mona had been valuable to the project already.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Then Ellis got me into the van, but he got out in Vauxhall to see someone and I set my scarf on fire. Snake man got out, opened the door and grabbed me, and the talisman either burnt him or . . . well, it flashed really brightly anyway, and he let me go and I jumped into the river. Eleanor told me to.’
‘He didn’t stop you?’
‘He’d gone to get another girl, from the fire station, but none of that is the point. I’m part of a project, Ellis said. I have been since I was born.’
Regan’s face became set.
‘They’re testing us. Me. They’re looking for more like me. This blood drive – it’s not just testing, it’s a harvest. He called it Operation Harvest. It’s about our blood.’ Lily ran out of breath and started again. ‘But it’s not his fault. They took him ten years ago, and he’s your brother and—’
He put his hand over her mouth. ‘Okay, enough. And now Rachel, Eleanor’s sister, is missing too.’
Lily tugged his fingers away. ‘I think Rachel might have been the girl Ellis went to get. I only saw her hair, but it was very pale. Perhaps they’re experimenting on her too, right now. And the mothwings. On all of us!’ She ran a hand through her hair, wincing at a new bump she didn’t remember getting.
‘What’s the matter?’
She pointed behind her right ear. ‘Bang on the head, that’s all.’
His fingers slid into her hair.
‘Ow! Don’t.’ She tugged her head away. ‘Pro tip, when a human tells you they’ve got a bruise, don’t start pressing on it.’
He ignored her, his finger grazing another knock on her browbone. ‘We need to find Rachel, and soon. If the Agency are messing around with her, things are going to get seriously out of control. Their father might get involved.’
‘Who’s their father?’
‘The Thames River God. In the Rock Lock. The one I told you about.’
‘Oh,’ said Lily. ‘One of the Ancients.’
‘Oh,’ he agreed. ‘He’s dormant at the moment, but—’
‘Asleep like the dragons?’
‘Not asleep, but yes, something like that. Beneath the south end of London B
ridge. Has been for over a thousand years. But he could rise up and destroy the City, turn the river against it, if he wanted to.’
‘Great,’ said Lily with feeling, closing her eyes for a moment.
‘Speaking of sleep, you should try to get some.’
‘I should go home. Dad will worry about me. Although he’s not there right now.’
He thought it through. ‘Then stay, for now. Safer here than being there on your own.’ He shifted slightly, as if he were about to get up.
‘You’re leaving?’ she asked, surprised.
He shrugged and got to his feet. ‘I’ll go to the lab tomorrow, but tonight I’ve got a job to do.’ He picked up the book from the floor and placed it on the bedside table with its goldcovered spine facing out.
‘What’s that?’
‘A grimoire. They’re books of our history. I killed something I’ve never seen before, and I wanted to look it up.’
She took a breath. ‘I looked you up.’
‘You did?’ He looked at her. ‘In what?’
‘Archive dot org. Someone had put one of those . . . grimoires . . . online.’
‘Right.’ He looked none-the-wiser, then wary. ‘And?’
‘A bringer of punishment and a protector of the weak. A guardian.’
‘Yes.’
Lily swallowed. ‘What did Misrak and Delphine really mean, about the prophecy?’
Taking a breath, he looked at the fire. ‘Ten years ago they predicted I would save a girl – a human girl, like you – who was destined to restore order to the City.’ He shrugged. ‘But before that, there will be a war. The Chaos War. I’d always assumed it meant a war between us and the demons. But maybe it’s a war between the Eldritche and the Agency. Prophecies are pretty non-specific.’
They were silent. Regan took a step, turning away.
‘Don’t go.’
He turned back. ‘You don’t want me to?’
Lily shook her head, unable to speak. He seemed to consider for a long moment, then he sat back down, retaking his former position smoothly. Far too smoothly for a human. Lily sat opposite, looking at him. ‘I want to ask you some questions.’
‘Okay,’ he said slowly. He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear and ran his finger down her jaw to the point of her chin. Her heart kicked up, thumping loudly in the silence, and all her questions went out of her head.
‘Can you hear my heart beating?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I prefer it to the alternative,’ he said soberly, dropping his hand.
She looked away. ‘What’s going to happen now? Now that it’s war?’
‘Tomorrow we find the lab and get them out.’
‘Just like that?’ Lily rearranged the blanket on her shoulders.
‘Well, I’d imagine there’ll be some pretty heavy security, firepower, things like that.’
‘Ah, right. But we’ll be okay?’
‘Very possibly not.’
They looked at each other.
‘Aren’t you frightened?’ Lily said at last.
‘I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t.’
She looked down. ‘I think you should tell a girl about things like blood and war prophecies.’ She shook her hair back, turning her face to the fire that spat and muttered in the hearth. ‘Because I had all these criteria about boys, you know. Must not have annoying habits, or be a sport bore. This kind of stuff wasn’t on the list.’
He was watching her again, trying to work her out. ‘What about tattoos, working nights and killing things?’
Lily thought about it. She wrinkled her nose a little. ‘No deal breakers so far.’
He looked down. ‘Lily, there’s something—’
She leant across and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his mouth. He took a breath, surprised. She broke away and they looked at each other, unsure.
Lily shrugged. ‘Okay, fine. Just wanted to try it, before we get killed or eaten by dragons and London gets flood—’
The room tilted as he pushed her back into the pillows, trapping her beneath him, his mouth on hers. She wrapped around him, fingers sliding into his hair. He kissed her until her bones ached and she was struggling to breathe.
Somewhere, far off in the dark outside the bedroom window, something shrieked. Regan tensed. Kissing beneath the corner of her jaw, he murmured, ‘I have to go.’
Lily slid her hands up beneath the back of his T-shirt, pulling him down.
The shriek sounded again. Regan looked towards the window and swore. He kissed her abruptly, once. ‘Stay.’ Another kiss. ‘Here.’
She started to protest as he got up from the bed. He ducked back and kissed her into silence. ‘I’ll be back. Promise.’
Then he was gone, pushing to his feet and disappearing through the door. It banged behind him.
‘Lily, I’m back. Wake up.’ He shook her gently.
She woke, lifting her hands in alarm.
He caught them. ‘It’s just me.’
Shoving herself up the pillow, Lily threw her arms around Regan, holding tight. He sat on the edge of the bed, clothes hanging from him in shreds, and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. His coat, draped over the iron end of the bed, was covered in black burnt streaks. His T-shirt was burnt away from his shoulder, his jeans ruined. He was filthy and his hands had left charred marks on her wrists.
She pulled back a little. ‘Are you hurt?’
His dirty face was as beautiful as ever. ‘No. But I am overrun. I can’t hold them for another night. I’m not sure I got them all tonight anyway.’
The built-up fire burnt merrily in the grate, giving a loud crack. Lily jumped.
‘We need to go somewhere,’ said Regan. ‘Get dressed.’ He left the room, already stripping off the ragged remains of his T-shirt.
‘To the power station?’ she called after him, climbing out of the bed.
‘No,’ he shouted over the sound of the bath running. ‘Can’t hope to make it into there in daylight. We’ll have to wait until tonight. There’s other stuff we need to do right now.’
‘Like what?’
‘Drink your tea.’
It was only then that Lily noticed the steaming mug next to her. Her clothes were cold and gritty. She grimaced as she pulled them on. The flat was freezing, a chill radiating up from the bare floorboards. She looked out of the window, over the tiny St Mary-le-Bow churchyard and the narrow lane beyond. It wasn’t yet light, and the street light was haloed with mist. Lily checked her watch. Five-thirty. She slumped a little, then straightened and took a gulp of the tea.
Slipping from the room, she walked into the hall, straight into Regan as he came out of the bathroom. He was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped about his hips. The toothbrush stuck out of the corner of his mouth.
Lily stared, wide-eyed. The black flames snaked up from his left foot, coiling around his long, perfect leg, disappearing into the towel and emerging just above his left hip bone. They curved around his waist, burning up his muscle-quilted ribs and over the right side of his chest, across his back and the wing of his shoulder blade. He was almost thin, but not quite, muscles smooth and sharply defined. The flames met over his right shoulder before coursing down his arm, curling to a finish on the edge of the hand reaching up to grip the toothbrush.
He turned to face her, very slowly.
She looked away, shy.
‘That bad?’
‘What?’
‘Tattoos,’ he said through the toothpaste.
Lily shook her head. ‘I like them.’
He eyed her uncertainly. ‘You do?’
She nodded. Walking over to him, she took his left hand in both of hers, her thumbs stroking over the rooks picked out across the back.
He looked down at their joined hands, then pulled her into the bathroom, keeping hold of her hand even as he quickly finished brushing his teeth and drinking from the tap. Leading her back into the bedroom, he sat her down on the bed,
looking serious.
‘Sit there and finish that.’ He pointed at the tea before stalking over to the old chest of drawers and dragging them open, pulling out clean things and dumping them on the top, his back to her. Lily took a sip of the sweet tea, just as he let the towel fall. She spluttered into the cup. He ignored her, yanking on his jeans and socks and pulling on yet another battered Henley, jerking it down, the muscles of his back twisting under the skin. Stalking out, he returned in his boots and pulled on the coat, holding out his hand.
‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You want to know about the prophecy?’
She put down the mug. ‘Yes.’
‘So do I.’
*
Outside, the fog seemed to bite her through the damp material of her clothes. They walked north, over Cheapside. Lily struggled to keep up, but Regan wasn’t slowing down much, keeping tight hold of her hand.
‘Where are we going?’ She jogged alongside him.
‘Smithfield.’
Smithfield was London’s meat market. A vast set of Victorian hangars decorated with green, red and yellow-painted wrought ironwork. Lily had been once, and remembered feeling intimidated by the porters, the loud men clad in white coats, white pork pie hats and yellow rubber boots, who rushed about, sometimes carrying half a pig or sheep carcass, shouting and swearing at each other.
‘And why are we here?’
‘There’s a man here. A diviner, Micky Marsden.’
‘Diviner?’
‘Yes. Most Eldritche have a talent. Or more than one. Diviners have talents for discovering or seeing things . . . I don’t know, finding money, seeing emotions . . . there’s lots of different ones.’
‘And what’s Micky’s talent?’
‘He can divine the true nature of things. Through fire.’
Lily looked at him. ‘He’s not setting me on fire,’ she said definitely.
They approached the market through the mist. At each of the great doors sat refrigerated trucks, engines running to keep the cooling units working, headlamps lighting up wedges of swirling yellow vapour. The cafe on the corner opposite was brightly lit. Some porters had already finished their shift and were eating fry-ups with pints of lager in thick glasses, despite it being before six in the morning.