The Key to Starveldt

by Foz Meadows

  Mikhail Savarin smiled. His teeth were sharp and uneven, yellowed with age. In his free hand was the drink he’d taken from Glide. Without lowering his gaze, he raised it, sniffed the contents, made a disapproving face and drank, long and slow, until the glass was empty. Glide felt paralysed. Sharpsoft was meant to kill me. They know I’m alive. Did he make something up, tell them I survived by accident? Or have they turned on him, too? What do they want?

  As Mikhail continued to smile, he forced himself to speak. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Humans and Rare, we are all creatures of habit.’ Mikhail spoke with a cheerful inflection, but his voice was low and soft. ‘We return to what we know. Were you alive, it was my belief that you would return to the warehouse. Accordingly, I’ve been keeping watch.’ He paused, setting the empty glass aside. ‘Solace Eleuthera seems very displeased with you. But then, anger at the death of one’s comrades makes a compelling basis for hatred, don’t you think?’

  Every muscle felt stiff and swollen. Glide opened his mouth, but no words escaped him. Instead, he felt his head nod.

  Mikhail smiled again. If there’d been any warmth in him before, there was none now. He leaned forward and hissed, close enough that Glide could feel the old man’s breath on his face.

  ‘Why did Sharpsoft leave you alive, hm? Why did he lie to us?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he blurted, and then, at the triumphant flash in Mikhail’s eyes, ‘I mean, I don’t know why I’m alive. Sharpsoft stabbed me, left me for dead.’ He leaned back as much as the rock-hard grip on his wrist would allow and gingerly lifted his shirt, displaying the bloody bandage wrapped around his torso. Lies flowed out of him like air from a punctured tire. ‘I blacked out. I think someone dragged me? For days, I was just out of it. I woke up in an empty house. There were supplies by the door. I took them, went to the warehouse. You saw the rest.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Mikhail.

  ‘No.’

  There was a long pause. Mikhail seemed to be searching his face for something. Glide had no idea why he’d lied, except for some instinctive notion that it was better to disassociate himself from Sharpsoft’s actions, even if that meant protecting the man who’d beaten him half to death and then slid a knife through his ribs. Abruptly, Mikhail released his wrist, pulling away so sharply that it was like watching a snake strike in reverse.

  ‘No matter.’ The Bloodkin mage folded both hands before him on the tabletop, two fingers steepled towards his chin. ‘As it happens, your continuing existence is of use to us.’

  ‘But I already –’

  ‘You have no choice in this.’ The words were delivered mildly, despite their implication. Glide felt a sickness rise in his stomach. ‘Regardless of whether he saved you deliberately or was merely an incompetent killer in this instance, Sharpsoft’s actions have already come under scrutiny. Not being able to trust his gifts, we require the use of yours.’

  His traitor tongue spoke. ‘What for?’

  ‘Solace Eleuthera has a guardian – an entity of some power, it seems, responsible for removing the girl and your former companions from our custodianship by way of remote teleportation. Find out who this guardian is – what they look like, how they operate, where and what they are – and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and we will kill you.’

  He did not need to add painfully, or mention that, quite possibly, they would kill him anyway. Glide felt as though someone had laid a noose around his neck, one that tightened with every breath. He looked from Mikhail Savarin to the other patrons of the Gadfly. This man would not hesitate to commit murder in front of them, and then attack others to make his escape. Perhaps he could run, but it wouldn’t help. Sooner or later, the Bloodkin would find him, even if they no longer had a use for his Trick. Hunting was their nature. As betrayal is mine.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. His voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Come with me.’ Mikhail stood, extending a hand.

  Glide rose, his motions as slow and pained as those of a man walking to the gallows.

  He took Mikhail’s blistered hand. The skin was shiny and taut, rougher than snakeskin, but softer than sandpaper. Together, they crossed the floor and mounted the stairs, heading towards the daylight. That puzzled Glide for a moment, until he recalled that despite being Rare, neither Mikhail nor Lukin were actually vampires. No. They’re just in it for the violence, even if the professor does drink blood.

  As they opened the basement door and stepped outside, Sharpsoft’s parting comments seemed to ring in Glide’s ears. His mouth twisted bitterly as Mikhail led him onwards.

  We are none of us free.

  With breakfast finished, the group headed back to their suite. As they skirted the table, Paige grabbed a last crust of toast and popped it in her mouth, grinning as she chewed. After Electra’s pronouncements about the free clothes, none of them had been able to resist the temptation of new things. Paige was no exception, having donned a pale pink top and flowing white skirt beneath a beautifully embroidered purple coat. This coat, while stunning, was also three sizes too large. Given the too-bigness of her own leather jacket, Solace was hardly in a position to pass judgement, but as Paige shook out the sleeves to free her hands for the umpteenth time that morning, she found herself smiling.

  Jess, too, had availed herself of Liluye’s kindness, selecting a fitted cheongsam made of peacock blue silk and embroidered with golden phoenixes. She’d also managed to acquire a pair of tall, Victorian-style boots, which laced all the way up from their dainty toes to just below her knee. With her thick, wavy hair twisted into a loose bun, the seer looked like an exotic nomad, the kind of lady who could speak fourteen languages, talk her way out of a kidnapping, and who wore a pearl-handled pistol strapped to her thigh for emergencies. It was, to say the least, a flattering aesthetic.

  Outside, the Rookery teemed with its usual eccentric vivacity. A group of sari-clad, green-skinned women with willow vines for hair gossiped beside the cafe, while a short man swaddled in the coils of the fattest snake Solace had ever seen puffed his way past the edge of the crowd, hurrying to some unfathomable appointment. Stretching, she fell into step between Jess and Evan. The three of them brought up the rear.

  ‘About what happened,’ Solace began, turning her attention towards Jess. ‘It wasn’t – I mean, I know we keep saying it, but seriously. Nothing happened.’

  ‘I know.’ The seer grinned cheerfully. ‘Laine told me everything last night. Everything,’ she added, raising a meaningful eyebrow at Evan. ‘Which is why I took it upon myself to extract a little comedy from the situation.’

  She looked like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself with a glance at Solace.

  Evan growled. ‘She knows, Jess. It’s why I was there in the first place. To talk.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jess peered at Solace with new respect. ‘Wow. How’d you manage that? It’s well nigh impossible to get him talking seriously about women. Or men, for that matter,’ she added slyly. ‘I am impressed.’

  Beside her, Solace felt Evan tense. She had no idea whether Jess was joking about her brother’s sexual preferences, but that she’d done so openly seemed to have hit a nerve. Or was it just residual irritation at the morning’s mockery? She smiled and shook her head at Jess. ‘Don’t be,’ she said, trying to steer for neutral territory. ‘Seriously. It was nothing. Just a chat.’

  ‘Or maybe,’ said Jess, unable to deny herself one last dig, ‘it was just a chat that turned into something steamier once we left, hm? I mean, you did spend the night.’ She directed this last at Evan, voice layered with smoke and honey.

  Evan ground his teeth. ‘You are a dead woman,’ he said, glaring daggers at his sister. ‘A dead, disowned, brotherless woman of questionable morality and poor hygiene, doomed to a life of depressing birthdays and unhappy love affairs!’

  Jess was on the verge of responding when, at no signal Solace could determine, the seer’s eyes
lit with a new and altogether craftier delight. Evan seemed similarly baffled by the change, until an expression of disbelieving shock crossed his face.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘Jess, I didn’t mean it, please – don’t you dare –’

  ‘Solace,’ Jess asked loudly, cutting her brother off, ‘what month is it?’

  ‘Um.’ Solace looked between the siblings, utterly uncertain of what was happening. ‘June, I think. Somewhere in the middle of June? Juneish?’

  ‘Hah!’ Jess whirled victoriously on Evan. ‘You hear that, o’ brother mine? June. Mid June. And you know what that means?’

  ‘An excuse for justifiable homicide?’

  Unable to contain herself, Solace snorted aloud. ‘What the hell are you guys talking about?’

  Looking genuinely mutinous, Evan stared at the ground, unwilling to meet her gaze. ‘Birthday,’ he muttered, almost inaudibly. ‘My birthday.’

  Solace stared at him. ‘Explain?’

  Evan didn’t answer. Helpless, she turned to Jess, only to find that the seer’s face was shiny with frustration.

  ‘This is stupid, Evan!’ she said, ignoring Solace. ‘Every year, you’re always like this. Why does it matter so much? Dad’s not here!’

  ‘So? I haven’t forgiven him. Neither should you.’ Evan crossed his arms. ‘And you weren’t there, Jess, not for the worst years. It doesn’t matter that he’s somewhere else. What matters is that he’s still alive, still a bastard and still thinking as badly of you as he thinks well of me. Just let it drop, okay?’

  ‘No.’ Jess’s voice was level, but with an undercurrent of steel. ‘He’s not going to win at this. For once, let me get you something. You’re the only brother I have.’

  Evan’s pointed lack of an answer stood out against the background roar. Not for the last time, Solace had the distinct impression of being out of her depth, caught in the riptide of some ancient, lurking argument she hadn’t known was there. Under different circumstances, she might’ve been curious, but after what she’d learned about Paige and Laine and Harper, she had a diminished appetite for other people’s secrets. To give Jess and Evan some privacy, she deliberately slowed her pace, peering out into the crowds as though entranced by some sight or other, only to find Evan’s hand on her arm, holding her to her previous rhythm.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. His blue eyes were steady. ‘Please.’

  They were still moving, and yet it felt as if the whole external world had somehow swirled to a halt. The latent bond between them fizzed into life. With Evan’s touch acting as a conduit, Solace felt a wave of empathic knowledge speed up her arm and explode behind her eyes, a jumble of discordant memories steeped in frustration, guilt, anger. She shuddered, trying to make sense of what she saw: a wrapped box crushed under a car tyre; the implements of Jess’s casting strewn across a dinner table; a phone exploding against a wall in a shower of metal and plastic; a man’s face, red with anger in one image, but laughing jovially in the next. And then, as abruptly as they’d come, the images receded, leaving Solace beached in her own consciousness, rocking back on her heels as Evan released her arm.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed, steadying herself. Evan’s face was flushed, and if her accelerated heart rate was anything to go by, she was, too. ‘That was –’

  ‘What?’ asked Jess. She was staring at them, curious. ‘You’ve both gone all wobbly.’

  ‘Empathy,’ Evan said. He took a deep breath and shook himself. His voice was calm, though ragged at the edges. ‘It flared up. Did you see anything specific?’

  Solace, pulling herself together, described the flash of images. Jess made a sound in the back of her throat at the mention of the gift under the car wheel.

  ‘You never told me he did that.’

  ‘I never told you a lot of things. Sorry. It was easier at the time.’

  Jess sighed. ‘Stupid old mongrel.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She’d been content to remain ignorant, but the moment of empathy had changed things. Solace opened her mouth to ask, but Evan got there first, sighing as he spoke.

  ‘Short version, for now. Jess left home before I did. Our dad … well, he had issues with Jess, the biggest one being that he knew she was a seer. He wanted her to do castings to help him make money, get his business on the right track, but her Trick doesn’t work like that. She tried to tell him there was no way to control what she saw, but he wouldn’t listen – insisted she was deliberately trying to thwart him. Sometimes, the magic wouldn’t even come, he got her so worked up. A bit like what happened when we arrived here. Things got worse from there, and eventually she left.

  ‘He knew I still saw her, but didn’t like it. Mostly it was fine, but birthdays? He’d treat me like a golden child, throw massive parties to celebrate the fact that I put up with his crap, but whenever Jess sent a gift, it would end up lost or broken. I wasn’t allowed to talk to her. She couldn’t come near the house. And when it was her birthday, there’d be arguments – in the lead-up, too, not just on the day, because he didn’t want me going to see her. Thought she was a bad influence.’

  He rubbed his face. ‘All of which means I pretty much hate birthdays. Not my fault. Just how it is. But every year since, she has to go bringing it up, trying to mend things.’ He laughed as he said it, but there was something choked to the sound.

  Not knowing what to say but desperately wanting to say something, Solace asked what felt like the only safe question. ‘How old are you turning? I’ve never even asked.’

  Evan blinked. ‘Twenty,’ he said, softly. ‘Old Man Black. That’s me.’

  ‘One day,’ said Jess, with a touch of wistfulness. She tucked a wavy strand of hair behind one ear, a half-smile on her lips. ‘One day, Ev. I’ll give you a gift, and you’ll be grateful for it.’

  ‘Is that a prophecy?’ Evan grumbled.

  ‘No,’ said Jess, leaning past Solace to give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s a promise.’

  ‘You’re clear on the task?’

  Glide nodded. ‘Find the guardian who rescued Solace. Report back.’

  ‘Do it.’

  The floor was rough stone, but covered by a rug so thick and deep that it was like lying on the pelt of a giant angora rabbit, a luxury Glide appreciated. Shutting out the presence of Mikhail Savarin as best he could, he concentrated on the softness beneath him, trying to sink away from the reality of one world and into the swirling torrents of the multiverse. Mercifully, he had not been required to speak to Grief or Professor Lukin – Mikhail was intimidating enough – and was therefore about as emotionally stable as he was capable of being. Drifting through random worlds was one thing, but searching for a specific incident required precision. He’d heard it said that the threat of death helped to concentrate the mind wonderfully. Whoever had said it had never worked for the Bloodkin.

  None of that, Glide told himself fiercely. Concentrate. Look for Solace.

  As starting points went, he couldn’t have picked a stronger one. He was a traitor, yes, but for all his betrayals and lies, the thought of kissing Solace Eleuthera was still enough to bring him to his knees. As though his Trick were a motorbike engine, the strength of his memory acted like a kick-start, so that he swooped abruptly out of himself. The rug, the room, Mikhail: everything vanished, replaced by a hovering, bird’s eye view of himself and Solace on the edge of a bed, her pale fingers twined through his hair.

  Steady, he thought, but it was difficult. His distant body throbbed with the desire to linger forever in this one memory, and it was only by reminding himself of the cost of failure that he was able to wrench away, pushing the vision forwards.

  Guardian, guardian, show me the guardian. Scenes flickered past him like butterfly wings, some of them relevant, most of them not. He winced to see Sharpsoft answer Evan’s summons in the playground, coming as it did when he, Glide, had already been chained underground with a sucking wound in his side. Forward to Solace in an alley, fainting under the strength of the sun, his f
ormer housemates clustered by her side when, of all things, a little cat appeared. Glide was on the brink of skipping away again when, to his utter astonishment, the cat spoke, directly into Solace and Manx’s heads. Her communications registered oddly in his Trick, like words spoken underwater. The vision shook beneath the burden of his shock, teetered and broke, replaced by scraps of Sydney during World War II, a flash of Jack the Ripper’s knife, a parliament of pale, owl-faced beings decrying one of their number en masse – all irrelevant, all fragmented – but cat, he told his Trick, it was the cat, show me!

  With unusual reluctance, his visions returned. This time, he saw the little cat haloed in light, glowing green-gold with such tremendous energy that even through the distance of time and space, the echoes of it shivered on his skin. Skipping forward again, he saw her asleep on a lounge, devouring a swan, curled on the seat of a van and then – nothing. It was like running into a brick wall. Glide had never encountered anything like it. Wherever the cat – and, presumably, Solace – had gone next, his Trick was unable to follow.

  The past, then, he told himself, moving backwards to the moment where he’d first heard the little cat speak. Where did you come from? What are you?

  There followed a blur of images, so swift and similar that it was like being blizzarded with snowflakes: cat on a wall, cat asleep, cat prowling, cat cat cat. Nothing extraordinary; nothing that explained the power he’d felt or the creature’s ability to mind-speak. Frustrated, he began to push further back, blocking out the lure of irrelevant visions with a desperate sense of purpose, heading on through deeper time, further away, further, further. In a sudden rush, he felt that same distinctive power brush his mind, a single feather swirling through a storm. It was enough. Glide plunged after it like a diving hawk.

  Scraps of vision whirled him around, buffeting his consciousness like thermals of disruptive air. Somehow he stayed on track, chasing the scent until, in a blur of colour, a new scene threw itself at him, so saturated with magic that he screeched to a halt and forced it into clarity.