‘Oh yeah.’
‘There aren’t many– Oh! This is it.’
My grip on my knees tightens as we approach a turning in the road. Lily eases down a tree-lined driveway and my heart feels like it’s pulsing in my throat. We roll towards a set of sturdy gates. Beyond them, I glimpse turrets and chimneys high up against the stormy sky.
The van crawls to a standstill at the gates. Lily reaches through her window for an intercom, pressing a button.
I try to relax. I’m Jaime. Nothing suspicious about me. I feel stiff, though, my shoulders ratcheting up around my ears. I unclench my fists and thrust away the doubts. Nobody’s interested in me. I’m the help. A bottom feeder funded by the rich socialites on the other side of the gate.
So much is riding on this, though.
And you’d be nervous, too, if you were able to pull a trigger on somebody. Become more than a killer; a murderer.
‘Yes?’ A voice crackles through the intercom.
‘Catering,’ Lily sings, grinning into the round bubble that must be a camera.
The gates shudder and then glide open. Lily drives us through and I can’t help craning forward in my seat, peering through the windscreen at the Vinter mansion. It’s bigger than I’d imagined, with pillars either side of the front doors and statues posing in little alcoves.
‘Guy’s loaded,’ I murmur.
‘Shame he’s a psycho.’
I sit back. ‘What?’
Lily shrugs. ‘He pretty much never leaves, and people who’ve worked for him have these insane stories about what he gets up to in there.’
I didn’t read anything about that in the operations room. Either Lily’s making it up or somebody’s been telling her tales. But then, Vinter knows my mother, so it stands to reason he’s unhinged.
We circle an ornate fountain with a marble mermaid, passing into the shadow of the house as we skirt round to the back. This must be the maids’ entrance. It’s not like we were going to traipse through the front door.
Lily parks up and flashes me a dazzling smile.
‘This is it.’
‘Thanks. I owe you.’
‘You can make it up to me by making Sophie’s life miserable tonight.’
‘You’re on.’
Dammit, Lily. You’re actually okay when you’re not blathering on about something idiotic.
For a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like if we were friends. I could forget the Crook Spear. Hide out back for the duration of the party, or feign sickness, let Celene and Mara scrap it out. Then I could leave with Lily, say I forgot my keys and crash on her sofa. She’d wake me up with a coffee and we’d talk for a few hours–
‘Better get to it, I guess.’ Lily opens her door and gets out. My hand twitches for a moment as I reach for the handle.
‘Get a fucking grip,’ I tell myself.
‘Give me a hand with these?’
Lily’s at the back of the van taking out trays of food. I go round and she hands me one.
‘The kitchen’s through there, I think.’ She gestures at a small door.
Clutching the tray, I head over, push the door open with my elbow, and just like that I’m inside Vinter’s home.
CHAPTER FORTY
The kitchen’s enormous. I could fit my whole flat in the sink. It’s all silver and white surfaces and the ovens must be on because it’s so warm my body’s already thawing. I hadn’t realised how cold I was until I came inside.
At the workstations, a couple of chefs chop vegetables and throw them into tubs, chatting and laughing. Steam hangs in the air and the smell of cooking meat makes my stomach twist irritably. I’ve never smelt anything like it.
Countless sharp objects lie around. The ovens are gas, open flames spitting on the hob, chefs getting dangerously close in their uniforms, which could be flammable for all I know.
So many hazards my head spins. If I spend too long in here, god knows what would happen.
‘Just put that over here,’ Lily says, appearing by my side and loading her trays onto a counter.
‘I’m guessing Sophie’s not here yet,’ I say, doing the same.
‘Let me ask Harry. Hey, Harry!’
A tall guy in a chef’s uniform looks up from stirring a cauldron of soup. He breaks into a lopsided grin and sets the ladle down, ambling over.
‘You’re early.’ His voice is deep and he has an accent. I can sort of understand why Lily blushes.
‘Nina wanted the trays earlier than usual,’ Lily says.
‘Nina’s a pilled-up control freak.’
Nina sounds like a hoot.
Harry’s eyes swivel in my direction. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Something about the way he looks at me is unnerving. His eyes are chocolatey and soft and for a moment I think of Bolt. Why is he looking at me like that?
I put my hand out. ‘Jaime.’
He shakes it firmly. ‘Harry. You’re with Sophie?’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘You planning on drowning yourself now or after the champagne?’
I’m smiling before I know it. The first time I’ve smiled for real in a long time. It sends a warm ripple through my abdomen.
‘Oh, I want my share of the champagne,’ I say.
His laugh is booming, as warm as the steamy air.
I find Lily looking at me strangely, then she shoves Harry. ‘Nobody’s drowning. Where’s Sophie?’
‘I banned her from the kitchen until the guests show up.’
‘Bet she liked that.’
‘Not even a little.’
His lopsided grin returns. Why am I noticing his grin? I feel hot colour flooding my cheeks.
‘I’ll look for her,’ I say. ‘It can’t be that hard–’
Lily pushes Harry out of the way. ‘I’ll come with. This place is like a maze. Besides, if I don’t report for duty, Sophie will flip.’
Harry sweeps a hand in front of himself, bowing as we pass. ‘M’ladies.’
‘Such a moron,’ Lily says, but as she leads me out of the kitchen, she’s different. I struggle to figure out why but then I think of the way her gaze flicked between me and Harry. Why would she look like that?
Jealous.
That’s insane. I’m a spectral, knot-haired mess who hasn’t slept properly in a week. She must be envious of anybody who takes Harry’s attention away from her.
This is dangerous. I’m supposed to blend in, be inconspicuous, let people forget I exist. I’ve already messed up by being too friendly to Lily. If she ends up following me around all night – or worse, singling me out as some kind of goddamn love rival – I’m screwed.
I stop her in the corridor just outside the kitchen.
‘You don’t need to come with me. I’m sure I can find Sophie on my own.’
‘Don’t be silly–’
‘Nina wants the trays out of the van, right? I don’t want to get you in trouble.’
Lily bites her lip.
‘Go,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the ride. And save me some champagne.’
‘Okay. Good luck.’ She disappears back into the kitchen.
‘Yeah,’ I say to the empty corridor. ‘Thanks.’
Screw Sophie. She sounds like the queen of Bitchtown and I could really do without the drama. I’m in now. I can dump the pretence, find somewhere to hide, upstairs where people won’t be milling about. There’s got to be plenty of places to hole up in a place like this. I can watch the party from afar then make my move.
First I’ll get the lay of the land. Good to know if I have to make a swift exit.
The door at the end of the corridor opens into a grand lobby that resembles a museum. An elegant staircase sweeps up against one dark-panelled wall and expensive items glimmer on polished tables. Vinter likes to make an impression.
Soft voices come from a room at the front of the house and I follow them to an impossibly large ballroom. Inside, tables are being assembled and covered in white sheets by waiters and waitresses wh
o move hurriedly but quietly, as if they’re working a funeral instead of a party. I’ll head upstairs before anybody spots me.
I turn back into the hallway and find somebody watching me.
‘Who’s this?’
The way she speaks tells me this is Sophie. She’s not what I expect. Thirties. Brown hair. Average height. A businesswoman.
But her eyes are a supernatural blue and as they pass over me I can’t help shivering.
She waits for my answer with reptilian patience.
‘Uh, Jaime,’ I say.
‘What are you doing here?’
Her tone isn’t rude, but it’s not friendly, either. Sophie’s all about efficiency; even her posture’s efficient as she stands in the centre of the hall. She hadn’t accounted for me and it’s thrown a spanner into the works.
‘Seth at the agency sent me?’ I say, firmly but letting it sound like a question.
The blue circles of her eyes become slivers.
‘Seth? Which agency is he with?’
I frown. ‘Oh, Franklin’s. I– He just gave me the time and address. He said you’d be expecting me. Though, to be honest, this isn’t the first time this has happened.’
‘You’re not even wearing the right uniform.’
I knot my fingers together in a show of fretfulness that makes me want to smack myself in the face. ‘I can call him if–’
But Sophie isn’t looking at me any more. She’s peering over my shoulder, her jaw setting. I turn and follow her gaze.
A man stands at the top of the stairs. He’s only half dressed, his white shirt untucked and crumpled over his smart trousers. His dark blond hair is slicked back and his moustache is stiff with wax.
I recognise him instantly.
Magnus Vinter.
My heart rattles in my chest because he’s staring right at me. Vinter is staring at me like he’s seen a ghost.
His gaze never leaves my face as he descends. I stop breathing, squeezing my hands together. Why is he looking at me like that?
He murmurs something that must be Swedish as he stops before me, his gaze searching my face. ‘Are you…’
‘Herr Vinter?’ Sophie ventures, her tone less clipped now she’s addressing somebody who isn’t an idiot.
Vinter’s sea-green eyes flicker at me and I smile nervously. Anything to hide Rumer. Push her down by her shoulders and let Jaime clamber up. Not Rumer. Not Celene.
Jaime likes pop stars and fast cars and cheap bars.
He can’t know. There’s no way he knows I’m her daughter. Celene said she saw him just last month, but he can’t know about me. That I’m hers. Besides, I look nothing like her.
Vinter blinks as if emerging from a daydream.
‘I’m sorry, for a moment I thought–’ His accent is soft, buried under years of English living. If I didn’t know he wasn’t from here, I probably wouldn’t notice it at all.
Sophie’s looking at him with a kind of patience that makes me think this isn’t the first time she’s seen Vinter behaving strangely.
‘Is there something I can do for you, Mr Vinter?’
‘No, no, Sophie.’ Finally, his gaze breaks from me. ‘What am I saying? Yes, there is. I wanted to check that the pink roses had arrived. Mother insists on pink and she’d like to see them before they’re placed out.’
‘They arrived thirty minutes ago, Mr Vinter. I can fetch a selection now if you wish.’
Vinter still seems distracted. His gaze drifts back to me, as if he can’t help it. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks.
I clear my throat. ‘Jaime.’
‘You’re new.’
I nod. ‘Seth–’
‘Are you from here? London, I mean?’
‘Yes.’
I’m burning up under his stare, the way a camera negative sizzles and curls if it’s left under a bright light.
He can’t know. Unless…
I wonder how truthful Celene’s been with me. She said she had connections with Vinter. Was it more than that? He’s forty-two, which means he’d have been in his early twenties when my mother sold him the Crook Spear.
Was there something between them? Something more than business?
The spider in my mind shivers and I try to ignore it.
Jaime likes…
‘Mr Vinter–’ Sophie steps between us and lays her hand on his forearm. ‘The roses are being kept in the greenhouse. I can take you now. I won’t have another chance. There’s still so much to do.’
She begins to lead him towards the lobby.
‘I like the new uniforms,’ Vinter says.
‘What? Oh.’ Sophie flicks an annoyed glance at me. ‘Yes, not strictly official yet. Jaime, speak to Lily. She’ll show you what needs doing if she ever shows up. Oh, Mr Vinter, you’ll just love the roses…’
They disappear into one of the rooms off the hallway and I let my breath go in a rush.
What was I thinking coming here? I must be out of my mind. Booby traps are everywhere. Any second one could snap its teeth into my ankle and I’d be down for the count. And what use am I to Bolt dead?
Bolt.
He’s the only reason I’m doing this. The only reason I’ve got myself into this mess. If I can’t save him, what good am I to anybody?
I have to keep it together.
Get the Crook Spear, let that bullet do its worst, free Bolt.
Screw the waitress act. I’m in now. I find myself staring at the staircase Vinter came down. The gun’s up there and I can’t resist its call any longer. It’s now or never.
I hurry up the stairs, trying to ignore the nag. I feel more on edge than usual, and not just because of what I’m up to.
Celene? Am I worried about her? More than anything, I’m concerned she won’t make it to the party. She’s instrumental to the plan and if she ends up bleeding out in the Dead Room, I may as well put the Crook Spear to my head and blow my brains out now.
This is where it gets real.
Either I find the Crook Spear or I cut my losses and go home. This is no different to what I do as a shadow. I’m working a case Julian left under the removable floor in the phone box. That’s all.
A pit of yearning unexpectedly opens in my belly. Those were simpler times. All I had to do was follow people and not get caught. Easy when I was Shadow Rumer.
I’m not sure what kind of Rumer I’ve become.
George said I was different right before Ellis sliced his throat open. That was days ago now. My heart convulses at the memory of him slumped to the floor. So fragile, so kind.
You have to surround yourself with the people who see the good in you.
There won’t be any good in me after tonight.
It’s almost as if the world wanted to give me a breather for those two years I worked for Julian. A taste of the real world before I was wrenched down into the realm my mother inhabits. Inevitably. Unavoidably. Inescapably.
That life’s been at my heels every day since I was born, but I’ve always managed to outrun it, dart into side passages, turn corners blindly in the hope it won’t track me down.
Not any more.
I’m on the landing. Below, a waitress hurries down the hall balancing champagne glasses on a tray. She disappears towards the ballroom.
I creep down the landing. Through a tall window, I glimpse the lawns at the back of the house, immaculate and green. Empty flowerbeds. Tilled earth prepared for a winter snooze.
I could sleep for weeks, my body’s so heavy. For a moment I feel the full bone-deep weight of my exhaustion. The past week has taken its toll and I’m not finished yet.
Drawing a curtain over the tiredness, I hurry on. There’s no time.
I hear a voice and throw myself through the nearest door. It’s a parlour like nothing I’ve ever seen, except perhaps in Mara’s warehouse. Mara would approve of this, a vision of yellow and blue and silver. It’s like something out of old movies. I half expect to find Marilyn Monroe draped across a sofa.
Some
body’s on the landing outside. Peering through the keyhole I make out Vinter, fully dressed, poised at the top of the stairs. He’s impressive, done up like that. He could have stepped out of the past. There’s something regal and mysterious about him and maybe a little childish. Like a kid at a wedding.
A quivering voice needles through the door so loudly I think she’s in the room with me. She speaks a different language. Swedish maybe. Then pink silk rustles past the keyhole and a grey-faced old woman joins Vinter at the stairs.
‘English, mother. Nobody will understand you.’
‘The pink is ugly,’ she snips. ‘My dress won’t match the roses.’
‘I’ll have a word with Sophie.’
She spits what has to be a Swedish swear word. ‘She has liar’s eyes.’
Mrs Vinter’s fine, sharp-angled limbs bend like wire, her hair a woolly scrub fixed with gleaming silver pins. Her son resembles her, though she wears her pride angrily, perpetually half sneering.
If she has it in for Sophie she can’t be all bad.
‘Play nice, mama.’
He helps her down the stairs, though her back is ramrod straight and she seems to hate his fussing.
A few moments earlier I might have stumbled into them on the landing. I’m relieved I didn’t. I have a feeling Mrs Vinter would recognise another battleaxe if she saw one – she wouldn’t buy my innocent waitress routine for a second.
When I’m sure they’re gone, I move to the large set of doors on the other side of the parlour. All the rooms downstairs were connected by these grand doorways and I’m hoping it’s the same up here.
I go into another parlour, this one with a few trinkets on the bookcases, but none of them guns. The next room is filled with taxidermied animals. A tiger mid-pounce. An eagle spreading monstrously large wings.
Still no gun.
I have to pretend I’m invisible.
My hand tightens into a fist.
Invisible.
That’s what’s wrong.
I was invisible for so long working for Julian I thought I’d slip into Vinter’s without anybody noticing. I’d work quietly behind the scenes, then when the moment was right I’d slip away and nobody would be any the wiser because why would anybody pay any attention to pale, boring little me?
Except that hasn’t happened. Harry the cook’s chocolate brown eyes were all over me. Vinter spotted me from the top of the stairs. And Sophie appeared behind me without me even hearing her.
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