Relics

by Tim Lebbon

  “I’m sorry,” Vince said.

  “Not your fault. They’re the bastards.” She turned away from him and opened the door, leaning out into the corridor. She heard music from upstairs in the Slaughterhouse bar, and she envied those people up there drinking, beginning their night out and with only drink and food, laughter and friendship to look forward to.

  There was something altogether different in her future.

  “Vince, you have to tell me—”

  “Angela.” Fat Frederick appeared along the corridor, a man she didn’t recognise behind him.

  “That the doctor?” she asked.

  “Yeah, this is Doctor Khan, but there’s no time,” he said. “We have visitors.” He seemed suddenly excited, like a kid waking on Christmas morning.

  “Who? Where?”

  “Down in my basement. They came in the back way.”

  “Lilou,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Not just her,” Fat Frederick said. “Come on. They want to talk.”

  * * *

  Even holding the hand of the woman he loved, Vince felt that familiar thrill when he set eyes on Lilou once again. She was beauty in motion, the origin of grace, and the whole room seemed to revolve around her. For him she remained the center of things.

  She saw him, smiled, then glanced at Angela before looking away again. He squeezed Angela’s hand as if to say, It’s all fine, there’s nothing between us, but the memories of his lust seemed as fresh as his last breath. He had to close his eyes for a moment to gather himself.

  “I am Mallian, and I speak for the Kin,” a deep voice said. He crouched at the back of the large, low room. A door behind him stood open, its top hinge deformed, door hanging off and frame splintered. He must have broken it, pushing through. Even hunched down he was huge, a heavy presence that seemed eager to repel Vince’s gaze rather than attract it.

  Only one light was working, and Mallian sat in shadows. Though so obviously other, Vince was surprised at how very human he appeared. His face was strong and handsome, hair

  long and hanging in several thick braids, cheeks and chin heavily stubbled. His unclothed torso was knotted with muscle, shoulders wide and hunched to afford him space. There were charcoal trails across his shoulders and chest that might have been tattoos, or were perhaps a map-work of old scars. His nakedness did not appear to trouble him.

  Mallian looked more out of place here than he ever had down in the tunnels. Here he was hunched, crouched, compacted down to fit into the human world. Vince couldn’t help thinking that it should be the other way around—the human world trying to fit in with Mallian.

  Angela squeezed his hand again. He’d dragged her into trouble, and she had embraced it. Come through to find and rescue him. Her presence pinned him to the world, and she was glad for it.

  “These days, it’s unusual for the paths of Kin and human to cross, and for both to remain alive,” Mallian said, and Vince couldn’t tell if it was a threat. “Much of that is due to Mary Rock. After what you’ve revealed about her—what she does, and what she is holding prisoner—we need to return her violence, and…” He trailed off, his deep voice hanging heavy in the echoless room.

  “We’ve come to ask for your help,” Lilou said.

  Accompanying her and Mallian were three other Kin. They shifted uncomfortably at Lilou’s words. Vince saw pride in them, and perhaps fear, as well. Or maybe he was unqualified to guess at the state of mind of myths and legends.

  One was a young man, as human in appearance as Lilou, yet half her size. He seemed to possess no attributes of a dwarf or midget. He wore simple clothing and his long hair was a flaming red. He returned Vince’s stare with blazing, vicious eyes. Pixie, Vince thought, and he closed his eyes and looked away.

  He had no wish to become pixie-led.

  “Thorn has been Her friend for a long time, and long believed Her dead,” Lilou said, following his gaze.

  “It’s those keeping Her prisoner who’ll be dead,” the small man declared. His voice was surprisingly deep and loud. His stature didn’t detract from the violence that simmered within him.

  Just outside the broken doorway stood a very old woman. She might have been a statue, but for the breath misting from her mouth, even though the room was warm. She had a full head of wild, gray hair, so unkempt that it appeared sharp. Her face was severe. Her eyes were black, her skin the deepest shade of blue, and her hands were hidden beneath loose clothing. She wore a necklace of bones Vince couldn’t identify, and she was pierced liberally through ears and nose. The jewelry was as dark as her eyes and reflected no light.

  “This is Jilaria Bran,” Lilou said, gesturing at the old woman. Jilaria Bran said nothing. Her hands moved beneath her cloak. Vince imagined her crossing fingers and casting glamours, but perhaps he was misled and she wasn’t a witch at all.

  “And who is…?” Fat Frederick asked, pointing at the fifth Kin in the large room. It was nowhere near human.

  Six feet tall, scaled skin, heavy lower limbs, and the head of a snake, the thing breathed quickly and deeply. As with Jilaria, steam or smoke wafted from its wide nostrils. Its yellow reptilian eyes watched them, and they were filled with a cool intelligence. Its arms were short but muscled, tattooed with strange designs and tipped with three clawed talons. Hunched over, its back was lumpy and broad, bearing smoothed humps that might have been folded wings. It wore leather bands around its torso and upper legs, and a selection of knives and shaped blades hung from loops and slings.

  Vince had no idea what it was, but it frightened him more than any of the rest. Even Mallian. At least he had human features, and could speak his mind.

  The creature opened its mouth and a long, wet, forked tongue lapped at the air.

  “Her name is Mhoumar,” Lilou said. “Sometimes she’s with us, sometimes not. When she heard about the fairy being held prisoner, she was the first to come.”

  “So, what can you all do?” Fat Frederick asked.

  “Do?” Lilou asked, tilting her head.

  “Yeah, I mean… fire breather?” He pointed at Mhoumar. “I’m guessing Jilaria casts spells. And what about Thorn?”

  “Boss, they’re not the Avengers,” Vince muttered.

  “Show respect!” Mallian said. His voice was like an earthquake, shaking the room and all those within. Vince thought that if he truly shouted, the world might break in two.

  “I do respect,” Fat Frederick said. His voice sounded small, yet he managed to keep it firm. “I do, with every piece of myself. You’re… I don’t know how to express what…”

  “What we are, what we do, is our business,” Lilou said. “We’re here to rescue one of our kind, with your help. In return we’ll rescue Angela’s friend.”

  “We’ll help,” Vince said. “We’ll help each other. Right?” He looked at Mallian, shaking and feeling his skin crawl, balls tingle, but he willed himself to hold the big creature’s stare. He even thought he caught the glimmer of a smile in those strange, golden eyes.

  “Of course,” Mallian said.

  Before Ballus, the only Kin Vince had ever seen alive was Lilou, and he had been sent to capture and kill her. After he’d rescued her, and she had saved him, he’d caught sight of others in the safe place she’d taken him, but those had been fleeting glimpses, less than shadows. Then Ballus had taken him, and his worldview had opened wider.

  Now, faced with more of the Kin, his previously uneasy world was teetering on the brink of collapse. Looking at them was like staring into the clear night sky and trying to comprehend the depth of distance and time presented there. A humbling endeavor, almost impossible to conceive. His understanding of things was wrong, and so much he believed as fact had been shown to be a lie. Whole histories—complex interactions between Kin and the world—were missing from his understanding of reality. It was as if the world had been living a secret life all along.

  He had always been prone to flights of fancy. Holding a relic, he had often lost himself,
constructing stories about its history, imagining the life it might have led and the things it had done. Now, he longed to speak to these things, and know them.

  To Vince’s left, Angela was cool and still. To his right, Fat Frederick shifted slowly from foot to foot. Vince could not pretend to truly know the big man, and he had never tried. He’d heard the sickening stories, but he’d also seen the wonder in his eyes, the flame of imagination ignited. Meloy was an enigma, probably to himself as much as anyone else.

  “You’ve both been to Mary Rock’s house,” Lilou said, nodding at Vince and Angela.

  “I worked with her and her people, briefly,” Vince said, “but I only ever met her once, and I didn’t see much of the house.”

  “I did,” Angela said. “I spoke with her. She showed me things, including the fairy.”

  The whole room seemed to draw in a sharp breath. The Kin… shimmered. A wave of emotion passed through them, making them more real than anyone or anything else. More there.

  “Why would she show you Her?” Mallian asked.

  “She never meant for Angela to live,” Lilou said.

  “Mary Rock spun lies about Vince, then showed me the fairy and told me more lies,” Angela said. “I think Lilou’s right. She expected me to be dead by now, and she expected to have Vince.”

  “She’ll be scared,” Fat Frederick said. “She’ll move the fairy, leave the country.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vince said. “I don’t think she’s scared of anything.”

  “How can you know?” Mallian asked.

  “You must believe it, too. Otherwise why come and ask for our help?”

  “Because interacting in your world is something we never do,” Lilou said. “Our Time ended so long ago, and since then we’ve been creatures of shadows. We’re tales told around campfires, legends passed down through the generations. We’re whispers and glimpses. You’ll find us in storybooks and make-believe films, but through it all we’re in hiding.

  “If we’re fiction, we’re left alone,” she continued. “If we’re fact, we’re hunted. We never expose ourselves to the human world—not like we’re about to, because that puts every one of us at risk. So we’re asking for your help because this is your world we’re venturing into now.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to,” Angela said. “I’ve got an idea.”

  26

  “Did you fuck?”

  “Fuck?”

  “You and Vince.”

  “After everything that’s happened and is still happening, you’re really worried about a moment of love?”

  “Love?”

  “All sex is love.” Lilou almost purred. It was unsettling.

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “You asked, but do you really want to know?”

  “I want to know.”

  “Has he said anything about me?”

  Angela continued emptying bottles down the sink. The beer foamed and swilled. She did not reply, and the silence grew heavy.

  “Angela, there’s something you need to understand,” Lilou said. She put down the bottle she was emptying and sat on the bar. Fat Frederick had closed The Slaughterhouse to customers, and now the humans and Kin were preparing. Vince was being tended by Dr. Khan in another room. Angela hated the idea that they would soon be parted again. She was also starting to regret asking Lilou the question that had been burning ever since they had met.

  “That doesn’t sound like a ‘no’,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t fuck Vince. And no, he didn’t fuck me. We were together, I was treating the knife wound in his arm and watching him. He was concussed. He was conscious but confused, and I’d been closer to death that day than I had in a very long time. I was confused, too, and I let my guard down. Usually around humans I throw up a veil. It hides the real me, and that goes against a lot of what I do and what I am. But I know the dangers of being seen for real, and I fight every day to hide what I really am.” She grew quiet, contemplative. “Shit, I really fight.”

  For a long moment the nymph was silent.

  “So?” Angela prompted.

  “So he saw and sensed the true me, and no human can resist that. He wanted me. I wanted him, because that’s simply my nature. I want the love of a man in the same way a fish wants water, or a bird wants the weight of air beneath its wings. He was as hard as rock, but when I touched him there he flinched back.” She frowned. “That rarely happens. I think it was because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “I was open to him, and in that moment I was the most beautiful, sensuous thing he had ever seen, smelled. Tasted.”

  Angela closed her eyes, fury and upset boiling her emotions.

  “He was so conflicted. His body wanted me, and most of his mind, too. But his real self, the real Vince that exists within and around his raw instincts, held him back. I think if I’d stayed a moment longer he might have broken, but… I respected that will in him. That love for you. Because he’s only the second human who has ever saved my life, and I care for him.”

  “Is that supposed to make it all okay?” Angela asked.

  “I’m not human, Angela. I’ve seduced kings and sorcerers, outlaws and monks, and a thousand men have died with me on their minds. That’s my nature, and the way nature made me. Whatever Vince wanted of me, he didn’t betray you. He’s only human.”

  Angela popped the top from another bottle and emptied the beer down the sink. She wished she could let her jealousies flow away with it.

  “What happened to the first human who saved your life?”

  “His name was Zahid. He died badly.”

  Fluid glugged and bubbled, glass tinked, and Angela heard muted conversation from elsewhere.

  “There are more important things,” Lilou said.

  Angela emptied another bottle and handed it to Lilou. The nymph filled it with fuel from a metal can, tore a strip from a bar towel, stuffed it inside. She moved like a human, looked like one, yet she was something else entirely.

  “He really loves you,” Lilou said, laughing gently.

  “Good fucking job,” Angela said. She laughed as well. Whether it was fear or madness, hysteria threatened, but the thought of where Lucy was and what she might be experiencing leveled her, because she had to maintain her strength.

  A few minutes later they’d filled a dozen bottles with fuel. Fat Frederick and Vince entered the bar and joined them. Meloy had instructed Ming and Cliff to remain in The Slaughterhouse, because he didn’t believe either of them would be able to help. Cliff was still shaking with terror. Ming was quiet, distant, refusing to believe.

  “We’re ready,” Fat Frederick said.

  “We’re nowhere near ready,” Vince said. “I feel like shit. I want to sleep for a hundred years.”

  When Angela glanced up he was looking at her, not Lilou. She smiled, he smiled back, and she thought, It doesn’t matter.

  27

  “You’re early,” Claudette said. “You better have some news for me.”

  “I know where he is,” Angela said. “Fat Frederick has him. He’s had him for days, maybe from the beginning, and I don’t know why, I don’t know what to do and—”

  “Calm down,” Claudette said.

  Angela quieted. She glanced around the car at the others, hating being the center of attention, but this call was essential to set up their plan. She had to make Claudette believe.

  “How do you know?” Claudette asked.

  “I went back to The Slaughterhouse,” Angela said. “I was going to ask Fat Frederick for…”

  “For help. Against us.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She forced a sob, finding that it barely needed forcing at all. “But I saw him being dragged outside and put into a car boot! That’s all I know, and I’ve told you everything. So what about Lucy?”

  “Lucy will be safe with us until we have Vince.” Claudette hung up. Angela blinked at the sudden silence. She’d expected to hear Lucy again, or for Claudette to issue
more instructions.

  “She took it?” Fat Frederick asked.

  “I think so,” Angela said.

  “Get out, then.”

  She leaned forward between the front seats and pulled Vince to her. He was in the driver’s seat and he had to twist around, eliciting a gasp of pain. Their lips met and she held him tight, relishing his familiar taste and scent. She heard Meloy sigh but ignored him. For that moment she ignored them all.

  It was Vince who broke away.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “It’s a good plan. It’ll throw them, and that’ll give us an edge.”

  “It’s Mallian and the others who give us an edge,” Angela said. “Just don’t get yourself killed.” It should have sounded melodramatic, but the words hung heavy in the car as she and Lilou jumped from the back seat. She glanced back in at Fat Frederick. “Look after him.”

  “Sure.”

  In the back, Thorn’s small shadow shifted slightly. He looked like a child in the big car, but light from a street lamp slanted across his face. He had old, leathery skin, a fixed expression, and scars.

  Angela watched the car move away. Lilou grabbed her arm.

  “Come on,” the nymph said. “Mallian and the others will be waiting.”

  They hurried into the night, searching for things that should not be.

  * * *

  “Still suffering.”

  The voice was surprisingly low and deep. For a moment Vince thought that Fat Frederick had spoken, but the big man sat silent in the passenger seat. He’d turned the rearview mirror so that he could look at the creature in the back seat.

  “Still pained. Still wondering why.”

  “Every part of me hurts,” Vince said. “The longer I sit here, the more worried I am that when we stop—”

  “Think about the pain,” Thorn said. The pixie barely whispered yet his voice filled the car, as if vibrating from the heavy door speakers and sub-woofer in the boot. “Focus. Dwell.”

  It took little prompting for Vince to consider the pain of Ballus’s tortures, and as he did so something remarkable happened. The agonies started to recede. Thorn continued speaking, but his words quickly lost meaning and context. Instead they became warm, comfortable sensation, enveloping him in a soft hug that stroked away discomfort.