‘I was going to let her go,’ he said.
‘Oh, sweetie.’ Astrid shook her head sadly. ‘That poor girl had been seeing bad stuff her whole life and she didn’t have anybody to hold her hand, to tell her it was okay, or that she wasn’t crazy. Then you came along and used her. You picked her up like she was a wrench or a hacksaw and you used her to take a peek at Rose.’ Astrid smiled widely. ‘Problem is, Aislinn wasn’t a saw. She was a magnifying glass and you held her up to the sun. You killed her.’
Mal swallowed. He didn’t trust himself to speak and he didn’t know what he would say anyway.
‘The question is, did it do you any good? Did it give you a little jolt? Have you worked out what Rose is yet?’
‘Laura Moffat had psychic ability too,’ he said. ‘What do you know about her? I know she was killed.’
‘Her and many others,’ Astrid said.
‘You fit the profile,’ Mal said. ‘You could be in danger. Rose thinks she’s responsible but I don’t believe that. She’s confused. She’s ill.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about me.’ The cute blonde smiled in a way that made the skin on the back of his neck attempt to slink away. ‘I’m in the business, so to speak.’
‘The business?’
‘Death, sweetie. I’m in the death business.’
It had been a very long and difficult day and Mal’s hand went back to his gun. He straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry about Aislinn, I am. But I didn’t know she was going to do that.’
‘It’s all right,’ Astrid said. ‘If she hadn’t topped herself, Rose would have got to her eventually.’ She looked at Rose fondly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. ‘You’ve been at it since the beginning, haven’t you, pet? I thought we were having such a lovely holiday, but you’ve been trying to go home all along.’ She made a ‘tsch’ sound with her tongue and then moved away from the bed, exploring the room.
Mal took the opportunity to finish dressing. He shoved his feet into his boots and laced them. He had to get Rose out of here, get some medical attention. Then check on Euan. Find out what was going on with Pringle and what the new arrangement with Astrid involved. His chest ached as he pictured his brother.
Astrid climbed up onto the desk by the window and looked out at the view. The castle was lit in the dusk and it cast white sodium through the murk. She was striking a pose with one hand on her narrow waist, as if well aware of Mal’s gaze. In that moment, the big window and the desk and the heavy hotel drapes disappeared, and Mal could see a huge vaulted tent, the dark reaches impossible to see or judge. In a sparkling circus outfit, a pretty girl on a tightrope put one foot carefully in front of the other. He could hear the crowds inside the big tent and smell greasepaint mixed with horseshit. He blinked and the blonde in jeans and a hoodie stepped lightly off the desk and winked at him. ‘Let’s talk about you for a while. I hear you have a brother.’
He shook his head, dislodging the glamour or whatever it was the girl was throwing at him. He had been trained for this, and although Astrid’s pull was strong, equal even to Mary King’s, he set his jaw and endured the waves of pain and confusion, letting them flow over his mind and body and drain away. The trick was to become as smooth as a polished stone, not giving the power a place to snag and burrow inside. During practice drills, his father had made him imagine the exact stone, and now Mal could conjure it up easily. He was a lump of labradorite, roughly oval in shape and just the right size to sit comfortably in the palm of his hand. He knew how it felt, had bought the piece from the fossil shop in the Grassmarket when he was fifteen. It was dark green, almost black, and iridescent in places. The surface was crazed with fine lines which could almost be capillaries or nerve endings, making it look alive. The whole thing had come from a volcano millions of years ago. It had survived this long and it would help Mal survive now. When he could think clearly again, he said, ‘I’d rather hear all about you, sweetie.’
The blonde narrowed her eyes. ‘That’s a good trick for a human.’ She moved forwards, closing the gap between them. ‘What else can you do?’
‘I’d rather talk about you,’ Mal said. He forced himself not to take a step backwards. ‘What are you? Really. And what is Rose?’
‘I’m Astrid. And Rose is Rose. Together we are the closest thing to a god you are ever likely to meet.’
Mal didn’t say anything. He could feel something pacing outside his mind, looking for a crack, a way in. After a moment, Astrid sighed and opened the fridge. She selected a bar of chocolate and ripped open the foil packet with her small white teeth. After the first bite of chocolate, she said, ‘ I prefer Death, but that’s just me.’
‘Death. Tall dude with a skull for a face and a scythe for—’
‘Harvesting the souls of the dead. Yes. Him.’
‘You’re a—’ Mal began, but Astrid rolled over him before he could finish.
‘Girl. Chick. Dudette. Female. Yes.’ Those impossibly big eyes narrowed again. ‘Are you being this dense on purpose?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mal said. ‘I’m just adjusting. I knew about ghosts. The Sluagh. Demons. I didn’t know about gods.’
‘Demigods at most.’ Astrid lowered her eyes modestly. ‘The full-fat variety are long gone.’
‘Where?’
‘How the fuck should I know?’ she said. ‘Mars, maybe. Or further still. It’s a big fucking universe. And there are millions of them.’
‘Gods?’
‘Universes.’
‘Ah, the multiverse.’ Mal was proud of how well he was holding up. Even his father might have been impressed.
Astrid smiled. ‘I apologise for calling you dense. You are quite bright for an ape.’
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘You still pissed me off, though. It’s not fair.’
He fought the urge to apologise again. ‘What’s not fair?’
‘That death got painted as a dude. Who do you think has the greater connection with death – men or women?’
‘Well, men traditionally held the jobs that encountered it,’ Mal said. If he could keep Astrid talking, he could buy enough time to work out how to get Rose out of the room. He wouldn’t shoot Astrid, she had been right about that. More worrying, though, was the fear that it wouldn’t make any difference. He was so out of his depth it was terrifying.
‘You mean soldiers?’
‘And priests performing last rites or doctors battling or pronouncing death. I’m not saying that was right,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Gender inequality. Very bad.’
‘Pronouncing it is right. Not always accurately, I might add. As for battling death…’ Astrid paused, seeming to be at a momentary loss for words. She settled on a sound like ‘pfft’ and a violent head shake.
‘You’re very cynical,’ he said, wondering if she was sufficiently distracted for him to make a move. Attack or flee. Something.
‘I’m old. It goes with the territory.’ She grinned. ‘I’m also starving.’ She removed a bag of nuts from the fridge and tore the packet open. Through a mouthful she said, ‘I was making a point about death’s partner. It’s not doctors, not priests, not men at all in fact. Who’s there when the body breaks down and there’s piss and shit and blood and vomit everywhere? Women. Who traditionally washes the dead and dresses it in a clean sheet after the idiot with the holy book has buggered off back to the tea table? Women.’
Mal thought about the death he had seen, his father plunging a dagger into the femoral artery of some creature and then digging a grave for it after. He wasn’t exactly normal, though. Not a poster child for the average.
Astrid tilted her head, her expression saying that she was about to deliver her final blow. ‘And who creates life?’
‘Surely that’s the opposite?’
‘Two sides of the same coin. Like me and sleeping beauty here.’
‘Fine,’ Mal said. ‘Let’s say I believe you. Which I don’t. What do you want? Why are you wandering around Edinburgh looking like�
��’ He broke off, gesturing instead to the tiny form of Astrid and her corkscrew curls and very human face.
‘Holiday.’ Astrid waved a hand and Mal saw a wall of white. It filled his vision until there was nothing else.
* * *
Mary King picked her way along the street toward the Caledonian Hotel. She had no problem in following Astrid’s footsteps, as she had left a trail of destruction and chaos in her wake. There was a small crowd of people on the steps in front of the brass-and-glass revolving doors of the hotel, almost hiding a prone and bloodied figure. She heard an argument starting, raised hysterical voices which sounded endearingly out of control. The humans had never seemed more like little children. They were oblivious and vulnerable and Pringle was gone; Mary King wanted to hug herself in delight. The Sluagh would have fallen with him, which left her victorious. About bleeding time.
Inside, the reception desk was empty apart from a lithe and beautiful young woman who was talking animatedly on her mobile phone with tears running down her face. Mary King swept by and entered the lift. It was decorated in tartan and smoked glass and there was a broken wine bottle on the floor in a puddle of dark red. She pressed all of the buttons so that the lift would stop at each floor. When the doors opened she leaned out, trying to sense Astrid.
On the fifth floor, she saw a burst of light before the doors had even fully opened. She stepped out into the empty corridor, blinking to regain her vision. The air was electric and it made her teeth ache. One door was ajar and she heard voices. She moved softly and peered through the gap. She could see the end of a large bed and a desk. It was an executive suite which had probably not advertised the inclusion of a small blonde demon. Astrid was cross-legged on top of the desk, speaking animatedly to an unseen person. Mary King shifted as quietly as she could until she could see more of the bed. The hunter was sitting on the edge and, next to him, a girl was sleeping. Mary King could see very dark hair and pale skin. She slid her favourite knife from its sheath and weighed her next move. Astrid was talking but was she distracted enough?
She summoned every piece of cursework she knew, every scrap of shine. She only needed to buy a few seconds. Long enough to cut Astrid’s throat. Then she would do the same to her sleepyhead friend and eat her fill.
She hesitated. She was not used to indecision. Living on so little for so long had made her tough and quick. There was a banquet laid out on the bed and she could almost feel the knife slipping in, how easy it would work, and the shine that would fill her up. Shine she could live on for another hundred years.
There was a new voice speaking. The girl on the bed was awake. Mary King peeked around the door, sharpening her senses to see through whatever glamour or cursework was being used.
She never got that far. All was blinding white light and a ringing sound which Mary King would have felt in her soul, had she possessed such a thing.
* * *
Rose felt the pills as they went down her throat and she knew it wasn’t a dream or a vision. It was a memory. She knew that she had been Aislinn at one point. Or part of her had been Aislinn. When Aislinn had died, and Rose suddenly knew that she had, that part had come home. It was lodged, now, inside Rose. Part of her had been Melody, too, and Hannah and Françoise and Eve. She remembered killing each of them and how the white light inside her had got a little brighter each time.
She blinked and sat up. No longer asleep, no longer filled with the calm that Astrid had poured into her. Astrid was sitting on the end of the bed, tipping a bag of salted cashew nuts into her mouth. Rose looked around, but Mal had gone. She couldn’t see a body, so she hoped that meant Astrid had sent him away or locked him in a cupboard. The small part of her that was still Rose MacLeod hoped he wasn’t dead.
‘Isn’t salt the best?’ Astrid licked her fingers.
Half of Rose was still with Aislinn in the hospital and she felt the pull of sleep. ‘You lied to me,’ she said.
‘Not lied. Held back some truth.’ Astrid smiled. ‘I had to, for your own safety.’
‘I’ve been killing people and you’re worried about my safety? Does that sound even remotely likely?’ Rose knew she couldn’t reveal what she suddenly knew, that all the girls were part of her. Every death she had dealt had been a blessed release and, with each one, she had got closer to her true form. She hadn’t been killing lost girls, she had been bringing the flock safely home. No. She had to string Astrid along for a while until she worked out what Astrid knew, what Astrid wanted.
‘You haven’t killed anyone.’ Astrid waved a hand, like she swatting away a fly. ‘Not really.’
‘I woke up covered in blood.’ Rose could remember the iron smell of the blood, thick and choking. She had a memory of drawing a knife across a throat, a clean, fast cut that felt merciful but couldn’t possibly be so. ‘I used a knife. I cut—’
‘That was just a soul case. A shell. You released the spirit.’
‘That’s just a fancy way of saying ‘killed’. Melody was a real person.’ Rose swallowed, trying to keep herself from retching. Part of her felt sick but another, larger part felt utterly calm. The calm part was terrifying. She could feel it encroaching, wiping away the Rose MacLeod she had been building in her mind. ‘So was Laura Moffat. She had a job, a family, a life.’
Astrid shook her head. ‘Set dressing.’
Rose wanted it to be true. Wanted an explanation for her monstrous actions, her lack of emotion. If they hadn’t been real then she hadn’t murdered anyone, hadn’t really taken lives. ‘Why should I believe you? You’ve lied to me over and over again. For years. For—’ Rose stopped. ‘For how long? How long have I been in Edinburgh?’
‘At the uni? About twenty years.’ Astrid crumpled the foil packet and opened another one.
Rose sat back on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve done my degree over and over?’
‘No, you’ve done your first year over and over. New intake each time, new students, means you just blend in with all the other newbies.’
‘No one’s noticed?’
‘Humans are very focused on their own needs. You’d be amazed at what they don’t notice. You could fill a continent with things they don’t notice. In fact, take a bit of land, call it foreign and they’ll never see it at all.’
‘I’m not looking for a sociology lecture.’
‘Psychology, but whatever. Perhaps you need another twenty years?’
‘Is this funny to you?’ Rose had an emotion then: anger. It burst across her skin like fire. ‘Are you feeling amused at this moment?’
Astrid smiled a little wider. ‘A little. I’m sorry. It just feels so good to be able to talk properly.’ She stretched her arms above her head. ‘It’s been so constrained. I’ve been in a tiny little box and I’m finally out.’
Somehow, that didn’t sound like good news. The girl Rose had known as Astrid wasn’t the same as this creature in front of her now. She looked the same, her voice was the same, her syntax was even the same, but it was all a costume. ‘I need the bathroom,’ Rose said, getting up. She walked to the ensuite and locked the door. She made bathroom-style noises, flushing the toilet and running the taps at the basin. She didn’t know if Mal had escaped or if Astrid had disposed of him. The wet towels from earlier were still on the floor, reminding Rose of how happy and free she had felt for those minutes.
Back in the suite, Astrid was flicking through the channels on the flat screen.
‘So. What happens next?’
‘I missed A Place in the Sun,’ Astrid said. ‘I love that show.’
‘It’s on all the time,’ Rose said, just for something to say. ‘Change channels.’
‘No.’ Astrid clicked off the screen and turned away. ‘I checked. It’s on again at five.’
Rose looked out of the window, hoping to catch sight of Mal on his way along the street. Safe and alive. He had tried to help her.
Astrid had liberated a cola from the mini bar and was watching Rose over the rim of the can. ‘You’re unha
ppy,’ she said. ‘Have some pop. The bubbles are cheerful.’
‘I’m a murderer, I don’t think bubbles are going to do the trick.’
‘Are you still upset about that?’
‘Yes,’ Rose said, stifling the urge to shout or stamp her foot or punch something. ‘It’s still on my mind.’
Astrid sighed. ‘Would it help if I talked about nature and survival of the fittest? Or mayflies and how they only live for a day?’
‘I don’t think so. No.’
‘We could get drunk. That’s often pleasant.’
‘No.’ Rose went to the other window this time, tried to look as if she was just checking out the view.
‘He’s not out there,’ Astrid said.
Rose looked around. Astrid’s heart-shaped face, wide blue eyes and blonde corkscrews no longer hid her power. She pulsed with it and Rose was afraid.
‘He’s not important,’ she said lightly.
Astrid gave her a stern look. ‘Don’t play games. Not with me.’
Rose tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.
‘I told him he wasn’t needed. He stood down.’ She giggled. ‘He’s a good little soldier. What we do next, is visit Mary King. She’s got the juice.’ Astrid stopped speaking, her head cocked as if listening. ‘I think the lovely Mary King has saved us the walk. How nice.’
‘Juice?’ Rose said, but Astrid was skipping to the door and opening it wide to reveal a woman slumped in the hallway.
‘To restore you to your former glory,’ Astrid said over her shoulder. She reached out and touched the woman. ‘Damn it!’
The body was stiff and pale with unnaturally red cheeks and a multitude of piercings in her nose, ears, lips, and brows. She was like an empty shell or mannequin, not a real person. ‘Is that Mary King?’ Rose asked. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
* * *
‘It’ll have to do,’ Astrid said. She squeezed the woman’s head between her hands for a moment, before turning back to the room. Her face was flushed and her eyes even brighter than usual. Astrid had always been attractive but now she looked like a Hollywood starlet.
The Lost Girls Page 22