by Helen Harper
Both girls watched him go. When he was out of earshot, Tipsania turned to the girl again. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t want more from you,’ she hissed.
The girl with no name dropped her head again. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists and dropped her shoulders. Please, she thought, just leave me alone. I’m nobody.
Her submissive posture seemed to do the trick; Tipsania sniffed loudly and stomped off, no doubt to find another example of gold-edged finery with which to impress the Sidhe princeling.
The girl with no name waited, counting to twenty in her head to ensure Tipsania was not about to return and cause more grief. It would make her eventual appearance in the grand hall even more delayed and she risked the Bull’s anger increasing. She was already late by now, however. One minute or ten – either way she’d get her ears boxed for her troubles. Not from the Bull, of course. He never touched her himself.
Trembling from her encounter, she took several short, rapid breaths. Byron Moncrieffe’s supercilious attitude, combined with Tipsania’s venom, swirled around her head. When she was older, she decided furiously, she’d make both of them pay. She sniffed to herself.
She dusted down her apron and set off once more, her mind working feverishly as to why she’d been summoned and just what the Bull could possibly want with her. A door at the far end opened and bright sunlight spilled in. There was a shout and the guard, who’d been standing there silhouetted against the sun, turned to answer the call, leaving the gateway open.
The girl gazed out at the bright light, then back at the dark corridor behind her. She gnawed her bottom lip and looked again. After a brief moment of indecision, she began to run.
She wasn’t a prisoner. She’d never been told she couldn’t leave. But until that moment, with the glow of the outside world and its golden uncertainty contrasting with the darkness that no doubt awaited her in the grand hall, she’d never considered leaving. There was nowhere else for her to go.
In years to come, she’d describe her action as foolhardy and reckless. The right move, without a doubt, but one in which the possibility of success was hampered by lack of planning and foresight. Still, sometimes the stars simply align and the time is right.
She skidded down the corridor, emerged outside and blinked at the light. Without pausing, she veered left –towards freedom.
The guard, startled by the sudden movement, turned to watch her. His companion arrived, shading his face from the sun and squinting in her direction. Even without her long white hair whipping behind her and the determined set to her chin, her intent was obvious.
‘Isn’t that…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Should we stop her?’
One side of the guard’s mouth crooked upwards. ‘Leave her be. I’m only surprised she’s not done it sooner.’
‘What about the prophecy?’
He shrugged. ‘What about it? It’s mumbo-jumbo. Even the Sidhe don’t believe it.’
‘She’s still alive though, isn’t she? After what they say her father did…’
The guard tutted. ‘Who’s going to kill a kid?’
The girl was oblivious to their attention. She zipped ahead, down the well-worn path and away. No-one stopped her speedy descent down the drive and out past the ornate gates that were standing open to admit the Moncrieffe heir and his entourage. The Sidhe were far more concerned with keeping people out than forcing them to stay in. It was a hangover from the days of the Fissure and probably pointless now.
She ran out, pushing past the magical barrier that separated the Sidhe world and all its Clan members from the Clan-less, with little more than a shiver. Then she emerged onto a narrow country road and simply kept running until she reached the dual carriageway leading to Dundee in one direction and Aberdeen in the other. Confronted by the speeding cars and the lack of pedestrian walkways, she came to a stumbling halt in a layby. Less than a minute after she collapsed, breathless and shaking, a car pulled in.
Like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights, she froze. The vehicle was far removed from the gleaming sports cars and limousines that she was used to. This one was battered and rusty and gave every appearance of being unroadworthy. Indeed, after it came to a juddering halt, the exhaust coughed up a belch of black smoke.
The door swung open and a man peered out. Human – not Sidhe. Thank heaven for small mercies.
‘Need a lift?’ he asked, his voice rasping in the cold air.
The girl blinked. This was far from what she’d been expecting. She looked him over. He had carroty orange hair, a quick smile and a friendly light in his eyes. He didn’t look particularly strong and he was definitely human. It didn’t mean he was good, though.
As if sensing her indecision, he held up his palms, indicating that he was weaponless. ‘I’m not very trustworthy,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to hurt you.’
She considered his words. ‘I’m Sidhe,’ she answered finally.
‘I can see that.’
‘It means I’m very powerful,’ she lied.
He nodded his head gravely. ‘I have no doubt.’
She weighed up her options. Climbing into a car with a perfect stranger wasn’t ideal but there was something about the man that made her trust him – and she had little alternative. If he tried anything, she could always make a grab for his groin and twist. She’d seen Tipsania do just that to one of the guards. It had seemed to hurt. A lot.
The girl pursed her lips then slowly nodded. His face broke into a smile and he jerked his thumb towards the back seat. After some difficulty, she opened the door far enough to squeeze herself inside. The radio was blaring, some political pundit jabbering away. ‘What Sidhe royalty lack is integrity,’ he argued. ‘They’re not like the rest of us.’
She stiffened. She’d thought that once she was out of the Clanlands, she’d be free of the Sidhe. Less than five minutes into her escape and already they were being discussed on the radio. That didn’t bode well.
‘What Clan are you?’ she asked.
The man flicked her an amused look. ‘I’m not with any Clan. I don’t hold to those Sidhe ideas.’
She frowned. ‘But everyone’s in a Clan.’
He laughed. ‘No, they’re not. I’m Clan-less. I don’t follow their rules. If that bothers you, you can still change your mind.’ He gestured towards the door.
She glanced outside. ‘No. I’m here now.’
He pointed downwards. ‘Seatbelt then.’
The girl stared at her new benefactor. He frowned and repeated the word. Finally understanding, she hastily pulled the seatbelt across her body, clicking it into place. With a satisfied grunt, he re-started the engine. ‘Anyone asks,’ he said, ‘you’re my niece, alright? We’re on our way to see your grandparents.’
Confused as to why anyone would care, she bit her lip and nodded. He opened the glove box and rummaged around, then tossed her a faded baseball cap. No less baffled, the girl put it on, tucking her hair inside. Her stomach had a strange squirmy sensation that she didn’t like very much.
Less than half a mile down the road, when the talking on the radio had given way to a jazzy song, blue-and-red flashing lights appeared and the man threw her a meaningful glance. The car rolled to a stop and the unsmiling face of a uniformed policeman appeared.
Certain that this was for her, she squeaked and shrank back in her seat. While the police might technically be considered Clan-less and they certainly had no jurisdiction within the Clanlands, their wages were paid out of the twenty-four Clans’ pockets. There was no doubting where their allegiance lay.
‘License and registration.’
The man calmly handed them over. The policeman inspected them briefly then turned to her. In a fit of desperation, she burst out, ‘We’re going to see my gran. She’s sick. She needs us.’
The policeman’s expression softened. He waved them on, already focusing his attention on the car behind them.
Once they were safely away,
the man spoke, glancing at her in the mirror as he drove. ‘That was good work,’ he said. ‘A bit shaky but the improvisation was clever.’ He nodded. ‘It’s been a real stroke of luck meeting you. Perhaps we can help each other out. I’m Taylor. What’s your name?’
The girl, eyes wide and hands clenched tightly in her lap, took a deep breath. ‘Integrity,’ she said suddenly, her voice clear. ‘My name’s Integrity.’
Taylor laughed aloud. In fact three hours later, when they finally pulled into a dark Aberdonian street, he was still laughing. It was a long time before she realised why.
Chapter One
You have to do bad shit to get ahead. Taylor had told me that a million times and for a long time I’d bought into it. After tonight, however, things were going to be different. A new leaf and a new me. That was what I was planning.
I’d been thinking about it for a long time but since I’d received the letter in elegant, handwritten script demanding my appearance at the Sidhe court, I felt I had no choice but to step up my plans to vamoose out of the city. I didn’t want anything to do with those bastards. Not unless it meant ripping them off. Frankly, I’d rather head down to the Lowlands – and the Veil – than venture near the Clanlands.
At least Taylor had promised that my final hurrah was going to be a straightforward job. ‘In and out,’ he’d said. ‘The place will be empty.’
‘You know I’m leaving after this one,’ I reminded him. Not that it was likely it would have slipped his mind but with Taylor sometimes certain points bore repeating.
‘Of course, of course! As if I could forget.’ His eyes took on a knowing look that I chose to ignore. ‘You’ll miss it though. You won’t get many thrills from tramping around the countryside.’
‘It’s not tramping around the countryside. It’s mountain rescue. I think saving lives will be thrilling enough.’
He grimaced at that. ‘You’ll be bored.’
I simply smiled back. We’d had this conversation often enough in recent weeks. My mind was made up and even he couldn’t change it.
‘I’ll always be here,’ he said. ‘If you do want to come back, that is.’
I hugged him impulsively. ‘I might not come back to work but I’ll always come back. You’re my family.’ I meant every word. We’d had a few rough times over the years but who hadn’t? Taylor had been there for me when no-one else was, even if his motives weren’t always pure. I worried about him more than he’d ever know.
He looked abashed at my heartfelt words and ran an awkward hand through his hair. It was no longer the carroty mop he had when I first met him all those years ago. Now it was more silver, far closer in colour to my own locks, which still drew curious looks and the odd question about my ancestry, even amongst the Clan-less underbelly. For the most part I shrugged them off.
It was a very long time since I moved in Sidhe circles. I crossed the road to avoid passing close by any of my kin, no matter how distantly related they were. And one of the reasons I was leaving Aberdeen was because they’d contacted me.
It wasn’t that I was afraid of what they might do if they got hold of me, although that was a part of it. I just wanted a quiet life. My childhood with the Sidhe was little more than a distant memory; in fact sometimes I felt as if it had happened to someone else.
I ignored the gossip mags and whispered rumours about what each Clan was up to. I lived in the underclass, far away from them. I didn’t care whether Aifric remained Steward and was therefore still in charge, or which man Tipsania Scrymgeour was currently stepping out with. I didn’t even care that her father, the Bull, appeared to be making more money than Bill Gates. The Sidhe could spend their days worrying about politics, jockeying for position and doing whatever they could to rise above other Clans. I only cared about me and mine. And none of mine were Sidhe. Or Clan.
I tested my kit, adjusting the harness at my back to ensure it was secure, and skirted round the back of the building. It might be the middle of the night during a bank holiday weekend but I still needed to be circumspect. It would be sod’s law if I got nabbed on the very last day I spent as a career criminal. Tapping my forehead three times with my index finger to signal to my waiting crew, I gave one last look around then sprang up.
My fingertips curled easily around the first ledge. Despite the typical Scottish chill, I was barefoot. It made it far easier to gain purchase on the smooth glass surface of the towering bank. I also admit that I rather enjoyed it when I glanced down and caught a flash of the sparkly nail varnish adorning my toenails. It felt appropriate for this job; we were, after all, going after some more sparkles ‒ albeit of the more expensive kind.
Clambering up with fluid, nimble ease, I made fast work of my ascent. Beads of sweat were only just appearing on my brow when I reached the assigned floor. Piece of cake. I tightened my grip with my left hand, using my right to reach behind and unclip the glass breaker that was hooked to my belt.
It was a nifty piece of kit, designed to help trapped motorists break out of their cars. While I’d never heard of anyone actually using one to save their own life, I found mine particularly useful. It was a gift from Taylor when I graduated from simple manipulation tactics and dull look-out posts to full-blown thief. The others might scoff at its hot pink colour but I’d had it for seven lucky years and it had never let me down. I might wear black to stay camouflaged against the night sky but that didn’t mean that everything I carried had to be boring monochrome too.
Leaning back as far as I could, I swung it into the centre of the pane of tinted glass, shattering it instantly. Thanks both to the glass breaker’s and the window’s design, all the shards of glass fell inwards just as I wanted.
Flashing a satisfied smile to my inner thief, I heaved myself inside with a leap, landing far enough in to avoid catching my skin on any of the dangerous broken pieces. I pivoted round and grinned, curtseying at the now-gaping hole. Then I checked my watch. Less than ninety seconds from pavement to entry. That was impressive, even for me.
Without wasting another minute, I unclipped my harness and tested the nearby wall. The plaster seemed sound enough so I pulled out my tiny drill, made a hole in the wall and carefully inserted the climbing wire. I gave it an experimental tug; it would hold. Less than thirty seconds later, I was lowering the rope out of the window and whistling down softly.
Three dark shadows broke away from different corners of the street. As the rope grew taut with the weight of the first climber, I surveyed my surroundings. Taylor had insisted that this floor would be the easiest one for entry. Looking around at the low-spec furniture, I was inclined to agree. The employees on this level were clearly not the wealthy bankers who occupied other areas of this building and were universally despised by the rest of the world. The guys who worked here looked like they filled their days with dull data entry whilst suffering zero-hour contracts.
I wrinkled my nose and made my way along the narrow aisle between the cubicles until I reached the office, which was separated by walls rather than flimsy partitions. Frankly, it was a wonder that more people didn’t turn to a life of crime. Working here would drive me insane.
Inside the manager’s office was a heavy walnut desk and swivel chair. It looked considerably more comfortable than the chairs out front. I sat down experimentally and swung myself around. Yup - it was pretty damn fine. I examined the collection of family photos of beaming children and heavily lipsticked trophy wife; I resisted the temptation to find a Sharpie and draw a moustache on them.
The frame was marked with the Macfie Clan colours. Typical. I bet Mr Manager here had aligned himself with them, whereas his minions in the larger room outside remained Clan-less. The Macfies were always into bloody banking. If they’d chosen a different path, we wouldn’t be targeting them so bloody often. I shrugged. Their fault.
I helped myself to several boiled sweets from a crystal jar, raised my legs up, crossing my feet on the desktop, and waited.
The crunch of glass signalled Spec
k’s arrival. He hated heights so he had to be forced to go up the ropes first. If the warlock was left until last, he’d never pluck up the courage to clip on his carabineer. We’d learned that the hard way a couple of years ago and lost out on a fat purse as a result. I had tried coaching him through his fear but nothing seemed to work ‒ other than a swift kick up his arse. With Lexie following on his tail, of course, that wasn’t a problem.
Speck appeared in the doorway, cursing. ‘We didn’t have to climb. I could have bypassed the front door in less time than it took to get up here.’
‘Relax.’ I gestured towards the sweets. ‘Have some sugar and calm down. You know this was the sensible option.’
He grumbled at me, reaching out for the jar with a trembling hand. I knew better than to comment. His terror would subside by the time Brochan, the last of our motley crew, joined us. To point out that Speck was shaking like a leaf served no purpose. He could be rather sensitive, even at the best of times.
While he crumpled up the sweet wrapper into a ball and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, I opened up a drawer and peered inside. Lying on top of several heavily perfumed envelopes was an ornate letter opener. I lifted it out. It was an expensive tool, especially in today’s digital age. Made entirely from silver and with a perfectly balanced blade, it seemed a travesty to leave it where it was. I regarded it seriously for a moment then slid into one of my many zippered pockets. It would make a nice souvenir.
When Lexie appeared, grinning broadly at Speck’s pale face, I got to my feet and scooped up the jar of sweets. It wouldn’t be long now. I went back out to the main room, depositing one sweet next to each keyboard.
‘One for you,’ I sang out, ‘and one for you, and one for you.’ I paused at one cubicle laden with Star Wars memorabilia and pursed my lips. ‘You deserve two.’
‘You’re such a geek,’ Brochan told me, appearing silently from behind with the coil of climbing rope.
I winked at him and rattled the now almost empty jar. ‘Want one?’