Lydia nodded. Madeleine’s mother had heard her come home that night, at half past one, but she didn’t see her daughter. The next day, she and John had both gone to work, assuming that Madeleine had left earlier for work or was sleeping off a hangover.
‘Was this what you expected?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not anything, really. Not A-list glam or rebellious grunge. I'm surprised Madeleine's crowd bothered with it.’ Lydia looked around. It was a perfectly normal, perfectly decent nightclub. Although it contained at least one Fox. And, if it was linked to that Family, won the unsubtle name of the year award.
‘Did you want to dance or shall we get to work?’
‘Work first,’ Emma said. ‘And I’m going to need another drink.’
Lydia tried one of the security men, first. He was standing by a door which led to the fire escape, stopping people from using it as a smoking spot and setting off the alarm. Lydia listened as he turned away three people and a couple who were half undressed and looking for a dark corner.
She held up a photograph of Madeleine. A studio portrait courtesy of Daisy in which she looked wholesome, perfect, and nowhere near old enough to be drinking. The bouncer barely glanced at it before he was shaking his head. ‘We get a lot of girls in here.’
‘She’s nineteen,’ Lydia tried to keep her voice friendly while simultaneously having to yell over the pumping music. ‘The club hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m just trying to find her.’
‘Why?’ The man inclined his head. ‘Girlfriend?’
‘Cousin,’ Lydia said. She pulled out a photo she had blown up and printed from Madeleine’s Insta feed. It was the one which showed mostly Madeleine, smiling and fully-made-up and wearing a small sparkly halter top. In this one she could have been anything from sixteen to well-preserved thirty.
The bouncer took a longer look this time. No longer fearful that Lydia was about to shop the club for serving a minor. He frowned, obviously concentrating and Lydia felt hope leap in her chest. Eventually, though, he shrugged. ‘Dunno. Maybe seen her? Was this last summer, yeah?’
‘Two weeks ago. She came in with a group of friends. All female, I think.’
Lydia used her phone to show the man the rest of the Instagram pictures, clearly taken in the club.
‘What night was this?’
Lydia told him, pointing at the date on the screen for additional clarity.
‘You should speak to Guy. He was working the bar that night and I bet he’ll remember. They were drinking Mojitos and they are a fucking pain in the arse to make.’
* * *
The main bar where Guy was serving was mobbed and Lydia didn’t fancy conducting an interview by shouting across it. ‘Do you want to dance or sit down for a while?’ She yelled the question into Emma’s ear and was glad when Emma yelled back ‘Sit!’
It was quieter in the chill room and conversation was marginally easier. Emma sunk onto the squashy leatherette seating and immediately slipped off her heels. ‘These things are fucking torture. How the hell did I used to wear them?’
Lydia put her Dr Marten’s onto the low table in front of the sofa and said ‘no idea’.
Once Emma had rubbed the soles of her feet and downed half of her beer she leaned close to ask. ‘Okay, boss. What’s next?’
Lydia didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t sure, but it was Emma so she did. Then, as if she had opened a tap, the words spilled out. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to this. Karen had me on honeytrap duty mostly.’
Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s that?’
‘You know, you chat up some guy and see if he resists.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if he’s faithful.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Emma leaned back.
‘I know. Grim.’ Karen started her own firm because she was sick of always being given honeytrap jobs by the male-run agency she worked for. Then, of course, she discovered that it was really lucrative. Plus, those kinds of jobs, along with basic husband or wifely surveillance were the perfect jobs for a newbie as they didn’t, in general, involve criminals. In theory, it was easier to execute without being discovered, even when you made stupid mistakes like tailing too closely, and safer for the junior investigator.
‘Except when the couple gets back together and start threatening violence,’ Emma said.
‘Exactly.’ Lydia had finished her beer sometime ago and wanted another. But not in this place.
‘Do you really think the business up north has followed you to London?’
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘But what else could it be?’
‘I don’t want to speak ill of your family, but...’
‘No,’ Lydia shook her head. ‘That’s the thing. It can’t be Family business. The Families don’t touch each other.’
‘How come?’
‘There’s a truce.’ Lydia wondered how much Emma wanted to know. When they had been at school together, Emma had never questioned her about her family and it was one of the many reasons she had bonded so closely. Emma had been one of the few people who seemed to genuinely like her for who she was, rather than the tarnished glamour of her family name.
‘What about someone closer?’
‘A Crow?’ Lydia’s first instinct was to snort derisively. Charlie had stopped all in-fighting when he took over but, as he was keen to point out, she’d been away a while. And shielded from the worst of it by her mum and dad. Little Lydia, out in the sticks and brought up as a normal. How much did she know about the Crow Family. Really?
Lydia had been watching the bar from their vantage point in the corner and when Guy moved away, high-fiving a perky-looking blonde girl who appeared to be taking over from him, she got up and towed Emma over to intercept. Guy’s face lit up when he caught sight of Emma blocking his way, his eyes travelling down the length of her body in a practised assessment that made Lydia want to smack him. ‘Have you got a minute?’ Emma said, smiling.
‘Sure,’ Guy upped ‘looking’ to ‘leering’.
‘Great!’ Emma stepped to the side and Lydia held out the picture of Madeleine and her friends. ‘You remember this girl?’
‘Which one?’ Guy barely glanced at the photo.
‘Dark one in the middle. The one who has gone missing.’
Guy stepped back. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’
Lydia wished, not for the first time, that she had a bit of her dad's gleam. A little shine would zone Guy right out, make him more likely to chat. Instead, she had to rely on reputation. She produced a gold coin and watched Guy's eyes widen as he recognised it.
‘Do you remember her?’ Emma tapped Madeleine’s face. ‘Simple question.’
Guy glanced down at the picture, his eyes blank and panicked. ‘Is she in trouble?’
‘She’s one of us,’ Lydia said. ‘And I want to know if you remember seeing her here. Come on, Guy. Answer us and we'll leave you alone.’ She flipped the coin high into the air. Guy watched it spin, the rotation slower than it should have been, the way it moved almost lazy. Bolts of bright light seemed to come from the coin, where the lights of the club caught its bright surface. His gaze followed the coin, landing on Lydia’s hand when she caught it. She closed her fingers around the coin, making it disappear. When Guy looked at her, his eyes were pleading, frightened. It was a good thing he didn't know she was a damp squib, but Lydia felt worryingly comfortable with the effect her family name was having on a complete stranger. She felt powerful and guilty all at the same time and Emma’s ill-concealed surprise, wasn’t helping.
‘Still waiting,’ Lydia said.
‘Last Friday, right?’ He licked his lips.
‘Yep,’ Lydia said.
‘She was here,’ Guy said. ‘She didn’t say she was a Crow.’ He held his hands up. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Anything happen? Any fights or hassle?’
He shook his head.
‘She was with a group of friends, any of them get into any trouble?’
He shook his head
again and Lydia could see he was still trying to move away. She thought her coin trick hadn’t been enough and was about to offer him money, but before she could make a decision, he was talking. ‘She came in with that crowd. They had a round of cocktails. But then she wasn’t with them.’
‘She left?’
‘She was loved up with some guy and they left together. She was only here for an hour tops.’
‘You know who she left with?’
‘I can’t say.’ Guy looked down.
‘Why?’ Emma had one hand on a hip and had hardened her expression. ‘You don’t know him? You can describe him for us.’
Guy swallowed, his eyes darting around as if hoping for rescue. He was scared. And at once, Lydia knew. ‘Who is your boss, here?’
Guy shook his head. ‘Please don’t ask me that.’
‘She left with Tristan Fox?’ Lydia guessed.
He shook his head, violently this time. Like he was trying to shake something loose. ‘No, no, no. I can’t say.’
‘You’re not saying,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m guessing. Not your fault if I guess, is it?’ She swallowed. ‘Paul Fox?’
Guy went still and stared at the floor. He looked like he wanted to cry.
‘Got it,’ Lydia said. She felt sick.
After Guy scurried off, Lydia and Emma headed for the exit.
Outside the club, Lydia leaned against the cool brick wall and took several gulps of air. It smelled of exhaust-fumes and cooking oil from the kebab place on the corner, but her fingers stopped tingling. People were still queuing outside Club Foxy and Emma was checking her watch, a curtain of hair hiding her face. When she spoke, her voice sounded funny. Strained. ‘Shall we call it a night?’
‘Okay,’ Lydia said, willing Emma to look at her. ‘Let’s find a cab.’
They walked a little way down the street, towards the main thoroughfare and, sure enough, a couple of taxis were waiting. A fair number of people were on the pavements, places to go, drinks to imbibe, partners to find. Lydia was trying to process what she had learned and failing. Unhelpful thoughts like ‘she’s a bit young for him’ with the follow-up, she’s the same age you were when you fell for Paul Fox, swirled around her head.
A man staggered in front of her but kept his footing. ‘All right, beautiful,’ he slurred as he passed. ‘Nice tits.’
Emma was watching the drunk winding his way along the pavement, not looking at Lydia. After a moment she spoke. ‘How did you do that?’
‘What?’
‘Make the bartender talk. He didn’t want to tell us anything.’ Emma bit her lip. ‘Was that magic?’
Lydia forced a laugh. ‘I wish. Just the Crow rep at work.’
Emma nodded, but she still didn't look at Lydia. ‘I've always known about your family. The rumours. I mean everyone knows the stories.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lydia said. She knew what Emma meant; everybody knew the stories but nobody really believed them. Not really.
‘And I know you do those coin tricks,’ Emma’s eyes were wide, ‘I just never –’
‘I didn't do anything to him, I swear,’ Lydia said. ‘I couldn't even if I wanted to.’
Emma nodded. ‘Okay.’ She walked to the first cab and opened the door. She still hadn’t looked at Lydia properly.
‘Text me when you get home,’ Lydia said, following behind.
Emma nodded. ‘Call you tomorrow.’
Lydia put a hand on her arm, just as she was climbing into the taxi. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Course,’ Emma said, but her gaze skittered over Lydia’s hairline and then to the empty space beside her, didn’t land anywhere near her face.
Lydia was about to get into the next cab when a familiar figure stepped out from behind the queue of people. He put a hand on Lydia’s arm and she felt a jolt of electricity. There was a musky animal scent and the tang of midwinter air and warm earth. Fox.
For a second her heart stuttered, too, thinking it was Paul. But then she looked up and it wasn’t him. Definitely a Fox, though. One of Paul’s brothers, perhaps. The man's face was perfectly symmetrical with the sharp cheekbones and curved lips which had made Paul Fox so irresistible to a younger Lydia. It was cold and cruel, though, with none of the cheeky warmth Paul either had or was capable of faking extremely well.
The hand on her arm squeezed painfully. ‘You shouldn't be here, little bird.’
Lydia planted her feet and forced herself to maintain eye contact. They were in public, taxi drivers and a whole queue of clubbers to act as witness. ‘What's it to you?’ She pulled her arm away and he surprised her by letting go easily.
‘Fly away again. Fly away fast.’ He leaned in fast, one arm around her and his lips pressed to her cheek as if he were saying a friendly goodbye. It stung and Lydia put an involuntarily hand to her face.
He smiled and Lydia felt a chill, the scent of Fox was stronger and filled her nostrils, choking her. ‘You take care, now, little bird.’
Lydia watched him walk away. Hands in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world.
‘You waiting, love?’
The cab driver had wound down his window, his voice tired. No doubt he had had enough of drunk clubbers forgetting what they were doing.
Lydia got into the next cab and gave her address, annoyed with her body for shaking. The Fox Family couldn’t touch her. She rubbed her arm and concentrated on the more important matter of her best friend.
Emma had looked freaked. She shouldn’t have questioned Guy in front of Emma, that much was obvious with the twenty-twenty of hindsight. She had scared her best friend. Hell hawk. The old curse fell into her mind and Lydia threw her head back against the seat in frustration. It didn’t matter that she was about as powerful as a water pistol or that she knew next-to-nothing about the Family business, she was still capable of accidentally scaring a woman who had known her since she was five. She had run all the way to Scotland and back, but it hadn’t solved a thing. She was still the same old Lydia; she wasn’t a Crow and she wasn’t normal. A foot in both worlds and belonging to neither.
What had it been like for Madeleine? Growing up in the Family, not outside it? Had she wanted to run away, too? Had she, weirdly, chosen the same act of rebellion as Lydia had at the same age? Sleeping with a Fox. Unless it wasn’t her and Madeleine repeating behaviour as much as Paul Fox... Which begged the question; what did he want? And was it the same thing he wanted from her eight years ago? Lydia closed her eyes and saw the flashing lights of the club, the gold-touched bodies moving on the dance floor.
What did the Crows have that the Foxes had always wanted?
Everything.
Chapter Nine
Lydia slammed back through the café and up the stairs to the flat. The adrenaline of the evening was still flowing, but she knew it would drain away at any moment. She went into the bathroom and took a short, hot shower. Getting that close to a Fox had left her feeling grubby. She concentrated on the sensation of the scalding water, and on lathering and rinsing her hair, until the buried memories were safely back underground. Wrapped in a towel, and padding to the bedroom, Lydia almost screamed at the sight of the ghost waiting in the doorway.
‘Hell Hawk!’ Lydia said, gripping the edge of her towel and trying not to cry. ‘You have to stop jumping out at me.’
‘Sorry.’ He looked down, his hands dangling by his sides and mumbled something else
‘What? I can’t hear you?’
‘I didn’t jump,’ he said, sounding petulant. ‘And I was waiting for you. I was being polite.’
‘Do you expect me to say ‘thank you’ for not joining me in the shower?’ The words were out of Lydia’s mouth before she realised what she was saying. Her stomach flipped. ‘Never ever do that,’ she added, glowering.
He looked gratifyingly nervous. If he were alive, his feet would probably be shifting or something, but he was completely still. It was another giveaway, Lydia thought, something unnatural in the way he carried himsel
f. She contemplated shutting the bedroom door in his face without another word. She had enough to deal with, after all, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be that cold. ‘Give me a moment to get changed,’ she said, instead, slipping past the motionless spirit.
After throwing on pyjama bottoms and a soft cotton vest at high speed and hanging her damp towel on the radiator, she opened the door. ‘Come in if you’re coming.’
The ghost slid past and Lydia resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. She wanted to see if he was as solid as he looked. ‘You said you were waiting for me. What do you want?’
‘How can you see me? What are you?’
‘I’m just a normal person,’ Lydia said.
‘But nobody else has ever seen me. I woke up in this place, but after a while of practising I could leave. All I could think about was visiting my –’he broke off. ‘Visiting her. But she couldn’t see me. She loved me and she was grieving and I was right there.’
Crap. Lydia looked at the emotion on his face and felt even worse. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘There has to be something about you. You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the families?’
‘You know about that?’ Lydia said.
He shrugged. ‘My family has lived in Camberwell a long time. You hear things.’
Lydia looked away, unable to witness his raw misery any longer. ‘I’m Lydia Crow. My Uncle is Charlie Crow. He owns this place.’
‘So when you said ‘normal’ you meant in the sense of belonging to the most powerful of the magical families in London. It’s not the usual usage of the word.’
His sarcastic tone was back so Lydia risked looking at him again. Sarcasm she could handle. ‘You don’t understand,’ Lydia said. ‘Why won’t you tell me your name? I don’t trust a person who is cagey with the most basic of information. It’s not generally a good sign. Especially in the criminally violent.’
‘I’m not violent,’ the man looked genuinely incensed.
‘It’s not that I’m not grateful,’ Lydia began, wondering how to navigate the nuance of ‘thank you for hitting the bad man’ but ‘you tossed a guy off the roof and I don’t know if you are going to go all ghost-rage and do the same to me’.
The Night Raven Page 10