by Nyna Queen
“Them shapers, o’course,” another of them had said, confirming her suspicion. He was a shaggy black bear of a man with a weathered face and one milky blind eye, who eyed the shadows nervously with his remaining eye as if he expected one of “them beasts” to jump out of the darkness any moment. “Today one of ‘em killed a dozen trueborn in a bar not ter far from here. Messed ‘em all up, it did.”
A dozen, huh? They made her sound pretty scary, too.
“Tis not a good night ter be up’n about, gal,” the first guy said again, squeezing his hat. “The fuzz’s combing through the whole place. Been sniffin’ round here all day. Even they’s worried. Tell ya, s’not safe out here.”
Oh, if they knew. The irony! It was almost too rich.
Alex realized Max was still looking up at her expectantly. She closed her eyes for a second and counted to ten. She wouldn’t yell. She would be reasonable. Very reasonable.
“Not. Yet.” It was exactly what she’d told him about a minute ago when he’d asked the very same question. And the minute before that. Maybe it would sink in if she grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
His face took on an expression of blank despair.
“But I’m thirsty,” he whined, “and my feet hurt!”
“Mine too,” Josy moaned and leaned against a wall, silently siding with her brother.
Alex raised her eyes to the sky. Why me? This couldn’t be real. It just couldn't. Now, what did they expect? To give a little speed and then check in a hotel for refugees for happy hour?
Yet when she looked at them, she saw how peaky and exhausted both of them looked. Max had dark smudges underneath his eyes, and despite the shitload of pizza he’d stuffed himself with earlier, his face was gaunt and pinched. Josy, too, didn’t exactly look fresh as dew herself. They weren’t pulling her leg, she realized. They were at the end of their rope.
Now, that’s just awesome! She could already be miles away, but noooo, she was still here, right in the danger zone, moving at a snail’s pace because of the delicate footsies of these overly pampered aristo children, and on top of it all, she had to listen to their constant moaning and groaning.
Some part of her reckoned that she probably wasn't being fair. She knew what it meant to be on the lam, was used to pushing past the point of exhaustion because there was no other way … These two, on the other hand, they knew shit about nothing. They weren’t even adults. Max was ten for heaven’s sake. They were probably chauffeured everywhere they wanted to go and never had to walk a mile on their own feet. Was she really furious that after a day on the run they couldn’t keep up with her? Really, what had she been thinking? Considering what they’d been through today they were probably keeping upright well.
But, as much as she wanted to grant them a break, they had to keep going. Out here, they were sitting ducks.
“It’s not that far anymore, okay? Come on.”
Grumbling under their breaths, the kids trudged after her. Truth was, she had no clue how far they would have to go. Most alleys in the center of the Bin were too narrow to allow cars to drive through and even if she found one around here with a tag on it saying “take for free” she wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. Safer to try with the suburbs.
They reached the end of a narrow street and faced a low, sturdy stone bridge, spanning one of the many nameless canals that cut across the city, carrying in foamy murk-water from the sea. Night was falling quickly now, and a pale sliver of moonlight reflected from the dark, tar-like surface. Not dark enough, though, to hide the bare backside of the man who was relieving himself at one of the bridge piles at the other end of the bridge, swaying drunkenly on his feet. Josy sucked in a loud breath and stared at the naked bum with eyes so huge they threatened to fall out of their sockets. Rolling her eyes, Alex grabbed her shoulder and steered her over the bridge into the protective shelter of the opposite street. Virtuous little peach!
Suddenly the girl squeaked and jerked away from Alex, jumping onto a short stairwell in front of a house. Alex dashed around, knives palmed in both hands, true teeth and claws all but peeking out of her skin. Her eyes darted around, trying to locate the source of danger and seeing none.
“What? What is it?” she hissed, her body tense, her skin itching so much it almost hurt.
“T-there.” Josy, white as a ghost, raised a shaky hand and pointed a finger at a dark corner between two front entrances. Alex followed her finger with her gaze. It took her a moment to realize what the heck she was whimpering about. A small hairy body scurried around an empty tin can, tiny claws making little scratchy noises on the asphalt. Alex lowered her hands.
“For Jester’s sake, sugar,” she snapped as anxiety gave way to annoyance. “That’s just a rat! Don’t get near them and you’ll be fine.”
She sheathed her knives, almost ripping her sleeves in her anger. “If you make such a racket about every little trifle, they’ll find you sooner than later.” And she’d die of a heart attack before the night was through. Maybe it would be for the better.
Josy slowly clambered down the stairs and moved along the wall, keeping as much distance between her and the rat as possible.
“This is an awful place,” she moaned and rubbed her arms. “Why would anybody live here?”
Hah! As if she’d chosen this place because of its nice view!
“Not everybody is born with a silver spoon in their mouth,” she said testily. “Some people cannot be choosy about where they live.”
That, at last, seemed to give them something to think about.
Another ten—blissfully quiet—minutes later Alex, Josy, and Max emerged from a grubby little back alley facing a wider, tree-lined street. The lower suburb, at last!
Alex scanned the street. It was a typical suburb street of Bhellidor county with small single houses sitting along the road with tiny square lawns in front of them. Most of them were old with the paint peeling off at the edges and the lawns overgrown with weeds, but at least they had lawns.
Street lamps dotted the sidewalk in regular distances. The one opposite them flickered like a dying moth, beating its little wings. A few yards down the street a couple of street lamps had completely died and below one of them, Alex spotted an old battered blue SUV, with a slightly dented hood. Jackpot! Exactly what she’d been looking for. Modern cars were a lot more difficult to break into and often had safeguards against stealing. It was a crying shame.
She motioned for Max and Josy to follow her and they scurried over the street, their tiptoeing shadows bouncing along the pavement, and went into hiding behind the car on its shady side. Both kids were breathing audibly. Alex put a finger to her lips and listened, allowing the spider to probe their surroundings. Nothing moved. Good.
She set her backpack to the ground and zipped it open. Inside, between her first aid kit and spare bra was a sleek black leather case. She fished it out and unrolled it carefully. Various differently sized tools and picks blinked up at her. This lock picking set had cost her an arm and a leg, but the investment had been worth every single penny. There were cases when quality paid, and she just liked to be sure to know that if ever she needed to open a door in a hurry, her tools wouldn’t fail her at the last minute. A thing like that really could ruin your day.
Alex fondly let her fingers run over the metal tools, searching for the right one. Finally, she selected a pick and started to work on the door.
“Are you stealing the car?” Josy’s voice held an alarmed note.
Alex paused in her efforts and turned to the girl, who gave her a look of pure indignation.
Oh yeah, great. Just give me that moral pointing finger.
“Hey look, if you want to walk all the way—fine with me,” she snarled in an angry whisper, “but trust me, it’s a very long walk. So, if you’ve got some spare money up your ass, now would be a great time to mention it, since I spend all my savings on your attire!” And then had to hear about hussy-pants for her trouble. “I really wish I saw another way, but t
he fact is, I don’t, so please, spare me the lecture and let me do my work.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to the door, unable to stand the reproach in the girl’s eyes, when she already had enough to deal with her own conscience. Yes, she’d promised herself not to do these things anymore, but—difficult times, drastic measures. And the fact was, she really saw no other way. She thought she saw Rachel gently shaking her head. Oh, just give me break!
Alex concentrated on the door and a few moments later it unlocked with a soft click. The ghost of a smile traveled over her lips. Oh yes, come to mama!
She seized her backpack and faced the kids. Josy stared at her over crossed arms. Great Mother, she hadn’t reacted like this when she’d sliced those trueborns to ribbons to save their lives, but she threw a tantrum over a stolen car?
Alex switched the backpack to her other shoulder and cracked the passenger door open with a mock bow, raising an eyebrow at Josy. “Well, sugar? What’s it gonna be?”
They stared at each other for a moment, all kinds of emotions flickering on the girl’s face. Finally, with a loud sniff, she swept past Alex and climbed in. Making a face, Alex kicked the door shut with the heel of her boot.
“Why does she get to sit in the front seat?” Max complained.
Aaaah, children! Wasn’t there anything you could do right?
“Because I say so!”
Interestingly enough, that settled the matter.
When Max had scampered into the back seat, Alex walked around the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. Now came the really tricky part. Pressing her fingers against it to dampen the sound, she carefully ripped off the cover below the stirring wheel and swiftly skimmed through the bunch of multi-colored cables behind it.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Ah, yes! Thanks to her true eyes shining through her human skin, she quickly found the two matching red cables in the dark. One was the main power supply for the ignition switch, the other the connection between the electric circuits of the car. Using a tiny pair of pliers from her tool set she cut away half an inch of insulation on both of them.
Max stuck his head between the front seats, watching over her shoulder. “What kind of magic is that?”
“No magic.” Alex gently twisted the uncovered ends together, rolling them between her fingers, forming one bigger cable. “Just good old mechanics.”
“Wow, cool!” He looked like she’d introduced him to some grand old mystery or something.
When the cables were conjunct Alex reached for the ignition cable, also exposing its metal heart. Slowly now, very slowly. Holding both cables so that they faced one another, she touched the two raw metal tips together. The air crackled. Come on, sugar, come on! Don’t let me down. Please, come on, come—Yeeesss!
The engine purred to life and Alex almost whooped with joy. At least something was working today.
Slightly turning in her seat, she glanced at the children. “Fasten your seatbelts, please.”
“Now really?” Max moaned, throwing up his arms.
“No discussion,” Alex said. “You want to stay in the car—you fasten your seat belt.”
“Didn’t think a shaper would be so picky about rules,” he muttered softly, but not low enough for her sharp shaper senses to miss.
“And this shaper is going to kick your little ass if she hears something like that again,” she said loudly. Looking into the rearview mirror, she saw his mouth snap close with a click. Much better.
Closing her own seatbelt, Alex steered the car into the street.
CHIEF Donnaghue looked up when someone called his name and spotted Lieutenant Keane jogging toward him, waving a slim black folder in one of his hands.
He glanced back at the crumpled piece of paper on the table in front of him. “Evidence list” was too strong a word for it. An evidence list required actual evidence—and they had next to none, so far. Still, the creature of habits that he was, he’d put down every hint, no matter how small, every teensy-weensy crumb of dirt, and had stared at it for the past hour, hoping for some kind of revelation. Unfortunately, his mind had stayed as blank as the major part of the sheet. Needless to say, his mood had not really improved.
Keane skittered to a halt beside him, puffing hard, trying to catch his breath. In the harsh light of the spots that had been installed a few hours ago, his lean face gained sharp angles that made him appear older than he really was and rather exhausted. Well, they all were.
“The hounds,” he gasped, with his hands on his thighs, “they—gave mouth—found some—magical residue—empty apartment—south.”
The detective in Donnaghue immediately came to attention like a veteran hunting dog at the signal of his master, but he quickly told himself not to get his hopes up too high. There had been several “hints” already during the day, but all of them had turned out to be dead ends. Still, a lead was a lead, so he folded the scrap sheet of paper, this mere piece of litter, and stuffed it into the pocket of his parka.
“When are we leaving?”
His lieutenant wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve and grimaced. “The forensics’re already there. The guardaí sent a team down about half an hour ago.”
And, of course, nobody had bothered to tell him! Why, he was only the officer-in-charge! He shouldn’t really be surprised, though—when had they ever acted as if he was in charge of anything but his own farts. Mind him, they’d also take that from him, if they could.
“The apartment’s been cleaned out professionally.” Keane straightened, massaging his ribs. “No obvious prints. No blood. Somebody knew what they were doing. The team is searching the perimeter now, but …” He hesitated, like a man weighing how to best deliver bad news.
“The children?” Donnaghue braced himself for the worst, knowing it wouldn’t help. It never did.
Keane’s face turned grim. “No sign of them so far.”
“That’s not bad news, Ethan,” Donnaghue said softly. And it wasn’t. It meant there was hope yet. As long as there were no stiff bodies in a bag with a toe tag circling their cold feet, there was at least a chance that they were still alive out there. It meant he might yet be spared the burden of having to go to their parents and tell them that their children would never come back to them.
That was by far the hardest part of his job, he reflected. Not the cruelty he had to face day after day. Not the blood or the decomposing bodies. It was seeing the hope in a parents’ eyes—that tiny, desperate flicker of hope—being crushed by his words.
His hands curled involuntarily. He’d been forced to deliver this kind of message only a couple of times during his period of service and those were the days when he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to go home or to a pub and drink himself into a stupor. Most of all he just longed to pull his little Lyra into his arms, hold her and make sure she was still there, still okay; at the same time dreading the feeling of guilt that would come with that embrace. Guilt that he would get to spend one more day with his family intact, while he’d failed to save someone else’s.
Donnaghue felt the sudden urge to call his wife. Now, don’t be ridiculous, old son, he told himself, they are fine. And you have work to do.
“What about the apartment?” he asked before that feeling of worry could get rooted in the base of his stomach and bear the fruits of panic. “Anything that could be useful?”
“The place is part of an apartment building in Welders Street, Corner Carpenter Street,” Keane told him, checking his notes. “Owner’s Wilson Timothy Gibbons, a proprietor who rents out a couple of apartments in the building in question and several others in the area.” He glanced up. “Seems to make enough money for a proper living, that kind of business. His own place is located in Belshire.”
One of the better suburbs of Bhellidor. Donnaghue almost rubbed his hands, unable to curb the sudden streak of excitement. Finally, a useful witness. Not some stupid wasted fool who was so drunk he couldn’t tell his buttocks from his head.
“When
can this man be questioned?”
Keane didn’t quite meet his gaze, suddenly looking uncomfortable. A sinking feeling filled Donnaghue’s stomach.
“What is it?”
His lieutenant cleared his throat. “Mr. Gibbons was called immediately when the apartment was discovered, but he didn’t answer the summons, so they send a team and when he didn’t open the door … well, they broke it down … and …” He shuffled his feet.
“Out with it, Ethan!” If there were any more bad news he’d rather hear it sooner than later.
Keane sighed. “They found him in his living room. Dead. Apparently slipped while fixing a lightbulb. Broke his neck falling down the ladder. Terrible thing.”
Donnaghue swore before he could stop himself. Now there finally was a promising witness and the idiot managed to get himself killed before he could be properly interrogated. That just figured! But then he caught himself, remembering that he was thinking about a recently deceased man. He probably had a family, maybe children, who were now grieving, while he fretted about not having a valuable witness.
He forced himself to release the paper he’d crumpled in his pocket. “Is it certain that this was an accident?”
“It would appear so,” Keane said. “From the level of his decay, he must have been dead for at least a couple of days. They are sending one of the physicians to confirm the cause of death, but that’s merely a formality.”
Of all the things that could happen … The Blind Child was having a laugh at him somewhere and he didn’t know why he deserved it.
“Oh, but the scan results have finally arrived.” His lieutenant raised the folder he’d been holding, almost as an afterthought. “The genetic test suggests that our shaper in question is female.” He held out the leather folder. “And she’s got a record that is longer than my … uhm …” His cheeks turned red and he cleared his throat.
Donahue hid a smile despite his annoyance. Eight months under his care in the Bin hadn’t yet managed to cast out the bashful village boy.