The Shadow Wing

by Sarah Painter

Lydia produced her coin and flipped it into the air where it hung, motionless just in front of Sinclair’s face. ‘Didn’t your boss teach you not to piss off a Crow?’

  ‘Lyds,’ Fleet said. ‘There’s no need…’

  ‘There’s every need,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not in the habit of wasting time. Especially when dealing with death threats.’

  ‘I told you,’ Sinclair was addressing Fleet, now. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  ‘Well, what is the point of this, then?’ Lydia cut in. ‘If you have nothing for me, I’ll be heading off. I hear there’s a van over the road which does insane falafel wraps. Hard to believe, I know, but I’m willing to give it a try.’ She made as if to leave.

  ‘You’re making a mistake,’ Sinclair said. ‘DCI Fleet, you need to make her understand.’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘I can’t make Lydia do anything. I don’t believe anybody can.’

  * * *

  Outside the gallery, Lydia crossed to the river and stared at the moving water until she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to punch anything. She knew it wasn’t smart to piss off a valuable contact, and that Fleet had no doubt put his professional reputation on the line in order to set up the meeting in which she had just acted like a furious child, but she couldn’t stop the swirl of panic and mistrust. Her whole life, she had trusted herself and had felt that she had pretty decent instincts. She had made mistakes, of course, like dating Paul Fox, but she had known full well they were mistakes at the time. She just hadn’t cared. When she began training as an investigator with her old boss and mentor, it had been like coming home. This job had been perfect for her with the weird hours, the working alone and the need to assess people accurately. Immediately, she had excelled and Karen had said it was like she was born for it. Now, she was second-guessing her every impression and interaction. It was exhausting and disabling.

  Fleet arrived, quietly standing next to her for a few minutes before speaking. ‘Well, that could have gone better.’

  ‘I don’t trust her.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You just have to use her.’

  ‘That’s what I thought about Mr Smith,’ Lydia said. ‘Look where that got me. You were shot. You could have been killed.’

  ‘Just a graze,’ Fleet said, trying for levity.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. Everything I’ve tried with JRB and Mr Smith has made things worse.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Tell that to Ash,’ Lydia said and then wished she could take the words back.

  Fleet put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  Lydia let herself lean against him and she closed her eyes. With the sounds of her city and the river flowing past and Fleet’s signature glowing around them, she felt a moment of calm. Broken by her mobile buzzing.

  It wasn’t a number Lydia recognised, but she answered. ‘This is Miles Bunyan,’ the caller said, mercifully preventing Lydia from having to admit that she didn’t recognise his voice. ‘You found my daughter.’

  Lucy Bunyan. Taken by the Pearls and retrieved by Lydia. Much to the annoyance of the Pearl Court. Best not to think about that.

  ‘Yes, Mr Bunyan, of course. How are you?’

  ‘Lucy set fire to her bed last night. Luckily nobody was hurt. I keep an extinguisher in the kitchen and I managed to put it out, but I’m worried. Of course. That’s not normal. And it could have been so much worse. I’ve told her, if she does anything like it again we’ll have to call the fire brigade. The police will have to be involved. She could be convicted.’

  ‘Slow down, Miles,’ Lydia said. ‘Is everybody all right? Was Lucy hurt at all?’

  ‘No. Smoke inhalation and an overnight in the hospital but I’m allowed to pick her up this afternoon. That’s why I wanted to speak to you first. What do I do to help her?’

  Lydia thought of Ash, unable to function in the real world after decades in the Pearl Court. Lucy had been with them for a relatively short time and had seemed unscathed. She had talked of being at a fun party. Apparently, she wasn’t as unaffected as she had appeared.

  After promising that she could call round that evening, she finished the call and filled Fleet in.

  ‘Poor kid,’ Fleet said. ‘There’s a chance it’s unrelated. I mean, she’s the age for acting out.’

  Lydia appreciated his attempt to ease her guilt, but she wasn’t buying it. Lucy was another casualty of the magical Families of London. It wasn’t enough to be the head of the Crows or to keep the peace or to look after Camberwell. London was her city and she had to do more to get her house in order.

  Chapter Twelve

  Miles Bunyan opened the door. ‘She’s upstairs. Asleep.’ He had purple rings under his eyes and when he turned around Lydia could see that his hair was in need of a wash and was sticking up in the back where he had missed with the comb.

  ‘You want tea?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lydia said. She always accepted drinks when offered. It was investigator training basics. People found it easier to talk when they were busy doing something and the normality of it helped to build intimacy, which increased the likelihood of trust and honesty and openness. At least, that was the theory.

  Back in Miles’ house and Lydia was reminded of her initial impressions of him. A good dad, for sure, but there was something she didn’t trust. Or, more accurately, didn’t like. He was talking about Lucy, describing her changeable mood, deteriorating behaviour, the way she had become more withdrawn. ‘All since… Well. You know.’

  Lydia did know. She accepted the mug of tea and sat with Miles at the kitchen table. ‘You know that contract you told me about? With your father’s old company? May I see it?’

  ‘I burned it,’ Miles said, surprised. ‘You told me to.’

  It was typical, of course, that the one time a client had decided to actually obey Lydia was the time she would have wished he hadn’t. Ever since Miles had rung, she had been nursing a small hope that the contract would provide a clue or confirmation about the business structure of JRB. Or another contact name for her to follow up. Another crumb of information. Instead, it was another dead end. And, looking at the beaten and exhausted Miles, sipping tea while his disturbed daughter slept upstairs, another damaged family that Lydia had let down, she thought that maybe she should step down as the head of the Crows. Perhaps Maddie would do a better job.

  Back in her office, Lydia planned to do some work or, at the least, think of some new ways to tackle the problem of the missing cup. She couldn’t settle and her mind kept jumping from problem to problem. Outside on the terrace, she stood in the London drizzle and listened to the sounds of the city, traffic, sirens, a distant voice shouting obscenities. The urban symphony usually calmed her mind and helped her to think, but all she could see was the shape of a man hanging from a tree, strung up to look like one of the crows that was currently strutting across the paving. She went back inside and paced the room instead. Movement had always helped her think, but today not even the well-worn track around her office was working. And she felt odd. The nausea was back and her hearing felt as if she was at the bottom of a swimming pool. Then the room tilted, and she felt herself fall.

  Lydia came round on the floor of her office. She saw a slice of her desk, the patchy paintwork of the ceiling and Fleet’s concerned face. The back of her head hurt. She must have cracked it when she had fallen and she was extremely glad there was carpet, however thin and functional. Her thoughts came back in bits, the pieces sliding together until she was fully conscious. She realised that Fleet was speaking, he repeated her name.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she managed. ‘Just fainted.’

  ‘Can you sit up?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lydia said and then felt the room swoop and had to lie back down. ‘No.’ Her body was tingling and her mind was a tunnel, the black edges threatening to send her back under. ‘Lift my legs.’

  Fleet did so, and she felt the blood returning to her head and the fa
intness and nausea retreat.

  ‘What made you pass out?’ Fleet was frowning down from what seemed like a very great height.

  Lydia closed her eyes and tried to remember what she had been doing. She had been struggling to focus, pacing the room to calm her mind.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’

  And there was the problem in a nutshell. She had eaten. She had been feeling fine. It had just happened.

  ‘Were you working?’

  ‘I was stretching my legs.’ Lydia tried not to sound defensive, but she was embarrassed. And worried. She was already at a severe disadvantage facing Maddie. If she was going to start keeling over at random moments, too, her chances of survival were diminished further.

  ‘You need to get checked out,’ Fleet said. ‘Could be anaemia.’

  She sat up without passing out again. Progress. ‘I’m fine.’

  Fleet didn’t say anything else, but she could see he wasn’t happy.

  ‘I’ll call tomorrow,’ Lydia said, to appease him. Although they won’t be able to help, she added silently.

  * * *

  Having been poked and prodded by her GP to no avail, Lydia was sure that her first hunch was correct. Whatever was off and causing her system to misfire was related to being a Crow. Unable to see any other option, she called home and confirmed that her dad was at his usual afternoon haunt, The Elm Tree in Beckenham, just a few streets from her childhood home.

  Henry was sitting alone with an open newspaper and a half-drunk pint.

  ‘Hello, love,’ he stood when he saw her approach and they hugged. ‘This is a nice surprise.’

  It still felt miraculous that her dad recognised her and that she could speak to him without confusion. Whatever else had happened, she would always be grateful to Mr Smith for reversing the cognitive degeneration which had taken Henry Crow prematurely from the world.

  Henry was frowning lightly. ‘Did your mother send you? Did I forget you were visiting?’

  ‘No, no. I haven’t been home. I just came to see you.’

  ‘Right.’ He was clearly relieved. The ghost of his previous confusion was still a powerful spectre. ‘What would you like to drink? Are you hungry? They do a decent Ploughman’s here. Or the steak pie is good.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Lydia sat opposite her dad, keen to get to the point. Just because Mr Smith had cured her dad and that he was no longer denying his Crow nature in the same way, didn’t mean that she didn’t act like a battery on him, still. By amplifying his Crow power, she was giving him more to siphon off. And they were working on the theory that this would keep him from getting ill again. It was by no means a certainty. For the first time, Lydia could see the point in Mr Smith’s department doing actual scientific research on the Families and their abilities. It would be nice to have some hard data. Guidelines to follow to keep them all safe and healthy.

  But for now, she didn’t have a choice. She needed to know more and there wasn’t anybody else to ask. She didn’t know if she had truly expected her ancestors to answer her questions after she had visited the cemetery, but she hadn’t had so much as a vivid dream. ‘I need to know more.’ She glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening. She knew her father wouldn’t appreciate her being indiscreet. ‘About our Family. My Crow power.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So that I can control it.’ So that I don’t murder anybody else by accident. Or pass out when I’m fighting for my life.

  ‘I’m out, you know that,’ Henry said, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of steel.

  ‘But you can tell me what you know, whatever Grandpa Crow told you?’

  A shadow passed across Henry’s face. ‘I have no wish to pass on my father’s lessons.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ Lydia said, gripping her coin for strength. ‘I’ve been feeling unwell.’

  Henry stiffened. ‘How so?’

  ‘A bit off, I guess. Faint at times.’

  ‘Have you told your mother?’

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘But I’ve been to the doc and been checked over. Physically, I’m fine. But we know that our power can have adverse effects.’

  ‘That was different,’ Henry said, clearly hating every second of the conversation. ‘You’re using yours. It’s not… building up or whatever was happening with me.’

  It was time. She couldn’t tell her father that she had killed a man. Accident or not, he would see her differently and she couldn’t stand it. Instead, she went with the other pressing reason she needed help. ‘Maddie is really strong,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Maddie?’ Henry frowned. ‘Your cousin Maddie? Didn’t she leave London? John said something-’

  ‘The very same. Well, she can control a person’s body, move them against their will.’

  Henry narrowed his eyes. ‘You know this how?’

  ‘I know this,’ Lydia said, putting emphasis on the words. She didn’t want to worry her dad but, right now, she needed him to be Henry Crow, not her father. ‘Now I need to know how to beat her.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘No you don’t. Feathers, Lydia, you don’t know what you’re asking.’

  ‘Tell me, then. Explain. Because if I can’t match Maddie…’ She left the sentence unfinished, unable to say the words out loud. She didn’t want to make it real.

  Henry took a sip of his pint, thinking.

  Lydia had just decided he wasn’t going to answer when he began speaking. ‘Back in the day, I was next in line and doing my duty, toeing the line for your grandfather because, well, because there wasn’t a lot of choice. My heart wasn’t really in it, though, even before I met your mum.’ Henry smiled a little sadly. ‘I fell for her, Lydia, one look and I was a goner, but it’s also true to say that she looked like a lifeline to me. A way out. She was this whole other…’ He waved his hand, at a temporary loss. ‘She represented something different. A whole way of being, of living, and I wanted it almost as much as I wanted her.’

  Lydia kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt the flow of reminiscences.

  ‘But Charlie. He was always hungry. He wanted it all. And when it came to it, it seemed like the perfect solution. We would both get what we wanted. Your grandpa wasn’t too happy, of course, but I stood up to him.’ Henry paused, looking uncertainly at Lydia. ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

  ‘I really do.’

  ‘Right,’ he looked down at the table before continuing. ‘I’ve told you before that I wanted out, but I don’t think I told you why. Not really.’

  Lydia had assumed it was the whole slightly dodgy business thing. Wanting a less criminal life for his wife and daughter.

  ‘Charlie was stepping up to me. It wasn’t anything personal, but he was ambitious and I was… Well, I was in his way. He was doing anything and everything to get an edge. He would scheme, he would work all the hours, he would take any job from our father and never ask questions, but most of all, he would train. Hours and hours he spent working on his speed, his strength, his fighting skills. And he tried to work his Crow angle, too. He always wanted me to show him anything I could do, to see if he could learn it. Any bit of power from anyone, Crow or Silver or whoever, he was drawn to them. It wasn’t healthy. He had a hunger for it.’

  Lydia found it hard to imagine Charlie as a young man, everything laid bare for her father to see. The man she knew was closed and controlled and moved through the world like he was cutting it to pieces.

  ‘Your grandpa encouraged it. He liked us at each other’s throats. Called it healthy competition. Luckily, Charlie hated the old man as much as I did, and we didn’t let him break our bond. We were close. We liked each other.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Our father told Charlie that the only way to increase his power was to take it.’ Henry paused. ‘From me.’

  ‘Is that even possible?’

  Henry looked down for a moment. He seemed to be deciding whether to continue or not, but Lydia hadn’t come to Beckenham to be sent away with a
n intriguing silence. She needed her family to start being straight with her. Feathers. She was the head of the Family. She was, she realised with a rush of embarrassment, her father’s superior. ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  Something moved behind Henry’s eyes and he straightened in his chair. ‘I don’t know if it was true, but dear old dad told Charlie that he could take a person’s power by killing them. And since I would need to be out of the way if he was to become the head of the family, anyway, it was a done deal.’

  Lydia stared at her father. ‘You’re not serious. He can’t have been serious. He can’t have meant…’

  ‘Yeah. He did.’

  ‘That makes no sense,’ Lydia said. ‘Putting emotion and morality aside, why would he want to lose a member of the Family? A trusted part of the business? What had you done?’ She winced with how cold that sounded, but still. The point stood. Why would Grandpa Crow deliberately reduce the ranks of main bloodline Crows?

  ‘He thought I would kill Charlie.’ Henry said flatly. ‘In his mind, it was a neat solution to the problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘The Charlie problem. Grandpa Crow was a complete bastard, don’t know if you’ve gathered that by now,’ Henry smiled wryly, ‘but he was a good leader. And he wasn’t crazy. He saw something in Charlie which concerned him.’

  ‘If you’re concerned about your son, you get them counselling. You don’t set him against your other son in the hope that the favourite kills the younger one. You don’t do that.’ Lydia had always known her Family was half myth, but that was ridiculous. ‘There had to be another reason. Or you both misunderstood his meaning.’

  Henry smiled sadly. ‘This was why I kept you away. This is why I’m out. There is poison in this Family.’

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t believe that. There are people. And some of them are awful, but that doesn’t make the Crows cursed. It’s not poison. Or predestination. That’s the easy way out.’ Lydia was aware that her voice had got faster and was in danger of cracking. She would not be cursed. She was her own woman. She made her own choices.