by Elise Noble
An ambulance. We needed an ambulance. Thank goodness I had a new phone.
“My brother’s overdosed,” I told the 999 woman when she answered. “He needs a doctor.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Yes, it’s a bloody emergency!”
How did Emmy and Alaric stay so calm? They knelt next to Lenny, one on each side, checking his vital signs. Please, let him be alive.
“No pulse,” Emmy said. “Is he breathing?”
Alaric’s answer was to start chest compressions as he shook his head.
Fuck. How long did ambulances take?
“Average response time in London is seven minutes,” Emmy told me. I hadn’t even realised I’d spoken out loud. “But St. Thomas’s is only a mile away, so we might get lucky. Let’s try this in the meantime.”
She opened the duffel bag, and I realised it was a first aid kit. A giant first aid kit. A quick rummage, and she drew out a syringe of her own.
“Wait! What’s that? What are you giving him?”
“Naloxone. It reverses an opiate overdose by binding to the body’s opioid receptors instead of the heroin.”
I could do nothing but watch. It was clear both Emmy and Alaric knew what they were doing, and I definitely didn’t. I’d never felt so helpless in my life. Next, Emmy produced a green box and tore Lenny’s shirt off, the ripping sound the loudest thing in the room. He was dying, yet it was so quiet.
“What’s that?” I whispered.
“A defibrillator. If there’s still electrical activity in his brain, there’s a good chance we can shock his heart into restarting.” She stuck two sticky pads on Lenny’s chest. “Clear.”
Alaric rocked back on his heels for a moment, Lenny jolted, and Emmy studied the screen on the machine.
“Okay, as you were. Sky, can you go outside and show the medical team up when they arrive?”
I didn’t want to leave Lenny, but I also knew what Emmy said made sense. Every second counted, and I had to play my part. My knees almost buckled as I staggered down the stairs, past Paulius and the others who’d gathered in front of the old bar.
“You should’ve called an ambulance earlier,” I snapped, unable to help myself.
None of them said a word.
CHAPTER 16 - ALARIC
“I TAKE YOU to all the best places, Cinders.”
“Technically, I think you’ll find I took you.”
“And your driving hasn’t improved in the slightest.”
Alaric paused the chest compressions to switch to rescue breaths. If he’d timed it right, he’d get through five cycles of thirty compressions and two breaths in two minutes, by which point the naloxone should have begun to work and the AED would be ready to shock again if necessary.
“How are we doing?” he asked Emmy, who’d spent most of the time singing “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees—badly—to keep him in time.
“Five seconds… Okay, pause.” She studied the screen for a moment. “No shockable rhythm.” Smoothly, she pressed two fingers to the kid’s carotid artery. “Moment of truth.”
No shockable rhythm meant one of two things—either there was a pulse, or there was no electrical activity left to shock and they’d both be attending a funeral soon. No matter that they’d only known Sky for a day—she’d made a big impression, and Alaric knew that Emmy wouldn’t let her deal with the aftermath of this evening alone any more than he would.
What was it to be?
Emmy closed her eyes for a moment.
“Thank fuck,” she said on an exhale. “Get him into the recovery position.”
Emmy tipped the kid onto his side while Alaric wiped his mouth with a sleeve. He’d started without a resuscitation mask, and Lenny tasted of old beer and tomato ketchup, neither of which was pleasant. Still, he was alive. Good thing too, because Alaric’s black suit was in a storage locker in Florida along with most of his other belongings. At heart, he was a nomad, and his feet got itchy if he stayed in one place for longer than a few months. Emmy was the only person he’d considered putting down roots for, and when that didn’t work out, he’d gone back to his transient ways. Here one week, gone the next. At some point, he’d rent another house for a while, but where? Florida was too hot in the summer.
Before he could consider his options any further, Emmy’s phone rang with Bryan Adams’s “Black Pearl.” Alaric had taken her to one of Adams’s concerts a lifetime ago, and she’d danced along to the track next to him, far more relaxed than she was nowadays. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was calling.
But she surprised him by cursing.
“Bad timing?”
“Nope. Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m pissed. Eight thirty in the evening? Black’s checking I’m not having a cosy dinner with you. Trust me—I know him.”
Checking up? That sounded like the asshole’s MO. But Emmy would never cheat, and Alaric would never put her in a position where she might be tempted to do so. He liked her too much to ruin her relationship. Maybe even loved her still. No, he’d never hurt her, but he’d be damned if he lost her as a friend just because Black decided to throw his considerable weight around.
“You gonna answer?”
“He can wait. Okay, this asshole’s breathing on his own now, and his pulse is stronger.”
A siren sounded in the distance, quickly drowning the music out as it drew closer. It wasn’t long before footsteps thundered up the stairs. Sky burst in first.
“How is he? Is he…? Is he…?”
“He’s alive.” Emmy straightened, allowing the EMTs room to work. “He had four hundred micrograms of naloxone at eight thirty-two, followed by one shock. Pulse and respiration appear to have stabilised now. We found him unconscious, and we don’t know exactly what he’s taken or how much, but…” She waved a hand at the drug paraphernalia littering the room. “Opiates of some kind seemed like a fair bet.”
This morning, even after the altercation with Emmy, Sky had been full of confidence, verging on cocky, but now she looked lost. Bewildered. This was a reminder that she was still a child, albeit fast approaching adulthood.
“Are you planning to take her back to Albany House tonight?” Alaric quietly asked Emmy. “Because if not, I’ll find her somewhere to stay.”
“Too damn right I am. This place is a shithole. I’ve lived in worse, but not by much, and it’s fucking terrifying going to sleep because you never know what you’ll wake up to. Can you help her to pack while I clear this kit up? Watch out for needles.”
“What shall I tell her to bring?”
“Anything she wants to keep. She’s not coming back here. Not ever again.”
CHAPTER 17 - SKY
AWAKE OR ASLEEP? It was hard to decide, and for five minutes, maybe ten, I just lay on the most comfortable bed I’d ever set my ass on and stared at the ceiling high above me. Last night had been the worst of my life, more awful even than being raped and left for dead myself. A sob welled up in my throat just from thinking about the past. Usually, I managed to block out the pain, but that jump out the window yesterday had shaken loose all sorts of emotions I didn’t want to feel.
And then Lenny… It was the closest I’d come to losing him, and the scariest part was that I had no idea how to stop him from doing it again. If Alaric and Emmy hadn’t been around… I didn’t have an outfit suitable to wear at a funeral. And I certainly didn’t have a defibrillator or a bag full of magic drugs.
At the hospital, Lenny had needed another dose of naloxone—the doctors had explained the effects were only temporary, and once it wore off, Lenny could keep overdosing until the drugs worked their way out of his system. I’d stayed with him until the early hours when he’d woken up and mumbled a string of half-assed apologies and the doctors said he was out of the woods. “Sorry, Sky” really didn’t cut it, not this time, but I couldn’t bring myself to yell at him. Not to mention I’d probably have got myself kicked out of the hospital if I’d given him a piece of my mind the way I wa
nted to.
And now? Now I was back at Emmy’s house, and much as I wanted to hate being there, I also didn’t want to leave. The fridge was full of food, and I didn’t have to worry about waking up and finding a stranger standing over me. If I hadn’t been so stressed over Lenny, I could’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep for the rest of the day, but I needed to know how he was, and also work out what was next for us. When Alaric started shoving my belongings into bin bags yesterday, I’d been too stressed to pay much attention, but did that mean he’d try to stop me from going back to the pub? Because where the hell else did he think I was going to live? I couldn’t afford rent in London, and I also had to find a new job, one where I could keep a better eye on Lenny. Some companies allowed pets, or so I’d heard. I needed one that would let me bring my damn brother to work.
I rolled over, found the number for St. Thomas’s and dialled, then did my best to sound polite when a woman answered.
“Hello? Can you tell me how Lennon Powell is?”
Alive, upset, and going into withdrawal was the verdict. Shit. Why had he gone back to the junk? The drink and the pot I could handle, but not heroin.
Dammit, Lenny. Every time I thought I was coping, things went tits-up again.
What was the time? Ten o’clock, and with Lenny staying overnight at the hospital again, I could at least get out and earn some money. Move my stuff back to the pub, run an errand or two for Digger, then head to Harlequin’s. Schoolwork would have to wait.
My room came with its own bathroom, like a hotel, and I stood under the hot water until my fingers went pruney. Then I pulled on my grubby clothes, which spoiled the feeling of being clean, and ventured off to find Alaric. And Emmy. I needed to thank them, both of them, even if the words might stick in my throat when it came to the latter.
Last night, I’d memorised my way from the hallway to my bedroom, and now I reversed the route. Turn right, go around the corner, head down two flights of stairs, follow the corridor to the left, walk through the door by the painting of a horse, and there I was, back in the art gallery. I stared up at the Picasso again. I’d only ever seen stuff like that on the telly, and although the picture was all wonky, it was also kind of impressive to be standing in front of something a hundred years old that still looked so fresh.
The house was quiet, insulated from the sounds of traffic on the road outside. I couldn’t ever remember experiencing that kind of silence in London. Even in the middle of the night, there was usually some idiot yelling or slamming a door. Was I alone? It felt like I was alone. But then I caught the merest whiff of bacon and figured someone was cooking. Not Emmy, apparently.
But she was the only person in the kitchen when I finally found it again, sitting at the table with a plate of crumbs and a laptop in front of her.
“Morning. Hungry?”
Always. “Is there any food?”
“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, or Ruth’s left bacon in the oven.”
“Where’s Alaric?”
“Out. He’s gone to talk to people about Hegler.”
“Do you know where he put my stuff?” He also owed me money, but I wasn’t sure how to ask for it after everything they’d done last night.
“Yes.”
“Can I have it back?”
“Later. I want to talk to you first.”
“Then can you hurry up? I’ve got things to do.”
“Get some food.”
I’m not hungry anymore. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, my annoyance at being ordered around warring with my need to eat. In the end, hunger won. How long since I’d had a proper bacon sandwich? Months. The pub didn’t have a working kitchen, just a now-defunct microwave. It only had electricity at all because Tyson had found a way to wire us into next door’s supply. He was good at stuff like that. If he’d had actual qualifications, he could’ve made good money, but since he was an ex-con, nobody would employ him, so he made cash rewiring cannabis farms instead.
I found four types of bread in the fridge, along with ketchup, HP Sauce, and two kinds of orange juice. Emmy stayed seated, but even without looking, I felt her gaze burning into me as I moved around the kitchen. Talk about uncomfortable. The intensity could melt steel.
Finally, I took a seat opposite her, and sauce squished out the other end of my sandwich as I bit into it, splattering onto the white china plate.
“Where’s my stuff?”
“GCSE maths?”
“You went through my things? Don’t you understand the concept of privacy?”
“The bottom of the bag split and your textbook fell out.” Oh. “Having said that, I did take the liberty of running a quick background check. You’ve stayed out of trouble with the police. Fuck knows how.”
That bitch.
“I never did anything illegal until yesterday.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you want? Look, thanks for saving Lenny and all that, but I just need to get out of here.”
“What do I want?” She pushed the laptop to the side and watched me, elbows propped on the table. Yep, intense. Don’t squirm, Sky. “What I want is to make you an offer.”
“Huh?”
“I want to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“You remind me very much of myself eighteen years ago.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I sat opposite a man with a broken nose, and he made me a similar offer. I’ll adjust for inflation, of course.”
What was she talking about?
“You’ve got a lot of potential, Sky, and I don’t think you realise quite how much. Come and work for me for six months. Let me train you. At the end of that period, either one of us can terminate the contract if it isn’t working out, and I’ll pay you three hundred grand either way.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Three hundred thousand pounds for six months of your life.” Was she for real? “And I’ll also pay for Lenny to go to rehab. My assistant tells me the Abbey Clinic’s the best place in London. Lenny’s an addict, Sky, and with the best will in the world, you can’t fix him by yourself.”
Didn’t I know it? I’d tried and failed. And I knew all about the Abbey Clinic too. It cost over two grand a week, and you couldn’t even get an appointment without connections.
“Why me? I don’t have a single qualification, and my work experience is basically shady shit and serving shots to drunk people.”
“It’s the shady shit that interests me. And you also have other qualities.” She ticked off points on her fingers. “You’re loyal. You take care of Lenny no matter how many problems he causes. Plus you have a conscience. In Richmond, you could’ve walked off into the sunset, yet you came back. And you’re driven. Why else would you be pushing yourself to do schoolwork and keeping so fit in your spare time? You’ve got gifts, and I want to exploit them.”
At least she was honest about the exploitation part. But even so… “Three hundred grand? Are you crazy?”
“If it works out the way I hope it will, it’ll be the best money I’ve ever spent.”
This was insane. I stared down at my rapidly cooling sandwich and found I suddenly had lost my appetite.
“What would I have to do?”
“Learn. You’d be taught everything from diving to flying to shooting to fight skills to languages to trigonometry. I’m assuming we could skip the parkour and the pickpocketing lessons?”
I managed a nod.
“Lock-picking too?”
“I can do the basics.”
“Good. You’d be expected to maintain an excellent level of fitness, and discipline is key. Some days, it’ll feel like you’re being asked to do the impossible, but you’ll dig deep and do it anyway. You’ll be tested in every way you can possibly think of. It’ll hurt, mentally and physically. And then there are the soft skills. You’d have to learn to deal with people, which might be the hardest part for you.”
“Gee, thanks. You’
re not exactly selling the job. Apart from money, why exactly would I agree to this?”
“Because if you make the grade, in a year or two, you’ll be able to do any fucking thing you want.”
“How do you know?”
She just smiled at me. And then I understood.
“You want me to be your sidekick?”
“No, I want you to be my replacement. I’ve got a few years left in me yet, but nobody can do this job forever.”
“And what exactly is your job?”
“I fix problems that other people can’t. There are small groups of people fighting behind the scenes to keep the world on an even keel, and I lead one of them.”
“Fix problems? How?”
“By whatever means necessary.”
I thought back to the shooting she’d mentioned. Surely not? “But you don’t kill people, right?” I asked, just to check.
Again, she smiled.
Holy shit.
“I’m not sure…”
“Believe it or not, I have a conscience. So do you, and I won’t ever stop you from following it. Take some time to consider things, okay? This isn’t the kind of decision you make lightly.”
“Would I have to work at that office in King’s Cross?”
“No, you’d have to move to Richmond. As in Richmond, Virginia, not Richmond, London. That’s where I’m based now. There’d be some travel involved.”
Travel? I’d never even left London before. The closest I’d got to a holiday came six years ago when Lenny had still been clean and mostly sober. In the middle of a mini-heatwave, he’d snuck me out of my foster home and we’d caught the Tube to Hyde Park, then sunbathed and stuffed ourselves with ice cream by the Serpentine for the whole day. I’d got a bollocking when I arrived back home, but it’d been worth it. It was another of the memories that stopped me from abandoning Lenny. Those brief moments of respite he’d brought me on gloomy days.
“What if I say no? I’ll be on my own?”