A Crack in Everything (6 page)

It was beautiful, and terrible, because in that beauty was
the constant reminder that none of this should be here. And neither should she.

And then there was a light.

Izzy came to a halt as if she had slammed into a wall made of glass. Dylan swore, his arm lashing out in front of her to stop her if she continued. Mari and Clodagh crashed into them from behind.

‘Where the hell are we?' Marianne peered past them. ‘It's weird here.' She lifted her shoe, examined the sole. ‘Ugh, God.'

A wrought iron Victorian gas-lamp hung over an open doorway, only it had been wired for electricity at some point. Wired poorly. The blub flickered and faded to brown, offering a stuttering illumination. The door beneath it was like a hole into darkness, the top curved in the same manner as the arched sign overhead. Rainbows had long ago been painted along the edges but the paint had faded and flaked away like old dry skin. She could still see the remains of the pattern though, like an after-image on the inside of closed eyelids.

The words had faded too, but once, judging by their edges and the flaked residue around them, they'd been made of gold – ‘
The Hollow
'.

An inner door opened and the music spilled out louder into the night, its rhythm harder now, more insistent, but less compelling. As if it knew they were there now, as if it didn't have to call any more. It was more of an enticement, perhaps a flirtation.

Izzy swallowed hard. They would follow the music. That
was inevitable. The music called. Dylan felt it too. She knew it. He stood beside her, her best friend, and she reached out her hand, fumbling as her fingers closed on his sleeve.

A tall figure emerged from the darkness inside, lean and hard, piercings studding his face and ears catching the light. Izzy's mouth dropped open. For a split second until she blinked he didn't look … human. Just as Jinx hadn't.

But she'd imagined that, hadn't she?

‘Oh, for the love of God.' Marianne pushed by Izzy and Dylan. ‘You've got us here now.' She made directly for the door, her most confident air radiating from her. And no one could look like she belonged anywhere so well as Marianne. ‘Hi!'

The doorman studied her approach with eyes just a touch too dark for anyone Izzy had ever seen.

‘Mari—' Instinct thrummed at the base of Izzy's brain. Something dangerous, something other. The back of her neck had gone icy cold. She just wanted to run. ‘Mari, maybe we should just go and—'

Not to be outdone – especially not in front of Dylan – Clodagh tottered across to join Mari at the door, smiling her brightest, most vacant smile. Izzy glanced at Dylan. His eyes were closed as he listened to the music, transfixed, like a prince in a fairytale ensnared by a spell. Maybe she was the only one who didn't feel called anymore. She felt warned. The same warning she'd felt back in the house. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

‘Who's playing?' Dylan asked. Though his voice was soft, it carried in the night air. He sounded like he was high as a kite, which was impossible. Dylan didn't mess around with any of that. But he sounded it.

The doorman gave a brief laugh. ‘Silver and her band. Same as ever.' He nodded at the door. ‘Go on in then, if that's why you're here. Anything like a weapon on you?'

‘Only my looks.' Mari's laugh was bright as a bell, but the doorman didn't return it. Izzy couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to offer them something so they didn't go in there unarmed.

‘
Walk away. This place is dangerous
.' The shock of the sudden whisper from nowhere sent her stumbling forwards, against her will, through the doorway, the music twisting around her again.

But Dylan had already gone inside. Dylan, Mari and Clodagh.

She could hardly let them go in without her, not when everything in her was certain that this way led to answers. Pushing aside a heavy velvet curtain, she stepped into the heaving noise of the nightclub.

Chapter Six

In Silver's Hollow

T
he decor ran from baroque to Goth, and the music filled the air, driving, thrilling, working its way inside Izzy's body until it married with her heart. She passed by a couple of riotous groups who looked like nothing she'd ever seen. Metal, leather, velvet, brocade – from the
sumptuous
to the barbaric seethed around her, coupled with laughter and the excited chatter of people celebrating. She couldn't see the band, though the music was all-encompassing. The rhythm pounded through her, through everyone. It drowned out voices, real and imaginary, which right now was a blessed relief. Chambers spread out like another maze, intimate spaces and huge rooms. She followed Mari's confident march through the strange club, wondering what sort of fetishist group they'd just stumbled upon. The mark at the back of her neck was tingling again. Not uncomfortable. Just
there
. Almost as if it
too was worried, or at least aware.

‘Bar!' Mari pointed wildly to the left and mimed knocking back a drink. Izzy just nodded and looked around for Dylan. She caught sight of him on the far side of a knot of women who could have wandered straight out of a music video, heading for the next room. She pointed towards him, looking for Clodagh and Mari, but they'd already gone.

And like that they had separated.

Genius
, she told herself.
Not only are you here on your own, now they are too
. Cursing under her breath, she headed after Dylan, hoping that the girls would find them.

Worst mistake ever. She had to force herself through a heaving crowd on the other side of the inner doorway. Dancing, allegedly, but it was closer to some kind of orgy. All she could see were bodies, writhing, grinding against each other. The music swept over them and they moved with it – eyes closed, faces lifted as if in worship, mesmerised.

It was all screaming guitars and penetrating drums – the type of music that reached inside your cold, still heart, administered electro-shock and dragged you onto the dance floor to writhe and gyrate like a pagan. It was the type of music people got lost in and Dylan was no different. He stood amid the dancers, untouched and untouchable, watching the stage where a woman with impossibly long white-blonde hair dominated the performance. Her voice rose over the music, high and glorious, the sound like magic itself.

The singer reached the end of the verse and a guitar solo
kicked in, notes wrung out of the instrument like nothing she had ever heard before. Izzy knew her music, the commercial bands at least and a good amount of alternative stuff too. Up-and-coming, underground, garage, whatever. Nothing compared. Even the classic rock stuff her dad obsessed on about – Clapton, Gallagher, Hendrix … Jesus, only a few of them. The guitar sang as beautifully as the woman. It reached into her heart and made it pulse with a new rhythm.

And then she saw him, Jinx. The guitar resonated for him, his long and elegant hands coaxing out those lush notes. No wonder talk of bands like Denzion had not impressed him. He left them in the dust.

Izzy pushed her way towards the stage, drawn by the music, lured there by the musician creating it. She'd never imagined Jinx could make music like that.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her and the mark on her neck flared so sharply she gave a yelp of pain.

Two figures loomed over her, almost identical mirror images, patched with black and white. Their beady eyes fixed on her and something malicious seeped into their smiles. They wore black leather coats over snow-white shirts and their hair was just as slick and dark. The effect was seamless.

‘
Magpies
,' her mind filled in for her, and she couldn't shake the irrational thought. Or the fear it engendered. Fear of them eclipsed the fear of the voice in her mind. She couldn't focus on that. Hearing voices was a really bad sign. Listening to them was even worse! She knew magpies, knew their vicious
ways and petty cruelty. They haunted the estate where she lived, terrorising cats and dogs, a plague to smaller birds.

‘We're going to take a little break,' the singer's compelling voice flowed around the room, ‘but we'll be with you again shortly. Don't go anywhere.' She sounded either amused or bored, or maybe an equal part of both.

Music kicked in on the soundsystem, a pale imitation of music in comparison to what had filled the club before.

The thoughts dawdled through the inner labyrinth of her mind, there, but hardly important, not when facing these two.

‘Maybe we should take a break ourselves, love.' The
right-hand
one leaned towards her and Izzy shied away from him.

The left one's smile thinned out, but didn't fade for a moment. ‘I don't think she likes you, brother. I think maybe she's more my type.'

She tried to take a step backwards and collided with something like a brick wall. Only it was warm. It was a body.

‘I think she has more taste than to choose either of you.' Jinx's voice rippled through her and around her. In a moment she felt safe again. Impossibly, perfectly safe. Even though all reason told her she shouldn't.

The mark on her neck throbbed. Not with pain this time, nor with the cold. Warm and wicked, like a surge of joy repeating and repeating, a lick of flame deep in her abdomen.

The twins' smiles evaporated.

‘Ah, come on, Jinx boy. That's no way to play.'

‘Silver's rules.' He didn't touch her, but she could feel him
right behind her, as clearly as if his body was pressed against hers. His body heat seemed to reach out and caress her. ‘No one messes with anyone unwilling on the premises. You know the score. Break them and you're never coming in here again. That is, if you manage to get out.'

The left one shrugged and then nodded to the bar. The right one gave one final leer at Izzy and then they both strode away through the crowd. It seemed to part for them, as if no one wanted to get in their way. Hell, no one wanted to get close enough to get in their way.

‘Magpies,' Jinx muttered in the same tone as he might use to describe shit. Izzy turned, a smile spreading over her mouth. A smile that froze when she caught sight of the ferocity of his glare. ‘How did you get in here?'

‘I just … I heard the music.'

His eyes narrowed to silver slits and before she knew what was happening he'd caught her arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her over to the side of the dance floor. The alcove was dark and secluded. She suddenly felt very exposed.

‘
Heard
the music? From where?'

She shook herself free of him. ‘Outside on the street, where the angel was. I wasn't the only one. Dylan heard it too. Mari and Clo followed us and they got us in past the bouncer, but …'

His handsome face twisted with confusion as the words tumbled out of her mouth. ‘You couldn't have heard the music, not from out there. Neither could— Where are your friends anyway?'

Good question. Dylan had been right in front of the stage. The girls hadn't returned from the bar yet. A sudden cold block of fear formed in her stomach and Izzy strained around, trying to catch a glimpse of them through the heaving mass of people. Hadn't this club ever heard of fire safety regs? Hadn't they—

‘Hey!' Jinx snapped his fingers in front of her face and she flinched so hard her head glanced off the wall. ‘What age are you?'

‘I need to go.' Her voice came out in a breathy rush. ‘I need to find them.'

‘Get away from him,'
the voice whispered. She closed her eyes, trying to push the errant thought away.
‘He's dangerous.'

‘You aren't going anywhere.'

Izzy ducked under his arm and sped across the room, sliding between bodies and twisting out of the way as others bore down on her. She wasn't even aware how she was doing it, but she moved with the innate ability of a small person in a big crowd to keep the hell out of the way.

And then she saw Dylan. He leaned nonchalantly against a wall, talking to the blonde singer from the band. The pose screamed ‘nothing's happening here', but his eyes were locked onto her face and his attention never wavered for a moment.

Izzy skidded to a halt and stared. The mark on her neck was icy cold now, the sensation she was starting to recognise as a warning.

‘Yeah,' said Clodagh, her voice impassive with suppressed
anger. ‘He's been doing that for ten minutes.' She handed Izzy a bottle of brightly coloured liquid. Izzy took a mouthful and almost spat it out. It was syrupy like boiled sweets and laced with vodka. She coughed violently and almost dropped it.

‘Jeez, way to do stylish, Izzy.' Marianne grinned at her, and Izzy felt her face heat. ‘Are you okay?'

‘We ought to go,' she wheezed out when she could speak again.

Marianne laughed. ‘Go? They didn't check ID, the drink is cheap and hey … hot guy checking you out back there.'

Izzy shuddered, not even risking a glance. She knew he was watching her, could feel it, and the thought frightened her. He wasn't going to help her. He'd protected her, sure, then and just now, but not through concern for her.

She wasn't even sure how she knew this, but she did, as surely as she knew her own name.

Jinx was dangerous.

‘More dangerous than you know.'

The voice came out of nowhere, a whisper, as if someone leaned over her shoulder. But, even as she turned around to face this new threat, she knew there was no one there. She'd heard it, clearly and vividly, and yet there was nothing there. She hadn't imagined it. And yet I couldn't be real.

Most worrying of all, even unreal it was still talking more sense than anyone else here.

‘Weren't you going somewhere? Meeting Dylan's band?' It was one last desperate plea, but both Mari and Clo barely
heard it. Or if they did they chose to ignore her. Nothing strange there. They might be her own age, but they weren't exactly what you could call friends. It wasn't like she was suddenly one of the cool kids. She'd got them to the club, but Mari had got them in.

‘I need some air,' she tried at last. Okay, so she couldn't leave them here. She'd get her head straight, try to work out what the hell was going on and then … she'd come back in and try to get them to leave.

The problem was the feeling that she would fail.

‘Well,
you're
new,' said the woman, shaking her
white-blonde
hair back over her shoulders. As Dylan stared at her she did a pirouette. ‘Finished? Or will I do another turn for you? I'm Silver, by the way. And you are?'

‘Dylan.' To his horror, Dylan felt his face heat. ‘I'm sorry.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why? I'm not.'

The music changed, a mix of plainchant, chords and a heavy rhythm, and the mood changed with it. Sexy, seductive, mysterious. But it was nothing like the music Silver had been making. It was just mortal, mundane.

‘I heard your music,' he blurted out. ‘From the street. So we followed it.'

The song on the speakers reached a bridge. The dancers undulated on the dance floor, moving closer, pairing off.
Silver leaned in towards him.

‘Did you now? You followed my music?'

‘Izzy and I did.' Izzy – he felt a small barb of panic. Where was she? Where were the girls? He was meant to be keeping an eye out for them. From the moment he'd stepped into the alley he hadn't given anyone but Silver and her music another thought. That wasn't like him.

‘And who's Izzy?'

Dylan scanned the crowd and then saw her, Silver's guitarist at her side. Body language said it all. He read the protective stance, the way she leaned into him. Those big eyes that didn't notice anything else in the room. Izzy was smitten. She'd never let just anyone stand that close. If Dylan tried to act so alpha around her he'd end up with a knee in his balls.

‘Ah,' Silver sighed. ‘The girl with Jinx.'