Alex Verus Novels, Books 1-4 (9780698175952) (130 page)

Shireen nodded and we stood for a while in silence. “All right,” I said at last. “What do you want, Shireen? You said that after I'd seen all of this, there was something you were going to ask from me. What is it?”

“I want you to help Rachel,” Shireen said. “Redeem her.”

I stared at Shireen. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Shireen shook her head.

“You want me to do what? Save her soul?”

“Something like that.”

“I thought you didn't believe in that stuff?”

“When you've been a disembodied soul in someone else's body for ten years it changes your attitudes a bit.”

“She killed you!”

“I still love her,” Shireen said simply. “She was my best friend and I never stopped caring about her, even after everything. I know what she did but you haven't seen how much she's suffered for it. Besides, if anyone's got the right to decide whether she deserves to be forgiven, don't you think it should be me?”

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. “Will you help me?” Shireen asked.

“Shireen . . .” I dropped into my chair and covered my eyes, resting my head in one hand. “What do you expect me to do? You said it yourself, she hates me. And that was
before
she saw me spying on her. Now she's moved me up to ‘kill on sight.'”

“I don't think she'll try to kill you,” Shireen said. “Not again.”

I stared at Shireen. “Are you serious?”

“She's never actually tried to kill you before,” Shireen said. “Not really. The only reason she did this time was . . . well, she lost control a bit.”

“A
bit
?”

Shireen clasped her hands and gave me a hopeful look. “I'm pretty sure I can talk her around for next time.”

“Have you considered,” I said carefully, “that hanging around in Rachel's head for ten years might have messed up your standards a little?”

“Maybe,” Shireen said. “But this is what I want. I'm not changing my mind on this one, Alex. If you want me to keep helping you, this is the price.”

I looked at Shireen for a long time. “You know there's no guarantee she's going to listen to me,” I said at last. “Or anyone. If she makes a decision I can't stop her.”

“I know.”

I stayed silent for a little while then shook my head. “I can't promise anything,” I said at last. “Not yet. I understand why you want this, but . . . Look, tell me something. How the
hell
did Rachel find me?”

“She's always been able to,” Shireen said. “Didn't you notice?”

I started to answer, then stopped. When I'd seen Rachel last year at the British Museum I'd been in the shadows wearing my mist cloak. Rachel's two companions, Cinder and Khazad, hadn't noticed a thing . . . but Rachel had. She hadn't found me but it had been close, and every time since then that I'd spied on her the same thing had happened. “Why?” I said.

“Do you remember the first time you went to Elsewhere?” Shireen said. “The very first time?”

“Yeah.” It had been Richard who'd shown us how to do it. The four of us had travelled there together—me, Shireen, Tobruk, and Rachel. It had been a memorable trip.

“When you go to Elsewhere with another person, it leaves a connection,” Shireen said. “I think when Rachel Harvested me something happened that strengthened that somehow. She can sense you and you can sense her.”

“I'm not sure I can.”

“Last autumn, when you were working for Belthas,” Shireen said. “You found Rachel and Cinder just by walking around London. Didn't you ever wonder why that worked?”

I hadn't, not until Shireen mentioned it. “So she can find me through my mist cloak?”

“The cloak makes it harder,” Shireen said. “I think the reason she could do it was that you were actually in her memories. It intensified the connection, at least for a little while. She must have traced the link.”

“Then don't take this personally,” I said, “but I'm never doing anything like that again.”

“I understand.”

We stood in silence for a while, listening to the buzz of conversation, then I shook my head, pulling my thoughts back to the present. “So all of this was for nothing. Catherine was dead all along and there's nothing that'll stop Will from coming after me.”

“You know the truth now.”

“And you couldn't have just told me?” I looked at Shireen. “You knew what had happened to Catherine. You could have told me I was wasting my time.”

“You think learning how I died is a waste of time?” Shireen said quietly. She didn't raise her voice, but her eyes sparked and something in them made me want to draw back. “You don't think what happens to me and Rachel is important? I've helped you every time you've needed it. You think that's all I'm here for, doing you favours and then disappearing when you don't need me? I might be just a shadow but I'm not your slave. You don't have the right to tell me what to do.”

I looked away, feeling a flash of shame. “I'm sorry,” I said at last. “That wasn't what I meant. But Will and the Nightstalkers are still out there and they're still after me. I know that for you this is the most important thing in the world, but you don't have to worry about getting killed in your sleep.”

“This is more important than Will and the Nightstalkers,” Shireen said, and her voice was utterly certain. “They're a short-term problem.”

“Short-term?”

“You've faced worse,” Shireen said. “So has Rachel. They're not going to be around in the long term but she will be. You needed to know this, you needed to see it, so that you understood. And yes, it was dangerous, but I'm not sorry for doing it. It was worth the risk.”

Easy for you to say,
I thought, but didn't say it out loud. For the first time since meeting Shireen's shade, I felt I was starting to understand her. She had her own priorities and to me they might seem crazy, but from her point of view they made sense and now that I had some idea of what they were I could deal with her. It wasn't like it was the first time I'd had to work with someone with a skewed point of view . . . and somewhere at the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder if our points of view might not be so different after all. “Anything you can do to help?”

“I can't fight for you,” Shireen said. “Not in your world. But there's a place I can show you. You won't enjoy it but it might help you find something you've been looking for for a long time.”

chapter
12

I
came awake to realise someone was talking. Just the knowledge that I wasn't alone sent a spike of fear and adrenaline through my system, and in an instant I was fully alert. I could smell stale air and unwashed clothes, and from the shuffling of footsteps I could tell there was another person near me. Without moving any other part of my body, I opened my eyes.

There was a man standing a few feet away. He wore an ancient stained greatcoat over dirty torn clothes, and from his smell neither he nor his clothes had had a wash in a long time. Straggly grey hair framed bleary eyes and a face prematurely aged. “—you doing here?” he was saying. “Huh? What you doing here?”

I stared back at him, motionless. “This is mine,” he said. “You don't get to sleep here, see? It's mine. What you doing here?” When I didn't answer he took a step forward, his voice gaining a little confidence. “My mates are coming back. They're going to be angry. This is mine, see? You shouldn't be here.” His manner was halfway between pleading and threatening, and when I still didn't answer it began to edge towards threatening. “You know who I am? I know people, I do. No one messes with me.” He took another step, moving to poke me with his foot. “You—”

I caught his ankle with my left hand as my right came out from under my cloak in a flash of steel. Before the man could react I had my knife pressed against his leg, the point digging through his trousers towards the upper thigh, where the femoral artery runs close to the skin. He tried to jerk away but I clung on and he nearly fell backwards. “Hey man!” he said, his voice squeaking suddenly. “Why—”

I hissed at him, showing my teeth, and his eyes went wide in fear. He tried to pull away, but I dug the knife in deeper and he froze. I held his eyes for a slow count of five then let him go suddenly. He scrambled back to the door. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said, trying to hold up his dignity. “This is mine, see? You shouldn't . . .”

I stared at the man without blinking and he trailed off, then backed away into the shadows. I lay still, following his movement through the futures as he clattered his way down the stairs. Once I was satisfied he was gone I got up.

I'd slept through the day, and yellow-gold light was shining through the newspaper covering the grimy windows. For some reason the afternoon felt shadowed and dark, even through the sunlight; I tried peeling back the newspaper to get a better idea of the time, but the light stung my eyes. I drew back into the shadows, waiting for darkness.

I'd been out of contact and I knew I ought to be checking in, but I felt a strange reluctance to talk to anyone; it felt as though it could be dangerous. Miserable as it was, the abandoned pub was safe, and in the end I stayed there for hours, while the sun set and the sky turned from blue to purple to grey. Only after night had fallen did I leave, and even then it was only hunger that forced me from the building. There was a cluster of shops at the end of the road but I didn't want to draw the attention of shopkeepers; the summer night was too busy and it made me nervous. Clusters of men and women passed by in the darkness, and it felt as though all of them were looking at me. It was too much and I turned down a small residential street, used my divination magic to find an empty house, and broke in through the back door.

Once I'd stolen a makeshift meal from the kitchen, I finally took out my phone. As soon as I placed it on the kitchen table and thumbed the button the screen lit up with a dozen messages. My mist cloak really messes up incoming signals—usually I don't wear it long enough for it to matter, but by now I'd been wearing it for more than a day straight. Most of the messages were from Luna and Anne and at a glance they sounded worried, but I didn't want to answer them. The last message was from Caldera and it asked me to call her back as soon as possible. I touched the screen to return the call and sat in one of the kitchen chairs, waiting. Caldera answered on the fourth ring.

One of the dubious privileges of being a diviner is never having to wait for bad news. Usually conversation is unpredictable—there's too much randomness and free will to see more than a few seconds ahead. But when someone's already decided what they're going to tell you, then every possible conversation goes the same way. The only question is how long it'll take to get to the point. “Verus,” Caldera said.

There was a new note in Caldera's voice, one I hadn't heard before. She sounded . . . subdued. “Feeling better?” I said.

“What? Oh.” Caldera brushed it off. “I'm fine. You?”

“I'm alive,” I said. I didn't really want to talk. “So?”

Caldera didn't answer. “You said you were taking this to the Council,” I said. “You said to stay out of it and keep my head down.”

“Yeah,” Caldera said after a pause. She didn't sound happy, and in a sudden flash of insight I wondered how often she had to do this in her job. Give bad news and then walk away . . .

“So?”

“I filed my report yesterday. It had a full account of our encounter with Will and the Nightstalkers and their attack. I recommended the Nightstalkers be brought in for violation of the Concord.” She paused again. “I got the reply back this evening.”

I listened silently. “It's been kicked upstairs,” Caldera said. “There's a Council committee scheduled to look into it.”

“Did they give you a reason?”

“I had some questions about the decision,” Caldera said. From her tone of voice it sounded like it had been more than that. “They said . . .” She hesitated. “They've decided the Nightstalkers aren't an immediate threat to the Council or to Light or independent mages.”

I was silent. “I see,” I said at last.

“I put in a request for a task force. I haven't had an answer.”

“Weren't you in the middle of investigating Richard when the Nightstalkers tried to kill you?” I said. “You know, the ones who ‘aren't an immediate threat'?”

Caldera was silent for a moment. “I've been taken off the Richard Drakh case,” she said. “I'm on medical leave.”

“Medical leave.”

“I didn't request it.”

“Thought you said you were fine.”

Caldera didn't answer.

“Don't suppose you know where these orders of yours come from, do you?” I said.

“I'm not authorised—”

“Don't worry, I can guess. From the Council, right?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Does it matter? It's not like you were going to do anything about it.”

Caldera was silent again. I'd expected her to snap at me, but she didn't. In a way it actually made it worse; I wanted her to get angry so I could yell at her. “There's a mage on the Council called Levistus,” I said. “I don't have any proof, but this is his style. No risk, no involvement. He never gets his hands dirty, he just gives the orders and stays at a distance.”

“I'm sorry,” Caldera said.

A part of me wanted to shout at Caldera, blame her for all the Council's hypocrisies. Whoever had given Caldera those orders must have known that the Nightstalkers were out for blood. The Council had a thousand times the resources of Will's group—they could crush them without even trying. But they weren't going to, even after the Nightstalkers had blatantly violated the Concord, because the Council only enforced the Concord when it suited them.

But an older, wiser part of me knew that it wasn't Caldera's fault. And deep down, had I ever really expected anything different? The Council has never helped me before and I'd never really believed that they'd start now. If I was going to live through this it would be because of myself and my friends, and nobody else. “Forget it,” I said. “You have to follow your orders.”

“What are you going to do?” Caldera asked.

I thought about it for a second. “I don't know,” I said at last. “Good-bye, Caldera.” I hung up before she could reply.

* * *

T
hat night seemed to last a long time.

I didn't have any appointments to keep and for now at least I'd lost my pursuers. I was free to go wherever I wanted—except that I couldn't think of anywhere to go. For the first time in years, I didn't know what to do.

Ever since Will had attacked me in the casino I'd been trying to figure out a way to end this. I'd tried talking to the Nightstalkers and I'd tried fighting them and I'd tried running from them. I'd tried searching Rachel's memories for the truth, and I'd tried relying on Caldera to fix things for me. And every single one had been a failure. Things weren't any better than they had been at the start—if anything they were worse. I'd nearly been killed half a dozen times, and the only reason I was still alive was that my friends had put themselves at risk to save me. Anne and Variam and Luna and Sonder had been in danger and were still in danger, and it was because of me.

I know I come off as arrogant sometimes. When you can see the future it's easy to pretend you know everything, and to other people it probably looks like I do. But being able to see the future doesn't make you any smarter or wiser than anyone else, and it doesn't stop you making stupid mistakes. It lets you know what a problem is and how big the problem is, but it doesn't give you the power to do anything about it. When it comes down to it, the reason I act all-knowing isn't because I think I know everything. It's because I know I
don't
, and I'm desperately trying to stop my enemies from figuring that out. And if you keep up an act to fool other people, sometimes you end up fooling yourself as well.

But now I couldn't pretend anymore. Everything I'd tried had been a failure, and I'd lost my confidence. If I tried to do something else, I felt like I'd just screw that up too. Worst of all, there was a nagging voice at the back of my head wondering whether this was what I deserved. Will had been right all along: I
had
killed his sister, it had just been Rachel who'd delivered the final blow. I knew I was leaving Anne and Luna and Variam in the dark, but I couldn't face talking to them, not now. Instead I just walked, flitting from shadow to shadow through the London night. Eventually I realised where my feet were taking me.

* * *

T
he cemetery was in Camberwell, tucked away behind an old church with a faded sign. Black iron spike railings surrounded it from the outside, and trees were planted around the edges, giving it a sheltered, shut-in feel. The gates were locked and I had to climb them to get in.

The inside of the cemetery was quiet and empty. The nearest main road was two streets away and the trees had a muffling effect, silencing the area so that the loudest sounds were the echoes of my footsteps around the tombstones. I suppose most people would have found it creepy, but I've never really been scared of cemeteries. It's living people I'm afraid of, not dead ones.

The headstone was small, and it took me a long time to find it amongst all the others. It had once been white, but wind and rain had darkened it to grey. Flicking on my flashlight, I crouched down in front of it. The inscription read:

CATHERINE HELENA TRAVISS

1984–2002

BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART,

FOR THEY SHALL SEE GOD

Two larger headstones were set a little way behind it. I didn't read them: I knew who they were for. I sat cross-legged on the grass and stared at the small headstone. The cemetery was dark and silent, and any wind was kept out by the trees. I was alone with the dead.

Catherine's body wasn't here. Shireen had told me that. Rachel had been the one who'd killed her, and Rachel hadn't been concerned about funeral rites . . . or maybe she just didn't want anything left to remind her of what she'd done. She'd disintegrated the bodies and left the dust to blow away. But at some point someone had found out what had happened, learnt that Catherine was dead, and cared enough to leave a headstone, and I wondered who it had been. Will, maybe? But he would have been in America. Maybe some other relation—a cousin, an aunt or uncle. Everybody has someone who'll miss them, even if it's just to notice they're gone.

“So this is where it ends,” I said. My voice sounded very loud in the quiet of the cemetery. “All this time, you were just waiting here . . . I wonder how many people still remember this grave? You must have had people who cared about you, but it's been ten years. They'll have gone on with their lives.” I was silent for a little while. “Maybe I'll end up in a place like this someday. Just a little headstone, and a few people who'll forget . . .”

A train passed by along the railway lines one street over, the rumble of its wheels echoing over the rooftops. “I'm sorry I screwed things up,” I said. “I wanted to save you, but the only person I saved was myself. I just ran and I didn't go back. All this time I've been trying to forget what I did, but now your brother's here and he's trying to kill me for it. What do
you
want? If you were here, would you tell Will to go away and live his own life? Or would you tell him that he was right, and I deserve it . . . ?”

There was no sound but the wind in the trees. Shireen might have stayed on after her death—or at least some part of her had—but Catherine wasn't Shireen. Wherever she'd gone, either she couldn't hear me or she wasn't answering.

I sat by the grave for a long time, then got to my feet and left, leaving the cemetery empty behind me.

* * *

M
y memories of the rest of that night are fuzzy. I know I kept moving, but I don't remember where I went or how. Most of the other people in the city were asleep and the few I met on the streets seemed to blur past without seeing me. I didn't know where I was going and wandered aimlessly through the London night. The streetlights hurt my eyes, and I found myself sticking to parks and back streets where I could merge with the shadows. I felt strange: hyped and on edge, yet thin and stretched. I felt tired but my movements were quick and I could sense the presence of the people nearby. It seemed to be getting easier and easier to hide from them.