Drake (8 page)

I
couldn't face
Debbie after that. Not tonight, anyway. I'd have to go back in the morning, of course, to make nice to her and apologize again for not coming back for dinner. And to nick the stuff I'd need to do Wormwood's job, obviously. Sometimes I really am a shitbag, I know that. Honestly I do. I paid off the taxi and unlocked my door, and trudged up the stairs to my office.

Trixie was sitting in my swivel chair, her feet up on my desk and one of her awful cigarettes smouldering in her hand. She had jeans on again tonight, with high-heeled boots and a short white fur coat. I was so many shades of not in the fucking mood for her I hardly knew where to start.

“Piss off,” I said, for want of anything more eloquent to say.

She laughed. “Now now, that's not very nice is it,” she said. I noticed with a sudden sinking feeling that the door to my workroom was open. “I've been having a little chat with your friend in there.”

I took a quick look into the workroom. The Burned Man was still there of course, chained to the altar like it always was. Whatever Trixie might be, there was no getting it off that altar. It couldn't be done, simple as that. At least, I sincerely
hoped
it couldn't.

“Oh yeah?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “He's quite cross with you, you know.”

“It's an
it,
not a
he
,” I said, “and we get along just fine.”

“Ah, well,” she said, and tapped ash from her cigarette as she smiled at me. “You seemed to have neglected to tell him you'd retired. He's not terribly pleased about that, you know.”

“I've just un-retired again,” I said. “So you can bugger off now, can't you.”

Trixie frowned at me. “Un-retired? I'm sorry to hear that, Don,” she said, “and I'm afraid poor Debbie will be heartbroken to hear it.”

Right, that was it. That was just fucking
it
. Fuck subtlety, that obviously hadn't worked for long. I glared at her, and tugged my amulet out of the open neck of my shirt. Her eyes narrowed as I lifted it up in front of her, the pebble dangling from its thin leather thong.

“Get thee gone,” I said, putting my Will into the words. “Get thee gone from me and mine. I bind thee to stay away, from this moment hence.”

“Oh I don't think so,” she said. “You need me, Don. You need me more than you can possibly know.”

“I know one thing,” I said. “I know your true name. You didn't think I'd remember it did you, the state I was in, but I
never
forget a true name.”

“I don't believe you,” she said.

“I bind thee, Meselandrarasatrixiel,” I roared at her. I yanked the amulet off my neck and held it out at arm's length in front of me, thrusting it almost into her face. I forced my Will down my arm in a hot rush and into the amulet until it quivered with power in my hand. “Get thee gone from me and mine from this moment hence!”

“Oh you swine,” she said.

The sigils I had painted on the stone in my own blood flared with ruddy light as my Will flooded into them. Trixie winced like she'd just bitten into an unripe lemon.

I advanced on her, the amulet still held out in front of me.

“Go away, Meselandrarasatrixiel,” I said, slowly and clearly.

“Oww,” she protested. “That hurts!”

She dropped her cigarette on the floor, grabbed her handbag, and ran for the stairs. I heard the door bang shut behind her, and heaved a sigh of relief. I ground her smouldering cigarette out under the heel of my shoe before it could burn my flat down, and chanced another look into the workroom. The Burned Man was glaring savagely at me. It really, really did not look best pleased.

“Oi,” it called out. “I want a little word with you.”

I sighed and went in there.

“Look,” I said, “I can explain.”

“Explain?” it growled at me. “Explain me this, you wanker. Explain why the fuck I ever put all that time and effort into you. Explain what you're going to do to stay alive if you aren't working, and far more importantly explain how you're going to keep
me
alive. Explain to me, Drake, what the
hell
that bitch even is!”

“All right, all right,” I said. “It's all crap, OK? We fucked up the last time, you know we did. I… I felt bad, afterwards. I
still
feel bad, but Wormwood's got my balls in a vice and there's nothing I can do about it. No one's retiring around here, OK?”

“And the bitch?”

“Well,” I said, and pushed my hands back through my tangled hair. I needed a haircut, but then I usually did. “Well, shit, I was hoping you could tell
me
that.”

“She's not human,” it said at once. “Certainly not demonic. Not elemental, not fairie. Not angelic, obviously. Buggered if I know.”

“
Obviously
not angelic? Why obviously? They're not extinct are they?”

I must admit if I'd had to put a bet on what she was, that was probably where I'd have put my money. But then I'm shit at gambling.

“Might as well be,” the Burned Man said. “There hasn't been an angel on Earth for, oh, a good thousand years or so now. Anyway, her aura's wrong.”

“Oh I dunno, it's very white and shiny,” I said.

“Exactly,” it said. “You've never actually seen an angel before, have you?”

“Well of course not,” I said. “I'm not a thousand years old.”
For all that I might feel like it, some mornings.

“An angelic aura is sort of golden, kind of like the halos in medieval illuminations,” it said. “Nothing like hers, anyway. Not at all. That whiter-than-white crap is like what you'd fake if you wanted to
look
like an angel to a particularly thick magician who's never actually seen an angel before.”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh well that's wonderful. So she's not an angel after all. And I suppose you haven't been thinking obsessively about her for days then, in the same way I haven't?”

“Fuck off,” it muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I said fuck off,” it snapped. “I don't get out much, understand? Messing with people's heads doesn't make her an angel. Look, just forget about angels. They went away. And even before they went away, they didn't have shiny white auras, or a forty a day fag habit, or an arse like that. She's not an angel, OK?”

“OK,” I said, and shrugged. “So she's what?”

“This is where we came in,” it said. “I don't fucking know.”

“Succubus, maybe?” I said. “A particularly posh one?”

“Bollocks,” it said. “Before I was bound I had more succubi than you've had runs of bad luck, and I never found one like her. Anyway, they're still demonic and she's not that.”

I sighed. “Oh what the fuck does it matter?” I said. “I banished her, she's gone. Forget about her.”

“Yeah,” it said. “Shame though.”

“What is?”

“Arse like that,” it said. “It's a shame, is all.”

“Oh shut up,” I said. “We've got a job to do.”

I explained about the mark Wormwood had given me, and the Burned Man nodded and muttered to itself for a few minutes.

“Should be easy enough,” it said. “This is just some mundane business rival by the sounds of things, not a magician like Vincent and Danny were. It's no big deal in the great scheme of things.”

I winced at the mention of their names, and saw the child's face all over again.
I still feel bad
had to be the understatement of the decade but the Burned Man was hardly likely to understand the concept of guilt, or offer any semblance of sympathy even if it did. I might have been used to the Burned Man, I might have understood it and even enjoyed bullshitting with it sometimes, but I never let myself forget what it really was.

“So?” I asked it. “What's the shopping list?”

“Nicking list,” it corrected, “unless you want Debs putting deadly nightshade in your coffee.”

I flushed with shame, but nodded. It was absolutely right, of course. There was no way I could admit to Debbie that I had just rolled over for Wormwood and gone right back into business again. I could hardly even admit it to myself if I'm honest, but there you are.

“Yeah whatever,” I said. “Go on then.”

It sniggered. “Iron filings, obviously, but I assume you've still got enough of them. A couple more toads, an ounce of graveyard dirt, and a pinch of powdered mandrake.”

“Right,” I said, nodding.

At least it wasn't anything too exotic this time. I'd spent enough time in Debbie's flat recently that I had a fair idea where she kept the graveyard dirt and the mandrake. I was confident that I could slip a couple of vials into a pocket while her back was turned. The toads were going to be the tricky part, obviously – they had to still be alive when I brought them back.

“When do you want to do it?” the Burned Man asked me.

“Soon,” I said. “Wormwood hasn't got his patient head on. Tomorrow night?”

“Fine by me,” it said. “Just get the stuff and we're good to go.”

I nodded and wandered back into my office and glanced at the clock. It wasn't as late as I'd thought, not quite ten yet, so I picked up the phone and called Debs.

“Hi,” I said when she picked up. “Look, um, did you eat yet?”

“Couldn't be bothered,” she said, and the chilly tone in her voice was almost enough to make me change my mind. Almost, but not quite.

“Me either,” I said. “You fancy a Ruby?”

There was a long pause, so long that I was worried she was going to say no.

“Oh go on then,” she said at last. “I'll meet you at the Tandoori Spice in half an hour. You stand me up and I'll bloody poison you, Don, I swear I will.”

Ruby Murray is cockney for curry, in case you didn't know, and if there was a faster way to get in Debbie's good books I hadn't found it yet. I smiled.

“I'll be there,” I said.

I
was as well
. I was ten minutes early in fact, and I'd even changed my shirt and everything. I was making an effort, you know? I figured tomorrow's light pilfering from Debbie's flat would go a lot easier if she was stuck on the bog, to be honest. Debs loved curry, but it really didn't love her. I know, I know, I should have a word with myself sometimes, I really should. I was sitting at the bar nursing a cold bottle of Cobra when she came in.

“Hey babe,” I grinned at her.

She'd dressed up too, bless her. Well, what I mean is she'd actually put a skirt on for once, but for Debbie that's the equivalent of full evening dress for anyone else.

“Mmph,” she said. “Get me a red wine. A large one.”

Ah, still a little on the frosty side then
, I thought.

“You OK?” I asked as I paid for her drink. I still had some of the money from Gold Steevie left, but nowhere near enough to make this a big night out. She sipped her wine and looked at me over the rim of her glass.

“So what did he want?” she asked.

“Um… oh, you mean Wormwood?”

“No the sodding pope,” she said. “Yes, I mean Wormwood.”

“Well, you know,” I said, “the usual. But like I said, I've retired and I told him so.”

Debs sipped her wine again and arched an eyebrow at me.

“And how did he take that little piece of news?”

I was still having trouble standing up straight after the battering Connie had given me, and I wasn't convinced I didn't have a couple of cracked ribs at least.

“Oh, fine,” I said. “You know me, I soon talked him round.”

“I
do
know you, Don, that's what I'm worried about,” she said, and sighed. “Are we eating then or what?”

I caught the eye of a nearby waiter and let him seat us by the window. Debbie picked up the menu and studied it with her usual indecision.
It'll be a prawn biryani,
I thought.
It's always a sodding prawn biryani; why does it take her twenty minutes to remember that every sodding time we go out to eat?
I sipped my beer, thinking of my wallet and trying to make it last, and glanced down at my own menu. I didn't really want anything. My guts still felt horrible from my little chat with Connie, and the thought of putting curry in them was making me feel a bit ill. Debbie looked up and was no doubt just about to announce that maybe she'd have the prawn biryani after all when I caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye. My stomach turned over and sank like a stone all at once.
Oh no
, I thought.
Oh fates, you can't be this cruel.

Yeah, yeah they could.

“Don baby!” she squealed. “Don, I've been looking for you
everywhere
!”

It was Ally, obviously. All of Ally, just about, spilling out of the littlest little black dress I think I'd ever seen. The look on Debbie's face could have frozen a volcano mid-eruption.

“Um,” I said. “Hi. Hi Ally.”

“Sweetie!” she gushed again, and leaned over to kiss me.

I half flinched, half cringed, and generally made a complete twat of myself.

“Don, aren't you going to introduce me to your charming friend,” Debbie said.

My face must have been as red as Debbie's wine by then, I'm sure it must, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl under the table and hide.

“Debs, this is Ally,” I said. “Ally, this is my friend Debbie.”

That was exactly the wrong thing to say. I
knew
it was the wrong thing to say the moment I said it, but the moment you say something is always a moment too late. Debbie's face set like a glacier.

“Yes,” she said in a strangely flat tone of voice. “I'm his friend.”

Damn it,
she
had told
me
we were just friends!

“That's nice,” Ally said, dismissing Debbie with barely a glance. “Look, babes, I'm
so
sorry I haven't been in touch since that night. Stuff got in the way but, hey, look, now I've found you again! This is just
so
awesome. Come and
party!
”