Icefall (20 page)

‘The hell is it doing here? And why the double hell did Seth let it in?'

‘He's talking to it,' said Finn curtly. ‘And blocking. They both are.'

‘We're aware of that,' said Grian, pacing the floor. ‘What's going on in your lover's incomprehensible
head
?'

‘I don't know,' snapped Finn, and when he gave her a sceptical glower, she added, ‘I
do not know.
I'm not going to pry. He can tell me later.'

‘What's the point of having a bound lover, then?' snarled Grian.

Which is when the atmosphere between them erupted like a blaze in a fireworks factory. I couldn't stand it, so I marched out of the kitchen, their company, and earshot. I took the stairs two at a time and gatecrashed Rory's room.

Stretching back on the bed, he put his hands behind his head and cocked his ear towards the floor. ‘I take it Grian hasn't calmed down about the Lammyr.'

‘It's World War Sithe,' I said, and giggled a little desperately. ‘Hey! World War Sithe!'

‘I got it.' His mouth quirked. ‘Are you okay?'

‘Fine,' I lied. ‘Why?'

‘I haven't heard. How'd it go with your mother?'

I sighed. I sat down beside him, and he rested a hand on my thigh.

‘It was okay. Good, actually. It's just a bit … much. To take in.'

‘Course it is.'

A door slammed downstairs, and the shouting match grew muffled.

‘I wish I'd known him,' I said. For maybe the thousandth time. ‘My father…'

‘Come here,' said Rory.

Sighing, I lay down beside him and he put his arms round me. Awkwardly I shifted till his left arm was under my waist and we were both more comfortable. I brushed his dark blond hair away from his glinting eyes, then kissed him, because I couldn't help it.

‘I love you,' he murmured. ‘I still do.'

‘Likewise.' I sighed, and drew reluctantly away. ‘We'll get in trouble.'

‘I don't care. I love you.' He put his hands over his face and rubbed it viciously hard. ‘And I want to tell you what happened. With Darach. With the Veil.'

Months, I'd waited. Months, he hadn't told me. I'd convinced myself it was nothing after all, nothing to worry about at all, because why wouldn't he tell me? Something dark and unpleasant crawled beneath my skin.

‘Why now?'

‘I've just thought and thought. And thought. And I can't make it out and I need to tell you.' He rolled his head round. ‘Swear you'll keep this to yourself?'

I curled up, then propped myself over him and cupped his face in my hands. ‘I swear.' I hesitated. ‘Rory, what was it? What happened?'

‘I don't know, but…'

My gut lurched with fear. ‘There was something wrong with the Veil.'

‘No.'

‘No?'

‘No. The Veil was the same as ever.' He looked past me, at the ceiling. ‘But that wasn't it.'

I opened my mouth, shut it again. I took a breath, trying to think. I couldn't. ‘So what was it?'

‘I don't know. That's what scares me.' He rubbed his forehead. ‘There was something on the other side.'

‘I know. I felt it.'

‘The darkness, yeah?' He gave a long sigh. ‘But there was something else. Something human.'

‘Something—'

‘Well,' he said. ‘Maybe human's the wrong word.'

That cold thing was creeping under my skin again, spreading over my body. ‘You saw it?'

He shook his head. ‘No. Heard it. It called me.'

‘Ah.' I tightened my grip on his hand, waiting till my voice was steady. ‘Don't you ever go answering it.'

‘Don't worry. Now I know it's there, that won't happen again.' He licked his dry lips. ‘I won't open
that
Veil. Not ever again.'

‘It's another
Veil?'

‘Uh-huh. I opened the wrong one.'

My brain had seized up. None of it made any sense, and if it did, I didn't want to know how.

The cold thing had got out from under my skin; it was breathing on the back of my neck. I shuddered violently. ‘Can we change the subject?'

‘Be my guest.' He shivered too. ‘In fact, can we just not talk?'

‘Be
my
guest,' I said.

I don't think I'd ever needed warmth so much. I wriggled tight against him, and pulled the duvet snugly over us both.

 

Finn

‘This is silly,' I said. ‘It's not like you don't know who your ancestors are.'

Seth took my hand as we climbed the stone steps and flashed me his best grin, the one that was close to irresistible and he knew it. ‘Indulge me.'

‘When do I ever not?'

‘Okay. Just the once more.'

‘Sure. As if.' I squinted at the building, still annoyed. Sun blazed on pale stone: the day was city-hot and oppressive, and I wanted nothing more than to retreat to Princes Street Gardens with a cold bottle of Pinot Grigio and a good book, and my head on Seth's lap. The traffic had been terrible on the motorway, and the Edinburgh parking worse, and this was why he'd put me through it?

‘Register House, Seth. You know they have this thing now? The Internet?'

‘I checked that already. I can't get modern records online, and that includes the last hundred-odd years. Anyway, I wanted an excuse to get away from the house. I don't want
her
to know I'm looking.'

The air had developed a sudden, unnatural chill. I scowled. ‘Her?'

His gaze slewed away. ‘Hannah.'

‘Oh, now we're getting there. It's not your own family at all.'

‘See? I thought you wouldn't approve.'

‘You thought right. This is prying, Seth. Hannah's family's none of our business.'

‘I'm always right.' His fingers tightened on mine. ‘And I hope you are too. Seriously, Finn. Her mother bugs me.'

‘Her mother bugs everybody.'

‘Yeah, but she bugs
me
enough to keep me awake nights. Why did she turn up, Finn?'

‘She was worried about Sheena. She told you so. You don't seriously think she'd be spying for Kate?'

‘Course not. She genuinely didn't know what had happened; we both checked her thoroughly enough. Why would Kate bother using Aileen? She's got plenty Sithe over here to do her dirty work.'

‘Exactly. Like whoever killed Carraig.'

His face darkened. ‘I wish I knew which bastard that was.'

‘Does it matter?' I asked gently. ‘He'll be safely back over the Veil. It's not like you can hunt him down, Seth.' I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. ‘At least now we know why.'

‘There was no
why.
' He clenched his jaw. ‘It was bad, shitty, pointless luck, was all. They must be watching the damned place, all the time. Somebody knew Carraig had been contracted to do that job at Merrydale. He never got within twenty miles of the hellhole.'

Just thinking about Merrydale jangled my nerves beneath my skin. Seth felt it, because he gave me a sidelong glance and squeezed my fingers.

~
Can totally see the point of the Selkyr now, can't you?

I was riled. ~
That place wasn't natural. You can't blame the full-mortals for Merrydale.

We'd started driving in the early hours so we could make it to the nursing home in time for morning visiting; and part of me wished we hadn't made the effort. But it was the place Carraig was meant to visit on the morning he died, and Seth's curiosity and anger had become unbearable, and he wanted to go south anyway because he was insanely curious about Aileen.

One overnight, Finn. We won't be gone long. I need to know. I need to see for myself.

See what, exactly?

He'd shrugged.
That's what I'll know when I see it.

It had been easy enough to convince Merrydale's manager that we were someone's relatives. Actually, that part had been way too easy. Mrs Pettingall was a gaunt officious woman who seemed to run on nothing but adrenaline and coffee; talking to her felt like placating a woman balanced on a high ledge above a busy road.

Seth had smiled like a caring nephew and charmed Mrs Pettingall as much as she was willing to be charmed, and he'd talked Liverpool Care Pathways with her while his mind told me: ~
She's not here, she's hiding behind more than Donna Karan glasses and she doesn't really know it. The woman's not just traumatised, she's broken. Somebody's minced her head.

Which was nothing compared to what someone had done to the inmates.

Not all of them. Some of them were just sad or lonely, or demented, or old, or ill, or simply dying. A few of them were all of those. One or two seemed perfectly bright and content, peering at quiz shows from plastic-sheathed armchairs. A very few had flowers and slightly strained-looking visitors. But the others …

Seth had knelt in front of a withered woman with an electrified frizz of white hair. He'd taken her misshapen hands in his and smiled up into her glazed eyes and talked very softly, while I just stood there, awkward and useless in a situation I'd never had to face. He'd murmured cosily, if one-sidedly, for quite a long time, and then he'd stood up, still sunny and amiable, and found another to talk to. And another. I remembered thinking he was surprisingly good at this.

When he'd finished his monologue-chat with the last one, a skeletal sparrow of a human being, he leaned down and gently kissed her patchy almost-bald skull. I saw him press his cheek against the fragile skin of it, and close his eyes.

Then he'd walked briskly out of the place and I'd followed him. He'd walked out into the dappled gardens with their wheelchair-friendly paths, and he'd found a small plantation of Douglas firs, and he'd taken hold of one broad trunk and pressed his forehead against it, and then he'd screamed, long and softly, with fury.

Just fury, at that point. In a couple of hours I saw the helpless terror start to seep in too.

~
Nothing left,
he'd raged in my head. ~
Nothing left of them. The ones without family. Nothing there.

~
Is it her?

~
Of course it is. I wonder which came first? The soul-stripping or the family-stripping? I should go back in there and kill Mrs Pettingall.

I'd slipped my arms round his trembling body. ~
She can't have known, Seth.

He'd turned in my arms and studied my eyes. ~
You think? I don't.

I swallowed. ~
Better to let her live, then. Because …

‘Yup,' he said aloud, finally able to speak. ‘Because she's getting the same.'

*   *   *

Hard work at Register House was infinitely preferable to tea and scones at Merrydale. It was cool and vast and calm, and we needed that. A cupola soared above the central archive, and the circular shelves of ancient books stretched almost all the way to the blue hot sky beyond a glass dome.

I liked the place, but I had my limits. Five hours after we arrived in the search room, I stretched and yawned.

‘C'mon, that's enough.' I clicked a window shut. ‘You've traced poor Aileen's family back to 1832.'

‘
You
have. You've got old parish records. I'm stuck in 1870.'

‘In more ways than one.' I grinned.

‘Ha ha. Look, here's Thomas Andrews. Father to Robert and Sarah and David. Gods, this is addictive.' He was fascinated. ‘And here. Thomas's second wife, Catherine.' He drew a finger down the screen. ‘Maiden name Munro. Married 1875. I haven't traced her birth certificate yet.'

‘There might not be one if she was born before 1855.'

‘I know. And they're closing in five minutes. We'll come back tomorrow.'

‘Seth, stop,' I said. ‘This is the point where you go web surfing at home. With coffee and a whisky.' I fluttered my lashes. ‘Hmm? Whatcha say?'

‘I wish I could see the originals. I'd get more of a feel for them.' He frowned at a sheaf of printouts. The printer hummed gently in its cubicle. Fresh ink, modern ink, sharp and unmellowed by paper and age. ‘Aileen,' he grumbled. ‘She's such a crap mother.'

‘
Lots
of full-mortals are crap mothers. I thought you were Mister Sensitive about this? Sithe aren't the only bad parents, and all that.'

‘Yeah, but it's the way she said it.
I'd do it all again, I can't change, it's the way I'm built.
It gave me a chill.'

‘Oh, saints preserve us from your chills.' I squeezed his waist. ‘Come on. I'll take you to dinner.'

He hesitated, long enough for me to know he was lost. ‘Somewhere good?'

‘You choose.'

He grinned, and shut the webpage. ‘I'm not letting this go.'

‘Yeah, I bet. It's what the Internet's for, Murlainn.'

‘Nah. I've got a better idea.'

I groaned, and banged the desk lightly with my forehead. ‘Why do I not like the sound of that? Okay, what is it?'

‘Aileen,' he told me, beaming like a kid. ‘Aileen.'

*   *   *

‘I don't know what you think I can tell you.' Aileen looked mighty defensive the next morning. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her eyes were hostile and resentful, but she was withdrawing backwards into her hallway and leaving the door wide.

‘We tried to phone. I'm really sorry.' Seth was doing his humble supplicant shtick, and if she was looking at him I'm sure he'd have batted his eyelashes. But she wasn't looking. She seemed to be doing her damnedest not to see him at all.

‘Can't find my phone. Suppose I should look for it.'

Seth nudged me forward, and reluctantly I trailed Aileen. I was too tired for this. Seth hadn't slept well—because of excitement this time, not nightmares—so, in the usual way of things, I hadn't either. At least the morning was grey, and much cooler, but I didn't want to do this. I wanted to go back to the hotel and get our stuff and go home.
Our
home. Not Aileen's.