Paper Children (Phoebe Harkness Book 3)

by James Fahy

  “Maybe just a taste?” Dove asked politely. “As a show of… mutual trust between us, of course.”

  He was rolling me under with his mind. It suddenly occurred to me. Or one of them was anyway. That’s why they looked so pretty to me all of a sudden. That’s why my judgement was off. I was being subtly vampire-roofied. I focused my will, shaking my head as if to clear it of cobwebs. Whoever was poking around silently in my mind must have been surprised, as I felt them retreat.

  “Date rape is even less my scene than blood-draining orgies, sorry,” I said, a little sharply. I felt Dove’s hands fall away.

  The doors behind Elise opened and to my astonishment revealed the very last person I had expected to see here.

  “Griff?” I blurted.

  My lab tech. Mild mannered, wholesome all-around good guy Griff, was standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. He wasn’t dressed like a Helsing. He was dressed as he always was, in a pair of cords and a dark cardigan over an un-ironed shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he had just stepped out of the lab and could not have looked more out of place here amongst the glamorous and seductive Genetic Others if he’d tried.

  I saw him take in the scene. The vampires, the Helsings, Dove standing possessively behind me.

  “Lucy told me you were back here,” Griff blurted, his face looking a little red as he tried to look everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

  “What are you doing here?” I stammered, deeply confused.

  “Looking for you,” he retorted. Griff pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, flustered. “Doc, you need to go to church.”

  I folded my arms, aghast.

  “Griff, this is not what it looks like.” I glanced around. “Okay… it is what it looks like,” I admitted. “But I’m not a part of it. I’m here on business.” I stiffened a little. “And that’s a little judgemental!”

  Griff took off his glasses, cleaned them on a corner of his cardigan and looked back up at me, both impatient and embarrassed.

  “No, I mean, you need to go to church right now,” he explained. “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Because I’m an errand boy these days, apparently,” he added a little testily. “Midnight mass.”

  I stared at him. “You’ve been sent to fetch me to attend midnight mass?” My confusion was deepening. “Who the hell wants me at midnight mass so urgently?”

  Griff looked apologetic, his eyes flicking to Dove and back to me.

  “Cloves,” he said. “She’s waiting for you there.”

  Cloves. Veronica Cloves? In a church? Was that even… legal? I glanced at Dove. The vampire shrugged amiably.

  “Another time then, Doctor?” he suggested.

  “I’ll be in touch,” I replied, headed for the doors, away from vampiric temptation and towards the safe, sane world that Griff, in all his crumpled casuals represented.

  “About the seraph thing I mean!” I span at the doors, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “Not, you know…” I swept a hand helplessly at the room. “…the other… offer… thanks.”

  I grabbed Griff firmly by the elbow, clinging to him like a lifebelt in dangerous seas, and frogmarched him back towards the club. “Come on then,” I muttered to him. “I need to get to church. Possibly for more than one reason.”

  Chapter 5

  Lucy wouldn’t speak to either of us during the drive. She sat in the back of Griff’s tiny vintage car as we drove through the night, sulking with folded arms. She wasn’t remotely happy at being dragged from Sanctum before it was even midnight, but I was damned if I was going to leave her there to end up comatose and drained half to death in Dove’s fang-filled love in. Griff seemed equally put out, hunched over his steering wheel. He clearly wasn’t happy at being sent to fetch and retrieve by Veronica Cloves in the middle of the night. He hated the vampire district at the best of times. I still had no idea how he’d managed to get into Sanctum at all, let alone all the way to the private back rooms.

  We were headed, for reasons unclear to any of us, to St Aldates church, south of Carfax, where Cloves was apparently waiting for me. I didn’t feel dressed for church. In fact, all I wanted was to go home and scrub all my skin off in the world’s hottest shower, but none of us are the masters of our own fate anymore.

  Aldates is fairly central in my city, on a street which bears its name, but which was once rather unglamorously named Fish Street. The church itself is nestled in Pembrokeshire College and sits opposite the impressive façade of Christchurch in all its venerable stone glory.

  I pointed out to Griff that Aldates was a Church of England place of worship. They didn’t do midnight mass there, but he just shrugged. It was a figure of speech. It wasn’t a church service, there was something of a vigil going on or something, and Cloves wanted me on the scene for it. That was all he knew.

  They dropped me at the entrance, where I gave Griff strict instructions to get Lucy home safely, which earned me angry glowers from both of them before they drove off. I rolled my eyes, feeling like the nagging mother of two sulky children, and hugging my leather jacket against me in the cold October drizzle. People were such hard work.

  The fine rain hung lightly in the air like mist, making the church rise like a ghost ship out of a foggy ocean. Its windows shone warm and golden, inviting in their pious way. Cloves was standing in the arched open doorway, beneath a clear umbrella. She was wearing black pants tucked into elegant black leather calf boots, under a voluminous houndstooth wrap-top with billowing gypsy sleeves. I sometimes wondered if she wore these things for a bet. At least her shoulders were covered, I thought. I wasn’t much of a churchgoer but I seemed to remember something about that from childhood. It was terribly gauche to have bare shoulders, and equally bad manners to wear a hat. Something about hiding from God looking down at you perhaps? Who knew how religious minds worked? Certainly not me.

  My supervisor regarded my Helsing get-up with the same thinly-veiled disdain as I had her own outfit. Her purple-painted lips were pursed, but she managed heroically to rein in whatever scornful critique was running through her mind. Clearly she had other things to worry about.

  “What were you doing at a GO bar?” she snapped. “I have had that dogsbody of yours traipsing all over the city looking for you tonight.”

  “I was working,” I retorted, reaching the top of the steps and ducking out of the rain and under the shelter of the archway with her. “You think I go to vampire clubs for fun?”

  She leaned away from me slightly, tilting her umbrella in a way that angled the rain toward me in backsplash. “Well, you smell like fun,” she sneered. “Rum and Vermouth and god knows what. It’s bad enough that you turn up to church looking like some sad biker gang reject, but to smell like one too…”

  “Why are we at church?” I said through gritted teeth. I considered asking her if she had finally decided to get exorcised, but despite the several cocktails and my mind still wobbling a little from the vampire mind-roll attempt, my survival instincts kicked in. The trick with Veronica Cloves was knowing how far you could push it and when it was wiser to bite your tongue. Provided you didn’t want tomorrow’s newspaper headlines to read ‘Woman found impaled on fashionable umbrella on church steps – haute-couture killer still at large’.

  “I need you to play nice,” Cloves narrowed her eyes murderously at me, daring me to do otherwise. “Employ all those people skills you don’t have. Unlike you, who thinks the best way to make headway on our current case is to get an energetic lap dance from a greased up vampire, I have been given actual, real grown-up work to do.”

  She nodded into the church. “We’re here to pay our respects and offer help.”

  I wondered what this had to do with messy vampire murders and said so. Cloves shook her head in irritation.

  “Quite possibly nothing at all,” she complained. “Ever since I took over your little division, every shade of paranormal-smelling shit that happens around here gets thrown at me. The board of senior di
rectors have another priority case for us to look into. Missing child.”

  I frowned, shivering a little in the mist. I hadn’t heard anything about any missing children. “Why are Cabal interested in-”

  “Because they’re rich,” Cloves said bluntly. “The family that is. And they’re high profile. Cabal want us to be seen to help.” She nodded into the church’s interior. “The vigil here tonight is for Melodie Cunningham Bowls. Missing for four days and counting. Thirteen years old, rich as butter and only child of the extremely influential and well-connected William Cunningham Bowls. He is both a mover and a shaker, as well as being a ‘stand-up-citizen’, a ‘straight shooter’ and a-”

  “Leading political figure in the Mankind Movement,” I finished, nodding. I’d heard of him. WCB was the pastor of his flock, so to speak, guiding the other Mankind Movement supporters to a new and better – and species-pure – imagined utopia. Frequent church goer, charity donator and massive bigoted racist… or speciest, as it were. I suddenly understood Cabal’s interest. If the only child of such a man was missing, regardless of how unfortunately named she was, it was only a matter of time before the MM started holding the GOs responsible and throwing accusations back and forth.

  I wondered cynically how interested Cabal would be if this missing child had been from a poorer part of our great city. One of the nameless multitudes in the slums of the Slade. Not remotely was my best guess.

  “Melodie?” I said tentatively.

  Cloves rolled her dark-kohl eyes. “I said they had money, not taste,” she replied. “Now, let me do the talking and try not to breathe fumes on anyone. You’re here to observe while I schmoose.”

  And to put you out if you catch fire once you step over the threshold, I thought, but nodded in understanding, tucking my wet hair behind my ear.

  Cloves linked my arm, which felt horribly unnatural, and I watched with something close to wonder as her face melted from barely controlled sneer-and-death-glare, into warm-friendly-smiley mode. It was like watching a supercar smoothly shift gear.

  “Shall we, dear?” she said sweetly, and led me inside in a swish of houndstooth.

  There were more people inside the church than I’d anticipated. It was dimly lit with yellow-gold lights, and moving quietly through the cosy gloom were thirty or more sombre, expensively dressed folk. Men in hand-tailored suits, women in hand-tailored suits. One of the women had a small decorative lapdog sitting on her expensive lap. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t wearing a hand tailored suit. It was like an Armani funeral show. Many of New Oxford’s elite and MM supporting well-to-do were here, some holding thin vigil candles, mingling and talking in low soft voices between the pews. I glanced around with mild interest, wondering if Oscar Scott were here. He was technically the richest man in the city these days, ever since his father’s death. He was the young prince of New Oxford, although rumour was that he had become something of a recluse since the funeral. No-one had seen him at all, myself included.

  A cursory glance confirmed he wasn’t amongst the gathered crowd. I wasn’t really surprised. Oscar was not fond of the MM movement, considering he adored vampires, even if not publicly and openly. Religion wasn’t really his scene anyway.

  At the front of the church, arranged around the pulpit, were more candles and a framed photograph of a young girl, Melodie of course. She looked to me like every other thirteen-year-old girl. Small and slight, blonde hair tied back in bunches, grinning openly out at the camera. Seeing the framed picture made my throat close a little. It made this seem more like a memorial than a vigil. It wasn’t the girl’s fault if her parents were a little-bit-fascist and anti-GO. She was just a kid. And she was missing. For four days, apparently.

  That’s a long time to a parent, I reasoned. A very long time indeed. As Cloves led us down the aisle, her heels clicking neatly on the candlelit marble, I glanced around, seeking out the parents. They were easy to spot. The ones with the haunted, tired and empty faces. I have very little time for bigots, but even I didn’t think smarmy GO-hating elite deserved to lose their kids.

  “That little skinny clothes horse next to William is his second wife, Marissa Pennington,” Cloves hissed quietly to me through her smile as we approached. “Thirty years younger than the old goat and as vapid as they come. I’d accuse her of being a gold digger, only the Penningtons have been rich as Midas themselves since before the war. Just not quite as rich as the Cunningham Bowls.”

  “A diamond-digger then,” I said lightly. “How did their daughter disappear? There’s been nothing on the DataStream about any missing children. Nothing on the news.”

  “We don’t know,” Cloves gripped my arm a little tightly as punishment. “The inner circle of the MM flock is tight knit. They haven’t sought any outside help from the police. They haven’t made any public appeal, so we know nothing at all. The uber-wealthy mind their own business and solve their own problems…when they can. We’ve only just found out the ankle-biter is AWOL from the board of directors. God knows how they sniffed it out. That’s why we’re here, you moron.”

  William glanced up as we approached. He might have been a handsome fifty-five, salt-and-pepper hair greying at the temples in a distinguished way, neat trimmed beard. But he was a father without his child, which had weathered his face into a man closer to seventy. I’ve seen grief before. Whatever had happened to Melodie Cunningham Bowls, I’d bet my life by the sight of him that daddy dearest wasn’t involved in any foul play. He looked hollow.

  Cloves dropped my arm and went to him, arms outstretched and shaking her head softly but solemnly. “Billy, darling,” she cooed, sympathetically. He allowed himself to be pulled into a comforting hug. “Oh it’s simply terrible. You poor sweetheart. You must be out of your mind. I can’t believe I only just heard.”

  The man looked dazed, nodding back at her. I wasn’t entirely convinced he had any idea who Cloves was. “The poor little lamb. How can something like this happen?” Cloves continued, clasping his hands in hers. “You must keep strong. For Marissa as well. There is simply no way your little darling will not be found, and soon, you’ll see.”

  “Marissa has been a rock,” William mumbled, still looking slightly bewildered. Cloves didn’t miss a beat.

  “Of course. Of course she has. We’re a strong breed we are. Motherly instinct you know. There is nothing in this world fiercer or stronger than a mother’s love, Billy, trust me, I know.”

  I doubted Cloves had ever mothered anything, nor did she considered any child a ‘lamb’. It was conceivable, I considered, that she may have smothered a lamb in her time. I could picture that easier than I could picture Cloves being maternal.

  Mrs Cunningham Bowls, expensively slender and dressed in soft gold and pearls, walked over and passed Cloves a slim candle. She had a sharp, slightly malnourished face, arranged under a pristine up-do of perfectly tailored hair. She linked William’s arm as Cloves took the candle from her. A causal enough move, but one which smoothly and politely moved the man from one woman’s bubble to another’s.

  “Melodie is my step-daughter,” she smiled politely to Cloves. “But I appreciate your words. She is a daughter to me in every way. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to come tonight, it means a lot to us, Ms Cloves.”

  Cloves nodded. “It’s lovely to meet you, my dear,” she shook her head a little. “But at such a time…”

  William’s brow furrowed as he glanced between the two women. “Cloves?” he muttered to his wife. “You know each other?”

  Marissa shook her head. “Oh no, we’ve never met, dear. But this is Veronica Cloves from the DataStream shows, surely you recognise her? I knew her at once.”

  He looked suspicious, his entire body language tightening up. “Press?” he spluttered. “I told you I didn’t want reporters involved. We will deal with this our own way.”

  Cloves nodded hastily, passing the candle to me absently, as though she were giving an empty champagne glass to a waite
r. “No no, Billy, not press. I’m with Cabal. We wanted to offer our support and-”

  “That’s even worse!” William’s eyes widened. “Melodie is my daughter. My responsibility. I don’t need the politicians interfering and causing a huge scandal.” He glanced at his wife, who was patting his arm. “The last thing we need is a furore. If Cabal are involved, two minutes later the press are, and then our entire family is plastered all over the DataStream like a bloody soap opera.”

  “Hush dear,” his wife soothed, noticing that some of the other well-wishers were glancing their way. “I’m certain that Ms Cloves has a reason for being here. Cabal are not the enemy, remember?”

  “I know who the bloody enemy are,” William muttered. “The monsters who took my daughter.” His eyes darted to Cloves and myself. “The creatures that you people think should live in our city with us, prowling around like sharks in a swimming pool.”

  “You think vampires took your daughter?” I asked. Cloves shot me a death glare for speaking out of turn. I ignored it.

  Marissa raised her eyebrows. “We are civilised people,” she said. “They are not. They drink blood for heavens’ sake. They prey on humans. We don’t even know if they think the same was as we do. Goodness knows, stealing a child would be nothing to those godless abominations, don’t you agree?”

  “And Cabal does nothing about it.” William nodded to Cloves. “Is that what you people want? Our children taken away under our noses by the creatures you all keep telling us are ‘people too’.” He bristled. “And then you have the audacity to come here tonight to offer… what? Apologies? Sympathy?”