A Crack in Everything

by Ruth Frances Long

  But she’d said it … ‘I wanted to see the angel.’

  Holly’s eyes darkened in suspicion. ‘What is it, Jinx?’

  He had to cover, and quickly. Then he had to find the girl. ‘Nothing, grandmother. I’ll go right away.’

  ‘See that you do.’ She leaned in close and for a moment he thought she was going to kiss his cheek. His whole body stiffened in alarm and shock, but Holly’s lips barely brushed his skin. Instead, she whispered in his ear. ‘And don’t let that red-headed bitch or the old bastard get there first, understand? No one else, understand? Bring it to me and me alone. I’m not planning on sharing such power with them.’

  Angels were her thing. He’d seen her in action once, torturing the creature, ripping its spark from it and leaving it no more than a ghostly mark on the walls of her hollow. She’d destroyed not one but hundreds.

  Holly glared right into his eyes, a reminder of all the things she had visited on others in the past, things she had made him endure. The silver piercings chilled against his skin and the tattoos coiled tighter.

  ‘As you command.’

  Amadán coughed loudly, clearing his throat with a rattle of phlegm. ‘Something else you should remember, boy. There’s a Grigori resident in Dublin. They don’t take kindly to us messing with their shit, you know what I mean?’

  ‘He’s just one man.’ Holly glowered at the interruption. ‘And even he can’t be everywhere. We’ll take what we want and he’ll just send another impotent warning.’

  ‘Not this time,’ Amadán told her. ‘You’ve been greedy of late. They notice. He’ll notice. You don’t want to make a Grigori angry.’

  ‘He’s not going to interfere,’ Brí said. ‘And if he does, I’ll deal with him.’

  The Old Man laughed. The sound made Jinx shudder as if he was suddenly unclean. ‘Well, you should know. You interfered with him often enough. Or is that long over now?’

  Brí knocked back the glass of wine. ‘Maybe I should interfere with you, Amadán.’

  ‘No thank you, my dear. I have standards.’

  Her lemon-sucking expression tightened still further. ‘All I’m saying is he has other things to concern him just now. Life can be difficult for a family man. Especially when times are hard and money is tight. As I said, if needs be, I will deal with him.’

  Holly beamed her most false and barracuda-like smile. ‘There we are then. All settled. Go on.’

  Jinx bowed and backed away, keeping his whole demeanour studiously reverent. As he reached the door, slipping past the grinning Magpies, he allowed himself to breathe again and turned to escape.

  Footsteps rapped on the shining parquet flooring, something that would never be allowed in the human building, where it was covered to prevent damage. But this was not that world and no one was going to say a word to deny anyone in that room. Not if they wanted to live.

  ‘Jinx?’

  Silver caught up with him, slipped her arm through his and smiled, leaning against him. Her scent, elderflower and hawthorn, drifted around him. To a human, it would be intoxicating and even Jinx, young by Sídhe standards, had trouble shaking it off. Silver was so much older than him, despite her appearance, and so much more powerful, the prime example of everything an Aes Sídhe should be, a princess among them. One of the most powerful of all the Sídhe except the matriarchs and the council. Why she put up with their petty rulings and restrictions and subjugated herself to them, he didn’t know. Loyalty wasn’t a natural fae trait. But she was also one of the few who had ever been kind to him, the only one who took him into her hollow and made him part of her life; she indulged him, kept him safe, misfit that he was in his own world. She was everything he wasn’t. He owed her more than he could ever repay.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. I – I should be going.’

  ‘Run along then,’ she teased, but when he didn’t laugh, she paused, examining his face closely. ‘Whatever did she say to upset you so?’

  ‘It’s Holly.’ That ought to have been explanation enough for her, but Silver kept staring at him, waiting. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, don’t be late tonight. Big crowd coming in from Cork. Tour group or something. Should be fun.’

  Jinx winced. Out of town fae on the razz were notoriously out of control and Silver’s definition of fun usually included a few broken limbs among the bystanders. The club had a way of cleaning up after itself and fae of all kinds could take a lot more punishment than any mortals. Still, it could get … violent. And messy.

  ‘Whatever. I’ll be there. A gig’s a gig.’

  He started for the door again, but Silver’s voice called him, not so brash now, not teasing any more. She almost sounded concerned.

  ‘Jinx?’

  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Be careful.’

  It didn’t take long to get back to the alley where he’d met Izzy. Where he’d stopped her from getting any more lost in Dubh Linn. Rescued her, even if she didn’t know it at the time.

  Rescued her. That was a joke. What sort of knight in shining armour would he make? Particularly as the armour would most likely kill him. Man-made metals burned. There was no other word for it. Not like flames. Like acid. Even those he wore every day. He had never got used to their touch, but they kept him in the desired form and his mind focused on his duty and obligations. They served their purpose. Much as he did.

  The first thing to strike him was how quiet it was. Like a tunnel, one of the very old parts of the old city that wound its way in and out of worlds, real and unreal. Cobbles, and high curbs, each stone carefully shaped and worn with age, a certain elegance that was lost to the modern human world, and rapidly deteriorating even in Dubh Linn. His world. One of secrets and shadows, of mysteries that no one could fathom, and really wouldn’t care to know if they could. For just a moment she had crossed a threshold best left alone and he’d done her a kindness in seeing her out of it again. And all for a phone. Mistle’s desire for it was understandable enough to Jinx. Anything shiny and bright, anything clever and cunning, always attracted their kind. But why would Izzy come after it when she could just walk into another shop and get a brand new one, even shinier? Humans were strange creatures, and Izzy was stranger still. But his life would now be a sight easier if he hadn’t seen her out, if he’d kept her close. She’d mentioned an angel and he’d paid her no heed at the time. But even if she hadn’t seen it fall, she must have been here almost immediately afterwards. While the image still glowed between worlds.

  There was no sign of anything untoward now. Dirt and ashes, stinking rubbish, smears of something akin to old paint on the wall.

  The ghost of Izzy’s presence lingered on. He toyed with it, letting it run through him, examining it. Not a scent, not really. Rather a sense, a ripple in reality caused by her passing through it. But if he closed his eyes and tried, he could have followed her like a bloodhound.

  And something else. A crackle of lightning, ozone fizzing on the air, mounting expectation making the hairs on his arms stand to attention.

  Damnation, he knew that feeling, dreaded it. All the fae did. He’d never get away in time and glamour wouldn’t work. Besides, if he ran—

  Never run, he’d been taught from childhood. If you run, they can’t help but chase you.

  No one wanted to be that fox.

  Jinx backed away, seeking the darkest corner to pull the shadows around him, a place to hide from the oncoming storm.

  Wind burst through the alley, not from either end, but from its centre. Scraps of newspaper and crisp packets took wing, swirling around like demented butterflies.

  Two men stood in the eye of this localised hurricane.

  No, not men. Only on a first glance would anyone mistake them for men.

  The nearer stepped closer to the wall, pressed a pale and slender hand to the stones and closed his eyes. For a moment all was still. Then he shook his head. His hair glistened like gold.

  The
second, a near mirror image of his brother but for his darker colouring, glanced at Jinx with pale, opal eyes. They’d seen him. Of course they’d seen him.

  ‘Where is the spark?’ His voice rumbled through the air and the earth, shaking everything in between.

  ‘It’s gone.’ Jinx wasn’t sure where he found his own voice. It sounded pitiful after the other, and that galled him. He clenched his fists at his side until his fingernails bit into his palms. He had nothing to fear here. He had done nothing wrong. Other than be what he was. And be here when they arrived. ‘It was gone when I got here.’ He said the words with more force than he meant to.

  The first figure hadn’t said a word or opened his mouth and for that Jinx was grateful. It did no good to hear some voices. But the second stood very still as if listening to him. Then he spoke again, his voice winding its way around Jinx, tightening like a python’s coils.

  ‘If you know where it is, you must tell us, faeling. Time is short.’

  Jinx scowled at them. Must. It was always must with the likes of them. He kicked a can aside and the first one flicked his eyes after it like a cat following a fly.

  ‘Right now?’ He forced his face into a smile that never went beyond his upper lip. ‘Right now, I have no idea where it is. Am I free to go?’

  The second one spat out a curse in a language Jinx couldn’t hope to comprehend. It sounded like music defiled by anger. He knew its name though. Once, the elders taught, his people had spoken it as well.

  ‘We’re finished here. But I warn you, we shall be tracking the spark. We will bring it home. It came with one of our brethren and it belongs to the Holy Court. The Word has spoken it. If we see you again, faeling, it will go worse for you. Far worse.’

  In another whirl of wind and debris, they were gone and Jinx stood alone in the alley. He gritted his teeth and allowed himself to relax. Only slowly though. He was too wound up.

  Izzy had the spark, the divine spark that could be left behind in the after-image when one of these sanctimonious cretins fell from grace. And they’d been sent to get it. Nothing would stop them, and nothing would stand before them. They were always right. That was the problem. Even if they weren’t.

  They’d kill her. They’d do worse than kill her, they’d damn her as well. And for them, that really meant something.

  Angels were all the same.

  Chapter Four

  Small Lies

  It was after seven when Izzy got home. Apart from the beeps of the alarm looking for its deactivation code, the house was still and silent. She kicked off her shoes in the hall, dropped her bag and coat under the stairs and padded down to the kitchen. No sign of anyone.

  Not unusual, of course, not these days. Since the bankers had shot the Celtic Tiger, her parents spent every hour God sent at work, struggling to keep their architecture business afloat.

  At least the house was safe, because it was Gran’s and even her folks hadn’t been mental enough to drag Gran into their finances. Izzy’s grandmother didn’t like the city, she said, and preferred to live in the mountains near Glendalough, the middle of absolutely nowhere as far as Izzy was concerned. But that didn’t mean Gran couldn’t own any number of properties – the ultimate absentee landlord, especially as she was currently on one of her many world cruises.

  Izzy opened the fridge and blinked in the garishly bright light. She grabbed the milk and a packet of ham slices before kicking the door closed behind her.

  Nothing beats ham sandwiches and a glass of ice cold milk for dinner, she told herself. The false bravado didn’t convince her stomach.

  She flicked on the TV in the lounge, found a rom-com and curled up on the sofa. The knot that had twisted itself tight inside her slowly began to unwind. Her arm burned, and the back of her neck. Crap, maybe she had caught something off the weirdo in the alley. Or maybe – more likely, her rational mind assured her – she was going into shock. The TV picture blurred, images melting and reforming until the twist in her gut returned with a vengeance.

  Izzy shook her head, tried to get up, but her legs had turned to jelly.

  ‘Damn,’ she told herself. ‘Bedtime.’ How to get there was going to be another matter.

  Except it wasn’t that late. It wasn’t even dark outside. Not really. The shadows in the garden stretched out towards the French windows like fingers. Izzy heaved herself onto her feet and wobbled a little. She leaned on the arm of the sofa, staring outside.

  The shadows darkened, like someone messing with the contrast control. Even as she watched, they crept onwards, brushing the glass. But they didn’t come through. They crossed the pool of light that fell onto the patio, but they didn’t venture inside the house. They stopped, impossibly, and crawled up the glass.

  A hard, heavy rhythm filled her ears, surging like waves on shingle. Izzy watched the shadows twist and turn, looking for a gap, a chink, some sort of way inside. Tendrils of darkness probed at the gap between the doors, tapped on the window-panes.

  The handle rattled, shaken by unseen hands.

  ‘Ward yourself,’ said a whisper in the back of her mind. ‘You must ward yourself.’

  Izzy slid head on into full-blown panic.

  ‘Stop it!’ she shouted, and her voice surged from her, louder than it should have been, shaking the air itself. ‘Stop it right now!’

  In a moment the garden fell still, and everything snapped back to normal. A summer’s evening. Too still. Too quiet.

  Izzy fled, tearing from the room and up the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door and wedged the chair in front of it. Her chest heaved, and she stood there with balled fists at her side, waiting, listening.

  Nothing moved inside the house. No glass broke, nothing crashed over, nothing. She hadn’t reset the alarm though. If anything had followed her inside, she’d never hear it.

  A wave of nausea hit her and she lurched towards the ensuite as her stomach brought up everything in it. Shivering with sweat, her throat burning, she sat on the icy cold tiles next to the basket of spare toilet rolls.

  Tears poured down Izzy’s cheeks, salty on her lips. She was too hot, far too bloody hot. And probably in shock.

  Jesus, shock! Was that her answer for everything? But she’d heard it could do this, set in much later, make you throw up and shake. And see things.

  She should have reported the attack, but maybe it was just as well she hadn’t now that she was hallucinating.

  Because that was what it had to be. Right? Shadows didn’t move that way. They certainly didn’t make attempts at breaking and entering.

  The shivers passed, leaving only a burning sensation akin to itching below the back of her neck, right at the top of her spine. She tried to rub it with a weak hand, but that just aggravated the sensation.

  Using her legs as leverage, Izzy slid her body up the wall. The marble tiles felt gloriously cool on her burning neck. She bunched up her hair and tried to check out the most painful point in the mirror. When she couldn’t do that, she remembered the small dressing table mirror Gran had given her.

  Heavy silver, a relic from another age, she hardly ever touched it. She had to rummage through the jumble of ephemera on her dressing table even to find it, under some scarves and a couple of perfume boxes she hadn’t moved since she got them at Christmas.

  She twisted the mirror this way and that as she stood with her back to the dressing table mirror, until she could see the top of her collar in it.

  And the dark blue marks that peeked out above it, etched into her skin.

  Izzy almost dropped the mirror in shock. She pulled off her shirt, knotted her hair up with a clip and looked again.

  Like filigree, like Celtic knotwork, like an intricate design from untold ages ago, the lines twisted in on themselves. She couldn’t tell if they were many, or just one, eternally wrapped around itself. Overall it formed a circle with a cross running through it, the top of a Celtic cross, but with every glance the patterns inside it changed, twisting and turning, becoming ever
more intricate. The chain of her silver necklace stood out like a line of moonlight against the indigo of the new tattoo.

  On her skin. In her skin.

  Marking her.

  Oh God, Mum was going to freak. Never mind that Izzy didn’t know where it had come from, how she had got it or when. That just made everything worse.

  The mirror slipped from her numb fingers and thudded onto the carpet.

  Jinx. He’d know. The marks covering his skin had been the same colour, the same sort of details. He had to know.

  Izzy had already pulled on a black polo neck and was halfway down the stairs when she remembered the shadows in the garden. What if they were in the front garden as well, waiting for her? What if—

  The front door opened with a clatter and Izzy choked on a scream.

  Mum stepped inside. Just her mum.

  On a glance she was sleek and elegant as ever, perfectly groomed, her golden hair swept up in a chignon, the consummate professional. You had to look closely to see the shadows under her eyes, or the slump in her shoulders.

  ‘Sweetheart?’ Mum gasped. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  The urge to tell her what she had seen gripped Izzy in its jaws. But she couldn’t. Tell her one thing and she’d have to tell her everything. And she looked so tired.

  Izzy forced a smile. ‘You startled me. That’s all. Are you okay?’

  ‘I tried to ring you, to let you know I’d be late, but it went to voicemail.’

  Shit, the phone. ‘I— I’m sorry Mum. I dropped the mobile and it broke.’

  A flicker of something more than disappointment crossed her mother’s face. Izzy knew the look, was becoming all too familiar with it – another stress, another expense, another worry none of them needed.

  But Mum swallowed it down, hid it under a veneer of coping. It made Izzy’s guilt burn all the hotter.

  ‘I’ll let you have some cash to get a new one tomorrow, okay?’ Mum kicked off her shoes and nudged them under the stairs next to Izzy’s. She dropped her bag beside them.