A Crack in Everything

by Ruth Frances Long

  Izzy’s stomach lurched and she put out her hand to balance herself, bringing it down in icy water, water that pooled on the cabinet top and dripped down the side to spread across the lino at her feet. She tried to grab a towel from the washbasin to mop it up and bumped into the bed, dislodging Dad so he slumped to one side.

  Not this. Not Dad! She tried to grab him, to pull him upright, and that was when she saw it. With alarms blaring and everyone shouting, with Mum and the red-haired nurse screaming at each other like they had some ancient grudge, with the others trying to reset the monitors and calm the situation, Izzy saw the edge of a mark on the base of Dad’s neck. Just for a moment, before someone else caught him, forcing Izzy away so they could lift him and settle him into the nest of pillows. She saw it and knew it.

  Dad had a mark on the back of his neck, at the base, above the spine. Exactly where hers was located. It was the same colour and although she only saw the tiniest part for a moment, she knew that the interior was filled with intricate lines of knotwork. And she knew its shape.

  It was a Celtic cross, in every way the same as the one that now marked her.

  Chapter Ten

  Messages

  The coffee shop was almost empty when Dylan got there. Marianne didn’t look impressed. Tips had obviously been bad. When Dylan ordered an Americano she just glared at him.

  ‘Any word from her?’ he asked.

  At that, Marianne’s face softened. ‘No. We chipped in, sent flowers to the hospital.’

  Dylan tightened his jaw and closed his eyes in despair. ‘It’s like last night changed everything. From the moment we heard that music—’

  She slammed a tray down on the counter a bit too hard. ‘You heard that music.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘You heard it, didn’t you? I know you too well, Mari. You’re my sister. If I heard it so did you. Why lie about it?’

  She glanced around, checking that no one was close enough to overhear them. ‘Because it’s weird, that’s why. And I don’t want to be weird, Dylan. No one wants that except you. Now go away and shut up about it. I’m working.’

  A couple came in to get take-away lattes and Dylan took his coffee to the uncomfortably stylish brown sofa by the window. He perched there, watching his sister nervously as she clattered around ungraciously behind the counter, refusing to even glance in his general direction. She’d heard it too. He knew she had. And if what Silver had said about blood making him special, well … she was his sister after all. There was no one closer to him than that. She had to have heard it.

  But she didn’t want to be weird. So very Mari, denying the amazing to be one of the fine young things, to be cool, or even just to fit in.

  Taking out his phone he checked for missed calls or messages, but the screen was stubbornly uninformative. Izzy hadn’t called again.

  He wished he’d handled her brief phone call a hell of a lot better than he had. But how did anyone handle something like that well? It wasn’t possible. Weirdness he could do, but reality? That kind of reality sucked.

  The little bell over the door jangled merrily and he looked up to see a girl in biker leathers come in, helmet under her arm, her hair in a single long braid that snaked down her back. It was jet black and glossy, odd in its perfection. She leaned on the counter. She might have been pretty – high, slanted cheekbones, narrow jawline – but with her flat dark eyes and too-small nose and mouth it was more like the face of a python.

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said to Marianne, who appeared to be less than impressed. ‘Isabel Gregory.’

  Marianne faked a smile. ‘I’m afraid she’s not here today. Family matters. Can I help?’

  The biker stretched her neck in a serpentine twist and Dylan winced as the cartilage cracked. ‘I doubt it. When will she be back?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Dylan could tell his sister was trying to be polite – even Marianne cared about keeping her part-time job – but it was a close-run thing between that, impatience and immediate dislike. ‘Maybe I could take a message?’

  The biker leaned in and eyed her carefully. ‘Yes. I could leave a message.’

  The incipient threat in those words made Dylan’s blood chill. He put down the coffee mug and started to get to his feet. None of this felt right. It was like last night in the club, like hearing the music, like meeting Silver. But that had been wonderful. It had stirred dreams and desires he’d never really let himself count on before. This didn’t. This was … wrong.

  ‘Mari?’ He took a step forward. Marianne’s gaze flicked towards him and she smiled. Just for a second. A tight, impatient smile, but a smile nonetheless.

  The door behind him opened again, the bell jangling fiercely, and a pair of small but incredibly strong hands grabbed him.

  ‘Get down!’ Silver yelled. ‘Cover your ears.’ She slammed her hands on either side of his head and pulled him down as the biker opened her mouth impossibly wide. A scream wrenched its way out of her, high and wavering, like nails raking down a blackboard. Dylan hit the floor hard, Silver on top of him, pinning him there.

  Pressure surged inside his head, and in the air all around him. He couldn’t draw breath. The sound went on and on, spiralling higher and higher, a deafening shriek.

  With a crash, the windows shattered, raining glass down on them. The display case exploded, as did the glass door of the fridge. Cans of fizzy drinks sprayed their contents all over the shop.

  And then all was silent.

  The biker walked out again, her boots crunching on the debris. The alarm whimpered, trying to go off, a weak and pathetic broken thing.

  Dylan sucked in a desperate breath as Silver released him, carefully standing up. He scrambled to his feet.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’

  ‘A banshee,’ she groaned, taking out a handkerchief and wiping sweat from her face. ‘Someone sent a bloody banshee. Holly, no doubt – most of them work for her.’

  ‘And what were you doing here?’

  ‘I was keeping an eye on you of course.’

  ‘On me. Right.’ He shook his head. ‘Why?’

  ‘I told you last night, you’re special. You heard my music and came to me.’

  He almost laughed at the ridiculous nature of that statement. ‘I’m special. You hear that, Mari?’

  There was no answer. The adrenaline and relief faded away to sickening dread.

  ‘Mari?’

  He threw himself towards the counter.

  His sister was sprawled on the ground behind it, glass scattered over her. Blood trickled from her ears and she lay far too still, eyes staring at the ceiling.

  Jinx didn’t know where to find Izzy, but his instincts did. He could feel her location, like a golden thread strung between them. He only had to veer off course and it was there, tugging him back onto her trail. He followed it now, trusting in the magic in a way he never had before. He didn’t want to. The last thing he wanted was a bond such as this. It had destroyed his father, cost him his family, his life, everything. But what choice did he have?

  Besides, if he followed it and found her, maybe Holly could free him of these bonds. Maybe. It had to be worth a try. That way everybody won.

  Well, everyone except Izzy.

  The air shivered over him like static as he stepped out of his Dubh Linn and into her Dublin. One world to another in a single step.

  He stood on the verge of a dual carriageway, traffic roaring past him. He stepped back as the wave of exhaust fumes and chemicals almost swept him to his knees. It was too easy to forget, to fail to prepare. The human world – her world – he didn’t belong here. None of his kind did. That was the deal made millennia ago, to cleave the world in half, half for his kind and half for hers. Who could have guessed that the human enchanters meant to trick every magic being into a shadow realm? They were cunning. More cunning by far if the truth be told, though he wanted to believe the propaganda his people put out. The fae were faster, stronger, more beautiful by far, wickedly c
lever … and yet, they’d lost.

  Minds like their own iron. Never underestimate them.

  His father had said that, or at least that was how Jinx remembered it. Perhaps the last words he’d said to his son. There had been no goodbye, not from his father … Jinx couldn’t even remember his face. Just his words. The words were imprinted on Jinx’s heart. Burnt there. Etched in acid.

  The golden wire that tied him to Izzy burst right through it, overruling them and forcing him around, turning from the road so he faced instead the whitewashed front of a cottage hospital.

  Another place of modern man and death – the two went hand in hand – a far cry from hedgerow healers and fairy doctors.

  Shadows clung to the doorway, shadows that seethed and curled around the corners. As Jinx watched, one of them detached itself from the others and slid inside the building.

  Damnation. They were already waiting for her. Ahead of him.

  Shades were not the brightest in any sense, but if someone needed following, if someone needed frightening, there was nothing so effective. Raised in the Halls of Hell itself, he’d heard it said, and then sent forth to do a demon’s bidding.

  The shades shuddered in alarm as he approached, or in warning, recognising his otherness. They knew he saw them then and readied themselves to attack.

  ‘Well, now, who sent you here?’ Jinx asked them idly. No need to ask why. They were all on the same page as to why.

  A man in ruffled scrubs stepped out of the doorway, glaring at Jinx with eyes that lacked white or iris but were all pupil. Black as oil. All shade. It lodged inside him, filling him with shadows, a man no more. Possessed.

  The shade curled his upper lip and reminded Jinx of the angels in the alleyway where he had first met Izzy. Shades weren’t angels. And though demons made them, they weren’t demons. They were, however, as supremely arrogant as either. Jinx sighed. He’d had enough of the other planes’ interference in this matter.

  ‘I’m here to help her,’ Jinx said. It was … not quite a lie.

  The shade snorted out a laugh and the other shadows surrounding him echoed it. Their mimicry wasn’t perfect through. The sound quickly devolved to a hiss.

  ‘Of course you are, faeling. So are we. And we were here first, sent by our Master to guard the spark.’

  ‘Like good dogs,’ said another voice, one which chimed like a bell. It came from behind Jinx and he turned sharply, a curse on his lips. An angel, one of the pair from the alley no less. The blonder, paler one, the one that had even then seemed far more dangerous.

  ‘Well, if they’re dogs and I’m a dog,’ Jinx said in as calm a voice as he could muster, ‘what does that make you?’

  It happened so fast he couldn’t fight it. How could he fight what he couldn’t see? An invisible force slammed into the bend of his knees, knocking him to the ground. It snatched the air from his lungs and left him helpless in an instant.

  Fantastic, Jinx. Piss off both sides.

  ‘I am Haniel,’ the angel told him, anger never marring the melody of his voice. ‘I seek my fallen kin. I seek her lost spark. You know this. And you know where it is, don’t you?’

  The shades hissed and surged forward, only the one possessing the doctor standing his ground. Teeth flashed in the shadows, eyes flared red, like hounds indeed, like creatures of nightmare.

  And that was when Izzy ran out, tears silvering her face, her grief-stricken features freezing with shock when she caught sight of him and his predicament.

  She skidded to a halt. Confused, terrified, her eyes wide and desperate.

  ‘Jinx?’

  ‘Run,’ he tried to tell her, but the word just rasped between his clenched teeth like a stunted growl.

  The shadows around the door stretched towards her, heedless of sunlight or obstacle, reaching for her, ready to seize her.

  Haniel’s hold on Jinx collapsed. ‘You? It cannot be.’

  ‘Izzy,’ Jinx yelled, trying in vain to push himself up off the ground. He had to get her away from here, from them. ‘Run. Now!’

  The shades fell towards her, spilling over the ground, crooning in triumph. Haniel stretched out his hands and spoke a secret word.

  Light erupted around them, blinding, bright as a supernova. In the midst of it, Jinx heard screams, one of them his own, and Izzy’s hand closed on his, pulling him to his feet and into a sprint. How she saw, how she was still able to move, was a mystery, but one he didn’t have time to question now. He risked a glance at her and saw her face, determined, her eyes hard as stones, fixed ahead as if the light didn’t affect her at all. The look in them almost sent the panic welling inside of him out of control. They ran, and the urge to transform rose within him, almost overpowering. An instinct for survival, a need to protect. It burned beneath his skin, slicing through him like dull blades.

  Izzy must have sensed something, a tightening in his grip perhaps, or a change in his skin against hers. She squeezed his hand, pulling him onwards.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she said, the words harsh on her laboured breath, and in an instant she looked like herself again, her blue eyes wide with near panic. A trick of the light, that fearsome angelic light. It had to be. ‘What were they? What’s going on?’

  ‘Shades found you first. I guess the angel followed them.’

  ‘Angel?’ The word was high and wavering, terrified, appalled. They dodged through the parked cars and headed for the more modern block on the south side, as far away from where Haniel and the shades were locked in combat. ‘That was an angel?’

  ‘Yes.’ Humans always thought that angels were peace-loving ambassadors of goodness. Having met more than his fair share, Jinx could never figure out why. Good PR, perhaps. He almost laughed, giddiness fuelled by hysteria. The best PR, he supposed. The highest authority. ‘We need to hide. Need to find somewhere safe.’

  ‘Safe,’ she panted. ‘Yes, safe is good.’

  Safe, Jinx thought to himself, is subjective. She was following him. She’d follow him right to Holly, and Holly could set him free of her. He just had to get her there before anyone else found them.

  He fixed his mind on the nearest opening to his world. Not near, unfortunately, not as near as the one that had brought him here, but to go that way meant retracing their steps and he wasn’t keen to run into anyone back there or to try to skirt a battle that might end at any second. His body still ached from the touch of the angel’s power.

  It didn’t matter. None of it mattered if he could get the girl to Holly and be rid of her. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen next. To either of them.

  Pulling her to a halt beside a black Prius, Jinx pressed his hand against the handle. The metal made his skin crawl for a moment, but he pushed the sensation aside, accustomed to living with the metal in the modern world in a way his ancestors never were. If he couldn’t shrug off the pollutants in the air or the metals all around him daily, he might as well go and live in the last remaining patches of trees in the middle of nowhere. Besides he lived with silver every day of his life, punching through his skin. If he could stand that, he could stand anything. He exerted a little energy to spring the locks, which opened with a satisfying clunk.

  ‘What are you—?’

  ‘Climb in,’ he told her. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

  ‘But you can’t just—’

  He couldn’t? Of course he could. He was Sídhe. Thieves, charlatans, tricksters, every one.

  ‘Watch me, Izzy. Now get in the car before someone sees.’

  She jerked open the passenger door and slid inside, even as he slammed his own and jerked the seatbelt into place.

  ‘What if we get caught?’

  Jinx glanced pointedly the way they’d come. ‘If you mean by the cops, they’d be the least of our worries. But we won’t. They won’t even see us. I promise. Put your belt on.’

  She fumbled as she obeyed him, her hands shaking so hard she could barely do it. He felt a moment of sympathy for her, an urge to te
ll her it would be all right. In short, to lie. He didn’t though. He was feeding her enough lies already.

  Jinx shoved the car into gear and they sped off. He liked it, liked the way it handled, liked the feel of it around and under him. They pulled out onto the dual carriageway, heading for town and home.

  He glanced at Izzy to say something, but then caught sight of her face, the pain and horror etched there, the silvering of tears, the redness of her eyes.

  The flippancy left him. ‘What happened?’

  Izzy ground the heels of her hands against her eyes. ‘I just … I …’ Dragging in a juddering breath she struggled to bring herself under control. If she started hesitantly, in moments words flowed from her like a gushing wound. ‘It’s my dad. He was in an accident and he’s in a coma. And there was this woman who said bring him water and I … I don’t think she was a nurse. But I screwed it up and spilled it and she went mental. And she and Mum were fighting and all the alarms …’ Her voice trailed off. A strange twist of sympathy wrung at his heart. He gazed at her. She was dangerous. She had no idea how dangerous. But right now all he wanted to do was make the pain and fear stop. He almost reached out to her, but when she spoke again, common sense slammed back into him. ‘Jinx, my dad had the same mark on his neck. I never saw it before, but he has it.’

  ‘The mark?’

  ‘This mark.’ She twisted around and jerked down the neck of her top.

  Jinx almost crashed the car. Locking his arms on the wheel, he brought it under his control once more. ‘Cover that up!’

  She glared at him, the Celtic cross hidden again. Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘What is it? What the hell happened to me? I want an explanation, Jinx. I want answers. What is going on and how is my father tied up in it?’

  Grigori … damn it. This wasn’t just about her and the council wanting the angel’s spark she held.

  Her father and Izzy, someone – or something – was after them both.