by Lucy Inglis
Recovered from the surprise, Lily folded her arms. ‘Ask, then.’
‘It can wait until you put some clothes on.’
She tutted. ‘I’m wearing a bath towel with more coverage than ninety per cent of prom dresses. What do you want to know about my mother?’
He linked his fingers behind his head. ‘The circumstances.’
‘Why?’
‘Please get dressed.’
‘Oh I am sorry,’ Lily said archly. ‘I didn’t realise people who tore hearts out for a living were so sensitive.’
He said nothing, his back still to her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if it won’t offend you too much, I have to get past you.’
He sidestepped into the hall. Lily strode past, shaking her head. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes were closed, his hands still on the back of his head.
In her room, she dressed quickly, pulling on more black jeans, a tight long-sleeved T-shirt and a looser short-sleeved one with an almost-rubbed-out Yankees logo. She threaded the silver disc of her necklace on to a thin piece of black ribbon that had gift-wrapped her computer at Christmas and looped it over her head. Her hair was already curling as it dried in the warmth of the flat – in fact, she realised, the flat seemed much warmer than usual for some reason. She frowned, then shrugged it off, going back out to the kitchen.
Regan was standing by the table, looking at the pictures of her mother.
Lily folded her arms. ‘You can look now. I won’t offend you, I don’t think.’
He glanced up, looking almost grateful. Very flattering.
‘So, what did you want to know about my mother?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought . . . it was strange.’
Lily looked at him for a long time. Her stomach rumbled and fizzed in the silence. She glanced down at it in surprise. ‘I’m starving. Want to share a pizza?’
‘I—’
She was already rummaging around inside the freezer drawers. ‘They’re really good. Dad gets them from a place in Soho. This one’s cheese and tomato with ham on it.’ She held up the box. ‘It’s pretty spicy.’
He hesitated. ‘If you like.’
She turned and put the oven on, taking the pizza out of its packaging. ‘I’m glad you came back, because I have questions too.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘How did you get in, by the way?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Locked doors aren’t really a problem.’
Thinking of all the things she’d had to take in that day, Lily just nodded. ‘Right. As long as you didn’t break it. Dad wouldn’t like that.’
He looked interested. ‘Your father’s a good man?’
Lily binned the box and cellophane. ‘The best.’
‘And you don’t remember your mother?’
‘Not at all.’ Lily spoke quickly and without emotion. ‘My birth was traumatic. Premature. That’s why I’m small, apparently. My mum was given a blood transfusion, even though she told them not to. It made her sick instantly. She disappeared from the hospital that night. No one saw anything – she was gone, that was that. Dad’s convinced it was some sort of cover-up, to hide the mistake, but he could never prove anything. That was when he left criminal defence for human rights. It was in all the papers. Dad kept a box of the clippings somewhere.’
Regan’s face was suddenly interested. ‘He did? Where?’
Lily shrugged. ‘In his office somewhere.’
‘Can I see it?’
In her father’s immaculate, spartan office, Lily went to the cabinet where her father had once shown her the box of her mother’s paperwork, telling her to look at it any time she wanted. She hadn’t looked at it for years, though; it didn’t tell her any of the things she wanted to know. Crouching down, she opened the drawer and pulled out the wooden box containing her mother’s papers. She frowned.
‘What is it?’
She reached inside, opening a folder containing yellowed news clippings. She pulled it out, then looked at the thick, typed manuscript beneath. Tugging it out, she looked at it. ‘I don’t remember this ever being in here. Dad said the university kept Mum’s thesis and put it in the library. I didn’t know there were other copies. Maybe he wanted one.’
Regan came to stand by her shoulder. ‘Inherited genetic mutations and their potential,’ he read out. Then he looked back in the box.
There, uncovered by Lily’s moving the thesis, was the paperwork declaring her mother legally dead. Regan read it without touching the papers. Lily eyed it, but she didn’t touch them either. ‘You can do that, after seven years. Dad thought we needed closure.’
‘Did you get it?’
They looked at the paper, the ink blotted. Has Dad been crying over this?
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she put the box back into the cupboard and grabbed the folder of clippings and the thesis. They returned to the kitchen.
Regan looked down at the photographs. ‘You’re very alike.’
Lily nodded, dumping the papers on the coffee table. ‘Yep.’ She walked over to him. ‘I think it must be hard for Dad sometimes.’ When she looked up, he was staring her in that intense way again. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just looking.’
‘Weirdo.’ Lily went to the fridge and pulled out two cans, handing one to him. ‘You can take your coat off, you know. If you’re staying.’
He shrugged out of his long coat. Looking around for somewhere to put it, he looked surprised when Lily took it from him and put it over the back of a chair. ‘What’s this made of?’ she asked. ‘The material feels strange.’
‘It’s fireproof.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Fireproof?’ Then she shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me. All part of the job.’ She put the pizza in the oven, then pointed at the sofa. ‘Sit. Be comfortable.’
He sat, looking anything but comfortable. Lily grabbed her laptop and sat down again, across from him. He pulled the papers into his lap, looking at the clippings and the thesis.
‘So, your mother . . . she was a student? Like you?’
‘Much more advanced than me.’
‘And she was studying genetics?’
Lily nodded. ‘Like I said, she grew up in a children’s home. Never knew her parents. Dad says she was interested in identity.’
‘And she had your blood type?’ He drank from the can.
‘Yes. The necklace was my mother’s, remember? I have to give my blood all the time, so that it’s in storage in case I have an accident or something.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘That’s why I was so frightened today. I wish I’d known about you before. Would have saved me years of nurses and needles.’
He smiled, looking down. The wing of his eyebrow and the arc of his downswept lashes were strong and precise. He flicked through the thesis.
‘It’s made me feel peculiar all day,’ she told him.
‘How?’ he asked, without looking at her, eyes still on the paper.
‘Almost high. Like I can feel the threads in my clothes.’
He flicked over another sheet. ‘It’ll wear off as your body uses it to finish healing. And no one ever heard anything about your mother again?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘My turn to ask questions.’
He waited.
‘What’s the Agency?’
His eyes narrowed and his fingers made slight dents in the side of the can. ‘Where did you hear about that?’
‘Online. One of the paranoia forums.’
‘Paranoia forums?’ He looked confused.
‘You know, tinfoil-hat wearers.’
He shook his head. Lily sighed and got to her feet with the computer, sitting down next to him. She arranged it on her lap. ‘Here, look. I found this earlier.’
Regan read through the conversation. Lily was acutely aware of his arm against hers, despite the layers of clothing.
‘And anyone can read this? It’s just out there?’
‘You’d have to be looking for it pretty sp
ecifically. And it’s not out there any more. It was deleted as I was looking at it. But we’ll get to that. First, tell me what the Agency is.’
‘It’s a government department that monitors the Eldritche.’
‘So the government knows about you?’
‘Yes. Has done for a long time. Perhaps always. They watch us pretty closely, as far as we can tell. Not officially – that would involve revealing that we exist– but they’re always there, in the background.’
‘So there’s a government agency out there, watching out for people like you,’ Lily said seriously.
‘Monitoring us. Yes. Surprised?’
Lily shook her head. ‘Not much governments or corporations do surprises me.’
He said nothing.
The oven pipped. Lily jumped up, putting the computer into his lap. He started as if she’d just tipped hot coals on to him. ‘Keep reading. You can click through them there, like this,’ she said, showing him.
Sliding the pizza on to a board, she sliced it and grabbed some kitchen paper. Putting the board down on the coffee table, she clambered back on to the sofa cross-legged and flicked the television on to the news. Images of burning buildings filled the screen, followed by aerial footage of a street rampage as a mob tore apart shops and burnt cars. Lily frowned at the screen.
‘What?’ he said.
‘This. Rioting. In Islington.’
Regan watched the screen.
Lily shook her head. ‘I mean, Islington.’
He hesitated. ‘And that’s weird because . . .?’
‘Wow, you really meant it when you said you don’t leave the City. Islington isn’t exactly Baghdad.’
‘It’s outside the Wall. Why would I go there?’
She didn’t answer, switching over to The Simpsons. ‘Help yourself,’ she said.
‘You first.’
‘I haven’t poisoned it.’ She folded the squishy end of a slice back on itself and picked it up.
He copied her, looking at the television. ‘What’s this?’
‘The Simpsons. It’s a classic.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Lily paused halfway through chewing her next bite. ‘You didn’t mean that, did you?’ He paused too, his grey eyes on hers. ‘You meant the television.’
‘I know what a television is,’ he protested after finishing his mouthful.
Lily watched him for a long moment before taking another bite of her pizza. He had almost finished his. ‘Have some more if you want it,’ she said.
‘Don’t you?’
Lily looked at the pizza thoughtfully. ‘I am hungrier than usual,’ she admitted.
‘And you’ll get tired too, after you’ve eaten. It works like that.’
She eyed him. ‘How many times have you repaired humans?’
He swallowed before speaking. ‘Never done it before. I’d read about it a lot, though.’
Lily’s mouth dropped open, the fresh slice of pizza forgotten in her hand. ‘You didn’t know if it would work?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought it would. Like I said. When I knew you were Type H.’
‘I’m really not getting this thing about you and my blood type. What does it mean?’
‘It just means we’re . . . that our blood is compatible,’ he said without looking at her. ‘It wouldn’t work otherwise.’
‘What, on someone with a more normal blood type?’
‘No, it would kill them. Or at least that’s what the books say.’
‘So . . . you could have killed me?’ Lily asked meekly.
He picked at the edge of his pizza with a bird-tattooed hand. ‘I didn’t think I would. And you were dying anyway.’
They looked at each other. Lily managed a jerky nod of thanks and they ate in silence, then Lily wiped her fingers and pulled the computer back into her lap.
He looked at the third of the pizza remaining. ‘You really don’t want any more?’
She shook her head, preoccupied. ‘You have it.’
He carried on eating. He was neat and orderly but he ate with an edge, as if he were starving but was trying to hide it. For a second Lily wondered if he really didn’t have money, if he went hungry. She pushed the thought away. He looks too good for that. Far too good. She sighed, shaking her head at herself.
Regan stopped eating, looking down at the pizza in his hand, then back at her. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She looked at him, wondering how far he could be trusted. Well, I’ll soon find out. ‘There’s someone watching me, online.’
‘Explain to me how that works?’
‘That’s the thing. It shouldn’t work.’ Lily settled more comfortably, although it meant her knee rested on his thigh. She was getting used to the odd, electric sensation when they touched each other. He shifted slightly, lessening the pressure. She tucked her leg further beneath herself, severing the contact, keeping her eyes on the screen.
‘I take a lot of trouble to stay hidden online.’ When he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him beneath her lashes. ‘Dad’s work.’
He nodded.
‘But recently, there’s been someone watching me.’
He took another slice of pizza.
‘For example, when I was reading about the Agency, someone began to delete the thread. Delete the information.’
Regan looked at the screen, as if the answer could be found there. For a long time he said nothing. ‘So, either someone is monitoring what’s put online about the Agency and it was just a coincidence that they deleted it as you were reading it,’ he said finally. ‘Or, someone followed you to the . . . thread.’
Lily grinned. ‘I thought you said you didn’t do technology.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not an idiot.’ They looked at each other. ‘What if it’s both?’
‘I don’t understand.’
Regan lifted his hands, making vague shapes in the air. ‘What if someone from the Agency is watching you?’
‘Why would they be watching me?’
He settled back into the sofa. ‘Because of your blood?’
Lily shook her head. ‘Nah . . .’ She hesitated, then looked at him. ‘You think?’
He folded his arms and trained his gaze on the television. There was no bulk to him at all, but the fit of his wash-worn Henley revealed the curve of his biceps and shoulder, the muscles of his chest and even his stomach. ‘Maybe,’ he said, lapsing into a strange, otherworldly stillness.
Lily half expected him to leave any moment, but he made no move to go. She carried on searching the internet, occasionally showing him what she found. He would nod, or shake his head. ‘No, that’s not Eldritche. You humans are so strange. Lumping us in with aliens.’
‘Next you’ll be telling me aliens exist.’
He snorted with laughter and carried on watching the television. Lily yawned and pushed the computer on to the coffee table.
‘Tired?’ he asked.
‘A little.’ She rubbed her face. ‘Well, a lot.’
‘The comedown from my blood will hit you like a train. From what I’ve read.’
‘Oh, good,’ she said faintly.
‘I should go soon. Don’t want to miss anything, like last night.’ He didn’t move.
Lily felt her head getting heavy.
‘Maybe you should lie down?’ He sounded concerned.
She nodded, part in agreement, part shattered, eyelids flickering. ‘I . . .’
Her forehead fell against his shoulder.
She woke as her father put his briefcase down at the end of the sofa.
‘Hi, sleepy. A whole pizza? Well done. You must have been hungry. You even ate the bones!’
Lily sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her computer was closed up neatly on the coffee table in front of her. Her mother’s papers were all gone. The pizza board sat empty. ‘I was.’
‘Good girl.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Not that late. Half nine. Closer to ten. I’m going to have the same, I
think – I’m famished.’ He went over to the freezer.
Lily got up, stretching. ‘I’m shattered, Dad. Do you mind if I go to bed?’
‘Not at all. Eventful day?’
She smiled. ‘You could say that.’
‘Any closer to finding Harris Stedman?’
‘I might be. I’ll explain if anything comes up.’
He looked up from the freezer. ‘Nothing for me to worry about, though?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Lily woke early the next morning, from the deepest of sleeps, as if a light bulb had gone on in her head. She opened up her old, frequently wiped netbook, and connected via the most complicated proxy she could find. She began a straight LCG hack of Vicky Shadbolt’s Facebook profile. As the program ran, she showered and dressed. Ten minutes later, she was in.
She sat on her bed and checked the messages and the profile. Yes! Vicky had posted the IM handle for her phone app. Lily browsed some hack apps and installed one, then ran it after taking a guess at Vicky’s make of phone. One more guess and she was in. Vicky’s messages were mainly to a Jen Cooper about school, how she hated working on the stall and was bored of babysitting. She didn’t mention a boyfriend at all, but there was a series of messages to and from a David Smith. David Smith had no avatar and no other friends. He was older, liked privacy, didn’t want to meet her friends.
She looked at the last message. Oh, no.
There was a light knock on the door. ‘I’ve made some toast. And there’s a letter for you from the doctor. I think it might be a reminder about that blood test.’
‘Thanks,’ Lily said, distracted. Blood test? She clicked through Vicky’s Facebook photos, including those in private albums. One added a month ago caught her eye.
‘Lily? Are you . . .? Is everything all right?’ her father asked through the door. He started back as Lily opened it.
‘Fine,’ she said brightly. ‘I have to go out.’
‘But it’s only . . .’ he checked his watch, ‘ten past seven. Where are you going at this time of day?’
‘Following a lead.’ Lily packed her satchel.
Her father frowned as he let her past and followed her to the kitchen. Lily picked up a triangle of toast and gulped at the tea in her mug. Her father picked up a sheaf of papers from the counter. ‘Are these yours? They were in the printer.’
