‘Look out for celebrities or success of some sort. Wherever there is extreme wealth, success or fame, Envy is sure to follow, poisoning the minds of ordinary people with jealousy.’
Khaos browsed the celebrity gossip section, considering what the cabby had said. What sort of people would these sisters be? Famous? Rich? Powerful? High flying businesswomen, perhaps? It was then that her eyes alighted on a small article a few pages in: two girlswhose faces she recognised instantly from her time in Eden. Both were pulled into snarls, and the caption above read “Another sisterly feud at the Portabello residence.” Khaos read the article and learned that their names were Carmen and Marla, they were both in their twenties, and apparently had thrown a lavish party at their family home in Errol Park, Hertfordshire (pictured), which had once again ended with a shouting match. Khaos ripped out the article and showed it to Nyx. ‘Can you find this place?’
There it was in black and white; a twenty year old boy found burned to death in his studio flat. Number five, Merrion Tower, which was also a ruin. A photograph from outside showed that all of the windows had exploded outwards, as if a bomb had gone off inside. “Police suspect arson and are looking for the perpetrator, but no suspects have been held yet.” The report also contained photographs of the destruction inside. Staring at them, was like déjà vu; the boy had died the same way as the victims in Avenue Gardens: burned to a cinder. His furniture was overturned, or smashed to pieces, and everything was extensively charred. Even the walls were covered in cracks. A photograph of the doorway showed the smashed-in wall , the door hinges twisted impossibly on one side, and the door itself had been reduced to firewood; lumps of it lay all around the room.
Detective Heel looked from one picture to the other, noting the similarities to the other cases andmaking her own footnotes. Another picture caught her eye; a close up of a dirty metal spoon, partially melted in the blast. The notes on the system stated traces of heroin.
‘Another junkie,’ Heel mused. ‘But twenty years old, come on, were you really so bad?’ Perhaps. He was not the youngest person to die, and she sighed, remembering the baby.
She flipped back through her file, which was getting bulkier by the day, to compare the other notes, when the photograph of the tattoo slipped out by accident. She picked it up and studied it again.
‘Sloth,’ she muttered, turning it this way and that. ‘The mark of sloth. Tarot cards… Tarot….’ She opened a new browser window on her PC and typed the words into the Google image search.
Straight away, the four of cups popped up, several different variations of it. Also, other tarot cards; the Wheel of Fortune, the Lovers, the Hanging Man, the Magician, the Fool. These seemed the most common. There seemed to be different types of cards; pagan, voodoo, Masonic, hermetic, modern. Even joke ones if you liked. She clicked on one of the four of cups pictures. The same basic image was there, even if the rendering was slightly different. Even the expression of disinterest was the same, it must be intended.
Below the picture was a link to seven deadly sins, which Heel clicked on. A number of other images appeared; the hermit, an old man with an expression of trepidation on his face. He wore a strange cloak; the outside was plain and shabby, the inside lined with gold and jewels. The meaning behind it was dual, on one hand the old man was cautious, protective, but on the other; selfish and greedy, keeping his riches to himself and not even letting others see them, hence the inside-out coat.
Another image depicted the tower, a tall, pale coloured building, the roof of which was on fire, and screaming people were falling (or being pushed) from the windows below, their clothes also on fire. The obvious interpretation was that it was the symbol of angst, symbolised by the fire. Letting rage control you, repelling all who try to help you. But on the flipside, it could be a prediction of a troubled future.
Another, the seven of coins. Two farmers were depicted, each in their own field, with a fence between them. Both were harvesting fruit from trees, but in the place of fruit were gold coins. On closer inspection, one farmer had four coins, and had a contented look on his face, the other had only three coins, and there was a clear look of dissatisfaction on his face.His eyes were also on the gold the other farmer was harvesting, as if he were only half-paying attention to his own crop. The message was an old one: do not envy your neighbours wealth. Again there was a flipside to the meaning, it could merely represent a lack of commitment or focus. Even the four of cups had an alternative meaning, Heel read. It could merely cite self-reflection or contemplation, as opposed to just completely ignoring opportunities that were being presented.
It was all very interesting, but not very relevant to the case. The victims had all been of a slothful nature, that was true, but this was not to say that any other deadly sins had relevance. She clicked back to the images of other tarot cards, wondering if they had any significance. She clicked on the devil, an obvious choice, but was surprised to read that its meaning once again mentioned the seven sins, culminating them all as one. The horned, hooved, red creature was typical of depictions of devils, complete with upside down pentacle on his forehead. No, you could not say this was in any way connected to her case. She clicked on another one, perhaps more fitting; Justice, a figure holding a sword. A flaming sword. Hmm, not what she had been expecting.
She chose another, the hanged man, expecting a criminal being hanged to death. No, he was alive, upside down, and had a halo around his head, a look of acceptance on his face. He was a martyr for his cause, hanging between life and death for eternity, misunderstood by the very people he laid down his life for.
So intriguing, but there were so many different interpretations. The only one she knew for certain had relevance was the Four of Cups. Perhaps the tattoo was the mark of some cult or terrorist group. The girl couldn’t be acting alone, could she? There was no way she could have killed all these people herself. A terrorist group of religious zealots, that would make sense. Maybe they all have marks on their wrist. To them, perhaps it was the mark of the beast, or the mark of Cain… which one was it? She had been brought up following the Church of England, she should know this. But she had forgotten all that religious nonsense, long ago. She Googled the Bible tentatively. Various editions popped up on the screen. She chose the ‘King James’ version. Good old King James.
She did not know where to start, but remembering the burnt victims she decided to search the text by keyword. She typed ‘fire’ into the search bar at the top of the screen. And about one hundred results popped up. Maybe that was too obvious. She tried ‘hell fire’ instead, and got an interesting list of results, a few of which caught her eye;
“Matthew eighteen verse nine:And if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and cast it from you. It is better for you to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes, to be cast into hell fire.”
“Genesis nineteen verse twenty four: Then the LORD rained brimstone and hell fire on Sodom and Gomorrah, from the LORD out of the heavens.”
She tried “sloth” in the search tab. This time there were not so many results, and they all seemed to relate to lazy sons not helping their fathers, or lazy farmers not harvesting their crops on time.. But as she was about to click away from this screen, something else caught her eye:
“Proverbs six, verse nine to eleven:
How long will you slumber, O sluggard?
When will you rise from your sleep?
A little sleep, a little slumber,
A little folding of the hands to sleep—
So shall your death come on you like a prowler,
And your need like an armed man.”
Detective Heel realised she had been glued to the screen for an hour, the coffee cup by her side had long gone cold.
‘Heel? Are you alright?’ Her colleague, Donahue, appeared at the door, breathless which diffused the atmosphere of concentration. ‘Have you been sitting there this whole time?’
‘Don’t you know how to knock? Yes, I got side tracked.�
�� She got up stiffly. ‘I hope you have good reason to burst in on me like that.’
‘I do. I’ve got some great news!’ he said gleefully.
‘What?’
‘They’ve found the infant!’ he exclaimed. ‘Alive!’
Khaos and Nyx now knew the sisters’ names, what they looked like, what their house looked like, and where to find it, so they began to head out of the city. It was still going to be difficult to track them down; utilising a free map Khaos had taken from an estate agents’ stand, they had worked out that Errol Park was quite a large area, the size of a small village at least. They decided that when they got there they would just patrol the streets, hoping to recognize something. It wasn’t the best plan, but as Nyx had said, it would have to do, as Khaos did not know yet how to use her powers to find people.
The Portobello sisters had a distinctive looking house, judging by the photograph: a modern steel and glass structure with an enormous enclosed garden around it, so it wouldn’t be too hard to find. The houses they had passed so far were mostly nineteen-thirties’ terraces, with the odd Victorian or Edwardian semi thrown in, the prominent colour scheme being red brick and white trim. They knew the Portabellos’ house would stand out from houses like these. As they drove down various streets they passed many people, some in smart business wear, some just in plain clothes, mothers with children, couples ; all going about their business,. And sitting in other vehicles, faces impassive, were more people, all trying to get to their destinations as quickly as possible. Everyone seemed to have their own purpose, and were totally oblivious to each other, let alone to Khaos, destroyer of worlds (apparently) driving past in the faux taxi. Khaos wondered if she had once been like this, an ordinary person, on her way to work or going shopping , totally absorbed in her own tasks, taking the normality of her life for granted. She tried to remember but most of those memories evaded her. She could not remember what it felt like to be bored.
She was disturbed from her thoughts by the gradual realisation that they had stopped, and had been this way for some time. To her dismay she saw that they were stuck in a traffic jam, in the middle of a busy dual carriageway.
‘What’s happening? Why are we stuck here?’
‘It’s called rush hour. I think humans invented it to torture themselves.’
‘Isn’t there any other way we can go?’
‘Even if there is, we’re hemmed in on all sides. We have to keep going forward I’m afraid,’ said the driver in a resigned voice.
Khaos leaned back in her chair, already feeling frustrated at their sedentary position. After a few moments, the traffic moved forward a few feet, then stopped again, causing further exasperation.
‘Is this as fast as we are going to go?’ she moaned.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Khaos slumped back in her seat once more, idly looking out the windows. Momentarily, she was distracted by a white pigeon, which cheekily landed right on the bonnet of the taxi. After pecking at the edges of the glass, presumably looking for food, it eyeballed Khaos for a second, then turned around and flapped off, leaving a white present splattered all over the windscreen. As Nyx cursed under his breath and attempted to clean it with the wiper, two scooters zoomed past on either side of the cab, leaving the queues of cars for dust. Khaos glared after them, jealous of the easy way that they simply nipped by without a care in the world. Then a sudden flash of inspiration hit her.
‘Nyx, why don’t you just turn into a motorbike? We could be out of here in no time!’
‘Hmm, I’m not meant to change in front of people. Humans tend to act stupid when they see something they don’t understand.’
‘But look,’ she pointed out the passenger window. ‘No one is paying any attention to us.’
Sure enough, they looked into each car at the faces of the drivers, and not a single one was looking in their direction. They were all staring ahead, trying to figure out what was causing the hold-up, willing the other cars to move forward. They were completely oblivious to anyone else, particularly each other. Including, of course, Khaos and the fake taxi.
‘Hmm. Well, I suppose it is worth a try,’ the cabby conceded. The taxi suddenly melted away, shrinking down like a deflated balloon, then lifting Khaos up and gathering underneath her, before solidifying as a shiny black scooter.
‘Could you not have changed into something a bit faster?’ moaned Khaos.
‘Have you even ridden a motorcycle before?’ the voice had a distinctly metallic tone to it.
‘I can’t remember. Remember?’
‘Probably not, I suspect. Be quiet, and hang on.’
She obeyed the scooter, and gripped the handlebars. With ease they sped off through the unmoving traffic, weaving in between the lanes, coursing down the narrow gaps between the rows of cars. As with the horse and the taxi, Khaos did not need to do any steering or driving, and merely clung on as a passenger.
They made good time through the traffic and eventually got past the roadblock, which turned out to be a three car pileup. Past the accident, the road was blessedly clear and traffic was moving along normally. They pulled into the outside lane and rumbled along the road, tearing past all the other vehicles.
As the day wore on, and they passed more and more houses, Khaos began to contemplate their method of finding the Portobello Household. They were in a fairly large suburb, and driving around the many residential streets just hoping to find the right house was proving to be time consuming. Khaos half wished she could see that grey world again, despite the headaches, certain that if she could, she would find the sisters in seconds. But she didn’t know how to summon the voice at will, despite her best efforts, and it remained annoyingly silent within her.
They reached the outskirts of Errol Park, and Khaos noticed the houses were getting decidedly larger and more expensive the further out they went.
Then. like some great jewel amongst plain stones, they saw the house looming up ahead, its glass glistening in the gathering dusk.
‘Be careful,’ intoned Nyx as they pulled up beside it.
The garden was a pool of shadows as Khaos crept up to the gate. She tried the bell and waited, but no one answered. She noticed a security camera pointed straight at her, but decided to ignore it and let herself in at the side gate, which thankfully swung open silently.
She crept up the path, which twisted and turned around shrubbery and trees of various types and heights, rising gradually uphill. Occasionally the house was obscured from sight, and when Khaos looked behind her, the gate and Nyx had disappeared from view as well. In the growing darkness, Khaos carried on cautiously, knowing there must be cameras on her and feeling like the dark garden was going on forever.
In one of the shadows in front of her, there was a muffled metallic noise, THUNK. And suddenly Khaos’ forehead was searing with pain.
‘Not another headache!’ she said to herself through gritted teeth, hands once more holding her throbbing head. But then she noticed that they felt wet, and when she pulled them away she could just about make out blotches of something sticky and darkly red on her fingertips. For a brief moment, she was confused. Then it dawned on her that she had been shot.
CHAPTER NINE
If even a small part of her had still doubted her immortality, it was now proven once and for all. Khaos stared at her bloody hands in horrified wonder. The pain was excruciating, but even now it was ebbing away. She should not be able to even think about the pain, she should be lying on the ground, dead. Yet here she was, touching the little round weeping hole, right between her eyes, which she could feel getting smaller even now.
Then she thought about the person who had fired. Who would just open fire on someone they didn’t know, just for a bit of mild trespassing? Khaos remembered her sword, and drew it shakily, hoping that it would know what to do if it was necessary. Her stomach churned with fear.
‘Please don’t let me have to kill… please,’ she muttered under her breath.
There w
as another muffled shot, but this time Khaos was ready for it, and managed to dodge the bullet. It thumped harmlessly into the earth by her feet. She charged into the direction she thought it had come from, sword swinging.
THUMP behind her, and she spun round to see a figure dressed all in black, a mask over its eyes. She guessed it was male, short and lean, pointing a pistol at her, silencer attached to the end of it. With a fluid, easy flicker of movement, the sword swung down and sliced the pistol in half, the orange flames lighting up the figure’s astonished face, even through the mask. He dropped the gun and in an equally swift move produced a short sword, which he swung round towards Khaos face. The flaming sword flew up and parried, carrying Khaos with it, as if she were holding on to the feet of an enraged copper bird trying to fly away. The masked figure went for every killing move he could think of; slashing at Khaos’ throat, a jab below her rib cage, and numerous attempts on her heart. All the while the flaming sword flashed back and forth, blocking every blow. Frustrated, the figure threw a punch with his other hand which hit her in the stomach, winding her momentarily. As she clutched at the pain he leapt bodily into the air, putting all his force into an attempt to stab her in the back. But the flaming sword was there first, goring through his exposed chest.
And then Khaos was left, staring in shock, at the dying man on the end of the sword. She withdrew it hastily, sheathing it across her back, panting and horrified at what she had done.
‘It was the sword, it was the sword…’ she muttered, trying to reassure herself. She tried not to look at his shuddering body lying in the grass, dead eyes glazing over.
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