A Hollow in the Hills

by Ruth Frances Long

  ‘High praise,’ Izzy muttered, squirming in her seat.

  ‘You did,’ said Mum, in tones far more gentle than Dad’s. ‘You’re still here, that’s what matters. David, you’re not angry at Izzy. She’s safe. She drove them off. And someone else’s daughter is going home to them as well.’

  ‘Any number of daughters, if the Fear had gone on a killing spree. The Sídhe used to be terrified of them and that’s saying something. Whoever has let them out has a hell of a lot to answer for. They won’t stop here. I’ll have to—’ Dad turned the corner into their road, rounded the bend to approach the house and swore loudly. For the second time that day, Izzy’s tattoo flared with an icy cold warning and she gasped in alarm as she saw what he saw.

  Five angels were waiting in the front garden. The car shuddered to a halt as it stalled in the drive, the engine coughing and spluttering. Dad growled under his breath.

  ‘What are they doing here? Those—’

  ‘David!’ Mum cut in, silencing his litany of curses before they even began.

  Izzy swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat and tried to grin. The flood of adrenaline brought out her reckless sense of humour. ‘Why not go with “morons”, Dad?’ she offered.

  ‘Isabel!’

  Her parents did that one in harmony.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the interior of the car. The angels watched them, keen as cats on a mouse that had unwisely wandered into their domain.

  ‘We’d better see what they want,’ said Dad and opened the door.

  As Dad approached them the angels’ wary attention sharpened to a knife point. They watched his every move. Izzy followed him out of the car, painfully aware of the way their eyes flicked over to her and away.

  They dismissed her so very quickly. Or couldn’t bear to look at her for too long. They saw Dad as a challenge though and respected him for it. She’d already encountered the deep seated loathing the angels seemed to have acquired for her. Luckily they hadn’t shown their faces much since August. Very few supernatural things had until today, in spite of all her extracurricular training and study. She should have been relieved. But seeing them now, after almost three months of almost nothing, this was much worse.

  The angels wore white from head to toe. Tailored clothes, expensive, perfectly fitted to their perfect frames. They were so beautiful, so painfully beautiful, that they didn’t seem quite real. Their shoes didn’t even carry a mark from the grass.

  They reminded her of a nineties boy band. They probably sang in close harmony too.

  Izzy clenched her teeth as one of them stepped forward, the others falling into formation behind him. Had there been a key-change? She hadn’t heard one.

  ‘Zadkiel,’ said Dad. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’

  He didn’t make it sound like an honour. Izzy had never known her father to sound so passive-aggressive in her life. But then again, she was learning all sorts of new things about him.

  He was a Grigori, a Watcher, keeper of the balance between the worlds of humankind, fae, angel and demon. His blood was the blood of all races carefully blended over millennia of interference from creatures just like the angels who faced him now. Her father was special.

  And so, apparently, was she. Worst luck.

  Not that this lot were inclined to treat her as such. No, she was just a child to them, one with questionable loyalties.

  ‘You are too kind.’ The angel’s voice slid like warmed honey through the air, weaving a spell of trust and reliability all around him. With his golden looks and hazel eyes, how could he be anything else? Izzy shuddered, her skin crawling in response. Mum’s features softened and her eyes took on a dreamy look; Izzy took her hand, holding it tightly just in case. ‘David Grigori—’

  ‘Gregory,’ Dad interrupted. ‘And your charms don’t work on me. Or on Izzy, it would appear. Our blood, no doubt.’

  Zadkiel raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed. Remarkable blood it is too. Even if it is easily … what is the word? Corrupted.’

  Venom infected the angel’s voice on that final word, but Dad didn’t flinch.

  ‘No. Balanced, perhaps, in perfect harmony, even. You should try it some time. Being balanced, I mean. Well, maybe we should go inside. I don’t think the neighbours will understand, do you?’

  He hooked his arm around Mum and swept past Zadkiel who stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock as Dad seized all the power of the moment out of his hands.

  ‘Izzy?’ Dad called. ‘Be a love and open the door, will you? I don’t have my keys.’

  What could she do? No snotty angel was going to make her look like a coward, especially when Dad had already faced him down. Of course Dad had his keys. What was he up to?

  As she passed the angels, their eyes focused on her in unison, and a shadow passed over her, chilling her to the bone. But she didn’t hesitate, smothering the fear down deep inside her and recognising it for what it was – not her own, but something foisted on her by their very presence. They wanted her to be afraid.

  So she wouldn’t. That would show them. Somehow.

  The key skittered against the lock, but eventually went into the keyhole and turned. She darted inside and disarmed the burglar alarm with trembling fingers. She took a moment, forcing her breath to be calm, and then turned around.

  The garden stood empty. They were already inside the house, all five of them. Zadkiel gazed at her with his searching eyes, while the others inspected the framed photos in the hall and the collection of little china fairies Mum had arranged on the occasional table.

  ‘Don’t touch those,’ Izzy said. ‘They’re fragile.’

  The angel looming over them glanced back at her, smiled a slow, sinister smile, and tipped one with the end of his fingertip. There was a rumble in the air, like distant thunder, and the figurine shattered, crumbling into tiny fragments.

  Izzy sucked in a cry, but Zadkiel got there before her.

  ‘Suriel, enough! We are guests.’

  The angel stepped back and bowed his head, eyes fixed on his shoes. If he was chastened or simply acting, Izzy couldn’t tell.

  Suriel. She studied him closely. And Zadkiel. She’d look them up later, try and find out what the internet had to say about them. She was making a list. It seemed like a good plan.

  Know your enemy.

  Of course they weren’t meant to be the enemy, and Dad would tell her that they weren’t. But she knew for a fact, they didn’t like her, and she didn’t like them.

  Dad knew it too. It didn’t make for a good starting point, really.

  Mum on the other hand was staring at the little pile of porcelain shards with a new and rather impressive look of murder in her eyes. She glared at Dad, who lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Whatever spell they’d used on her had worn off. Now she looked fit to spit nails.

  ‘Right,’ Mum snapped, and the word dripped loathing. ‘Right. I’ll make some tea then.’

  She stalked out of the room. Mum, it seemed, was not a fan of angels either.

  ‘You’re going to replace that,’ Dad told Zadkiel.

  The angel bowed his head. ‘As you say, Grigori. And now we must talk. In private.’

  ‘Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my daughter. She is a Grigori too now, thanks to your sister, Sorath.’

  Zadkiel’s expression suggested he had sucked the largest lemon in the world. ‘My sister was … misguided. She is fallen and lost to us forever, thanks to your daughter.’

  Izzy took a step towards Dad. Sorath may have been an angel, but she was also a psychopath obsessed with freeing her beloved Lucifer from his prison, and she had manipulated, coerced and possessed Izzy in order to try to achieve her ends. Zadkiel made her sound like a victim and that didn’t bode well.

  ‘What am I supposed to have done now?’ she asked, painfully aware of the edge in her voice.

  ‘You gave the spark to Azazel. All that was left of Sorath is in the hands of a demon.’

>   ‘Well, given what that angel had just tried to do to me it seemed like the best plan. Anyway, isn’t that old news? That was months ago.’

  Fire flared in his eyes again. ‘You are a fool, girl. You put your trust in the wrong places. It will see you damned.’

  From him that really meant something. She ought to be afraid, she knew that. But she wasn’t.

  Her anger was too strong for that. Balling her hands into fists she jerked forward a step, but Dad’s arm blocked her way.

  ‘Enough,’ he said, before Izzy could explode and tell the sanctimonious cretin exactly what she thought of him and all his kind. ‘This isn’t helping anyone. Sorath manipulated us, every one of us, my daughter most of all.’

  Zadkiel glared at her. ‘And yet she walked away.’

  ‘Which is just what I’m going to do now.’ Izzy twisted away, rage simmering through her, ready to reach boiling point and overflow.

  ‘You are going nowhere. If we must include you, so be it. You will stay. There is more we need to know from you.’

  ‘I’ve told you all there is. All I’m going to tell you.’

  ‘One of our brethren is missing. An explanation is needed from you.’

  ‘From me? Am I responsible for every lost angel around here now?’

  But Dad interrupted before Zadkiel could say anything. And probably before Izzy could make it into a complete unmitigated disaster. He even managed to smile although it went no further than the corners of his mouth. ‘Who is missing?’

  Zadkiel visibly calmed himself, turning his attention back to her father. At least he was willing to be polite there. She wondered what Dad would do if he wasn’t. She’d never thought of her father as in any way, remotely kick-ass, but the super-natural world seemed to regard him with respect, and not a little awe. It was a shame she couldn’t get the same treatment.

  What had he done for them, over the years? What had he done to them?

  She’d have to ask him. One day. Whenever there was a moment. It certainly wasn’t going to be now.

  ‘Haniel,’ said Zadkiel. ‘The joy and grace of God.’

  Dad frowned and glanced in Izzy’s direction, just for a moment, but she could see his genuine concern. ‘Haniel is powerful. It would take something very great indeed to overcome him. And you can’t find him anywhere?’

  Haniel was also one of the angels who had come after her and Jinx. She remembered his icy glare and complete lack of empathy. Not someone she was going to regret never seeing again.

  ‘Nowhere,’ Zadkiel replied. ‘Not since the hilltop last summer. Not since your daughter gave away Sorath’s spark.’

  Back to that again. Joy. Izzy bristled. ‘Well, I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘No,’ the angel gave her a withering glance. ‘And yet you were among the last who did.’

  ‘So were a whole load of other angels who did sod all to help Jinx, Dylan and me.’

  Zadkiel turned to her father, ignoring her completely. ‘Perhaps, without your daughter present we might discuss this rationally?’

  ‘Go right ahead,’ Izzy said, heading for the door as fast as she could.

  ‘Izzy.’ Dad’s voice was low, soft and apparently unconcerned, but somehow she caught the barb hidden deep within her name and looked back at him. He stood there, very still, very calm, but he looked unexpectedly … tired. There was a wariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A chill ran over her, a ripple of apprehension in her stomach that gave her pause. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Wait and we’ll talk later. Just you and me.’

  ‘When?’

  He tried to smile, but it didn’t seem to work. ‘As soon as we can.’

  That was it then. She glared at Zadkiel again, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground, that she ought to be terrified of him. He met her gaze with disdain and the chill inside her turned to a block of jagged ice. The cold mark on the back of her neck would have made ice evaporate in an instant. But she wouldn’t show him that she was afraid of him. She couldn’t. Not now. She schooled her face to return the disdain with disgust and then turned from the room, slamming the door behind her. In other times that would have brought a shout of outrage from Mum, but not this time.

  Up in her room, Izzy threw her rucksack on the bed and stuffed her belongings into it. Her book, her purse, makeup, the new phone Mum had bought …

  Then she emptied it all out again because she had no idea where she would go and leaving the house right now was not an option. Even if the angels would let her, which she sincerely doubted.

  The knife nestled in the middle of the jumble of lip balms, bracelets, hair clips, small change and the other bits of detritus that made up her normal life. What she could remember of normal.

  But the knife was nothing to do with normal life. It was cold iron, with a handle made of human bone. She’d used it to stab Jinx, although she had been trying to kill Holly at the time and her actions had not been entirely her own thanks to the presence of the angel Sorath inside her. She’d used it to stab herself to drive the angel from her.

  That hated, hated knife.

  A wave of cold came off it, sweeping up her outstretched arm and making the hair stand on end, the skin turning to goose bumps. Only then she realised that she was reaching out to it, about to grasp it and pick it up again.

  And she didn’t want to do that.

  Wrapping it carefully in the hand towel from her bathroom, she buried it in the bottom of the bag again and scooped everything back in on top of it. She might not want to touch it, but she couldn’t afford to be without it. Not anymore.

  That knife had kept her alive.

  The worst part of it was that the thing served as a constant reminder of Jinx. And Izzy wasn’t sure she wanted to remember him. Not as clearly or as keenly as she did. He was etched into her mind’s eye.

  Which was just as bloody well because she hadn’t seen him for months. Three long months.

  Jinx was all about broken promises. She understood that now. Perhaps she always should have known it. He was Sídhe. They weren’t exactly known for reliability.

  And yet every time her shiny new phone rang, she jumped, grabbing it with eager hands. Stupid, because Jinx didn’t have a number for her. She hadn’t even had a phone when she last saw him. Mum had bought it for her when she went back to school in September.

  But it didn’t stop her rushing to answer every time. Even now.

  The jangling tune rang out as the phone buzzed and hopped on the bed. She seized it and saw Dylan’s name come up. Maybe he had news. Maybe he’d heard something – anything – from Silver.

  She answered breathlessly. ‘Dylan?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated, ready to say something, then paused in concern. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m … crappy, to tell the truth. There are angels swarming all over the house. Pissed-off angels who seem to blame me for everything. One of them’s missing and apparently that’s my fault too. You?’

  ‘I’m … okay. I think. Or maybe not. Izzy, I thought I saw her today. I thought I saw Mari.’

  Mari? Izzy thought about what she’d seen today, what she’d done. Why was Dylan seeing a ghost surprising?

  ‘Where?’

  He breathed a sigh that was riddled with relief. Had he expected her to doubt him? To call him crazy? ‘In town.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘God, no. Could you imagine what they’d say?’

  His parents were not dealing with Mari’s death well. She was sure they didn’t really blame him, but he’d been there and then he’d vanished and he’d never talked about it. Because he couldn’t say anything. Nothing rational. And the magic stored up inside him just made everything all the more difficult. Human touchstone was not a good job description. There were side effects.

  At least her mum and dad were here for her. At least she hadn’t lost a sister like Dylan had. Or a daughter …

  ‘How are your parents?’

  ‘Grieving. Lost. Getting th
rough it slowly. Very slowly. Dad’s away a lot. Business trips and stuff. Mum’s … They don’t understand, but how could they?’

  There was no way. And right from the start, she and Dylan made the decision not to tell anyone who didn’t already know, not to do another Marianne on some other unsuspecting soul and let them fall prey to the supernatural world into which they had stumbled.

  But Clodagh had guessed anyway. That was something she was going to have to break to Dylan, if he didn’t already know. Clodagh had been getting information from him as well. He needed to be more careful what he said.

  And that was the problem.

  Dylan had no one else to talk to. Neither did Izzy. So they checked in with each other every day and every night, when nightmares marauded through their minds, sleeping and waking, when the magic ignited in him or when weird shit exploded all over her life like today. If he hadn’t rung her, she’d already be dialling his number.

  A knock on the door made her jump. She almost dropped the phone, but scrabbled to keep hold of it. She was too nervous. The memories were too frightening, the darkness sweeping over her today, too close to the feeling of Sorath taking control of her and leaving her lost in the back of her own mind, a helpless observer. Time didn’t have any sort of mitigating effect. Nothing did.

  The door opened a little and Dad peered in.

  ‘Dad’s here,’ she said to Dylan. ‘Ring you back?’ They couldn’t talk in front of her dad. He didn’t know everything – not every detail about what had happened to Dylan anyway – and they both wanted it kept that way. So it was understood.

  ‘Sure. Stay safe.’ He hung up and Izzy locked the phone.

  ‘Are they gone?’ she asked. Dad nodded.

  The oppressive atmosphere that enshrouded the house hadn’t gone with them, more was the pity. Dad sat at the other end of the bed looking distinctly uncomfortable.