‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘They are. I know because I see them too.’
Her chin lifted at that, and he ploughed on. ‘My birds, here.’ He whistled with his arm out and Monty obliged by landing for a moment, ruffling his feathers and splaying out his beautiful tail. ‘Yes,’ Mal said to the bird. ‘You are very handsome.’ To Aislinn he said, ‘They are charmed creatures. Everyday folk can’t even see them, but you can. I was trained to see them, but I have to work hard to remember that they are there – it’s like my brain wants to forget. I’m not naturally talented like you. You’re more powerful—’
She laughed then, a sudden burst of sound that was halfway to a snort. A release of air that left her shoulders a little higher but her hand gripping the mug of hot tea shaking. ‘I’m weak. Weak-minded. That’s why I’m in hospital. That’s why I came with you. I do as I’m told. I see things even though I know they aren’t real. I tell myself they’re not real but I still see them. If I was stronger I would be able to get a hold of myself—’ She broke off, taking a huge breath.
Mal wanted to lean forward, but he didn’t want to frighten her. He forced himself to remain still, just shaking his head carefully. ‘You’re not weak. You’re not ill. Some people are born with this ability. It’s not your fault.’
Her face went blank. She took a long sip of her tea, though, and he decided to claim that as a win.
‘I have a blow-up mattress for you to sleep on,’ he said. ‘In here. I would give you my room, but the birds would get confused. I’ll shut them in with me so you won’t be disturbed.’
She glanced at the front door.
‘It’s locked,’ he said. ‘And the phone is disconnected. I’m going to lock the door to the living room, too, so you’d best make use of the facilities before I say goodnight.’
She nodded.
‘It’s just one night,’ he said. Then added, for honesty’s sake, ‘I hope.’
‘And you want me to do what? See something?’
‘There’s a girl. She looks about your age.’ Pringle’s crew might have assured him that the target was an object, not a human, but Mal wasn’t about to take their word on it. His own senses were pretty damn sharp, but the stakes were too high.
‘You want me to look at a girl? That’s all?’ Aislinn had relaxed enough for a bit of animation to enter her voice, and he had the smallest flash of the girl she must’ve been before being drugged and terrified and locked away. He couldn’t let her go, he couldn’t erase her tragic past, but he could be honest with her. ‘I want you to tell me if she’s human.’
* * *
To his surprise it was almost midday when he opened his eyes. With Aislinn in the flat, and still aching from his encounter with Pringle’s crew, Mal hadn’t expected to sleep. He lay still for a moment, listening for sounds of life in the rest of the flat. Either the girl, Aislinn, was sleeping soundly or she’d climbed out of the window. The birds were awake and flying around the room, but Mal hardly noticed. He was intent on the day’s task. He was hoping to find the girl quickly so that he could release Aislinn as soon as possible. As if making little distinctions like that, small efforts to minimise the girl’s suffering, made any difference as to the nature of his work. He was still a bad man. He was still using an innocent, pulling her into his world.
He knocked on the closed door to the living room. ‘Aislinn, are you dressed?’ He waited a moment. There was no sound from inside. ‘I’m coming in,’ he said, unlocking the door. She was sitting on the sofa. Naturally enough, she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on last night – pale blue flannel pyjamas. ‘I’m going to need you to get changed,’ he said, indicating the clothes he’d bought, folded on the table.
She nodded, blank-eyed.
‘Unless you wanted to shower first?’
She shook her head, and he wondered if she was going to speak to him today. The brief animation of last night had gone, replaced with a zoned-out calm that he found vaguely alarming. She made no move to get up, and he looked around the room, hoping for inspiration. ‘Did you want to watch some television? Have something to eat?’
She looked at him then. ‘Mornings are circle therapy and chores. No television until after two, unless you have special privileges.’
He swallowed. Just how wrecked was her mind? He leaned against the table, trying to shorten his bulk, make himself loom a little less. ‘You’re not in hospital today. You can watch television now if you want. Or take a shower. Or have a nap. Read the paper.’
Her gaze flicked to the door. ‘But not go for a walk? Not leave?’
‘No,’ he said gently.
Her shoulders hunched a little, making her look even younger. ‘I’m fine, then. Thank you.’ Carefully polite. Like she was refusing a cucumber sandwich at a tea party. Not that Mal had any experience of tea parties. Which was probably why he was doing such a spectacularly bad job of putting the girl at ease.
‘Okay,’ he said. He opened the door wide and then went into his small kitchen to make coffee. Part of his preparation for this operation had included buying some breakfast supplies, so he was able to make two plates of toast and put them on the table. Luxury kidnapping. ‘Help yourself if you want,’ he said. He put a jar of crystallised honey and a butter knife on the table.
‘You shouldn’t leave that lying around,’ Aislinn said, showing animation for the first time. ‘Dangerous.’
‘You’re not going to stab me with a butter knife,’ he said, more confidently than he felt. ‘We’re going to eat breakfast and make conversation like the good friends we are.’
She crossed to the table and nibbled at a piece of toast. They didn’t chat, but Mal felt absurdly relieved that she’d eaten something. The poor kid was probably going through withdrawal from her meds, and he didn’t want her collapsing on him.
Later, he persuaded her to go into his bathroom and change into the new clothes. He’d guessed on sizing, based on her height and the expectation that she would be on the high side of average body mass. Lots of the drugs used in the treatment of mental illness induced weight gain. Aislinn, however, had the figure of an undernourished child. The tracksuit bottoms (‘yoga trousers’ they’d been called in the shop) were stretchy enough to stay up, at least, but the t-shirt and hoodie drowned her slight frame. Still, at least it wasn’t pyjamas. Better yet, the trainers fitted, and Aislinn seemed calm and ready to face leaving the flat.
Mal checked the app which showed the location of the GPS tracker he had planted on the girl. Object. He reminded himself to call his target ‘object’. Otherwise it would be difficult to extract her and pass her onto Pringle. It. Not her.
‘She’s—’ He stopped. Tried again. ‘The target is in The Long Drop. In town.’
Aislinn didn’t show any sign of having understood him. He ploughed on anyway. ‘We’re going to see her, you’re going to tell me what you see, and then we’re done.’
‘Then you let me go.’ She spoke in a flat tone, neither disbelieving nor hopeful. She was a good student repeating the lesson. Mal knew there was nothing he could do to reassure her or to lessen the stress. The kindest thing he could do was get this over with.
‘When we’re outside, you have to behave,’ he said. ‘No calling attention to us, no shouting for help, no nonsense.’
She tilted her chin to look at him, eyes wide and white. ‘I won’t.’
‘Good. If you do as I ask, this will be over really quickly and then you will be free to go.’
She nodded. ‘You said. You promised.’
‘Okay, then.’ He unlocked the front door and, still expecting her to bolt or start yelling or something similarly unhelpful, led her by the arm down the stairs and out onto the street. It was deserted and nobody witnessed him putting Aislinn into the front seat, putting on her seat belt and securing her wrists with a plastic zip tie. ‘Sorry,’ he said, covering her bound wrists with a spare coat. ‘It’s just a precaution. I’ll take them off when we get there.’
Aisli
nn didn’t answer. She seemed almost-catatonic again and he hoped it wasn’t pure fear. He squashed his guilt down as far as it would go, knowing he couldn’t afford it. He just had to get this job over and done with. It was that simple and that difficult. Like every fucking thing.
Chapter Five
Rose sat in the corner of The Last Drop and took several deep breaths while Astrid went to the bar. A group of students at another table had called out to Astrid and she’d stopped for a chat, her laugh carrying through the room and seeming to bounce off the wood panelling and the low beams of the ceiling, filling the space. Within seconds of walking in, it had seemed as if all eyes were on Astrid. Even the old locals turned and smiled appreciatively, and the woman serving behind the bar was leaning forwards, her red lips parted, as if wanting to get physically closer to her. Rose was happy not to draw any attention, but it also made her feel even more insubstantial than usual. If she went to the bar and tried to order, she felt the red-lipped server would simply look right through her.
Astrid returned to the table with three glasses. Rose hadn’t known what to drink, couldn’t remember if she drank alcohol or had even tried the stuff. She was certain she had never been into a pub, and definitely not this one, but something about it felt very familiar; the low ceiling and the wooden beams, the slight sagging of the window frames where the building had settled over the decades.
‘Drink up,’ Astrid said, taking a slug of her whisky. She looked around with an expression of satisfaction. ‘Finally.’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe just a coke to start with.’
‘No chance. You bailed on me the other night and now you need to make it up to me. You promised a drink.’
‘Coke is a drink,’ Rose said quietly.
‘Just try it,’ Astrid said. ‘You owe me.’
Rose took a sip of the clear liquid, expecting lemonade with perhaps a hint of something exotic. It tasted chemical and wrong and made her mouth go dry. She pulled a face and put the glass down.
‘It gets better with practice,’ Astrid said. ‘I can get you some wine if you’d prefer.’
Rose opened her mouth to say ‘I don’t know’ but shut it again, not wanting to seem any odder than she already did.
‘Come on.’ Astrid touched the glass.
With horror, Rose realised that Astrid wasn’t going to leave her to quietly ignore her drink. She lifted it and took another sip, readying herself for the disgusting taste. Astrid was right, though – it wasn’t quite as terrible the second time. She took another, bigger sip, and then another.
‘Good job,’ Astrid said. She knocked back the rest of her first whisky and started on her second.
An office type in a shirt and suit trousers came over and offered to buy them a round. Astrid barely glanced at the man, but she replied, ‘She’ll have a vodka tonic and I’ll have a double malt. Laphroaig.’
‘Isn’t that leading him on?’ Rose asked as the guy obediently headed to the bar.
‘I think he can look after himself,’ Astrid said. ‘Besides, I accepted his offer at face value. Not my fault if he had subtext that isn’t going to get anywhere near my shirt buttons.’
‘Why did I decide to come here?’ Rose hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She took another sip of the horrible drink for comfort.
‘Live a little,’ Astrid said, drumming her fingers on the table and looking around the place as if she expected something that wasn’t there.
‘They don’t have cake,’ Rose said, trying to lift the heavy weight which was sitting on her shoulders. ‘I don’t call that living.’
Astrid turned her attention back to Rose. ‘Tragic. You are a tragic waste of youth, you know that?’
Rose hated it when Astrid got like this, all spiky and impatient. She tried to think of something to say that would appease her, maybe snap her out of her strange mood, but nothing came to mind. She sipped at her drink, feeling a curious warm, buzzing sensation through her body. She touched a finger to her mouth and her lips felt strangely numb. ‘Vodka is strong,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s a triple,’ Astrid said, with fake cheeriness.
That couldn’t be right. A triple was a lot. She had asked Astrid to get her something weak. She fought to focus on her friend.
‘I really want to hear about your dreams,’ Astrid said. She was staring into Rose’s eyes in a way that would normally make Rose feel very uncomfortable. ‘Tell me.’
Rose shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about them.’
Astrid leaned forward and Rose felt the buzzing in her body increase. ‘Tell. Me.’
The door opened and a man the size of a truck walked in, derailing her thought processes. He had short dark hair that looked army-issue and a beat-up canvas jacket in a murky colour. He looked out of place indoors, as if he should be hiking halfway up a mountain, or perhaps lying in a sniper trench in some far-off land. Rose’s instincts were telling her to hide underneath the table until the man went away again, but she shoved down the impulse. Hiding under tables was not normal behaviour, and she didn’t want to annoy Astrid while she was already so grumpy.
Rose looked away from the man, focused on her drink instead and thought about taking a sip. When she looked back, she could see that he wasn’t alone. A girl with dark blonde hair that looked in need of a good wash was stood just behind him. She had been half eclipsed by his bulk, but as he moved to the left more of the girl appeared, revealing that the other side of her hair was just as matted and greasy-looking.
‘Are you even listening to me?’ Astrid said, tapping Rose on the arm sharply.
The girl with the tangled hair reached out an arm and pointed at Rose. ‘She’s so beautiful.’
Astrid looked from the pointed finger to Rose and back again. Rose was about to laugh, but Astrid looked panicked, and that sight was weird enough to kill the laugh in her throat.
The girl took a hesitant step forwards just as Astrid got to her feet, her chair clattering to the floor in her haste.
The girl’s face was glowing with happiness. An insane kind of happiness. She had light grey eyes and skin tone that looked like she’d been living in a cave.
‘So pretty.’ She was slurring her words and Rose wondered if she was drunk.
‘Come on.’ Astrid tugged Rose’s arm. She hauled her out of her seat with surprising strength and pushed her towards the back of the pub. ‘Go, go, go.’
The crazy girl lurched towards their table then was abruptly pulled back. The man had hold of her arm, but she seemed oblivious to him. She didn’t look away from Rose, and Rose found she couldn’t stop staring back at the girl. The man’s lips were moving, but Rose couldn’t hear what he was saying. She had an urge to get closer, to listen.
‘Rose!’ Astrid was towing her in the opposite direction. ‘Now!’
Rose obeyed, turning to see the door to the toilets. They went through the door, Astrid still moving fast. It swung shut behind them, almost clipping Rose on the arm, but instead of turning left and into the door marked with ‘Grrrls’ or even the one labelled ‘Dudes’, Astrid barrelled through the one marked ‘Private’. She was muttering under her breath ‘please, please, please’, and when the short corridor opened into a storage area with a fire exit door she said ‘thank fuck.’
The fear in Astrid’s tone sharpened Rose’s own. ‘What’s going on? Why are we—’
The door exploded behind them and Rose stopped asking questions and concentrated on running.
Astrid had already pushed down the metal bar on the fire exit door and was holding it open.
Outside it was dark and they were in a narrow alley. Astrid looked wild. Rose didn’t recognise her. Her eyes were wide with fear and adrenaline.
‘Okay,’ Astrid said. ‘Rose. You’ve got to close your eyes and get us out of here.’
Rose fought the sudden urge to laugh. ‘What?’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Rose’s tongue felt thick in her mouth, an
d although her head was clearer from the adrenaline there was a buzzing in her ears.
‘Yes, you do. Deep down. Just do it.’ Astrid took her hands. Her palms were cool and dry. ‘I trust you. Do it.’
There was a bang as the fire door swung open and hit the wall. The man appeared in the alley looking utterly crazed. His mouth was open and he reached for her. Everything was happening in slow motion and Rose’s hearing had gone funny, like she was at the bottom of a swimming pool. She gripped Astrid’s hands and closed her eyes. Heat went through her body in one blindingly painful flash. And then, for one awful second, there was absolutely nothing.
* * *
Mal stood frozen for a moment, staring at the suddenly-empty, definitely-demon-free space. He tried to feel good, as if he’d vanquished the girl-shaped foes simply through the power of bundling after them in a busy Edinburgh bar, but it wouldn’t stick even for a second. They’d escaped.
Shit.
He sniffed the air, hoping for a hint, but all he got was a nostril full of cordite, the burnt-match smell that seemed to go hand in hand with demonkind.
How had they done that? No demon had ever simply disappeared. They were corporeal. Dispatching them was messy work. He checked the alley, walking up and down, but there was nothing for two girls to hide behind and no fire escapes for them to have climbed, superhero-style.
Back inside, the bar chatter had returned to normal volume. People sat clustered at the small wooden tables, the surfaces crowded with glasses and bottles. Laughter punctuated the air. Mal squeezed through the happy hour punters until he found Aislinn. At least she hadn’t disappeared in a puff of smoke.
‘Pretty?’ Aislinn said, her expression confused. Then, very clearly, ‘Where’s the pretty girl?’
‘Gone.’ Mal said shortly, still angry with himself. Anybody would think this was his first day at the rodeo. He tried not to imagine what Euan would have said if he’d told him that he’d lost a demon like that. Or his father. There was, at least, an upside to being an orphan.
The Lost Girls Page 6
