Between Floors

by W. R. Gingell

  I would understand, and be very, very helpful.

  “Oh, is it crooked?” I asked, grinning savagely. “Hang on, I’ll fix it.”

  I gave it a good shove up on the side that was down. “There you go!”

  “Kurotji mala.”

  “Not like that? Oh, I did it the wrong way?” I gave it another good shove the other way and left it out by about five centimetres.

  “Petteu,” said JinYeong, his voice soft and silky, “Chugolae?”

  “Why not?” I said. “You’re already dead, and I’ve died three times already, so it’s not like we don’t have experience. Go for it: Kill me.”

  JinYeong turned his head to one side, gazing at me.

  “What?” I said. “Trying to decide how to do it? Ask Athelas; he’s got some flamin’ fantastic ideas!”

  He looked at me for just a bit longer, then unexpectedly reached out and patted me on the head. “Bad Pet,” he said in Korean, and sauntered back toward the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

  “Oi!” I yelled after him. “You can’t do that!”

  His chuckle curled back to me as he descended the stairs, and somehow there was a wetness falling down my cheeks, hot and cold at the same time. I crouched underneath the painting and cried until no more tears came out with the sobs, and until I heard the sound of the jug being boiled downstairs.

  Then I patted my cheeks dry and went to wash them off.

  I was still feeling a bit raw and cranky when I got to the kitchen to make the coffee, though my cheeks were dry and not so red, and when I saw a mug of coffee waiting for me, with Zero and JinYeong already sipping from their own mugs, I felt a warmth in my eyes again.

  “Don’t make me coffee!” I said to Zero. “I can make my own!”

  He put his hand on my head, and for a minute I thought he was going to pat my head, too; but he pressed down until I was sitting on one of the bar stools in front of the kitchen island, and pushed the mug into my hands.

  “I made it,” he said. “Drink it.”

  Maybe the tears had taken away the edge of recklessness I’d felt earlier. I propped my feet on the cross bar of the stool and drank my coffee, and when JinYeong dropped a plate of biscuits in front of me and said “Moggo,” I picked one up and dipped it in my coffee, too.

  I didn’t like the way they were both watching me, so I asked, “What are Heirlings, anyway?”

  JinYeong said in a deeply satisfied purr, “Ooah, Hyeong! Jaemissoyo!”

  I looked from him to Zero. “What’s so much fun about it?”

  “It’s not fun,” Zero said. “JinYeong simply likes things that cause trouble. An Heirling is any fae, or mix of fae and another race who is powerful enough to challenge the current rule and take control of the world Behind.”

  “Someone who isn’t Fae can rule Faery?”

  “It’s not Faery,” said Zero. “It’s Behind. And any Behindkind with a drop of the right Fae blood can rule Behind.”

  Flaming heck. So when Athelas said something about Zero being the heir, he meant the heir of the whole of Behind? Not just a country somewhere?

  Still blinking about that, I asked, “Not Between as well?”

  “Nobody rules Between,” said Zero. “That’s what Between is—a lawless section neither here nor there.”

  “How do they know which Heirling is the right one?”

  JinYeong chuckled, deep and low.

  “I’m guessing it’s a bloodbath, then,” I said.

  “Very nearly,” Zero replied. “If there’s more than one to begin with, there is usually only one left by the end of the succession discussions.”

  “That’s some discussion. ’Zat why you left your family and became a cop?”

  “I didn’t leave my family and become a policeman.”

  “No? Looks like it from where I’m sitting. I thought your family was the mafia or something, but they’re more like royalty?”

  “They’re not royalty.”

  “What, just you?”

  “No one knows where the blood will out.”

  “Pretty sure that’s not how blood and DNA works,” I said. Maybe it was the coffee, but I was beginning to feel warm again. “We gunna have people turning up to try and kill you?”

  “It’s unlikely,” said Zero. “There have never been more than rumours of Heirlings—and if there had been more, the Family would have sought them out and killed them.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Well, can you just leave like that?”

  “There’s already a ruler Behind.”

  “Yeah, but if you’re his heir—”

  “Behindkind live a long time.”

  “What a surprise,” I muttered. “So your family wants you to be king, and—”

  “My family wants the power associated with me being Ruler Behind. Once there, it would be a constant struggle to remain free of their machinations.”

  If they were anything like as twisty as Athelas, I could understand Zero’s reluctance to have his family anywhere near him while he was on the throne.

  “So what, you’re just gunna give it up?”

  “I have no interest in ruling Behind.”

  “Reckon your family’s gunna give up that easily?”

  “No.” Zero put down his coffee mug, and there was a faint line between his brows. “But that is my own issue to resolve.”

  JinYeong chuckled again, and the look he shot at Zero was malicious.

  To my surprise, Zero actually grinned. He said, “Until it becomes otherwise, it’s still my issue to resolve. That’s not what’s important right now.”

  “What is important right now, then?” I asked, not really expecting him to tell me.

  “The kind of dreams you’re having,” he said, and paused. “They’re not being caused by Athelas’ captors, though they are indirectly a result of a Sandman’s work with Athelas.”

  “Yeah, you said that if it wasn’t that, it was because of a connection or something?”

  “Exactly so,” said Zero, and the line between his eyes deepened.

  I thought about that for a little while. “Yeah, but hang on—”

  “Exactly so,” he said again. “What connection do you have to Athelas?”

  “Beggared if I know. Maybe it’s the house. You said it’s susceptible to Between, and so did Athelas. Maybe it seeped into me, or something.”

  “Perhaps,” said Zero, but I could tell he didn’t believe it.

  JinYeong made a dismissive “Tch” of sound.

  “What do you know?” I demanded. “It could be that.”

  “Ani.”

  “What, I can’t dream a dream?”

  “Andwae,” agreed JinYeong. “Petteuga kunyang Petteuya. Inganiya.”

  “What about Heirlings?” I said. Maybe I was a bit smug, but if so, it made a nice change from JinYeong being smug.

  He scowled at me.

  “Technically, Heirlings aren’t human,” said Zero. “They’re a fae and human hybrid.”

  “Like vampires and were—lycanthropes?”

  “No. I’ve told you: Vampires and lycanthropes are mutated versions of humans. Heirlings and Harbingers are born.”

  “Ha!” I said to JinYeong. “Zero says you’re a mutant.”

  Zero said a very faint, startled, “What?” and JinYeong threw a biscuit at me. Reckon he must have forgotten I was still pumped up on a bit of vampire spit. I caught it without having to think about it and dipped it in my coffee.

  “More for me,” I said, grinning a crabby grin into my coffee. I don’t know how, but I was starting to feel better.

  “I didn’t—I didn’t say that,” Zero said, and I wasn’t sure if the pause was because he was trying not to laugh, or because he was still so bemused. “What are you doing, Pet?”

  “Getting up,” I said, draining the rest of my coffee. “I’m going for a walk.”

  JinYeong and Zero exchanged a look, but Zero only said, “Pay
attention while you’re out.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  That wasn’t what I’d meant to say. I tried again, and this time it came out. “Thanks for trying to stop him. Athelas, I mean. I forgot to say that.”

  “Next time, you’ll know to be more careful.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I mean, it wouldn’t stop me dying, but I’d know.

  Chapter Nine

  It wasn’t until I was outside that I looked at my phone. The entire screen lit up with a series of texts from Detective Tuatu, leaving me to wonder exactly how the sound of them arriving hadn’t woken me. Dying repeatedly wasn’t really an excuse when you woke up alive.

  6.15—Pet, the dryad won’t let me leave the house.

  6.31—Please come and get me out.

  6.43—I don’t know what’s happening and the dryad won’t let me make a phone call. Please come and get me out.

  6.55—Wait. Don’t come and get me. The dryad is shrinking again.

  7.02—Looks like I had some visitors a couple minutes ago; they’re gone now. Don’t know why the dryad won’t let me make a phone call, though.

  7.45—Okay, I think I know what’s happening. Someone’s bugged my house, but they’re not normal bugs.

  7.46—Actually I think they’re normal bugs, because they can crawl, but they’ve got listening equipment sort of, I don’t know, built in?

  7.55—Insect spray kills them.

  8.42—There are leaves in my hair, and I don’t think they’re the dryad’s.

  I grinned down at my screen. Maybe it was mean of me, but it was kinda nice to interact with someone who was more out of their depth than I was. It made the world feel a bit normal again.

  I texted, Sorry, I was asleep. You need me to come around?

  No, it’s fine. I’m collecting dead bugs at the moment. Will the leaves come out of my hair?

  Yeah, but it might take a day or two.

  All right. Don’t call me for a couple of days, though, all right? I need to check for more bugs.

  This got something to do with Zero coming to visit you?

  This time there was a longer gap between messages before the reply came, No.

  “Fibber,” I said aloud, and put my phone back in my pocket. I’d have enough time later on to be figuring out what was going on with Tuatu and my psychos. Right now, I just needed to check on Daniel and maybe figure out a way not to die next time I dreamed.

  Right now, it was just nice not to die.

  This time, when I walked down the street, I only went as far as the house that might hide Daniel, and turned into the entrance of the building across the street like I belonged there. It was obviously some sort of shared living, and it had a pretty leafy garden where I could maybe keep out of sight. Of course, keeping out of sight wouldn’t help me to be able to see into any of the windows of the house across the road, but I didn’t see the front entrance of a shared building being unlocked, so it was unlikely I’d get a chance to go inside.

  Just out of view of the street, sheltered from the front windows of the lower floor by a tree trunk, I threw a look around the garden. Lots of places to hide, but not that I’d be able to get a good view from. I looked up at the leafy foliage above me, wondering how well I’d be able to see from up there—and how likely it was that this place would start getting busy as the morning went on.

  What was it that Zero had said about surveillance? That’s right: It doesn’t matter how well you’re hidden; someone will always see you. Make sure that it doesn’t matter when you are seen.

  So hiding in the bushes was out, and so was climbing one of the trees. Being seen in a tree or climbing down from a tree was definitely something that would matter.

  I moved slowly toward the front wall by way of the path; nice and slow, just a normal occupant of the building having a wander around the front garden a bit too early in the morning. There was a nice little cut-away section between the last window on the left and the corner of the building; deep enough to hide me from the windows when the curtains were opened. If I propped myself up against that with my phone out, I’d look just like a normal teenager. There was a small window there, oval and sunk back into the creeper that started to take over the building at about shoulder height, but when I took a quick look into it, there was only an empty room there as far as I could see. Someone’s bedroom, probably.

  I nudged my shoulder into the corner to avoid the oval window, and found that I could see through the windows across the road a bit better. Not the lower ones—like the ones in this building, the curtains there were still drawn; but the upper ones were flung open, and I could see a section of ceiling and what looked like one very broad shoulder in a suit.

  Pity I couldn’t see any more than that. I was starting to think that I might have to find a way to sneak into the place itself, after all.

  I was still thinking about that, trying to decide if it was worth the wrath of Zero when—if—he found out, when I saw a flash of movement over my shoulder. I shrank away from it, but it was just a girl’s face in the tiny window; small and pale, with huge eyes and hair that was too black for her face and definitely too black to be real. Her lips were painted black, too, and there was a lot of eyeliner around her eyes, though I wasn’t sure if the dark circles beneath that were on purpose or because she hadn’t had enough sleep.

  “Hey,” she said, and her voice was a bit too breathy to be healthy.

  I squinted up at her. Beggar me. There went my good hiding spot.

  Hang on. Where was she, though? I wasn’t looking at a person through a small window like I’d thought at first; I was looking at a mirror, tilted toward another mirror further up on the outside of the house, just beside an elkhorn. There were probably more further up, but if there were, they were too well hidden for me to see.

  “Where are you?” I asked, in astonishment.

  “In my room,” she said, her pale face bright with enthusiasm.

  “Is there a speaker down here somewhere?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know exactly where it is, though. If you’re trying to keep an eye on what’s going on over the road, you can do it from my room.”

  “Yeah?” I said slowly.

  “It’s okay,” she said, more quietly. “Cops use my room a lot—there was one here just a week ago. There’s a lot of crime around here, and I’ve got a good view. Windows on both walls, so I can see into most of the houses around here.”

  She must be younger than her makeup and the dark circles beneath her eyes had made me think: A bit naïve, too. “How’d you know I’m a cop?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first,” she said. “You’re a lot younger than most of the ones I’ve had here for surveillance. But you’re doing all the same things that they usually do, so I figured it was a good guess.”

  Then she grinned. “I thought it was worth saying it, too; thought you’d be impressed if I got it right, and if I was wrong you’d only think I’m a bit weird. Most people already think I’m a bit weird.”

  “All right,” I said, grinning back up at her. “I’ll be right up. What room?”

  “I’m number fifteen, top floor. It’s unlocked.”

  The front entrance was unlocked, too, which made me kick myself a bit. I should have checked. By now, I could have been somewhere in the place, looking out of a convenient window and not caught by a thirteen-year-old. I wondered if the girl had seen me sizing up the tree to decide whether or not to climb it, too. Probably.

  I trotted up the stairs pretty quickly; it wasn’t exactly necessary for people not to see me, but I thought I’d prefer as few people to see me around here as possible. Across the street there had been the feeling of Between fairly crackling on the air, and even the house didn’t look exactly the same from minute to minute, but over here there was barely a touch of it around. Maybe enough to make me think the balustrade could be a tree branch, but that was about it.

  There were only three rooms up on the top fl
oor, and number fifteen was the only one on its side of the hall, which made me raise my eyebrows a bit. The building wasn’t exactly a small one; she must have the equivalent of half a house up here. Where were her parents?

  I knocked, and the same breathy voice called out, “Come in!”

  The door was unlocked, just like she’d said, and the first impression I got when I walked in was that I’d walked into a cloud. It was all blue and white and airy; windows bright and light on two walls, with conveniently-sized areas of painted brick between them from which to peer out at the world without being seen. The rest of the room was taken up with stuff that might be exercise equipment, but wasn’t like any kind of equipment I’d seen before, and a computer setup that must have cost more than a year’s rent in this room. Oh yeah, and the giant, mirrored black telly that was suspended from the ceiling where it wouldn’t get in the way of anyone’s view from the windows.

  I tore my eyes away from that to look for the girl, and that was how I saw the bed right in the middle of all the other stuff, right where it had the best view from the windows. The girl was sitting in it—well, slumping a bit, really. There was a mountain of pillows behind her, and what I’d thought was a black, lacy shirt was actually a black pyjama top.

  Maybe she got back in bed after she came over to look at me. Weird, but she looked like a bit of a weird kid.

  She didn’t ask me for my ID or anything, just gave me a huge smile that was far too cheerful for the goth thing she had going with her makeup, and said, “I’m Morgana.”

  “Pet,” I said automatically. I could have kicked myself, but it was too late now. I should definitely think about making a fake name for situations like this.

  “It’s a good view, isn’t it?” she said, eyes bright. “I can see into most of the buildings around here because of the incline of the street, and if I use binoculars—”

  She stopped guiltily.

  Grinning, I asked, “You spend a lot of time looking out there with binoculars?”

  “Maybe,” Morgana said. She added hastily, “Not looking through people’s curtains or anything—well, sometimes by accident, but I don’t do it on purpose.”