by Alexis Hall
All I had to do was be smart, keep my head down, and offload this thing as fast as possible. How hard could that be?
I got home to find Elise in the kitchen. She was finishing off the washing up, which was nice of her. Especially since she didn’t contribute to it. I went and flopped down in the sitting room, took the Tears of Hypnos out of my pocket and sat there for a bit, looking at them. As far as I could see, it was nothing more than a little bottle of sparkly liquid. Like bubble mix. I set it on the table and pulled out my phone to give the client the good news.
“Kate.” The Merchant seemed almost perky. “I’ve had a message from the Witch Queen of London.”
“And?”
“And we’ve reached an agreement. The Tears go to the Queen, I get my chance to show Mr. King what happens to people who steal from me, and”—I know you can’t hear a grin over a telephone, but I felt like I could—“one or two other little particulars. Now, do you have good news for me?”
“Looking at the merchandise right now. I’ll get it to Nim ASAP. Guess this means that we’re about done.”
“It often feels like that, my dear. It’s surprising how rarely it’s true. But send me your invoice and we can settle things your way this time.”
“And your father-mother won’t come screaming for wolf blood any time soon?”
“They’ll have no need. You see how well things work out when everybody plays their part?”
Hanging up the phone and trying not to think too hard about what part the Merchant of Dreams wanted me to play and what they wanted me to play it in, I called through to the kitchen. “Elise, can you get an invoice out for the Seven Dials job?”
“Certainly,” she called back. “I’ll do it right away.”
It was kind of a relief to have things with the Merchant wrapped up, although it occurred to me that this did mean I was once again between paying gigs and battling supernatural monsters on a strictly pro bono basis.
Elise came through from the kitchen. She stopped, like she always did, in the doorway. Standing stock-still in that unnerving secretly-an-actual-statue way of hers, she glanced at the vial, then at me. Then smiled, pleasantly. “How was your day, Kate?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Hellpits, witches, werewolves who won’t take no for an—”
My brain caught up with my mouth. Elise never called me Kate.
I grabbed the Tears from the table and made a dash for the door. Elise, or whoever it really was, moved to stop me.
Chapter Thirteen
Rats & Weasels
I ran into a wall of stone. Apart from that one time at the Undertow, I’d never fought...what did I even call these people? An Elise? A mystically animated statue-lady? Whatever, I’d never fought one when I wasn’t already intending to take a beating. She had this utterly unfair mix of invulnerability, superhuman strength, and more speed than you’d expect from somebody who was made out of rock.
As a result, it was a pretty short battle. I tried to duck past her, she grabbed me, smacked me in the side of the head, and I went down.
Here lies Kate Kane. Fell for the old “replace your assistant with an identical duplicate” act. Beloved daughter, sorely missed.
I woke up to find the Tears gone and my head killing me. Well fuck. Tara was going to be so pissed. Picking myself up, I fumbled for my phone. I was beginning to worry that if one of the players in this gigantic fucking farce had decided to replace Elise they’d have needed to get rid of the real thing.
I rang the office.
“Kane and Archer, neither Kane nor Archer are present at present. She is absent, and he deceased. How may I assist you?”
“Fuck, Elise. That is you, right?”
“Yes, Miss Kane.”
“Has anything, y’know, weird happened to you in the last day or so?”
“I might observe that in our particular business, ‘weird’ is rather difficult to identify. Yesterday, a little after I returned from Highgate Forest—a journey which, I might add, I enjoyed very much—a young lady hired me to carry out a simple investigation into her husband, with the very clear instruction that I keep him under observation for at least twenty-four hours. It seemed mildly unusual, but well within our usual repertoire, and so I took the job. I have just returned, and will invoice the lady shortly.”
I was starting to get a pieces-into-place type feeling. “This lady. Describe her.”
“American. Dark hair in a rather eccentric style. The gentleman she wanted me to follow seemed to live a perfectly unobtrusive life, and spent a rather long time commuting up motorways. Overall I was glad when the assignment was over. Is there a problem, Miss Kane?”
“You could say that. I’ll explain when I get to the office.”
“I shall have the coffee ready.”
She would, too. I double-checked that the imposter hadn’t taken anything apart from the world-altering superweapon, grabbed my keys, and headed downstairs. Technically, I should probably have been going to a hospital because being punched in the head by something made entirely of marble put you at serious risk of concussion. But, fuck it, things were getting apocalypsey. At least, I didn’t have to worry about passing out at the wheel or swerving off the road thanks to the creepy ice-and-shadow horses.
Once I reached Bow Street, Elise and I swapped stories. I explained about the whole abduction/forest/werewolves/trip-to-hell/werewolves again/ambush thing, and she got me caught up on all the bits of invoicing and filing that she’d been taking care of while I was out of commission.
“If I may ask, Miss Kane,” she said, “the woman who stole the artefact...”
“Looked like you. Moved like you. Didn’t talk like you.”
“Do you believe that she was the same...example that you saw with Mr. Lake?”
I really wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to get her hopes up, but then I also didn’t know what her hopes were or what getting them up would even mean in this situation. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean...identical copies so...kind of identical? But the lady who had you following her ‘husband’ for the last day or so sounds like somebody who works for Fisher, and it’d be too big a coincidence for one person to arrange for you to be out of the way while a completely different person arranged for somebody to impersonate you. Unless they’re working together, but since they have exactly zero common ground I think it’s unlikely. Which means you have more than one...umm...clone wandering around.”
Elise didn’t react. Like, at all. Which was kind of weirding me out, because it was like she’d been switched off.
“Are you okay?” It was a crappy question, but it was the best I had.
Her head swivelled sharply to face me. “Yes. Rather, I see no reason that I should not be. I had always known that the magic which created me was not unique. But I find it peculiar to imagine that I have—I am sorry, I am not certain what word is appropriate—sisters? It raises unsettling questions. I find myself wondering what they are like, if they are like me, and if they are, what it means that they are or, if they are not, what it may mean that they are not. I wonder.” She stopped again. Dead still and stone cold. “I suppose I wonder if they are happy.”
I gave her a hug. I’m not the most tactile person ever, but it kind of seemed like the thing to do. Also, it meant I didn’t have to say what I was thinking, which was “mostly I’m wondering if they’re going to try to kill us.”
The good news was we weren’t back at square one. Yes, I’d had the means to solve all of our problems in my hands and promptly lost it again, but we were still making something like progress. I was fairly sure that the Tears were with Fisher, and that he’d teamed up with either Elise’s creator or one of her—to stick with her language—sisters to get it. At least he didn’t seem to want to use the Tears to kill any of my friends, although healing a wound was one of those seemingly benign motivations that usuall
y turned out to mean something unutterably terrifying.
“How do you want to play this?” I asked.
“Miss Kane?” She was still a bit off, but she was loosening up.
“I need to find out what the...other Elises are doing. I’ll start with the Multitude. From there I’m not sure. I can’t risk going back to Lake. But either way, I want you to know that you can be in this or out of it, whatever you need. I’ve got your back, or I’m in your corner, or, y’know...”
She patted my hand gently and a bit mechanically. “That is very kind of you. I think—” Another pause, frozen like a photograph. “I think I should like to come with you. To investigate. I am, after all, an investigator by profession.”
I said something vague and reassuring and probably a bit patronising like “that you are” or “and a damned good one” or whatever. I honestly don’t remember. Point was, we had a lead and a clock. Fisher had a clear plan for the Tears, and as far as I knew there was no reason he’d wait to use them. That meant we had to find him as soon as possible. The Multitude was our best bet. Plus I hoped that Elise would find it comforting to speak to Carew again. Yes, he was a bodiless gestalt entity made of rats that pretended to be an Anglican priest, but all that aside, he seemed to be a decent guy.
We piled into the car, and Elise drove us down the Strand, towards Whitechapel. She didn’t put any music on which was a relief in some ways, because I didn’t think my head could take it, but a worry in others. If I’d been less shit at this sort of thing, I’d have asked what was on her mind. But I wasn’t so I didn’t.
St. Botolph’s Without Aldgate was a friendly, welcoming sort of church. Which was fitting, because the Multitude was a friendly, welcoming sort of all-seeing hive-mind. Edmund Carew was seated in a pew near the entrance. I put a hand on Elise’s shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring “you take the lead here” sort of a way. She seemed to understand what I was getting at, because she went and sat down next to Edmund. It was quite a pretty scene all told—charming young woman seeks guidance from friendly local clergyman. Charming young woman who’s actually a statue animated by magic that usurps the very power of creation and friendly local clergyman who is entirely made of rats but, hey, you can’t have everything.
“Mr. Carew,” Elise began. “I have questions, if I may.”
Carew didn’t say anything. He just looked sort of wise and approachable.
“The man who...who made me. I wish to know if he made others.”
“And why do you wish to know that?” Carew’s voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Suspicion, perhaps.
“My partner. Miss Kane. She has encountered some...people who resemble me very closely. It has made me wonder what else might exist. What my creator might have done or be doing. It has...confused and upset me.”
Carew glanced my way. I was pretty sure that was for my benefit. They say you’re never more than six feet from a rat, after all, and the Multitude had more than one pair of eyes. “And what about your—how do you put it—partner? Why does she want to know this?”
Elise looked at me. As always, her expression was hard to read, but I think she was looking for a hint what to do next. I tried, through minute changes in my facial expression and subtle gestures, to articulate a sentiment along the lines of “it isn’t really my place to tell you how to handle this, you need to deal with it on your own terms and I’ll support you in whatever you decide.” But I think I might have come across as a bit confused.
“Miss Kane,” she said, “is aligned with the Witch Queen Nimue in a mystical war against a man named King. She is seeking a magical reagent called the Tears of Hypnos, which was stolen from her by one of the...others. She intends to track it down. I wish to help her.”
The air shifted, and while I might have been imagining it, I could have sworn I heard a skittering, scuttling sound right behind me. “The Multitude,” whispered Carew, “does not take sides in the conflicts of wizards.”
Elise leaned forward. “Please, this matters to me.” Perhaps I was going soft in my old age, but there was something in her tone I found pretty damned heartbreaking. “If there are others out there, I wish to know. I wish to know what happened to them. What their lives are like.”
Carew looked down. “I have done a great deal for you already, Elise. Would you really ask me to do more?”
A huge warning sign was flashing in my head. Maybe it was all the time I’d spent hanging out with demons and half-faeries recently, but I really wasn’t sure I wanted my assistant getting herself deeper in debt with this thing. Everything had been okay up to now, but I knew something in the region of sod all about it, and my policy with things I know sod all about is to assume they’re secretly evil.
Gently, Elise put a hand on Carew’s arm. “I know you have done a lot for me. And I have never entirely known why you did. I am only asking you to help me because I think you can, not because I think you must.”
There was a definite chittering now, but it seemed more curious than ominous, like the swarm was processing something, considering it. “It is true,” said Carew at last. “We can help you. And we will, because it is our nature to watch over the lost. But your friend should not take this to mean that we are on her side. We are on nobody’s side.”
That was pretty clear. Carew answered Elise’s questions as best as he—or rather they—could. The Multitude knew of three more “sisters”. One was working for Lake at the Undertow, and had been for some while, since before Elise existed. One was still with their creator. The other was living in a flat in Brentford and engaged to an estate agent. Assuming I wasn’t jumping to completely inaccurate conclusions, that pointed to Fisher and Elise’s creator working together directly. Well, he had said he’d find another way in if I didn’t help him.
Elise said her goodbyes—she was nothing if not polite—and we came out of the church into the late afternoon sunlight. I tried to make reassuring noises, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Okay...” I tried. “Seems like we’re looking up your... I don’t know, what do we call him?”
“Russel?”
“Yeah. Although I’m kind of leaning towards ‘the arsehole who literally threw you on a rubbish heap.’” Actually, he’d packed her in the boot of a car and sent it to a wrecker’s yard. But that didn’t have the right ring to it. Also it was still kind of too disgusting to think about.
“That seems overlong.” Maybe she was joking, but it was hard to tell. I still wasn’t getting the cues I normally did.
“I’m assuming you know where this guy lives, unless he’s moved in the last few months. But I’m also assuming there’s kind of a reason you haven’t gone back to see him since.”
“He made it very clear that I was unwanted.”
“Yeah, I didn’t mean ‘gone back for a chat’. I more meant ‘gone back to beat his head in’.”
Again she was very still. “I do not. That is. It did not ever occur to me that I could do such a thing.”
“Do you, y’know, want to?”
“I am not sure.” She seemed to be seriously thinking about it. “I do not believe so. I do not think that I am the sort of person who would take satisfaction from it. But I cannot rule out the possibility that I am simply incapable of considering action against my creator. And that raises worrying questions about my consciousness.”
This was edging dangerously close to out of control. I steered Elise away from the church and back towards the car. “I wouldn’t overthink it. I was only asking because I wanted to say that if you felt you had to sit this one out I’d be totally okay with that. I mean, y’know, blah blah confront your past blah blah closure but, let’s be honest, I’m kind of the poster child for running away from your problems.”
Elise smiled. It looked like she had to think about it more than she normally did. “I will be fine, Miss Kane. But thank you.”
Turned out Russel lived in Pinner, which was the best part of an hour from where we were. Elise didn’t talk the entire journey, and I didn’t push it. Instead I followed her when we got out of the car, and watched as she wandered the leafy suburban streets like she was remembering a dream. She finally walked up to a nice-enough little end-of-terrace, all tokenistic front gardens and satellite dishes, and stopped outside the door.
“Here,” she said. “It was here. He may have gone.”
I waited to see if she’d knock. She didn’t, so I did.
There was a definite movement from inside, and then the rattle of a chain. The door opened a crack to reveal a skinny blond man in a short-sleeved checked shirt.
“You Russel?”
“Who’s asking?”
You could always take that as a yes. “I think you know a friend of mine.”
He peered around the door. “Shit, Lissa? I told you to stay with Mr. Fisher.”
“Not Lissa.” I looked at Elise, she wasn’t saying anything and didn’t look like she would any time soon. “Are you going to let us in, or are we going to have this whole conversation on your doorstep.”
“You haven’t even told me who you are yet.”
“You know who she is”—I indicated Elise—“or at least you can get it within three guesses. I’m just a freelancer who really wants to know what your deal with Fisher is and really, really wants to know how she can find the bastard.”
