by Mike Shevdon
She reached forward with a tentative finger to touch the mirror.
"I know you're there. Answer me."
She jumped back. There he went again, treating her like a two year-old, telling her what to do and how to think. No one told her what to do, not since Porton Down, not even him. She frowned at the mirror and its surface rippled under her gaze, but still his voice came through, jumpy and broken but intelligible.
"Alex? Speak to me! Where are you?"
She grabbed her bag and pulled out the red lipstick she had stolen the day before. She wrote 'NO' on the rippled surface of the mirror. It was a crude warding, but it sufficed. Her father's voice ceased.
"Alex, what are you doing? Answer me this instant!" His voice was coming from the sitting room now. She dashed through, searching for the mirror. The sound was coming through the full length mirror near the door. She scribbled 'NO' on that one too and then went through the apartment, writing 'NO' on every mirror, every picture, every window, until the room echoed with the word.
Finally there was silence. She looked around. The room looked like it had been vandalised, the word 'NO' repeated like some blood red deranged message all around the room. She dropped the lipstick like it was hot and it rolled across the carpet.
"I'm not crazy. I'm not!" She was breathless.
She ran into the bedroom and pulled on the discarded clothes from last night, stuffing her feet into her boots. She grabbed her bag and pulled on her cardie. As she ran back through the sitting room she stepped on the lipstick and it smeared across the carpet.
"Shit!"
She stared at the red smear across the cream pile, her hands bunched into tight fists. Her breathing came faster, she couldn't take her eyes off the streak of red. She screwed her eyes shut, biting her lip.
Then she ran for the exit, wrenched back the chain and threw open the door. She almost crashed into the trolley the chamber maid was wheeling down the corridor. The door to the suite slammed behind her and she flew down the stairs and out through the fire exit, banging the door open in front of startled pedestrians and swerving to avoid the car that swept past.
She kept running, taking random turns left and right until she was lost in the back streets with no idea which way to run next.
"She locked me out! How could she do that?" I stared at the silent mirror, no longer responding to my touch.
"If you paid more attention to our sessions and actually practiced what I taught you, you'd know," said Blackbird.
"No, I don't mean that. I'm her father. She's not supposed to… hang up on me?"
"What, you're still going into the bathroom with her, tying her shoe laces, helping her dress?"
"No, obviously not."
"So she does have some privacy."
"This isn't a matter of privacy, it's…"
"What? I think she let you know in no uncertain terms that she wanted some space, some time to think things through," said Blackbird. "She's growing up fast, if you would let her."
"But she's only fourteen."
"Fifteen, Niall."
"Fifteen, then. It's no age for a girl to be out on her own all night."
Blackbird smiled. "On the contrary, she seems to be managing extraordinarily well. She's certainly given you the brush off."
"This isn't funny, Blackbird."
"No, I don't suppose it is, but you're only going to make matters worse if you pursue her. I didn't help that you came over all Pater Familias with her."
"All what?"
"It means Head of the Family, with connotations of ownership of the estate and everything and everyone in it. It's Latin."
"I was just concerned, that's all. She's been gone all night. As her father…"
"That's just what I'm talking about. As her father you want to decide where she can go, what she can do, who she sees, where she lives."
"She's my daughter. It's my duty to look after her."
"She'll always be your daughter, no one can change that, but she's not a child any more. She's seen too much, done too much, to be comfortable living within the constraints of childhood. She was forced to grow up, too quickly and too harshly, that much I'll grant you, but she was. You can't undo what was done, Niall."
"So I should let her stay out all night, take drugs, get drunk, get pregnant?"
"You make those sound as if they're equivalent." There was a warning in Blackbird's tone.
"An unwanted pregnancy isn't what she needs, Blackbird. Even you must acknowledge that."
"She may not be able to get pregnant. Have you thought of that?"
"I'm not sure I want to find out just yet. I'm more worried that she'll be mugged — killed even."
"I think she can look after herself. She's proven extraordinarily resilient up until now. You brought her up well, and she's chosen her own path. Now it's up to her."
"She has no common sense. She'll do something rash. What if she's ill? What if she gets run over? She has no road sense at all."
"Listen to yourself. You're treating her like a four year-old. Have some respect for her. Did she sound like she was in trouble? Was she begging for assistance?"
"No, but…"
"You found her last time because she needed you. You rescued her when she couldn't help herself. This time she doesn't want to be rescued, especially by you."
"What do you mean, especially by me?"
"You're her father. You're the last person she wants to come to her aid. She wants a white knight on a charger, who'll tell her she's worth the slings and arrows that he faced to reach her. You have to face it, Niall. She's looking for a mate."
"A what!"
"Calm down. Not right away, and maybe not for some time, but eventually she's going to want to choose someone for herself, someone to be with."
I pushed my hand back through my hair. "I'm too young for this," I said.
Blackbird laughed. "She's been through a lot and she's endured. She's earned her independence. Anyway, there's nothing you can do about it. It seems she's been paying a lot more attention to Fionh's lessons than you gave her credit for, and now that's paying off. If she doesn't want to be found, you won't find her."
"She's not supposed to use it against me."
"She's using it for herself. You can't blame her."
"What am I going to tell Katherine?" I asked.
"Tell her the truth. Tell her you've tried to find Alex and failed. What can she say?"
"More than I want to hear."
"She bears some of the responsibility for this Niall. I think she knows that."
"You'd have to pull her teeth out to get her to admit it."
"Look at it this way, it solved one problem. You don't have to tell Katherine why Alex can't go back to living at home with her. She's chosen for herself, and there's nothing Katherine can do about that, any more than you."
"What if she gets hurt? Where will she sleep? What will she do for money?"
"Let her figure it out, Niall. She knows how to find you. All you have to do is make it clear that if she does come back, it's on her terms, and that you'll accept that."
"Her terms? What does that mean?"
"It means not locking her up in your ivory tower until you can find a suitable man to palm her off on."
"I haven't… there's no way…"
"The West Wing, then. Have you allowed her out? Has she been able to buy clothes, meet people?"
"She's hardly been in a state to be allowed to…"
"Allowed. That's an interesting word, Niall. Well, she no longer needs your permission or seeks it. She's taken responsibility for herself, and actually it's time. Now you have to trust her."
"That's harder than you think."
She looked down at our son who had eaten his fill and then flopped asleep in her arms. "Oh, when this little one wants to fledge and fly I expect to be biting my nails at the edge of the nest just like any parent, but it doesn't change what has to happen. They can't stay in the nest forever. That's just nature."
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"Yeah, well let's just hope it isn't red in tooth and claw."
Alex sat on the steps outside a red-brick apartment block. The steps were stained with green algae, but she had a blister on her heel and she didn't care. She delved into her bag looking for a plaster or something to cushion her foot, but of course, there was nothing. She had make-up which she wasn't wearing, a hair clip that fell out, but nothing useful like a plaster.
She looked up and down the street. Away from the main streets where the chain stores made easy pickings, there were little corner shops with eagle-eyed shopkeepers who kept everything behind the counter, and long walks between them. She needed to head back to the high street where she could get what she needed. What she really needed, though, was somewhere to stay.
It was all very well being free to go where you wanted but if you had nowhere to go back to it wore thin pretty quick. Her feet were sore, the weather had broken and there was the threat of rain. Her thin cardie was no longer the comfort it had been. She needed shelter, and food, and a warm bed, and central heating, and chocolate.
Momentarily she thought about going home, but there was nothing there for her now. She had no clothes, no stuff, no room even. And her dad would be furious with her after she warded him out this morning. It would take him days to calm down. If she went back now she would be grounded for months. She couldn't even go to Kayleigh's. She had no friends now, there just wasn't anyone she could talk to, except maybe Tate.
Initially him calling her Miss all the time had annoyed her, but now she kinda liked it. He always treated her respectfully and asked her what she wanted to do. He offered advice, but didn't get all antsy if she didn't follow it. And he was huge. She caught herself wondering if he was that big all over, and found herself blushing. No, she didn't think of him like that. He was a friend, that was all.
She pushed her hands through her unruly hair — she couldn't go to Tate anyway. He was a Warder, just like Dad, and he would have to tell Dad where she was, and then there would be hell to pay. That wasn't going to work.
She stood and brushed at the green marks on her skirt, making them worse rather than better. She needed a change of clothes as well. She sniffed at her armpit and wished again that she'd made use of the shower in the hotel before running out like a scared cat. What was the matter with her? She'd had the situation under control, so why run? She shook her head at her own folly.
There were people she knew, though, weren't there? There were the other people like her, the ones from Porton Down. She wasn't the only one who had escaped, and she had an idea where one or two of them might have gone. Maybe she needed to be with her own kind, people who'd understand what she was going though?
Hoisting the bag back onto her shoulder, she headed back towards an area where there were sandwich shops and a high street chemist — somewhere she could get something for her feet. Then she would take a trip and see what she could find.
"Is this what Alex did when I tried to speak to her?" I was sitting on the fence overlooking the fields which rolled away from us.
"No. What she did, I think, was to ward where she was staying against you," said Blackbird. "A warding can apply to a place, or an object, or a person. Warding a place is simple and effective. You exclude anyone's magic but your own. In its finer form it can be used to clean and protect a place, a home perhaps, so that malicious magic cannot intrude, but even then it has limitations. Anything brought into that space which is tainted with another's power will disrupt the warding and release the magic. That's how you know that someone has crossed your warding — you'll feel the release and know it's been broken."
"So she pushed me out."
"There's no point in brooding on it, Niall. You invaded her privacy and she reacted. Instead of expressing your concern and asking if she was safe, you started making demands. It was not, perhaps, the best way to re-establish relations with your daughter."
"You always take her side."
"I take no side but my own, but I know Alex is precious to you and I'm trying to help. You need to stop thinking of her as a little girl."
"That was pretty cool, what she did, though, wasn't it?" I smiled.
"Crude but effective. She excluded you and prevented you from re-entering. Maybe she's more capable than you think, and she's certainly better at learning and not getting distracted by side-issues when someone is trying to teach them something."
"Sorry, where were we?"
"You were extending your awareness outwards and telling me what you feel."
I closed my eyes. Here beneath the trees the shade was welcome, but the rustling of the leaves and the smell of the grass was a constant distraction from what I was supposed to be looking for.
"It's just trees and grass," I told her.
"Is it? Or is that what you're supposed to think?"
I let myself sink deeper into the sense of the place, hearing the buzzing of bumble bees, the far-off coo of a wood pigeon and the faint rumble of distant traffic. "It's peaceful."
"How peaceful?"
Now that she mentioned it, there was something. "There's a kind of dampening, a dullness spread around us. Is that what I'm looking for?"
"What can you tell me about it?"
"It's heavy, like a wool blanket but not warm like that, just heavy. Now that I can see it it's over everything. It's huge."
"Every day the Warders renew these boundaries." Blackbird said quietly. "Every day they reassert their magic over this ground. What you're sensing is the repeated warding of this place, layer upon layer, until it's so thick that it can no longer be broken, simply endured. It's one of the things I don't like about being here. It's smothering."
"Why didn't I sense it before?"
"Here at the edge it's easier to detect. You can feel the density of it change as it fades out towards the edges. Within the grounds of the house it's pervasive. It invades every space and seeps into every crack. There is nowhere not steeped in it. Like background noise that never ceases, after a while you don't notice it. I do though. It's like a constant niggle at the edge of my senses, a lingering doubt that things aren't as they should be."
"You could have said something."
"It doesn't seem to bother you, and as you pointed out it's all very convenient having everyone on call, with all the facilities to hand."
"But I get to go out and leave for a while. I get some relief from it," I said.
"Indeed."
"Couldn't you set up your own warding, just in our rooms? You could exclude the Warder's magic and have a little island of peace."
"A bubble inside a bubble? Somewhat unstable, don't you think? I'm not sure that would even be possible. Besides I can't see Garvin allowing any area over which he has no control anywhere near the courts. He is responsible for security when all's said and done."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."
"It presents us with an opportunity, though. I want you to establish your own warding, right here at the edge of the courts where it's weaker. You will need to push their warding back to establish your own."
"How?"
"Do you remember when we were sitting outside the Church of St Clement's Dane in London and I was showing you how to establish your glamour?"
"I guess. I could feel the way your magic concealed us, as it spread across the area around the statue."
"Think of extending threads of magic outward, like a spider spinning a web. Push it out a little, connect it together, then push it out a little more. Keep extending the boundary."
"That's not how a spider builds a web," I pointed out.
"I know that. I'm just drawing an analogy. Think instead then of how wasps build a nest. They start small and then build onto it in spirals, shoring it up as you go."
"I don't even know what it is I'm shoring up."
"It's like territory, like putting your stamp on it, as if you were claiming it."
I tried to imagine myself claiming the area around the fence. Nothing happened. "It's
not working."
"OK, forget that. Come down here and lie down." She hopped off the fence and smoothed her skirts before sitting on the grass.
I stepped down and sat down with her and then lay back onto the grass so that my head was near to where she was sitting.
"Look up in the tree and allow your eyes to defocus — better still close them, not tightly, but so that the sunlight filters through your eyelids. Imagine the tree is still there."
"It is still there."
She tweaked my nose.
"Ow!"
"Shut up and listen. The tree is above you, extending its branches out into the air, leaning up into the sunlight. Let your magic extend around your body, let it relax into the earth, so that it seeps into the soil, down among the roots and worms. Let it follow the roots of the tree, in your mind, in your imagination, up through the trunk, out along the branches, onto the twigs."
"It feels light and warm."
"Follow the light out along the twigs into the leaves. Feel the sunlight in the leaves, feeding the tree, bathe in the sunlight at the tips of the leaves."
"This is really very restful. You're not going to be offended if I fall asleep are you?"
She ignored me. "Leave a sense of yourself, a presence there at the leaves, but now float from the leaves into the air, following the shifting breeze, drifting with the wind."
"Is this how a seed feels when it falls? Oh, hang on, there's something here. It feels like a fungus or a fuzzy mould."
"You've reached the edge of the warding. Send a root of your own into it. Explore it with your senses" she suggested.
"It tastes sour, not like the tree."
"It's very old, layer upon layer. But like all layers it has weaknesses. Explore the cracks. Push your way into it. Find the fault lines and wheedle your way into them."
I could feel the weight of the warding ahead of me. Somehow it left the taste of decay in my mouth, along with the smell of the forest floor and something beneath that — a bitter sourness that crept onto the tongue, making my mouth flood with saliva.
"What do you think you're doing?"
