by Tim Lebbon
This much human company was only stressful.
Other than a twitch at the corner of his lips, the man behind the desk didn’t react to Lilou’s pseudonym. She waited while Meloy was checked in, then they passed through to the departure lounge. He went into the Duty Free shop to buy a bottle of Scotch, while Lilou found a quiet corner to sit. She turned her back on the large seating area and faced the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the tarmac.
It was a blazing hot day, and there were thousands of passengers arriving from around the world or departing for every continent. It made her realize how contained her own existence was. It made her appreciate that, too. The closer it came, the more her journey across the sea frightened her.
She was glad of Meloy’s company.
Taking out her mobile phone, she rang a number that only existed in her memory.
“Lilou,” Mallian said in her ear.
“Gloria,” she said. He did not react. Mallian wasn’t known for his sense of humor. Lilou sighed and continued. “We’re boarding soon.”
“All is well?”
“Yes.”
“Meloy?”
“He’s fine. Keen to help.”
Mallian grunted.
“So is there anything more I need to know?” she asked.
“A little. There are now over a hundred cases of victims being struck a second time, all within a two hundred mile radius of Scranton. Ninety have died, most of the rest are missing, including the girl.”
“Most?”
“Two have been found murdered.”
“Gregor.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“You still think she is responsible for the lightning strikes?”
“It wasn’t the weather, Lilou.”
“What can she be doing?” She watched a massive aircraft lift from a distant runway.
“I don’t know,” Mallian said.
“Really?”
“You’re questioning me?” His voice was deep, and more and more these days it was tinged with anger and impatience. They were friends, but she had always feared him, and his ambitions frightened her. Perhaps being at a distance made her a little braver.
“You don’t always tell me everything, Mallian.”
Another grunt. “In this, I do. Ever since the Time, fairies have used lightning strikes to rid themselves of enemies.”
“The ones who died were her enemies?”
“I don’t think so. I think in this case she might have been looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“More Kin.”
Lilou frowned.
“And the girl? Angela Gough’s niece?”
“That’s still a mystery to me,” Mallian said, and she heard his frustration.
“I’ll find her,” Lilou said.
“The Kin-killer has been drawn to this,” Mallian said. “It’s the sort of pattern that attracts him, and he appears more knowledgeable than we give him credit for.”
“Which is why he’s still out there killing us, after all this time.”
“Find him, or the girl. Either one will lead you to Grace.”
“And then we’ll see,” she said. It had been a long discussion, about what would happen if and when she found the fairy. Several times they’d met as a group, something that had been rare since the massacre at Mary Rock’s house. The gatherings had occurred late at night, at one of their safe places high above the London streets.
Thorn the pixie had been Grace’s friend for centuries, and after believing her dead for some time, he had jumped at the opportunity to free the fairy. Yet she had fled the moment she was released, and he had sunk into a deep sadness. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
The old witch Jilaria Bran had believed the search a futile effort, and in her ancient eyes Lilou had seen traces of fear. They all knew how powerful and dangerous the fairy could be, perhaps Jilaria Bran more than most. In private, Mallian had hinted at a history between the two of them, but he had refused to elaborate. And Mhoumar, one of the more mysterious of the Kin with origins even Mallian could not guess, had simply stated that the fairy’s path and fate were her own choice.
It was only Mallian who wanted Grace, for the sheer power she represented. A proud being, and older than them all, he had never shirked from admitting how much more powerful the fairy was even than him.
Back in the Time there had been magic, and to a greater or lesser extent many of the Kin had wielded it. To some it had come as naturally as breathing, and had been an integral part of their existence. When the Time began to fade away into the mists of history and the annals of myth and legend, the magic had faded, as well.
Mallian believed that the Kin had let it go, understanding that to possess such talents in the more prosaic, logical world of the humans would mark them as different and make their integration even more difficult. On occasion he blamed the lessening of their magical powers on a form of evolution—the thinning of their race over time, the rise of the human world smothering the Kin, fear turning to hatred amongst the humans.
The Kin falling from a position of power to scampering in the shadows, fleeing, hiding, and their magic doing the same.
With the fairy it was different. She was as removed from the rest of the Kin as they were from humanity, a being from a world not quite in line with this one. Her old magic obeyed laws that few in this world understood. She could bend existence to her will. Though during the Time there had been many calling themselves fairies, Grace was one of the few who had truly carried that name.
And Mallian wanted her for Ascent.
He knew that on his own, however many Kin he could call to his side would not be enough to achieve their aims, and rise once again to a position of prominence. Reveal themselves to the humans. Begin a new Time, fresh and recharged.
Having the fairy on his side might tip the scales in their favor. Unfortunately for Mallian and Ascent, it seemed that the fairy had her own ideas. This threw Mallian into deep depressions, and sometimes raging angers, but in her quietest, most private moments, Lilou wondered if it was for the best.
Ascent would change everything, for humans as well as Kin. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that change would be good for anyone.
* * *
“Yes,” Mallian said, pulling her back to the present. “And then we’ll see. Safe travels, Lilou.”
“I’ll be in touch.” She disconnected, and moments later Meloy sank into the chair beside her. Her own seat lifted slightly as his weight displaced it.
“Beats the hell out of me how those things stay in the air,” he said as another huge jet took off.
“Thanks for that,” Lilou said. “Just what I needed.”
Meloy glanced at her and smiled. Always in his eye there was that look of wonder and disbelief, but it was a calm look, not manic. He’d seen and done things that had brought him close to the Kin. So close, in fact, that they could never let him go.
He was here to accompany Lilou, but at the same time she was keeping an eye on him.
* * *
“So tell me about this bastard,” Fat Frederick Meloy said. There wasn’t anyone sitting next to them. Nonetheless, she glanced around.
The aircraft thundered along the runway, acceleration pressing them back into their seats. They’d been lucky to get two seats by the emergency exit. If pushed, Lilou might have admitted letting her mask slip, just for a moment, when she asked at check-in if these were available. Soon they would be able to stretch out their legs and relax into the journey.
If she could relax at all.
She gripped the seat arms, shoulders tensed, jaw clenched. When she glanced sidelong at Meloy he was smiling at her.
“Just give me a minute,” she said.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, leaning a little closer. “I’ll look after you.” It was spoken with such sincerity. He loved her, but only as much as he loved all the Kin he had met. Meloy was a gangster, perhaps responsible for some reprehensible
crimes, yet since their clash with Mary Rock and her organization, he had been like a child discovering that his favorite superhero characters really did exist.
The plane lifted off the tarmac and her stomach lurched. Lilou closed her eyes, holding her breath. It was a long time since she had been away from London, and even longer since she had flown anywhere. There was a familiarity and a sense of safety that came with proximity to her friends. With every second that passed she was moving further away from them.
Meloy tapped the back of her hand and she opened her eyes. He nodded at the window beside her.
Lilou looked, and the sight saw away some of her fears. Below them lay London. The Thames snaked through the city like a dark fault line, and on either side lay the heavily textured world of tower blocks and streets, parks and squares, swaths of housing and the sites of larger, grander buildings. There was home, laid out before her, and given time she might even be able to zero in on places she knew—their several safe places, both above and below ground. The parks where she sometimes walked, dreaming of the true wild. Meloy’s nightclub in Soho. Even though she was leaving, she found it a comforting sight.
Clouds wisped past and obscured her view as the jet climbed, and at last Lilou began to settle into her seat. Her hands unclasped, her shoulders relaxed, and she started to breathe more easily.
“There have always been those who want us dead,” she said. “From the Time and down through the ages, the Kin have had our enemies. We’re not totally innocent in that, of course. We’re as good at making enemies as you humans, if not better.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Meloy said, and Lilou couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. He raised his eyebrows.
“We made enemies of humans, and enemies of our fellow Kin. I’ve heard tales of conflicts and even wars between factions stretching back ten thousand years or more. Never in my lifetime, though.” She looked at her hands, stroked her fingertips together, needing somewhere to focus. “In my lifetime it’s been more of a hunt. There are those who are afraid of what they don’t know or understand, and more often those who want to profit from it. You saw that with Mary Rock.”
“She was… eating your people,” Meloy said. He shook his head as if unable to comprehend.
“They’re not my people, Frederick,” she said. “You need to understand that about us. There are as many differences amongst the Kin as there are amongst humans. Probably more.” She kept her voice low. They leaned in close so that she could speak, he could hear. Anyone looking might have thought they were lovers.
“But Mallian,” he said. “The group who freed the fairy.”
“We come together when we need to, and yes, Mallian and I are part of a small group in London who spend time together. Some Kin are loners, others like company.”
“Just like humans,” he said.
“But unlike humans, it’s easy for us to find somewhere to be alone.”
“Six billion of us,” he said. “How many of you?”
“I have no idea.” She wasn’t lying. As far as she knew, no one was aware of how many Kin were left in the world, nor even how widely their proliferation had spread.
“So the one we’re going to find,” he said. “What about him? If it is a him.”
“We think it is,” she said. “Our quarry is known as Gregor, though no one knows if that’s his true name or not. Likely not, or he’d have been found by now. He’s become something of a myth amongst the Kin, as we are to most humans. He’s our bogeyman. Unlike Ballus, his aims seem more focused. He’s more of a… collector.”
Meloy flinched a little. “Like me?”
“You collect old relics,” she said. “This collector takes from living Kin, and murders them for what he wants.”
“Takes what?”
“Various body parts. Corpses have been found over the years, here and there. Some in Asia, a couple in South America, and now in the States. For every five bodies found, the number that never will be found might be much greater. It could be awful.
“At one time we didn’t even think he existed. We thought it was a group or organization among humans committed to hunting us down, perhaps spreading tales of this ‘Gregor’ to frighten us into lowering our guard, exposing ourselves. But he’s real enough. He’s been seen, spoken to. There are a few Kin alive today who wouldn’t be, if they’d been on his list.”
“List?”
“There appears to be some sick method to his madness. An aim to what he’s doing, although no one can even guess what it might be. Perhaps it’s no method, and only madness.”
“He’s met Kin, but always escaped?”
“Not all Kin are strong. Most of the ones you’ve met have been, but that’s because it’s the strong ones who aren’t so afraid to reveal themselves or take action. The weak ones sometimes hide away, and some of them have been hiding for centuries. In deep places, dark places. There have been efforts to find and kill him in the past, but he either disappears for long periods, or those who go to find him are never seen again.
“There are as many rumors about who or what he is as there are Kin to tell them. As for his victims, he usually pursues them out of sight and away from civilization, where some of the more independent, lonesome Kin choose to hide. Most recently he’s been below the equator. Now, though, something seems to have changed. He’s come north, into places where more have made their homes.”
“And places where he might be hunted down.” Meloy’s expression hardened, the danger simmering within him shining through.
“Yes, that too,” she said. Should I mention the fairy? she wondered. Part of her wanted to, but it felt like a deeper secret, mostly because it was to do with Mallian and Ascent, and nothing to do with Meloy.
Not yet, she decided. If Mallian has his way, all humans will know of the fairy, given time. Lilou could not imagine how that would happen, and what the results might be. Best to mention nothing, for now. If the time came, and they managed to find their way to the fairy—via the Kin-killer or otherwise—that would be the moment to tell him more.
“I have a few contacts in North America,” he said. “Some who might help.”
“No,” Lilou said. “It’s important we keep this close, and quiet. Spreading panic won’t help, and Mallian doesn’t want any more human involvement than necessary.”
“Right. So no one has any clue why this bastard’s collecting?” Meloy asked.
“Perhaps it’s just a fascination.”
“If you’re fascinated with something, you don’t kill it,” he said, and he was staring at her.
“Tell that to butterfly collectors.” Lilou reclined her seat and leaned back, feeling the last tenseness leaving her shoulders, closing her eyes and ending their discussion. She knew he wanted more, but they had a long flight, and plenty of time together. As yet, she didn’t feel totally at ease in his company.
Even on a plane full of people, Lilou needed time to herself.
10
At the house by the sea, Gregor let his caution slip. He felt close to something, sensed a change in the air, a pulsing potential that lured him onward as if tied to some point ahead. The string used to tie him was being pulled. Every instinct told him to go with the flow, but he needed a moment to pause and take stock.
He needed a rest.
As he approached, evidence of the lightning strikes was still apparent. Gregor passed by the two sites with a strange mixture of awe and fear, and decided to first examine the dwellings. He couldn’t storm ahead blindly. He had to take his time.
Across a wide lawn from the main house, a small summerhouse was located close to the river inlet, and its door was not locked. Inside there were several wicker chairs and a low glass table. Pictures hung on the wall, showing a couple and their child in various holiday poses. The child was the local girl in the news who had been struck twice, and had since gone missing. The man was the dead father. The woman, so the news items said, had died in a tragic accident several months before.
He stored that information, ready to retrieve it if an occasion warranted. It was all about the patterns.
The low glass table was perfect.
With care and reverence he opened his backpack and started to remove the wrapped items contained therein. He placed them in two lines along one edge of the table, not so close to the edge that they might tumble off. He kept them wrapped for the moment, even though he knew what every package contained. He knew each by touch, by smell, and even by weight.
These were the relics with which his future would be assured.
Next he took out the Script. He kept the metal tube in his pocket, so close to him that he could usually feel it through his jacket’s inner lining. It was still warm from his body heat. The screw at the end was tight, but he flipped up the small handle and strained, feeling the familiar surge of excitement as it twisted open.
He tipped the tube onto the table. The rolled and tied script slid out. He breathed in the faint aroma of time and dust, shivering at all it implied.
Not only time, but the Time, he thought. Not only dust, but the dust of wonderful things.
Gregor stood and backed toward the open summerhouse doors, never taking his eyes from the objects on the table. He felt the sun on his back, a breeze cooling the perspiration around his neck, and he heard the gentle mutter of a boat’s engine. At last he tore his gaze away from the relics and glanced around, inside and out, making certain he was alone. The lawns were well maintained, the house small but neat, sad in its emptiness.
No one had seen him arrive.
No one was looking at him now.
His shadow cast across the table, he stared once again at the items he’d removed from the backpack. Before him lay his lifetime’s work. It was rare nowadays that anyone carried their life’s efforts with them, but these weren’t things that could be backed up and copied, nor could the relics be stored anywhere that was safer than with him. He had considered what might happen if someone else got their hands on his treasures. He would fight to the last, of course, and Gregor was a man not afraid of fighting.
