The End of the Line

by The End of the Line (retail) (epub)

‘Risks?’ the man cut her off. ‘The fallout from even a small error from any of your proposals could set us back decades.’

  In a bid to distract herself, Steph decided to use the time for something else. Filtering out the argument around her, she placed her hands together and concentrated. There was a little kitchen nook across the way from her, wallpaper peeling, limescaled taps, lit by a bare bulb. No one was using it.

  She could feel the light of the bare kitchen bulb under her eyelids, feel it touching her face.

  ‘But think of the benefits,’ said Mum. ‘The power it could give to even the most powerless. It would be the greatest change to everyday lives since the advent of electricity. No more headaches, cancers, muscle spasms, no more tattoos…’

  Steph performed the hand signs, shifts of the fingers, first here, then here, then, this was the tricky bit, there. She tapped her power, it took a bit of effort, her brow furrowing. It could be easier to channel but Mum wouldn’t let her get the tattoo. Never mind, she could feel the light, feel its energy. She began to suck it from the air and concentrate it.

  Pulling her hands apart, she goggled at the raw little spark between her hands, like someone had concentrated the bulb’s light with a magnifying glass onto the empty space. The light from the kitchen dimmed to a sunset pink.

  It worked. She’d done it.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling that this is less about the good of humanity and more about your own self-aggrandisement?’ said the man. ‘It is arguments like these that have led to magic’s shunning in the first place. These proposals hark back to some of the darkest uses of Black since the Second World War.’

  She tried to hold it as long as she could, no brighter, no dimmer, stable. Control was important, her mother had taught her. Power was for brutes, anyone could wield a sword, but the educated wielded scalpels.

  She looked around to see if anyone was watching. But everyone was too intent on her mother, who was shouting like she was on the pulpit, besieged by sinners.

  Steph felt her spirits drop at not being able to share her triumph. It was the smallest spark she’d ever produced, the most concentrated, the most perfect.

  ‘Because it was used by tyrants fixed on genocide and dominance,’ Mum argued. ‘The problem was not the theory itself, magic cares not a jot for the ideologies of those who wield it, in the right hands, under the right minds—’

  ‘You are right,’ the man interrupted. ‘Magic does not give a jot for ideology just as it ignores well-practiced rhetoric, crossed fingers and hoping for the bloody best.’

  Steph gave a start as two more sparks appeared above hers, forming a triangle. Before she could even blink, a line of light scored itself in a curve beneath, making her spark the nose in a smiling face.

  The kitchenette bulb dimmed further, dusk falling in the tiny room. Her spark flared, searing the air and giving the sharp stink of burned ozone as she lost control. It snapped out of existence, making her jump. The other lights winked out immediately after.

  Her mother fired her a warning look.

  There was a breathy snort from Steph’s right.

  The woman was petite, her hair up in a loose bun and more dark lush pepper than rich, white salt. She wore a blazer over a T-shirt, jeans over boots and looked so relaxed she could have been in her own living room.

  Her hands were in her pockets but from her sloped smile and glint of mischief in her eye, Steph knew that she’d been the one to distract her with her own embers.

  Steph tried not to blush and failed miserably. She turned her attention back to her mother, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands, how to sit or even to breathe normally. She opted for clutching at the bag, the leather slippery under her sweating palms.

  ‘These magics have been shunned for decades for a reason,’ the man continued. ‘Their consequences are simply too dire to be worth the risk.’

  ‘But my findings. I’ve just shown you the leaps I’ve made—’

  ‘But they are not enough. There are gaps in your knowledge. Everyone can see it. These are not matters that we can simply try, there will be no trial and error because the errors lead to disasters that live long in the memories of those lucky enough to survive them. Your summoning of demons for one—’

  ‘These new bindings I have developed will suppress—’

  The room erupted again in derision, the entire discussion dissolving until Mum was trying to fight a dozen arguments at once.

  Steph fought the urge to pull her top up around her ears.

  ‘Stuffy, isn’t it?’

  Steph looked up, surprised that the woman had addressed her.

  Her accent spoke of afternoon tea and digging up ancient tombs. ‘Come and take a breath of fresh air with me. This doesn’t look like it will wind down anytime soon. Activists love two things, the sound of their own opinions and the echoes. It’s why after decades of meeting they still gather in pokey little rooms and nothing ever gets done.’

  Mum was too intent on arguing to see her daughter leave, taking her bag with her.

  The woman was right, the stairwell felt a good ten degrees cooler. Steph couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stepping into another world as she followed the woman down the narrow staircase, the woman’s boots clomping as she rummaged through her purse.

  The bag was heavy and she had to rest it on her hip, the contents shifting and rattling, enticing.

  Outside was warm and cloudy but a breeze helped dilute the humidity. The street was quiet, old factor

  Chapter 7

  Skeebs

  The present – ninety hours to destination

  It was like being in the van all over again. Nothing to do but wait and pray that that fucking thing didn’t wake up and start talking.

  No, it was worse. At least when it had been in the box he had managed to forget about it for short bursts. Now it was right there, watching him all the time.

  But the hours still slid by under the rails, the four of them settling into the deep silence of long journeys.

  They set out the sleeping bags. Skeebs had wanted the table between himself and that thing but Amanda had insisted they all stay where they could keep an eye on one another. Just in case.

  Taking orders from her was like a punch to the gut every time. But, much as it made his skin want to crawl right off his back, he gave no argument.

  Amanda wasn’t the only one with plans.

  They’d lain out the sleeping bags like the teeth of a zip, two to a side, Amanda and Caleb closest to the prisoner, Skeebs’ legs next the girl’s.

  Caleb had pulled out his reading glasses and a book. The girl was just staring into space, avoiding everyone’s eye. Amanda kept checking and re-checking the prisoner.

  Gritting his teeth, Skeebs had grabbed a six-pack of energy drink that AK had supplied with the train and prepared himself for the long haul. Hard part of a journey as long as this, the body forgot to stay scared, the quiet, the boredom, the tumble of the train, it all got under the skin, pulled at the eyelids. That’s where the caffeine came in. It had to take the place of fear, keep him alert.

  Keep him ready for when Amanda fell asleep.

  Eighteen months now Danny had been in prison while she walked away free. But, as usual, Skeebs’ big brother had come up with a plan and it was up to Skeebs to see it through. Whatever the cost.

  Eight months earlier

  Skeebs checked his new jeans for the tenth time.

  He hated prison. Even visiting made him uncomfortable. The squeaky floors, the big halls, the fluorescent lighting, the inmates shuffling and swaggering around in slate grey tracksuits and plimsolls like PE would never finish.

  Then there were the checks. Show your ID, answer this question, put your phone in this locker, answer that question, sit down and wait. The people behind the desks all had an attitude. Visiting kids were in constant need of having to be kept in line.

  He’d followed all the visiting rules, read them five or six times, anxious not to get a t
hing wrong and get turned away. There was always one, some woman who wouldn’t take the big hoops out her ears, some guy with rips in his clothes, kicking off when they were asked to leave. Not me, Skeebs told himself, keeping his head down. Not me. I’m seeing my brother and when he sees me in these clothes he’s going to shit.

  And all the while this tension in him was winding tighter and tighter, making him jiggle his leg, bite at his nails.

  He checked his clothes again, picking a tiny thread off his shirt, straightening his collar, trying to catch his reflection in the window across the room.

  He stopped just in time, Danny striding toward their table, his habitual smirk replaced with a scowl.

  The chair squeaked under Skeebs as he stood, better to show off the new clothes – designer jeans, designer shirt, leather jacket. He threw his arms open, both to show them off and to give his brother a hug.

  He’d pictured this moment for days, the look on his brother’s face when he saw how his little brother was making bank, how high he was climbing with AK in charge.

  ‘Alright, blood?’ Danny greeted him.

  They embraced a moment, slapping one another on the back, before moving round their small white table.

  The whole visiting hall was doing the same, wives, girlfriends and mates standing or looking up from their seats as the prisoners arrived.

  Danny looked Skeebs up and down as they sat. He slouched in his seat, arms crossed, legs wide. His right leg immediately began to jiggle beneath the table. He snorted, looked around the room inviting everyone else in on the joke. ‘What do you look like?’

  ‘Yup,’ Skeebs held the coat open, showing off the lining, the shirt. ‘Can’t hide the money for ever, know what I’m saying?’

  ‘Look like you’re going to audition on one of those shows. I’m a Disney-brand gangster and I’ve got the X-Factor.’ He did the arm-cross to match.

  Skeebs’ heart sank at his brother’s derision. Why did he keep setting himself up like this? Every time he thought he’d done something to impress his brother, every time, and Danny’s reaction was always the same.

  He tried to ride with it, smiling like his brother’s comment meant nothing. Show Danny weakness and he went in for the kill. Skeebs leaned in across the table, talking low.

  ‘It’s working, man. The magic. You should see the money we’re making now. We’re just walking in and taking it and she’s not even summoned the… done what she said she’d do yet, she’s working on that, but this magic, man, we’re cleaning up. This last job we—’

  ‘Why didn’t you take Harris’ place on that last job?’ Danny hadn’t moved from his slouch, eyes boring into his brother’s.

  Skeebs faltered, trying to meet the sudden twist in topic. ‘How did you…?’

  ‘Think you’re the only person I get up in here? I heard Harris got so sick he couldn’t get out of bed the other week and you didn’t take his place on that other thing.’ His brother was talking vague in case anyone was listening.

  ‘Already worked that week, hadn’t I?’ Skeebs sat back folding his arms.

  ‘Don’t fucking sulk. If we’re going to own this city one day, can’t be just sitting around spending your cash like Aims and the rest of those dumb shits. We got to be working, learning and earning every second. Don’t you want to be living in some big house by the time you’re twenty-five?’

  Skeebs shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, course.’

  ‘Well how you going to get that playing PlayStation and smoking bowls? You got to keep at it. Boss has got all these plans, all these golden opportunities, and you need to be proving you’re the guy he can rely on. So next time, I want you to…’

  Sinking lower in his seat, Skeebs let his older brother’s words wash over him. He’d heard all of this before, his brother’s plans for the pair of them, his ambitions, whatever lessons he’d learned from whatever entrepreneur’s guide he’d picked up that week. Danny was always pushing, always scheming to get them up the ranks. Get to the top, a gang of their own.

  ‘Look, man,’ said Skeebs after a minute or two, ‘I’ll try and get more involved—’

  ‘You’ve got to,’ said Danny. There was a feverish look in his eye Skeebs didn’t like. ‘When I get out of here, we’re going to need everything in place to start off on our own. Can’t believe it, man, all the times for the old man to die and I’m in here…’

  Here it came. The bit where war was a whole bunch of opportunities for someone who wanted to climb, if they only had the brains, the strength and the ambition to take it.

  ‘If I’d been out there, instead of in here, when the war broke out, we’d have fucking cleaned up. Fuck Jamison, would have been us standing at AK’s side. War is just a big fucking opportunity, all you need is the strength, the brains and the raw fucking ambition to take it. We’d have been fucking assassins. More money’d we know what to do with.’

  Instead he’d got to sit in his cell and dictate to Skeebs. Cajole him into getting more involved. Skeebs would have been happy dealing drugs, growing weed or whatever. But thanks to Danny, driven along on his big brother’s ambition, he’d been out there, kicking the shit out of guys in car parks, listening to the sound teeth made when they scattered on tarmac. He’d been facing off with guys twice his size, being all arrogance and bluster and acting mad keen for a fight. He’d been pretending he was his brother, when all he really wanted was to run so hard that his heart burst in his chest. It took days, weeks, to wind down from shit like that. Every moment playing and replaying in his head. Danny would have shaken off these things in minutes but it all seemed to cling to Skeebs. It got under his skin.

  And it had all worked. Skeebs was good, they said, Skeebs was reliable, Skeebs was going places. Now he had the position, the respect, the money.

  But he didn’t want it. The constant front he had to put up was exhausting. He was sick of the fear when he was out on a job, the nightmares after, the constant feeling of something sitting on his chest. All for his big brother’s approval.

  ‘What’s that on your face?’ Skeebs asked. The question popped out before he’d had a chance to consider it.

  There was a pink mark under his brother’s left eye. Couldn’t be called a cut, couldn’t even be called a bruise.

  His brother’s lecture snapped off as his hand flew to his face. For a moment, Danny had this unusual look. The confidence dropped away for a split second revealing something raw beneath.

  Skeebs found himself thinking back to his brother’s arrival. Had there been a limp to his brother’s walk? A stiffness folded into the swagger? A small gasp of pain when he’d slapped his brother on the back?

  It all happened in a split second and then it was gone again, his brother’s confidence reasserting itself.

  ‘Ain’t you fucking listening to me? I’m trying to help you here.’

  ‘Just that mark, man. Someone come at you?’

  ‘Yeah, right, see, that’s another thing.’ Now Danny leaned, something feverish in his eyes. ‘I hear right about Coleman few months back?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Skeebs split open a grin, eager to grab a topic that wasn’t going to land him some extra life goal. ‘You should have seen it. One mention of her old man and she fucking lost it. She was, like, up out of her chair screaming, like, “over my dead body!” and she threw her glass right in Kavanagh’s face and—’

  ‘Yeah, look,’ said Danny, ‘I need you to kill her.’

  Skeebs blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘What I just said,’ Danny leaned in further, voice low and sharp. ‘AK’s not going to do it. I already heard. Jamison already sold the Indians on that demon thing so they forgot about her and he convinced AK not to pull the trigger in case the Indians change their mind. That leaves you. Coleman needs to get fucking got. They need to know who they’re playing with in here.’

  ‘Man, who’s they?’

  ‘These fucking posers. Been at it all week. Think getting me proves they’re big or something.’

  �
��Why you?’

  ‘Why do you think? Got television in here just like out there. Took a bare week for everyone in this place to know who I am. I’m bad as Coleman now. I brought down the most powerful Abra in the country. I’m a fucking celebrity around here. Now I got all these kids trying to make a name for themselves. Prove they’re tough by having a go. We need to send them a message. She crossed us and we can’t let that stand. Get this done and they wouldn’t dare mess with me in here. But you’d better do it fucking fast. These guys are planning something, I can feel it.’

  For the first time, Skeebs thought he saw fear in his brother’s eyes and that scared him more than anything. This new job was already a sick weight in his stomach.

  ‘What about AK? He knows people. He can help.’

  ‘Man, he barely fucking knows me.’

  ‘Then I can ask him. I’m working, I’m good, he can—’

  ‘He’s not going to do shit. We got to do this by getting Coleman.’

  ‘But how am I gonna get close to her? She doesn’t trust me. I got no reason to be coming round her house or nothing.’

  ‘I don’t know. Figure something out. And you’d better not pussy out on me. I don’t want to see you back in here until it’s done. I mean it. I ain’t talking to you again.’

  Skeebs looked down at his shoes. They were exactly the kind his brother liked to get and he hadn’t even mentioned them.

  ‘Don’t you dare start crying,’ said Danny.

  ‘I wasn’t. I’ll do it, man, I will. I’ll try.’

  Danny grabbed his hand, practically lunged for it. ‘We’re in this, right? Together? You and me.’

  ‘Yeah, blood, of course.’

  ‘Don’t disappoint me.’

  ‘Nah, man, never.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘Man, I swear. Course I swear.’

  ‘Good.’ Danny’s eyes fixed on the door back into the prison proper. He licked his lips, wiped his nose as he sat back, mumbling behind his hand. ‘Good. That’s fucking good. I mean it, man, don’t come back.’

  Skeebs got up to leave.