She gave Steph another look, at the chewedup pen in her hand. It was the longest she’d ever acknowledged her existence. Steph wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
‘You hear any of that?’ Amanda asked.
Steph nodded, then, realising more was needed, she explained about the demon trapped in the unconscious body. ‘He’ll be worse when he wakes. He’ll find ways past the runes faster and faster and the holes will get bigger and bigger until it’s like they’re not there any more.’
Amanda nodded. Looked like the words were hard to swallow. ‘What can we do?’
‘Nothing.’ A lie. There was probably something hidden in the books but she didn’t want to tell her that, didn’t want to show her ignorance and then risk wasting hours searching.
‘And how will it get worse?’
She shrugged. ‘No one’s lived long enough to study them. They get summoned, they break free and they start killing. They just spread pain and misery until they get tired and leave again. A banishing’s just never happened.’
Amanda’s face clouded over. ‘You’re here because you’re supposed to be the expert. We don’t have time for your information-hoarding Abra bullshit.’
‘But you won’t let me have my mum’s bag. I’ve not even had a chance to read these yet.’ She let the notes rise and fall in her lap.
‘If I thought I could trust you—’
‘I was trying to help. I’ve never done anything untrustworthy. Why do you hate us so much?’ It came out much whinier than Steph had intended. ‘Mum told me you hated Abras. But you’ve never even met me. Mum said it was something to do with your dad and that you…’ the words withered at the look that crossed Amanda’s face. ‘But magic is a good thing,’ she insisted. ‘It could make so many people’s lives easier. All the lives we could save and all the resources we wouldn’t have to use.’
‘All the power in the wrong hands. No way for ordinary people to see it or use it.’
‘Anyone can use magic. They just have to study it.’
‘Exactly. Have to. But what if they choose not to? Don’t want the headaches, the nosebleeds, the fatigue and the sterility? That’s just tough shit for them? They’re at the mercy of them that learned it and if they’re exploited that’s their fault? Exploited by corrupt bastards drunk on what they got at their own fingertips? Thinking they’re above people because they can manipulate them when they’re the last people who should be in charge. And for what? So ordinary people won’t have to buy light bulbs.’
‘What about saving people’s lives? To be able to live in London and work in New York?’
‘More incidents like this. Experiments gone wrong. Hundreds dead. So unregulated the police would have to increase their powers to keep people under control. We got technology, that’s good enough for me.’
‘So you prefer power when it’s something you buy?’
‘I’m saying it’s better.’
‘You get that you’re a criminal, right? And you’re talking about regulation and control.’
‘I’m talking about power. I ain’t putting myself above people. I’m just making a living.’
‘By hurting people. And taking what isn’t yours.’
‘I never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. And I never robbed anyone who couldn’t afford to lose what I took.’
‘Know that for a fact do you? You’ve never hurt a single innocent person?’
Caleb cleared his throat and a look of guilt splashed across Amanda’s face.
‘There you go then,’ said Steph. ‘I know plenty of Abras who haven’t hurt anyone. They just want to help people. That’s a lot more than you can say. You just want to help yourselves.’
‘Then you watch them and see what happens with anything they discover. World doesn’t work hard to make good things happen. Magic’s just another way for people to be shitty to one another. It’s like banking or law. Your lot are dressing it up in all this noble bullshit, pretending it’s not something that’s going to put you ahead. But I guarantee that’s what will happen every time. Fuck magic.’
‘And so your solution is to be really shitty to me? Like this is all my fault and that I want to be here? Like I’m not all alone and my mum is… my mum is dead…’ The final words cut off to a whisper.
She watched a dozen responses cross Amanda’s features. The woman raised a hand and for a moment, Steph didn’t know if she was going to slap her or pat her on the shoulder. She’d got so caught in the argument, her headache carrying her too far into anger that for a moment she’d forgotten who she was talking to.
Instead, Amanda got up and walked away.
Steph’s lip curled, tears came. She hadn’t said the truth aloud until now and the word ‘dead’ had made it more real. Again, her mum’s death had ambushed her. She wondered if it would always be like this.
She leapt for the curtain pulled it closed again but by the time she had, the grief was gone, flushed out again and leaving her hollow.
God, she was all alone and trapped and she didn’t know what she was going to do. Even the kindness here was tainted, the gloves the big one had given her had had a bloodstain in the lining and she’d been too frightened to mention it. She wanted her mum here, or Karina, she’d even settle for someone from school, any familiar face would do. Anything so she wouldn’t be alone and in her head and in—
A hand tapped at the curtain, snapping her from her thoughts.
Amanda was back, the scowl receded to a frown as she pointed to the table. ‘Should be everything,’ she said.
There was her mother’s bag, knife and all.
Steph looked at her, waited for more.
‘Check it,’ she said, a dismissive flick of the hand. ‘I’m trusting you. Try not to fuck it up or hurt yourself.’
Her mum’s bag. She’d wanted this for so long and now it was here and it was taking everything she had not to tear through it, starving.
There was the knife. She set it aside. A bowl. There were the textbooks. It felt strange to hold them. There was a strange thrill, knowing she could read them as long as she wanted, pour over them. These were hers. It was a feeling she’d yearned for for so long that it came almost immediately. Like she could eat as much ice cream as she wanted and know that she’d never feel sick from it.
She sat down – headache forgotten.
The textbooks were large paperbacks, the designs on the covers basic, in primary colours. These were for knowledge, not fun. They were illegal printings, done on the cheap and on the sly. Produced by people with day jobs and no skill in book making. There were misspellings and smudged words, words on one page would shine through onto the opposite side.
She flicked through them, her stomach flipping at the sight of all those symbols. Here and there, Mum had made little annotations in her neat handwriting.
There was even more in her notebook, pages of crammed, copperplate writing. Hand-drawn sigils. Thoughts and musings and theories. Her mother’s voice on every page.
She checked the chalk, spray paint, pens, pencils, ink, sterile needles, cloth wipes, medical gloves, Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, mascara pencil. It was all there as far as she could see.
‘He killed my family.’ She hadn’t even noticed Amanda taking the seat opposite. She’d brought two cups of tea with her, pushed one across the table. Rolling back the sleeve of her coat, Amanda gave air to the angry burn on her wrist. ‘You know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s something we’ve got in common. We’re both here to get revenge.’
‘Was it bad? When my mum died. Did she… did it hurt?’
‘Don’t know how long she fought him for. But when he won, it was pretty quick.’
‘And did you bury her?’
‘She’s being sent home. Should be waiting for you when you get back. Have you got everything you need?’
‘I think so. The knife will need another blessing. I can feel it’s been enchanted already but we’ll need to do it again
to make sure it’s powerful enough. If we did the ritual now, I’d be worried that he’d be able to come back.’
She looked to Amanda for confirmation. The woman was taking a sip of her tea, hiding her expression, Steph’s words as bitter to her as the brew. ‘Whatever you need,’ she said.
‘I’ll also need a tattoo. I can mix up the ink but I’ll need someone else to apply it for me. It’ll need to be precise, otherwise the ritual could kill me. The tattoo will protect me from the counter-effects and make sure the power doesn’t burn me from the inside out or anything. I’m not strong enough that I’ll be able to hold myself together.’
‘Skeebs will help you,’ said Amanda.
The boy was back by his sleeping bag, holding his hand up in front of his face and blinking. He shot the pair of them a dirty look at the mention of his name.
‘There isn’t someone else?’ asked Steph, lowering her voice.
‘He’s the best artist among us, when his hands are steady. You’ll just have to trust him. He wants this over even more than you do. When can you get started?’
Steph didn’t think this fragile truce between them was sturdy enough to stand her admitting that she didn’t know how to do anything that she’d just said.
‘I should read these,’ she said, pulling the books toward her. ‘Just double-check I got it all.’
‘Sure you’re up to it?’
Like she would even dare say ‘no’. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘The man who sent you. He’s got my daughter. She’s trapped with a man who would hurt her just because he’s bored. I need you to make it work. Understand?’
Steph nodded.
‘Then get started.’
‘There’s one more thing.’
Amanda sighed. ‘Go on.’
‘The ritual, even just looking at my mum’s notes, it takes a lot of power.’
‘Right.’ The word came sharp as an icicle.
‘A lot of power,’ Steph said. ‘Blood magic power.’
Amanda flinched, grabbing the crook of her elbow. For a moment her expression was a raw, open wound – all round eyes and down-turned lips. Then the mask was back on again.
‘We’re not doing that. That bastard’s been the cause of enough blood already.’
‘What’s blood magic?’ asked Skeebs.
No one replied, Amanda facing away at the wall so that no one would see her expression. Steph was unsure if she should speak. The only person looking vaguely sympathetic to her plight was Caleb. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘You can use human blood to fuel spells,’ Steph explained. ‘You can use your own but someone else’s is a massive boost to your powers. It could be enough to beat him.’
‘Well there you fucking go,’ said Skeebs. ‘You can use mine.’ He held out an arm. ‘What’s the fucking problem?’
‘Problem is,’ said Amanda, ‘is that it’s fucking evil.’
‘It’s not evil—’ said Steph.
‘It’s evil,’ Amanda cut her off. ‘It’s…’
‘What her dad used to do,’ said Caleb into the silence.
‘It’s incredibly addictive,’ said Steph. ‘So unless you have a ready supply of blood to hand…’
Amanda made a noise, scratching at her arm.
‘…blood mages don’t last long. They end up going to extreme lengths to get more blood until they get themselves killed. I’ve heard some of them even eat themselves. I think my mum was hoping…’ Steph’s brow furrowed, the idea too deep to take in all at once. ‘I think she was hoping your boss would help her afterwards, keep her fed.’
She would never have been able to join a mages’ circle again, Steph realised. Her mother had been desperate, desperate to live, desperate to salvage her pride, desperate to further magic.
‘There you go then,’ said Skeebs. ‘AK’s good for it. He’ll keep you swimming in it the rest of your life.’
Caleb grunted. ‘Under his thumb more like.’
‘There’ll be another way,’ said Amanda.
‘Another way,’ said Skeebs. ‘Thought you said you’d do anything to get your girl back.’
‘No one saying we won’t if we have to,’ said Caleb.
‘Yes, they are,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m saying that. Otherwise I’m no better than my father, I let this happen.’
‘But you ain’t the one taking the blood, she is,’ Skeebs pointed to Steph.
‘Does she want to?’ asked Caleb.
‘Not really,’ said Steph, apologetically.
‘Settled then,’ said Amanda. ‘We find another way.’
Steph swallowed, the agreement washing her stomach with a wave of nausea – the weight of a very adult responsibility. She could feel their eyes on her, their silence expectant.
She had a lot of learning to do and fast. She hoped she knew what she was doing.
But a few hours later, the whispering began.
Chapter 16
Skeebs
The present– fifty-nine hours to destination
It’s time to take charge.
Skeebs pulled his hat down over his ears, trying to silence the whispers.
None of them know how bad it can be. The hat did no good. The voice was right by his ear. Closer even. It sounded like Reeves but at the same time it didn’t. It was like Reeves was twisting Skeebs’ own thoughts and throwing them back at him, making new words out of them.
Reeves is only just getting started. You know it can be so much worse than this. Look, she’s doing it again.
Amanda had crossed the room, a bottle of water and a bandage in her hands. Skeebs watched, they all did, as Amanda wet the rag, crouched in front of Reeves and brought the dripping gauze to the prisoner’s mouth.
She’d done this often – checking on the prisoner, feeding him water, touching him. Skeebs could swear he’d heard Amanda whispering a couple of times.
Knowing about the whole possession thing helped it make sense. Keep it alive so it doesn’t up and die on you. But he didn’t know, there was just something off about the way she was acting.
You think you’re the only one Reeves is talking to? Maybe he’s still got his hooks in her.
Why you talking to her?
Why do you think?
Skeebs could feel the demon’s grin by his ear.
Do you think you’re the only one thinking there might be a better way out of here than cleaning up after the boss?
What if she strikes a deal with Reeves? His freedom for her daughter’s? You really think she’s going to put you before her own flesh and blood?
No. Skeebs stuck his fingers in his ears. No, no, no.
But what if you got there first? The things Reeves could do. Tamper Danny’s jury. Reeves could have them all shouting ‘not guilty’ with a snap of his fingers. Danny would walk out nice and legal. Your brother’s getting his ass beat in there. If you only had the strength to say ‘yes’. If you only started to listen.
Amanda
Grinding her teeth, Amanda thought of the squeak of her daughter’s chair against concrete.
She continued to apply the salve to Reeves’ raw wrists, the skin rubbed away by the metal – gentle, slow circles.
The position, crouched before the demon, sent spasms of pain up her back from when Skeebs had fallen on her. The less she thought about the burn on her arm the better. Even in the cold it felt hot. She persevered, determined to finish tending to the wounds, not entirely able to justify why she was doing this to herself.
Over a day and a half they’d been on board according to her watch. The lack of daylight was beginning to grate against her nerves.
They’d opened the door briefly, soon after Reeves’ attack. They’d been surprised by the thickness of the night, the only light that of the lamps spilling out behind them, revealing blurring thickets, the distant lights of the engine. The stars had been buried under thick cloud.
They’d thrown away Skeebs’ knife. The boy had said nothing.
None of them c
ould say when the prisoner had started to whisper. It was a low hum, incessant, pervasive, corrosive and their nerves had been singing along to it for far longer than they wanted to think about.
The air held a charge, compressing them from all sides, tensing muscles, grinding teeth, tightening tendons and furrowing brows until they ached.
They were crammed so close together, the box tightening around them, personal space a distant memory. Every sniff or rustle of cloth was amplified; elbows bumped, toes tapped knees as people stretched and each time someone wanted to cross the carriage they had to step carefully.
Even the walls had begun to sweat, cold condensation beading the metal and running like oil.
A darkness that had nothing to do with light had crept from the living shadows that lurked in the prisoner’s every crease of flesh. They came from the curves of bone of his bare hips, the twists of muscle in his arms. His bruised, swollen face still dripped blood, dark and thick as crude oil, no matter how much water she brought to those lips. The dark leaked out as though it came from inside him, thickening the shadows in the carriage, congealing in the corners and making masks of their tense expressions.
Even with their eyes closed Reeves invaded their senses, the drip, drip, drip of his blood leaked into their ears, he filled their nostrils with his fetid, animal musk.
Everything they did or said was sucked into the vacuum of his silence until they’d stopped talking altogether. If any noise was made, every eye would turn to the prisoner, expecting him to comment.
Without leaving his chains, Reeves had managed to crowd them out. He’d forced himself into every corner and, despite the close conditions, pushed his four jailers apart, confining each in the small dark space of their own heads.
Caleb was sweating, huffing over his book. You’d think it was some bodice-ripper weepy the way he was acting.
Steph was getting up. Amanda paused as she waited for the girl to disappear behind the curtain. In a few moments the smell of bleach would fill the room.
Amanda willed herself to stay calm. They were moving, getting closer to the circle every minute. Closer to having her daughter in her arms again, to having a fragment of her life back. She thought of her little girl, skinned knees to fights with friends to boyfriend break-ups. If she had no one to be strong for then what was she? Just a stranger. She’d allowed Steph the bag, every instinct telling her that she was destroying this girl forced into her care. But if it was what it took to get her Michaela back then she’d do it. Now she just needed to stay calm, to not pace the floor and climb the walls, to not imagine AK’s rage building with every moment he received no fresh news.
The End of the Line Page 18
