The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  ‘Shouldn’t be,’ Hazeldine said. ‘He’s been off sick a lot recently, though. Lightweight.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Lydia said, properly keen to get away, now. Hazeldine had given a snorting little laugh and she knew, suddenly, that his affable demeanour was thin veneer over something darker and more volatile.

  ‘Some people can’t handle this job, you know. They’re not built for it.’

  ‘What is it you do, here?’ Lydia forced herself to seem perky. Interested.

  ‘Analysis.’

  Well, that was helpful, Lydia thought.

  As she stepped out of the open-plan office and back into the hallway, a woman in a dark suit stopped her. For a heart-stopping moment, Lydia thought she might be undercover security, but a second glance at her red-rimmed eyes and wan expression revealed a different truth. ‘Are you here for his things?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Rob’s stuff. Are you here to clear his desk. I saw you over there,’ she gestured to the corner of the office.

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m actually an investigator.’

  The woman nodded, as if this was only to be expected. She knew, then.

  ‘Did you work closely with Robert?’

  ‘No, not really. I just…’ the woman took a visible breath. ‘We were friendly. He was nice.’

  ‘When you say friendly…’

  ‘Oh. No. Nothing like… Nothing like that. I’m married.’ She used her fingertips to swipe underneath her eyes. Then looked around as if worried she was being observed.

  ‘Shall we?’ Lydia indicated the hall and they moved out of the office and away from the desks and ringing phones.

  The woman pulled a face. When she spoke, it was all in a rush. Like the words were escaping from the prison of her mouth. ‘You can’t show weakness, here. It’s not the done thing. Especially if you don’t have a dick. Sorry.’

  Lydia waved a hand to indicate she wasn’t offended. ‘So, you liked Robert, then? He was nice?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Anna Croft. My boss told me about Rob yesterday. He knew we chatted. He’d seen us together at the Christmas party. Not together together. My husband was there, too.’

  Lydia nodded to show she understood. ‘Did Rob have lots of friends, here?’

  A short laugh. ‘Nobody does. No time.’

  ‘How had Rob seemed recently? Any problems at work?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Not that he would have said. It’s not that kind of place.’

  ‘He was getting on fine, then. Seemed happy enough?’

  ‘He’d taken a few sick days recently. But he seemed fine when he was here. More than fine, really. He was always really calm. Nice. Good at listening, you know?’

  Lydia nodded, again, not wanting to break the woman’s flow by speaking.

  ‘Most people aren’t, but Rob was...’ She took a deep breath, trailing off.

  ‘What did you mean ‘more than fine’? When did you last see him?’

  ‘Last week sometime. Maybe the Wednesday? He had just been, I don’t know, more energetic than usual. Kind of caffeinated.’

  ‘That’s normal round here, I bet,’ Lydia said. ‘It seems pretty intense.’

  ‘Not for Rob,’ Anna said. ‘I always thought he was going to get out of here. Retire early and live in a caravan or something. I’ve really got to get back to work. Sorry.’

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ Lydia said. ‘Can I just get the name of your boss?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Haven’t you already spoken to him? I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Why would you be in trouble?’

  The woman just shook her head. ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

  ‘Here’s my card,’ Lydia said. ‘And I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Anna Croft was already walking away, her spine as straight as a prima ballerina. Lydia watched her leave with admiration. Discipline, strength and self-control. Perhaps she ought to take up dancing.

  Chapter Four

  That evening, Lydia had ignored the muggy heat that was still lying across the city and dutifully attended her circuits class. She was in her third set of conditioning sprints, her legs and arms burning with effort and her lungs dragging in oxygen with harsh rasps, when she felt her senses fire. Electricity ran through her body in a short, sharp, shock, and she knew there was power in the room. It burned the back of her throat and stung her eyes, screaming that it was a danger, that it meant attack. Instantly, she dropped to the floor and rolled onto her back, legs ready to kick out. Lydia had been working on her upper-body strength, but she knew her legs were still her best bet in a defensive situation. There was nobody there.

  Lydia looked around, hunting for the source of danger she had felt so keenly. Everything seemed normal. The instructor, a well-muscled woman with bleached white-blonde hair, crossed the room with a concerned expression on her face. ‘You okay, hun?’

  ‘Fine,’ Lydia said, climbing to her feet. ‘Just thirsty.’ She knew she still looked like an oddball, but the excuse gave her a chance to escape to the side of the room where her water bottle and towel were waiting. The sensation had already faded. Gone as quickly as it had appeared, which made absolutely no sense. Lydia scanned the room of sweating exercisers casually, while swigging from her water bottle. Nothing unusual. And she wasn’t getting a Family vibe from any of them. If she had she would have been surprised as she ought to have felt it the moment she walked into the room at the start of the class. Lydia closed her eyes for a moment, partly to ease the gritty sensation and partly to try to recreate the flash of magic she had felt. It hadn’t been Crow or Fox, that was definite. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been Pearl or Silver, either. Partly because she could identify them easily and partly because the flash had been so strong. Pearlies had been growing in strength, but they still had a very mellow, inviting sort of energy, not something spiky and hot. And Silvers were excellent liars, had the gift of the gab and could charm you with wordplay or could argue that the sky was on the ground until you began to doubt your own eyes, but their abilities were the remnants of their old power. When Lydia sensed a Silver, she saw just a thin outline of magic. An after-image.

  Maybe her power was misfiring. A thought which gave her an unexpected jolt of terror. She had always thought she was a nothing when it came to Crow power. The daughter of the heir to the Family, the great Henry Crow, just a big fat zero. Her whole life, all she had been able to do was sense the power in others and identify its origin: Silver, Pearl, Crow or Fox. Since moving back to London, though, she had realised that there was something a little more. She seemed to amplify the power in others, too. At least, that was what Jason thought. Before she had moved into the flat above The Fork, he had been unable to touch anything, had been a true wraith. Now, he could hold a pen and, to Lydia, he looked fully solid and alive most of the time. She had just been getting used to the idea that maybe she wasn’t such a useless Crow after all, and the thought that maybe it was all going to disappear was unpleasant. A malfunctioning Crow. That did not sound good.

  Lydia took a few more deep breaths. The weird feeling had gone. Everything is fine, she told herself. Get back to the laps, sweat out whatever weirdness had just happened. Then she realised she was being watched. A man Lydia hadn’t noticed before was stretching out his hamstrings, but he was looking in her direction with a steady gaze. She had thought ‘man’ because of the width of his shoulders but his face looked very young and boyish. His dark skin was gleaming with sweat and his brown eyes were fixed on her as if they knew one another.

  She wasn’t getting a power-sense from him, so maybe he was looking because he was interested. Lydia was torn between feeling flattered and her desire to be utterly anonymous and unnoticed while exercising. Especially if she was going to start having mid-workout freak-outs. Rolling her neck to ease the tension, she closed her eyes for a moment and blocked the room and her admirer out. In that moment, in a single split-second, she was
falling. Thrown over the edge of the roof terrace at The Fork and plunging toward the concrete, air rushing past her face. She opened her eyes quickly and felt the sensation drain away, although her heart was hammering and her insides were cold. She crouched down, touching the floor for security and waited until she didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. This made no sense. If she was going to have trauma flashbacks, why not the time her cousin had almost choked the life from her? Not flashbacks to something that hadn’t happened. It had been threatened, but it hadn’t happened. It hadn’t happened. ‘You’re fine,’ Lydia whispered to herself, more as an experiment than anything else. Feeling a little better, she straightened up. The boy who had been staring had gone. She looked around the gym to be sure, but there was no sign. Unable to shake a feeling of unease, Lydia button-holed the trainer. ‘Do you know the guy who just left?’

  ‘What guy?’

  Lydia described him. ‘He was here a moment ago so he must have just left.’

  The trainer shook her head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.’

  Lydia gathered her things and left. She kept a look out for the man/boy, but there was no sign. It was official. She was losing it.

  * * *

  Back at the flat, Lydia knew she must have still been feeling freaked out, as she found herself confiding in Jason. Predictably enough, his solution involved testing her abilities. ‘I told you, I don’t know how.’

  ‘What about your coin trick? How do you do that?’

  ‘It’s not a trick,’ Lydia said. Then, catching herself, she added. ‘What coin trick?’

  Jason smiled. ‘When you’re thinking, one appears out of nowhere and you flip it over the back of your knuckles.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lydia felt embarrassed to have been observed. It was by a ghost, but still. Charlie would call her sloppy. ‘I don’t know how I do it. I just think about a coin and it appears.’

  ‘Does it work with other things?’

  ‘Like a million pounds in used bank notes? Sadly not.’

  ‘Does it always work?’

  ‘It’s not like working or not working,’ Lydia said, her mind stumbling as she tried to articulate something she had always known and never examined. ‘It’s more that the coin exists all the time. It’s mine. It’s part of me like my thumb is part of my hand.’

  ‘What would happen if you tried to get more?’

  ‘I have one,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t know how I would get more.’

  Jason put one hand to his mouth and regarded her for a moment. ‘But have you ever tried?’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Lydia said. ‘I told you.’ Her chest was suddenly tight and she wanted out of the conversation. Something must have translated to her expression because Jason wavered and, for a moment, he looked less solid than usual.

  ‘I’m not trying to be obtuse,’ Lydia went to the sofa and sat down. Her legs felt shaky and it had nothing to do with her workout. ‘And I feel really stupid. I don’t know why I haven’t thought more about this stuff, questioned it all.’

  ‘It’s not stupid,’ Jason said. ‘We always think that whatever we grew up with is normal. I thought everybody did logic puzzles to relax.’

  Lydia managed a smile. ‘Weirdo.’

  * * *

  Lydia stood outside Sharp’s address. The purpose-built block of flats was like nothing in Camberwell. Curved balconies, smoked glass, and gleaming stonework. A lot of very modern looking and no doubt very expensive horticulture outside and, according to the website Lydia had studied, a state-of-the-art gym and swimming pool in the basement. It was only recently completed and there were still a few units available to buy. For those who fancied blowing a million and a half on two bedrooms. This was London so Lydia thought she was used to insane property prices, but even so… She shaded her eyes and looked up, trying to imagine the kind of people Sharp had rubbed shoulders with on a daily basis in a place like this.

  The woman behind the desk in the large open-plan lobby was very attractive. More than that she was a Pearlie. Maybe not central bloodline, but definitely related. There was a sheen to her skin, a lustre that made Lydia want to reach out and stroke her cheek. Her mouth flooded with saliva and she was suddenly ravenously hungry. Feathers. Beak. Claw. She repeated the words until her mouth stopped watering and her mind cleared enough to approach the desk.

  She had a lie at the ready, but changed her mind at the last moment and produced her business card, instead. ‘I’m here about Robert Sharp, one of your residents.’

  A pink tongue darted out and moistened her lips as she studied Lydia’s card. Then she turned perfect almond-shaped eyes, edged with black kohl onto Lydia. ‘You’re here to see Mr Sharp? He’s-’

  ‘Dead, yes. I know. I’m an investigator and I want to ask his neighbours a couple of questions.’

  ‘That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. If you’re not with the police I can’t let you through to harass our residents.’

  ‘I’m not a journalist.’

  She pursed her lips and it was everything Lydia could do not to vault over the desk and kiss her. And Lydia had always considered herself, for the most part, heterosexual. The Pearlie powers of attraction were clearly running strong.

  ‘You’re not police,’ the woman said. ‘You’ve got no right. And our residents value their privacy.’

  ‘I bet they value their security, too,’ Lydia said. ‘Doesn’t look great when one of their number ends up swinging under Blackfriars Bridge.’

  The woman tilted her head. ‘That’s Blackfriars. This is Canary Wharf.’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Yeah, I got that. I’m a long way from home, here. Camberwell isn’t half as swanky.’

  Her eyes widened a little and, for a moment, her glowing beauty dimmed.

  ‘Yes, Lydia Crow. One of those Crows.’ She tapped her business card. ‘The Crows.’

  The woman opened her mouth, but no sound came out and then she closed it again.

  Lydia leaned on the desk. ‘I can see you know what that means. You’re a Pearl, aren’t you? We don’t have any problem with Pearls. Not for a very long time, anyway. And isn’t that nice.’

  ‘Please,’ the woman’s face creased into a pained expression. ‘I can’t help you. I’ll lose my job.’

  ‘Nah,’ Lydia said. ‘I guarantee no one will complain. Especially if you let me into his flat. Let me have a little look around. I probably won’t need to go banging on doors at all, then. Probably get everything I need on the quiet.’

  The woman picked up a walkie talkie and pressed a button. A few moments later, a security guard in a grey uniform strolled through the door. ‘Can you take Ms Crow to see unit forty-five.’ She held up a hand, as if anticipating an objection. ‘I know it’s not on the market, yet, but this is a special favour.’

  * * *

  The flat was drop-dead gorgeous. Provided your vision of beauty was monotone, open-plan, and filled with statement lighting and glass. A folding glass wall led from the living space to the balcony and the skyline view of assorted skyscrapers and water was truly spectacular. It was like being in a different London entirely. One of shining metal and modernism.

  Lydia did a quick walk around while the security guard waited, fiddling with his phone. Sharp’s personal belongings were few and far between and it was as if he had moved into a showhome with hand luggage only. Which was entirely possible. Even with his job, this address had to be a stretch on the mortgage. ‘How long had Mr Sharp been here?’

  The guard looked up. ‘Not long. Same as everyone. New build, innit?’

  In the bedroom there were a couple of paperbacks on the nightstand, both sci fi, and a ratty checked dressing gown which looked like Robert could’ve kept it from childhood. The ensuite revealed Colgate toothpaste, Imperial Leather soap, and a supermarket own brand antiperspirant. Not exactly the high-end toiletries you would expect in a home of this calibre and cost.

  Back in the living space, Lydia checked the kitchen cupboards. A box of sugary cereal, a ba
g of pasta and jar of tomato sauce. The fridge had cheese and grapes, an entire shelf of champagne, and a pack of Budweiser. ‘No one has been to clear out his stuff, then?’

  The guard looked up. ‘Is that full?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No, then.’

  Lydia pulled a face. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You done in here? I need to get back.’

  ‘Almost.’ Lydia felt a little bit nauseous and figured it was the heat of the day, combined with the stale, shut-in air of the flat.

  The guard heaved a dramatic sigh, as if Lydia were keeping him from vital duties. Or perhaps he felt unwell, too.

  There wasn’t much storage and she had checked every drawer and cupboard. She turned slowly, looking for ledges or tops of furniture. Then, she took a dining chair and, moving methodically around the room, used it to stand on while she ran her hands across every concealed space. Just dust.

  She sat on the dark grey sectional sofa and eyed the coffee table. It was shaped like a large pebble and looked like it was moulded from one piece of plastic but when she leaned forward and touched it, it was textured and more solid. Some sort of ceramic or resin. She ran her hands over the smooth sides, checking for a hidden catch. Nothing.

  On the opposite wall there was a huge television hung on the wall and, underneath, a long low cabinet with a glossy white finish. There was a large table lamp with a complicated blown-glass base and a couple of spiky plants which were either plastic or doing an excellent job of appearing so. There was something tucked behind the larger of the plants and Lydia crossed the room to have a closer look. It was a silver figure of a knight in full armour, carrying a sword and shield. The figure was about six-inches tall and was mounted on a circular base with lion’s feet. It looked antique and as out of place with the rest of the décor as the Imperial Leather soap had been in the bathroom. She took several photos of the figure from as many angles as she could think of and some close-up shots of the underneath of the base where there were markings and a maker’s stamp.