‘I’m not an idiot. And you said ‘seduced’. Freudian slip?’
‘Stop being defensive,’ Fleet said, frustration bubbling through. ‘I’m on your side.’
‘I know,’ Lydia forced herself to stop reacting. To take a moment and a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. And you’re right. He is very persuasive. But I am being wary. I don’t trust him, I promise.’ Lydia heard a high-pitched caw. A warning sound. She looked around, but it must have been in her mind. Tinnitus?
‘You don’t trust anybody,’ Fleet said. ‘Not even me.’
‘I do trust you,’ Lydia said, trying to placate him.
Fleet shook his head. ‘Don’t try to handle me. I want you to take me seriously. Believe it or not, I’m quite good at this stuff. It’s my job.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said. He didn’t know the Families the way she did, though. And he didn’t know Paul Fox. ‘This stuff, though… It’s kind of my area.’
‘Just because you’re a Crow and I’m not doesn’t negate my opinion.’
‘Of course not,’ Lydia couldn’t work out how to stop the argument.
Fleet blew out a sigh and ran a hand over his head. ‘I’m tired. Think I’ll head home.’
‘If you want.’ Lydia knew her voice had come out toneless. Almost sulky. She tried again. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about. With Paul, I mean.’
Fleet flinched. ‘Every time you say his name I feel sick.’
Lydia hesitated, trying to choose her words. ‘I understand how you feel and I’m sorry. But I’m doing this job for him. I don’t have a choice.’
Fleet shook his head. ‘You always have a choice. And I want you to stay away from him.’
‘Don’t give me orders,’ Lydia said, her patience snapping. ‘He could make trouble for me, trouble for my Family. And besides all of that, it’s my professional reputation. I’ve got to do my job.’
‘You are your own boss,’ Fleet pointed out. ‘Which means you are doing exactly what you want. As usual.’
Lydia opened her mouth to argue, but Fleet had picked up his coat and was halfway to the door. She closed her mouth. She couldn’t think of anything to say, anyway. Nothing that wouldn’t be a lie.
Chapter Twelve
The next day Lydia woke up with a sore head. Which wasn’t fair since she’d only had one whisky after Fleet had gone. Two at the most. But she never got hangovers; it was one of her favourite things about herself. Lydia downed a glass of water and headed out in search of fresh air and a bucket of caffeine. She often mooched some from The Fork, but Angel was looking particularly fierce this morning and Lydia decided to walk to the bagel takeaway place on the corner, instead.
She took her biggest mug with her so as not to get a disposable cup. She might be a terrible girlfriend and a disappointment to the Crow Family, but she could do her bit for the environment. On her way back to her office, she distracted herself from her failings by mulling over the case. An unknown victim with an unknown cause of death. The police weren’t even treating it as murder, at the moment, so resources weren’t exactly being thrown at the investigation. But what if it was murder? And what if the method of murder was magical? That would explain why the police didn’t have a clue. There were magical objects which could affect people, like the silver knight statue which had sent Robert Sharp and Yas Bishop around the bend. And her Crow Family coin definitely put a bit of whammy on susceptible people. She hadn’t found anything on the body, but the murderer could have retrieved the object after the Fox had died. Or there might be other kinds of magic, stuff she didn’t know about.
Lydia knew that Uncle Charlie was the obvious person to go to for a magic lesson, but her nightmares with Maddie and the sense that Charlie had bigger plans, ones she might not approve of, stopped her. The less she revealed to Charlie, the better. Her mother was right: her uncle loved her, but the Family business came first. He would manipulate her, use every piece of information for his own agenda, and not even think twice.
She tapped out a quick text message, carefully not admitting to herself what she was doing until it was too late. There was a strong chance she was also reacting to Fleet telling her to stay away from Paul. She had clearly never grown out of her teenage rebellion phase and it wasn’t a fact she was particularly proud of.
Paul Fox replied in seconds, as if he had been waiting. Just two words.
The Den.
When Lydia had been young and stupid and had dated Paul Fox, he had always suggested they go to The Den for drinks. Lydia had always refused. It was one thing to date a Fox, but drinking in their Family bar was just asking for trouble. It had been one of the things he had always teased her about. Underneath the teasing had been an annoyance. Lydia had sensed that Paul wasn’t used to people saying ‘no’ to him and that had just cemented her resolve. He was getting his wish, which was irritating, but Lydia didn’t feel she had much of a choice. She wanted information and perhaps giving him this small victory over her would loosen his tongue, put him in a sharing mood. Whatever Fleet might think, her mind was focused entirely on the job. And justice for the unfortunate in the tunnel.
The Den was slap bang in the middle of Whitechapel. Fox territory. Knowing that she could just as easily have gone to see her father to ask about magical murder methods and not wanting to think too hard about the reasons why she wasn’t, Lydia was distracted enough to walk past the number of The Den. Turning around and retracing her steps, dodging past a large family pushing a double-stroller which was taking up the entire pavement, she forced herself to concentrate. Standing in front of number thirty, she realised why she had walked past it in the first place. Rather than the entrance to a bar, she was standing in front of a barber shop. The classic red-and-white striped pole was spinning and an illuminated neon sign said ‘open’. Lydia would have assumed she had the wrong place, if it hadn’t been for the name. Red Brush.
Pushing open the door, a bell jangled and a man sitting in one of the old-fashioned barber’s chairs looked up from the newspaper he was reading. He was clean shaven and had the neatest, shiniest hair Lydia had ever seen on a man. It was styled with a quiff at the front, which matched the fifties style of his cream-and-black fine knit bowling shirt and narrow trousers. And the honest-to-Crow matchstick he had gripped between his teeth. ‘Help you?’
‘The Den,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ve got an appointment with Paul Fox.’
Fifties-Throwback tilted his head and for a moment Lydia thought he was going to be tiresome. She slipped her hand into her pocket, felt the edges of her coin. Whether he saw something in her eyes or name-dropping Paul Fox had done the trick, Lydia didn’t know, but he stood up, unfolding long legs and walking to the back of the barbershop. He held open a door and gestured for Lydia to pass him. The door led to a straight flight of stairs leading down to a wall with a framed poster of Elvis.
‘Push on the right’.
Lydia glanced back up, but Fifties-throwback was already shutting the door. The small expanse of wall between the poster and the adjoining wall was smudged with hand prints. She reached out and pushed the flat of her hand and felt the wall swing inward smoothly. Instantly, she could hear low voices and ambient electronica. The secret door and surrounding walls had some serious sound insulation.
The Den was decorated in classic speakeasy style with 1920s decor, low lighting, and rows of inviting-looking glass booze bottles behind the bar. It was mid-afternoon and not busy, the man behind the bar was wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black velvet waistcoat and tie, complete with a looping watch chain and sleeve garters.
‘He’s in the back room, Miss,’ he said when Lydia approached.
Lydia felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise and the urge to fly was very strong. The place smelled of Fox, which she had steeled herself for, but the choking taste of earth in the back of her throat was making it hard to swallow or breathe. She was going to pass out if she wasn’t careful. Forcing a breath through her constricted airw
ay, she threaded through the clusters of tables and chairs to the open doorway in the far corner. Inside, was a smaller space. Same decor, same scent of Fox, but with one important difference. This space held Paul Fox.
He was sitting with his back to the wall on a tufted dark green velvet sofa, one arm stretched out along the back. His impressive biceps were clearly visible and he had the knowing look, complete with an almost-smile, which used to flip her stomach. It had no effect, now, she told herself. Thank Feathers.
Paul didn’t stand up but he indicated the seat opposite. ‘I took the liberty.’
For a moment, Lydia didn’t know what he meant. She was light-headed from the lack of oxygen and focusing on damping down the insta-lust which was part Fox magic and part memory. Paul had been excellent in a physical sense and Lydia’s first sexual experience. From a purely technical point of view, it had been an excellent decision. Now, however, she was wishing that every nerve in her body wasn’t insisting on reliving his touch, the feel of his lips and tongue and hands. Hell Hawk. She had to focus. Paul picked up a glass and Lydia realised there were two. He had got her a drink. Whisky by the look of it.
There was, of course, a slim possibility that Paul had poisoned or drugged the drink, but Lydia grabbed it and knocked it back, anyway. The alcohol immediately hit her system, calming her mind and helping her to take the first proper breath since she had walked into the joint.
‘You still like that, then?’
Before Lydia could say something cutting and witty like ‘duh’, the bartender appeared at the table. It made Lydia jump, which was annoying, but props to the man. He had the light-footedness and stealth of a cat. Or, more accurately she supposed, a fox. He was carrying a small tray with several glasses. ‘Same again, Miss?’
Lydia nodded and watched as the empty glass was replaced by a full one. Not taking her eyes off Paul, in the way she would watch any dangerous animal, she lifted the fresh glass and took a more measured mouthful.
‘What do you think?’
‘Of this place?’ Lydia forced herself to put the glass back down on the table. Out of temptation. ‘It’s very vintage. Attention to detail is excellent. And the whisky is good.’ Credit where it was due.
Paul’s almost smile quirked up at the corners and his eyes crinkled. ‘I’m so happy you’re finally here.’
‘I have an agenda,’ Lydia said.
‘Naturally.’
Glancing around to check for listeners, purely out of habit, Lydia took a breath and said: ‘What sort of magic could kill a man?’
Paul’s smile vanished. ‘Are we talking about the case?’
‘Police have no cause of death. Nothing.’
‘That doesn’t mean-’
‘I know,’ Lydia broke in. ‘But I’m exploring every possibility. Keeping an open mind. You want answers, right?’
‘Right.’ He glanced behind Lydia and she turned around just in time to see a figure in the doorway, moving out of sight.
‘Friends?’
‘Brother,’ Paul said, pulling a face. ‘Just watching out.’
‘For me?’ Lydia was fighting the urge to fly, again. What had possessed her to walk into The Den? Fleet was right. She was being reckless.
‘You can’t blame him,’ Paul said. ‘Your cousin did this.’ He lifted his black t-shirt and Lydia had to stop herself from reacting. Apart from the abs, which were just as beautiful as she remembered, there was a burn mark in the shape of a handprint. It was red and slightly raised and in a splayed shape, the fingers reaching from next to his navel to the bottom of his ribs.
‘Madeleine did that?’
Paul nodded, dropping his shirt and taking a drink.
Suddenly Paul inviting Lydia to put her hand on his chest made more sense. He had been showing her that he trusted her. Or, perhaps, checking to see if she was as powerful as Maddie. Which just went to show he had a reckless streak all of his own. ‘I thought you two were friendly. You helped to hide her.’ Maddie had gone missing and Lydia had been tasked with finding her by Uncle Charlie, on behalf of John and Daisy, Maddie’s parents. When Lydia had tracked her down, Maddie had been hiding on a canal boat in Little Venice, courtesy of Paul Fox.
‘I’m not sure your cousin has friends,’ Paul said. He hesitated and then, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say, drained his glass instead.
‘What?’ Lydia leaned forward slightly. ‘Say it.’
‘Have you heard from her?’
Lydia thought about the series of nightmares which had, thankfully, stopped. In them, Maddie had showed up, shoved her over the railing of her roof terrace. It hadn’t been pleasant. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Okay, then.’
‘What?’ Lydia couldn’t keep the impatience out of her voice. Truth be told, she wasn’t really trying.
‘She reminded me of you,’ Paul said, after a pause. ‘At first, anyway. But I soon realised you are very different.’
‘Damn right,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m one of a bloody kind.’
He smiled, flashing white teeth, and Lydia felt the call of woodland and earth. ‘She’s a fan of chaos. That’s never been your bag, has it? Not even when you were taking a walk on the wild side with me.’
A piece clicked into place. ‘You thought it was Maddie? That’s why you wanted me to take the case. Because I found her before. Because I’m a Crow, so you couldn’t have anyone else go after her or there would be a war.’
Paul shrugged. ‘It crossed my mind.’
‘Well it wasn’t her,’ Lydia said.
‘You came in here thinking it was magic. Maddie’s gifted.’
‘Yeah, but I would have been able to tell.’
Paul still didn’t look completely convinced.
‘And no marks, remember?’
He nodded. ‘Not consistent with her previous work, I agree.’
Lydia wondered how much Maddie had told him when they had been together. Then she wondered how together they had been and felt a spurt of jealousy. Feather and claw, she was losing her mind. ‘So, you thought my cousin was involved in something Fox-related, which was why you blackmailed me into working for you. Why did you send me down to the tunnels? What did you expect me to find?’
‘I didn’t know about him,’ Paul said quickly.
‘I believe you,’ Lydia said. ‘But what, then? Why send me underground?’
Paul blew out air through his nose. He picked up his glass but didn’t take a drink, putting it back down on the table and leaning forward. ‘Okay. There were a couple of disappearances in the Family.’
‘Who?’
‘My cousin Jack. My brother.’
Lydia wanted to take out her notebook but she knew this wasn’t the time. A Fox was admitting a weakness. And this was after showing her that he had been hurt by a Crow. It was unprecedented. At this rate, she was going to forge a new alliance with the Fox Family and the threat of war would be a thing of the past. Or, more accurately, she would have balanced out the fact that she had pissed off the Silvers. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you give me names and descriptions? And why the tunnels?’
‘They aren’t lost anymore. They’ve both come home.’
‘I don’t understand. They’re back?’
‘But they seem different,’ Paul said. ‘Something isn’t right with them. I can smell it.’
Lydia kept quiet. Paul wasn’t focusing on her, anymore. He was seeing something else. ‘Luke got drunk one night. He hardly touched the stuff before, but he was knocking vodka back like it was water. Before he passed out, he said he’d been underground. On the tracks, but not with the trains.’ His gaze snapped back to Lydia. ‘So, I thought it wise to check it out.’
‘You thought it wise to send me to check it out,’ Lydia corrected.
Paul nodded. ‘You’re strong enough to withstand whatever is in the air down there.’
He was flattering her to distract and disarm, Lydia knew. It still worked a little bit. ‘
So, who is our unknown victim? I assume you’ve asked around to find out who else has gone missing?’
‘I didn’t recognise him,’ Paul said. ‘I wasn’t lying.’
‘I’m not saying you were, but you haven’t exactly rushed to enlighten me. This trust thing is only going to work if you share information.’
Paul almost smiled. ‘Says the open book, Lydia Crow.’
Lydia wasn’t going to get distracted. She slid her glass away and made as if to stand up.
‘All right, all right,’ Paul made a conciliatory gesture. ‘It’s Marty. I asked around and he went missing last week. He matches the description.’
‘Marty?’ Lydia rested a hand on her hip and waited.
‘Benson,’ Paul said eventually. It was clearly an effort and Lydia sympathised. It wasn’t easy to break the habit of distrust. Of guarding information like it was plutonium. ‘Not central bloodline, but still family. As you identified.’
Lydia ignored that fishing expedition. ‘Any idea why someone would want him dead? Was he in trouble?’
‘A bit,’ Paul shrugged. ‘Did a bit of dealing. Weed and some coke. Nothing major, though. Just to friends and friends of friends.’
‘In Camberwell?’ Lydia’s thoughts had swung to Uncle Charlie. He was not a fan of the drug trade on his turf.
‘Nah, just locally. He was a stoner but he wasn’t that stupid. Or suicidal, as far as I know.’
‘Any link between Marty and the others who went missing? Also, I’m going to need to speak to Jack and Luke.’
Paul’s attention was caught by something behind Lydia. ‘I can look into that. We should wrap this up,’ he said.
‘Fine by me,’ Lydia downed the rest of her drink and got to her feet. She had the strange sensation of not being ready to leave Paul’s company. Her life just got odder and more complicated by the day.
Chapter Thirteen
Lydia walked into the cafe just past mid-afternoon. Her mother’s words about becoming the head of the Crow Family had been simmering at the back of her mind and the sight of The Fork, complete with the current leader, brought a rush of panic. She understood her mother’s concerns, but had no intention of taking over anything, least of all the infamous and slightly-dodgy Crow Family business. Perhaps it was time to lay down some boundaries, again?
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