It was quiet in Fleet’s flat. They were high up enough and the windows were good enough quality, that she couldn’t hear the traffic. Lydia could see why he had been so keen to get her to come round to his place. She looked around, testing herself to see if she felt envious of his domestic life, the way she did sometimes with Emma’s home and family. Just checking that she was still on the right path. She felt fine, although she might get some better bedlinen and maybe a new mattress. A comfortable bed was a seriously good thing.
Fleet returned with a tray. There were two mugs of tea, more pain killers, a stretch bandage, and a pile of heavily buttered toast. Good man.
Lydia sunk her teeth into a piece and closed her eyes in pleasure. There were few things in life more pleasurable than buttery toast when you were really hungry. When she opened her eyes, she caught Fleet smiling at her. He looked fond and it pierced her right through with happiness and a strange longing. The familiar undercurrent of fear was there, too, but perhaps it was a little reduced. The realities of physical danger had put things into perspective.
Fleet settled back into bed next to her and took a slice of toast. ‘Are you going to give me a description of your attackers? I’m not going to say I told you so, but you said they were Fox-’
‘Not Paul,’ Lydia broke in. ‘We can’t assume he had anything to do with it. Not yet.’
Fleet must have seen something in her expression because he dropped it.
‘There’s something else I’ve been thinking about,’ Lydia said, dabbing crumbs up from her plate with a fingertip. ‘I went to see Dad and he told me family stories. Loads of them are clearly myth, or exaggerated in the retelling, but it has made me wonder. I mean, what is possible? And then there’s someone like Maddie…’
‘Not to mention you,’ Fleet said. He raised an eyebrow at her carefully blank expression. ‘I’m not a complete idiot.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said. She could feel all her carefully maintained boundaries crumbling. She had told Emma about Jason, Paul had told her about Maddie, her dad had used magic, she had run to Fleet’s flat. And there was Fleet’s own strange vibe, too. The gleam she caught from him which was unlike any of the four Families. It gave her flashes of midnight on a white-sand beach. The smell of the sea and the sound of waves on the shore.
As if reading her mind, Fleet settled more comfortably against his pillow and said, ‘Family stories are mad, though. Mum used to talk about a cousin who could light candles with his fingers.’
‘What?’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Probably nonsense. You know what family’s like. The talk around the table always got more outrageous as the rum flowed.’
Lydia had avoided touchy-feely conversations with Fleet but, over time, had picked up a few details here and there. For example, he mentioned his mum, aunts, and cousins, and that her side of the family were from Sierra Leone, but never referred to his father. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Who? My mum?’
‘Yeah, she sounds like a force of nature,’ Lydia said, keeping her fingers crossed that she wasn’t walking into an invitation to family dinner.
‘Dead,’ Fleet said.
Well, now she felt like a dick. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ Another horrible thought occurred. What if he had mentioned it and she hadn’t noticed? Sadly, she could believe that of herself. She had a tendency to disappear into her own thoughts. ‘I didn’t know, right?’
Fleet shook his head, his smile gentle and eyes sad. ‘You’re not on the hook. She died five years ago. Ovarian cancer.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘That sounds like a bad way to go.’
‘It was,’ Fleet said, staring straight ahead. He took a visible breath and Lydia snuggled in, putting a hand on his chest. Her arm was bright white against his skin.
‘She was, though.’
‘What?’
‘A force of nature.’ He flashed her a quick smile. ‘Proper matriarch. Anybody needed something, needed help or to borrow a drill or to find someone who could sort out their flooded kitchen or hem a pair of trousers or get somebody put back in their place, they came to Mum.’
Lydia was reminded, suddenly, of Uncle Charlie. She kept her mouth shut, though, as she wasn’t sure Fleet would appreciate the comparison.
‘There was this one guy, a second or third cousin, something like that. I could never keep track of how people were related, the flat always had at least three aunties in it at any time, but this guy’s son was going down a bad path. He had got in with a bad crowd and his dad thought he was joining a gang. He knocked on the door in a complete state, wanting mum to advise him. To tell him what to do.’
Fleet’s lips twitched as he remembered. ‘She put on her coat and hat, she always wore a hat outside the house, not just for church, she was a very traditional lady like that.’
‘Is that where you get your snappy dressing?’
‘You think I’m a snappy dresser?’ He smiled properly, his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s just because you’re sloppy.’
‘Hey,’ Lydia punched his arm. ‘I dress for comfort. I’m practical.’
‘I don’t care what you wear,’ Fleet said. ‘Although I prefer you naked.’
Lydia felt the breath stop in her chest. The lust was a wave and she dived straight into it, kissing him hard. Half-lying on Fleet was very enjoyable but it also set off the pain in her ribs. Fleet caught her wincing. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said, gently disentangling her.
‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said, taking shallow breaths while she waited for the pain to calm down. ‘But I do want to know what your mum did. Did she give the guy some good advice?’
‘She asked him where the gang hung out, where she would find his son and she went to speak to him.’
‘In front of the gang?’
‘Yep,’ Fleet said, shaking his head slightly. ‘Stripe of crazy running through my mum, it must be said. She never showed fear, never backed down from what she thought was right. She marched right up to the kid, he was standing with a couple of bangers on the street, and she grabbed him by the ear lobe and dragged him home. She was short, like you, and this kid was over six foot, but she dragged him back home and whatever she said to him stuck. He straightened up, started going to school again, stopped with the drugs.’
‘Impressive,’ Lydia said, deciding to ignore the ‘short, like you’ comment. ‘It’s hard to picture, though.’
‘I know,’ Fleet said. ‘Trust me, though, that ear pinch was bloody effective.’
‘So, your mum was from Sierra Leone? What about your dad? You never mention him.’
A slight pause. ‘That’s because I don’t know him.’
‘He wasn’t around?’
‘Not even a little bit,’ Fleet said flatly. ‘Mum wouldn’t even tell me who he was. She said I was her miracle baby and that was the end of the conversation.’
‘Miracle, huh?’ Lydia kissed his shoulder ‘I can see that.’
‘You had better not be laughing at my dead mum,’ Fleet said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I might not bring you breakfast ever again.’ He threw off the duvet and got out of bed, smiling down at her. ‘I would just eat toast in front of you. And drink coffee.’
‘You wouldn’t be so cruel,’ Lydia said, sitting up gingerly.
‘Not to you,’ Fleet said. The look he gave her before heading to the kitchen was so full of affection Lydia felt something give in her chest. And she didn’t think it was her broken rib.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Back at The Fork, Lydia showered again and changed her clothes. Her phone rang and she saw it was Paul’s number before answering. She hesitated for a second but wasn’t going to run scared. She had to show strength.
‘Are you all right?’ Paul sounded distressed. At least, not entirely composed. Which was probably the same thing where he was concerned.
‘Perfectly,’ Lydia replied. She was glad this conversation was taking place over the telephone and he couldn’t see her
impressive array of bruises.
‘I had nothing to do with this. I have spoken to those responsible and it will not happen again.’
Lydia could hear the world of pain that sentence encompassed. ‘I’m trusting you,’ she said. ‘I’m trusting that you did not order the attack.’
A sharp intake of breath. ‘However low you think I am, I hope you do not seriously entertain the possibility that I would set a pack to harm you.’
‘But that’s exactly what happened,’ Lydia said. ‘Your family-’
‘My family are not a unified army. I told you that before. They are laws to themselves, every Fox is free to make their own choices, to walk their own path.’ He paused. ‘That being said, they wish to apologise. And to explain.’
‘That isn’t necessary,’ Lydia said, a spurt of fear spiking at the thought of having any contact with the Fox brothers.
‘I understand your hesitance, Little Bird, but I insist. A parcel will arrive today. After you have viewed the contents, I would appreciate it if you would destroy them. It is, of course, a matter of trust. You could turn them over to your police friend. Or to the other Families.’
Lydia wanted to tell him not to send anything, that apologies and reassurance were not necessary, but she could feel a wild beating of wings and the urge to fly was strong and they told her that would be a lie. ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said, instead.
When the parcel arrived, Lydia wasn’t surprised to see it was the same delivery guy Paul had used before. The one with the interesting magical signature. ‘Interesting’ in this case meaning ‘terrifying’ as she had no idea what it meant. The first time Lydia encountered him was when he had showed up at her gym and she had almost passed out from the strangeness of his power. It didn’t seem quite as overwhelming today, but that might be because she was distracted by her physical pain.
He flashed a bright white smile as she took the padded envelope. ‘You want help with that?’ His hand stayed outstretched, as if he was reaching for her.
‘What?’ Lydia took an instinctive step back.
‘You’ve been injured,’ he said. ‘Let me.’ With that, he touched her face with his fingertips. Lydia felt an instant warmth, far greater than ought to be possible from skin-to-skin contact. In that split second, the ache of her facial bones, the tenderness in her bruised skin disappeared.
He trailed fingertips down over her shoulders and torso, lightly caressing her chest in a way that ought to have meant an instant knee to the goolies and a restraining order, but the warm goodness of it pushed every thought of retaliation straight out of Lydia’s mind. Her ribs stopped hurting. Abruptly and completely.
When he dropped his hand, Lydia shifted her body, testing the absence of pain. ‘How did you do that?’
He smiled again, more gently this time. There was a tiredness around his eyes. ‘Until next time, Lydia Crow.’
Lydia carried the envelope into her office, dropping it onto the desk and heading instead for the bathroom. She lifted her top in front of the mirror and confirmed what she expected to see. The livid black and purple bruising which had bloomed over her ribs and stomach had completely gone. She twisted, enjoying the fact that the movement didn’t cause any discomfort whatsoever. And checked her sides. Nothing. She dropped her T-shirt and headed back to the office.
There had never been anything remotely close to healing magic in any of the Families, as far as Lydia knew. Certainly nothing on that scale. Paul was using the man as a courier, did that mean he knew about the healing magic? Was it something he had sent deliberately? If she asked him and he didn’t know, she might be revealing a powerful magic about which the Fox Family were currently unaware. The Fox Family who were, right at this moment, not high up Lydia’s buddy-list.
Making a mental note to speak to Charlie and maybe her dad, instead, Lydia ripped open the padded envelope. It contained a large photograph and a smaller envelope. The photograph had been printed A4 size, full-colour with a glossy finish. It showed the Foxes she had met the day before standing in a formal line. Lydia felt bile rush to her mouth as she saw the familiar faces. The people who had so recently hurt her. There was something else, though. They were covered in bruises and cuts. Ones which would, if Lydia wasn’t mistaken, match the ones she had been given pretty closely. It wasn’t exact, but it looked very much as though somebody had systematically meted out the same beating as they had given her.
The smaller envelope was fat and Lydia guessed the contents before she opened it. A stack of twenties. Counting quickly, Lydia found the exorbitant fee she had quoted had been doubled and paid in full.
Her phone rang and she picked it up. ‘You got your payment? And my gift?’
‘Looking at it right now,’ Lydia told Paul. ‘This is hush money I assume? To stop me pressing charges?’
‘It’s your fee, plus a little danger money. If you stay on the case and find who killed Marty, you will get a bonus, but it’s your choice.’
‘Danger money,’ Lydia said. ‘More bribery. I can’t believe I thought…’ She stopped speaking, not wanting to sound pathetic. This whole situation was embarrassing enough already.
‘They did it for the look of the thing,’ Paul said. ‘They fronted up to Maria and her hired help, but didn’t want it to signal a pact between us and the Crows. They didn’t want to broadcast that you’re working for us.’
‘Have they heard of using their words?’
‘You think Maria and Alejandro would believe them?’
‘You told them to do this?’ Lydia felt a cold stone in her stomach. ‘You told them to make it look like your Family still hates my guts.’
‘No. I did not.’
There was something about Paul’s voice which made Lydia believe him. But wasn’t sure if she was being an idiot to do so. Paul was the strongest of the Fox siblings. They all looked to him for direction, as far as she could tell. No matter how much he protested otherwise.
‘I would have found another way. A way that didn’t involve your physical harm.’
‘Then who?’ Lydia said. ‘Who hates me that much?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out,’ Paul said, grim determination in his voice.
Lydia knew that she should leave Alejandro to Charlie, but she couldn’t. And having been healed from her injuries, it seemed a shame not to demonstrate her health and happiness to Maria’s father. It would get back to her and maybe instil a dose of respect or, at least, wariness on Maria’s part. Of course, Fleet would say that she was courting trouble, inviting Maria to make bigger, more violent or heavily-muscled plans for the next attempt, which was exactly why she wasn’t going to tell him. Her whole Family legacy was built on being smart and fearless and never, ever giving in, even in the face of overwhelming odds. It had made the Crows the biggest, baddest and most powerful of the Families for hundreds of years so Lydia was going to put her faith in it as a strategy.
She called Silver & Silver and asked to be put through to Alejandro. The secretary didn’t hesitate when he heard Lydia’s name.
‘I’ve got information for you,’ Lydia said. ‘Can I visit?’
‘You are welcome any time, you know that.’
‘I mean, without being bundled into a white van.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘I have no idea what you’re referring to. Have you had an unfortunate experience of late? I must admit, I did worry when I heard that you were taking up private investigation. It sounds like a dangerous occupation.’
‘Not really,’ Lydia said. ‘I have so many checks and balances, so many nuggets of information sequestered around the place. Everybody knows that they can’t hurt me. Who knows what little details might be released to the police or the press or another Family? No one is stupid enough to try anything. And that’s putting aside my position as Henry Crow’s daughter.’
There was a long pause. Then Alejandro said: ‘I hear everything you’re saying, but I have no idea why you feel it necessary to say it.’
> He was smooth, she had to give him that.
‘I’ll meet you at Grey’s Inn garden. Nice and public.’
Lydia ducked through the passageway which led to the hidden garden square of Grey’s Inn. It was still in the heart of the legal world, but she felt safer out in the open than in the Silver & Silver offices, or one of their preferred pubs. It was a chilly day and the leaves were dropping from the ornamental trees. Some clever gardener had planted seasonal shrubs and flowers in the beds, though, and they were an attractive mix of orange, red and burnished yellow.
Alejandro was bundled up in a black wool coat and fedora hat. His silver-tinged beard was immaculately trimmed and his tanned complexion glowed in sharp contrast to the pasty office workers who sat on the benches with takeaway sandwiches and coffee cups.
‘It’s good to get fresh air,’ Alejandro said, by way of greeting. As if Lydia had been purely thinking of his health and wellbeing.
She thought she caught his gaze lingering a little longer than usual on her face and neck and it made her happy to think that he was looking for bruises that weren’t there and would be studying her posture for pain he simply wouldn’t find.
‘I need you to rein in Maria. It’s not acceptable.’
‘Some might say you ought to have thought of that before you went after my family.’
‘Some might,’ Lydia tilted her head. ‘But you are a more practical man, I believe. A realist. And Maria has been acting of her own volition for a while, now. At least, I assume that’s the case.’
Alejandro took a cigar from inside his coat and put it between his teeth.
‘I’d rather you didn’t smoke,’ Lydia said.
‘You sound like my doctor.’ He produced a silver lighter and flicked it open, releasing a tall flame.
‘What are you going to do?’ Lydia said, ignoring the fact that Alejandro had lit the end of his cigar and was puffing enthusiastically on it. ‘She is your daughter, but if this escalates it will be bad for everyone.’
‘You mustn’t throw around threats,’ Alejandro said. His eyes were narrowed, either from the smoke or anger.
‘I didn’t start this,’ Lydia said. She barrelled on as he opened his mouth to argue. ‘Maria started it when she murdered Yas Bishop.’
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