The Shadow Wing

by Sarah Painter

  Until she discovered more about Mr Smith’s role at JRB and the size of that organisation, and figured out the scope of his department and influence within the secret service, Lydia had to assume that danger could come from any angle. Knowing that she had handed her uncle to a man who was now trying to have her killed spiked her fury. But fury wasn’t going to help her, now. She had to think.

  Lydia wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Mr Smith would be working entirely alone. And there was no way she could find out how far his influence within the service went and whether he was taking orders from high up. For now, she had to act as if MI6 were her enemy, too. Which meant no blabbing to Fleet.

  If she was being smart, Lydia would run. There was a chance that Maddie would tell Mr Smith that the job had been done and her body had hit the pavement, making a bit of modern art all over the road outside St Thomas’s. That would buy her time. And even if Maddie did go running to him to talk about how she’d been thrown by his choice of target and hadn’t, on this occasion, fulfilled her brief, he still had no idea of her location at this exact moment. She glanced up as she walked past a bus stop, seeing the camera mounted on the streetlight nearby. He would have quick access to the city’s CCTV and she would need to use an ATM to get cash, which would also be traceable, but if she went right now, she could be in Glasgow by the afternoon, and hiking away from a remote station in the highlands by nightfall. Or she could jump on the Eurostar to Paris. Then nick a car and drive to Italy. If it had been an official operation, then he could put an all-ports warning on all transport hubs out of the UK, but if it had been unofficial… Well, Lydia didn’t know exactly what he would do, then. Just send Maddie back after her, she supposed. Or somebody like Maddie. How many killers-for-hire did Mr Smith have in his back pocket?

  She hesitated, her mind quickly tracking through the steps to running. The nearest place to buy a rucksack and a pack of underwear, the fact that she needed to destroy her phone, buy a couple of burners. Her passport was back at the flat. Would she be able to go and collect it, or was that too risky? Once she crossed the channel, she could keep driving. Go all the way to Russia. Russia was big. A person could definitely lose themselves there.

  Underneath all this, another track was playing. Lydia finding Mr Smith and putting him in a choke hold. Her mum and dad’s faces when they were told she had disappeared. Fleet moving on with his life with another, less insane, girlfriend. Maddie, frustrated at her failure, paying a visit to Emma. Her stomach flipped and she turned blindly, going to cross the road and start moving if just for the relief of motion.

  A man wearing bulbous headphones and staring at his phone walked right into Lydia, and she almost fell off the kerb and into a black cab. It was a quintessential London moment. The traffic. The idiot pedestrian. The brush with death. She smiled.

  She pulled her phone from her jacket and, instead of dropping it and stamping it into oblivion with her DMs, she made a call. She wasn’t running. She was Lydia Crow, and London was her home.

  * * *

  Lydia hadn’t seen Paul Fox since he crashed a dinner date with Fleet, intent on stirring trouble. Truth be told, she was nervous. There had been an awkward possible-marriage-proposal a few weeks back, and she wasn’t sure where things stood between them. She was pretty sure it had been a business proposition more than a romantic declaration, but still. They had a history.

  She had texted her request and he had told her to meet him at a pub in Whitechapel. She was asking a favour, so it was reasonable for him to summon her to his manor, but still, she was on edge as she made her way to the side street off Brick Lane.

  It was a traditional boozer, complete with a slightly sticky floor and button-leather and wood furnishings, plus the obligatory old geezers on bar stools engrossed in their pints and the racing paper. Paul was sitting with his back against the wall, watching the door. Thankfully, he was alone. Lydia didn’t think she could handle his siblings, too. She was annoyed to find that she still felt off balance and she channelled that, straightening her spine as she approached Paul’s table.

  ‘This makes a nice change, Little Bird,’ Paul said. ‘You coming to me.’

  ‘Don’t get used to it,’ Lydia countered. She was trying very hard to ignore the animal pull of Paul Fox. No matter how much she prepared herself it still hit her afresh each time she saw him. ‘I’ll buy you a drink, though. What do you want?’

  He tilted his head. ‘You want to buy me a drink?’

  ‘Not if you’re going to be weird about it.’

  He looked at her for a beat. ‘You’re worrying me. Sit.’

  Lydia didn’t want to make a habit of obeying Paul Fox, but she was trying to be conciliatory, so she dragged the chair that was opposite Paul to the side of the table and sat. She wasn’t going to snuggle up to him on the bench, but this way she didn’t have her back to the door.

  Moments later, the bar man appeared with two coffees, which he placed on the table with great deference.

  ‘I didn’t think this place did table service,’ Lydia said.

  ‘They make an exception,’ Paul said. ‘Coffee all right? I can get us something stronger if you want to kick off a party.’

  ‘Coffee’s fine,’ she said. It was disgusting, actually, but she pretended to take a sip. It was an excuse to take a beat to collect her thoughts. Now that she was here, Paul watching her with a bright light in his eyes, her plan didn’t seem quite as clever. She had to force the images of red fur, dark earth, and the crunch of tiny bones from her mind. She clenched her right hand, feeling her coin appear in her palm. The shape of it was comforting.

  ‘What’s different?’ He asked finally. ‘With you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Suit yourself, Little Bird.’ Paul sipped his coffee and pulled a face.

  ‘You remember my cousin? Maddie?’

  ‘I do,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘She’s back.’

  He went still. ‘In London?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘She’s working.’

  The look of caution increased.

  ‘You know.’ The realisation hit. ‘You already know. What she does these days.’

  Paul touched the edge of his cup with a thumb and forefinger, rotating it once. And then again. Finally, he nodded. ‘I have an idea, yeah.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  Paul smiled thinly. ‘You rejected my very generous proposal. I don’t think I need to apologise for not giving you full access.’

  ‘That’s not how this works,’ Lydia said. ‘This is business, not personal. You are the head of the Foxes, I am the head of the Crows.’

  ‘We don’t really have a leader-’

  Lydia held up a hand. ‘Don’t give me that bollocks. You’re the head of your family. Whatever you want to call it, they’re not listening to anybody else.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Paul began.

  ‘No, not nevertheless. And who calls a marriage proposal “generous”? That’s some shady shit. No wonder I said no.’

  Paul smiled like he had won the lottery. ‘I knew you cared.’

  She felt a flush creep up her neck. ‘I don’t care. I just want a bit of respect.’

  His smile vanished. ‘Don’t we all.’

  Lydia squeezed her coin and took a deep breath. ‘She threatened my friend. Emma.’

  ‘The one with the kids?’

  ‘My friend from school.’ Back when she had been a rebellious teen there had a been a short, intense fling with Paul. She squashed the memory of pressing up against him, body on fire, mind delirious with hormones and lust. She was older and wiser now. Well, definitely older.

  ‘What are you doing to do about Maddie?’

  ‘Find her. Kill her.’ The words were out before Lydia could think. But they made sense. How else could she ensure Emma’s safety? She had to stop Maddie for good.

  ‘That’s fair. And you want a hand?’

  ‘I was hoping you could keep an eye
out for Maddie. Let me know if you hear anything. And something else…’ She swallowed. ‘Can you spare anybody to watch Emma? She’s out of the city for the weekend but will be back on Sunday. I can do some shifts, but I can’t cover the whole time. I can pay.’

  ‘Protection?’

  Lydia nodded. She waited for Paul to ask her why she wasn’t asking Fleet, to take the opportunity to stick the boot in about her copper boyfriend and make some snide comment about him not being able to help her. Instead, he reached for her hand, the one holding her coin, and wrapped both of his around it. Looking straight into her eyes with a sincerity that was unnerving, he promised that his family would keep a personal eye on Emma and her children day and night.

  She felt a mix of relief and apprehension. ‘You’re going to send your brothers?’ There was nothing like being given a good kicking to make you wary. But at least she knew they were capable. ‘If they hurt her, I will-’

  ‘They’re strong,’ Paul broke in. ‘And fast. Trust me, you want them watching out for your friend. They have good instincts. And they will-’

  He broke off, eyes shifting toward the entrance. Lydia hadn’t heard the door open, but there was a man walking toward their table. He had a weather-beaten face and a red beard shot through with grey and was carrying a walking stick that looked like a twisted tree branch, worn smooth and shiny with use. He was wearing a tunic and trousers which appeared to be made of pieces of leather and fur. Lydia would have said that he had wandered from a cosplaying event, except that the clothes were extremely well-worn and were giving off a distinctive, authentic aroma. Nobody looked askance, which made Lydia think the man was a regular and perhaps made sense of why Paul had asked to meet her here and not in his hidden den.

  He nodded to Paul and changed his trajectory from the bar to their table. She desperately wanted to put a hand over her nose and mouth against the smell, but she sensed this would not be polite.

  ‘Long time,’ Paul said. ‘Did you do as I asked?’

  The man nodded and reached out an open palm. His nails were caked in dirt.

  Paul leaned beneath the table and produced a plastic carrier bag. He held it out of reach, his own hand outstretched. There was a curious moment, both men eyeballing each other and neither one speaking or moving. Then the man dressed like an extra in an extremely low-budget Lord of the Rings, put a folded piece of paper on the table and slid it toward Paul.

  After unfolding and reading, his face betraying nothing, Paul handed over the carrier bag.

  The man moved away with surprising speed and was out of the door before Lydia had time to gather her thoughts.

  ‘What was that about?’ She had thought about not asking, not wanting to give up power by showing her interest, but then had decided that she couldn’t be bothered to play games. Besides, if Paul felt a little bit superior, he would be more likely to drop his guard.

  Paul pocketed the paper and smiled tightly. ‘Just business.’

  Lydia nodded. She tried an understanding expression.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Paul said, unnerved.

  ‘Empathising,’ Lydia said. ‘There’s always something, isn’t there? It’s exhausting. Sometimes it almost makes me miss Charlie.’

  ‘It’s not the same. I’m not…’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Lydia waved a hand. ‘No formal hierarchy. Free spirits. I’m not trying to insult your family.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Makes a change.’

  Lydia pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You wound me.’

  He smiled then, properly, and Lydia felt it in her gut. And a bit lower down. Bloody Fox magic.

  ‘I had better go,’ Lydia said, not moving.

  His teeth were white, and she imagined them grazing her skin. His eyes held hers and she couldn’t help but notice how black and large the pupils were and, was that her imagination, or were there rings of gold around the light brown irises? They were mesmerising. Alight with a knowing desire. A desire which promised good times in a safe, warm den. She swallowed hard and forced herself upright.

  ‘I’m looking into that firm, JRB.’ Paul said, seemingly oblivious of the effect he was having. ‘The place that sent the Russian to mess with my Family. What?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not the only one worried about it. If there’s a war we’ll go to ground, but that doesn’t mean we won’t suffer. Besides,’ Paul smiled a different sort of smile. The sort that promised pain, not pleasure. ‘I wish to settle the score.’

  Chapter Three

  When Lydia walked into The Fork, the scent of fried bacon and toast almost made her cry. She hadn’t cried when an assassin had summoned her to die, but the sight of Angel scowling from behind the counter and the familiarity of the cafe with its breakfast-scented air and steamed-up windows almost broke her. That was what she got for drinking a milkshake instead of a proper coffee.

  ‘Feed me,’ Lydia said. ‘The works.’

  Angel raised an eyebrow. ‘Rough morning?’

  ‘And tell Aiden I’m waiting for him.’

  Angel, sensibly enough, didn’t say ‘tell him yourself’ or ‘I’m not your secretary’ or any of the other phrases Lydia could see piling up behind her lips. Instead, she caught sight of something in Lydia’s face and tone and simply nodded.

  Once she was at her favourite table, her back to the wall and with a full English in front of her with both coffee and orange juice on the go, Lydia felt her strength returning. Aiden appeared, pulling his beanie off his head and sitting opposite. Lydia was using a piece of fried bread to mop up the remaining egg yolk. The weight of the food in her stomach was comforting, but she had the feeling she would be ready to eat again in a matter of minutes.

  ‘All right, Boss?’ Aiden said, eying her plate enviously.

  ‘How is everything going? Anything on fire?’

  Aiden shook his head. ‘All cushty.’

  Lydia took a sip of her orange juice to cut the grease from the bread. ‘I need to tell you something because you’ve a right to know. And I need you to be on the alert. But it must not go any further.’

  Aiden straightened up. He looked so young to Lydia, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. He had proved to be reliable and trustworthy so far and he was a Crow. One of her own. Trust didn’t come easy, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t keep trying. She had already checked that there was nobody sitting near their table, but she glanced around once more before continuing. ‘MI5 or MI6 or a department that flits between them has its sights on us. They’ve been interested for a while and been looking to use us as assets. Or to burn us to the ground, cut out any threat we might pose to national security.’

  ‘That’s fucking ridiculous-’Aiden broke in, affronted. ‘What have we done to the country? We’re not bloody terrorists.’

  A man eating a bacon roll on his own a couple of tables over lifted his head and Aiden lowered his voice. ‘And how the feathers did we get on their radar?’

  Lydia wiped her fingers on a paper napkin and scrunched it up. ‘I was in contact with that department. I had hoped it would be mutually beneficial. More for us, than them, obviously,’ she smiled and Aiden nodded his understanding. ‘But that’s off the table. My contact seems to want to end our relationship in a permanent manner.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Aiden said, visibly adjusting to the news. ‘We don’t want anything to do with them, anyway, do we? I mean, we’re all right on our own. Always have been.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ Lydia said. ‘They do seem keen to make a statement, though.’ She wasn’t sure whether she should tell Aiden the full truth. Hadn’t, in fact, been planning to, but the words tumbled out. ‘The department took out a hit on me.’

  ‘They what?’ Aiden’s eyes were wide.

  ‘You heard,’ Lydia said, pushing her plate away. She wasn’t saying the ridiculous phrase out loud again, once had been enough.

  ‘But you’re still here,’ Aiden said, admiringly. ‘Good job, Boss.’

  Once upon a time, Lydia
had found Aiden’s boyish enthusiasm annoying. Now, she had the awful urge to give him a hug. What was wrong with her? She drained the rest of her coffee. ‘I need you to ask around. Discreetly. See if anybody important has made any shady new friends recently. I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m special and if Mr-,’ she broke off, stopping the name she had given her spook falling from her lips. A breath. She continued. ‘If the secret service were looking to recruit me as an informant, they may have tried their luck with other Crows, too. I’m particularly interested in John and Daisy. I need you to watch them. Covertly. Can you handle that?’

  ‘I mean, I go round there quite a bit. And there’s that Easter thing on the weekend.’

  Lydia had completely forgotten about the family party. The invite had come via email and she had assumed it was a duty invitation, rather than a sincere one, which had given her the very happy excuse to bow out. She didn’t have the closest relationship with Uncle John and Aunt Daisy, John having made it perfectly clear that he didn’t think she ought to be Charlie’s replacement.

  ‘I won’t be there,’ Lydia said, ‘you can make my apologies.’

  ‘Right,’ Aiden said, looking like he wanted to say something else.

  Before he could, Lydia barrelled on. ‘And I want you to look around for anything out of the ordinary, but don’t worry too much. It’ll be too busy. I need you to keep an eye on them both. See if there is anyone new in their lives. Any suspicious activity.’

  ‘How will I watch them both? Can I ask my brother to help?’