The Shadow Wing

by Sarah Painter

  * * *

  DCI Fleet arrived eleven minutes after he had texted to say he was on his way and would be about ten minutes. There were many things Lydia appreciated about her kind, smart, handsome boyfriend, and his reliability was definitely high up the list. Which came as a surprise. As a younger woman, she had never imagined that would be an attribute to set her heart racing. Turned out, she had more than enough unpredictability in the rest of her life.

  She kissed him hello in a thorough manner and was pleased to see him looking faintly dazed. Having a steady adult relationship was one thing, but it was good to see that she could still make Fleet temporarily forget his own name.

  ‘I brought food, but it can wait.’

  ‘No it can’t,’ Lydia said, plucking the paper bag from Fleet’s hand. ‘It smells amazing and I’m starving.’

  ‘You forgot to eat again?’

  That did happen when Lydia was engrossed in work, but today she had still been ravenously hungry. She didn’t know if everybody reacted to near-death experiences with hunger, but it appeared that she definitely did. She also really wanted to jump Fleet. All of her appetites had kicked into high gear, which made a kind of sense when viewed as an evolutionary survival instinct. Or she was just twisted.

  Once they were ensconced on the sofa with glasses of red wine and forks, Fleet turned serious. ‘Any sign today?’

  He meant, had she seen Mr Smith covertly or not-so-covertly following her or seen anything out of the ordinary that could indicate his attention. Fleet knew that it wouldn’t be anything more than that as Lydia had promised him faithfully that she would call him immediately if Mr Smith approached her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Lydia speared a piece of red pepper from the sweet and sour chicken, trying to hide her guilt. ‘I think he’s moved on.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Fleet said shortly.

  ‘Well,’ she waved her fork, ‘who knows what’s going on with him?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Fleet said. ‘We know that he was removed from Operation Bergamot, but we don’t know what to expect from his department next. He doesn’t seem like the type to just stop.’

  ‘I agree,’ Lydia said. ‘And his pet project has been destabilising the Families. I don’t see him dropping that out of the goodness of his heart. I just wish I could be sure he was working alone. If we knew he was the sole operator behind JRB and considered a lone nutter at the service, we would only have one problem to solve.’

  ‘You know I reached out to MI6 to ask for information on his department, but there’s still nothing coming back. I’m just a copper and not a very important one. Unless I offer a trade, I don’t think we’ll get anything.’

  ‘No trade,’ Lydia said. The last thing she wanted was more attention from the government.

  ‘I know,’ Fleet stuck his fork into the chow mein and reached for his wine. ‘And I agree. Mr Smith is clearly personally obsessed with the Families, but we can’t be sure there aren’t others. Especially with Charlie in custody.’

  That was one word for it. Lydia’s Uncle Charlie was most likely in a facility deep underground being experimented on to see if Mr Smith could work out the hows and whys of his Crow power. While most of modern London had decided that the legends of the four magical Families were exactly that, just myths and folk tales, fed by exaggeration and repetition, Mr Smith was more clear-eyed. He knew the powers existed and he seemed hell bent on harnessing them. Or, and this seemed increasingly likely now that he had ordered Maddie to kill her, eradicating them. ‘Charlie might be dead,’ Lydia said.

  ‘I know,’ Fleet said quietly and Lydia loved him for not ducking the hard truth and for the steady way he held her gaze.

  ‘Do you think I would feel it?’

  Fleet put his wine down and reached for her.

  There was a place that made Lydia feel cherished and safe. A place where there was no professional killer stalking the streets with Lydia’s name written in her workbook, a place where she hadn’t been forced to betray her flesh and blood to save her father’s sanity, a place where she wasn’t normal but that her difference made her special and strong, a place where she was loved. Settled against Fleet, his arms around her and her cheek resting in the space between his collar bone and chin, the scent of his skin and that sensuous glow which was part delicious warm male and part the intriguing signature of Fleet, Lydia felt like she could breathe.

  * * *

  The next day, Lydia had been awake for over an hour when Fleet turned over in bed and opened his eyes. ‘Hey,’ she said as she watched him wake up.

  Fleet smiled with his soft morning face and Lydia felt the warmth spread through her chest. This unguarded version of Fleet was private and all hers. He threw a warm arm over her body and hauled her close. She closed her eyes, feeling her racing thoughts slow for a few precious seconds.

  ‘Bad night?’ Fleet asked.

  ‘Been worse,’ Lydia said. He knew that she hadn’t been sleeping well, but not the exact reasons why. Every time he brought up Ash or Mr Smith or her family, she deflected him. She couldn’t talk to him about those things or how she felt about them, and she definitely couldn’t talk to him about the real reason she couldn’t sleep. She had no wish to remind the man she loved that he was sleeping with a monster. A murderer.

  Over and over, Lydia ran the moment she had panicked and thrown her power through the lift doors. She hadn’t even known she could do that. It had been like throwing a ball, if that ball was indescribable and full of pain and fury and dragged out of her own atoms. The man she had killed, Felix, was a professional killer. He murdered people for money. Lydia reminded herself of this fact multiple times a day, but it didn’t help. She hadn’t meant to kill anybody. She had lost control and a man died. If that had happened once, it could happen again. What if she hurt somebody else? What if she killed an innocent person?

  Once they were both up and mainlining coffee, Lydia felt Fleet looking at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Busy day today?’

  ‘Tracking down a magical item for my sworn enemy,’ she said. ‘The usual.’

  She took another sip of coffee and tried to remember where she had left her keys. Jason often tidied up behind her, so she looked in the top drawer of her desk. Nope.

  Fleet ought to have left to make it to work on time, but he was still by the doorway, coat over one arm. ‘You’re not looking for the Pearls, are you?’

  Lydia closed the drawer and looked at him. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Revenge. For Ash.’

  Lydia felt stung. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. The Pearls were extremely powerful, but they appeared to be trapped in their underground court. While they weren’t snatching kids or following Lydia, she was going to leave them well alone. Besides, she had enough on her plate with Maddie. Why go poking the hornets’ nest when you’re already on fire?

  Fleet’s eyes were gentle. ‘I would understand. If you were.’

  Lydia shook her head, unable to speak.

  ‘But you barely got out of there alive. The house was torn up. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Lydia was transported back to the court, the Pearl King’s unflinching inhuman gaze. She shuddered. ‘As long as they stay put, I’m not going to bother them. My job is to prevent a war between the Families, not start one.’

  ‘Good,’ Fleet said after a beat. He looked surprised and it hurt.

  Was she losing her humanity? Shouldn’t she want to avenge Ash? She prodded the thought like it was a sore tooth. ‘And I’m more concerned with Mr Smith and JRB.’

  ‘You still think they are one and the same?’

  ‘He’s working his own little department at MI6 and we know not everything was official, but we don’t know where the lines are drawn. I’m pretty sure he has been trying to destabilise the Families, though, keeping us off balance and apart. He was masquerading as a courier for JRB and said he was undercover, but I think he is JRB. Or, at least, I hope he is as I have n
o other leads.’

  ‘They certainly seem to have an aligned purpose. How can we prove it?’

  ‘To what end? He’s using the company as a shell to funnel money and provide cover, but I’m guessing he has several set up. If we get too close to JRB, what’s to stop him winding it up and using the ones we don’t know about?’

  ‘You want to go after Mr Smith personally?’

  Lydia hadn’t told Fleet that Maddie had summoned her to the rooftop by threatening Emma or that she had been contracted by Mr Smith. She knew that she had a bad old habit of keeping things close to her chest, but this instance was different. Fleet would take the information to the police. He was the police. And that risked Maddie going after Emma in retribution. Lydia would not risk her friend’s life. Police protection would be too little and for too short a time. Maddie had proved that she could kill difficult targets, crime bosses and political leaders and heads of private armies. One mother in Beckenham with the local cops dozing outside in an unmarked vehicle wouldn’t even provide a challenge. ‘If I can,’ Lydia said. ‘But not if it’s going to come back on the Families. I’ve got a lot of work to rebuild the trust between the leaders. I need to calm things down or we’re going to have another problem. Maria Silver doesn’t want her Family cup just for sentimental sake. I’ve got to assume she’s aware of its power and is looking to use it.’

  ‘Do you think she can?’

  ‘No idea,’ Lydia said. ‘My training didn’t cover anything like it and it’s not like there is a big book of magic that can give me the answers.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your dad? Henry might know more than he’s told you.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Lydia said. ‘Speaking of fathers. Have you ever thought about finding yours? He might be able to tell you about your heritage.’

  Fleet’s eyebrows drew down. ‘Fine. I take your point.’

  ‘I wasn’t making one.’ Lydia was bewildered at his sudden hostility. ‘It was an honest question.’

  ‘No,’ Fleet said shortly. ‘I have never been tempted to track him down. He left. And I’m not interested in forcing a relationship with a stranger.’

  Chapter Five

  Confronted with questions she couldn’t answer and truths she would prefer to forget, Lydia turned to practical matters. She might not be the biggest fan of her current client, but she had a job to do. And it would provide a welcome distraction from her dark thoughts and the dreaded feelings.

  The thing about the Silver cup was that it contained power. Whoever had obtained the cup most likely knew that, but it didn’t follow that they had the necessary skill to use that power. If they did, that was going to be a bigger problem. What Lydia had, however, was the ability to sense that power. Of course, London was a big city and the cup relatively small. There were a million hiding places and Lydia could hardly go wandering around every part, hoping to pick up its scent.

  In the absence of other ideas, Lydia decided to trace its history. She had assumed that it had been stolen back from the British Museum by the Silvers, but perhaps a third party had been involved. If so, had they swooped in and taken it for a second time? Alternatively, maybe the people who had been involved in making the replica of the cup which had been placed by Alejandro below Temple Church had fallen for the real thing? People didn’t have to be aware of the Family powers to be affected by them. What if someone had become obsessed and decided to take it for their own personal collection? These thoughts weren’t anything close to solid leads or even solid ideas, but Lydia had started with less. That was the thing with investigative work. You just had to start digging, however unpromising the ground.

  Roisin Quin had agreed to meet Lydia later that day, on her lunch break from her job in the medieval European and Anglo Saxon department of the British Museum. The sunlight pouring through the arching glass ceiling of the central atrium and bouncing from the white marble was almost blinding and Lydia was relieved when Roisin led her through a wide passage, past the public toilets, and down a spiral flight of stairs to a hallway lined with doors.

  The education suite had a number of classrooms and small libraries with study desks and round tables for small groups. One room was filled with excitable primary-age kids, with a pile of brightly coloured backpacks and lunch bags against one wall and a slightly harassed teacher calling for attention. The kids reminded Lydia of Archie and Maisie and she dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from pulling out her phone and calling Emma. Maddie had only threatened them as a way to get Lydia to meet her on the roof. She had no reason to hurt them. Apart from anything else, they were valuable leverage for the future. Lydia’s guts twisted, and her thoughts ran the now-familiar little maze, like a rat in an experiment looking for the exit, to the inevitable conclusion. There was nothing else she could do to protect them at this moment. She either had to get strong enough to take Maddie out, or she had to do exactly as she asked. Even if she could convince Emma to move her husband and children out of London, Lydia had no idea where would be safe. Maddie had killed highly guarded targets around the globe. And the act of her running might draw her interest, like a tiny mammal scurrying in the earth catching a hawk’s eye. Still. Perhaps the Silver cup would offer a well of power that she could somehow harness. Or, she could use it to bargain with Maria for some professional protection. The woman had an impressive security detail and Lydia could hire the same kind of thing for Emma. And her parents. And Fleet. The weight was back on her chest.

  Lydia had been distracted by her thoughts and she realised, when Roisin opened the door to a room with a conference table in the middle and an interactive white board on the wall, that she hadn’t caught the woman’s last few sentences.

  Roisin was standing in the doorway, a questioning look on her face. At Lydia’s blank expression, she repeated herself. ‘We have a study room and a library attached to the department which are accessible to members of the public. If there is a particular item you are interested in, you fill out a study request form and add the objects requested. If possible, they will be collected for your appointment. There are strict handling rules, of course, but all guidance and equipment such as gloves are provided.

  ‘We have over four million items which aren’t on display, but there is a database with photographs and so on. Just make sure you fill out all the details correctly for the object request. It’s not a simple undertaking to collect the items and nobody will just nip off to swap it for you.’ She smiled as if having made a joke and the phrase had the delivery of a well-worn line.

  ‘I understand,’ Lydia said. ‘I wanted to speak to you about an item that went missing from the collection in the late seventies.’

  Roisin frowned. ‘Missing? I wouldn’t know anything about-’

  ‘According to my research you’re the expert on early Modern Europe. I want to find out about a piece which was made at the beginning of the early seventeenth century. It went missing from the museum in the seventies, but I know that a replica was made at some point. I’m not saying it was anything to do with the museum or that it was used to hide the disappearance, just that I have seen a very convincing replica of the item.’

  ‘I do know what you’re referring to,’ Roisin said reluctantly. ‘It’s not exactly something we like to shout about. This is a very secure place, even more so these days. The items we care for are in the very best of hands.’

  ‘Doubtless,’ Lydia said. ‘But this item, an ornate silver cup, was stolen from the collection and, to my knowledge, hasn’t been recovered. Made in the early seventeen hundreds by the Silver Family and gifted to the museum as part of a truce in the nineteen forties. I have a personal interest in the truce.’ Lydia produced her business card. ‘Note the name.’

  Roisin glanced at the card but didn’t take it. She put her hands on her hips, instead. ‘I thought you said you were doing a piece for The Guardian?’

  Lydia had forgotten the cover story she had used on the phone to Roisin. Her mind seemed to be jumping from task t
o task, unable to keep continuity as she spent almost every waking second expecting Maddie, or a new hired assassin, to pop up and kill her. She tried a different tack. ‘Look, forget about the cup. I’m not here to make accusations or get anybody into trouble. I assume replicas of very old items are made sometimes? For security. Or educational purposes?’

  Roisin frowned. ‘The provenance of our collection is well documented, all items are tested for validity before being catalogued. In the rare cases we display replicas, they are clearly marked as such.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m… Let me start again.’ Lydia’s hand itched to produce her coin. It would be so much easier to nudge Roisin with a little burst of Crow. She would go spacey and cooperative and would automatically and truthfully answer every question Lydia put to her. But Roisin wasn’t a criminal. As far as Lydia knew. She was a citizen and, as such, Lydia felt she ought to go lightly on the mind control. She was descended from a long line of Crows who had used their abilities to build a criminal empire, but that didn’t mean she had to follow in their footsteps. There had to be rules. She hadn’t ousted her Uncle Charlie just to morph into him. She tried a smile and saw Roisin get even more discomforted. ‘I am not suggesting anything untoward about your collection. But I imagine that occasionally there is need for reconstruction work. Would you be able to point me in the direction of the craftspeople capable of such work?’

  Roisin’s shoulders went down a notch. ‘It’s highly specialist.’

  Lydia felt her coin appear in her palm and she folded her fingers around it, willing it to retract, to disappear to wherever it went when not in the physical realm.

  Roisin stared into the middle distance for a moment, as if captured by a passing vision. Then she blinked. ‘The Silver Family cup?’

  Roisin looked properly out of it. Lydia had deliberately placed her coin into her jacket pocket and left it there, willing it out of existence at the same time, but some Crow whammy had clearly leaked out regardless. She was definitely stronger. A thought which thrilled and horrified her in equal measure.