The Shadow Wing

by Sarah Painter

  ‘She might be playing with you. Like a cat with a mouse,’ Jason said, pushing at the folded cuffs of his baggy eighties suit jacket. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I think that’s likely.’ It wasn’t as if it hadn’t crossed her own mind. She smiled robustly, still trying to reassure Jason. ‘Lucky I’ve got you.’ The first time Maddie had attempted to kill Lydia, Jason had saved her life.

  ‘I’m not with you all the time,’ Jason said.

  Lydia pressed down a flare of annoyance. He was just being concerned, and she knew her anger wasn’t with Jason. It was with Maddie for making her frightened. ‘I’m a lot stronger, now. And it won’t exactly be unexpected. I’ll be ready.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ Jason said. ‘She’s nuts.’

  ‘We don’t say that anymore,’ Lydia said, trying to lighten the mood and ease Jason’s anxiety. ‘It’s mental health issues.’

  ‘She’s a fucking psycho. Is that better?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lydia smiled at him. ‘It’s a specific diagnosis, at least.’ And accurate.

  ‘I’m being serious,’ Jason said, still looking dangerously transparent.

  ‘I know,’ Lydia said and touched his arm.

  * * *

  After calming Jason down, Lydia called Fleet and asked him to meet her at Charlie’s for some training. She couldn’t face updating him on the phone and she needed to expel some of the terror-induced energy with some exercise.

  At the training room in Charlie’s house, Lydia kicked the join between the crash mats she had bought and lugged up to the room so that they lay together neatly. Then she went through her stretches and some strength training, ignoring the distracting sight of Fleet doing the same. Feathers, the man looked good.

  When she was ready, she got into the middle of the mat. ‘I want you to come at me.’

  Fleet hadn’t been fully on board with Lydia’s new training plan when she had first described it and the intervening days didn’t seem to have improved matters. He made a half-hearted feint and went to grab her, circling his arms around her waist in an easy-to-duck manoeuvre.

  ‘Not like that,’ Lydia said. ‘Come. At. Me.’ Practising spinning coins was all very well when she was on her own in the studio, but she wanted to see if she could maintain focus while under stress.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Fleet said. He held up his hands. ‘I know you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself, but-’

  ‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about.’

  Fleet rolled his shoulders. ‘Fine.’ His attack came quickly and without warning. Lydia was on her back on the mat, her whole spine vibrating with the impact. When she could draw air into her lungs again and her mind was unscrambled enough to form words, she said ‘good’ and got herself upright. ‘Again.’

  * * *

  After an hour of being flung to the mat by Fleet, Lydia was sweaty and exhausted. She followed Fleet down to Charlie’s kitchen to make a post-workout coffee using Charlie’s excellent machine.

  She tried not think about Maddie standing in the same room and how much she didn’t want to tell Fleet that she had visited her again. Once they were leaning against the cabinets, sipping coffee, Fleet ran through the rest of his week. He checked on which nights they were going to stay at his flat and which ones they would be at The Fork. After a while she realised that he was no longer speaking. ‘Sorry? I zoned out there for a moment. I need another coffee.’

  ‘That is never true of you,’ Fleet said. ‘You are ninety-eight per cent caffeine at this point.’

  ‘That takes work,’ Lydia said, switching on the machine.

  ‘I was saying that I have some work to catch up on and I need a shower, but I could come over later. Are you around for dinner?’

  ‘Maybe. Can I let you know?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She could see that Fleet wanted to say something else. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What was that about? Just now.’

  ‘I have to get stronger,’ Lydia said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘You’re already strong.’

  ‘More focused, then. I can’t lose control. People will get hurt.’

  Fleet watched her for another moment. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was self-defence.’

  There was a sudden lump in her throat and she swallowed hard. This was the moment when she should tell Fleet about Maddie’s continuing interest. She knew that, but she couldn’t. He would want to fix it. He would urge her to tell the police. However much he had embraced her weird life and her magical Family, he still believed in the system.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Fleet said again and wrapped his arms around her. She could smell the clean sweat from the workout and the indefinable odour that was ‘Fleet’. With her head on his chest, she could hear waves rolling on a distant shore and feel fine white sand between her bare toes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Lydia woke up, Fleet’s arm was heavy across her body, as if he had been anchoring her in place even while unconscious. She turned over to wrap herself around him.

  ‘What’s on the agenda today?’ Fleet asked a little while later, stretching his arms above his head in a distracting manner. Lydia was out of bed and pulling on her clothes but she paused to reconsider. She could be ten minutes late.

  ‘Meeting mum for lunch,’ she said, dropping her jeans and climbing back into bed.

  Fleet kissed her before asking about the time. ‘You have to get up, then,’ he said, sitting up. ‘Come on. I’m not going to make you late for Susan Crow.’

  ‘You could come with,’ Lydia said impulsively. ‘If you want.’

  Fleet’s smile was like sunshine. ‘Thank you.’

  * * *

  The restaurant was an authentic and, considering its central location, refreshingly unpretentious Italian. Susan Crow had always been excellent at finding good places to eat and Lydia made a mental note to suggest that she and Fleet come back as soon as possible.

  She ploughed through a plate of fried courgette flowers and a perfect tomato, basil and mozzarella salad, while Fleet held the conversational fort. She had never realised how charming Fleet could be. It wasn’t like they had lots of mutual friends or spent lots of time in purely social situations. She was used to seeing him in copper mode, which she found alarmingly attractive, or in his private mode, which was just for her, but this was entirely different. He made her mum laugh, encouraged her to have a second glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and discussed, with all evidence of genuine interest, the merits of planting geraniums next to green beans as a natural pest deterrent.

  When he had gone to the bathroom and, Lydia had a hunch, to settle the bill before anybody could argue with him, she fully expected her mum to compliment Lydia on her excellent choice of man.

  Instead, Susan Crow leaned forward and took hold of Lydia’s hand. ‘Please don’t ask your father about that stuff again.’

  The warm glow snuffed out. She didn’t need to clarify what ‘stuff’ her mum was talking about. ‘Who else am I supposed to ask?’

  ‘I know it’s not fair. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not fairness I’m concerned about,’ Lydia said, hating that she sounded petulant. She wanted to explain to her mum that she had to find out more about her Crow power and the legacy of being the head of the Family, that she was likely to be fighting for her life, quite literally, and that she needed to be ready. What was a bit of upset compared to that?

  ‘He can’t do it,’ her mother said. ‘He just can’t. Please trust me. It will kill him.’

  Lydia let the words sink in. Susan Crow wasn’t given to hyperbole. And she loved Lydia. That was one thing Lydia had never questioned, not even for a single second, not even when she was at her teenage worst. If the woman opposite her was saying she couldn’t do something, then she couldn’t do it. If she said it would kill her father, then it probably would. Still. Lydia couldn’t help the way her stomach plunged to the floor. She had wanted some firm ground to stand on. She had ho
ped Henry would be able to reach out a hand and lead her where she needed to go.

  Her mother looked like she wanted to say something else, but Fleet arrived back at the table, and Lydia watched her expression alter. She favoured Fleet with a warm smile. ‘That was delicious. We should do this more often.’

  * * *

  On the way home, Lydia was quiet and, after a while, Fleet ran out of conversational openers. Once they were parked, he said. ‘I thought that went well.’

  She put a hand on his leg. ‘It went extremely well. I think she likes you more than she likes me.’ The words came out more seriously than she intended and she felt stupid tears in her traitorous eyes and had to swipe at them unobtrusively. Unfortunately for her, Fleet was a sharp copper and he didn’t miss a trick. Instantly, his arms were around her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Lydia started with the fact that her mother had warned her off asking her father for help with her power and ended with Maddie’s most recent visit. He didn’t take it well. ‘We need to meet with Sinclair. And you need to make a deal. I’m serious, Lyds. You are in real danger.’

  ‘No deal,’ Lydia said. She couldn’t explain it to Fleet, but the business with Mr Smith had made her feel like she was losing pieces of her soul. She would not do it again.

  ‘She’s showing signs of obsession. With you. This is really bad and you can’t handle it alone.’

  ‘I’m not alone,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ve got you.’

  ‘You do, but I’m not with you all the time.’

  It was an echo of Jason’s concern. And it just made her feel worse. Like something fragile to be protected. She was the head of the Crow Family, not a damsel in distress. ‘I’ll figure it out. We don’t need Sinclair. I promise.’

  ‘It’s escalating, her behaviour, I don’t know why you can’t see that.’

  ‘Please, can you just drop it? Let’s go upstairs. Work off lunch.’

  Fleet looked through the windscreen, his hands tensing on the steering wheel. He was clearly struggling to hold his temper and Lydia wanted to tell him not to bother, to just let it out. To stop being so bloody careful around her. ‘I’ve got a load of paperwork to catch up on,’ he said eventually. ‘I should go home.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t want to fight.’

  ‘We’re not fighting,’ Fleet said tightly. ‘I’m just worried.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  He blew out a sigh. ‘Don’t be sorry.’

  Fleet insisted on escorting Lydia to the flat, as if he thought Maddie might be waiting to jump out at her. Once he had checked the place through, examined her door and window locks and generally acted like she was a victim, which made her want to kick him in his soft parts, he accepted a coffee.

  Before leaving, Fleet made a call, pacing the roof terrace while he spoke. ‘I’ve posted a couple of officers to keep an eye tonight. Don’t give them a hard time.’

  ‘I won’t. Thank you.’ Lydia refrained from pointing out that if Maddie wanted to kill Lydia, then a couple of coppers sitting in an unmarked car along the street weren’t going to stop her. She could see that Fleet needed the illusion of control. And, in the privacy of her own mind, she could admit that it was comforting to have them there.

  * * *

  Without Fleet’s calming presence and the knowledge that Maddie was most definitely in London and seemed keen to progress some kind of relationship with Lydia, sleep did not come easily.

  When she had finally dropped off, it seemed like no time at all had passed before her phone woke her. The ringing was muffled by the duvet on Fleet’s side of the bed and she realised that she had fallen asleep with it under her pillow, just in case he had rung.

  ‘No news,’ Lydia said, expecting Maria’s assistant.

  ‘That’s disappointing,’ Maria’s voice was cold. ‘It is difficult not to take your lack of progress as a sign of your disinterest.’

  ‘That’s not…’

  ‘And disinterest in my case is disrespectful. Disrespectful to me. And to the Silver Family as a whole.’

  ‘I’m not disinterested,’ Lydia said, gritting her teeth. A thought which had been lapping at the edges of Lydia’s mind for some time burst into technicolour. Of all the people who would be likely to know about the whereabouts of the silver cup, Maria would have been top of her list. Surely Alejandro would have left it for his daughter? Or at the very least told her about the replica. Perhaps she was sending Lydia on a wild goose chase? An impossible mission that she was destined to fail, either keeping her busy and distracted from something that Maria was planning and didn’t want attention drawn to, or forcing her to let Maria down and provide an excuse to break their shaky alliance.

  ‘Let me prove it,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ll come in and see you today. You are right, I do have something to share.’

  Maria sounded thrown, which added to Lydia’s paranoia that Maria was playing her. She recovered to say, ‘I can fit you in at eleven. For ten minutes, anyway.’

  * * *

  It was a relief to have a clear mission and, after dressing in her usual uniform of jeans, black T-shirt and leather jacket, Lydia forced herself to eat some toast before spending time on her roof terrace. She tilted her face to the sky and tried to calm her thoughts. She didn’t have high hopes for a zen state of mind, but she was willing to try anything to get better control of her power. Even meditation.

  The Silver offices on Chancery Lane were bustling with suited people with shiny hair and serious briefcases. It was a very nice building, but it was filled with the sound of telephones, eye-scorching lighting and an undeniable atmosphere of stress. It gladdened Lydia’s heart and reminded her that, in some ways at least, she was living life right.

  Maria’s assistant greeted her politely and offered a choice of beverages. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ll go right in.’

  Not waiting for an answer, Lydia strolled into Maria’s office. The bright taste of Silver intensifying as soon as she stepped into the room.

  Maria was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with her back to Lydia, speaking on the phone.

  Lydia sat in an uncomfortable chair facing Maria’s giant desk and waited while Maria took her time in wrapping up her conversation. The room looked the same as the last time she had seen it, when Alejandro had been in situ, down to the treadmill and the modern wood panelling.

  Maria looked as groomed and terrifying as always. She was dressed entirely in black, in the kind of tailoring that brooked no argument from the mortal flesh beneath. Her waist was drawn in so tightly that she resembled a wasp and the red soles of her high heels flashed as she crossed the room and sat in the large leather chair opposite Lydia. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said with absolutely zero sincerity. ‘I believe you have news for me?’

  ‘What can you tell me about the cup?’

  Maria’s brow didn’t crease but her eyes flashed with displeasure. ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘No joke,’ Lydia said. ‘The more I know about it, the better. Maybe a detail will help me find it.’

  ‘I don’t see how. This is clearly a waste of time. I had hoped that you had grown out of this sort of game-playing, but clearly not.’ Maria stood, motioning for Lydia to leave.

  She stayed put and flipped open her notebook. ‘You commissioned me to do a job. This is how I work. What did Alejandro tell you about it?’

  Maria sighed and sat back down. ‘Not much. It’s the Family cup. It’s solid silver and very old.’

  ‘Made in the early sixteen hundreds as part of the agreement for the use of Temple Church.’

  Maria’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘It’s my job,’ Lydia said evenly. ‘And I like to be thorough. You sent Yas Bishop to purchase a silver statue to use as a bribe for Robert Sharp.’

  Maria didn’t flinch. ‘Did I?’

  Lydia didn’t bother to elaborate. Both Robert Sharp and Yas Bishop had suffered a personality
change and Lydia had suspected that the statue had been enchanted in some way that caused psychosis. ‘The shop you sent Yas to was in the silver vaults on Chancery Lane. I wish to speak to the proprietor of the shop, Guillame Chartes.’

  ‘Well go and see him,’ Maria waved a hand. ‘Sounds like part of your job.’

  ‘The shop is no longer there.’ It had disappeared without a trace, the people either side of the unit claiming to have never heard of the man or the shop.

  ‘If it was easy to find the thing, I wouldn’t have bothered commissioning you,’ Maria said. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I think you know how to contact him,’ Lydia said. ‘And the fact that you are avoiding telling me is curious.’

  Maria’s eyes slid left.

  ‘Okay. Let’s leave that. Now that we’re in alliance, all cosy like, I need some information on one of your clients.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Maria said smoothly. ‘Client confidentiality, blah, blah.’

  ‘JRB.’

  Maria’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. ‘What about JRB?’

  ‘They are your clients. I am now pretty sure that Mr Smith, a government spook who arranged to have Fleet shot among many other transgressions, is JRB. That JRB is a shell corporation held by said spook and other spook or spooks as yet unknown.’ Lydia did not like being honest with Maria. It went against all her instincts, but she hoped that being transparent would encourage the same in return.

  Maria didn’t seem impressed. Her lips remained a tight little line.

  ‘I need every detail you have on them. Who was your contact? Apart from Yas Bishop.’

  ‘No one,’ Maria said. ‘Yas Bishop was our sole contact.’

  Which was convenient, since Maria had killed her in cold blood to cover tracks. Maria probably had her filed under ‘cost of doing business’ in some neat ledger tucked in the back of her mind.

  Lydia balled her fists and then released them. She wasn’t going to waste anger on Maria Silver. And she couldn’t afford to lose control. She forced a political smile. ‘Well, I appreciate your time. If you remember anything else which might be useful, you’ll let me know?’