A Hollow in the Hills (5 page)

‘Jay sings in town,' Amadán went on. ‘In the pubs, on street corners, for her own amusement as much as anything. A busker half the time, a travelling performer. Distinctive looks, colouring … the tourists think it's face-paint and hair dye.
They can't get enough of her. Her voice would put angels to shame, I swear it. She's much sought after. She was … We found her this morning, out by the docks. Right out of town as we know it. Further than she'd willingly go. She was beautiful, Jinx by Jasper. I am not amused.'

Who would be? But again, Jinx's mind supplied some answers. Holly for one. Why couldn't he get his mind off his sadistic former mistress? She haunted him, lingering on the edges of his nightmare. Yes, Holly would have been highly amused. And maybe, if Jay hadn't worked for him, Amadán would have been as well. What did he use this room for? There was a smell of blood to it that was ancient and deeply ingrained. Not just Jay's blood. So much more than that, so much older.

Jinx's mind lurched away from that prospect and back to the question at hand.

‘Firshee. I've never heard of them.'

‘Haven't you? Think back to your earliest childhood. When Brí's people had you rather than Holly. Holly knew all this but she didn't allow talk of it. No time for old lore. She wanted to think ahead, or so she said. Although I suspect she didn't want anyone else knowing the things she knew. But that's beside the point. Think back to the nursery rhymes and ghost stories your pack told. I know they do. Cú Sídhe love their bogeymen and their songs. They love howling away together.'

Nursery rhymes. Every race had them, songs and ditties which carried warnings and made sure every child knew the
real dangers from the moment they could sing. Warnings of monsters in the dark, hiding in the shadows beneath the bed or behind the door, bogeymen … Fir bolg.

‘Fir' meant ‘men', but it sounded like the English word ‘fear' and given what they did, given that they could drive their victims insane with terror, it had stuck and become their name for good. The Sídhe loved to play with words, break them, abuse them, put them to other uses. They liked to do that with many things.

‘Bolg' meant ‘bag' because of the lives they stole away, as if they packed them into bags and carried them off. ‘Bolg' meant ‘belly' because of their ferocious appetites. He wasn't sure which meaning applied here. Maybe both. Something about the shadows in a nursery …

The rhyme came to him, echoing through his head like a mocking echo.

Whenever the fog is dense and thick

When the whispers are all you hear

They'll feed on your terror, freeze all your hope

Try to outrun
—

‘The Fear,' Jinx whispered. He sucked in a breath and looked at the Old Man, no longer doubting. And yet still needing to ask questions. ‘But the Fear are a nursery rhyme, a made-up monster.'

‘Not made-up. Defeated. Long ago. When we first came here we defeated them and locked them away. Someone has let them out.'

‘Where did you lock them away?'

‘In a prison that was already here, in the earth itself. Like that thing on the hill Brí guards that you found out far too much about last summer. We made use of what we could find and tossed them all inside. We sealed it. Now someone has released them.'

‘And what do you want me to do?'

‘Stop them, of course.'

‘But why me?'

‘Well, you see Jinx by Jasper, you have a certain in with the only people who can hope to do it. David and Isabel Gregory.'

‘You're wrong. Not anymore.'

‘A lovers' tiff, lad?' The mocking tone faded to sharpness. ‘Go and buy her some flowers or something. This is more important than your adolescent emotions. If the Fear are loose, who knows what else may be set free. There are things imprisoned on this island we cannot afford to have running around, if you know what I mean. The Fear are only the first step to something much worse. And they can do damage enough. They know nothing of temperance. They have no self-control. They'll fall on the human world when Samhain lets them take physical form, and then what? Eh? What will humanity make of that?' Jinx made to answer, but Amadán raised a hand to silence him. ‘Don't say anything. I know what you know.' He pointed upwards. ‘Our celestial cousins wouldn't take kindly to us using their toys, if you know what I mean. It never ends well for us. They can't be allowed to find out about this. Or
they'll destroy us all.'

Amadán beckoned Jinx to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the hand that was still holding the unlit cigar gesturing expansively as he turned them both around and headed back towards the door. ‘If they find out about this they could decide to eradicate us all, just to be sure.'

Chapter Six

Visitation

D
ad strode out of the principal’s office as if he was looking for something to dismember and had to remember he didn’t have the right to do that here. Izzy waited in the hall, Clodagh beside her.

‘Ouch,’ said Clo, seeing his expression. ‘See you later.’ She faded into a group coming down the corridor before he reached them.

‘Would you like to explain how the fire alarm went off?’ Dad asked.

‘Some sort of malfunction?’ It was worth a try. That was what she’d said to everyone else.

Dad looked far from convinced. ‘Sure. And the girl just collapsed.’

Izzy lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘That wasn’t me. There were things in the mist. I couldn’t breathe. I only managed to
drive them off with—’

He held up a hand in a combat gesture calling for silence. Training made her comply at once and she hated him a bit for that. But his voice softened. ‘Not here, love. Appearances and all that.’ And he gave her that quirk of his lips just for moment. He believed her. She had that much at least. Relief made her sag on her feet. ‘I’ve spoken to your headmistress and she’s checking with the fire brigade but it does appear that the sensors malfunctioned, picked up heat where there couldn’t possibly have been fire, if you see what I mean. Okay?’

She nodded solemnly. ‘So are we going home?’

‘Sure. We have to pick up your mum first though. She was at a meeting in town so she wasn’t too thrilled when the school rang her, especially as they’re only meant to ring me these days. But someone thought of your mum first and so that happened. She had a good rant to me about casual sexism. She probably enjoyed that anyway. Train is in ten minutes. Come on.’

Mum was coming up the steps from the platform as they pulled up outside the little redbrick station. She glared at Izzy and got into the car beside Dad.

‘What happened?’

‘I believe Izzy encountered something impossible.’

‘Impossible.’ Mum looked at Izzy through the vanity mirror in the sun visor. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Must be a day ending in a “y” then.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Izzy grumbled.

‘You weren’t careful enough.’

‘Those … those things would have killed Charlotte.’

‘The Fear,’ her Dad said, his voice taking on that tone of preachiness she was beginning to dread. It was his teaching voice. He could go on for hours and hours when he started. ‘A fae fairytale. A myth and a monster, the male version of the banshees. What do they say?
When the fog is dense and thick, When the whispers are all you hear
… something like that. And yes, they would have killed you both.’ He sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen up taut muscles, uncurling his fingers from the steering wheel and stretching them out. Trying to calm himself down. The idea that Dad was shaken by the thought of what she’d seen wasn’t comforting. ‘You actually did a remarkably good job considering.’

‘High praise,’ Izzy muttered, squirming in her seat.

‘You did,’ said Mum, in tones far more gentle than Dad’s. ‘You’re still here, that’s what matters. David, you’re not angry at Izzy. She’s safe. She drove them off. And someone else’s daughter is going home to them as well.’

‘Any number of daughters, if the Fear had gone on a killing spree. The Sídhe used to be terrified of them and that’s saying something. Whoever has let them out has a hell of a lot to answer for. They won’t stop here. I’ll have to—’ Dad turned the corner into their road, rounded the bend to approach the house and swore loudly. For the second time that day, Izzy’s tattoo flared with an icy cold warning and she gasped in alarm as she saw what he saw.

Five angels were waiting in the front garden. The car shuddered to a halt as it stalled in the drive, the engine coughing and spluttering. Dad growled under his breath.

‘What are they doing here? Those—’

‘David!’ Mum cut in, silencing his litany of curses before they even began.

Izzy swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat and tried to grin. The flood of adrenaline brought out her reckless sense of humour. ‘Why not go with “morons”, Dad?’ she offered.

‘
Isabel!
’

Her parents did that one in harmony.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the interior of the car. The angels watched them, keen as cats on a mouse that had unwisely wandered into their domain.

‘We’d better see what they want,’ said Dad and opened the door.

As Dad approached them the angels’ wary attention sharpened to a knife point. They watched his every move. Izzy followed him out of the car, painfully aware of the way their eyes flicked over to her and away.

They dismissed her so very quickly. Or couldn’t bear to look at her for too long. They saw Dad as a challenge though and respected him for it. She’d already encountered the deep seated loathing the angels seemed to have acquired for her. Luckily they hadn’t shown their faces much since August. Very few supernatural things had until today, in spite of all her extracurricular training and study. She should have been
relieved. But seeing them now, after almost three months of almost nothing, this was much worse.

The angels wore white from head to toe. Tailored clothes, expensive, perfectly fitted to their perfect frames. They were so beautiful, so painfully beautiful, that they didn’t seem quite real. Their shoes didn’t even carry a mark from the grass.

They reminded her of a nineties boy band. They probably sang in close harmony too.

Izzy clenched her teeth as one of them stepped forward, the others falling into formation behind him. Had there been a key-change? She hadn’t heard one.

‘Zadkiel,’ said Dad. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’

He didn’t make it sound like an honour. Izzy had never known her father to sound so passive-aggressive in her life. But then again, she was learning all sorts of new things about him.

He was a Grigori, a Watcher, keeper of the balance between the worlds of humankind, fae, angel and demon. His blood was the blood of all races carefully blended over millennia of interference from creatures just like the angels who faced him now. Her father was special.

And so, apparently, was she. Worst luck.

Not that this lot were inclined to treat her as such. No, she was just a child to them, one with questionable loyalties.

‘You are too kind.’ The angel’s voice slid like warmed honey through the air, weaving a spell of trust and reliability all around him. With his golden looks and hazel eyes, how
could he be anything else? Izzy shuddered, her skin crawling in response. Mum’s features softened and her eyes took on a dreamy look; Izzy took her hand, holding it tightly just in case. ‘David Grigori—’

‘Gregory,’ Dad interrupted. ‘And your charms don’t work on me. Or on Izzy, it would appear. Our blood, no doubt.’

Zadkiel raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed. Remarkable blood it is too. Even if it is easily … what is the word? Corrupted.’

Venom infected the angel’s voice on that final word, but Dad didn’t flinch.

‘No. Balanced, perhaps, in perfect harmony, even. You should try it some time. Being balanced, I mean. Well, maybe we should go inside. I don’t think the neighbours will understand, do you?’

He hooked his arm around Mum and swept past Zadkiel who stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock as Dad seized all the power of the moment out of his hands.

‘Izzy?’ Dad called. ‘Be a love and open the door, will you? I don’t have my keys.’

What could she do? No snotty angel was going to make her look like a coward, especially when Dad had already faced him down. Of course Dad had his keys. What was he up to?

As she passed the angels, their eyes focused on her in unison, and a shadow passed over her, chilling her to the bone. But she didn’t hesitate, smothering the fear down deep inside her and recognising it for what it was – not her own, but something foisted on her by their very presence. They
wanted her to be afraid.

So she wouldn’t. That would show them. Somehow.

The key skittered against the lock, but eventually went into the keyhole and turned. She darted inside and disarmed the burglar alarm with trembling fingers. She took a moment, forcing her breath to be calm, and then turned around.

The garden stood empty. They were already inside the house, all five of them. Zadkiel gazed at her with his searching eyes, while the others inspected the framed photos in the hall and the collection of little china fairies Mum had arranged on the occasional table.

‘Don’t touch those,’ Izzy said. ‘They’re fragile.’

The angel looming over them glanced back at her, smiled a slow, sinister smile, and tipped one with the end of his fingertip. There was a rumble in the air, like distant thunder, and the figurine shattered, crumbling into tiny fragments.

Izzy sucked in a cry, but Zadkiel got there before her.

‘Suriel, enough! We are guests.’

The angel stepped back and bowed his head, eyes fixed on his shoes. If he was chastened or simply acting, Izzy couldn’t tell.

Suriel
. She studied him closely. And Zadkiel. She’d look them up later, try and find out what the internet had to say about them. She was making a list. It seemed like a good plan.

Know your enemy.

Of course they weren’t meant to be the enemy, and Dad would tell her that they weren’t. But she knew for a fact, they
didn’t like her, and she didn’t like them.

Dad knew it too. It didn’t make for a good starting point, really.

Mum on the other hand was staring at the little pile of porcelain shards with a new and rather impressive look of murder in her eyes. She glared at Dad, who lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Whatever spell they’d used on her had worn off. Now she looked fit to spit nails.

‘Right,’ Mum snapped, and the word dripped loathing. ‘Right. I’ll make some tea then.’

She stalked out of the room. Mum, it seemed, was not a fan of angels either.

‘You’re going to replace that,’ Dad told Zadkiel.

The angel bowed his head. ‘As you say, Grigori. And now we must talk. In private.’

‘Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my daughter. She is a Grigori too now, thanks to your sister, Sorath.’

Zadkiel’s expression suggested he had sucked the largest lemon in the world. ‘My sister was … misguided. She is fallen and lost to us forever, thanks to your daughter.’

Izzy took a step towards Dad. Sorath may have been an angel, but she was also a psychopath obsessed with freeing her beloved Lucifer from his prison, and she had manipulated, coerced and possessed Izzy in order to try to achieve her ends. Zadkiel made her sound like a victim and that didn’t bode well.

‘What am I supposed to have done now?’ she asked, painfully aware of the edge in her voice.

‘You gave the spark to Azazel. All that was left of Sorath is in the hands of a demon.’

‘Well, given what that angel had just tried to do to me it seemed like the best plan. Anyway, isn’t that old news? That was months ago.’

Fire flared in his eyes again. ‘You are a fool, girl. You put your trust in the wrong places. It will see you damned.’

From him that really meant something. She ought to be afraid, she knew that. But she wasn’t.

Her anger was too strong for that. Balling her hands into fists she jerked forward a step, but Dad’s arm blocked her way.

‘Enough,’ he said, before Izzy could explode and tell the sanctimonious cretin exactly what she thought of him and all his kind. ‘This isn’t helping anyone. Sorath manipulated us, every one of us, my daughter most of all.’

Zadkiel glared at her. ‘And yet she walked away.’

‘Which is just what I’m going to do now.’ Izzy twisted away, rage simmering through her, ready to reach boiling point and overflow.

‘You are going nowhere. If we must include you, so be it. You will stay. There is more we need to know from you.’

‘I’ve told you all there is. All I’m going to tell you.’

‘One of our brethren is missing. An explanation is needed from you.’

‘From me? Am I responsible for every lost angel around
here now?’

But Dad interrupted before Zadkiel could say anything. And probably before Izzy could make it into a complete unmitigated disaster. He even managed to smile although it went no further than the corners of his mouth. ‘Who is missing?’

Zadkiel visibly calmed himself, turning his attention back to her father. At least he was willing to be polite there. She wondered what Dad would do if he wasn’t. She’d never thought of her father as in any way, remotely kick-ass, but the super-natural world seemed to regard him with respect, and not a little awe. It was a shame she couldn’t get the same treatment.

What had he done for them, over the years? What had he done to them?

She’d have to ask him. One day. Whenever there was a moment. It certainly wasn’t going to be now.

‘Haniel,’ said Zadkiel. ‘The joy and grace of God.’

Dad frowned and glanced in Izzy’s direction, just for a moment, but she could see his genuine concern. ‘Haniel is powerful. It would take something very great indeed to overcome him. And you can’t find him anywhere?’