Bloodstone (6 page)

‘That’s not what I said. Stay away from her.’

It shrugged. ‘Don’t warn Mack about me.’

‘Like he’d believe me.’ I laughed. ‘Even if I wanted to warn him.’

‘We understand each other.’ It crushed the cigarette under one foot. ‘You’re a civilised man, Murlainn.’

‘One of us has to be.’ I paused as I turned on my heel. ‘A man.’

‘Cheeky.’ It wagged a finger. ‘Stay away.’

‘Same to you.’

I turned one last time at the traffic lights, ready to shout back at it, but as hard as I stared into the copse of trees, I couldn’t see the Lammyr. Gone to its protégé.

And I’d only just realised it had given me no promise.

Conal always seemed to slide quite naturally into responsible jobs. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I did eventually stop doing a double-take when I saw him in a
business suit. He was quiet, unobtrusive, devastatingly effective, and never attracted the kind of attention that would have brought the corporate knives out. If I got a proper steady job like his,
he told me (till I was sick of hearing it), instead of being little better than a mercenary in the worst trouble spots I could stick a map-pin into, he wouldn’t expect me to spend so much of
my time nursemaiding Finn.

The child still had no friends, attracting only the worst kinds of attention, but that didn’t mean she was content to hang around Tornashee keeping her head down and learning how to be a
good full-mortal citizen. She wandered.

Conal drew the line at the Fairy Loch: for obvious reasons it was strictly out of bounds, no questions, no deals; and because it was the only place forbidden to her, she quite reasonably stuck
to that rule. As for the rest, we kept an occasional eye on her, as far as we could. And because I couldn’t hold down a job for any length of time, I got stuck with it more often than the
people who actually cared about her.

Conal’s theory was that I was looking after the girl. Me, I reckoned I was looking after the people she met – especially given the filthy mood she was in that autumn when she turned
sixteen. She knew something was up with Leonora, and she knew she was out of the loop, and both were guaranteed to madden her.

I told them. So many times. There are many things that are my fault, but that isn’t one of them.

Speaking of things that were my fault, I saw Jed again that day. Even if he’d seen me he wouldn’t have recognised me – I’d had time and leisure enough to get into that
wild mind of his and rearrange the dark fog of the Veil for my convenience – but I couldn’t help a vestige of curiosity about him. Guilt, too. Their life wasn’t what it had been
before, but then I wasn’t the one who’d signed her worldly possessions over to Mack. It gave me only a little satisfaction now to know he’d died in some fatal drunken brawl: too
drug-addled for Skinshanks to bother with any more, and swapped, presumably, for a new and more promising protégé.

Not that that helped Mila and her sons: two of them by this time. To be honest I didn’t know how the younger one survived; the sickliest thing I ever saw, he was. It would be easier for
Mila and Jed if he got it over with and died. You only had to look at him to know he wasn’t destined to stay in the world for long, but Jed was attached to him. Jed was clearly not so good as
I was at distancing himself from those he should love.

I’m not saying I’m proud of that. But I am good at it.

Don’t get me wrong. I saw Mila a lot, in the early days. It’s not as if I simply abandoned her; not immediately. I couldn’t have: truth be told, I couldn’t stay away. I
didn’t care that the stairwell stank of piss and stale sweat and rancid fast food; Mila’s skin smelt of oranges and cheap white musk. I didn’t care that the walls were so thin I
could hear the suck of her neighbour’s lips on a cigarette, the rattle of phlegm in her throat, the ping of her microwave. We turned the music up, that was all.

When he was there at all, Jed took no notice of me. That was what I wanted. He stayed away more often, slept rough sometimes. I’d done the same in my youth, many times, so it didn’t
seem to me like a sacrifice. And she never stopped adoring him, after all. She seemed to me a paragon of motherhood, but it’s true I didn’t have much to compare her with.

Perhaps that’s why I didn’t worry when I finally left them both. They had each other, and I knew he’d look after her. Jed knew her better than I did, and I couldn’t
handle her addiction. At four hundred and something, I wasn’t grown up enough. I didn’t want to leave her. I had to. She’d do better with Jed.

It didn’t seem like such a bad deal for Mila, who’d looked after him so well, and anyway, she’d stopped needing me by then; she’d stopped needing anyone but the man who
came once a week selling dreams and nightmares and high oblivion.

The last time I saw her was Guy Fawkes night, fireworks in the town park. The smell of gunpowder, and the smell of Mila; my arms round her and my face bent into her hair. Stars in her eyes, all
right. Rockets exploding onto the night like a million flung jewels, spangled for an instant on the cushion of black sky. When the crowd cheered and clapped, she kept looking, blinking up at the
emptiness, looking for cloud spiders.

Firework ghosts, she said. That’s what they were: what was left when they died. Vast spiders of cloud. She watched them with such wistfulness. And I was no better, because I wasn’t
taking notice of the fireworks either; I was looking only at Mila.

Sentiment is one thing, but I felt no responsibility for any of them. It was her choice to be permanently off her face: hers alone.

But I did go by the house now and again. It wasn’t on my way anywhere, but it wasn’t a huge detour. I liked to know the place hadn’t burned down, that was all.

Not that what I found that day was much better.

As Jed came storming out of the communal door with the infant brother in his arms, I ducked quickly out of sight; no point taking silly chances. Then he faltered, and bent over, and threw
up.

Cold horror in my spine, and a slow sickening recognition that perhaps Mila’s choice hadn’t been an entirely free one. I waited till Jed spat, and recovered his dignity, and trudged
off towards town. He was going to find it awkward nicking stuff with a baby in tow, but I knew he must have his reasons – or one good reason.

I needed to confirm my suspicions, and I didn’t have long to wait. Mila’s dealer came out of the flat not ten minutes later; nearly translucent with skinniness, but no-one could be
fooled that it was weak. If you wanted to put a dent in that kind of wiriness, you’d need a bolt-cutter.

When it turned the corner, I lunged, slammed it into the wall with my arm against its throat, and hissed in its papery face.

‘I told you, Skinshanks. Leave her alone.’

It blinked, gave me a strangled grin of recognition, and went limp, pointing at its own throat. Reluctantly I eased the pressure. It coughed delicately and pushed my arm away with distaste, then
adjusted its collar.

‘Could be worse, Murlainn. Don’t interfere, or it will be.’

‘You said you weren’t interested in her!’ Desperation and humiliation wormed in my gut.

‘I’m not.’

‘So – who...’ My throat dried.

‘I’ve never been interested in the woman, I told you. She’s a means to an end, that’s all.’

‘I’m warning you—’

‘Don’t come between me and a protégé.’ It tutted, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. ‘You know better than that.’

I did know better. I knew better even as the picture cleared, nauseatingly, in my head. ‘The boy.’

‘Bingo! And you didn’t even have to phone a friend.’

I could only stare at it. Jed was doomed if I interfered, doomed if I didn’t. I thought I could see his attraction for the Lammyr. That feral intelligence, that devotion underscored with
ruthlessness: all that would amuse a Lammyr. He was a game to it. Or perhaps just – game.

‘Don’t worry, Murlainn. He won’t come to a sticky end like dear Mack. He’s very promising.’

‘What went wrong with Nils Laszlo?’

‘Wrong? Nothing went wrong. He’s doing grand. Barely needs little old me any more.’

‘Skinshanks, you’re a bastard.’

It grinned. ‘Funny insult for you to toss around.’

‘Don’t hurt Mila.’

‘Don’t interfere.’

I locked my gaze with its cold yellow eyes. Stalemate.

‘I’ll kill you.’ Useless threat.

It shrugged. ‘Sure. And Slinkbone will take over from me. That Gocaman’s getting careless in his old age; your watergate needs a new Watcher. There’s plenty of us around, you
know.’

I shook my head, beaten. The truth was, I didn’t want to involve myself. It would only make things worse for Jed and Mila both; after all, I knew Skinshanks from way back. Not the first
time I’d crossed paths with it.

And the boy – let’s face it – was more expendable than Mila or an innocent baby. He might even do well with a Lammyr mentor. Lots of people did.

Lots of people did, and still loved their mothers.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed Jed into the town centre; besides, I was meant to be keeping an eye on Finn. It would help if I actually went looking for
her.

It didn’t take me long to find her, but I kept being distracted by the boy and the baby. The latter didn’t seem to be cramping his big brother’s style after all. Through plate
glass beside a cafe counter I watched Jed sweet-talk an old lady with a tartan shopping trolley, but she went soppy over the infant, and he stopped short of sliding a hand into her bag. That
attitude wouldn’t last long, not with Skinshanks on his case.

The mother with the sleek off-road buggy didn’t get the same soft treatment; I watched him pick up the toy-overboard, make her screaming toddler giggle, and help himself to her purse. Who
could blame him? It was in full view. And the boy had style.

Mila was fine, with him around. Fine.

‘OY! FION
NUUUUUUU
ALA!’

Ah, lift a small-town rock, and there was always entertainment. Remembering why I was here, I picked up my coffee and went outside.

The screecher was on my side of the road, a beautiful, cocky girl with glossed hair and lips and four clones at her high heels. Shania Rooney, endless source of trouble for Finn. Finn herself
was on the far side of the road, all limp black hair and hunched shoulders and shame, trying to blend into the pavement like a grey chameleon. She wasn’t far off. I rolled my eyes and
wondered if I could get a job on the rigs.

‘MacAngus!’ Shania cupped her hands to her mouth to up the volume. ‘
BUGFACE
.’

Give her her due, Shania was a sharp observer. Truth was, Finn did have bug eyes, almost too big for her skull. And like a scared beetle she was trying to scuttle through the crowds, lose
herself under some stone. Gods, I thought, here we go again. The trick was always to intervene without Finn noticing you were doing it.

Shania hovered on the kerb, jabbing the air with a polished fingernail. ‘I’m talking to you, MacAngus.’

I wandered closer, propping myself beside the Big Issue seller to pretend I was talking to his dog, and watched Finn out of the side of my eye. She’d paused, looked over her shoulder, and
the humiliated loathing in her face was striking. I wondered if Shania had noticed.