Sixty-One Nails: Courts of the Feyre (3 page)

    "I told you, you are not going to die of a heart attack. Here, let me help you up." She offered her hand. I looked at it, mistrustfully.

    "Have it your own way," she said, withdrawing the hand.
    "Who are you?"
    "You can call me Blackbird."

    "Blackbird? What kind of a name is that?"

    "It's as good a name as any I have ever had and it will serve me nicely, thank you."

    Her tone was acid, but I didn't care. "What do you want from me?"

    "From you? You're not in a position to offer me anything, just now."

    "Then why did you follow me? What are you after?" "When I revived you earlier, I acquired a degree of responsibility for what happens to you."

    "I was fine. The ambulance men said I was OK, I just needed a check up."

    Another of the stomach cramps twisted inside me and I bent over, momentarily breathless.

    She was unconcerned. "Just try to breathe. The aftershocks will diminish shortly."

    "Is it my heart?"

    "Gracious me, no. Your heart is as strong as an ox and
    will stay that way for many years to come, should you
    live that long."
    "I thought I had a heart attack."
    "You don't remember?"
    "Remember what?"

    "You were on the platform of the Underground. Your heart failed. You died."

    I searched my memory. Those last seconds were curiously blurred, as if my brain didn't want to register what really happened. "I can't have died. I'm here." "I brought you back. I healed your failing heart and summoned you back into your body, to keep something else from entering and using your corpse. If you were not dead then that other thing could not enter and I would not have to deal with it."

    "What kind of 'other thing'?" This was crazy.

    "The sort of thing you don't want roaming around in
    someone else's skin."
    "You're talking about… possession?"

    "I am talking about reanimation, but yes, in this case they are essentially the same thing. Unfortunately you were already dead and it gained a foothold. I had to heal your heart and summon you back into your body. For a moment I was not quite sure which one of you I had rescued."

    "That's what you were asking me, in the tube station –
are you from the other lands?"

    "Had it succeeded, I would have killed it quickly while it was still weak from the crossing."
    "But it was me."
    "It was you. By the time I reached you, though, it had gained a sense of you. It will know you. It will have some of your knowledge, some of your memories."
    "What will it do with them?"
    "It will use them to find you."
    "And then what?"

    She looked at me. "It will kill you."

    "I don't understand. Why would anyone want to kill me?"

    "Because you are not entirely human." She said it so plainly, like it was something she said every day. "Are you mad? Of course I'm human. What else would I be?" The old woman seemed rational, but then started talking nonsense. Was she serious? She looked serious.

    "Here," she said. "Let me help you up. I promise I'll not harm you." She offered her hand again. I waved her hand away and pushed myself to my feet. I felt light-headed. Perhaps it was from being alive when I ought to be dead.

    "You have something on your trousers. It looks like it came from the bin with which you collided." The sight of my trousers brought me immediately back to earth. "Oh no. This suit was just cleaned. Look at it, it's ruined." There were patches of damp and the dark stain of something putrid was smeared into the knees.

    "It is the least of your worries, believe me. If you let me buy you a coffee, I will try to explain."

    She walked to the end of the passage, to where it met the street, and waited while I tried to remove the worst of the stain with some half-used kitchen towel that was protruding from a lacerated bin-bag. I wiped the slime from my hands with the remaining piece as best I could. She turned down the street and walked away suddenly, and I ran to catch up with her. I fell into step as she walked along. Mercifully, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets shiny in the autumn sun. "Why are you doing this?" I asked her.

    "I do not like loose ends," she answered. "They cause difficulty. Are you married?"

    "I was. I got divorced last year." It was an old wound, but nearly dying made it freshly painful.

    "No children." She made it sound like a statement.

    "I have a daughter."

    She stopped and stared up at me. "A child?"

    "Yes. She's nearly fourteen. I'm picking her up from my ex-wife's tonight. We're going to spend the weekend together."

    "A daughter? Well, well." She turned and continued walking, momentarily lost in thought. I followed, crossing Long Acre and heading down St Martin's Lane towards Trafalgar Square.

    "What did you mean when you said I wasn't entirely human?" I asked her.

    "Somewhere in your family tree there is one who is not human, but something else."
    "What kind of 'something else'?"

    "A creature of power. A member of the Feyre, a race far older than humanity."

    "I don't… The…? Is this some kind of wind-up?"

    "You tell me. Did you have a heart attack? Were you cold and dead? Are you a corpse on its way to the mortuary or walking along beside me?"

    A faint smile touched her lips. Was she mocking me? "I think… I think I would know if I wasn't… wasn't human."

    "Without Fey blood in your veins, the creature would not have been able to enter your body when you died. It was using your dormant power to bridge the gap between this world and the one it comes from. When I revived you I called to your power, the core of magic within you, and used it to mend your failing heart and bring you back."

    We strolled past people on the pavement while she talked in level tones about magic and creatures. Nobody paid us the slightest attention. It was unreal. "How did you… I mean, what…?" It made no sense. "This is… Why should I believe you, any of this?" "There was a creature waiting for someone like you, in another place nearby but entirely separate. It was waiting to cross over into our world. It was already in the process of taking your body when I found you. By bringing you back, I prevented it from completing the crossing, but it will have gained a sense of you. It will know you and will be able to predict where you will go and what you will do. Now it knows you, it will come for you, sooner or later." "What does it want from me?" "I told you, it wants you dead." "Why? What did I do?"

    "It wants you dead because of what you are, not what you have done. It knows what you are. As I do." "So we're back to that. You think I'm… not human." "The only reason you are not lying dead on the floor in the Underground station right now is because you have an ancestor who was Fey. It is the reason you are alive. When I intervened, I took a degree of responsibility for you and for what happens next. If you were to just wander off then things might become… difficult." "What do you mean?"

    "The magic I woke in you was dormant, but having woken it, it will not sleep again. It is alive in you now and will stay with you until you die, which unfortunately may be quite soon."

    "I don't understand. First you tell me I'm healthy, then you tell me I'm going to die. You're not making sense. Which is it?"

    "It's both. You're alive because one of your ancestors was not human, that much is certain. The creature that was trying to take your body will know you and will try to find you, that is also certain. It will not be able to cross the gap between our worlds again for some while. It will need a little time to recover, then it must wait for an opportunity to slip across, but when it does it will come for you – and for your daughter."

    "My daughter? What has she got to do with this?"

    "Rabbit, if you have a Fey ancestor then your daughter does too, of course. You don't need to be a geneticist to work that out. It will want her dead as much as it does you. That is why you must stay away from her, at least for a while. Don't go near her and don't discuss her with anyone, no matter how harmless they appear. You do not want to lead it to your family."

    It was bizarre, as if somewhere, at some point in my morning, I had taken a wrong turn. I found myself sifting back through her words looking for the loose strand that would unravel this elaborate tale. Is that how she got her kicks, conning middle-aged men into believing the unbelievable? "What does it look like?" I asked her.

    "A better question would be 'who does it look like?'. The Untainted don't enter our world directly unless they have to. Instead, it will find a host, another body with enough of a thread of magic in it to sustain the crossing. It could be anyone: young, old, fat, thin – anyone." She gestured at the people around us as we crossed the street at the bottom of St Martin's Lane.

    "So how am I supposed to know which one is trying
    to kill me?"
    "So you believe me now?"
    "Let's say I'm humouring you."

    She sighed. "Their perception of our world is governed by their own time, so they will appear a little uncoordinated, as if they were drunk, or hungover. You will have to be watching carefully to notice the difference, though." She suddenly changed her pace and led the way to a coffee and sandwich shop. I followed her inside and she ordered for both of us, two strong coffees, mine with sugar and hers without.

    I rested my hand on her arm. "How did you know I took sugar?"

    "I didn't, but it is good for shock – and dying counts, do you not think?" She glanced up at me then took a small purple purse from her bag and paid the girl, all in coins.

    The coffee shop was crowded and noisy with nowhere to sit, so we took the coffees outside where the staff were wiping down the chairs and tables. The lady held the door open while I carried the tray. She led the way to the table furthest away from the few other people where the broad pavement sloped down to the dominating presence of the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields. I put the tray on the table and she handed me my coffee as we sat down opposite one another.

    I took the opportunity to look at her more closely. She was around retirement age, one of those silver-haired ladies who have worked and now have the resources to lunch in the city whenever they please. Ladies like her were common around the National Gallery and Covent Garden, and I would not have picked her out as anything unusual.

    She wore a wool coat with a tweedy texture to it which looked well worn, but not worn out. At her neck was a paisley patterned silk scarf that was wrapped inside her coat. Her hands clasped the cardboard cup. They had the soft texture of liver spots and freckles that you associate with older ladies with fair skin. Her eyes were clear and blue-grey, and her hair was grey in a short but elegantly soft style. She watched me, removing the lid from her coffee and holding the cup underneath her chin, allowing the steam to rise around her face.

    "If you knew somehow that you only had a single day left to live," she asked me then, "what would you do with that day?"
    "What? A single day?"
    "One only," she nodded.

    "I'd spend it with my daughter doing all the things you should do with your children before you die: wild rides on the fairground, eat too much ice cream, paddle on the seashore…"

    "What if you could not be with your daughter? What then?"

    "I don't know. Hmm. Maybe just carry on and have a normal day."

    "Just carry on? Is there no one else you would spend your last day with?"

    "You needn't look like that. I have responsibilities. My job is important, and not just to me. My team rely on me. That's why I have to go to work."

    "You are failing to understand me. If you go back to your job, your life expectancy can be measured in hours. More importantly, what are you going to do there?"

    "What I always do: manage my team, work on my projects–"

    She burst out laughing. "Oh, Rabbit, you are precious." "What's wrong with that? It's my life!"

    "It
was
your life." She considered me for moment. "I need to show you something, but I need to use the facilities first." She pushed her chair back and stood. "I will be back in a few moments."

    "Will I be safe here, all by myself?" I was suddenly conscious of how exposed I was, sat at the edge of the open square.

    "That depends. If this is a trick of some kind then you'll be as safe as ever you were. If this is real then no, you're never going to be safe again. Get used to it."

Two

    She turned and walked away across the pavement, slipping her hands into her pockets as she walked up the steps into the coffee shop, leaving me alone at the edge of Trafalgar Square.

    I looked around nervously. People walked across the square as they always did in the rarer moments when we were blessed with autumn sunshine. They talked or just stood around taking in the view, caught up in the mass of humanity.

    I sat back in my chair and tried to compose myself. Her story had spooked me, I had to admit, and left me feeling paranoid. I was much more conscious of the people around me, those that appeared to be going somewhere and those wandering aimlessly. They were probably tourists, visitors to the capital enjoying a day of autumn sunshine. I watched them anyway. A fair-haired couple, she with coloured ribbons tangled in her hair and he with matted dreadlocks, wandered arm-in-arm past the tables. They didn't look very typical, but they could be Australian, or mad, or in love. They didn't look like assassins from another world – but what would an assassin look like? Slightly drunk or hung-over she'd said, so that only included about ten per cent of the population of central London. My scan of the crowds caught a young woman emerging from the coffee shop. She made her way down the steps carefully, her high heels precarious on the polished surface. She hooked her bag over her shoulder and strode out though the tables, heels clicking and glossy smile flashing as she negotiated her way past one of the staff clearing tables. I noticed the men behind her checking out the rear view as she passed. She was quite something. Her coat was caught together with only one button and fell over the flared skirt that stopped well short of her knees.