Vigil: Verity Fassbinder Book 1 (44 page)

I tore the blindfold from his eyes, accidentally pulling out a hank of hair that had been tied into the knot, but he manfully
swallowed a major swear as I kissed him quickly, then produced the dagger and began to hack at the tethers on his left wrist.

‘Careful,’ he said quietly. ‘Not that I want to tell you how to do your job.’

I rolled my eyes, got through the first rope and started on the second before throwing a glance at Nadasy and Donovan.

The old man had pulled the boy to his feet and was shaking him violently, shrieking at him, words that sounded a little like
German, a little like Russian. Whilst mostly incomprehensible to me, I suspected it was a list of his grandson’s shortcomings.
At first Donovan’s expression was pure terror . . . until there was a sudden flash and a change so fast that I’d have missed
it if I’d blinked: an instant when he lit up with hatred, when all his disappointments and betrayals and losses showed and
welled and spilled.

Vadim Nadasy had achieved what Anders Baker had failed to do – he’d made everything that was Donovan Baker disappear for good.

The whirlwind rose and I caught a glimpse of Nadasy’s face in the seconds before he was lifted and whipped around in the cyclone
of his grandson’s making. His aspect was more disbelief than fear, as if he couldn’t comprehend that the world was not bending
to his will. And then he was gone.

Unfortunately, that meant the golem was looking for its next meal.

The rope finally parted with a reluctant pop, demonstrating that the Dagger of Wilusa was better suited to cutting flesh than
anything else. David scrambled off the mattress as I kept my eye on the golem, which was swaying back and forth uncertainly
in front of us.

‘Check on Sally,’ I said to David, and held the knife in plain sight as I addressed what had been Donovan Baker. ‘You remember
this, don’t you?’

Unsurprisingly there was no answer, other than an increased
whirring
and
burring
. Behind me, David swallowed a sob as he said, ‘She’s gone.’

He grunted as he picked her up, though she couldn’t have weighed too much, skinny as she was. When –
if
– we had a chance later on, I’d tell him how much I loved him for not leaving the poor broken girl alone.

‘Stay behind me,’ I said.

‘But it’s keeping us from the door.‘

‘Trust me: I almost know what I’m doing.’ I didn’t risk looking at him, just started backing away, trusting him to do as I’d
asked. I made sure to stay between David and the golem as the creature herded us into the corner, always moving erratically,
first coming closer, then dropping back. Not-Ursa had said the golem would eventually burn out after its human core was gone,
but s/he might have been lying – and even if it was true, how long would it take? Maybe we had minutes, but we sure didn’t
have hours or days to spare.

‘Be ready to run,’ I said in a low voice.

‘So ready.’

In my pocket, I felt the weight of Ziggi’s Taser. With my free hand I wrestled it out. The casing was cracked and the golem
didn’t really have much substance for the probes to hook into, but there was plenty of paper matter, and the whole thing stank
of old booze. All I could do was pray and pull the trigger.

The bang was loud in the confined space. It took an age for the wires to shoot forth, for the darts to find their target,
for the golem and its collection of highly flammable refuse to ignite . . .

But then time sped up and the creature became a whirling dervish of flame.

Fire is a wonderful thing. It carries sacrifices up. It purifies and cleanses. It gets rid of rubbish.

I yelled, ‘Run!’ and didn’t have to repeat myself. We bolted towards the door, through the shadowed avenue of the wine racks,
pursued by an inferno of smoke and blaze. For a panicked moment I couldn’t see the exit in the darkness, then it was there,
almost as if summoned by fear. We passed through it like horses out of the starting gate, David first and me right behind
him, and as I slammed the door shut I heard the commotion of falling wine racks, and something thrashing about amongst them.

Then at last the racket fell silent. I put my ear to the metal door and listened. I thought I detected the crackle of flames
as they took hold of the splintered wreckage. I waited a few minutes, just to be sure, just until I could feel the growing
heat from the other side, then I looked at David, waiting patiently at the top of the stairs with his pitiful burden.

It could all burn. I had what I needed.

The emo-Weyrd waitress brought our order. Her tongue had been healed, and all she had to show for her adventure was a slight
lisp. Mind you, it hadn’t improved her attitude; she was no more friendly or personable than she’d been before. But Aspasia
had given me a curt nod on our arrival, and Theo had waved us in with a smile. I assumed Thaïs had reverted to form and was
embedded in her Delphic cave upstairs.

Rhonda had paid for our food with what could best be described as intense ill grace – disappointingly, not only had my saving
of the Norns’ collective arses not translated into free meals forever, but prices had been increased to cover the cost of
repairs . . . Still, I was happy to note our servings were considerably larger than usual. We sat out under the canopy, next
to one of the braziers, and I was a little surprised to find I was pleased to see new little snakes dangling above us like
skinny
piñatas
.

‘Thirty-five bucks for this?’ grumbled Rhonda.

‘Hey, I used up an angel favour for you. This is the very least you can do.’

She grumbled again, but didn’t contradict me. She looked good – her eyes were bright and her skin was creamy, less lined.
She’d even put on a bit of make-up and found a hairdresser who didn’t have a vendetta against her – but I was wise enough
not to mention that.

I looked at the crucifix she still wore and she said testily, ‘I can hardly
not
believe now. I saw an angel. I spoke to an angel, admittedly a pretty shitty one. A better angel came into my room and healed
me. It would be a bit stupid to suddenly stop believing after I’ve had actual proof.’

‘Annoying, isn’t it?’

‘So much.’

We didn’t talk for a while. I was beginning to think the caramel marshmallow log might have become a bit of an addiction.
Rhonda was working her way through a new creation: a three-layer thing of lemon mascarpone, mead jelly and marshmallow mousse
the Sisters had called ‘Angel’s Blessing’. It was a bit rich, I thought, in all senses.

‘Did your boyfriend dump you, what with you being a danger to everyone’s health?’

‘I suppose a change in your general attitude was just too much of a miracle to hope for?’ I didn’t ask about Ellen, who’d
dropped McIntyre off, given me a huge grin and a wave, then gone to find a parking space. That had been twenty minutes ago;
I imagined she and Ziggi were currently engaged in a death-match over the only space available.

‘Well, did he? He did, didn’t he?’ To her credit, she sounded angry about it.

‘No, he didn’t dump me. And I didn’t dump him. He’s currently packing his possessions into boxes so he can rent out his apartment
and move in with me.’

She blinked. ‘That was fast. What are you, pregnant?’

I rubbed my stomach, which was definitely getting rounder, but said nothing.

She changed tack. ‘How’s the Kallos baby?’

I grinned. At least one thing had worked out. ‘She’s settling in
nicely with Christos. He’s a good choice, he’s already on the birth certificate as the dad, and Callie adores him.’

‘What about the angel and the old birds?’

‘They are allowed to visit, on the strict condition that no one tries to eat Christos, or entrance him or be rude to him.’

‘That’s very specific.’

‘There are a very specific range of behaviours with that group.’ I paused. ‘It’s good that Tobit’s hanging around, I think,
both for our city and the baby.’

‘And Mercado White?’

‘No sign as yet – give it time. The Weyrd have long memories, and a long reach.’

‘And dear old Tepes?’

‘Bela is currently in a far-away, very small European country. He’s checked Dusana Nadasy into some fancy-schmancy sanatorium
for Weyrd suffering . . . stuff.’ I suspected it was going to take a long while for the Widow Baker to work out her issues.
‘He’ll be back soon – he’s on the Council himself now, and they’ve got to elect another two new members to replace Eleanor
Aviva and Adriana. As well as find a new Archivist.’

‘And does the latest resident of the nuthouse know that you’re responsible for the deaths of her parents and her son?’

‘Not as such, no.’ I said. ‘It sounds so bad when you say it like that – and before you ask, Mel and Lizzie are fine and off
having a well-deserved holiday in Sydney.’

She gave a snort. ‘Talk about frying pan into fire.’

‘And Rose Wilkes has disappeared once more.’ I looked out at the dark clouds scudding low across the sky. They made me think
of mist, of fog, and of the Boatman, who knew so much and told so little. I’d been avoiding the river for weeks; I was pretty
sure he was
going to ask for his nifty knife back and I really wasn’t so keen on handing it over. Never knew when I might need it again.

The sound of voices at the counter inside pulled me back: Ellie was giving Theo her order. I stood up and stretched. My hand
and shoulder were stiff, and the cuts from Sigrid’s blade were slowly getting better – even Louise the healer had her limits
– but I felt good. I felt settled.

I leaned down and kissed Rhonda on the cheek, much to her surprise. ‘See you later, you old bat.’

‘So, you pregnant, or what?’ she yelled as I walked out, pausing only to hug Ellie and wave goodbye to Theo and Aspasia. I
stepped onto the street, into Brisbane’s wintery breath, and I could feel its heartbeat bumping up through the pavement. Or
maybe that was just the vibration from the cars and trucks.

A purple cab was double-parked, blocking traffic on Boundary Street, ignoring the other drivers honking horns and swearing
up a blue fit. Ziggi windmilled a hand at me and I slipped into the back seat.

This was my city, my home. It was filled with my friends and people worth saving. It was my place, and I had a vigil to keep.

THE END

Verity Fassbinder will return in

Corpselight

• Thank
  you to Peter M. Ball and Tansy Rayner Roberts, who let me take their characters’ names in vain, respectively Sally Crown and
  Nancy Napoleon.
  
• To Ron Serduik for all the support and time spent in his lovely store, which has no secret occult book rooms whatsoever. Really.
  No,
  really
  .
  
• To Alan Baxter and Kathleen Jennings for beta-reading.
  
• To Lisa Hannett and Peter M. Ball for alpha-reading.
  
• To Alexandra Pierce for being my first reader’s reader.
  
• To Kate Eltham, for insisting this story had wings and Jonathan Strahan for nagging gently.
  
• To Haralambi Markov for providing a hard-to-pronounce name for Bela.
  
• Thank you to Alisa Krasnostein and Ben Payne, who first published ‘Brisneyland by Night’.
  
• Thanks to Jo Fletcher and Stephen Jones for all their support, and special thanks to Steve for introducing me to Jo Fletcher!
  
• Thanks to my wonderful agent Ian Drury for ‘the deal’.
  
• Last but not least, thank you to my wonderful family for their support, and to my beloved partner, David, who keeps me on
  the path and throws ideas at me when all seems dark.
  

Angela Slatter is the award-winning author of the collections
The Girl with No Hands and Other Tales
,
Sourdough and Other Stories
,
The Bitterwood Bible and Other Recountings
and
Black-Winged Angels
, as well as
Midnight and Moonshine
and
The Female Factory
(both co-written with Lisa L. Hannett). She has been shortlisted for numerous prestigious prizes, including the Norma K.
Hemming Award, and has won the World Fantasy Award, the British Fantasy Award and five Aurealis Awards. Her short stories
have appeared widely, including in annual British, Australian and North American
Best Of
anthologies.
Vigil
is her first solo novel
.
Angela lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband David.