Solace & Grief (17 page)

Solace bit her lip, smiling. Glide smiled back. Each of them opened their mouth to speak, but before they could, someone hurtled upstairs and burst through the door. Guilty and startled, they sprang apart, but not quickly enough to fool Paige, who stopped dead in the centre of the room, eyes wide. Raising a hand, she pointed at them, awestruck.

‘You were –’

‘Paige,’ begged Solace, ‘
please
? You just burst in!’

Mischievous as a woodland imp, the short girl burst out laughing.

‘Please?’ repeated Solace, desperately.

Clearly delighted, Paige clapped her hands. ‘Fine! I won't say a
thing
, I
promise
.’ Speculatively, she ran an eye over Glide, who blushed. ‘
An
-yway, I came up to say that we're all here, and you're wanted downstairs for merrymaking of a different sort. We brought a box of wine. You in?’

‘Sure,’ said Glide, before Solace could. Awkwardly, he looked at her, smiled, blushed under Paige's fierce, grinning scrutiny and then hurried out, not bothering to shut the door.

Tilting her pink and purple-haired head, Paige gave Solace an impressed look. ‘Total silence,’ she avowed. ‘But just so you know?
Nice
.’

‘Out!’ demanded Solace, pointing authoritatively at the door, but her mouth wavered into a smile and spoilt the effect. Paige giggled, but, mercifully, said no more, waggling a finger impudently as she sauntered out.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Solace ran her hands down her skirt, smoothed her hair, and because she couldn't help it, raised a disbelieving, happy hand to her lips, and held it there.

‘Didn't put him off,’ she murmured, smiling.

Cheerful chaos prevailed downstairs. Apart from Laine and Paige, the warehouse had opened its doors to Harper, Claire and Tryst, so that the whole picnic crew was now milling and chatting in the lounge. Aside from Paige's wine box, a party's worth of alcohol was visible on the kitchen bench, alongside masses of chips, dips, cheeses and biscuits. Surveying this bounty, Solace laughed, turned and nearly bowled over Tryst, who was headed that way with a very large chocolate cake indeed. Sincerely regretting her allergies, Solace declined a slice and waved instead at Claire, who shyly returned the gesture, reaching up to tuck a strand of jaw-length, dark-blonde hair behind an ear.

As the opening chords of ‘Hotel California’ rang out through the warehouse, Solace wandered over to where Evan, already hoisting a suspiciously depleted glass, was regaling Laine and Phoebe with his latest chain of thought.

‘There's this thing where I can read minds, right?’ he said, gesticulating grandly. They nodded. ‘But maybe – I mean, how do
I
know what I'm hearing?
Maybe
it's all just Chinese whispers. Or, you know, like one of those comedy sketches where there's two people back to back, right, in two different telephone booths having two different conversations, speaking alternately, but it actually sounds like they're talking to each other, but about something really bizarre. Because even though stuff matches up, it also
doesn't
. In a really funny way. You know?’

‘Bravo!’ called Manx. ‘I suppose that could almost pass for insightful.’

‘Welcome to my family,’ said Jess glumly, making a face for Phoebe's benefit. ‘At least you don't share his actual genes.’

Chuckling, Solace was about to join in when a familiar hand alighted on her shoulder.

‘Hey,’ Glide whispered, close to her ear. ‘Can I talk to you?’

Nodding, Solace stepped away from the others with him, unable to stop her face from lighting up.

‘What's new?’

‘I'm heading back upstairs. For the evening, I mean.’ He ran a hand through his chestnut hair, letting his fingers snag in its curls. ‘I've gone too long without drifting. If I don't go now, it'll start to creep in at the edges, which isn't good. I'm sorry.’

Uncertain of whether to feel crushed, flattered, wistful or some weird mixture of the three, Solace managed a half-smile and nodded again: agreement.

Clearly relieved, Glide sighed and inclined his head. ‘Thanks. You have a good night, okay?’

‘I will.’ She gulped a little. ‘Are we – I mean, Paige is going to ask –’

Uncaring of who saw, Glide cut her off with a kiss. ‘You tell them whatever you like,’ he said softly, leaning away.

As she watched him saunter back upstairs – ignoring, temporarily, Evan's elated wolf-whistle, Paige's gleeful whoop, Jess's resigned sigh – it occurred to Solace that, Bloodkin, Sharpsoft, faceless men and Lukin not withstanding, there'd never been a better time than now.

S
olace woke up, and knew that something was wrong. Despite the antics of the previous night – which had gone on to include Jess's spookily accurate impression of the Prime Minister, an impromptu dance-off between Paige and Evan, a beanbag fight, and Tryst's strangely hilarious home-chemistry stand-up comedy routine involving one glass bong, dishwashing liquid, bicarbonate of soda and a ribald story about priapism – she'd drunk no more than a glass or two of wine, ensuring that now, every sense was on full alert. Without waking Manx, she slipped out of bed, walked to the door and stepped out into the upstairs hall.

The scent of blood hit her like a brick to the head. Panic surged through her, but still she staggered forwards, drawn to the source by some deeper instinct against her conscious will. Already, part of her knew where she was headed, but Solace rejected it fiercely, fighting what she had no wish to admit.

‘Glide,’ she whispered.

Like a broken wing, the door to his room hung limply from its hinges, a hefty crack denting the centre. Splinters stood out from it like hackles on a dog's spine. Trembling, she reached out and pushed it, half expecting the whole thing to fall down. Instead, it swung inward, revealing what looked like a miniature battleground.

Spatters of blood flecked everything – a small enough quantity, but the scent still made her hungry, the guilt of which brought on nausea, until it was all she could do to keep upright, staring at the wreckage. Like everyone else in the warehouse, Glide had few possessions. The bed frame had been old and likely salvaged, which went some way towards explaining why it had shattered so easily. The sagging mattress lay canted against the wall, sliced open down one edge to reveal springs and stuffing. Two cardboard boxes had been kicked askew, tumbling their respective clothes and trinkets onto the floor. A small three-legged wooden stool had been smashed almost to kindling, while the only other object – a handmade metal photo frame – had been bent out of shape and the picture removed. It wasn't until her foot nudged the handle that she even saw the knife: large-bladed and smeared with a fine mixture of blood and mattress fluff.

There'd been no blood in the hall, she recognised distantly; Glide couldn't have gone downstairs. No: he'd been taken. By her enemies. While she slept. Because of what she was. The weight of guilt swamped her like a king tide. Solace fell to her knees.

‘Oh God.’ It was Jess. Solace didn't turn, but could feel the seer in the doorway behind her, hovering ineffectually. ‘My dreams. I heard –’

‘He's gone.’ Her voice sounded foreign, hoarse. ‘It's his blood. Why didn't we hear it happen?’

‘I don't know.’ Jess seemed to be speaking from far off, her words warped and carried by some nonexistent breeze. ‘The Rare, I mean… if it was Lukin… someone… we were asleep…’

‘It was the faceless man.’

‘What?’ Startled, Jess pulled Solace up by the shoulder. ‘How do you know?’

‘I heard him, earlier.’ Briefly, she related the incident. ‘I would've been scared, said something, but Glide –’

Jess laughed tiredly, because it was better than tears. ‘Of all people, I can hardly chastise you.’

‘What now?’ Solace bit the inside of her mouth. Too much was swirling inside; too much was dangerous; too much seemed centred on
her
.

Jess only paused a moment. ‘Go downstairs. I'll wake the others.’

‘Something needs to be done,’ Jess finished.

Twenty minutes had passed; they were downstairs in the lounge, and the seer had just finished filling everyone in on the sordid, embarrassing details of Solace's life. It was nothing new to those who'd met with Lukin, but for the rest, the whole tale had to be told from start to finish, the faceless man explained, before Glide's bloody disappearance seemed properly urgent.

‘Shouldn't we call the police?’ asked Claire.

Jess shook her head. ‘They couldn't help. We can't give them any details – not anything they'd believe, anyway. They'd probably just think it was one of us. Which it
isn't
,’ she reiterated, before anyone could ask.

Overhead, the skylight glowed pink with late afternoon, making Solace wonder briefly if she'd ever wake at a normal hour again. Without clocks, it was hard to tell how long they'd slept, or even how late (or early) they'd stayed awake in the first place: either way, a second day had certainly come and was in the process of going. Of everyone present, Claire and Electra looked the most frightened; Phoebe clung to Evan's arm, while Tryst and Harper spoke in low voices, inaudible despite the relative silence. Jess, like Manx, looked drained but in control, seeming touchstones of sanity in a world of madness. Glowering on a beanbag, Paige sat with both arms crossed, a ferocious kewpie doll, which left only Laine, her pale blue eyes and porcelain face as inscrutable as stone. Solace had no idea how she appeared to everyone else, but suspected her face was haggard. At the very least, she knew she was shaking: muscles in her arms and legs kept twitching uncontrollably, a body's worth of tics, and doubly so at every mention of Glide's name. She felt split in two, and such was the pain that even the Vampire Cynic remained silent.
It's all my fault
.

‘No,’ said Laine, startling everyone from their individual silences. ‘It's not.’ She fixed her gaze on Solace, fierce and sympathetic all at once.

Solace blinked, disoriented. ‘How did you –?’

‘Haven't you noticed? We're all mad, here.’ Laine had cut her neatly off, as dry and self-deprecating as always. At Solace's uncomprehending look, she smiled without humour. ‘Psychic. Memorise and move on.’

‘Okay, not to stir things up, but I think we're all missing the point,’ said Evan, breaking the moment suddenly. ‘It doesn't matter why we didn't hear or know where Glide's gone. The point
is
that whoever took him must've had a reason and we're pretty damn sure they're like us – that they're Rare, I mean. They haven't left a note, and if they just wanted to kill him without anything in return, there'd be no point in taking the body. So whatever else has happened, I'm betting he's still alive and that somebody knows where he is.’

‘Who?’ asked Solace, more desperately than she intended. Evan stared, but softly, without sting.

‘
Please
don't tell me I'm the only who's thought about this, because that would mean the Apocalypse is nigh and there's a lot I still want to do before my death.
Lukin
will know. He must! How much of a coincidence is this, anyway – we meet up with a guy who
just happens
to be researching the Rare, who does tests on us, and in whose dungeon Solace meets her faceless man, but just as soon as we give him Glide's survey, Glide disappears? Personally? The connection isn't hard to see.’

‘My brother is making sense,’ Jess mumbled. ‘I need a drink.’

‘We drank it all,’ said Paige and Tryst, automatically. Both blinked at their unintentional synchronicity.

At any other time, it would have been funny.

‘We go to Lukin, then,’ said Solace, firmly. She stood, abruptly decisive. ‘Find Glide. Whoever wants in, get dressed. Five minutes: then we're gone.’ She paused, glancing around the room. Her expression softened. ‘Not everyone needs to come. One or two of us should stay here. Just in case.’

‘I probably wouldn't be much use anyway,’ Claire murmured apologetically.

Solace felt her heart clench. Who was she, to ask so much? Some of the tension went out of her, and as though it were a signal, Tryst and Phoebe elected to remain at the warehouse, too. Solace couldn't blame either of them.

‘I'm coming,’ said Paige.

‘Me too,’ echoed Laine, so quickly that Solace was sure she'd have copied the answer no matter what it had been. She didn't like the idea of bringing along two people who clearly disliked one another, but there was no point in wasting time arguing.

‘Okay,’ she said instead.

‘Me too,’ said Harper. Solace smiled gratefully. She had no objections there: she didn't know what Trick Harper might have up his sleeve, but he seemed to be the biggest, fittest one among them. Nodding at her, he placed a lean, brown hand on Paige's shoulder.

‘Wherever the pixie goes, so go I,’ he added, by way of explanation.

‘As do we,’ said Electra, with surprising vehemence. Evan, Jess and Manx all stood. ‘Agreed, then? Good.’

Having been the first one up, it was only Solace who needed to dress, and so, at Jess's timely reminder, she rushed upstairs to do so. Midway through donning her coat and boots, it suddenly occurred to her to bring the key to Starveldt.
If nothing else, it might convince Lukin of who I am
, she thought, but the truth was that she didn't want to leave it unattended, now that she knew what it represented. Tucking it into her right-hand pocket, she gave her mother's book a pat for good luck and hurried back to the others.

Outside, the air was chill, but pleasantly so, the crispness helping to dissipate the last residual dregs of tiredness, if not their collective nerves. They'd been walking for five minutes when Manx pointed out that Sydney Uni was a likelier destination than either the Town Hall or the Galleries Victoria, as it housed Lukin's actual office. After a brief discussion, the others agreed, and so they changed course at the next intersection, walking in a string of pairs as they picked up the pace: Electra with Manx, Solace with Paige, Jess with Harper and Laine with Evan, all of them swift and silent.

At the edge of Elizabeth Park, Solace took the lead, trudging determinedly up a concrete path overshadowed by fat-waisted, crook-limbed trees. An artificial lake gleamed dimly under lights, while the air was thick with the rustlings, honks and occasional swan-cries of the local birdlife. Blood thumped through her veins. She could
feel
her night vision straining, frustrated by the lack of total dark. Aggravated, she shook her head fiercely, determined to concentrate on – what? For the first time since acknowledging her vampirism, the thought of embracing it didn't scare her. The rapid march and crisp air had cleared her head, transmuting guilt into anger via some internal alchemy. Anger felt
good
.

Spreading out, they ascended the cold stone steps to the university grounds proper. Ahead of them, the Great Hall loomed over its tiny hill, dwarfed in size by the nearby library but refusing to be cowed. A road snaked through the campus, bending away over a slight rise. From the same direction came the dull bass thuds of loud music, and more faintly, the tinkling, shouting, shattering, yelling, laughing sound of students getting drunk.

‘Manning Bar's down there,’ said Laine, somewhat abruptly.

Evan snorted. ‘No offence, but as much as I appreciate the sentiment, cowboying up for a wild adventure hardly seems appropriate.’

‘I can read minds,’ Laine retorted, bluntly. ‘Remember? And from skimming yours, I know what Lukin looks like. Get me close enough, I can scan the crowd and see if anyone recognises him – or, more importantly, knows where to find his office.’

‘Now
that
,’ Jess murmured, not without envy, ‘is a
plan
.’

The closer they came to the bar, the louder things got.

‘How close do you need to be?’ asked Manx. The Goth girl closed her eyes, then opened them again. They were about a hundred metres from the bar, which was located on the top floor of the Manning building.

‘Not much closer,’ Laine said. ‘Most of their brains are all drunk-fuzzy. It makes specific thoughts harder to read, but it leaves their memories unguarded.’

They stopped underneath the balcony, sheltering in the shadows as Laine, seemingly on autopilot, laid her hands flat on a nearby table, causing it to vibrate slightly. Her lips twitched as if she were talking to herself, although no sound came out. Solace raised an eyebrow at Paige, remembering Jess's casting, but the short girl shook her head.

‘It's all right. This is normal.’

‘Lukin,’ murmured Laine. Her eyes snapped open. She blinked rapidly, turning to Manx. ‘I know where to find his office. It's near the Great Hall.’

‘Good.’ Solace's voice was soft, forceful.

Silent except for the tread of feet, Laine took the lead alongside Solace, turning up towards a venerable stone building and taking the old broad stairs two at a time. Passing under an open archway, they were momentarily cloaked in the shadow of statues, guardians of a small museum. Then they were free, standing on the flagstones of a walkway surrounding a square inner lawn: a quadrangle. A thin, pale moon filtered down through a weeping jacaranda tree in the right-hand corner of the grass, muting its purple-to-blue-fringed charcoal. The open square of the Hall defined the quad on all sides, while the tallest shadow of the clock tower smudged the central pathways. Laine paused only for a moment before leading them unerringly to the left and around the corner.