Solace & Grief (23 page)

Clearly insulted, he crouched down, growled to himself, leapt valiantly across the gap, and almost fell to his death. While his head, chest and front paws made it through the window, his hind legs and tail were left to dangle unceremoniously out, causing more than one person to wince at the harsh scrabble of claws on brick. With a loud, high-pitched yowl and to the considerable cringing of Evan, who hadn't looked away, Manx changed back into human form just in time to grab hold of the inside wall, wriggling uncomfortably through. His friends gave a collective sigh of relief.

‘I forgot he'd be naked!’ Evan moaned, making a show of rubbing his eyes.

Jess picked up Manx's discarded clothing and threw it at her brother. ‘Make sure to give him these, then.’

Quietly, they waited for Manx to reappear. After about a half a minute there was a thudding sound from inside the house, followed shortly by a slightly ominous crunching. With a discordantly cheerful
clink
! the door opened fractionally. Solace wasn't alone in holding her breath, and when Manx's head peeked out, both she and Electra breathed sighs of relief.

‘There's just a slide-bolt in here,’ he said. ‘Well, among other things. Anyway, that keyhole seems to be just for show. The door opens now.’

‘So we can see,’ said Evan dryly.

A hand thrust out.

‘Just give me my pants, will you?’

‘With
pleasure
.’

Inside, the building revealed itself as an impressive find. It was two storeys tall, and as Manx had intimated before letting them in, was far from empty. Milk crates, cardboard boxes, some old chairs and a makeshift table made from bricks and a large square of wood filled the downstairs area, together with an assortment of random utensils that were either rusting, broken or of indiscernible purpose. Upstairs, on the other hand, was almost entirely bare, except for an old double mattress laid out in the corner opposite the window.

It was here that the little cat was sitting, holding one white-gloved paw out in front of her as she washed it clean.

‘Why did you bring us here?’ Solace asked.

Somewhat typically, the cat ignored her in favour of grooming. It wasn't until Solace had turned to head back downstairs that she received any kind of an answer.
I was bored
> said the cat.
And the Big One opened the door
>

‘But you can get in through the window!’

The door is easier
>

‘And you don't mind if we stay here?’

The little cat glared at her, stretched, and began kneading the mattress, curling herself into a ball.
Human, you talk too much. Do what you wish, but be silent
!>

‘Well, that's generous of you,’ Solace said, then shook her head. ‘Wait. Why am I even
asking
?’

I am uncertain. Please stop
>

Solace opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again. ‘Fine. But only because I want to!’

Insolent human
>

‘Cats,’ muttered Solace, heading back downstairs.

W
hatever Solace thought of the little cat, she had to admit that the house was a fortunate find, and said so.

‘It's nice,’ agreed Paige. ‘Empty at the moment, but nice. And big. Could fit us all in easily. If nothing else, it's a roof over our head, and enough space to swing a cat. Metaphorically speaking,’ she added, when Evan raised an eyebrow.

‘Speaking of which, that cat upstairs was really talking to you?’ Harper asked.

Manx nodded.

‘To Solace, too.’ He turned to her. ‘You're sure you've never spoken to cats before? Because – and no offence to – Evan it just doesn't seem like a language
thing
.’

Solace put a hand on her heart. ‘I solemnly swear, sir, that I have never spoken to any cats, strange or otherwise.’ Something niggled at her. ‘Although…’

She let the sentence trail away, struck by a sudden memory. The first time she'd seen the faceless man, there'd been a cat in the alley, small and grey. At the time, she'd been too terrified to pay much attention to her surroundings, but now, thinking about it, other details started to come clear. Could a cat have spoken to her then? The more Solace considered it, the more she was convinced. Someone else
had
been in that alley – had told her to run – and the fact that the only possible candidate had four paws and a mouse fixation seemed increasingly less like a non sequitur.

Seeing her expression, Evan raised an eyebrow. Haltingly, Solace explained, eyes darting periodically upwards as she did so.

When she finished, Paige frowned. ‘And you think this cat… is that cat?’

‘No. Maybe. I mean, it could be. It's a bit coincidental, isn't it?’

‘It's creepier than that,’ said Evan, laughing. ‘You've got a stalker. A
girl
stalker. And she's even bought you a house!’

‘Gross!’ Jess whacked him in the ribs. Evan made a strained sound not unlike a pillow being hit with a sturdy piece of two-by-four.

Harper rescued the conversation. ‘Do you think she'll stick around?’

Manx shrugged. ‘Only if and when it suits her. Why?’

‘Just curious. She's a funny little duchess.’

Manx laughed. ‘That's a good name for her. She'd like that, if you told her – Duchess.’

‘Hey,’ said Electra, suddenly. ‘While I'm thinking of it, does anyone want me to bring their stuff over from the basement?’

All eyes turned towards her. She smiled under the scrutiny.

‘You can
do
that?’ asked Laine, only a little sceptical.

Electra shrugged. ‘I found the morgue, didn't I? It's kind of odd how my Trick works. Most of the time I just find things that are lost, but for a while now I've been able to locate and bring objects I've seen before, but which aren't with me. I never used to be able to.’

‘Maybe it's like your body and exercise?’ Evan suggested. ‘The more you use it, the stronger it gets.’

‘You couldn't bring the beds, could you?’ Jess asked hesitantly. ‘I wouldn't ask, but I think we're all dying for a good night's sleep, and given that there's already a mattress upstairs, we might just get one.’

Electra frowned for a moment, then nodded.

‘I
think
I can manage that. I'll be a bit woozy afterwards, but it'll be worth it.’ She chewed her lip. ‘Hang on. I'll go upstairs – we can put them there.’

Electra's Trick was puzzling to Solace. At times it seemed as if the smallest acts, such as locating a key, could drain her utterly, and yet, although she did need to lie down after transporting Jess and Evan's beds, her exhaustion didn't seem proportional to what she'd done.

‘Another mystery of the Rare,’ said Manx, when she mentioned this to him. They were sitting on the stairwell, and except for Harper, who was in the lounge, the others were all lolling about upstairs. Fishing around in his pocket, Manx pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. He offered it to Solace, but she refused.

‘You may as well get used to it. The world may be weird, but sometimes, you've just got to roll with the weirdness. Let it be dull, and be happy.’

Solace shook her head. ‘No. I don't think I will. Or at least, I shouldn't.’

Manx stared at her quizzically.

Frustrated, she struggled to articulate the thought. ‘It's like for years, I thought I was the only one. A freak. I stayed so quiet, hid so well, but the system still washed off me,
over
me, like it was water and I was stone. And then I left. I ended up here, with seers and psychics and giant cats, and the rules
changed
, Manx. My old life was a lay-down misere, but that never meant I didn't want to play. And now I'm here, and the cards keep changing, but that's okay, because the game does, too. And even with Lukin and Sanguisidera, even with the fire and things I can't control, I still don't believe for an instant that all this wonderful, crazy, stupid, ugly, beautiful, miraculous Rarity should ever be
dull
. No. Because that's the death of a thousand cuts, isn't it? That's what was killing me before, back at the group home – the idea that life could never be grand or interesting or spontaneous, just because I knew how things worked. I didn't know it then, but I wanted to live in a different world. And now I do. I found the magic door. But, Manx, even if I were only human, I still would've wanted exactly the same thing. It's what everyone wants – some extraordinary explanation for why their life is tedious. When really, all they've forgotten is how to ask questions, or how to see the absurdly wonderful in the everyday; or maybe they never knew how to begin with. So no, I'll never get used to it. I live in the world, and damned if I'm going to spend one more day pretending it's only shades of grey, or just black and white. Oil burns and crystal breaks, but they both bleed rainbows.’

Solace fell silent, out of breath. The words had just poured out of her, as though they'd been stoppered up behind some disused mental spigot. Looking at Manx's strange expression, she felt her cheeks flame red, and braced for the inevitable mockery. But it didn't come. Manx kept watching her, catlike, for a full five seconds, as though daring her to say any more. And then he laughed, softly.

‘Crazy vampire poet. Whatever you're on, I want.’

Solace blushed even harder.

‘Hey!’ Harper called out suddenly. ‘Come down here!’

Grateful for the interruption, Solace obeyed and Manx followed, leaving the others where they were. Downstairs, Harper had pulled the makeshift table to one side and was crouched over the floor, balancing intently on his haunches. It took a moment for Solace to realise that his fingers were under the edge of something. She raised an eyebrow, curious.

‘I think it's a trapdoor!’ he exclaimed. ‘Give us a hand?’

Sliding her fingers carefully beneath the splintery wood, Solace relieved Harper of the weight. It didn't seem so heavy to her, but just to be on the safe side, she threw all her strength into pulling it up.

There was a wrenching, tearing snap. Guiltily, Solace set down the square trapdoor hatch, which she had ripped from the floor in its entirety. Manx and Harper crowded close, staring into the resultant aperture. To the casual observer, it looked as if someone had laid a square of black fabric across the floor. Whatever was down there, it wasn't lit.

‘What is it?’ Solace asked.

By way of answer, Manx bent down and picked up the head of an old garden tap from the floor. Hefting it experimentally in his palm, he bounced it once or twice before dropping it into the hole.

‘One,’ he said, counting the seconds. ‘Two. Three. Fo –’

Clank.

‘That sounded like concrete,’ Solace said. Without waiting for a response, she stepped lithely into the open air above the hole and dropped down into it. Manx began to swear, but the
thud
! of Solace's landing cut him off.

‘I'm fine!’ she called up, before anyone could ask.

‘You're an idiot, you know that? Bloody vampires!’ Manx yelled, leaning closer to the darkness for better effect. A chuckle drifted back.

‘What's down there?’ Harper asked. There was a pause.

‘Old pipes, I think,’ came the answer. ‘Or maybe part of the sewers? The ground's dry, though – dry concrete. It could be anything.’

‘Great,’ Manx grunted, ‘fabulous. Now tell me – how will you get back up? I only
ask
because –’

‘Harper? Can you come down here?’ Solace called, ‘I need some fire.’

Manx glared first at the hole, then switched his gaze to Harper. ‘Don't,’ he warned.

Harper grinned broadly, offering a lopsided shrug. ‘Coming from someone who was hanging out a window not long ago,’ he said, dangling his legs down experimentally, ‘that doesn't mean much.’ Gingerly, he rested his weight on his hands and began to slide forwards, lowering himself down the drop. ‘Almost nothing, in fact.’

‘Well, it bloody well should – and for the same reason!’

But Harper's head had already vanished from sight. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Manx scratched the back of his head and stood away from the hole. Something didn't feel
right
. If he'd been in feline form, his fur would have stood on end, and he'd have been fearful that something bigger, stronger and infinitely more dangerous had entered his territory.

‘Be careful!’ he called down, uselessly.

There was no answer.

‘Well, it looks like everyone else has just about conked out,’ remarked Evan, sauntering downstairs. Seeing the hole, he frowned. ‘What's happening?’

Manx ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, feeling his teeth lengthen, sharpen and return to normal.

‘Nothing good,’ he muttered.

Underground, Harper winced. Although athletic, there was really no way to adequately prepare one's knees for the jarring crunch of such a drop. It wasn't the height so much as being unable to gauge where the ground was, and as a result, his legs had been straight on landing. Grunting in reaction, he brushed what he imagined to be dust from his sides and back, calling Solace.

Feather-soft in the darkness, a hand touched his face.

‘Here,’ Solace said. ‘Light us up?’

‘Fair enough.’

Breathing deeply, he summoned his Trick. A moment passed. At first, as usual, it seemed like nothing had happened. Then his skin began to tickle, slow and sweet. A soft glow emanated from the backs of his hands, pinkish through the translucency of his skin, as though each palm were folded over a lit torch. He brought his fists up to chest height and spread out his fingers, revealing two handfuls of crackling, crimson fire. Light and shadow flickered into life.

They looked around. As Solace had said, they were in a kind of concrete pipe extending in both directions. The hole through which they'd dropped cut through a large portion of the pipe-top, with the dirt and foundations above shored up by timber shafts. Looking down, Harper caught sight of the tap-head that Manx had dropped.

‘We're all right!’ he called out, and as an afterthought stood underneath the aperture, so that he was visible to those above, fire and all. Manx and Evan glared down at him.

‘I've got a bad feeling!’ Manx shouted. ‘Whatever you're doing, make it quick, okay?’

‘No worries!’ Stepping back, Harper slid the flame from his right hand to his left, creating a larger, single light-source. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked Solace.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I trust Manx. It's just…’ Her voice trailed off.

Puzzled, Harper watched as she shook her head and straightened up.

‘There's some writing over here,’ she said abruptly. ‘I can see in the dark, but not well enough to read by – at least, not to read this.’ Moving along through the left-hand part of the pipe, she bent down and traced her fingers across a section of the concrete, then dropped to her haunches in front of it.

Harper had to squint to even see, let alone identify the marks as writing. At first glance, the marks appeared no more conspicuous than any other scratch or scuff-mark. Crouching closer, however, his fire revealed a series of tiny indented scratches, regular enough to form a sharp, runic script. Peering more carefully still, he realised the marks were coloured a dull rust-red in the centre, painted with considerable precision.

‘Can you read it?’ he asked.