Solace & Grief (6 page)

‘Well,’ he conceded, plucking a cigarette from behind his right ear and lighting up with a yellow plastic Zippo from his pocket, ‘maybe a little. But you're welcome just the same. We're not the most normal bunch you're likely to find, though – sure you can handle us?’

Remembering the bouncer, Solace only grinned.

I
t was, Solace thought, approximately Wednesday. Since moving into the warehouse a week and a half ago, she had discovered quite quickly that absenting oneself from the regimen of calendars, lessons, television schedules, and failing those, any pressing need to be somewhere else introduced a whole new concept of time. Time existed, but only in the sense that yesterday had become today and today would, sooner or later, become tonight, which was general cause for heading down to the Gadfly.

Of her old life, the only things Solace missed were the books, which had, apart from Mrs Plumber and Miss Daisy, been her only childhood constants. Now that she finally
had
friends, however, the notion of skiving off to read, alone, didn't seem particularly social, and smacked of being unadventurous. Actually having an option on how to spend her leisure time was a novelty all by itself, with boredom not only off the map, but torn out of the atlas and wedged firmly under a wonky table leg. Once she'd recognised restraint as the key to happy alcoholic consumption, the Gadfly had opened up a world of unprecedented pleasure, and as being thus enlight-ened was both comic and extremely sociable, she drank the experience down like a fine array of spirits.

It was funny, Paige had remarked, that everyone now called the club by name. Up until Solace had thought to ask, it had only ever been referenced by dint of vague aphorism and collective knowledge – ‘the regular place’ or ‘the Downstairs Club’ – despite the fact that the regular pattern of late-night visits was fast turning Solace nocturnal. Otherwise, they made their own fun, lazing around, going for night-walks through the nearby streets, chatting, arguing, joking, and in the case of Evan, concocting half-baked plans for entertainment that always fell through, but which nonetheless afforded an amusement all of their own. It was amenable, aimless, self-oriented, and like all such things, thoroughly enjoyable, as far removed from the group home as apples from aardvarks. Solace thrived.

Still, Manx's flippant comment about abnormality had, for one reason or another, stuck in her mind. Given her upbringing, there were some aspects of normal that Solace doubted she'd recognise if they were brought to her asleep on a chair, but even so, once the whirlwind exhilaration of independence had started to die down, she found herself with several pressing questions. The foremost pertained to money, that is: there always being just enough of it, despite the blindingly obvious fact that nobody, least of all Solace, did anything whatsoever to generate income, something she felt increasingly guilty about. Drinks on her first night had been one thing, but as laid-back as everyone was about her lack of funds, she would still have preferred to pay her way rather than rely on credit. And yet, she was never quite sure who was shouting whom. What cash there was seemed too communal to belong to any one person, and despite having known them a relatively short time, she strongly doubted her new friends were thieves. Asking outright, however, felt unutterably rude; and yet there was no other way.

In the end, curiosity conquered caution. Solace resolved to ask Jess.

It was midmorning, a little more than two weeks since she'd first left the group home, and the day was dull. Unusually, both Evan and Manx were out and about, while Glide and Electra were, more predictably, still asleep upstairs. Jess herself was in the lounge, curled up on one of the hardier beanbags and flipping idly through a gossip magazine so outdated it looked like something a dentist's receptionist had thrown out. Not quite in danger of being spilt, a glass of milk lolled gently in her free hand. Solace wasn't sure where the milk had come from either, as nobody ever seemed to go shopping – another oddity, as there was always just enough food. Tense and slightly nervous, she sat down. Jess raised the milk in salute, a silent
good morning,
but otherwise didn't look up.

Solace took a deep breath, paused, and spoke.

‘Not to sound overly paranoid, but are we thieves?’

Jess flicked a page. ‘Nope.’

‘Right.’

Flick
.

‘So all this stuff is paid for? Somehow? Mysteriously?’

‘Nope.’

Flick
.

‘It's not.’

‘Nope.’

Flick
.

‘But not stolen.’

‘Nope.’

Flick
.

‘So where does everything come from?’

‘Everywhere and nowhere,’ Jess said calmly, sipping her drink. For the first time, she looked up. ‘We're just lucky. Electra's Trick is useful.’

‘Trick?’

Sighing, Jess closed the magazine and set it aside.

‘Not just a
trick
– a Trick, with a capital “T”. And that's what we call it.’ When Solace still looked puzzled, Jess waved her arms and tried to explain, slopping milk in the process. ‘She she can gather things,’ she said. ‘Call them, you know. Call what she needs.’ She chewed on her lip. ‘Or maybe it's what she wants, I forget. Anyway, the point is that it works. She can't ever get enough to let us live like kings – not that I think we'd want to, anyway – but enough. Always just enough.’

‘Jess, where does it come from?’ The skin at the top of Solace's spine was tingling. Had she not been paying attention already, she would have sat bolt upright.

‘Oh! We had a conversation about this once.’ Jess put the milk down and concentrated. ‘Um. I think Electra said it came from – from what was lost? Money and the things that end up lost. Or forgotten.’

‘And she finds it?’ Solace persisted.

Jess waggled a finger, exasperated. ‘No. It was lost, and when she calls, it comes. She… reaches out, somehow. Takes it. If she wants money, and money's been lost, then it comes. Food is different. It doesn't have to be mislaid, just unattended. Anyway, if she calls for edibles –’ she nodded at the milk, and grinned, ‘– then they come, too. Does that make sense?’

‘So… stuff just stops being where it was, and starts being here?’

‘
Yes
!’ Jess sighed again, looking relieved. ‘Or something like that.’

‘Oh.’

Jess frowned. ‘You believe me? Lots of people wouldn't. Lots of people
haven't,
come to that, although that might be because I'm usually drunk when I have this conversation. But it's morning. We're both sober.’ A slight pause. ‘We
are
sober, aren't we?’

‘No,’ said Solace, her voice sounding oddly distant. ‘I mean – yes. I believe you.’

‘Awesome,’ said Jess, grinning beneath a milk moustache.

Solace realised her heart was pounding.
There are other people like me,
she thought.
Others who are different. I was right. It isn't just me. It just
is.
And this Trick –

‘Want some milk?’ Jess asked slyly, peering over the top of her glass. Solace recovered her thoughts and made a face.

‘Will I have to get up?’

‘Maybe.’

‘In which case, I'm thinking no. Also, I'm allergic.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Somewhere behind them, the main door opened and shut.

‘Hey!’ Jess called out. There was the sound of footsteps, and a
thump
as whoever it was dropped a bag on the floor. By craning her head half around, Solace could see Evan and Manx, each carrying what looked like a small sheaf of paper.

‘Hello, ladies,’ Evan said, smirking. Manx grunted and helped himself to some of Jess's milk, which she protested only feebly. Both of the boys dropped their papers on the table, where, owing to an inherent stickiness, the bottom ones stuck and the top ones drifted askew.

‘What're those?’ yawned Electra, who had just that moment alighted from the base of the stairs. Solace was a little in awe of Electra, who was beautiful by anyone's standards. She was also, quite literally, the most colourful person in the warehouse, owing to her preference and habit of dressing, as Evan described it, like someone who'd fallen into a paint factory and dragged a hippy market with her. Today, she was dressed in a vivid, voluminous purple skirt and a black spaghetti tank, a pair of silver hoop earrings glittering just above her jaw. After Jess's strange description of Electra's Trick, Solace wondered whether or not it explained the colour and variety of her wardrobe – could she find things like clothes? Was finding things all she could do? Were –

‘Funny thing,’ said Manx, interrupting her train of thought. He indicated the papers. ‘Some uni students were handing them out.’

‘Where?’

‘The Town Hall steps. It's a survey, apparently. The guys handing them out seemed pretty keen, so we thought, why not? I said we'd take them back tomorrow.’

‘And we should go along with this why?’ Electra raised an eyebrow.

Evan grinned and shrugged. ‘Look at it as free paper with a free trip to the city thrown in. Also, they said they'd pay us.’

Electra made a face. ‘Got a pen I can borrow?’

By way of answer, Evan pulled a handful of cheap biros from his pocket, flourishing them grandly. Electra took one of them along with a survey. After a moment's pause, Solace and Jess did likewise. Quick on the uptake, Electra leaned forward, effectively monopolising the only clear part of the tabletop and thereby leaving the others to fend for themselves.

‘What'll you do with the leftovers?’ Jess asked, nodding towards the remaining forms.

Manx made a dismissive gesture. ‘I'll pass some on to Laine and the others. Failing that, Glide can have them when he gets up next.
If
he ever gets up,’ he amended, for the sake of accuracy.

Solace grinned despite herself. She'd met Glide once, which is to say, she'd run into him during one of his more lucid trips to the kitchen. It hadn't been made clear to anyone whether Glide took a lot of drugs, was out of it all the time by an accident of nature or was merely constantly tired; nonetheless, he spent most of his time asleep or dozing, and only very rarely left the warehouse.

Blinking, Solace looked at her survey, already grubby from even the barest contact with the table. Seated as she was on the old couch, she pulled up her knees and leaned the paper on her legs, reading as she did so. To start with, there were the obvious FAQ: name; age; gender; are you a student; are you working; are you on a scholarship, dole, pension or other fixed income; do you have a wife, husband, partner and/or an albino ferret called Norman; are you religious – and then, quite abruptly, the tone changed. Solace was not the only one to notice.

‘Question nine: Have you ever experienced, or do you possess, any supernatural powers or abilities? If yes, proceed to question ten,’ read Jess, and then answered, ‘yes.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ said Electra, as did, at the same time and to Solace's great surprise, Manx. There was a pause.

‘Yes,’ Jess said, gulping slightly. Evan raised an eyebrow.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Well – yes. If you want to get technical.’

Five pens dipped down. Five heads came up.

‘Question ten,’ read Manx. ‘Have you ever, through dreams, casting, fortune-telling, palm-reading, haruspication, communion with spirits or any other means, foretold the future? No.’

‘Yes,’ said Jess.

‘No,’ said Electra and Evan.

‘Yes,’ said Solace, her heart beating faster.

Five pens went down. Five heads came up.

‘Question eleven,’ Evan began, clearing his throat.

‘Are you
sure
this came from university students?’ Electra asked carefully.

‘Yes, and don't interrupt,’ replied Evan, somewhat loftily. ‘Now. Question eleven – oh.’ He paused. ‘Has anyone ever had congress with a demon? And don't say yes, Manx, Dahlia Stromberg doesn't count.’

‘Does,’ muttered Manx, but Solace saw him tick ‘no’, anyway, the same as everyone else.

‘My turn,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘Question twelve: Have you ever flown by any means other than parachuting, paragliding, hang-gliding, conventional aircraft or any such man-made contraption? No.’

‘No.’

‘No.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

That was Evan. Everyone stared.

‘All right, no.’ He exhaled grumpily. ‘I hate not being special.’

‘I guess that's me, then,’ said Electra, consulting her piece of paper. ‘Question thirteen: Other than any of the above questions answered in the affirmative, do you have any reason to suspect you are anything other, more or less, than human? If yes, describe below.’ She closed her eyes. ‘No.’

‘No,’ said Evan and Jess together.

‘Yes,’ said Solace and Manx. Both glared when the others looked at them.

‘That's private,’ Manx mumbled, holding his survey just a teensy bit closer so that Evan, who was trying and failing to peer subtly over his shoulder, couldn't read it.

‘Is there something on here
I
can say yes to?’ Evan complained. ‘I'm starting to feel left out.’

‘Yes,’ said Jess, who'd been reading ahead. ‘Right here, Question eighteen: Have you ever displayed any psychic and/or empathic tendencies?’

‘
Yes,
’ said Evan, more emphatically than was needed.

‘Yes,’ said Electra and Solace.

‘No,’ said Jess and Manx.

‘Great, now we've missed three,’ Manx grumbled. ‘Um, has anyone ever raised the un-dead, eaten human flesh or conducted an animal sacrifice? No? Sure? Good.’