A Crack in Everything (14 page)

Soldiers, Jinx had called them, assassins and killers. From the tone of the voice in her head, his description had fallen short of the mark. Zealots and fanatics, more like.

She took a breath to calm herself and then found the strength to glare at Blythe. ‘Well, if I’m going to get ready I need privacy.’

Without another word, the Cú Sídhe walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Damn
, thought Izzy.
I should have asked for some light as well. Bitch
.

But what good would it do? The only way out of this was to go through with it. And hopefully find Jinx again.

She slid out of her clothes and into the dress. They hadn’t thought of shoes. Or underwear, of course. Well, she’d have to do. Goddess or not, whatever she was. Thank God she still had her boots. They might not go with the required masquerade costume, but who gave a toss about that?

‘You’re unarmed. You’re walking into danger.’
The angel’s voice softened to gentleness. Genuine concern coloured the words.

Izzy turned to her clothes and pulled the iron knife from her jacket pocket. She wasn’t going anywhere without that. It might not be much, but it was iron and that counted for something. She slipped it up one of the long, close-fitting
sleeves and it rested there, very cold, against her skin.

‘How’s that?’

There was no reply, but she sensed the angel’s satisfaction. It purred like a cat at the base of her brain.

Izzy unclipped her hair and shook it out but before she could put it up again the door re-opened.

‘Good,’ said Blythe, examining her with a single glance. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I will be with you. Where you walk so shall I, to shield and comfort. Do not fear, Isabel. I am with you.’

Sure. Just like that. It sounded like the angel was singing the words. Izzy swallowed down fear. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Fourteen

Collared and Bound

I
zzy’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, though Blythe moved without a sound.

‘Where’s Jinx?’ Izzy asked again. She didn’t get an answer. Blythe wasn’t in a talkative mood. Maybe she didn’t approve of Izzy getting this so-called audience. She didn’t seem to approve of anything connected with humans at all.

The ceiling opened out above them, and they stepped into a cavern, deep inside the hill that Izzy thought she knew like the back of her hand, a vast chamber like a bronze dome, the walls hung with heavy drapes and portraits, with burning torches. Between the tapestries, and behind the torches, the walls were lined with the same polished bronze. It reflected the light, casting an infernal glow back again and again, illuminating everything in the chamber. Positively medieval. Nothing like the modern nightclub that Silver had made of
her hollow. A world away. Millennia away.

Izzy could only stare. She tilted her head to look at the vaulted ceiling, high above them. Lanterns hung there, like stars in the sky. She didn’t want to think about how they were lit. The idea made her dizzy.

All around her, Sídhe of varying natures gathered, like any crowd in a large space, clustered in groups, lost in their own conversations with no single focus for them. That all changed as she passed. The voices fell silent, and eyes as sharp as any thorn latched onto her. Hair, skin, eyes and clothes varied through every colour imaginable, and they were taller and smaller than any human. These fae were less human-like than any she had seen so far. Izzy held her head up high. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by them. She thought of Mum, of the way she held herself, of Dad’s calm self-assurance. And she walked past them without giving them the benefit of seeing the nerves rioting inside her.

She wished Jinx was here, and quickly shoved that need aside. A weakness she couldn’t afford, one that might leave her helpless.

Up ahead, the patterned marble of the floor came to a halt and a pool spread out. The water came right up to the ground, a smooth line unbroken but for the soft ripples that every so often shook the surface. It looked like a mirror. A dais rose from the centre. A throne dominated it. And in front of the throne, a flame.

It burned brightly, without any source or fuel, but it hung
there, incandescent in the still chamber. It joined with the torchlight and amplified it.

Blythe stopped at the water’s edge and Izzy came to a halt beside her, staring into the brightness.

‘Bring him out,’ Blythe called.

A scuffle heralded a group of warriors bundling a shackled prisoner between them. Izzy’s eyes widened as she recognised Jinx, but she held herself cautiously, careful not to react. He looked wretched, but when he saw her, pulled himself upright and tried to shake them off.

Proud, she thought. And strong. Noble, even in captivity.

And really, really stupid.

He had fought them. That much was clear. Bruised and battered, his body had taken one hell of a beating. A collar circled his neck, ornately decorated silver, and chains ran down to similar cuffs at his wrists. Beneath the skin was red and raw, as if the metal had burned him. Izzy’s stomach tightened just looking at him. Pain was a constant ghost in his steely eyes. Not the after-image that always lingered there. This was fresher, stronger. Agony.

What had happened? What had he done? Last time she saw him, Jinx and the Cú Sídhe seemed like long-lost friends.

Jinx and his guards stood behind her and Izzy had to fight the urge to turn around and hurl a hundred questions at him. He was in no position to answer them. Her heart beat faster. This was wrong. So very wrong. All her instincts were screaming at her. Everything had gone wrong.

‘You must not panic.’

Shut up
, she thought desperately.
I don’t need you distracting me now, mad voice in my head.

‘I can help you.’

No. Shut up and go back to being imaginary.

A curious sense of the importance of this moment spread over her, as if so much hinged on what happened here, as if a mistake now could cost lives – namely hers and Jinx’s. She felt like someone else. Not a teenage girl whose biggest worry was upcoming exams and whether she’d still have a job at the coffee shop come Monday morning.

Her dad’s life was tied up in this too. Had it really been an accident? Or had it been deliberate? She didn’t know, but someone did. Someone knew what this was all about, why she was so important that an angel chose its moment to fall so it would be near her, so important that every supernatural thing seemed to want her, so important that the spark was eating into her. She caught her train of thought and almost laughed.
‘Important’
wasn’t a word for her.
‘Cursed’
, perhaps, but not
‘important’
.

She was never going to be normal again.

Izzy closed her eyes tightly and forced her breath to calm. In through the nose, out through the mouth, a wave on the beach, just like the mental yoga-pimping drama teacher at school liked to say. The shock was that it worked. Would she get a surprise when Izzy told her in September? If they made it to September. Next week was looking decidedly dodgy.
And as for tomorrow …

Izzy opened her eyes again and allowed herself to glance at Jinx. He’d fallen, or been beaten to his knees. The glare he gave her wasn’t exactly friendly. She knew it though, the same way he’d looked at her in his Cú Sídhe form, before she’d pulled the knife out. He wanted to change. But couldn’t.

The silver collar. It was something to do with silver, the way it burned him. But he wore silver studs and rings, didn’t he? He touched silver every single day.

This couldn’t be good. It couldn’t be good at all.

‘We’re here, Matriarch,’ said Blythe, her voice measured with respect and more than a little fear. That worried Izzy more than anything. If a bitch like Blythe was afraid, what was the matriarch going to do?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Wave on the shore. Calm, calm, freaking calm.

Her hand shook and for a moment she worried that the knife would fall out. She bent her elbows slowly, carefully, and clasped her hands in front of her.

The fire flared, even more brightly, the warm gold bleeding to the edges while the centre turned white hot.

And in the middle of the inferno, a figure formed, slender and flame-haired with piercing eyes. The woman stepped forth, formed of fire itself, and smiled victoriously at Izzy. She wore an elaborate necklace like a swirl of gold, set with a huge chunk of amber which flickered like a flame.

She didn’t look quite as she had. There was nothing human
about her at all now. All the same, Izzy couldn’t help but recognise her – the nurse who wasn’t a nurse. The woman from the hospital.

‘You!’ Izzy cried, before she could stop herself.

Blythe hissed at her and Jinx paled, but the woman – the matriarch of the Hill Sídhe – just laughed. It wasn’t a comforting sound.

‘Yes. Me. You left the hospital so quickly I didn’t have time to introduce myself.’

Anger replaced shock. So much anger she thought that she might burn with incandescent flames as well. ‘What did you do to my father?’

‘
Do
to him? What did I
do
to him? Nothing, you stupid child. But together we might have healed him. You spoiled that. You and that bitch he calls his wife.’

That did it. Izzy snapped. ‘Don’t you dare talk about my mother that way!’ she screamed.

Blythe raised a fist ready to strike, but the matriarch let out a snarl of rage. The Cú Sídhe fell back, her face startled and confused. And more than a little afraid.

‘Never harm what is mine, Blythe. Never raise a hand to her. You are nothing compared to her. Remember that.’

Deathly silence fell across the hollow. All Izzy could hear was the sound of her own breath, heaving in and out of her body, waves on the shore beaten by a hurricane.

The matriarch stepped forward, onto the pool of water, but she didn’t sink. Her feet touched the water’s surface and it
boiled beneath them. Steam flared up around her and her flame-red hair billowed out in her wake. Izzy took an involuntary step of retreat as the woman approached, but they still ended up standing face to face on the edge of the water.

‘She isn’t your mother, foolish child. I am.’

Izzy’s body spasmed, ice cold with shock, rigid with rage. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true! She opened her mouth, struggled to find the right words. Only one came out.

‘No.’

Her mother? It wasn’t possible. Her mother was Rachel Gregory, neat and exact, far too intelligent for a daughter’s peace of mind. Her mother … her mother was nothing like the almighty bitch in front of her.

‘No?’ The matriarch sneered. ‘Your father is a Grigori. A Watcher. He knows his duty and his place. He didn’t argue. He was a dutiful lover.’ Izzy’s stomach twisted and her disgust must have shown on her face. He’d never do that, never betray Mum like that. Of all the things Izzy knew to be true and real, her parents’ relationship was the strongest of all. The matriarch flapped a hand at her, dismissing of her reaction. ‘Oh, he talked about his young bride, his love and all those other things men say, but in the end he did his duty. We needed a warrior, a vessel for divine power, and in time a new Watcher to take his place. Someone stronger. The mortal blood was thinning down the Grigori. It had made him weak. I was the best option and as part of the Grand Compact I complied. He obeyed. And what did it get us?
You
.’ Loathing
riddled the word.

It was like a physical blow, but Izzy stood her ground. What else could she do? Run now – not that she’d get far – and she’d never find out the truth.

Dad’s mistake, his terrible mistake …

Mum – would never look at Izzy like that. Mum who had held her and sung to her, soothed her or scolded her. Mum of the plasters and the kid’s cough syrup, the hugs for no reason. Mum who turned up on Sports Day in the rain with a massive umbrella and a flask of hot chocolate. Mum who took her to lame Irish attempts at theme parks and woeful movies where they should have served the adults neat vodka instead of popcorn. Mum, who encapsulated the word.

This …
thing
… was not her mother.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Brí, I guard this place, stand vigil over the weak points in the world. I was once held to be a living goddess. I guard your whole line, the Grigori, the Watchers. I am one of those who see to it your family does their duty. And duty overrules everything else.’

‘And what’s our duty?’

‘To maintain balance, of course. Balance in all things. Except, it seems, you.’

Balance, that’s what Dad had been on about, last summer at Clonmacnoise. Tears stung her eyes like acid.

‘You could have healed him, Isabel,’ said Brí, her voice so soft and warm it drifted on the air around her.

‘And when did you give her that option?’ Jinx asked, his eyes still wild with pain, his teeth clenched.

But it struck Izzy in another sickening wave of realisation. ‘At the hospital.’ Her voice grated on her throat. Her chest ached. ‘You gave me water at the hospital.’

‘You’re meant to be a grail bearer. It’s in your blood.’

‘What grail? It was a plastic cup!’ Izzy yelled.

Anger fired Brí’s voice. ‘It was water, blessed by me, carried by you. It was a grail, no matter what it looked like. Do you think I could just walk into a hospital in the human world with a magic cup and go unnoticed? I cloaked it, disguised it as something mundane. You have no idea how much power it took, how much time … And what does it matter? It’s gone now, destroyed, lost. It would have healed him, woken him, but what did you do?’

She could see it now, the crushed plastic cup, a pool on the lino, dripping down the side of the cabinet. It might have woken him?

‘I spilled it.’ All she could manage was a whisper, and a broken one at that. The fight died inside her. It had been a chance, a test perhaps, and she’d failed. Failed utterly.

‘Spilled it,’ Brí echoed, her voice strangely flat. ‘And crushed the grail underfoot. Well done. You’re useless. All of you. Selfish, petty creatures with no vision beyond your own needs. I have done with you all. I have done with humanity.’

‘Can’t you do it again? Can’t I try again?’

‘What, just like that? Just pull another grail out of the air for
you? And have the spark you carry destroy it again?’

‘Destroy it? How could the spark destroy it? There was a shadow …’

‘It’s too late now. Besides, I don’t have the power anymore. My grail is gone.’

‘Please, help me. For Dad.’

Brí’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Do you think he means something to me? He’s just a tool. As are you.’

‘So that’s it?’ Jinx interrupted again. ‘She fails you by accident and that’s all her chances. There were shades all over that hospital, and angels outside waiting for us. But you blame Izzy. Some mother you are. Not so much a mother as a motherfu—’

Brí flung out her hand and Jinx arched in agony, his voice choked to silence, his muscles ratcheting as the silver heated to white at his neck and wrists. A strangled cry forced its way through his clenched teeth and his nails sliced into his palms as his body tried to shift to hound-form in vain.