A Crack in Everything (18 page)

His phone rang and he grabbed it, almost dropping it in his haste to see who it was. But when he looked at the name, he froze. With a shaking hand, he killed the call.

‘I’ve got to … I’m sorry. I need to …’ He swallowed hard and hurried from the room.

‘Dylan, just—’ she began, but stopped because she didn’t know what to say.

Then Mum said the impossible, grabbing her attention back to their call. ‘Was it Brí? Did she hurt you?’ Her voice changed subtly, harder, with hidden depths intimating an untold capacity for violence. ‘Izzy, answer me. Are you hurt?’

‘No. I … I’m fine. How … how do you know Brí? Mum? What’s going on? Is this—’ a dreaded word, a word she didn’t want to use, couldn’t use, had to. ‘Is this real?’

Mum hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes.’ Her breath down the phone was uneven, broken. ‘She was at the hospital. I didn’t recognise her at first. And by then you were gone. What happened to you? Are you safe, my love?’

Izzy glanced around the kitchen – at Jinx, standing by the open fridge, draining the last drops of a two-litre milk carton.

‘Yes, I’m safe. But Mum … I have the same mark as Dad. On my neck.’

‘That’s impossible.’

Izzy almost laughed. Of course it was impossible. It was
all
impossible. Of everything, Mum couldn’t believe the tattoo. ‘It’s true, Mum. There was a fallen angel and they say I got its spark and I—’

‘
Who
says? Who are you with?’

‘Dylan and … Jinx. He’s a … he’s a …’ Jinx caught her frantic gaze, still watching her like a scientist with an experiment, waiting to see how he was described. Izzy’s face turned scarlet. ‘He’s a friend.’

Her mum paused for a long and painful moment.

‘Is he Sídhe? Just say yes or no, quickly now.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, terrified. How could Mum, of all people, know any of this? How did she know about the Sídhe? About Brí? She spent her life on spreadsheets and business plans, on accountancy software and in boardrooms. It didn’t make any sense.

She sounded like a businesswoman now though. Every inch. ‘All right, now listen to me. You can’t trust him, not unless he’s bargain- or blood-bound at the very least. Even then … I want you to go out to the garage and get some iron, the older the better, a horseshoe or—’

A horseshoe? Where in God’s name did she think there was a horseshoe lying around the house?

‘Mum, it’s okay. Really. I think—’

‘Go out to the garage. There’s some under the tarp your Dad keeps beside his tools.’ Mum’s voice didn’t lose any suspicion. ‘Is he Brí’s kith? Or worse, her kin?’

‘No.’ It felt like a lie, like a betrayal. Jinx was looking at her,
silvery eyes never blinking. He looked more alien than ever. He still held the empty milk carton in his hand. He dwarfed everything around him.

‘Izzy,’ he said softly. ‘Just tell her everything. I’m Cú Sídhe. I’m geis- and blood-bound to you, but I’m Holly’s kith by right.’

Izzy repeated it, turning away from him as she did so. At Holly’s name her mother sucked in a frightened breath.

‘You still can’t trust him. Izzy, no matter what. Cú Sídhe loyalty may be one thing but a matriarch like—’

‘How do you know all this?’ Izzy screamed the words. Tears welled up again and tumbled down her face. She dashed them away angrily with her free hand. All she seemed to do these days was cry. That and be terrified. And run.

‘I haven’t spent all this time with your father and not learned a thing or two, Izzy. Maybe we should have told you all along, but I wanted you to have a normal life for as long as possible. I wanted—’

‘Is what Brí told me true? That you’re not my mother?’ The question came out before she could stop it. With it came rage, frustration and sheer terror, all the things she’d been locking deep inside her since her audience with Brí. It was brutal and harsh, like barbed wire cutting through to her heart.

‘I will
always
be your mother.’ Mum snarled the words. ‘No matter what that bitch tells you.
Always
, Izzy. Don’t forget that. My darling, you are my daughter even if she
is
the one who gave birth to you. And I’ll kill her before I’ll
let her hurt you.’

Izzy sank down to the tiled floor. Her head was spinning. It felt better to be near the ground. There wasn’t as far to fall. ‘What do you want me to do, Mum?’

‘I can’t leave your dad, Izzy. He’s vulnerable now and I have to guard him. But they know I’m here. And they know you’ll come.’ It wasn’t an answer, not really. Izzy couldn’t doubt that Mum wanted her close. But she was right. They’d already been at the hospital and she’d barely escaped. Only with Jinx’s help.

‘There’s a way to cure him. Something I can do. I have to try, Mum.’

‘No. I don’t want you in any more danger. Find somewhere to lie low. Maybe … maybe I can pull in a favour or two. Make a deal. Get in touch with your grandmother. Find someone—’

There was no arguing with her when she used that tone. Even if it was clear she didn’t know what they could do. Didn’t have a plan. Izzy, normally willing enough to oblige, felt a fierce rush of defiance. Mum couldn’t leave Dad, couldn’t go looking for a solution herself. Gran was on a cruise, too far to get home quickly. Who could Mum make a deal with? Given the deals Izzy had seen and heard of tonight – no. She couldn’t let Mum do anything so stupid. But Izzy could. If she could just get to the grail. And if Brí was right, Izzy was the only one who could use it as well.

‘Don’t do anything. Please, Mum. I’ll be in touch, okay. Keep him safe and I’ll find the grail.’

The noise of shouted protests rang tinny and distant from
the phone as Izzy lowered it from her ear and hung up.

She fixed Jinx with what she hoped was her most determined glare. ‘What do you mean, “geis- and blood-bound”?’

‘You saved my life, remember? You pulled the knife out. It means I have to help you, do what you want of me, in the simplest terms.’

‘Have to?’

He looked tired. She hadn’t noticed the weariness in his face before now. ‘Yes.’

‘Brí called you a slave.’

‘It amounts to the same thing.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Jinx shrugged. ‘There are many types of fae, most of them lesser – bodaich, merrow, leps and the like. And then there are Sídhe, the higher fae. But even there, we have a hierarchy. We’re big into one-upmanship. At the top of the pyramid are the Aes Sídhe, so powerful a group of Sídhe that as soon as they’re born, their ever-loving family lay some sort of riddling curse on them to make sure that they don’t get more powerful.’

‘And Brí gave you one?’

‘Not at first. She waited until she was sending me away.’

‘Maybe … maybe it was
because
she was sending you away. Holly wouldn’t accept you as Cú Sídhe. Maybe she was trying to make you more Aes Sídhe.’ Why she was trying to justify anything Brí did, she didn’t know, but the Cú Sídhe they’d met seemed to love her. They’d been horrified by what had
happened to Jinx. She didn’t need any fae-sight to see that.

‘
More Aes Sídhe
… like they or anyone else would want that. They don’t hand out geis for fun, Izzy. Some would argue I shouldn’t even have one – Cú Sídhe blood being lesser and all – but Brí is an untrusting bitch who wanted me to suffer for my father’s failure. So she cursed me with a geis that now makes me yours. Body and soul.’ He grimaced.

‘I’m sorry,’ Izzy whispered.

His eyes widened just for a moment, surprise flickering through their silvery depths. ‘That … that means a lot to me. Your human heart is strong to say such words. The Sídhe can never say them. They choke in our throats.’

‘We’ll find a way to break it, Jinx.’

That almost drew a smile from him, but such a brokenhearted smile she almost wished it hadn’t. ‘No, we won’t. Only death breaks a geis. But I thank you for the thought, Izzy. Really I do.’

Chapter Eighteen

All the Freaks

J
inx paced the kitchen, wishing they had more milk with which he could regain some strength, wishing he still had his mobile, but most of all wishing for the thousandth time he had not left Silver up there alone to wait for Holly’s wrath.

Family or not, Silver didn’t stand a chance before the displeasure of her mother and matriarch. And Jinx certainly didn’t; his slender blood relation to Holly was a frail thing indeed. His mother had betrayed her kith and kin for the love of a Cú Sídhe. He’d always thought Jasper had killed his mother. But even if he hadn’t, loving him had caused her death, after all. Even the Cú Sídhe didn’t really know what had happened. They’d believed the worst for years. Now he had the bones of the truth, if not the full body: Jasper had gone back to find Belladonna, leaving Jinx in the care of his pack. That it had all gone to hell wasn’t Jasper’s fault. His parents
had broken all the rules of Sídhe society. An Aes Sídhe, the daughter of a matriarch no less, with a Cú Sídhe sworn to an enemy … such things were impossible. Everything about their relationship was forbidden, on so many levels. And in the end, did it change anything? They were still dead. And he would be too, no doubt about that, one way or the other, and very soon. But he knew now that he hadn’t been forsaken. His father had gone back into his enemy’s hollow to fetch the woman he loved.

It’s what he would have done.

Once upon a time.

The Aes Sídhe valued matrilineal line. His mother, his grandmother … that was all they really cared about. That didn’t make his father any less important to him though. The Cú Sídhe were different. Everyone said so, usually in terms not half so politic.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, stand still,’ Izzy snapped at him. ‘Or better yet, sit down.’

He didn’t obey, not as such, but he came to a halt by her side. Even from there he could feel her body tremble.

‘Where’s Dylan?’ she asked. They both made for the door at the same time, but as they reached it they saw him, sitting at the foot of the stairs. He was cradling his mobile phone in his trembling hands and his face was pale and drawn. He stared at it, but he wasn’t using it. ‘Dylan?’ said Izzy tentatively.

‘I ought to go home,’ he replied, not to her directly it seemed, but to the air itself. ‘They keep ringing. They must be
terrified. But I can’t.’

‘Why won’t you go to them when they need you so?’ Jinx asked. Izzy sucked in a sharp breath at the question. Insensitive perhaps, in human terms. He was never sure of the nuances.’

‘Mari died because of all this.’ Dylan gestured towards the two of them. ‘Mari died because she was standing on the edge. Not even involved, just … just stumbling behind us. You heard what that demon said, Izzy. He’s watching us. He’s waiting. He’ll hurt my family too.’

‘You don’t know that,’ she said.

Dylan surged to his feet, any last vestige of colour draining from his features as rage took hold. ‘Were you listening to him? That’s what he said! It’s what Silver told me too. Or is it all about you, Izzy? Is everything about
you
now?’

Jinx slipped between them, reaching out his hand until it pressed against Dylan’s chest. To his surprise, the boy didn’t swing a punch or attack. He just froze for a moment and then wilted.

‘Come,’ Jinx whispered, taking the phone effortlessly from his clenched fingers. ‘Sit down. You need to rest as well and there was mention of food.’

Sit down, talk, find a solution, explain – these were all good plans for people with time. For people who were not being hunted by demons, angels and the entire fae realm.

People whose world had not just been turned upside-down.

He steered Dylan into a seat while Izzy set a teapot down between them. It was covered with a knitted cosy, each stripe
a more garish colour than the last. In the sleek lines of the stylish kitchen it spoke loudly of a family.

‘Izzy made it,’ said Dylan, in a small, broken voice. ‘We have one at home too. Hideous, isn’t it?’

No, it was strangely beautiful, though logic told him it shouldn’t have been. But before he could say it, Izzy was defending it herself, sort of.

‘We were nine,’ she protested. ‘Besides we had to. Mrs Mayhew got us to knit in Home Ec. while she staved off her hangovers. Mari’s was lovely. She knew how colours worked even then.’

Dylan blinked – his face showed that school and teachers and knitting, of all things, seemed so alien to him right now. Jinx pressed his hand against the small of Izzy’s back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She stiffened, her spine straightening, her body tightening. He started to withdraw, but her right hand caught his wrist, stopping him. The touch was electric, commanding, and he didn’t dare attempt a withdrawal again.

‘Where are your folks now?’ Izzy asked Dylan as she shifted a little closer to Jinx. It was almost as if she wanted to hide from everything.

‘I … I don’t know. They left a load of messages. I should call back, I guess.’ He didn’t sound certain. In fact he sounded more terrified of that prospect than anything else.

‘They’ll be worried sick, Dylan. First Mari, and then you vanish?’

Much as she had done. Yes, her mother must have suffered beyond imagining this night. Jinx swallowed down the words. They weren’t for him to say.

‘I will call them. I will.’ Dylan fidgeted in his seat, examined his fingers. ‘I promise.’ His voice tightened and Izzy jerked forward, her hand brushing his shoulder. Dylan pulled back.

Embarrassed, the girl turned away from him. ‘I’ll go and change.’

She fled the kitchen, leaving Jinx alone with the silent Dylan. Uncomfortable, unsure. He said nothing, merely waited. It wasn’t the way of his people to grieve. They rarely lost those they loved. So now, he really didn’t know what to do or say.

‘They said you’re an assassin,’ said Dylan, in a voice that was strangely without tone or inflection.

‘That’s what Holly wants me to be.’

‘You’ve killed people then? How many?’

Uncomfortable was not the word for it. It fell far too short. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘More than ten?’ The boy was relentless.

‘No.’

‘More than three?’

Jinx frowned. He could explain. He could tell him they deserved it, that they were evil and had preyed on the weak. He could use a hundred thousand excuses. But Dylan wouldn’t understand and it really didn’t matter. ‘Yes.’

But it hadn’t been as black and white as that. Had it?

Neither of them spoke. Dylan just stared at him, and Jinx met his gaze, even though every bit of him wanted to turn away. That would be weak, implying he was ashamed. And he wasn’t.

It was Dylan who broke the silence. ‘Mari didn’t stand a chance, did she?’

‘Not against a banshee, no.’

Dylan chewed on his lower lip. ‘And if I’d been faster …’ His voice trailed off. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘You couldn’t have saved her. There was nothing you could do. You have to believe that.’

‘How did you kill them? What’s the best way?’

‘There is no best way, Dylan.’ That at least was true. Death was never something to be taken lightly. It was a deep and abiding thing, one that changed the killer as much as it took the life of the victim. Death lingered in the mind. It whittled away at the heart.

‘The quickest then, the surest.’

Jinx studied him for a moment longer, wondering if he really should answer. ‘Go for the throat,’ he said curtly and closed his mouth again. Warnings would do no good. He wasn’t going to listen anyway.

Dylan slid off the stool and made for the shelves where row upon row of shining CD cases were racked up. For a moment he just stared at them but then, slowly, he flicked one after the other over, looking through the titles until he selected one and put it in the CD player.

Guitar music filled the air, magically played. Rory Gallagher. Jinx knew it from the first chords. There was no mistaking it.

‘Good choice.’

‘Izzy’s Ddd has the best CDs. He lends me stuff, lets me copy them. He’s got … he’s got all the best. Loves his music. My folks don’t get it, but he does. They want me to give it up and concentrate on college. Can you believe that?’

Maybe Jinx could if he had any idea what it meant. Giving up music for him would be like losing his sight or relinquishing a limb or allowing someone to cut out part of his soul. He suspected the same was true of Dylan.

‘Silver taught you, didn’t she?’ Dylan asked.

He nodded. Silver had taught him everything. She’d been his only friend, the only one who cared. She’d given him the music. More than the music. She’d given him a reason to be something more than Holly’s dog. ‘You need to be careful of Silver, Dylan. I know she means well, but sometimes … like all of us, sometimes she can’t help herself.’

Dylan turned up the volume, closed his eyes. The music was sad, lonely, abandoned. It pulled at Jinx’s heart and made him think of Silver, of the expression on her face when he’d handed her the phone and left her there in the darkness. He’d made a mistake. He knew that. And there was nothing he could do about it now.

‘I should go back, look for her,’ he murmured, more to himself than to Dylan.

‘Will she still be there?’

Jinx pursed his lips and then shook his head. ‘Holly wouldn’t have left her out there in Brí’s territory, alone and hurt. Not even something like Holly would do that.’
But I would
, he finished to himself.
I did. What am I? What have I become?

‘What do we do now?’

Rolling his shoulders, Jinx took comfort in the sound of the guitar, the plaintive song.

‘We help Izzy find a grail. And help her learn how to use it.’

‘She’s different than she was, isn’t she? Changed. More … more …’

Jinx eyed him suspiciously. That look was unexpected – the gleam of interest was for Izzy, and Jinx found, much to his surprise, that he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. ‘More. Yes. Izzy is
more
now.’

I don’t have time for this
, Izzy thought as she closed the door firmly behind her. She wriggled out of the dress and kicked it against the foot of her bed. The t-shirt and jeans she pulled on instead felt blissfully normal.

The only normal thing.

She had to turn away from the bed. The urge to collapse on it was far too strong. Tears misted her eyes, drove little needles of frustration into the bridge of her nose. The stupid tea-cosy, that’s what had done it. Something from another world, another life. Something made by another person. And Mari
had one too. She raked her fingers through her hair.

Someone normal. That was all gone now. The sooner she accepted it the better. Because she had been living a lie. Her parents had been trying to protect her, but still. A lie. Now all the stupid weirdness made sense, right down to the toaster the other morning. All the things that had clapped out when she touched them, or blew up, or simply closed down with a whimper never to start up again.

She had never been normal.

Her face, in the mirror, looked pale and strained. Too thin. The contrast with her red hair was too extreme. Almost – the thought made her stomach turn – almost like one of them. Sídhe lines in her bone structure. Her skin so white, her hair like fire, her eyes burning like a gas flame. Like one of them.

Which she was. Kind of. Mum had admitted it. Brí had claimed her.

Pale skin, red hair, blue eyes. Like it or not, she even looked like Brí.

Not entirely human. Half Sídhe. Other.

Freak.

She sucked in a shaky breath and tried to make her head stop spinning. It didn’t work. If anything, the sickening reel inside her brain got even more hectic.

Reaching out a hand to the glass, she pressed her palm to the mirror. Her reflection looked human enough in there now. The coldness of the surface grounded her.

‘
If you’re a freak, we both are
,’ said the angel.

Oh, good. The moment she started to deal with one nightmare change, another made an appearance. Hysteria bubbled up inside her. If it wasn’t the Sídhe matriarch claiming her as a daughter, making her a half-blood monster, and her own mother confirming it, it was the thing in her head trying to comfort her. In its way.