Vigil: Verity Fassbinder Book 1 (18 page)

I looked from Lizzie to the group of glowering parents and back again. There was only one thing to say. ‘Good shot.’

*

Being sent off the field in disgrace required the liberal application of ice cream. Had I been an actual parent, I might have
worried about positive reinforcement of negative behaviour and other grown-up buzzwords; instead, I tried to salvage something
fun from the day for Lizzie while I figured out how to explain it all to Mel. Perhaps some kind of martial art would be a
safer – and less violent – weekend activity?

After a Cold Rock sundae big enough to send an entire kindergarten into a sugar frenzy, we pulled up outside my place and
Lizzie ran from the cab like a rabbit on speed. She was at her front fence before either Ziggi or I had managed to haul ourselves
out, but as I watched she stumbled, then froze, her right hand reaching for the gate.

‘Lizzie, what’s wrong?’ I hurried over, and within a couple of steps I heard what had stopped her: two people yelling from
inside her home. One was Mel, obviously trying to be calm and placating, but shouting in order to be heard; the other voice
was also female,
but this one was screeching, and refusing to be either calmed or placated.

‘
Always so fucking perfect!
’ came next, at impressive volume. ‘But you never want to help
me
! What about
me
?’

‘I think it’s Aunty Rose,’ Lizzie whispered, and I was afraid she was right.

Rose Wilkes, Mel’s older sister: in no particular order, an alcoholic, the stealer of Mel’s husband, and not a little bit
insane. Lizzie’s father had waltzed off to Thailand with Rose four years ago, deciding freedom and wild adventure beat marriage
and fatherhood any day. She’d left him five months later, in monstrous debt, and with a bankrupted business. Who says karma’s
dead? Rose reappeared every eight to twelve months to demand money from her sister; there’d be a new commercial scheme, or
another round of ‘rehab’ at some top-of-the-range health spa, or a donation to whichever fashionable new spiritual leader
was touting a path to enlightenment paved with hundred-dollar notes. Mel’s sense of family made her an easy mark; she had
made the mistake of allowing herself to be guilted into ‘helping’ the first time, then realised that Rose didn’t understand
the phrase ‘Just this once’.

The front door flew back on its hinges and Cyclone Rose powered along the little elevated bridge leading from the verandah
to the footpath. She wasn’t particularly big, but neither was a shithouse rat and I didn’t want to tangle with one of those
either. Any prettiness Rose had once had was long gone, eaten away by bitterness. Now she was all wrinkles, orange tan and
white-blonde-bleached hair as brittle as desert-dried bones.

I pulled Lizzie out of the way, because her aunt was showing no sign of slowing down as she stormed towards us. She barely
gave the little girl a glance, though I got glared at while she headed to a car
that had seen better days, and a long time ago at that. The engine started unwillingly, roaring with all the conviction of
a dying lion. As she took off the muffler scraped on the asphalt.

I heard footsteps on the verandah and turned back to see Mel, looking exhausted. She held out her arms and Lizzie ran to her.

‘Money?’ I asked, and my neighbour laughed bitterly.

‘New guru, new needs. She thinks it’s a good idea I take out a second mortgage.’ Her home was the single thing Mel had managed
to keep from her marriage other than Lizzie, and it was all she had. When I was little, I’d sometimes yearned for a sibling,
but Rose Wilkes was the perfect demonstration of the benefits of being an only child.

‘You can choose your friends—’ Mel muttered, stroking her daughter’s hair.

‘—but not your relatives,’ I finished.

‘More’s the pity. Lucky my last client had gone before Rose showed up,’ she said, then looked down as Lizzie’s head. ‘So how
was the game?’

I figured the suspension issue wasn’t going to matter after this.

‘Ms Fassbinder?’

The phone had dragged me from sleep, but I made a noise that must have sounded positive because she went on, ‘It’s Eurycleia
– Eurycleia Kallos.’

Kallos? Aha.

‘I need to talk to you. Can we meet?’

‘When? Where?’ I peered over the David-shaped lump at the clock on my bedside table. The lurid red numbers said five a.m.
On a Sunday, no less. Evidently the powers above and below had determined I should never sleep in again. ‘What’s open at this
hour?’

‘Oh, is it early?’ She sounded surprised, and I wondered how often she slept, whether Circadian rhythms ever touched her.

Instead of ‘Yes, it’s
bloody
early!’ I managed to say, ‘I’ll meet you about six at the café at Kangaroo Point.’ Experience has taught me to take chances
when they offer themselves, because you never know how long they’ll hang around. Surely the Cliffs Café would be open, given
the number of cyclists the city had spawned in recent years? As far as I could tell they were all always riding to or from
weekend breakfasts. It would also keep me occupied until my nine a.m. appointment, although I’d rather hoped David would be
doing that.

I hung up and texted my driver, feeling petty satisfaction that I wasn’t the only one whose morning was being ruined. Snuggling
back down, I pressed my nose in between David’s shoulder blades as he snored softly and closed my eyes. Fifteen more minutes,
that was all I wanted. But I couldn’t get back to sleep, no matter that it was still dark outside. Five minutes later I surrendered
and went to have a shower, keeping the water as hot as I could stand in the forlorn hope of staying warmer for longer out
of doors.

David didn’t stir while I clumped around getting dressed in the outfit I’d carefully chosen last night, not even when I kissed
him goodbye and left a red lipstick mark on his cheek; he was still snoring contentedly as I closed the front door.

On the porch I paused and watched my breath turning into frosty curlicues rising in the reluctant morning sun.

*

Ziggi dropped me off, then went in search of a fare or two to justify rising at sparrowfart while I ambled towards the café.
I spotted Eurycleia at the best of the cliff-edge tables, the one with the great view of the city and the river. In the daylight
she looked nearer to what I imagined her true age to be. Her faint smile was sad, but that might simply have been regret at
asking me along. She was still beautiful, though, all cheekbones and eyes, long hair twisted into a silver chignon, body encased
in a close-fitting, knee-length, sky-blue cashmere coat. In spite of my tailored navy woollen dress and expensive coat I felt
a little dowdy. Her ebony leather boots were handmade, and so well done that there was no way to tell that hers contained
clawed feet and mine did not, and the handbag on the table looked so soft I wanted to stroke it. I guess you don’t live thousands
of years without learning something about investment pieces. Idly, I wondered if she’d had her legs done the same as her daughter,
the feathers plucked or lasered away until there was only smooth skin wrapped about warped feet.

She looked up as if sensing my presence, and her smile became
strangely formal; almost as if it was something she’d learned, like she had to remind herself every day not to eat the humans.
I slid into the seat across from her, but before I could say
Hello
, a waitress had appeared, glaring at me and flicking her notepad with the tip of a pen. One of the youngsters from the nest.
I ordered pancakes and bacon with maple syrup (one needs some constants in life), hoping she and Aspasia had nothing in common.
Around us, the winter wind kicked up its heels everywhere – except in the space where we sat. Neat trick: the air surrounding
our table was distinctly warmer than it should have been.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Eurycleia began.

‘I didn’t think you’d call,’ I lied.

‘I gave it a lot of thought. With Teles gone . . .’

Her voice drifted off, but her smirk said she wasn’t going to tell me who her source was. Plainly the grapevine had been in
overdrive since Serena’s murder, and the sirens were smart; they’d surely have sources in the Police Department. The conclave
must be on hyper-alert now another of their number had dropped from the sky.

‘How can I help you? I’m assuming this isn’t just a girly catch-up.’

‘Delightful company though you are, no.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering if you’d found out anything about my daughter.’

I looked down to make sure I wasn’t wearing a
Gormless Idiot
T-shirt, as Eurycleia had obviously decided I was some kind of easy mark. She’d gone about it all wrong if she wanted to
know what I knew: no one milks me for information, especially not before I’ve had my first coffee. This meeting would be
quid pro quo
or nothing.

‘Do you know where the baby is?’ I asked. Her lips twitched, her expression tightened and I could tell she was reassessing
me. ‘That little girl’s been alone for a long while. Are your secrets really worth her life?’

She said mournfully, ‘No. But I don’t know where she is, and I fear I never will.’

‘You should have told me there was a baby. You should have told me whatever you knew then,’ I said. ‘I could have moved faster.
Now I’m following cold trails.’

‘I didn’t – I don’t know why Serena called you. I didn’t – don’t – know if I can trust you,’ she admitted. There was an edge
to her tone; I was getting the impression that Eurycleia Kallos didn’t like not being in charge and she certainly didn’t like
anyone or anything she couldn’t control.

‘
I’m
the person – the
only
person – trying to find out who killed your daughter.
I’m
the only person looking for your granddaughter,’ I pointed out.

‘Well, have you discovered anything?’

I sighed and shook my head. ‘I’ve been right through her house and her shop and I’ve been to Callie’s crèche, but I’ve found
no leads, no nothing. Do you know who the father is?’

Her mouth twisted in distaste. ‘No, but it’s certainly not that jewellery designer.’

I studied her face, then said baldly, ‘I think you’re lying. I think you know very well who the father is. And for your information,
that
jewellery designer
is the one other person who I am certain has Calliope’s best interests at heart, which I don’t believe you do.’ My breakfast
arrived and I made use of her silence to start on the maple syrup-covered pancakes and crispy bacon. Silence works its own
magic on people, makes them blurt things out to fill the void, so right now, breakfast and confession equalled two birds with
one stone.

‘I . . .’ She seemed to be weighing things up.

I didn’t offer encouragement, just waited.

‘I didn’t know there was a child, not at first.’

I raised another forkful:
more bacon, more pancake, chew, chew, chew
. David would find next to nothing for breakfast at my place, but any guilt I might have felt was smoothed over when I thought
about the extra sleep he was getting. I decided I could live with myself.

‘I hadn’t spoken to Serena for a year or more. We . . . fell out.’ For a tiny fractured moment she shifted, showing me what
was beneath the beautiful façade: the teeth, the talons, the fire in the depths of the eyes.
Remember not to eat the humans
. She’d been – and was still –
so
angry, in such a rage that it had caused a breach between mother and daughter that would never have a chance to be mended.

I finished my mouthful. ‘Why?’

‘No reason that concerns you,’ she almost spat, then got control of herself, stirring the cup of tea in front of her: classic
displacement activity.

I blew out a maple-fragrant breath. ‘Is there anyone who might know more? The other sirens? Did she have close friends in
the nest?’

‘Teles and Raidne were like her sisters. But Teles won’t be telling any tales . . .’ She broke off and looked down at her
teacup before continuing, ‘Serena . . . When we fought, she stopped coming to the conclave. I don’t know who else she might
have stayed in contact with – no one would’ve dared tell me.’ She lowered her eyelashes and I thought it might be to cover
her shame.

‘Where might I find Raidne?’

‘I’ll give her your details so
she
can contact
you
; I doubt she’ll be very receptive to a cold call from the likes of you.’

‘Lady,
I’m
not the one trying to kill you.
I’m
the one trying to find out who crushed your daughter’s heart, then threw her off a building. Don’t be getting uppity.’ I
scribbled my address onto yet another
business card and flicked it across the table. As I stood up I pointed to the bruise on my temple. ‘Did you send one of your
little fledglings to teach me a lesson?’

Her stare told me not, but I wasn’t quite sure I believed her. ‘Don’t take too long about getting back to me. Siren corpses
are piling up and it appears I’m the only one worrying about it.’