Vigil: Verity Fassbinder Book 1 (9 page)

It was still dark by the time Ziggi smugly delivered me home. I was so hopeful, as I scrambled out of the cab and waved farewell,
that a few hours of sleep was in my near future, but then I spotted the black ’74 Porsche 911 Turbo parked a little way up
the street. Before I’d even got my front door open I could smell coffee and hear someone
rummaging around inside. I wanted to throw myself on the ground and cry. Only one person would dare to break in to make hot
drinks.

Bela, buried deep in the pantry, emerged with an ancient packet of Teddybear biscuits. ‘This the best you can do?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘You always used to have TimTams,’ he whined.

The case was solved and he’d relaxed. Bela was always more pleasant, closer to human, at those moments, and I remembered what
I’d first seen in him. So maybe Ziggi hadn’t been entirely right: it wasn’t that Bela wasn’t who I wanted him to be, just
that the Bela I’d wanted to be with was only evident
sometimes
. The divide between
that
Bela and the ultra-focused guy I worked for was an abyss you might never climb out of.

‘I also used to have an arse that weighed twenty kilos all on its own.’

He appraised me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You look better than I thought you would.’

‘Ziggi’s healer is amazing. You should have made me go to her long ago.’

He choked, and managed, ‘Because you respond so well to being told to do something . . .’

We waited for the pot to gurgle and he put sugar in my mug, even though I’d told him a hundred times I’d given up; at least
he left it black. As he carried the cups out to the darkness of the back deck, I brought up the rear with the world’s saddest-looking
packet of biscuits. The chairs protested as we settled into them and I thought maybe it was time to get new ones before someone
went through the worn canvas.

‘So, Bela, what are we going to do?’ I asked. The night felt like a bubble around us.

‘You know, I really hate it when you call me that,’ he said mildly.

‘I know. And I hate sugar in my coffee.’ But I took a sip anyway. ‘Again: what are we going to do, Bela?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘About what?’

‘
Her
. The Winemaker. What about tracking down her clients?’

‘The kid’s okay,’ he said. That was apparently the refrain for the day. ‘The disappearances will stop.’

‘You’re not going to do
anything
?’ I felt the old anger raise its head and pushed it back down, determined to stop my knee-jerk reactions, no matter how justified.

‘What is there to do?’ he asked reasonably. ‘The beldame’s dead. I’ve told Eleanor and the other Councillors that the problem
has been solved.’

‘When I threatened her with the Council, that old woman said she could
handle
them – and she wasn’t at all bothered. Doesn’t that give you pause?’

‘V, if the Five had anything to do with her, why would they have me – and by extension,
you
– investigate?’

‘Believe me, I’ve thought about that. If you’re a member of the Council and indulging in naughtiness, surely objecting to
any investigation is going to paint a big red “Suspect Me!” sign on your chest.’ I tried to get him to understand. ‘You make
your exit strategy first, just in case, but you also let things take their course and hope for the best.’

‘Is that why you didn’t report in?’

I had the good grace to blush. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him; just that I knew that whatever I told him would’ve gone
straight to the Five. ‘It wasn’t only her,’ I pointed out. ‘Aspasia said something similar.’

‘Aspasia? Person voted most likely to yank your chain?’ He gave
me a disbelieving stare. ‘V, the old woman was just trying to make you despair. These things, they go away—’

‘Great. So the bad shit goes on tour.’ I shook my head, feeling a pulse building at the base of my skull. ‘It doesn’t stop
being your –
our
– responsibility because it’s not in our back yard any more. She wasn’t operating in a vacuum, Bela – people were paying
for that wine. And you can bet
other
things are being done, too.’

He held up his hands. ‘I just meant that without the wicked witch there’s no one to ask about her buyers. And it’s not like
she kept records, or at least, none that I found.’

‘What was her name? How long had she been here? She said she knew Grigor, Bela, that he’d worked for
her
.’

‘Well, whoever she was, no one’s admitting to knowing her. There was no handbag lying around with ID in it. And you kind of
toasted her, V – if there was anything on the body, it’s ashes.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tangle of warped
pearls, precious stones and melted golden metal. He dropped the mess into my palm – I thought I still felt some warmth to
it and imagined the devouring flames – then ran his hands over his face. ‘Honestly, you think I wouldn’t know if a Council
member was breaking our laws?’

‘How
would
you?’ I challenged. All I could hope for now was to plant a seed of doubt in him. ‘Ziggi drove by West End Library again:
Her photo on the noticeboard, the newspaper piece about her donating money? It’s unreadable. It was faded before, but you
can’t even make out her features now. Someone’s set an erasing spell.’

‘She probably set a general track-covering technique in case she had to make a quick exit. She didn’t expect to get Fassbindered.’
He paused. ‘No one ever does.’

‘What about the house? The filing cabinets? What about a title
deed? There’s got to be
some
kind of documentation. No one can live without leaving any trace at all . . .’

‘Look,’ he sighed, ‘I arrived more than an hour after Ziggi got you and the little girl out of there.
Anyone
could have got in – after
you
broke the door – and swept the place. I can’t tell you what I don’t know, V.’

‘What about Sally Crown?’ I knew what I’d promised, but after seeing Lizzie laid out on a steel table and having my own flesh
perforated, I wasn’t bothered about maintaining Sally’s anonymity. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure that she hadn’t sent me
to the gingerbread house with intent, to win some Brownie points from her boss.

‘The Normal girl? Gone. No sign of her.’

I didn’t think my cash would have got her very far, but it was clear Sally wasn’t too fussy about how she earned an income.
She might have had a stash elsewhere. ‘But—’

‘There’s nothing to go on, V. Let it go,’ he said softly. ‘You did good.’

I was silent, and he took this for agreement, which was a sure sign that he hadn’t learned much from our time together. He
went on, as if I would be easily distracted by a shiny new object to chase, ‘But that other matter I mentioned still needs
attention. A missing person case, a private consultancy.’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean “no”? It’s a job.’

‘I mean “no” in the traditional sense of “No, fuck off”.’ I ran a hand through my hair, then noticed I still had blood under
my nails. I wasn’t sure if it was hers or mine. I
badly
needed a shower. ‘I’m really sick of getting stabbed, bitten, beaten and threatened with umbrellas.
Umbrellas
, Bela: what the hell kind of life is that?’

‘You haven’t been shot,’ he offered.

‘Yet –
yet!
And how does that help?’ I scratched at the new cuts on my leg, which had started itching. ‘If you hadn’t got me involved,
then
Lizzie
never would have been in danger.’

‘But you couldn’t have known that –
I
couldn’t have known that.’ He sniffed as if insulted.

‘Yeah, you could. You should have had an inkling. And so should I.’ I picked at a thread on my jeans. Maybe I was being unfair.
I’d resolved to be nicer to my boss; I just hadn’t realised how much of a strain it would be. We sat quietly for a bit, eating
stale Teddybear biscuits and staring into the darkness, which felt somehow safer.

‘You get things done, V,’ Bela said at last, softly. ‘You walk
between
. There’s no one quite like you, and for whatever reason – whether you annoy the crap out of people or charm them – you get
to the truth of things. That’s why I need you.’ He hesitated, as if treading lightly so I didn’t tell him where to go again.
‘Donovan Baker has gone missing.’

‘And he is?’ But even as I said the words, I could guess: Anders Baker’s baby boy, propped up by Daddy’s cash and a tangible
lack of anything resembling talent or drive. It was looking a lot like another chance to get lacerated.

‘The heir to a fortune, and he’s like you – half and half – but no powers to speak of.’

‘Thank you for making me sound like a pizza.’

‘He is moneyed and missing, and his father wants him back.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘He’s someone’s kid, V, someone’s little boy.’ He looked at me. ‘There’s been no ransom demand, so he’s not been kidnapped.
Aren’t there enough lost children?’

That was a low blow and we both knew it.

I cleared my throat. ‘I really don’t like you very much right now.’

He turned his mouth in an ‘o’ of surprise, but any reply was lost beneath the sound of his mobile. He tilted his head as he
answered, and I could hear the rumble of a familiar voice on the other end. I guessed a favour was going to be called in sooner
rather than later and tossed the cold coffee dregs over the rail, then went to shower and find clothes that didn’t have tears
in them.

Bela had hung up by the time I returned and was staring out into the black that was thinning as dawn drew closer. I wondered
how good his night-sight was, whether he could see things I couldn’t.

‘So?’

‘Detective Inspector McIntyre says there’s a body at Waterfront Place.’

‘Of course there is.’ I shivered.

‘Should I call Ziggi?’

‘Nah. Let one of us get some sleep. You can give me a lift in your fancy car.’ I stretched. ‘I take it Donovan Baker is no
longer a priority?’

His mouth said
Yes
, but his eyes said
You’re very annoying
. I touched his shoulder lightly. ‘Tell his father to contact me sometime. If he makes his case, gives me compelling evidence
that it’s more than the boy just trying escape from him, I’ll see what I can do. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

There are still some High Places, even in modern cities.
Go up unto the temple; up unto Jerusalem; take your son up to a High Place in order to make the sacrifice
. That’s why churches always got the best land when a town was settled, and why so many ancient temples and houses of worship
are on the highest hills. Modern ones less so, because people have mostly forgotten magic like that. Of course, High Places
are not the only loci of power – important stuff also happens in the depths, the low places. Or Low Places. At any rate, zeniths
and nadirs are where the big changes occur; in the middle, not so much; that’s just where the consequences play out. So, High
Places: religious folk claimed it got them closer to some god or other. Me, I just thought it was because when things fell
further, they broke more effectively.

The distance had certainly made a mess of her.

She lay stomach-down, feathers scattered around her in the flowerbed at the foot of one of the city’s tallest buildings. A
few stakes that had been holding up young frangipani trees poked out of her back, but I didn’t think they’d bothered her.
She was dead before she hit – she
must
have been, otherwise she’d have unfurled her wings and landed safely. Those wings covered her like a carelessly thrown shawl.
They would have been white once, but having been folded away for so long, they were now grey, the only things to show how
old she really was.

They were why I was there. Well, and the other bits.

Thanks to the indignity of death, her skirt was all rucked up about her hips, her naked legs on display; right now, just a
few cops used to this kind of thing could see that she had the legs of a bird.

Sirens were like that: they could hide their wings – they had this kind of mystic swaddling thing going on – but there wasn’t
much that could disguise the lower limbs other than plucking out the feathers, which she’d done. It was a nice job, very professional,
so maybe there’d been some electrolysis, too. All the same, there was no getting around the fact that she’d had a glorious
face and bird’s legs. Plumage apart, they were shapely enough, nicely rounded, muscular thighs and calves, right until you
got to the ankle, where you found a clawed foot with three toes at the front and one to the back. I couldn’t see her shoes,
but I was willing to bet they’d been specially made. Sirens propped up the very private custom-made shoe market in most cities.
They wore a lot of boots, a lot of special-order Docs.

Dawn had cracked the sky and mist was rolling across the surface of the river. Autumn had been and gone overnight, as predicted,
and the dip into winter was fast and nasty. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I always was, just like the rest of the population.