Icefall (14 page)

It was like pulling teeth. ‘So she lived for a long time over there.'

‘I didn't say that.'

I hesitated, thrown by the coldness of his voice.

‘I'm sorry.' He picked at a hangnail. ‘She was happy, that was the main thing. Kind of quiet. Brave though. Brave, she was.'

‘What was her name?' I asked.

‘Does it matter?' Seth shrugged. ‘Catriona.'

I let it go. ‘What about the guy who saved you? The MacLeod?'

‘Died with his men, but not before he'd been outlawed for the killing of the priest. I don't think that bothered him, but I was sorry to hear he'd been betrayed and murdered. He knew about the Sithe. You Saw. One of his men was one of us, and there was a rumour he was the chief's illegitimate son. The MacLeod wouldn't be the first full-mortal to get mixed up with the Sithe.' He laughed. ‘Well, I couldn't do anything for him, but I paid back my debt to his grandson. He was a good man too. Misguided twat, though. I only fought for him because I owed his ancestor.'

‘Yeah? Which fight?'

He fidgeted. ‘Drumossie Moor.'

Had to think that one over for a moment. ‘Culloden? Seth, you were at
Culloden
?'

‘Yes.' He gave me a beseeching look. ‘Don't make me show you that. I'm all for living history but don't
ever
make me show you that.'

‘All right.' I shut one eye. ‘But tell me how you got away?'

‘I crawled off the field while they butchered the wounded around me. Inconspicuous, wasn't I?' There was a catch in his voice. ‘There was this boy. Twelve or thirteen, maybe? He wasn't badly hurt but he was scared shitless. I tried to take him with me. I dragged the Veil round both of us, but he panicked. Jumped up and ran. They chased him down and they…' His voice faded.

‘Oh, God, Seth.'

He rubbed his fist across his face. ‘You know what, Hannah? When life's this long, you see an awful lot of people die. And when you're Sithe? You don't see many born to take their places.'

Too many memories, I thought. Standing up, I hugged him, my hard, scarred, cynical, warlord uncle.

‘Ach, Hannah.' There was an obstruction in his throat. ‘I think I've had enough talking for now. Will you forgive me?'

‘Yeah, course.'

‘I'll show you more another day, I promise.'

‘'S'okay, Seth. I've kind of had enough too.' The thought of my father tied to that stake, beaten and brutalised and waiting for a horrible death, was more than I could bear. Yet he'd got out of it, he'd cheated death; that time he had. I didn't want to think about all the others who hadn't. I swear I could hear their pathetic screams, echoing somewhere deep in my ancestral memory.

‘Can you hear them too?'

I started. ‘What?'

‘Can you hear them, Hannah? Can you feel them? I feel them all the time. More and more. The older I get, the louder I hear them.'

Now that was unusual. Seth didn't usually talk about getting older. He was a hundred percent Sithe and he had centuries of life left, so I didn't understand the tired sadness on his face. I was on the verge of tears myself, which was annoying. I ached to See memories of my father, every single one the other Sithe could summon up, but every time it was like a knife to my heart. Because every time I loved him better, but I was never, never going to be able to tell him so.

Do you know me, Dad?
I wondered.
I wish I'd known you, and at least I'm getting to know you secondhand, but do you ever See me like I See you? Or is Seth right and you're just not there any more, not anywhere, gone altogether?

Finn—truculent bloody-minded Finn—insisted he was somewhere. I'd heard her and Seth arguing about it, though they always made it up at embarrassing length.

So if Finn thought my father was still somehow around, I saw even less reason why, all these months later, she'd needed to involve my other parent.

‘I didn't involve her,' she told me the evening of Aileen's arrival. As soon as the door had closed on my mother, Finn had gone to the kitchen and poured herself a large neat whisky. She stood there now turning the tumbler in her hand, obsessively, almost forgetting to drink from it. But when she did remember, she took a massive gulp.

She and Seth had talked to my mother for hours, and Aileen had gone back to her hotel shattered. And I don't mean tired-shattered. She was grief-shattered from the news of her sister, and more to the point, her mind had been picked apart. I knew it from the fact that the police didn't show up five minutes after she left; and I knew it from the guilty look on Finn's face.

‘You're mad,' I told her. ‘I thought you didn't want people to know about the Rooneys? I thought it was our little secret that four people were brutally murdered in their own house?'

‘How could I tell her no? Your mother was coming to town and she called, she wanted to see you. I thought I could put her off but she was determined.'

‘She picked a fine time to get her maternal instinct back.'

‘Listen, it's just like Lauren. I can control her. I can keep her—'

‘Grian's right,' I hissed.

Finn knocked back the dregs of her whisky. I'd swear it was only to avoid my eyes.

‘Did you hear me?' I wasn't letting her get away with it. ‘If it's true that you can control two minds about
this
, you're pushing it way too far.'

She ignored me anyway. ‘Aileen knows they're dead. She had to know that.'

‘And what does she think about the fact the police aren't involved?'

Finn shrugged. ‘She thinks exactly what Lauren thinks. That other people are dealing with it. That Lauren's in danger if it gets out.' She licked her lips. ‘That you are, too.'

‘Use me, why don't you.' I thought I'd go demented with the lot of them. ‘Finn,
somebody has to deal with this.
'

‘I know,
I know.
But I can keep a lid on her mind. For now.'

‘For now. Your operative words, right there.'

‘I don't know what else to do, Hannah. I don't know
.
'

And for the first time, I realised she was terrified.

 

Lauren

‘Why did you come back?' asked Lauren.

She sat perched on the edge of the cliff with her legs hanging over, the breeze whipping her hair and stinging water from her eyes. Behind her, she heard Aileen clear her throat awkwardly and swallow.

‘I've been trying to call your mum. I left messages and voicemails, loads of them. I never called Sheena much but she always got back to me when I did. So I was worried. It wasn't like her not to answer.' Aileen wrapped her arms round herself. ‘Now I know why.'

The sky was mottled with cloud and the air had a bite that was less than summery; Lauren thought it was probably going to rain soon. But she didn't want to go inside. She hated that house, the house that didn't even have a name. A house with no name and no number couldn't be home to anyone. She tilted back her head to gaze at the ragged black crow that dived and soared between the low clouds.

‘Look at that bloody bird,' she said. ‘I swear it's spying on me.'

Aileen laughed awkwardly. ‘There's loads of crows around here.'

‘No. Look at the size of that one. It's Fionnuala's pet.'

‘Well. Maybe that's why it stays around the house.'

Lauren shook her head, burying her face in her folded arms.

Aileen cleared her throat again. ‘You can talk to me if you like.'

‘What is there to talk about? My mum? My sister?' Bleakly Lauren rested her chin on her arms and stared out over the restless steely sea. She didn't want to look at Aileen for a moment. ‘I don't remember much anyway.'

‘But maybe if you talked about it a bit—'

Lauren laughed, though she didn't know why. It wasn't funny. ‘I'm not supposed to talk to anyone. Least of all the police.'

‘I know.' Aileen bit her lip, shifting uneasily. ‘Hannah says—'

‘Oh yeah. Hannah. I know what she says. She just doesn't say it to me.'

‘She probably doesn't know what to say,' said Aileen.

‘Seth says it's a gangland thing,' Lauren said. ‘Seth says it's something they have to sort out. Seth says, the less the cops know, the better. Seth says they'll deal with these people in their own way. I'm getting fucking sick of Seth.'

At least it all made sense now: the weird living arrangements of all those people, and the weapons she'd seen lying about, and the scars on Sionnach, and Jed Cameron's charming hitman personality. It made a lot more sense than she liked.

‘You should be getting counselling. When all this is sorted out—'

‘Why would I need counselling? I am in the bosom of my extended family and they are keeping me safe.' Lauren's eyes burned, but she swallowed hard and shrugged.

Aileen stuck her hands awkwardly in her pockets. ‘Do you want me to leave you alone?'

‘No!' Lauren cleared her throat and looked away. ‘No.'

‘Because if you like, I can give you a bit of—'

‘Don't say that. Don't give me
space
.' Her voice trembled slightly. ‘I like it that you're not leaving me alone.'

‘Okay.'

‘But I don't need counselling, right? I'm okay.' A spatter of cold rain hit her cheek. ‘You know what I need? I need to go into town.'

Aileen swallowed. ‘Are you sure that's a good idea?'

‘I need stuff. And I hate it here. Can you lend me some money?'

‘Well.' Aileen nibbled a thumbnail. ‘I suppose so. My bank card's at the hotel, but that's right in town. There's a cafe next door if you're hungry. I eat there all the time.'

The huge crow landed with a hop and a skip on the cliff edge, not five metres away. It cocked its head, took a couple of prancing steps towards Lauren. Its eye was black and ferocious, and it opened its massive bill as if it was about to yell at her.

‘Fine,' said Lauren. She stood up and brushed bits of grass and whin off her jeans. ‘Let's get out of here.'

*   *   *

The cafe was even sleazier, and further down at heel, than her aunt's mangy hotel, and she'd been glad enough to walk away from that. Lauren hung back as the bell tinkled over the cafe door and Aileen went in ahead of her.

It couldn't be quite as bad as it looked or smelled; most of the tables were occupied, largely by what she reckoned were students. There was an old guy with a dog, a fat woman surrounded by plastic bags of shopping, another woman who looked too elegant and well-heeled to be in here. A smell of dampness clung to the yellow walls, even through the reek of stale fat. The rickety tables were draped in oilcloths that smelt of disinfectant—which made Lauren suspect it was camouflaging something—and when she finally pulled out a chair to sit down, there was a scrap of wilted bacon on its seat. She pulled her sleeve down over her hand and brushed it to the floor, shuddering.

‘I don't think I'm hungry.'

‘The fried egg sandwiches aren't bad.'

She didn't want to imagine an egg fried in that rancid fat. ‘I'll just have a beer.'

Aileen's mouth fell open a little. ‘I don't think … I mean, I'm not sure it's got a licence.'

‘Yes it has.' Lauren nodded at the chic-looking customer at the corner table. ‘She's got wine.'

‘That's Miss Snow. She's a regular. Brings her own.' Aileen wrinkled her nose. ‘I don't know how that works. I suppose the police never come in here.'

‘I'm beginning to think I dreamed the whole fucking police force.'

Aileen wriggled uncomfortably in her chair. Partly to avoid the conversation, Lauren decided, her aunt stared at Miss Snow again.

The woman wore an elaborate silk turban. On her, it didn't look daft; it looked like a very effective fashion statement, and the statement, decided Lauren, was that she was too hot for fashion. She sat with her legs demurely crossed, one fake Louboutin—or probably not-fake, on reflection—tapping out a light rhythm. There was a newspaper folded neatly at her elbow, and the stem of her wineglass was caught deftly between her thumb and third finger.

The woman lifted her head and smiled. Nerve endings rose under Lauren's skin.

‘Hello, Miss Snow,' said Aileen, and wiggled her fingers amiably.

Miss Snow pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, then sidled between the tables to rest a hand on the back of Aileen's chair. It was Lauren who got the brunt of her friendly smile. ‘Hello.'

‘This is Miss Snow.' Aileen made a slight face, as if mocking the woman's eccentric formality. ‘Miss Snow, this is my niece, Lauren.'

‘Lauren?' A shadow of horror flitted across Miss Snow's face. ‘Oh, my dear.' She dragged out a chair next to Aileen's, flicking crumbs off it before she sat down. ‘Your aunt told me. You lost your mother, didn't you?'

Lauren glanced at Aileen, then back at Miss Snow.

Her silence didn't make Miss Snow the least bit awkward. The woman took Lauren's hand, and gazed at her with warm concern.

‘I'm so sorry,' she said gravely.

Lauren didn't reply. She was never sure what to say to
I'm sorry.
Why would someone apologise if it wasn't their fault? She shrugged.

‘You're very kind,' smiled Aileen into the silence. ‘Why don't you join us, Miss Snow? I'm going to get a sandwich. Do you fancy a traybake?'

‘Oh, please.' Miss Snow eyed the counter avidly as Aileen stood up. ‘That would be lovely.'

Lauren wriggled in her chair. She stared at her hand in Miss Snow's. The woman's long nails glittered with polish. ‘Are you a teacher or something?'

A surprised laugh. ‘No. Would that bother you?'