Blood and Feathers Page 2

Waking Up

  IF ALICE DREAMED, she didn’t know it. She was lost in a whirl of pain, and there were things in there with her. Not dreams, she thought, not memories. More... ideas. Suggestions. Images that flashed past like they were carried on a storm, and a light so bright it made her skin burn and her teeth ache.

  She was afraid, without knowing what it was that she feared. It felt like falling, like flying, like being frozen and scorched all at once. And there with her, always with her, the sensation that a single set of eyes were watching her, and that they saw everything she was.

  “COME BACK, ALICE.”

  The voice was faint, distant. It felt warm, safe. It smelled of home.

  “Alice? Alice! Come back.” And then quieter, to someone else, perhaps: “Did I ever tell you you’re a complete prick?”

  “Frequently.” A new voice. Harder. A voice that was used to being obeyed. “Open your eyes, Alice. It’s time we talked.”

  SHE WAS IN the back room of her house, lying on the floor. A man stood over her, his blond hair catching the light so it looked almost like a halo. Another crouched next to her, sliding his hand behind her neck to help her sit up, concern in his eyes. They looked familiar, but...

  Friends of her father. The lights. Tea.

  Her father.

  She looked at his chair. It was empty. The room smelled of death – earthen and hard and wrong – and there was a heavy, slow ache somewhere under her ribs.

  “I took care of it. He’s gone,” said Gwyn, moving back as she hauled herself to her feet. “You shouldn’t think about it too much. It won’t help. There was nothing we could have done to save him.” He shrugged, then he said something in another language – one she had never heard before, full of rolling sounds that bled into one another. And yet, it was somehow... It was...

  He was still speaking, and she realised that she hadn’t moved. She wanted to – she meant to, because she needed to get away from...

  But his voice filled her mind and crowded her out.

  Couldn’t move; couldn’t think. Alice’s feet were nailed to the ground, her hands pinned to her sides, and still he was talking, still he was filling her head, pushing her further and further back into her own mind. But what was truly frightening was that there was something else in her head. Something that was listening, and wanting to stay. And until it was ready, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  He stopped, at last – and suddenly she could breathe again, could move. Could think. It was all she could do not to slide to the floor again, but she was free. She was free, and her father was gone.

  “You. You...”

  She couldn’t get the words out. He hadn’t even flinched. Gwyn had done nothing: he had stood and watched those... things, those impossible hands, take hold of her father, and... The words were there but they caught in her throat and burned, and all the time he watched her with an expectant face, as though he knew exactly what was running through her mind.

  Even so, he obviously wasn’t expecting her to kick him as hard as she could, and then shove Mallory sideways, knocking him off his feet, before stumbling out of the room and into the hall.

  She fumbled with the key in the lock, tearing the front door open and running as hard and as fast as she could down the drive. Not knowing or caring that she had left her shoes, her coat, her bag behind; not noticing the rain sheeting down and soaking her to the bone.

  She ran until the blood pounded in her ears, and then she ran some more. The pavements blurred and she lost track of street names and road signs, only knowing that she had to put as great a distance between herself and home as she could. At last, her legs and lungs gave out and, gasping, she slumped against a fence.

  “How’re you doing?” asked Mallory from a garden wall beside her. He sat calm and unruffled, swinging his feet and looking almost apologetic. “Alright?”

  Alice tried to back away, but her legs had had enough and they buckled, dumping her into a puddle. Mallory scratched his head “Sorry about Gwyn. He doesn’t mean to be such a wanker – he just doesn’t understand.”

  “What do you want? What do you want from me?”

  Mallory frowned and hopped off the wall. “We’re here to help. I know you don’t believe that, but we are. We’re here to keep you safe.”

  “Keep me safe from what? You saw it, didn’t you? That was real. You saw it happen! Something just killed my father. You didn’t stop it. Is that how you’re going to keep me safe?”

  “He never told you, did he?” For a second, Mallory looked surprised. “He honestly never told you. All those years...” He tailed off, and peered up the road, into the rain. “You need to come with me. You need to trust me.”

  “No.”

  “Alice.”

  “No. Get away from me. I’ll scream...”

  “And a lot of good might it do you.” He looked around him again, more anxiously this time. “Alice, whatever you think, something’s coming, something bad, and it’s coming for you. Now, I know this is hard. I know you don’t understand, and I know you don’t believe me, but you must trust me.” He held out his hand, but she pulled away.

  “I said get away!”

  “Alice! We don’t have time. They’re coming.” His fingers closed around her wrist, and although she tried to shake him off, his grip was strong. She opened her mouth to scream, but... something stopped her. All she could do was stare at him as the rain dripped into her eyes – and she realised that he wasn’t getting wet.

  His hair, his leather jacket, his boots: he was perfectly dry. The rain looked like it was falling on him, just the same as it was falling on her, but somehow it seemed to pass through him, or around him.

  “I told you. We’re here to help you. Can you trust me?”

  “I don’t...”

  “Look at me, Alice. Really look at me.” He dropped into a crouch beside her, his face close to hers. “Can you trust me?”

  She had no choice but to look into his eyes, which she had been sure were brown. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. They shifted and shimmered like starlight through cloud, and she remembered a warm voice that made her feel safe.

  “I swear on my life, Alice, that I will keep you from harm. It’s not much, but I can give you that. Your mother trusted me.”

  “My mother’s dead.”

  “Maybe. But she was my friend, and she would want you to be safe. I can help with that. I will protect you, whatever it takes. I swear.”

  “Get. Away.”

  “No.”

  “I said...”

  “And I heard you. But if I leave you here, you’ll be dead before sunrise. Worse than dead. Do you understand?”

  “My father...”

  “Your father made a choice a long time ago, Alice. Things aren’t exactly as they seem.”

  “It seemed pretty straightforward to me.”

  “Trust me, Alice.”

  “No.”

  “Trust me, and I won’t let you down.”

  “No.”

  “Alice, we’re running out of time. Please.” He looked over his shoulder, first one way then the other. “Please.”

  “Why? Why should I?”

  “Take it on faith.”

  “After that?”

  “Please, Alice. Your mother would have.”

  And she knew that it was true. Anyway, what was the point in trying to run? Where was there to run to?

  “Alright,” said a voice that wasn’t quite hers.

  “Atta girl. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

  He pulled her to her feet, and with no effort at all he scooped her into his arms. She was about to protest, but there was a sudden wind on her face, and she must have fainted again because the next thing she knew, she was on her own doorstep, with him beside her. The front door stood open, waiting.

  GWYN WAS WATCHING the garden through the window, his back to the door. He didn’t turn, or give any sign that he knew they were there. Mallory folded himself back onto the sofa, but Alice stayed in t
he doorway, uneasy. How did the two men know her father? Or her mother? Had her father known what was coming? And why, after she had just seen, was there a little voice in the back of her head that told her she could trust them, that she must?

  “What do you know about your mother?” Gwyn said, and his voice was clear and sharp. It wasn’t a kind voice, Alice thought.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “What you think doesn’t matter. I asked you a question.”

  “And I don’t intend to answer it.”

  Alice edged a little further away from him as he turned to face her, and she realised how bright his eyes were: almost turquoise, standing out against the pallor of his skin and the dark of his suit. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mallory interrupted.

  “You know what? We should all take this down a notch. It’s a big day, everyone’s a bit stressed. I know I am, and...”

  “I am not stressed.” Gwyn said. “I simply asked a question. And I still expect an answer.”

  “Gwyn, can you just back off? She’s not one of your goons.”

  “No, she isn’t, is she? She thinks she’s something special, something different. Something that doesn’t have to follow orders.”

  “She doesn’t think anything. She doesn’t know.” Mallory was on his feet, gesturing at Alice. This was obviously news to Gwyn, who narrowed his eyes, and looked her up and down.

  “Doesn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Ah.” Gwyn’s expression softened slightly, and he beckoned to Alice. “Come here, child.”

  “No way.” Alice planted herself firmly in the doorway. “I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, and until I get some answers, I’m not doing anything you say. So you tell me who the hell you are and what you want, and you start by explaining why I shouldn’t call the police right now.”

  “You don’t want to do that.”

  “I really do.”

  “Oh, for the love of....” Mallory banged his hand on the table, and sighed. “Alright. Why don’t we all just sit down and start again? Gwyn, back off and give the girl some space. And Alice, I’m sure this is hard, but like I said, you can trust us.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, go and get yourself into some dry clothes before you catch pneumonia or something? Then we can talk.”

  Alice had forgotten that she was soaking wet. Again. It hadn’t seemed important, but now he’d mentioned it, the idea of changing into something dry was very appealing indeed. And it would give her time. As she passed her bag in the hallway, she pocketed her phone. It did cross her mind to simply head down the drive and away again, but that hadn’t exactly worked last time. She still wasn’t sure how Mallory had kept up with her, got ahead of her even, and she certainly didn’t know how it was that he had stayed completely dry in the downpour. Both things were going into a small box at the back of her mind, labeled ‘Stuff to think about later.’ In the meantime, she was going to change her clothes, and call the police.

  Peeling off her wet things, she pulled a dry pair of jeans out of the wardrobe, then a T-shirt and a sweater. And socks, dry socks at last! She tossed the wet clothing into the laundry basket and took out her phone. She dialed, and held it to her ear.

  “And I thought we were getting past the trust issues,” said Gwyn’s voice, alarmingly close. Alice whipped round, but he wasn’t there. She was alone and, more worrying, she could hear his muffled voice talking to Mallory downstairs. So how....? She looked at the phone in her hand.

  “Hello?”

  “I told you, you really don’t want to call the police.”

  “You’re in my phone now?”

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Alice. The police can’t help you. No-one can. No-one except us. Now stop acting like a silly little girl and come downstairs.” There was a click, and the phone went dead. Not just the line, the whole phone shut down completely. A fizzing sound came from behind the screen, and there was a small puff of smoke from the speaker.

  If Mallory realised that she had tried to call the police – or that Gwyn had cut in on the call – he didn’t show it when she walked back into the room. Instead, he patted a spot on the sofa next to him and reached inside his jacket, drawing out a small silver flask which he brandished at her, beaming. “Haven’t found a drop of booze in the house, so it’s just as well I’ve got this.”

  “I don’t drink,” Alice said, pointedly ignoring his gesture and sitting on a chair across the room. Mallory grinned at her. “Oh, I know you don’t. But I do.” He took a healthy swig, watched by Gwyn, who sighed.

  “And that, Mallory, is precisely why you....”

  “Oh, no. No you don’t,” Mallory tucked the flask back into his coat. “We’re not talking about me. We’re here to talk about you.” He looked at Alice, who suddenly felt very small and alone.

  Gwyn sniffed, and lowered himself into a chair. “Tell me, Alice, what did your father tell you about what happened to your mother?”

  “He didn’t like to talk about her: she died when I was little. He didn’t tell me what happened, wouldn’t let me come to the funeral. Never even told me where she’s buried. He said she was with the angels, and that’s all I needed to know. That much, he was always very clear on.”

  Alice had the strange sensation that it was someone else talking, as though a stranger had borrowed her voice and was opening up a part of her that had been secret. She wasn’t sure whether or not the disconnection was a relief. Gwyn took in her words and steepled his fingers in front of his face, frowning. There was silence, and then he looked her dead in the eyes and said: “And did he never tell you which angels she was with?”

  Alice laughed. “Which angels she was with? Right. Absolutely. I should have thought to ask, shouldn’t I? He just didn’t think a six-year-old should know too much about how her mother died, and by the time I was old enough to want to know, he’d already decided he was done talking about it. The last couple of years, he hasn’t even let me mention her around him. So, no. He wasn’t specific about the angels.”

  The numbness released her, and now she heard the bitterness in her voice. She’d never heard herself sound like that before... what was happening to her? This wasn’t how she talked, certainly not to strangers, and above all not to strangers as strange as these. She caught the glance that passed between Gwyn and Mallory: Gwyn raising his eyebrows expectantly and Mallory shrugging. “Totally not my call,” he muttered, slouching back against the cushions and focusing very firmly on the toes of his boots.

  Gwyn sat forward, his eyes searching Alice’s face for just a moment too long, then got up and moved to the window.

  “I wish this were easier, Alice.” He folded his arms and a chill ran down her spine. She looked sideways at Mallory, but he was still staring at the floor and would not meet her gaze. “You have to believe me when I say this is all far from ideal. It’s not at all how I would choose to operate, but we don’t always get to make the easy choices. And nor do you.

  “We knew your mother, Alice. We knew her better than even your father did. And we know you. Now it’s time for you to know us.” He closed his eyes, and the edges of the room suddenly seemed sharper, brighter. Everything grew lighter, and there was a sound like the wind in the trees, faint at first, then louder and louder.

  As Alice watched, Gwyn unfolded his wings, and every bulb in the house blew out as one.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ancient History

  ALICE HEARD LAUGHTER. It was light and high, a woman’s laugh, and she found herself looking around for its source. It was only when she saw Mallory’s scowl that she realised it was her, and she closed her mouth.

  The room should have been dark without the lights, but there was another light in the room, one which hummed and throbbed like a heartbeat. It was Gwyn – or rather, it was his wings.

  The narrow little room wasn’t large enough for him to open them fully, so they sat slight
ly folded behind him, sweeping down until the tips brushed the floor. They were white and they shimmered. All across the surface of the feathers, white sparks glittered and arced.

  “He doesn’t like it when people do that. Laugh, I mean. Makes him grouchy,” said Mallory. “Best act like you’re impressed, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Thank you, Mallory. I think it’s time you made yourself useful, don’t you?” Gwyn’s voice had a slight echo to it, as though it came from far-off, and despite his attempt to hide it, it sounded a little deflated. His wings rustled as he stepped closer to Alice, the light from them casting moving shadows on the walls. Mallory rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers. There was a gentle tinkling sound, and the lights flared back into life.

  Alice knew her mouth was open again, but she couldn’t seem to close it. It didn’t bother her too much – presumably, said the voice in the back of her head, they were used to it. What with their being angels and everything. The laugh threatened to bubble up from inside her again, and she swallowed it down. Something tickled her cheek, and she reached up to brush it away; her fingertips came away wet, and she was startled to find that she was crying. She didn’t do crying. It wasn’t her thing. She looked up, and Gwyn was right in front of her, his wings tucked back. “Alice. This is important...”

  “How come I couldn’t see them before?”

  “I... What?”

  “The wings. I couldn’t see them before. You can’t have had them hidden away, so why couldn’t I see them?”

  “That’s all you have to say? You want to know why you couldn’t see them?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Alice wiped her face, hard. Gwyn was frowning at her, and somewhere across the room there was the sound of laughter again, a man’s this time. Mallory was laughing so hard that he almost rolled off the sofa, tipping his head back and scrambling to catch his breath. Eventually, he wagged a finger towards Alice.

  “She,” he said, “is just like her mother.”