Talia
I check my watch for the twentieth time, but I’m still early. Too early to be cool, that’s for sure, but at least Kitty won’t notice till she comes out of work. At least I’m not late. I’m picking her up, and I’m gonna stay at hers.
Maybe not the whole holiday. I know she said that, but people say a lot of things. I’m now not sure she said anything about me staying at all. Maybe she was making polite conversation. Maybe I’m putting her in a difficult position by taking her up on her offer. Maybe I’ve misjudged, maybe she’s reconsidered. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I grit my teeth and push the door open. The rain that has been threatening never came, and the night’s cold and crisp. I concentrate hard on the white clouds puffing out of my mouth as I lean against my car. Breath in chills my nostrils. Breath out waterfalls upward in the still air, eddying and twining around itself.
The doors burst open, and a figure throws herself out, almost stumbling, tripping over her own feet. I recognise Kitty as she’s almost on me, and without thinking, I reach out, wrap my arms around her, cocoon her from whatever’s coming. She screams, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught. “Kitty! Kitty, it’s me.”
“Talia.” She breathes my name like a benediction, and later, I’ll rewind that moment, identify it as another hook in my heart. She turns in my arms and clings to me, and I want to savour it, but her scream still twangs in the back of my neck.
“C’mon,” I say and manhandle her into the passenger seat. Someone appears at the doorway of the Society building and starts running, and I scramble around and have the engine started before my feet are even in, spinning the wheels on gravel as Shivam reaches us.
He slaps the window, and Kitty screams, covers her head. I catch a glimpse of him as I slam us into first gear and get out. He looks terrified.
The skin of my back is prickling as I drive home. I keep checking my mirrors in case he’s following us. I have a horrifying image of him running at superhuman speed. He can do magic, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Nothing is anymore.
Kitty’s shaking by the time I get her back to her house. I put my arm around her shoulder and walk her in, and she leans against my side like her legs are going to give up on her. I hold her tight.
She hands me the keys when I ask and flicks the lights on in the dark flat. I guess Sam must be staying at Peter’s, but I don’t think on it too long because I’ve just noticed the mess someone’s made of her face.
I hiss as I cup her cheeks in both hands, tilting her face here and there. There’s dry blood under her nose, a bruise blooming over the bridge of it and under her eye, maybe a bump on her forehead above her left eyebrow. “Who did this?” I ask, and I may have always been a coward, but I’ll fight for her.
She laughs. “I headbutted a mirror.”
I raise one eyebrow. Pretty sure I’ve used that exact excuse myself. It’s not going to work if she uses it on me.
“Really, I did,” she says. She’s not pulling away, I realise, and I step back first before I have to feel the rejection of her doing so. She quirks me a little smile, then stumbles into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Kitty.”
“I’m not trying to brush you off,” she says and leans back against the counter, pressing gently against parts of her face as if testing it. “I’m really not sure. There was a case, but it went wrong, I guess.”
“Wrong how?”
She crinkles up her forehead and winces. I dig in her freezer for some ice and wrap it in the tea towel. She smiles at me as I hand it to her. “Thanks,” she says.
I have to swallow hard. “I need to know what it is that made you so scared,” I tell her. “I need to know how to protect us.”
She nods. “I know, I’m piecing it together. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. She smiles at me again, and it feels like my ribs are cracking outward from the inside, painful and terrifying and brilliant.
“The case, this woman and her daughter. They started arguing,” Kitty says, and I focus hard on that, on facts, on information. “It was awful. They were saying such horrible things to each other, I just wanted them to stop. And then I heard other voices yelling at each other, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. One of them was my mum, though, I’m sure of it. She shouted a spell, and I felt like I was being thrown out of the grey place. Next thing I know, the mirror’s in pieces, and I’ve got a bloody nose. Shivam says I faceplanted on it.”
I’m suspicious of Shivam, now, but Kitty’s not done. “I went to go get cleaned up, and…” She swallows and looks away. “Fuck. I overheard him talking to Anderson.”
“What did he say?” I prompt into the silence. She stares into space, biting her lower lip. Tears are welling up in her eyes, and I want to understand. I’m afraid of not understanding.
“He said I’m his daughter,” she says in a whisper and starts crying silently, tears falling unimpeded, soundless.
“You’re…”
“I’m Anderson’s daughter. He and my mum…and he didn’t tell me. What am I going to do, Talia?”
She looks up at me like I can fix this, like I have any suggestions other than stay away from them and that place and any danger ever. I have nothing. I tug her close and wrap my arms around her as she cries into my shoulder.
Her phone rings, and she jumps, her fingertips tightening on my back. Her hands are trembling as she pulls the phone out of her pocket. I think of telling her to leave it because there can’t be anything good from a phone call at this time of the morning, and she needs to build her defences back. But by the time I find the words, she’s turning away from me, her hand in her hair, pacing. “Yes?”
I don’t hear the voice on the other end, but I see her freeze, and every inch of me is on high alert. I step closer, catch her eye in case she needs to signal to me, but she shakes her head and looks away, biting her lip. She glances back at me. “Okay,” she says, and hangs up.
“What is it?” I ask. “What do you need?”
“It was Anderson,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “He admitted it. He’s my dad. He wants to meet me.”
I nod. “Right, so we pick Sam up, and we start driving, yeah? We can stay overnight in my room in uni, then head out and get lost. I’d say Glasgow’s a good aim because I know people there, but it might be better to be unpredictable. Maybe go south instead, Cornwall? The moors are supposed to be big and good to hide in, aren’t they?”
“Talia.”
“You’re right, we should stick to what we know. Besides, there’s the Cairngorms up past Glasgow. He’ll never find us there.”
“Talia.”
“I’ll pack up the food, you get the clothes and toiletries. We can fit quite a lot in the car, but we’ll want to streamline.”
“Talia, I’m going to meet him.”
“What?” My mind’s like a train, caught on a rail line I’ve been planning most of my life, daydreaming of freedom and escape and a life off the grid and out of danger. It takes me a long time to register what she’s saying. “Why?”
“Because he’s my dad,” she says with a shaky laugh. “How can I not?”
“But he’s a creepy fucker.”
“Still, though,” she says. “I mean, he’s family, right? You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I say. “If he’s anything like my ma, I’d run as far as I could.” She bites her lip, and I take a step toward her, taking her hands. The skin over the backs of her hands is so soft, my thumbs can’t help but stroke it. “It doesn’t matter if he’s your dad or not. You’ve said yourself he makes your hair stand on end.”
“It does matter,” she says, and she pulls her hands out of mine. I clench them tight to crush out the rejection. “If he’s my father, he’s part of me, and I can’t let that slip away. Maybe my hair was standing on end because I sensed he was my dad.”
I laugh and hate how it sounds. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She sets her jaw. “Not everyone’s like you,” she says. Her voice is shaking, but it’s sharp and strong. “There’s not much left of my family. I’ve got to make a bit more of an effort to keep us together. I’m sorry if that’s too stupid and naive for you.”
She turns fast and almost runs for the door, slamming it behind her, but I hardly notice. The words hurt too much, like salt poured onto a wound, like everything I think of myself being confirmed: cold heartless bitch. Why would she trust me to care for her anyway? I can’t even keep a relationship going with the only person in the world God made to love and protect me from birth. I’ve run from every home and family I’ve ever had. I look around the warm living room with its soft cushions and shelves of plants.
Why should now be any different?