Lucas didn’t arrive at the coven until nearly ten on Monday night. The walk from the tube took him past smart Victorian terraces and yuppie wine bars, but the closer he got to the Rockwood Estate, the more run-down the buildings and people became. At the turning to Cooper Street, two skinhead hulks on bikes that were too small for them drunkenly circled the road.
For a moment, he couldn’t think what he was doing here. How had he got into this? It was impossible, absurd. Then he looked into a car’s cracked wing-mirror and saw Harry in the glass. Oddly, it steadied him. He was playing a part. He was wearing a costume, not clothes: loose layers over baggy jeans, as sloppy-looking as Harry himself. Whatever he did, whatever happened, was Harry’s problem. Lucas Stearne didn’t exist in this kind of world.
The lights were on at Number Seven, and music thumping into the street. Lucas knew if he hesitated for any longer he might never go through with it. He pressed the bell.
Nate Braddock let him in. A tight white vest set off his sun-bed tan and pumped torso. His hair was slicked back, his grin cocky, as they clasped hands in the hall. ‘Er . . . all right?’ said Lucas weakly. In his meeting with Nate and Angeline that afternoon, he’d had a script to follow. Adrenalin carried him through. But then he’d been in a public space, with Zoey close by. From here on, he was on his own.
The hallway was stacked with all kinds of stuff – crates of booze, shoeboxes, electronic equipment that looked expensive, and cutlery sets that did not. Before he knew it, Nate was leading him into a large room filled with people. Huge speakers pounded out drum and bass, shaking the door, the floor and the windows in their frames.
‘Glory!’ snapped Nate. ‘Fetch Auntie A.’
The girl glowered – she did a lot of glowering, Lucas remembered – but did as she was told. Nate indicated Lucas should take her seat.
He sat down, sweating slightly. The room was stuffy and smelled of unwashed clothes and hash, with a weird floral undertone. Like somebody had been spraying a particularly sickly air-freshener. Most of the space was taken up with a greasy-looking leather suite, and the largest TV and stereo Lucas had ever seen. A grizzled black man handed him a beer.
Earl, Lucas thought, trying to match the faces to the photos in his case file. Earl was sitting by Patch, who was thickset and acne-scarred. There were two younger guys, one with a long, pimply face, the other darker, with a tattoo of a snake on his arm. They must be Chunk and Jacko, and Harry – when played by Agent Barnes – had met them briefly before. Lucas returned their nods of greeting. A middle-aged man, who in spite of his sagging jowls had a look of Nate about him, was propped up in a corner.
Nobody said anything while they waited. They just drank, smoked and stared. The music was only switched off when Glory and Angeline returned. Lucas was interested to see that the old lady didn’t look as decrepit as before. Her wrinkly face was made up with childishly bright cosmetics, like a doll’s.
She pointed at Nate. ‘You checked him for the dubyas?’ Her voice was firmer too.
The three Ws were witchwork, weapons and wires. Earl patted Lucas down and searched his clothes while Nate went through his sports bag. Although Lucas was expecting this, he still tensed up. The glamour’s amulet was concealed in the strap of his cheap watch. But he had one more ready-made, hidden in the false base of a deodorant can.
The bag didn’t contain much, since Harry was supposed to have left home in a hurry. Nate was thorough; squeezing out some toothpaste and uncapping the deodorant. Lucas held his breath. However, Nate soon moved on to more interesting objects – like the MP3 player that Earl had found.
‘The latest model. Sweet,’ Nate said, transferring it to his own pocket. Then he took out a switchblade and slit the bag’s lining. It didn’t take him long to pull out the grubby bundle of banknotes that had been hidden there.
‘It’s all I have,’ Lucas said, trying to sound both indignant and dismayed.
‘There’s over three hundred quid here . . . You made this from dealing our pills, I’ll bet.’
‘I’ve sent business your way too, remember.’
‘Well, bed ’n’ board here don’t come cheap. We’ll take this as down-payment.’ Nate set the wad of cash to one side. Harry’s keyring was also confiscated, and passed to Angeline. ‘A little something for your scrying-bowl, Auntie.’
‘You’re going to spy on me?’
‘Auntie’ll want to see how you’re settling in . . . and what you get up to when we’re not around.’ Nate pointed the blade of his knife at his chest, only half jokingly. ‘So mind you stay on the straight and narrow.’
‘All right,’ said Angeline, rapping her knuckles on the beaten-up coffee table. ‘Let’s get to the issue at hand. Everyone here knows who Harry is by now, and what he’s about –’
‘I’d still like to hear it from the horse’s mouth,’ Glory interrupted. She looked at Lucas unpleasantly. ‘Go on. Tell us why you’re here.’
‘Because I’m witchkind, I’m unregistered, and I want to keep it that way.’ Pause. ‘And if I’m going to escape the prickers, I’ll need help.’
‘So you, what, just upped and left home without a word?’
‘There was a note. I said I was going travelling. My sister’ll be relieved to get rid of me. She’s an uptight bitch and her husband’s worse – they had to take me in after Dad joined his new family in the States. Mum ran off years back. I’ve been causing them hassle ever since.’
Did it sound too rehearsed? He assumed the coven would have already done the basic background checks. WICA hadn’t taken any chances: there was even an agent posing as Harry’s sister at an address in Fulham.
‘I don’ like it,’ mumbled a voice from the corner. It was Joe Junior, the so-called boss. He belched. ‘Another bloody kid who doesn’t know his bootsh from his backshide.’
‘Don’t you worry, Dad.’ Nate shot a sly look at Glory. ‘This one can pay his way.’
Angeline leaned forward. ‘Harry me boy, it’s time the others saw what you’ve got. Go on – show ’em what you showed me.’
Lucas drew out from his pocket some blades of grass and a twig that had gone unnoticed during Earl’s rummaging. Licking the grass, he twined it round the twig, and rubbed the twig between his hands so it twisted back and forth. He began to whistle tunelessly, funnelling his fae out with his breath. First it stirred the loose ends of grass, then sent the faintest breeze drifting across the room. The longer he whistled, the stronger the breeze, until both grass and twig were bending like a tree in the gale. Suddenly, a miniature whirlwind whipped through the room, catching up cigarette ash and bottle tops, and blowing Glory’s bright hair around her head. It was a watered-down version of the storm that had wreaked such havoc on the MP’s office.
His audience was enthralled. Patch laughed delightedly. Nate looked as smug as if he’d done it himself. The only people who didn’t seem impressed were Joe, drinking in the corner, and Glory. She smoothed down her hair with a grimace of annoyance. Once Lucas had got his breath back, everyone looked to Angeline. Regally, she rose to address the room.
‘Harry’s come to us ’cause he’s got nowhere else to go. He won’t be the first nor the last. A witch is honour bound to help their kind because fae runs thicker than blood, quicker’n water. That’s the rule my sisters and I lived by.
‘He needs our help, yes, but that don’t mean we’re going to get nothing in return. I’m old and I’m tired, and the sooner I start training up a successor, the better for all of us. It’s witchwork what raises Cooper Street up, and sets us apart. And though these are hard times, it’s witchwork what’ll pull us through.’
She turned to Lucas. ‘I’ll teach you what I can, but it’s not just me you’ll be learning from. There’s a lot of experience in this room, not to say talent. You stay here, you abide by our rules and our way of doing things, and we’ll see you right.’
It was quite a performance. When it came to his own response, however, Lucas didn’t think Harry was the eloquent type. ‘I’ll, er, do my best,’ he mumbled. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘Harpies,’ slurred Joe. ‘You’re all the shame. Think you’re better’n rest of ush . . . more trouble’n you’re worth . . .’
Nobody paid him any attention. Their eyes were fixed on Angeline, who’d taken a cut-out paper doll and a needle out of her handbag. Solemnly, she passed them to Nate, who jabbed the needle into his thumb and smeared the blood on the doll. Everyone did so – even Joe eventually.
Lucas was last. Angeline placed the bloodstained paper doll on his palm and told him his lines.
‘I swear loyalty to this coven and everyone in it . . .’
As he spoke, Angeline rubbed a witchworked-twist of paper between her thumbs. It was a similar technique to the one Lucas had used in his witchkind assessment, but left the old lady huffing and puffing with effort.
‘. . . their blood is my blood, their bond is mine . . .’
The doll caught alight. Lucas winced, but managed to hold his hand steady.
‘So may my flesh burn if I fail to keep my oath – ah –’
The little doll flared briefly and crumbled away. His palm was tingling but unscorched.
The men grinned and slapped each other on the back. Except for Joe, who merely belched. Dumb hoods, thought Lucas, as he dusted off his hands.
Then he met Glory’s sardonic gaze. Superstition tugged at him. For a moment, it felt as if he really had summoned a curse.
Once Angeline left, the music was turned up again, more beer fetched from the fridge, and the older men began to play cards. Jacko went out for food. He came back with chips and a trio of slutty-looking girls, who proceeded to drape themselves over him, Nate and Chunk. ‘Meet Prince Harry,’ said Nate. ‘He’ll be helping us out for a while.’
The girls screeched with laughter. ‘I’ll sit on his throne any day,’ cackled the fattest one.
Lucas smiled politely. It was a relief when Angeline reappeared. ‘Our new recruit’s dead on his feet,’ she announced, before dropping an armful of sheets on Glory’s lap. ‘Time to show him to the penthouse. Go on – off you trot.’
Glory got up with a flounce. Lucas picked up his bag and followed her into the hall.
‘So what’s your role in this set-up?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Housekeeping?’
She thrust the bedding into his chest. ‘Pest control.’
They climbed the narrow stairs up to the top of the house. What Lucas could see of the rest of the building was dark and ramshackle, and the attic was no different. It was furnished with a mattress, a sink and a stack of broken chairs. From somewhere outside, a dog howled.
‘This’ll be yours for as long as you’re here,’ Glory told him. ‘The toilet and shower are back on the ground floor. Or you can always piss in the sink.’
Lucas managed not to shudder.
‘I’m on the other side of that.’ She pointed to the wall. ‘So I’ll give it a thump when it’s time to rise and shine. Auntie Angel wants me to give you the grand tour in the morning.’
‘OK. Um . . . thanks.’
‘All part of the service.’ Her eyes flicked over him. ‘That were a fine trick with the wind and the whistling. Seems like you’ve got this coven eating outta the palm of your hand.’
‘I’m just doing my job.’
Her lip curled. ‘Well, don’t get too cocky. Making pals with the Morgans will be a different matter.’
‘Believe me, I don’t underestimate the challenge.’
‘Don’t underestimate the people here, either.’
In the light of a bare bulb, her face was all bones and shadows. They were as different as it was possible for two people to be, yet he knew they had one thing in common. Her mother had also been taken from her at an early age – not by witchcrime, admittedly, but as a result of its legacy. Angeline had told the Witchcrime Directorate that Glory wanted justice for her mother, and the chance of a normal life. Looking at her now, Lucas wasn’t so sure. Coven blood feuds were about the pursuit of vengeance, not the righting of wrongs.
After she left, Lucas stood absolutely still for a minute, letting the emptiness wash over him. Then he squirted shower gel all over the sink and turned on the tap. The sound of running water was calming. A compact mirror had been stuck above the sink with Blu-tack; this time, however, he avoided Harry’s face. He wished he had something, anything, of his own. A book, a postcard . . . even his old watch.
Music was still pumping away downstairs. Lucas lay down on the sagging mattress and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the last time he saw his father, their embrace made clumsy by the weight of things unsaid. From there, his thoughts moved to his mother. He wondered what kind of difference his fae would have made to her. He wondered what she would think if she could see him now. It was several hours before he fell asleep.