1
A Secrecy of Birds
If ever there’d been such a thing as normalcy, Solace considered, it must have had the life expectancy of a suicidal mayfly. Being saved from death by an inscrutable feline and deposited in a magically sealed safehouse was all well and good; but it didn’t explain how Evan had managed to procure a plastic apron with painted-on bosoms and a slogan about the kissability of cooks. The idea that a house provisioned by vampires – and worse, by her parents – contained such an item was alarming. Solace realised her mouth was open, and closed it.
‘Breakfast?’ Evan asked, by way of greeting. He waved a plastic spatula towards a nearby frypan and frowned. ‘Well, it’s brunch, technically. It just looks like breakfast. We’re in the realm of noon.’
‘Yes,’ said Solace, muzzily. She’d just woken up, and was only about seventy percent of the way towards full consciousness. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she glanced around.
Besides Evan, the kitchen was staffed by Manx and Harper. Apart from Evan’s ludicrous apron, all three boys were clothed only in boxer shorts. Noticing this, Solace blushed and tightened her bathrobe – she’d left her clothes downstairs the night before, and had been forced to improvise. Seeing her expression, Manx cocked his head towards the laundry and raised a mischievous eyebrow.
‘Electra’s done a load of washing,’ he said. ‘Your stuff included. So we’re all reduced to toplessness, and everyone else is in robes.’
‘I lobbied for the other way round.’ Evan sighed. ‘But no one ever listens. Philistines.’
‘Clothes should be done soon, anyway,’ Harper said, ignoring Evan’s remark. ‘They’re on the line.’
‘And the others?’
‘Jess is in the shower,’ said Manx. ‘Laine’s upstairs, and Paige is outside with Electra. We’ve been taking turns at the hot water,’ he added. ‘We’re all done, but you can go next, assuming there’s any left.’
Solace shrugged. ‘That’s okay. I had one last night.’ Craning her head, she peered longingly at the still-sizzling breakfast, which appeared to feature everything from bacon and minute steaks to fruit and cereal. Despite her guilty feast the previous evening, her stomach rumbled at the enticing smell.
Seeing her expression, Harper grinned. ‘Give it another minute. We’ll call when it’s ready.’
Nodding, Solace turned, walked past the lounge and flinched. There was Duchess, camouflaged against casual scrutiny by virtue of having furled herself into a cushion-shaped ball. Feeling a hard knot rise in her throat, Solace remembered their conversation of the night before: Duchess, who’d been silently guarding her since the group home, had allowed her friends to be captured by the Bloodkin. Though Solace’s rebellious internal monologue – a voice she’d come to think of as the Vampire Cynic – urged her to confess, the little cat had forbidden her to speak of it. Instead, a more human part of her bowed its head and acquiesced, afraid of how her friends would react. As if my life isn’t already complicated enough.
Shaking her head, she looked away and kept moving. Solace had small tolerance for her own selfpity, and rejected it fiercely now. It’s a new day, she told herself. More importantly, we all survived to see it. Lighten up!
She paused at the back door. It was full-length glass. Wary of direct sunlight, she surveyed the sky. It was slightly overcast, and most of their small garden was in shade. Taking a deep breath, she slid the door open and slipped out, savouring the crisp, wintry flavour of the air.
With her arms crossed over her knees, Electra was sitting with her back to the side wall. She watched the laden clothesline drift heavily round in the breeze, while Paige lay full stretch on the grass, eyes closed. Overhead, the drying clothes moved gently on the line. Solace recognised her own black shirt between Jess’s blue singlet and Laine’s corset, and hoped she could soon reclaim it.
‘Morning!’ Electra called, without turning around. Paige raised her head, waved, and lay back down again. Both girls wore their robes with an ease Solace envied.
She stepped gingerly onto the grass, still wary of the hour. It was surprisingly green, dotted with greybeige paving stones that formed a broken, rambling footpath towards the back fence. Underfoot, it felt cool and dimly moist.
‘Thanks for doing the laundry.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Electra turned and smiled.
All too clearly, Solace remembered her friend’s trembling exhaustion the night before. Guilt churned within her briefly. Electra’s grey eyes were clear, her skin bright, her hair washed clean of smoke and sweat, but there was more to the transformation than hot water and a good night’s sleep could account for. Electra’s expression was serene, reflecting a quietude that bordered on the spiritual. Surprise must have shown in Solace’s face, because the blonde girl tilted her head in query.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I mean, you just look very calm today, that’s all. And last night was … I’m trying to think of a better description than “Book of Revelations meets magic cat”, but it’s just not coming to me.’
Electra snorted. Paige laughed with enough force to make her midsection spasm uncomfortably, prompting her to turn and prop herself up on an elbow.
‘Breakfast ready?’ she asked, rubbing her ribs.
‘Just about.’
‘Come on, then.’ With a pleasant sigh, Electra straightened and stood, flexing her fingers. She nodded to the clothesline. ‘These are nearly dry, anyway.’
They stepped back inside, shutting the door behind them. As Paige slipped past to the kitchen, Electra turned to Solace. ‘Am I going nuts, or has this house been made for us? I mean, exactly the right number of beds, toothbrushes, towels, an absence of anyone else …’
‘You’re not going nuts,’ Solace promised. ‘Although the universe might be.’ She paused, before steering back to safer territory. ‘Speaking of which, didn’t you promise Duchess another swan? She’s asleep now, but when she wakes up –’
Electra grimaced. ‘Ye gods. Don’t remind me.’
‘Remind you of what?’ asked Jess, startling them both.
Solace turned. Newly emerged from the bathroom and dressed in yet another ubiquitous robe, the seer waved a cheerful good morning with one hand, wringing out her wet hair with the other.
‘Swans,’ said Electra.
Jess made a face. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Breakfast!’ called Manx. ‘Anyone want to call Laine?’
‘No need.’ From her spot by the counter, Paige pointed: the Goth girl was already making her way downstairs, evidently having sensed the imminence of food.
They ate in silence, or rather, the closest approximation to silence involving chewing, condiment-clinking, the scraping of knives and other such interruptions. The only conversation consisted of requests to pass the jam, toast, steak, bacon, onions, sauce, sausages, fruit, juice, cereal, bread, milk or eggs, although Solace declined these last two and all the condiments on the grounds of allergy.
It was a veritable feast, and each of them was ravenous.
Eventually the meal was gone: crusts chewed, yolk mopped up, bacon rind scavenged and bowls emptied. Stuffed to the gills, they sat back, savouring satiety and enjoying a moment of peace.
Then Laine spoke, glancing at the three boys. ‘So. You guys cooked all that?’
Guardedly, Evan raised his head. ‘What of it?’
‘Nothing.’ She stretched. ‘I’m just amazed you knew what the stove was for. And that it was all so tasty.’
From where he sat, Harper managed a gracious half-bow. Manx feigned wounded dignity. Solace laughed.
‘It’s like a Christmas miracle,’ Evan grumbled, not quite blushing at the backhanded praise.
They all rose and began to clean up, stacking so much into the dishwasher that it barely closed, while Electra fielded queries as to the readiness of their clothes.
‘God, yes,’ said Jess, with profound enthusiasm. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I love the robes – but a houseful of semi-naked people isn’t nearly as much fun as “Big Brother” makes out.’
‘Volunteers to change that state of affairs?’ quipped Evan. ‘I think there’s some whipped cream in the fridge.’
Jess groaned. ‘Older sister standing right here!’
‘Clothes,’ said Electra firmly, before Evan could respond. Nonetheless, her mouth twitched at the corners. ‘Come on. They should be dry by now.’
With the exception of Harper’s shirt, several thick pairs of socks, and – regrettably – Evan’s jeans, she was proven correct. While her brother lounged by the clothesline, Jess rolled her eyes and went back to the bathroom, leaving everyone else to find their own changing space. Pulling on fresh clothes made Solace wince to realise how genuinely filthy they’d been before. Never again will I take hot water for granted. The simple luxury of clean fabric made her feel more human than she had in weeks. Well, amended the Vampire Cynic, for a given value of human.
Once dressed, however, their energy dissipated. No matter how calm they all appeared, Solace knew, no one had forgotten the dungeon. They moved like ants disoriented by a broken food trail, milling and directionless. Rubbing her arms, she glanced round for her leather jacket, the one article of her clothing Electra hadn’t been able to wash. She wasn’t cold, but the coat was comforting. She found it folded in a corner of the dining room. As she pulled it on, something crackled in the left-hand pocket. Her hand touched paper.
Sharpsoft. My mother’s book.
How could she have forgotten? Mentally cursing herself, Solace pulled the pages free and walked back to her friends. ‘We need to look at these,’ she said firmly. Her heart was racing.
‘Right,’ said Harper. ‘Let’s –’ He stopped, staring at the lounge.
‘What?’ Solace asked, then looked herself. The others followed suit, until eight pairs of eyes were fixed on the big sofa.
Tiny and graceful, Duchess stretched her slender white forepaws. Yawning sweetly, she sat on her haunches and winked her pale green eyes, glancing around the room before fixing her sights firmly on Electra.
<Good morning, human. Where is my swan?>
There was a moment’s pause. Electra turned apprehensively to Solace.
‘Did she just say –’
Solace grinned, unable to stop herself. ‘She wants her swan.’
‘Dammit.’ Electra sighed, glancing at Duchess. ‘Just hang on a minute, will you? I need to put some clothes in the dryer.’
<As long as my swan is forthcoming, I do not mind>
Dutifully, Solace relayed the message, feeling her cheeks ache with the strain of not laughing. Shoulders slumped, Electra trudged outside, grabbed the remaining wet clothes off the line and hauled them into the laundry. A minute later, she reappeared as the whirring, thumping sound of an older model dryer filtered into the background. Helplessly, the summoner looked to each of them in turn, but Duchess’s will was immutable. Jess, at least, had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but when faced with her friend’s pleading eyes, she made a surprisingly Evan-esque bow and waved her into the kitchen.
‘Tiles, I think,’ she added over the top of Electra’s resigned exhalation. ‘The last one bled a bit.’
As Duchess leapt neatly down from the lounge and padded into the kitchen, Paige stood on tiptoes and leant over the counter-top, peering downwards with undisguised fascination. ‘Speaking of which, what happened to the carcass? Did she, I mean –’ she flicked her eyes to Jess, ‘– eat all of it? Like, even the beak?’
Jess made a face. ‘You’ll see.’
Evan edged nearer the stove, one arm wrapped around his naked torso, having divested himself of his apron when the others changed. ‘Just to be clear? This is utterly sick. We’re utterly sick. And I cannot for the life of me look away.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Solace.
‘Hoo, boy,’ murmured Electra, closing her eyes. There was a pause. Duchess flicked the tip of her tail.
A pale gold glow suffused the kitchen, growing in intensity until it was bright to the point of blinding. Electra let out her breath. The light died. Everyone craned forwards, staring at the far corner of the kitchen.
Flapping its clipped wings and hissing in wild agitation, a large swan arched its neck at Duchess, watching her from the corner of one small and frightened eye.
<Hello, swan-lunch>
So quickly that Solace almost missed it, Duchess pounced, grappling the startled bird mongoosestyle, closing her jaws around the back of its head. Digging her sharp fore claws into its breastbone, she bit down hard – harder than she should have been able to. With a sickening crack, the swan’s neck broke. Honking and hissing, it began to spasm, blood marring its white feathers in ever-thickening rivulets as Duchess snaked her head around to finish it off at the throat. With a final, piercing shriek, the swan died, collapsing into a heap of defeated bird flesh, extremities twitching in the aftershock of pain.
Small and exultant, Duchess began to eat.
It wasn’t until a bloody pinion landed near Solace’s foot that she tore her eyes away, uttering a small cry. Electra, who was closest, made an ungainly jump over both cat and prey, rushing to put distance between her and the macabre spectacle. Even Jess, who had joked about the first swan, looked pale.
‘She … she’ll vanish the bones and … leftovers. When she’s done.’ Jess gulped, running a hand over her eyes. ‘We must really have been on another plane last night.’
‘And you’ve just now figured that out?’ Paige’s voice shook with a mixture of horror and selfdisgust. ‘Remind me to hit you later.’
As Duchess cracked what sounded like a particularly sturdy bone, Jess blanched. ‘I’m not going to argue.’
‘Grim,’ commented Harper.
‘So,’ said Evan, into the resultant silence. ‘Where were we?’
‘Pages,’ said Solace, faintly. ‘Sharpsoft’s pages. Unless anyone else has a better idea?’
<Delicious>
Automatically and with no small amount of trepidation, Manx and Solace turned to see Duchess poking her head around the corner of the bench, her normally blue-and-white features streaked with red.
<Thank the human> Purring, she licked her lips and vanished back into the kitchen.
‘Duchess says thanks,’ Solace said, wincing a little as she spoke. ‘At least one of us is happy.’
Electra shuddered. ‘Let’s make a pact, all right? This is not to be mentioned ever again, on pain of disembowelment. Ever.’ When nobody objected, she let out a sigh and gestured to the lounges. ‘Right. So. Let’s see what Sharpsoft has to say. Or at least, what Sharpsoft thinks we should know.’
Nodding, Solace smoothed out the pages, and walked over to the armchair Laine and Evan had shared the previous evening. She sat down, trying not to tremble. What did they say about her? For a moment, her throat was too tight to speak. Then she glanced across to where Jess and Electra were recovering via the time-honoured practice of mocking Evan, and felt her spirits recover. Whatever Sharpsoft had brought them, she could bear it.
‘My mother’s book,’ she said, by way of introduction. The others looked up. Solace took a deep breath and smoothed out a final crease. Tantalisingly, the first sentence started halfway through – had Sharpsoft been too hurried to notice, or was it a deliberate omission? Had Sanguisidera noticed the pages were gone, or had they been stolen before she saw the book? Putting these thoughts aside, she started to read aloud:
‘… prophecy is, although quite beautiful, damnably vague. Such is always the way with seers. In any case some warning of the future, no matter how cryptic, is infinitely preferable to no warning at all. As I have become the chronicler of these events, Aaron has warned me of the trouble in punctuating prophecy when we do not know where the correct emphasis should lie, and so I have endeavoured to be careful. Here, then, are the words we were given:
‘In a place of nameless speaking
bloody-eyed a star is seeking
memories undone
come will eight of rarest making
in their echoes power waking
in their selves and selves forsaking
darkness overrun.
‘At the doom of Starkine’s crossing
Trueheart grieved in turmoil tossing
Watcher’s secrets all unsaid
Daughter chained and hope unlocking
where the fates are cruel and mocking
and where worlds are interlocking
Bright One, listen to the dead.
‘Warden under midnight learning
Shadowfriend in silence burning
Quickling’s prison fades
heavy with remembered yearning
fight the wheel within its turning
all go forth and two returning
worldly renegades.
‘We do not know the whole meaning, but this much is plain: our child – the Daughter – will have seven companions in the fight against Sanguisidera. Or so I hope. Some parts of the prophecy suggest treachery – forsaken selves and unshared secrets are not happy futures, and yet there is one called Trueheart, and woken power. Luck and the universe willing, these words will mean more to my daughter than to me, as it is for her sake they are written.
‘The Daughter. I had not known I will bear a girl.
‘She will read this, Aaron says. We will leave her my book. And suddenly I feel the pressure of years upon me: not age, but my daughter’s life. Most women fear to die in childbirth, a primordial clutching as they ebb and bleed. I had not thought to feel it when I bore Sanguisidera’s Grief – my life was already forfeit – but at the last, I did not want to die. A century has passed since then, one hundred years in which I have fought and loved, and lived, and lost. More span of time than most mortal men are given; but I am older still. And yet, I fear to die. I want to know my daughter.
‘I won’t. But Liluye will.
‘The Rookery lives at the Sign of the Singing Hawk. My daughter, if you read this, seek Liluye there. She can be trusted. Mayhap she knows more of the prophecy. At the very least, she can guide you – not only to Sanguisidera, but in yourself. Homewards.’
Staring at the final line, Solace stopped.
‘That’s quite a prophecy,’ Manx said at last. ‘So much so, in fact, that I didn’t understand a word of it.’
‘You and me both,’ Solace muttered, genuinely piqued. She’d hoped for some answers, but instead had found a bittersweet commingling of the cryptic and the personal, neither of which was particularly illuminating.
Jess held out a hand. ‘Perhaps if we all had a look?’
With strange reluctance, Solace handed over the pages. After some initial tugging, the others crowded around Jess, reading over her shoulder. Paige in particular made a show of scrutiny; but it was Laine who lingered longest in study, eyes flicking back and forth over the three prophetic stanzas before returning them to Solace.
Then came discussion: a long, speculative ramble. The simplest agreement was that all of them were mentioned: certainly, there were eight of them now, and as the house was clearly intended to house eight occupants, it acted as validation. That spawned a separate discussion as to who had set up the house. Solace, who had promised Duchess to keep the full truth a secret, suggested that it must have been her parents, a scenario which was thankfully accepted with minimal fuss. How Duchess had known to take them there was a more problematic question, but with the swan still bloody on the kitchen floor, the others were mercifully eager to divert back to the prophecy itself, thus letting Solace off the hook for the time being.
Of greater concern were the names they’d been bestowed and what they might mean. Solace, obviously, was the Daughter, but who was Shadowfriend? Quickling? Bright One? Nobody could quite decide, and although Evan theorised that it must have something to do with their respective Tricks, Manx pointed out that none of them had super-speed or were friendly with darkness. The idea that Solace might be chained again at some point was cause for disturbance, as were the notions of selves forsaken and listening to the dead.
Paige went briefly pale at that particular line. Harper squeezed her hand and pointed out that it probably meant heeding the contents of the book, which, what with the deaths of Solace’s parents – in addition to their vampirism – had effectively been written by the dead twice over. Jess looked like she wanted to challenge that interpretation, but caught Laine’s eye and thought better of it. Evan took that opportunity to exclaim over the age of Solace’s parents, and the fact that Grief was over a hundred years old.
Eventually, they fell silent.
As a last-ditch effort, Jess exhaled lengthily and nodded towards Solace’s lap, where the fateful pages rested.
‘I wonder what the Sign of the Singing Hawk means,’ she mused. ‘That, at least, sounds like something we could find, if we only knew what it was.’
<It is a secrecy of birds>
Solace jumped. Manx stared. This time, the others were quick to notice their reaction, turning almost in sync to watch Duchess, now cleansed of blood, pad daintily out of the kitchen and into the lounge.
‘What did she say?’ asked Paige, eyes wide. When Solace told her, she blinked. ‘Oh. Pretty.’
Abruptly, Solace remembered Paige’s exchange with Duchess the previous evening, and wondered at the positive effect it seemed to have wrought on her. No longer skittish and frightened, the pink-and-purple-haired girl was almost entirely back to normal; calmer, even. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that she remained a little in awe of Duchess, if not completely fond of her culinary preferences – but then, that was true of all of them.
‘Have you cleaned up the swan?’ asked Electra, watching the little cat warily. Duchess looked up at her with pale green eyes before yawning and washing a paw.
<The swan is gone. It was most satisfactory>
Manx relayed the sentiment before Solace could.
‘A secrecy of birds,’ Laine echoed. Her tone was thoughtful. Freshly scrubbed, her pale skin glowed, bright against the blackness of her clean hair. The effect was softening, as though her edges had been temporarily worn down. ‘It kind of makes sense.’
‘How so?’ Harper asked.
Laine shrugged. ‘Because of ravens, you know.’ When everyone continued to look at her, she blinked. ‘Oh. Well, rookery literally means a place where crows and ravens live, because corvid birds – black carrion birds, like crows and ravens – are also called rooks. And corbies, actually, because of corvid. But “rook” was a slang term in Victorian England, too, meaning a cheat or thief – probably because crows like to steal shiny things – and seeing as how thieves and other undesirable types like poets and prostitutes tended to live in slums, they started to call the slum areas and tenement buildings rookeries. So, it makes sense. A conspiracy of birds.’
She fell silent. The others stared at her. After a moment, Laine began to blush.
‘How do you even know this stuff ?’ asked Manx, impressed.
‘Dickens,’ said Laine. Evan snickered; the psychic rolled her eyes. ‘Charles Dickens, idiot. And, you know. I read a lot of history.’
Unexpectedly, it was Paige who came to the rescue. ‘We’re looking for a slum, then?’ she asked, tugging absently on a lock of hair.
Laine shot her a grateful look and nodded.
Solace frowned. ‘If we are, that hardly narrows it down.’ She toyed with the pages in her lap, flipping her fingers against the edge as though shuffling a deck of cards.
‘What does that say?’ Evan asked suddenly. Solace stared at him; he gestured for her to turn the pages over.
Obedient, Solace leafed through the upturned sheets. Sure enough, a message was scrawled on the back of one in thick, smudgy pencil, the writing all but illegible.
‘Sharpsoft,’ she murmured, softly.
‘What does it say?’ asked Manx.
‘I’m not sure.’ Squinting, she tried to puzzle out the message. ‘It’s almost like directions. I think? Someone else have a look.’
‘Here.’ Laine held out a hand, leaning across Evan in the process. Solace stretched out and submitted the relevant page, brushing fingertips with Laine. A kind of static electricity passed between them. Solace blinked, catching a sudden look of pity in Laine’s eyes, there and gone like a distant flash of lightning. The moment passed; Laine dropped her gaze and withdrew the page, leaving Solace momentarily stunned, embarrassed and, once the initial shock had faded, curious. A suspicion formed in the back of her mind, too immature to be spoken, but difficult to shake. The nape of her neck tingled.
‘You’re right,’ said Laine, after a moment. ‘At least, it’s part of an address. It just says, Kent Street – early underground. And then there’s the letter R.’
‘Which, along with the number eight, has been the proud sponsor of today’s Open Sesame Street,’ quipped Evan. ‘Directions to the Rookery, I’m guessing.’
‘Makes sense.’ Laine handed back the page. ‘At least it’s somewhere we can find.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Manx, only a little bemused. ‘We should just head over to Kent Street and peer in the guttering?’
‘No,’ said Jess, sitting up suddenly. ‘Underground car parks. There’s a few on Kent.’ She glanced at Laine for confirmation. When the psychic nodded, Jess went on. ‘It might be like Lukin’s lab or the entry into Town Hall – you know, joined to somewhere else. In which case –’
‘– the Sign of the Singing Hawk could be a marker,’ Solace finished. The two of them grinned.
‘So,’ said Harper. ‘This prophecy says we help Solace fight Sanguisidera. Solace’s mother says we should go to the Rookery and look for someone called Liluye, because she – I’m guessing she – can help us on both counts. Sharpsoft says the entrance to the Rookery is on Kent Street. We’re not quite sure if we trust him. So far, he hasn’t actually harmed us, but just been party to a boatload of crazy weirdness. Which can be said of everyone in this room. Add in a free house, breakfast, clean clothes and a good night’s sleep, and I’d say we’re doing okay.’
‘Unto that man give a cigar,’ said Evan.
‘But Tryst and Claire and Phoebe … they’re not okay.’
Everyone turned to Paige. She looked up. There was something hard behind her eyes.
‘I don’t mean to ruin the mood. But we need to remember this isn’t a game. Sanguisidera killed our friends.’ She swallowed. ‘Even if we’re fine now, it’s not because we’ve beaten her, or because some prophecy says we eventually will. It’s because of luck, and Duchess, and running away. So we need to be careful. It’s real. It’s not a game.’
‘Agreed,’ said Solace.
Paige smiled, but briefly: thankful, apologetic and sad.
‘We’re heading to Kent Street, then?’ asked Manx.
‘I’ve heard worse plans,’ said Jess, glancing around the room.
Evan made a face. ‘Does that mean I have to put my pants on?’
‘Please!’