The Children Of The Mist (20 page)

Like an arrow released she walked through the doors, across the lobby and looked up at the harp. Almost as tall as her, the long timber structure was elaborately carved with cherubs and angels. With a soft sigh she settled down upon a small stool. Her hands reached out and caressed one long taut string. A single note resonated through the room. And Morven began to play. It was a melody from the past, sad but beautiful, that filled her head with a wilderness of trees and high, mist-wreathed mountains. It was a place that seemed familiar, although reason told her that her feet had never traversed the rugged tors and leafy glades.

Her eyes snapped open and icy rage engulfed her. She eyed the sweaty hand clamped around her wrist with cold contempt. ‘Get your grubby paws off me,' she hissed.

The concierge leant down into her face. He smelled like gherkins. His hand tightened. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out, you scruffy little dirtbag.'

Morven's eyes narrowed. A dirtbag? How rude. ‘Or what?' she said disdainfully.

‘I'll call the police and have you arrested.'

Morven laughed. ‘What for, you stupid little man? Playing a harp without a licence?'

The concierge's mouth flapped a couple of times. ‘For…trespass.'

Morven stood up slowly. Oh, this was just priceless. Someone was way too big for his shiny shoes. Definitely needed a lesson in common courtesy. Oh boy, she'd enjoy putting him in his place. She turned and looked thoughtfully at the piano. It'd be a tight squeeze, but she thought she could fold him up enough to make him fit.

‘Morven!' In the doorway with Dog stood Zest. And he didn't look happy. ‘Morven, come on. We gotta go.'

Damn, but he was right. She shouldn't have come in. And making a scene was not an option. They'd got enough trouble as it was. Reluctantly she turned and retraced her
footsteps. Zest said not a word, turned and pushed on through the crowd. Morven felt bad and wished she could explain the impulse that had driven her to such a bizarre act. When they got to Zach's, she'd make him listen. The burger stand wasn't far.

When they finally turned down the road to the park, Morven wasn't sure whether she should be pleased or not. But it didn't matter. They were there. Outwardly the place looked the same. People walking idly down the avenue, chatting, laughing or holding hands. Others sat at tables eating, while a small queue waited patiently at the van's front. The aroma of frying onion and sizzling steak wafted on the breeze. A solitary drop of rain plopped like a sliver of ice onto Morven's bare arm.

Dog barked and took off. People paused and looked around. Some smiled as the big, black dog raced to the van and jumped up to peer over the counter. A second later, Zach's face appeared and looked at them. And then disappeared out of view. Dog dropped back to the ground and trotted around the side. Morven followed Zest to the small rear door.

Zach had the door open before Zest could knock. ‘Just give me a minute,' he said.

Morven looked questioningly at Zest. But then she heard Zach making apologies, the chink and rustle of money and finally a loud bang as the window slammed shut. Zach had closed up shop.

The old man was back in half a minute. ‘Come in,' he said.

Zest followed Dog, and Morven followed Zest into the van. It was a squeeze. Zest turned a milk crate over and perched on it, while Dog collapsed on the floor. Zach smiled at Morven, the furrows of his face deepening, and pulled a low stool out from the other side of the deep fryer. After a moment's hesitation she settled herself down. It was so low, her knees were dangerously close to her eyes. Zach pulled a box out from beneath the counter and sat, too.

Zach looked at them all silently. He had pale blue eyes. The colour of a dawn sky. Morven realised that he was tall. Taller even than Zest. But thin. Almost frail. In sharp contrast, his collar-length hair was thick and black, as were his eyebrows. As if all his energy had contrived to live on top of his head. His hands were slender and covered in blue veins that wiggled like snakes as his fingers tapped rapidly on his knees. No matter how hard she tried, Morven couldn't begin to guess his age, other than to feel that he was old.

Zach reached into the baggy pocket of his brown tweed jacket and drew out a pipe. With economical movement he lit it and puffed vigorously, sending sweet-smelling rings of smoke drifting into the air. His pale eyes settled on Morven and he smiled again. It was a kind smile and Morven couldn't help but smile back.

Zach pulled the stem of the pipe out of his mouth, let out a long sigh and looked at Zest. ‘Did you know?'

Zach glanced at Morven and away again. ‘I suspected. Well, hoped, really. But I didn't really know, not till she got sick.'

Morven was transfixed.

Zach took another long pull on his pipe. Morven watched as smoke came pouring out of his nose, and (she could have sworn) his ears. ‘What does she know?'

Zest's eyes followed the path of a particularly large smoke ring. ‘Not so much.'

Zach sniffed. ‘And you want me to enlighten her?'

Morven felt pissed about being talked over. Was she invisible? She stood up. ‘Well, someone had better enlighten me pretty damn quick, or I'm out of here.'

Zach looked at her then. ‘Ah, forgive me, Morven. I forget my manners. But we have little time. Let me introduce myself. I am The Mythmaker.'

Morven was sick of riddles. ‘Whatever.' She looked at her watch. It was twenty past eight. ‘I hate to be rude, but I'm a bit pressed for time. Could you please come to the point?'

Zach nodded. ‘I am what you could call a…literary agent. But mine is a very specialised clientele. A clientele that prefer to live in total privacy. Unseen, unheard, unrecorded. So, it is my job to ensure that any inklings of their existence are relegated to the annals of history as myth and legend. There, but not there, if you see what I mean.'

Morven wasn't quite sure she did see. Perhaps her confusion passed on, for the old man continued.

‘Take your own kind, for example. The Vampyrie. Think of Count Dracula. Such a story. So scary, so disturbing. But still, just a story, after all. Or so it is thought. But in reality, they exist, as you know only too well. Intelligent, resourceful, incredibly resilient, they have carved out a niche for themselves among the power brokers of this globe. In the shadows they thrive. Securely hidden between the pages of a book. Cleverly camouflaged generation after generation in myth and legend.'

Morven was entranced. It was brilliant. ‘So, you mean, all the stories about vampyres exist for the sole purpose of, well…deleting them from reality?'

Zach snapped his fingers and grinned at Zest. ‘She's quick.' He turned back to Morven. ‘Yes, precisely. Every vampyre book published is part of a carefully controlled program.'

Morven glared at Zest. ‘Why couldn't you tell me?'

Zest shook his head. ‘Tell her the rest, Zach.'

Dog lurched to his feet and paced toward the door, click, click, clicking on the lino. The black fur on his back stood up in a thick ridge. His lips curled back, showing pink gums and big white teeth. And he let out a low rumble of protest.

Zach stood up. ‘Sounds like we've got company.'

Morven tilted her head. Swiftly, she filtered through the night-time noise. Traffic, talk, music, wind in the trees, the soft swish of the river, clatter of feet, clink of glasses. In the distance a ferry hooted mournfully and a helicopter's blades whirred. Nothing out of the ordinary. And then, something else. Something that did not belong. What was it? An odd buzz. Almost metallic. Then a click, like a giant grasshopper. And then she had it — a radio. A two-way.

She glanced at Zest who lifted a finger to his lips in warning. Silently he stood, his right hand slipping his urami free. He looked at Zach and pointed to the floor. ‘Go.' he lip-synced.

Zach didn't argue. With surprising agility he leant down, peeled the edge of the lino back off the floor and lifted up a small trapdoor. Seconds later, lithe as an eel, he disappeared. Dog followed. Zest pointed at Morven and then at the trapdoor. Morven shook her head. Zest glared. Morven glared back.

A loud crackle, quickly smothered, filtered through the closed door. Morven pointed to Zest and then at the trapdoor. Zest glared. Morven glared back.

Then Zest grinned, his handsome face alight with glee. ‘On the count of three,' he mouthed silently.

Morven nodded.

‘One, two, three!' Zest lifted a leg and kicked the door open. There was a loud grunt and a thud. Zest jumped through the opening and bounced off the prone body. Morven was right behind. For good measure, she paused and clouted the man around the head with the butt of her pistol. As she stood she became aware of two things. The first was that three men, dressed in black, were pounding down the road toward them. Hands thrust into deep pockets. The second was that the skate park and her parents were barely half a kilometre across the park. A white hot rage filled her. She took a deep breath and turned to face them. Zest came and stood by her side. For one brief moment the tips of his fingers touched hers. And then, as if by silent consent, they both took off. Fast and furious.

As they raced headlong toward their prey, the three men slowed. Looked at each other. And stopped. Hands came out of pockets. Somewhere someone screamed. Before the men could draw their guns, Morven was among them. She could have killed — but she didn't. She was not an animal. A lesson needed to be taught and dead men didn't learn much. As she disarmed one man, she heard the soft sigh of Zest's urami and another went down, eyes glazed with pain. Together they rounded on the remaining man.

‘Oh…shit,' he said. His eyes flickered side to side, and then glanced up toward the tree line of the parkland.

It was as Morven had feared. There were more of them. In the park. With one fluid motion she reached out and pinched the man's shoulder blade. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed like a deflated tyre.

‘Oh, that's sick!' said Zest. ‘You gotta teach me that one.'

Morven looked at her watch and her stomach curled over like a wave. Ten minutes. Maybe her parents were in the park already. ‘Zest, there's more of them. In the park.'

Immediately he seemed to grasp the point. Without a word, he set off back the way they came. It was eerily silent. The few pedestrians that remained seemed frozen with shock
and just watched them pass in wide-eyed fear. But Morven knew the moment they were out of sight, those phones would be working overtime. The police would soon arrive.

Such was her terror, Morven couldn't wait for Zest. She flew across the park toward the skate park, her heart in her mouth. She wasn't sure what would be worse: her mum and dad to be there, or
not
to be there. Either way seemed fraught with danger. On the edge of the skate ring she paused in the canopy of a huge fig tree and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. Skaters skating, walkers walking and joggers jogging. And there they were. Relief washed over her like hot fudge sauce over an ice-cream sundae. They were alone, sitting on a bench. Just waiting.

She climbed carefully down and looked around once more. A movement caught her eye. Zest, in the kids' playground on top of the pirate ship. She could feel his gaze upon her. But he made no move. Reassured that all was well, she jumped down and ran over to her parents.

At the sight of her they jumped up. Her mother hugged her close. ‘Oh God, Morven, are you alright?'

‘I'm fine, Mum,' she said. She peered over her mother's shoulder at her father who looked on anxiously. ‘I'm really fine, Dad.'

Her father patted her on the shoulder. ‘Shelley, let her go love.'

Morven was released. Her mother opened her handbag and pulled out an envelope. ‘There's a visa for you here. It will enable you to travel as part of a crew. I've organised for you to take a flight tonight at ten o'clock from the army base. The address is in there. A man called Andrew Goldsmith will help you. The flight should take you to Edinburgh. From there…you're on your own.'

Morven took the envelope and stowed it in her backpack. There was so much she wanted to say but everything seemed to be bottlednecked in her brain. Toward the river she could hear the careful tread of booted feet; she could smell adrenaline, and taste the acid of vengeance on her tongue. They were coming. Sirens screamed across the city. She hugged her mum and her dad. ‘Please…just go.'

Her mother began to cry, but did not resist as her husband took her arm and led her away. Morven felt bereft. But Zest's abrupt appearance at her side gave her no time to dwell on the magnitude of her loss.

‘They're here,' he said.

She was not scared. More…impatient. Why couldn't they just leave them alone? She glanced to the west. Her parents were nearly at the gate, not running, but walking fast. She looked at Zest. ‘We gotta buy them a bit more time.'

Zest nodded. ‘Let's go play.'

Like wraiths they melted into the night. Only metres away they spotted three more men. Three again, thought Morven; bad mojo. Ought to kill one just to bring back the balance. Zest picked up a stone and threw it with deadly accuracy at the nearest man. It hit him square on the nose. There was a soft whine, and something pinged off a tree on Morven's right. Morven and Zest took off toward the river, crashing and banging through the Japanese garden. The three men closed in behind.

Morven felt a bullet burn across her left ankle, but she took no notice. Just slowed a little to let the posse keep up.

Zest dropped back beside her. ‘Jeez, they're slow,' he said.

She looked back at them as they stormed down the steep grassy embankment to the river walk. Another bullet whizzed over her head. ‘Pretty pathetic,' she agreed.

For two more kilometres Morven and Zest drew the foot soldiers down the path, until they had left civilisation behind. The river flowed dank and dark, lapping sullenly against the crumbling bank. In the quiet Morven could clearly hear the rapid breathing of their pursuers. Finally, she and Zest slowed down and stopped beside a large warehouse. And waited.