through its doors to prove that the charred corpse in their possession was
not
my baby sister, but Avery would rather tear off her own fingernails than visit a morgue.
It was my brother who stepped up. “I’ll come.” As soon as thewords left his mouth, his rotary rang. He swore, and accepted the call. “Vardan,” he said in a clipped, hard tone that I teasingly referred to as his “big boy” voice.
“Right … Now’s not a good …” He turned his back, walking to the other side of the room. We could all hear him, however. “Of course … Yes, of course, I understand, sir … I have a family emergency, sir … I’ll be there as soon as I can, of course.” He hung up, his expression pinched as he turned back to us.
“Jesus, Val,” Avery spat around a sob. “Your sister’s dead. Can’t you leave the job for a few minutes at least?” I would have corrected her about Dede, but she was right about Val, so I kept quiet. He worked too hard – and spent too much time kissing his superintendent’s arse.
“Someone broke into the PAH last night,” he told her, as if to justify himself. “Stole the records of every halvie born between November 1990 and December 1991. Looks like it was a halvie who did it.”
Prince Albert Hospital was where all half-bloods were born and received any medical attention needed throughout the course of our lives. Someone stealing records was a big deal – but not more important than family. Still, it took me a second to realise that my own records would be amongst the ones stolen.
“Halvies stealing half-blood records? That’s a little dodgy, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I’ve heard of stranger things.” He straightened his shoulders and shoved his wireless into the leather sheath on his belt. “Right, so let’s get to Bedlam and get this over with.”
“Don’t tell me you believe Dede’s not dead just because Xandy doesn’t want to believe it?” Avery’s cheeks were flushed the same colour as her hair. “I don’t want to believe it either, but that doesn’t make it less true.”
“No harm in checking. We owe Dede that much.” Val’s expression was sadly resolute as he put his arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go. See ya, Church.”
I glanced over my brother’s shoulder at my sister and former professor. Avery looked like a sad and angry child with her redrimmed eyes, but she stood her ground. Church raised his hand in sad farewell. He didn’t say anything – he didn’t have to. He knew me well enough to know that he’d be the first person I rang once I saw the truth with my own eyes.
I just hoped that truth wouldn’t be that my blood didn’t know fuck-all, and that my sister really was dead.
Val and I didn’t speak the entire drive to Lambeth Road. I sat in the passenger seat of his vintage Triumph motor carriage and watched parts of the city go by, blurred by the increasing rain. The carriage was lower to the ground than its horse-driven counterpart, and it was a rich auburn colour, with cream wheels turning beneath metal arches. The long snout was curved, narrowing toward the front where the wide headlights sat like startled eyes. To be honest, I was surprised that my brother had his precious baby out on such a wet, thankless day. He usually treated it as though it was made of sugar.
Rain didn’t just fall from the sky, it stomped down like the feet of a child in the middle of a tantrum, spraying up around the tyres as we raced across roads that were a mix of cobblestone and modern ashphalt. The city was grey; it looked as though a giant hand had dipped the spires and stone in pewter. It was exactly the kind of day it should be when you got news of your sister’s suicide.
Alleged
suicide, I corrected myself as I dry-swallowed thesupplements Val had forced upon me after telling me I looked feral. He had plenty of his own script left, so I didn’t mind taking a couple.
My brother had his A-cylinder plugged into the Triumph’s
not
my baby sister, but Avery would rather tear off her own fingernails than visit a morgue.
It was my brother who stepped up. “I’ll come.” As soon as thewords left his mouth, his rotary rang. He swore, and accepted the call. “Vardan,” he said in a clipped, hard tone that I teasingly referred to as his “big boy” voice.
“Right … Now’s not a good …” He turned his back, walking to the other side of the room. We could all hear him, however. “Of course … Yes, of course, I understand, sir … I have a family emergency, sir … I’ll be there as soon as I can, of course.” He hung up, his expression pinched as he turned back to us.
“Jesus, Val,” Avery spat around a sob. “Your sister’s dead. Can’t you leave the job for a few minutes at least?” I would have corrected her about Dede, but she was right about Val, so I kept quiet. He worked too hard – and spent too much time kissing his superintendent’s arse.
“Someone broke into the PAH last night,” he told her, as if to justify himself. “Stole the records of every halvie born between November 1990 and December 1991. Looks like it was a halvie who did it.”
Prince Albert Hospital was where all half-bloods were born and received any medical attention needed throughout the course of our lives. Someone stealing records was a big deal – but not more important than family. Still, it took me a second to realise that my own records would be amongst the ones stolen.
“Halvies stealing half-blood records? That’s a little dodgy, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I’ve heard of stranger things.” He straightened his shoulders and shoved his wireless into the leather sheath on his belt. “Right, so let’s get to Bedlam and get this over with.”
“Don’t tell me you believe Dede’s not dead just because Xandy doesn’t want to believe it?” Avery’s cheeks were flushed the same colour as her hair. “I don’t want to believe it either, but that doesn’t make it less true.”
“No harm in checking. We owe Dede that much.” Val’s expression was sadly resolute as he put his arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go. See ya, Church.”
I glanced over my brother’s shoulder at my sister and former professor. Avery looked like a sad and angry child with her redrimmed eyes, but she stood her ground. Church raised his hand in sad farewell. He didn’t say anything – he didn’t have to. He knew me well enough to know that he’d be the first person I rang once I saw the truth with my own eyes.
I just hoped that truth wouldn’t be that my blood didn’t know fuck-all, and that my sister really was dead.
Val and I didn’t speak the entire drive to Lambeth Road. I sat in the passenger seat of his vintage Triumph motor carriage and watched parts of the city go by, blurred by the increasing rain. The carriage was lower to the ground than its horse-driven counterpart, and it was a rich auburn colour, with cream wheels turning beneath metal arches. The long snout was curved, narrowing toward the front where the wide headlights sat like startled eyes. To be honest, I was surprised that my brother had his precious baby out on such a wet, thankless day. He usually treated it as though it was made of sugar.
Rain didn’t just fall from the sky, it stomped down like the feet of a child in the middle of a tantrum, spraying up around the tyres as we raced across roads that were a mix of cobblestone and modern ashphalt. The city was grey; it looked as though a giant hand had dipped the spires and stone in pewter. It was exactly the kind of day it should be when you got news of your sister’s suicide.
Alleged
suicide, I corrected myself as I dry-swallowed thesupplements Val had forced upon me after telling me I looked feral. He had plenty of his own script left, so I didn’t mind taking a couple.
My brother had his A-cylinder plugged into the Triumph’s
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