“It wouldn’t. You need a talent for that kind of summoning,” said Blackbird.
“In the end I contacted Sam — Sam Veldon. It was strange. He didn’t even ask me why I wanted to know — he got me an address for Niall, but he said Niall no longer lived here. When I asked him for a more current address he laughed. He said, ‘Try behind the mirror, or under the bed.’ What did he mean?”
“Niall can be elusive.”
“I wrote to Niall, here. That was days ago. I’ve been on the run, ever since. Katherine said she gave him the letter, but only yesterday — God, it seems like weeks have passed.”
“On the run from what?”
“From whom… sorry, old habits.” Claire tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’d taken precautions. You know I’m careful. I had a horseshoe on the front door. I had one on the back too, but there’s a short-cut. The recycling — you can take it downstairs, walk around the back in the dark and put it in the bins — or you can drop it into the alley and then put it into the bins on the way out in the morning when it’s daylight. Everyone does it.”
You dropped the recycling over the fire escape?” said Blackbird.
“I was making supper,” said Claire. “It was pasta, with peppers and tomato and… anyway, I heard a noise, or maybe just sensed a change. I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then I wondered — did I put the horseshoe back after putting the recycling out. I couldn’t remember. I knew I should have. I just couldn’t remember if I did.”
“What did you do?” asked Blackbird.
“I turned and saw the horseshoe, on the counter by the sink. That was where I’d left it. It should be on the back door, but it was in the kitchen. That meant… something could be in the flat.”
Blackbird was silent while Claire gathered herself. “I took it with me, intending to put it back, I suppose. I went quietly to where the fire exit is, and he was there.”
“Who?”
I don’t know!” She calmed herself, lowering her voice. “I don’t know. I saw a dark figure. I just reacted. I lashed out.”
“You hit him?”
“With the horseshoe,” said Claire. “It was in my hand.”
“You punched him with it?”
“I don’t remember. It was instinctive. He went down — collapsed in the passage like he’d been poleaxed. I panicked. He shouldn’t have been there. He was in my flat! I didn’t know what to do.” She was clasping and unclasping her hands. “I ran into the kitchen. I was in shock. I’ve never done anything like that before. I was afraid. You must understand.”
“Understand what?” asked Blackbird.
“I stabbed him.” Her face went white. Her hands started to shake.
“You did what?” said Blackbird.
“He was lying in the passage, out cold.” Claire’s words were soft, but she was close to breaking. “I look one of the kitchen knives and stabbed him through the heart.”
“A kitchen knife?”
“I had this idea. The Feyre, they… when they die they vanish. I don’t know how, but it says so in the journals. It crossed my mind — if I killed him he would go back to wherever he came from.”
“Not quite the truth,” said Blackbird.
“Only he didn’t die! He wasn’t one of them! He was just a guy who was breaking into my flat. The blood just welled up out of his chest. He was real, and I killed him.”
Blackbird sighed. “We’re all real, Claire. The Feyre bleed and hurt, just the way you do.”
“Only he wasn’t fey!” said Claire. “He just lay there, bleeding! I’m going to have to turn myself in,” she said. “I can’t go on. I can’t live like this, not as a fugitive.”
“There’s no body,” said Blackbird.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Claire said, “What?”
“Niall was in your flat. There’s blood, but no body.”
“Niall?”
“He was looking for you. The place has been turned over. The furniture is destroyed. Everything’s a mess.”
“No body?” said Claire.
“Where’s your heart?” asked Blackbird.
“Are you implying that I am without compassion?” said Claire, offended again.
Blackbird shook her head. “Point to it. Show me, on you, where you stabbed him.”
Claire took her index finger and pointed to a place just left of her breast bone. “Here, isn’t it?”
“You missed,” said Blackbird. “You may have grazed it, but it wasn’t enough. You have to be right on the mark.”
“How do you know?” said Claire. “How can you be certain he wasn’t a human burglar faced with a knife-wielding mad woman?”
“A human intruder, having been stabbed through the chest, would not trash your flat, or spray blood all over your bathroom, or go berserk and cut your furniture to pieces. He’d just bleed to death on your carpet.”
“That means it’s OK,” said Claire, clearly relieved. “I didn’t kill anyone. I can go home.”
“I hate to spoil your illusion,” said Blackbird, “but you don’t understand. One of the Feyre came for you. You hit him with a horseshoe and then tried to finish him off with a kitchen knife.” She paused. “You didn’t finish it. You failed to kill him.”
“I’m not a murderer,” Claire protested. “It’s not something I’ve even thought about before. People don’t kill other people. Do they?” She looked to Alex for support. Alex froze, caught on the question, unable to lie directly.
“Alex?” said Katherine. “Claire asked you a question.”
Alex shook her head. “You don’t want to know,” she said.
“I think I have a right to know,” said Katherine. “Don’t you? You’ve never killed anyone, have you Alex? Not for real?”
“Tracy Welham,” said Alex. “Natasha Tolly, Jennifer Longman.” Her expression was blank, her eyes cold, meeting her mother’s gaze.
“That was an accident,” said Katherine. “It was a build up of gas. There was an inquiry…”
“There was a guy called Naylor,” she continued. “He drowned — I drowned him.” She bit her lip.
“You can’t have done,” Katherine said. “Is that all of them?”
“Eve, and Chipper…” her hands were balled into fists. “I didn’t kill them, but they died because of me.”
“How many? How many people have you killed?” demanded Katherine, her voice rising in pitch.
“Not now, Katherine,” said Blackbird.
“How many?” Katherine repeated.
“Enough,” said Alex sullenly. “No one that didn’t deserve it.”
“I can’t believe you said that,” said Katherine. “I can’t believe my own daughter… where? Who were these people? What could they possibly have done?”
“Just let it be, Mum,” said Alex. “It was them or me, all right?”
“Do you think,” said Blackbird, “that you could have this discussion with your daughter at another time?”
“What better time is there to find out that-”
“Enough!” said Blackbird. “Or I will be taking this discussion somewhere else.”
Katherine gave her a dark look, but faced with Blackbird’s implacable determination, she relented. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said to Alex.
“I don’t think we will,” said Alex under her breath.
“Do you have somewhere safe you can go?” said Blackbird, bringing the focus of attention back to Claire.
“I could do with getting some things from my flat…?”
“If you go back there, he’ll kill you, if only out of spite. You laid him out and then stabbed him. He has to kill you, or he’ll never hear the last of it. He’ll be looking for you.” She looked at Alex and then at Katherine. “And for anyone else who knows what happened.”
“Me?” said Katherine. “I don’t know anything.”
Alex responded. “Anyone fey can hear the truth, Mum. There’s no point in lying.” The irony of that statement coming from Alex was not lost on Blackbird, but she kept a straight face for Claire’s sake.
“What can I do?” asked Claire.
“You can tell me what really happened at the Quit Rents ceremony,” said Blackbird.
Claire’s expression became closed. “Nothing happened,” she said.
“OK then,” Blackbird said. “What didn’t happen? Something changed.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Claire, but this time there was evasion in her words.