Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

We were left alone again, though the door had been left ajar.

"What is that?" I asked Blackbird.

"She called it the Quick Knife. It may be a corruption of Quit Knife, for the ceremony, do you think?"

"I have no idea, and I don't really care. Are we leaving?"

"No, this is important. She clearly knows more about this than we imagined. If we leave now we may miss something."

"I won't miss the contents of that box. Did you see it?"

"I've never seen anything like it. It must be part of the ceremony. Didn't the leaflet mention a pair of knives?" She delved into her coat to retrieve the leaflet. "Here it is. 'Two knives, one blunt and one sharp.' Which one do you think that was?"

"I don't know, I couldn't see through the haze around it."

"Haze?"

"Like fumes, coming off it, distorting the air around it. You couldn't see them?"

"No, but I could feel them."

"It's dangerous, Blackbird. That's not a ceremonial blade. It's intended for something much darker."

"That's the point, though, isn't it? We're looking for something much darker."

The door pushed open and we both lapsed into silence as Claire entered with a tray loaded with a teapot, milk, sugar and even a plate of biscuits.

"Would you mind moving the journal, please? I must apologise for my thoughtlessness earlier. It never occurred to me that you were, well, like that."

"Like what?" Blackbird moved the journal across the desk away from the tea and the dark wooden box.

"From the other courts. I think 'Fey' is the proper term, is it not?" She put down the hot teapot and set about arranging cups and saucers, not meeting Blackbird's intense scrutiny.

"It is," I answered, winning a sharp look from Blackbird, but my curiosity at her use of that particular word was too strong to let it go. Besides, I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know.

She gestured to Blackbird to take a seat, and we both looked at the box containing the knife.

"I could move it to the sideboard if you would be more comfortable?" she offered.

"It would make things easier," Blackbird responded.

She picked up the box and was then caught as she made to move towards me and I backed away. Just the thought of what was in the box was enough to make me stay clear of it. She smiled an apology and turned the other way to discover a worried look on Blackbird's face. She was made of sterner stuff, however, because she smiled a nervous acknowledgement and moved around towards the door, allowing Claire to get past and place the box on a small table near the leaded window where the dark wood of the box was set against the warmer tones of polished chestnut beneath it.

"There, that might be better. Shall we have tea now?" Her version of a disarming smile had a fragile quality to it and I wondered just how confident about this she really was.

"That would be kind," Blackbird agreed and we moved to sit around the desk, Claire at one end of the desk and Blackbird and I at the other. She poured out three measured cups and added milk in precise quantities, making me wonder how often she performed this small ritual.

"It would be helpful if you could show me some credentials?" she suggested, handing each of us a cup and placing the plate of rich tea biscuits near to us, so she could move the tray out of the way.

"What sort of credentials?" Blackbird countered.

"I am sure you understand that I need to make sure you are who I think you are, if you see what I mean?" The brittle smile returned.

"A demonstration?"

"If you wouldn't mind?"

"Give me your hand, then."

She demurred. "I'd rather not, if you'll forgive me. I was warned against direct contact. A simple change of appearance would suffice." She appeared ruffled by this exchange.

"Very well." Blackbird shifted slightly in her seat and then her form melted, reforming into the red-haired girl from the coffee shop in the square, except she wasn't dressed in quite the same style. This was simpler, with none of the polish or gloss that had been part of that persona, but a simple fresh beauty that left me wondering, yet again, who I was dealing with. She held it for a moment and then melted back into the Blackbird I knew. It was impressive, and disconcerting, and it was pure Fey.

Claire had acquired the look of a deer caught in the headlights, but she dissembled well. "That's, well, that's fine, and your colleague?"

Claire turned to me. I glanced at Blackbird and she shook her head slightly. "I'll vouch for my colleague."

"I'm afraid my instructions are quite specific. All parties are to identify themselves. I'm sure you understand the reasons."

"Something small then, please, Niall?" she suggested.

I guessed that she was trying to steer me away from summoning gallowfyre, as I had with Marshdock. I was somewhat at a loss to come up with an alternative, though. I didn't want to change my whole appearance as Blackbird had done as I was only just getting used to the face I was wearing. If I reverted to my real appearance then Claire might recognise me as the person the police were seeking, so that wouldn't do either.

I looked around and my gaze caught the reflection from an ornate mirror on the back wall. "Something small?" I nodded towards the mirror.

Blackbird glanced at the mirror and raised an eyebrow at me. There was a sense of challenge here.

I calmed myself for a moment and then reached out to the mirror, not with my hand, but with my will. I pulled at the surface of the mirror, reaching for what I knew was there. The mirror, though, felt like a dead thing with nothing that would give me any purchase.

Blackbird had said the other wraithkin had used the mirror, and I had drawn lines in the mirror's surface only last night. I knew it could be done. Last night had been different, though. It had been like drawing in a thick viscous liquid. Maybe I was mistaken to call to the reflective surface of the mirror. Maybe what I needed was within.

I focused again, clearing my mind, and reached out with my will, pulling at the silvery depth of it. I reached within and formed a connection. This time I could feel the tension there, the inertia of it. Power pulsed within me and the ambient light in the room dimmed as the mirror went milky white.

"Gently, Rabbit, gently," Blackbird encouraged.

I relaxed my hold on it a little and the light in the room returned, the mirror clearing, but I could feel the connection with the undercurrent in the mirror. A sound grew gently in the room. It had the ambience of a large busy space. The sound of people milling around gently entered the quiet room. Then an announcement reverberated through, confirming that the British Airways flight to Hamburg was now boarding at gate 14. The sound included little shuffles and scrapes, layered over the ambience and I knew that this was where Alex was. My unconscious mind, worried about her, had somehow located her though the mirror and brought me the sounds from where she was. In a way, it was comforting though it felt a little like eaves-dropping on someone else's conversation. Hadn't the announcement said Hamburg? Is that where they were going? Suddenly conscious of my audience, I released the mirror before the sounds gave away who it was we were listening to. There was a slight ripple as I let go, radiating out slowly across its surface like a stone dropped into a pool of slow silvery syrup.

Blackbird was smiling at me. "Is that sufficient?" she asked Claire.

Claire hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath, and asked the question that was bothering her.

"How do I know you're not from the wrong court?"

"That's simple. They are only interested in wrecking the ceremony and making sure it doesn't happen. If we were from that court then you would be dead by now." Blackbird smiled, and it was not a comfortable smile. "Your turn," she prompted.