So it really was all good. No permanent damage to anyone. Nothing to see here. Everyone move along. Kira danced her feet against the mat in the footwell.
‘So where are we going?’ Perry revved the engine a couple of times, and the car tried to rattle its exhaust pipe loose.
‘If you think we can make it, the airport on Lancaster.’
‘Is he attracted to your smart mouth?’ Perry nodded his head at Azrael.
‘Of course. Can’t get enough of my mouth in general.’
‘Where you guys flying to?’
‘Good question,’ Kira replied and changed the topic, quizzing Perry about his lack of love or sex life. The discussion, mostly Perry telling her not to be a bitch, killed the next twenty minutes of driving.
Then she was air-kissing her bestie and waving sweet goodbye. ‘Bye bye, bitch.’
‘Later, slut.’ Perry blew her a kiss, wearing a grin from ear to ear. ‘Miss you already.’
As his car roared to life, and there was no chance he’d hear, Kira replied, ‘You too.’
Goodbyes should be illegal. They were hazardous to health.
A perfectly coiffed cabin attendant guided them onto the snow-white private jet, handing Kira a whisky and milk after she took her seat. Giving the girl a smile that usually parted legs, Kira nodded to the cockpit.
‘So, I love surprises and all, but now that we’re on board can you fill me in? Where are we off to?’
Warm brown eyes bright, the girl smiled back at her. ‘Bankston Airport, about three hours flight. Do you know it?’
Kira shook her head.
‘It’s a small regional airport between Beleiro and Melgrove.’
The smile slipped from Kira’s face. ‘Okay, thanks.’
The attendant backed off, muttering something about readying the cabin for takeoff, leaving Kira alone with a bunch of angry, churning thoughts. Beleiro was a bawdy, overelectrified casino town Kira knew well, but it was the much smaller town of Melgrove that made her stomach churn. Kira stared down at the shoes Blake had put on Azrael. Blake had walked out halfway through their dad’s funeral declaring herself too occupied with putting Kira back together again to waste time with mourning. She’d barely mentioned their father since. Now all this. The shoes and the town of Melgrove. The backwater town with great fishing and even better pubs, where they were supposed to have had a weekend away to celebrate Kira’s twenty-first. But Blake had been MIA on that trip, too busy working at the Facility to join Kira and their dad. Just as she had been a year later. Too caught up to go to dinner the night a blown tyre and a fucking great tree had ripped a hole in their lives.
The attendant offered Azrael a blanket. He stared at her like she’d offered to castrate him.
‘He’s fine. I’ll take it though.’ Kira spread the white cashmere over her knees, nestling into the cushy leather seat, the heat of the whisky blooming in her stomach. Kira drained the glass. Azrael was transfixed by the view through the window. The attendant refilled Kira’s empty glass without a word, and in one gulp it was gone, too. Azrael had better be worth it. Their father was so damn proud of anything his eldest child did, Blake could have shit on his birthday cake and he’d have clapped his hands and said how wonderful it was. He’d had no idea of the scope of what went on at the Facility. No idea about the aliens in the basement. Blake had only brought Kira into the fold after the accident. Like doing the big reveal somehow made it all better. Negated the fact that Kira wouldn’t have been driving at all if Blake had gone to pick up their dad from the station like she’d promised.
Blake was messed up. That wasn’t news. Bottled up everything till it blocked her up like an enormous grief turd. And constipation at that level clearly did fucky things to a person. Case in point, part-man, part-android, part-who-knows-fucking-what sitting opposite.
Kira would stay on the ride. For now. For the poor son of a bitch caught up in this. But if Blake thought she would sit with ghosts in Melgrove, then she could go fuck herself.
Blake - 12
Blake watched the recording for a third time. Perry wiped down the bar, one, two, three swipes with a chequered cloth whose colour was hidden from her in the black-and-white footage. He pulled a tray of steaming glasses from a dishwasher at one end of the bar, leaning his face over the rising heat and eyes fluttering closed. Only to open again almost immediately.
‘Hello?’ he called, moving out from behind the bar and heading into the main area.‘You shouldn’t be in here, get the hell out.’
But his confused expression belied his authoritative voice. He could hear someone but clearly couldn’t see them. Perry twisted towards a loud crash at his right, then just as swiftly had to swing the other way when a mirroring sound occurred out of sight of the camera to his left.
Blake had played the recording over and over. Each movement was seared into her memory. Five hours after Perry had delivered Azrael and Kira to the airport, he lay motionless on the red-carpeted floor of the bar. In all likelihood he was deceased. Yet Blake could not find the impetus to abandon her surveillance just yet.
‘Shit.’ She bit into her knuckle, eyes darting between the live feed on the left-hand screen and the earlier recorded vision on her right. Blood warmed her lips as her teeth pierced thin skin. ‘Come on, get up. Get up, Perry.’
The man had lain still for almost fifteen minutes now, and still indecision gripped her. Drawing any attention to this event could lead to Azrael’s absence being discovered faster than it would have otherwise.
The door to the basement swung open, and Blake’s heart slammed into her ribcage. Rossiter raced down the short flight of stairs, his heavy body thunderous against the wooden slats. ‘What’s wrong? Are you all right?’
‘I
