Well, good.
She deserved to feel afraid.
Biting her lip in grim concentration, Acid squeezed tight with both hands, shifting her weight to be better able to still the thrashing and keep a firm hold. Beneath her Magpie screamed silently from the depths, air bubbles rising and popping on the surface as she grabbed and punched with her one good arm, clawing at Acid’s face and neck. A rogue fingernail tore down her cheek – opening up the torture wound from a few days earlier – but she didn’t feel it. Didn’t let up for a moment. Revenge was the refrain and right now she was vengeance incarnate. This was for Louisa, her dear mum. But for herself too. For who she was, who she’d been, and for who she would become to survive whatever happened next.
She was vengeance.
She was justice.
She was Acid Vanilla.
And this ended now.
With an unyielding determination solidifying every muscle and sinew in her body she held Magpie down. The crazed assassin continued to claw wildly at her, fighting for survival. But then, finally, the thrashing stopped and her body went limp. A single bubble of air left her swollen lips and rose to the surface, and she was still.
Once certain the vile woman was dead, Acid rose to her feet, watching as the swirling sand and foam in the water settled once more and her own reflection appeared in the glassy surface, illuminated in the milky moonlight.
A real bloody mess, was how she’d have described herself.
Her hair was ragged and stuck to her skin with blood and saltwater. Her eyes and mouth were swollen, and the cut down her cheek was beginning to sting like hell as the adrenaline left her system and the bats faded into the background.
But she was breathing. She was alive.
And she’d done what she came here for.
Shifting her focus beneath her reflection, she saw the dead eyes staring up at her. “Louisa Vandella says fuck you,” she spat. “And her daughter does too.”
Leaving Magpie’s broken body to bob to the surface (to be found by a dog walker or passing tourist in a few hours’ time), she waded out of the rock pool and began the long walk back to the apartment.
Forty-Nine
The sun was softly setting behind the jagged rooftops of Soho, casting a pinkish-orange glow over the city streets. For once – for now – East London looked picturesque. Beautiful, even. And it was good to be home.
Acid turned from the window to see Danny leaning against the doorway. As their eyes met across the room, he threw up a conspiring eyebrow and gestured behind him. He wanted to talk to her alone, she already knew that. But she kept him waiting. Today was about Spook. About new chances and new fortunes.
“So, Acid – you like the new place?” Spook asked her, snuggling into the couch and smiling at her over a mug of steaming tea.
It was two days since Acid and Danny had arrived safely back in London, and for now peace reigned. Sonny had come good, as always, with a new passport (Sam Jones this time, much more standard, which Danny accepted without comment – although not really surprising to Acid, they were both drained of witty banter).
“I honestly think we can settle here for a while,” Spook continued, waving her arm across the room. “We can be happy here. What do you think?”
For effect Acid turned her attention once more to the decent-sized living area which led into an even bigger kitchen-diner. It was indeed a much nicer place than the depressing terrace which they’d been rotting in for the last year. The apartment had an affirmative lightness to it, it was airy and spacious, and it was newly decorated too, with an impressive couch that looked pretty comfortable, truth be told. But maybe that was why the bats were still niggling at Acid. Comfort wasn’t what she needed right now. Comfort could very easily envelop a person. Make them soft and their determination flabby. She smiled back at Spook. For another time. Not for now.
“It’s delightful,” she told her.
The new place was above a dry cleaners, accessed through the front of the shop, and found for them by The Dullahan whilst Spook was convalescing above Dr Shi’s practice a few blocks away – a convalescence that had put them back more than thirty grand. Yet it was clear Spook had received the best care. She was fit and healthy once more, and with a battle scar that she could be (and certainly was) proud of. Besides, Acid could afford it. Or she would be able to, as soon as Danny came good with the deal from the Fabergé eggs.
“Yes. The old geezer sure did well,” she replied, catching her old rival’s eye from across the room and winking slyly as he shook his head. “Central London too. We are being spoilt.”
“It’s a good price,” The Dullahan said. “Plus, being somewhere busy, filled with life at all times, it’ll be safer too. If the big man comes at ya again.”
She held his gaze, letting him know the words had landed, but she didn’t reply. The thought of Caesar still out there, still breathing air, sent a flurry of conflicting emotions spiralling through her mind. Beowulf Caesar. The last name on her kill list. The big one. She was going to find him. With the fire she now had burning inside of her, it was a forgone conclusion.
“Look at us all here,” Spook giggled. “Like one big family.”
Acid scoffed, taking in The Dullahan, dressed in a bright green Adidas tracksuit with the top zipped open to the waist and his emerald and sapphire encrusted shamrock pendant hanging over his gut. Then to Danny, his face patched up but with those baby-blues fixed on hers, smiling that cheeky smile of his, still willing her to come and talk with him. Finally she looked at
