NINE

The days were getting colder and darker, and the nights worsening further.

For Alley Cat though – it wasn’t a problem.

After her and Tom’s disagreement, she had returned home ready to swallow her pride – after all, he was right. Accepting money from such a dangerous man was asking for trouble. To her surprise, he had presented her with – and she had no other word for it – a suit. The days he had spent awake and working made sense to her now; he had created it by hand. It was thermal, insulated, and in some places on her torso, reinforced with thin plates of Kevlar he had obviously torn from some abandoned motorcycle jacket. It covered her from neck to toe, a patchwork of different fabrics and textures, ranging from denim to satin – but all in unerring, unforgiving black, stitched together with a silver thread woven from thin steel around wool. It looked like the light glittering off wet pavement, the glimmer in a dark pupil, the faint scattering of the stars trying to push through the polluted night sky.

“An appropriate outfit for an Alley Cat. An Alley-Cat-Suit.” He had said proudly, presenting her with the garment with a smile so reminiscent of her father that she had been forced to sit down. It had taken her a few days to actually put it on, but once she did, she knew she would be hard pressed to take it off. It fit perfectly, it protected her, it allowed her to stretch and run and jump as she saw fit. She wore a mask now, too. It was just a beanie she had cut holes in and tugged over her face, but it worked.

The girls – the homeless girls, the working girls, the lost and forgotten girls – knew to find her now. With the mask, they didn’t have to struggle with the guilt of her age. With the mask, she was just Alley Cat. Alley Cat wasn’t the police, but these days she was getting pretty good at being just as much of a deterrent. And Alley Cat never said she couldn’t help them.

Manfredi had laughed at her the next time she had gone to see him at his summons. She had felt, for a moment, idiotic – wearing her patchwork suit in his gold rooms – but he had sobered, though the speculative look in his eyes hadn’t faded. She stole for him twice more; once, a collection of ruby jewellery, and then a stack of case files from the living room of an NYPD detective. That night had been her closest call – she had been on her way out when the light had turned on, and a boy not much older than her, dressed in Paddington-printed pyjamas had appeared in the doorway. She had stopped because she had been suddenly struck by a wave of irrational anger and jealousy at how he had whispered he was “gonna call his daddy.” The heavy creaking of feet on the stairs had spurred her out, but it had been far too close.

Tonight, however, she knew there would be no such mistakes. She’d been planning this one for a while now.

The private party at the large mansion of Sir Thain was supposed to honour his birthday, but Alley knew it was also an excuse for him and his rich friends to display his assortment of artefacts collected (stolen) from native cultures around the world. Sir Thain fancied himself an explorer (colonizer) and tonight, Alley Cat fancied herself a liberator.

Unfortunately, such a venue meant she couldn’t wear the Cat-Suit, and she was forced to expand her recently supplemented Disguise-Closet. The Closet was in fact an old suitcase overflowing with the various clothing and wigs she had picked up over the months since she began working for Manfredi. Acquiring her disguise had also required a disguise, because she could hardly walk into a boutique dressed in her day clothes. Or, technically, night clothes. It had been hard enough convincing the sales assistant to serve her at all, as an unaccompanied minor.

Alley scratched absently at her belly beneath the flouncing pink dress she had painstakingly protected during the long journey to the estate property. It was, she supposed, a pretty dress – layers and layers of tule, creating a princess-like collection of skirts. The modifications – the additions of several large pockets – were invisible beneath them. She looked entirely unlike herself, which was the entire point.

Ahead, the wide double doors were open. Men in suits wore gold cufflinks and gold watches, and when the women weren’t wearing gold too, they were dripping with gemstones. She watched them filter in and out for a while, eyeing the two men in red suits that were standing on either side of the door. They seemed to be functioning as both security and butlers. As she watched; a man and women both in shades of blue were greeted, and one of the men took the fur stole from the woman’s neck, whilst the other checked a list. Right. A guestlist.

While she would have preferred to sneak around the side, perhaps scale a window and break in, something told her that the only safe way in, was through those doors. She gently flexed and stretched her fingers, a few joints popping as she did so. Tom had taught her a few things about dealing with people, if and when she was ever caught out of the shadows.

“Don’t forget, girlie – nothing is as convincing as pure confidence. If you are sure you belong, then people will fall in around you. People are sheep.”

People are sheep. People are sheep. People are sheep.

It ran like drumbeat through her as she walked – trying hard not to march, as if to war – hamming up the childish bounce to her step. As she drew closer, she could see the very second the butler noticed her. His brow wrinkled, and he squinted at her. She ignored him – she was a spoilt rich girl tonight – and flounced past him. Well – tried to at least.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping her with a jerk. “Hey, kid-”

“Get off me!” Alley shrieked shrilly. She shook him off and planted her feet. “My mommy is in there.” She jabbed a hand impatiently at the swirling crowd of unfamiliar faces beyond the double doors.

“Who is-”

Alley blinked hard and squared her shoulders. Here goes; “MOOOOOM!” she began to wail, her eyes welling up spectacularly, face reddening. Mutters broke out behind her, and several faces turned to look at her with equal parts indignation and sympathy.

The butler swore under his breath and took a large step away from her. “Fucking kids – go! Just- go on.” He shooed her inside and she swallowed the tantrum the second she was through the doors, hurrying to get out of sight before he had time to think about it for too long.

The entry way opened to a grand foyer, bracketed by a double staircase. Already, she could see plinths and display cabinets dotted at regular intervals throughout the room, and something told her that upstairs – where more guests were sipping at glasses – there would be even more to look at.

The case closest to her displayed a row of arrowheads in varying stages of decay, the small tag telling her they were ‘neolithic bronze arrow heads, Sudan.’ Cool, but it didn’t really catch her eye. Besides, she had no idea where she would or could sell ancient arrowheads.

She wandered through the rooms, noting the absurd amount of champagne with faint satisfaction. With any luck, the majority of the guests would be too tipsy to realise she was out of place. She was, however, getting hungry. Alley decided she could afford to eat first, and began to search the crowd for one of the red suited men carrying platters of appetizers. She spotted an abandoned, half full tray of what looked like little bits of bread and tomato, sitting atop a tall table. She reached for the platter, fingers nearly closed around a morsel, when hands clamped down on her shoulders.

“Well, well, well! What’s this then?” The voice was jovial, and she looked directly up and behind her to see the smiling face of Sir Thain himself. He was wearing a white suit and a fake smile. He was old, but had clearly endeavoured to hide it; his face was unnaturally unlined and stiff with botox. He had his thin grey hair slicked back into a pompadour. “Are you children still hungry in there?”

Children? In there? She tried not to let her confusion show, instead letting out a sheepish giggle that made him pat her on the head like a lap dog. “Sorry, Mister Sir Thain.” She burbled, affecting a lisp. He chuckled with that same false merriment; steering her with some force towards a closed door she had passed on her quest for food. She snatched one of the tiny breads just in time, shoving it whole into her mouth. Sir Thain whipped open the door, cast an irritated look around, and then shoved her in. She whirled with a protest, but the door clicked shut, a second click telling her that it had just been locked from the outside.

“Fuck!” She swore, resisting the urge to kick at the door.

“Thas’ a bad word.” The lilting voice of a child much younger than her came from behind her, and she whirled to find an assortment of kids spread around the large room. The child that had spoken looked to only be about five, bespectacled and dressed in a hilarious green velvet suit. He was pouting at her, clearly very disturbed by her language. There were a pair of twins; identical girls in identical lilac dresses, sitting primly in an armchair large enough to hold them both. There was a pudgy boy who looked to be about eight, mouth smudged with chocolate, sitting at the table spread with various foods. A tiny girl with bright eyes, drowning in her too-big yellow tulle dress blinked at her from her seat at a chessboard. As she watched, the girl sent her opponent a distressed look.

The boy sitting opposite her turned around to look at her. He was the tallest, perhaps even a little taller than Alley herself, and dressed in the cheapest suit there. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and to her horror – she recognized him. And something about the way his eyes were narrowing told her she wasn’t the only one.

“You-”

“I’m Alley!” She blurted loudly, interrupting his suspicious tone. “Hello.”

Most of the kids ignored her, but the tiny girl gave her a wave and the pudgy boy grunted a greeting before he went back to eating. The boy – the policeman’s son, she realised – stood up. She watched him warily as he crossed the room to her. “Hey, look, kid-” she began, and he scowled.

“I’m eleven, and you don’t belong here.” He hissed.

Alley scowled at him. “Yeah, I know. You think I want to be in here?”

“No – I mean-” He cast a furtive look around the room and leant closer to her, “You were in my house. I saw you.”

Damn it. He had, in fact, caught a glimpse of her face before she had the sense to tug her mask back down. Alley squared her shoulders, drew herself up as much as she could, and met his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then, she turned away from him, and eyed the keyhole. She listened to his indignant huff of air behind her. He was clearly trying to think of something to say, and she reached into one of her pockets to get out her little lockpicking kit. She had better things to do than wait around with some cop’s kid. When he realised what she was doing, he squeaked and tugged her away. “Hey!” She cried, shoving him off her.

“You can’t do that!” he said firmly, stepping around her so he was between her and the door. She ground her teeth, and balled her hands into fists. “I’m putting you under citizen’s arrest and then when the party’s over I’m going to get my dad and-” Alley had heard enough.

With far more restraint than she usually had, she balled up her fist and punched him in the gut. He gasped, and crumpled, tears already welling in his eyes. She reached over him without a second look, fiddling with the lock with practiced hands until she heard – click. “Yes!” she cheered quietly, and pushed the door open gingerly. She stepped over the boy, and tiptoed into the hall. Thankfully, the guests seemed to have converged on the first floor again, leaving the upper levels empty enough for her to make it out of the room and down the hall unscathed.

She had wasted enough time now. She had to go soon, and she hadn’t even found one thing she liked. Trying not to stomp her feet, but really wanting to, she headed down the hall for the gallery at the end. She could see display lighting down there and was hoping there’d be something – anything.

“You can’t go in there.” She jumped at the sudden voice behind her, whirling to find the boy right behind her, eyes still teary, but face set in determination. “It says ‘no guests’.” He pointed at the small sign next to the door.

“Shouldn’t you be in prison with the rest of the kids?” sure, he was a year older than her – but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“I told you, you’re under citizen’s arrest.” He said sullenly. “And if anyone should be in prison, it’s you.”

“Whatever.” She tossed over her shoulder, and marched into the room.

The sudden indescribable flux of something almost stopped her dead.

Like a magnet, her eyes were snapped to a small display case at the back of the room, where two innocuous objects sat under the pale-yellow lighting. One was a small ivory figurine, an oblong shaped head, the features strangely square, the other was a small gold bell. It had a wood handle, and was intricately carved with a series of symbols she couldn’t read. The little plaque read; Ivory Idol, Unknown, Kenya and Gold and Oak bell, Unknown, Tibet. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, as she was slowly drawn towards the case.

There was something about them, particularly the bell, that was stirring a strange craving in the pit of her gut. They seemed to glow in a way the other artefacts didn’t, and as she got close enough for her breath to fog the glass, she swore she could hear a distant humming.

The boy had shadowed her closely, and in the reflection she could see him frowning at her, hands balled into fists at his side. As she reached for the latch, voices sounded from the hall.

“Of course, old friend – I set aside the things you asked after.” It was Sir Thain, sounding greasy and a little greedy.

“Thank you, Joseph. The Sanctum is passionate in our quest for recovery and restoration.” The second voice was a deep near-drawl. She could only hear the click of Thain’s shoes, and reached for the boy. His eyes went wide as she fisted her hands in the cheap nylon of his dress shirt, and tugged him down with her. Half-crawling, they made for a tapestry, hung slightly away from the wall on display. Breathing short, she tugged the boy in behind her. To her surprise, he made no noise, eyes wide with similar fear, drawing his legs up to his chest and staring at her with huge eyes. She lifted a finger to her lips and he nodded in silent confirmation.

“There are several other pieces in a similar vein I think you might be interested in-”

“No. We are only here for them.” A third voice; brusque and accented.

There was a faint sigh, presumably from the second man. “We do appreciate everything – don’t we, Wong?” His voice curled with faint amusement, and Alley almost smiled at the grunt from Wong.

“Of course. Forgive me, but I must attend to the guests – I think I saw Lady Ashari going green far too close to the Persian rug room.” Thain clicked out again.

There was a long beat of silence, broken only by a faint rustling. Then, the second man spoke again. “Ah. The Idol and Bell of Ikonn, just gathering dust.” He sighed theatrically, “breaks your heart, doesn’t it?”

“And the bank.” Wong replied with the same amount of sullenness. “Tell me again why we couldn’t just take it under Sanctum authority?”

“Because we aren’t savages, Wong – and if we want to know the whereabouts of any other Artifacts, keeping Joseph happy is our best bet. No one sees more illegal imports then he does.” The man explained, with a faint tone that suggested that he had been pushing the argument for far too long.

“Hmph. Still don’t know why I had to wear a suit.” Wong grumbled. The first man laughed. “Oh, wow – Stephen, look at those Mongol daggers.”

“What did I tell you?” Stephen sung, and Alley felt a sudden lurch of impatience that spurred her around the tapestry to peek into the room.

There were two men; one broad and square, with black hair and an expression of reluctant awe. The other was tall and lean, with chestnut hair greying at his temples and immaculately groomed facial hair. Both of them seemed occupied with the daggers in the case across the room. Unable to understand the impulse, she stood. A hand clamped around her ankle, and she whirled to look at the boy. He was still hidden, shaking his head desperately. She ripped herself free, and took a delicate, wary step towards the display case.

Inside, the Idol and the Bell gleamed, inviting.

Her hands were silent and steady on the casing, and the well-cleaned glass came off without a single squeak of its hinges. The faint humming got suddenly loud, and she paused, eyes darting to the distracted men. They didn’t seem to hear it, and with a faint frown, she picked up the idol. The humming died out. Swallowing down a faint unease, she stowed the idol in her pocket. Gingerly she lifted the bell, pulling out a bit of cloth she would stick inside to make sure it didn’t ring – but despite her slow and sure movement, the bell suddenly gave out a single pealing chime.

She froze, as the men’s heads whipped around. The tallest – Stephen – looked from her, to the bell, to the empty plinth and back again. “What are you-” Alley darted for the exit. The bell began to ring with her sudden movement and the humming began to start up again. “Stop! Don’t let it ring!”  

A sudden flare of impossible orange filled the room, and Alley’s mouth dropped open as she realised it was coming from Stephen’s palms, and when he shoved his hand in her direction, a swirling pattern of orange light burst into being in front of her. She resounded off it like it was a solid wall, dropping the bell, which seemed to fall and ring for a weirdly long time. It rolled to a stop against the wall, and Wong ran towards it.

Alley, of course, had no actual intentions of stopping – and now she had seen Stephen’s trick, she was ready for it. She rolled beneath the orange swirling design and made for the hall. When another burst of orange appeared, this time at knee height – as if to trip her – she leapt instead. She used it like a launch pad, and sprang through the threshold. She cast a quick look over her shoulder as she ran, catching Wong hauling the cop’s son out from behind the tapestry. Then Stephen stepped out of the door, eyes narrowed and hands outstretched again. His mouth moved, and his fingers glowed yellow, and Alley stumbled as what felt like ropes caught around her ankles and wrists. A tugging, summoning feeling almost made her turn right back around.

She grit her teeth and surged forwards.

Another flare of orange at the top of the staircase blocked the stairs, and she was forced to jump up onto the railing. The guests below were gasping as she slid down the railing at a break neck speed, their faces blurring. Suddenly, somehow, Stephen was in front of her again, and the room fell away – all of the guests suddenly clones of the tall man.

“Who are you?” he barked, and all the clones clapped their hands together in unison. A sudden unnatural quiet fell – and Alley’s breath sawed loudly.

“None of your business.”

Stephen’s eye twitched, and he drew a strange pattern in the air with the tip of his index finger, and it glowed a deep, ominous red for a moment before it floated towards her. She was unable to avoid it and watched in horror as it disappeared into her. A deep, hot feeling, like someone had put live coals in her chest made her tremble. “Who are you, and what do you want with the Idol of Ikonn?”

Her name – her old name – almost spilled from her lips, but she bit her tongue. How did he do that? She had not slipped up in months, she had barely thought about her old life in weeks, and here it was, all coming back- 

“Fuck off, old man!” She spat at him, and with her anger came some sort of lucidity. As the scent of blood and pine rose in her nostrils, the Idol a suddenly heavy weight in her pocket, the exit took shape; the doors appearing mistily, the phantom-like figures of guests coming in and out of sight. With a snarl, she lifted her leg, reared back – and kicked Stephen squarely in the balls.

For all of his fancy tricks, he was still a man.

Alley paused for a moment to revel in his bulging eyes and pained whimper before she was sprinting for the rapidly solidifying exit. The guests’ voices came into volume again, and she could catch cries of outrage, of confusion – she could feel eyes on her.

She fled the mansion; running in her little flats until she couldn’t, kicking them off, and tearing her feet to shreds on the rough gravel.

She had been seen.