Old Town Magic

Old Town Magic

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Marie Treanor

Old Town Magic By

Marie Treanor

Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 Copyright 2005 Marie Treanor

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law. ISBN 1-933471-94-8 Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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Old Town Magic

Chapter One Perhaps it was the dress. Certainly, as it fell in soft silken folds around her body and she smoothed it over her hips, she felt instantly different. Prettier, sexier, indefinably more free… In the elegant cheval mirror in the middle of the bedroom, Catriona watched her serious face change and lighten. A mischievous smile began in her dark brown eyes and spread across her fine-boned cheeks to her lips. When she lifted her head, self-mockingly dramatic, her bright, chestnut hair swirled loose around her shoulders, as if it too rejoiced in its freedom from the bindings of everyday life. Her whole body started to relax, even though the wicked excitement was mounting again, the knowledge that she was about to do something secret and wrong… For the second time. Then, from outside, the sound of a car’s wheels on the gravel drive wiped her smile clean away. Ken. Home early for once. It didn’t matter, of course. He wouldn’t care that she was going out for the evening, and even if he did object, she had every intention of going anyway. It was just that she had thought herself into her exciting, new other self and she didn’t want Ken to spoil it now by pointing out ‘again’ that she looked fat in the red silk dress and that her friends would laugh at her lack of taste. Of course, his opinion was the main reason she had never worn the gown to functions and parties—and why it was so suitable for Cat. Moving across to the big window, she looked down into the drive in time to see Ken climb out of his sleek, black Jaguar. He would come in the front door as usual. If she hurried, she could run downstairs, and nip out the back without her having to see or speak to him. She had already begun to turn away when surprise drew her attention to the window once more. Two men had appeared from the direction of the garage, complete strangers so far as she could see and were showing Ken their identity cards. Catriona frowned, for she hadn’t heard any other cars arriving this evening. It was almost as if the men had been here already, avoiding her while waiting for him. Which was admittedly unlikely. Mind you, the men did not look like any of her neighbors—they were dressed well enough in suits, though hardly of the exquisite cut you saw around here. They looked like middle riskers. As she watched, Ken laughed and opened his car door again. He slid back into the driver’s seat and one of the men got in the back. The other walked round the car and got in the passenger seat beside Ken. Bizarre, thought Catriona, turning away with a shrug. Probably messengers from the office who couldn’t find him this afternoon. He would have been with her again, which would explain why they had avoided Ken’s wife. As if she couldn’t have told them exactly where to find him. Quickly banishing the sort of painful speculations that would spoil her evening’s escape, Catriona went back to the wardrobe to find her shoes and her oldest jacket. Then she ran lightly along the wide, light passage and down the sweeping spiral staircase, grabbed her keys and left the house by the back door, locking it hastily behind her.

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There was a garage attached to the lower floor of the house, big enough for Ken’s lovingly preserved, pre-epidemic Jaguar as well as her own more modest car. But the ancient Rover from her student days, the one they had never got around to selling, was in the old garage at the back of the house. This was the vehicle she needed. Minutes later, she was driving along the main road into Edinburgh, leaving behind the big, new, well-separated houses that had been built out here in the Low Risk Zone since the epidemic. The traffic was quiet in this direction and she made good time until she reached the outer check-point at South Gyle. “Mrs. Whithorn,” the policeman said respectfully when she showed him her ID. Sliding the card into the machine at his belt, he said, “I have to advise you that you are entering a middle risk area. Are you planning on stopping in this zone?” “Briefly.” “I need to check the address for recent illness,” the policeman apologized, handing her back the ID card. Catriona smiled faintly. She knew the ropes. It took only seconds for the officer to type in the address she gave on to the keypad at his belt, nestling between his gun and his electric truncheon. Once, so Catriona had heard, before the epidemic, policemen had been armed with nothing more than plain truncheons. Then had come the virus. No one talked of its origins any more, only that thirty years ago it had raged through the country like some vengeful god, trailing indiscriminate death and grief and fear-induced riots. The policeman said, “No illness reported at that address for more than five years.” “I know. The Murdochs worked for my parents for a long time. Good night, Officer.” When she pulled up outside the Murdochs’ pleasant little house in Barnton, the front door was open. Catriona climbed out, locked the car door and walked up the garden path. From inside, she could hear Mrs. Murdoch demanding, “Where are you going at this time of night? Not into the Old Town again!” “Stop worrying, Mum,” came Dot’s lighter voice, soothing if slightly mocking. “I’ve never got sick there yet, have I?” Catriona couldn’t entirely blame Mrs. Murdoch for her concern. It had been her own reaction when Dot had first come up with the idea. “But—the virus!” Catriona had exclaimed, staring at her friend while old, long, accepted fears warred with her newly awakened spirit of adventure. “Forget the virus,” Dot had advised. “You might get mugged in the Old Town, but you won’t get ill! Most of the people in there are as healthy as you and me. And the sick ones don’t go to bars! Besides, this quarantine doesn’t make any sense if you think about it. So low riskers like you never come in contact with the high riskers trapped inside the Old Town. But middle riskers like me can make contact with both in the same day—in the same hour if I drive fast enough. So what’s the point of separating us? It might have made sense once, but if you ask me, these days it’s just plain daft.” Now, with Mrs. Murdoch’s furious warnings blasting her out of the front door, Dot slammed it quickly behind her, grinning at Catriona as she came. “Thank God she doesn’t know I’m going with you, or I’d never hear the end of it! All set?”

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“No problems,” Catriona told her as they walked together back on to the street and on towards the bus stop. “Ken came home early, but then went straight out again.” Dot cast her a wry glance from under her wickedly spiked fringe. “So he didn’t see you looking all glam and drop-dead gorgeous?” Catriona smiled lopsidedly. “In this dress? Even I know it hardly flatters me, and I like it!” Dot stopped dead in the street for a moment to stare at her, till Catriona laughingly pulled her on. “Catriona, you’re blind as a bat sometimes. Believe me—if you didn’t believe the stares of the punters the other night!—you look amazing. And sexy!” Catriona laughed, grateful enough for the confidence boost, though she said deprecatingly, “Lawyers aren’t sexy. Not in this town anyway.” “Run,” Dot commanded, “it’s the bus!” They caught it just in time. Dot paid the driver, who murmured his thanks through the protective mask he wore. A few of the passengers wore masks too, but Catriona knew that when they reached the Old Town check-point all the masks would go on. Most people would stay on the bus till it got to the far side of the High Risk Zone and back into the fresher air of middle risk territory. The few who actually got off in the high risk Old Town would wear their masks till they left it again. Except for Dot and Catriona. Because the streetwise of the Old Town never wore masks, even around someone who was actually sick. Dot claimed it was a point of politeness rather than bravado, and Catriona, who had gone there for the first time only two nights ago, had to bow to her greater knowledge, however rose-tinted. Dot had always been a rebel. The heavy, hardworking respectability of her mother had inevitably driven her to opposite extremes until she had begun this strange love affair with the weird and wonderful high riskers of the Old Town. These people whom she called her friends, young for the most part, were largely the descendents of those who had been herded there to die thirty years ago when the virus had first swept through the whole country, breaking down society and ending national government. To prevent the spread of the epidemic, towns and cities held themselves aloof from each other, travel between them was forbidden, and even within Edinburgh itself separate zones had formed according to the likelihood of the disease spreading there. Catriona’s heart began to beat with anticipation as they drew up to the Prince’s Street check-point. She always thought of the whole Prince’s Street valley as a sort of no man’s land. The north side was lined by big shops heavily frequented by middle riskers, a few of whom occasionally braved it into the Gardens on the other side of the road. At least the older people sometimes called it the Gardens. To Catriona it looked like a wasteland under the looming castle, with barbed wire and lookout posts at the far side to keep the high riskers in their own zone. A policeman came aboard. He didn’t trouble to look at their IDs, just warned them they were entering the High Risk Zone and should wear their masks at all times until they left again. That they would all leave again was never in doubt. High riskers were not allowed on public transport, and in any case, they never left the Old Town. They weren’t allowed to do

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that either. And no middle risker was going to stay longer than necessary in that overcrowded warren of disease. When the policeman got off, the bus turned onto North Bridge and Catriona looked out through the gathering dusk down on to what had once been Waverly Railway Station below. No trains ran now on the bleak, empty rails. Most of the glass in the station’s domed roof had been broken, leaving just the iron frame and a rather frightening view straight down onto the stone platforms below. There were some ropes and netting strung there, she saw, presumably to catch anyone daft enough to fall off the bridge. Or jump. At the end of the bridge, she and Dot got off the bus, and turned into the cobbled High Street. Now they were in a different world. For a start, there were no cars here. Only buses and official vehicles were allowed in the Old Town, and they never came this way. Then the people themselves looked so different. They wore old, often ill-assorted clothes, bright print dresses with tartan waistcoats and boots, swinging kilts of all lengths with denim shirts, suit-style trousers with leather jackets, and jeans with blouses more suitable for a wedding thirty years ago. Catriona saw a man wearing a sports jacket with the collar missing, over a bright orange T-shirt and faded cotton piratetype trousers. Many people of both sexes wore startling make-up, dyed their hair bright, dramatic colors. Whether they moved around singly or in noisy groups, they seemed to laugh a lot and often yelled uninhibited greetings to each other across the street. In among the exotic sea of reds and purples, oranges, blues and yellows, scurried occasional grey figures, usually in twos, sometimes masked, heads purposefully down as if counting the steps to home. Catriona had thought they must be the few middle risk health professionals or food administrators who worked here, but according to Dot, most of them were high riskers too, just ones with different tastes and standards, people who felt uncomfortable in the glaring, swaggering streets in which they were forced to live. “Mask,” Dot breathed, and hastily Catriona tore hers off, stuffing it into her bag as she gulped in the colorful scene before her with all the wonder of a drought victim suddenly discovering water. It wasn’t quite dark yet and the street entertainers were still out, capturing the attention, and the coins, of passersby returning from whatever work or daytime pursuits they had. Others, like Dot and Catriona, were heading for the dimly lit nightclubs and bars. They passed an elderly man marching in the opposite direction in full tartan regalia, playing the bagpipes so loudly that Catriona almost plugged her ears. A man in bright checkered costume with a startlingly painted face strode up on stilts, grinning and sweeping his hat off with a bow to Dot, whom he obviously knew. Laughing, Dot dropped a coin into the hat and, after fumbling in her bag, so did Catriona. Beguiling food smells began to drift into their nostrils—frying fish, mouth-watering vegetable soup, warm, spicy curry. A girl with a guitar danced around and sang some wild rock song to a group of teenagers who cheered her on at maximum volume. A juggler strode across the cobbled road, tossing luminous, colored clubs into the air so fast that it was impossible to see how many there were. A little farther on, a group of people with painted faces were performing a play which kept a sizeable audience in stitches. Catriona murmured, “Why in God’s name are we so dull?” For she fully understood Dot’s obsession with this place, its astonishing color, its vivid, teeming life. Of course, if you

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looked more closely, the beautiful old buildings were crumbling, streaked with damp from leaking pipes, windows and roofs boarded haphazardly against the ubiquitous Scottish rain and the east coast wind. Dot shrugged. “Because we’ve got so obsessed with our health that we’ve forgotten what it’s for. They haven’t. And they live far closer to death than either of us ever have.” Since Dot’s own father had died in the epidemic, this was quite a statement. Catriona looked at her carefully, but inevitably, her attention was grabbed by another street performance, this time a magician in a long, black coat and dramatically tall top hat who wandered among the passersby producing various large items—a string of brightly-colored bunting, a toy truck, a big square sponge—from his ears while talking non-stop to a laughing audience of kids and adults. As Dot and Catriona lingered a moment on the outside of his crowd, he held his hands out before him, quite still. The audience quietened down, watching him avidly. Catriona gazed too, until to her amazement she saw his feet lift slowly off the cobbles. Echoing the awed “Oooh!” of the crowd, she raised her eyes to the magician’s face. His eyes were closed in an expression of extreme, frowning concentration. Then, abruptly, the eyes opened, the frown vanished and was replaced by a wicked grin. The magician’s legs moved, walking on air. Then he bent them as if preparing to jump, and suddenly he leapt up a huge distance over everyone’s heads to the building beside Dot and Catriona. The crowd yelled its delight. He pushed himself quite casually off the stone wall with his foot then jumped down lightly into the crowd, his long, flailing coat settling about him again. Catriona laughed out loud. Perhaps it was the child-like wonder of her mirth that he heard through all the rest. Whatever it was, he looked up towards the noise and instantly swerved in their direction. Under the hat, his hair was jet black, straight and tousled, his rough, unpainted face handsome enough to be memorable. And abruptly, Catriona did remember him. He had been in the bar the last time, with a lot of other noisy people. A wicked looking sprite of a girl had been sitting in his lap while Catriona sang. The magician didn’t pause till he stood in front of them, very lean and tall with the long coat swinging about his jean-encased legs. “Got a pound?” he asked Catriona, his voice loud enough for all the watchers to hear. It was a Scottish voice like most here, but with all the modulation of an actor. He could have come from any zone. Ready this time, Catriona felt in her pocket for a coin. While she found it and gave it to him, assuming it was payment for his act, she felt his gaze steadily on her face. The magician took the coin. His long fingers, barely touching hers in the process, felt rough yet surprisingly warm in the chill of the spring evening. Catriona met his gaze with a quizzical one of her own. She could make out a small splash of color just at the side of his left eye, perhaps a tattoo of some kind. Slowly, still looking down at her, the magician lifted the coin to his mouth. He had full, rather sensual looking lips, adding a touch of sensitivity to what was otherwise quite a hard young face. Those lips parted to show his teeth, even and white. Putting the coin between them he bit it. Catriona blinked. He seemed to chew something and swallow it with some difficulty, before lowering the coin to show a piece missing from it. Dot said, “Oh dear!”

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Catriona laughed. “A whole pound too!” Someone near her said with a mixture of compassion and glee, because a pound was a lot of money to the people who lived here. Since he seemed to be giving it back to her, Catriona said wryly, “You keep it.” For answer, he rubbed it between his fingers at shoulder height for everyone to see, then lowering his hand to her again, he opened his fist to reveal the coin whole once more. She smiled. Appearing to take that as permission, he pocketed the pound. When he brought his hand out again, it held an impossibly large bunch of pink roses which he thrust straight into Catriona’s nerveless fingers. The magician grinned directly into her startled eyes and walked away with Dot’s laughing, “Go on yourself, Magic!” following after him. Catriona, amused and slightly stunned, became conscious of a definite bodily tingle caused by the magician’s smile. It had been such a long time since anyone had smiled at her like that. Although no doubt it spoke volumes for her own inadequacy that she was actually pleased to receive it, even as part of a performance. At this point, the perfume of the flowers interfered with her thoughts and she found herself staring at them with even greater astonishment. “They’re real!” she blurted as Dot pulled her on towards the alley. “’Course they are,” said Dot wryly. “Quality act, the Magician.” “You know him?” Catriona asked, beginning her way down the steep, narrow steps. “A bit. He’s a friend of your Pianist. And the younger ones in that crowd.” So he might be at the bar again later. The thought came unbidden, and was quickly ridiculed. She had other things she should be concentrating on right now—such as lyrics and expression and keys. An unrequited crush on a street performer would not really help matters! Although, strangely enough, she found she quite liked the idea—innocent, uncomplicated and safe. “In fact,” Dot said thoughtfully, “I’m sure I heard somewhere that it was he who helped the Pianist when he lost his eye in some fight or other…” But that was the sort of information Catriona was reluctant to hear. She liked the color and the vibrancy of the Old Town. Its darker side, the lawless streets, the alien violence and crime that were endemic, she preferred not to think about—particularly as they were heading into the gloomy, narrow allies where she was fairly sure much of it occurred. Catriona missed the passage on the left—it looked like somebody’s front door—so that Dot had to drag her into it. “What are you singing tonight?” Dot asked, when the passage was wide enough for them to walk together. The smells were less beguiling here—stale food, dog-dirt, damp wood, old fires and an extremely unedifying touch of human urine. Trying not to breathe in, Catriona said, “Not sure—I’ve got a few ideas to check out with the Pianist.” She laughed suddenly. “You know, I still can’t believe I’m doing this— singing in public without any rehearsal, or even any firm plan! Dot grinned back. “Fun, isn’t it?” “What if I mess up this time?” “Why should you? It doesn’t matter what you sing, you know—you’ve got the sort of voice people have to listen to. And word will have got about by now—they loved you on Tuesday!”

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“Novelty value,” Catriona said lightly. But the audience’s appreciation on Tuesday was still warming her heart. It made her feel good about herself—or at least about Cat, this other self who was so much more fun to be with. Climbing another steep hill, they approached the familiar bar sign, and despite the implied threat of the lengthening shadows on the tall, grey buildings, Catriona’s heart was racing for quite other reasons. She was desperate to get there, desperate to sing. And yet terribly afraid—not really that this time she would somehow stink. But that she would find it wasn’t so much fun after all, that like the rest of her life, it was simply boring… ***** It wasn’t boring. Not to her, and not to her audience. These were not the restrained, cultured people she had lived among all her life. They were loud and rough and expressive— and for the most part inebriated. Still, they shut up when she began to sing. Bodies swiveled on bar stools to face her, eyes turned in her direction, people smiled and swayed to the music. She sang mostly jazz, because it seemed to fit the sleazy atmosphere of the place, and because she had always loved it—Billie Holiday numbers, and Ella Fitzgerald. Her parents had once tried to direct her vocal ambitions along more classical lines—at which she hardly excelled—but then, since the Company was always more important than culture, it had been the law she had eventually studied instead. Nevertheless, she had always sung, if only to herself, and her voice was easy now. It remembered its early training which, together with the free expression she could give it here among these strange, uninhibited people who had never even heard of a company lawyer, seemed to be a winning combination. She knew she was good that night. If she hadn’t been aware of it herself, there was the gruff Pianist’s approving grin to tell her, the wink of his one eye between numbers before he bent back over the old piano for the next intro. And Dot, of course, who was sitting at a front table with a thin man in a patched sweater, preening herself like a proud mother hen. The nice thing about Dot was, she wasn’t just pleased with “discovering” her friend’s talent to these people. She was at least as delighted to have made this happiness possible for Catriona. Warmth swelled around Catriona’s heart, infusing her voice with new richness and emotion. “One of these mornings, you’re going to wake up singing, spread your wings and learn to fly…” The rest of her life, surely, was bearable, so long as she had this. Besides, was the life she so despised not a fortunate one? A hundred times better than the herded existence of these poor people here? These poor people who still knew how to laugh and feel and have fun. Was that poor? Her tangled thoughts flitted through the applause following Gershwin’s Summer Time. A quick, interrogative glance at the Pianist, and she began her last song of the evening, another made famous by Billie Holiday a hundred or so years ago. That was when she saw the Magician come into the bar, his long coat swinging around him as he walked. The top hat had disappeared, his untidy dark hair gleamed blue under the flickering neon light where he paused for a moment, looking toward the source of the music. Catriona’s heart jolted—stupidly she knew. She was over thirty years old, not a teenager. But there was something very attractive about the Magician. The way he moved within the enveloping coat, quick and lithe, was really an invitation to see what lay

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underneath it. She couldn’t help liking the way he smiled, crinkling all the skin around his dark eyes… and his straight, direct gaze was still on her as she sang. Catriona Davidson Whithorn, lawyer and privileged low risker, would have looked away, avoiding any unnecessary complications. Cat, the Old Town singer, was suddenly proud to have his attention. She even smiled at him, straight back into his eyes with quite conscious boldness as she sang the aching words, “Lover man, oh where can you be…?” The Magician moved slightly as someone brushed past him. Leaning one shoulder against the bar’s grubby walls, so that his face was half in shadow, he never once took his eyes off her. And so she sang to him, blatantly, because she wanted to, and it felt good. “Huggin’ and kissin’, Oh what I’ve been missin’…” More than good, it was exciting, almost like making love to him, this attractive, high risk stranger, through the song’s sensual longing—a disturbing thought that gave her voice an added breathlessness she hadn’t actually intended. So, because she was in control, she forced her eyes at last to wander past him around the barroom as she came to the last line. He was no longer in her vision. Her voice plaintive, she made the song’s final plea unaccompanied, and bowed her head. A split second’s total silence, and then tumultuous applause nearly knocked her backwards with its force. Raising her head with a delighted smile at their shouts, she saw the Magician finally move his shoulder off the wall and begin to walk towards the bar. Then the Pianist was beside her. “You were amazing, girl,” he growled, readjusting his eye patch. “For that, I’ll buy you drinks all night! Come on!” Still breathless from emotion as much as the actual singing, Catriona laughingly allowed herself to be led off the slightly raised dais to the table from where Cat was already leaping up to hug her. “Mess up?” she squeaked, harking back to her friend’s earlier fear. “Was that you messing up?” “I don’t honestly know,” Catriona said shakily, thinking more of her behavior than her singing, and flopping gratefully into the nearest hard wooden chair. “Take my word for it,” Dot advised. “Wasn’t she wonderful?” she demanded of the patch-sweatered man who grinned, gave a quick cough and said hoarsely, “Best thing this bar’s ever seen.” “This is the Hacker, by the way,” Dot said. “Hacker, my friend Cat. Oh and the Magician we’ve met already tonight if you recall! Hey Magic, this is Cat!” Catriona looked up quickly, her heart thumping, and there he was again, still in his long coat, a small glass of some amber liquid in his hand, which he raised to her in a silent toast, inclining his head as he did so. In the same spirit, Catriona nodded back. Though his lips curved slightly upwards, his expression was unreadable. In any case, he threw himself into the chair beside the Hacker, and laid his glass carelessly on the table. It seemed he was staying.

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Chapter Two Then the Pianist arrived with drinks—there was a glass of red wine for Catriona— and everybody was talking. A couple of other people drifted over to their table to join them, a girl with a painted clown face and a shaven-headed man covered in tattoos who would have scared the wits out of Catriona a week ago. “Lovely voice,” he rumbled as he sat down beside her. “Great show.” “Thank you,” Catriona said smiled and took a sip of her wine. Instantly, quite involuntarily, her face screwed up, for it wasn’t red wine at all. It was some gum-curling white—no doubt shipped into the Old Town because no one elsewhere could be persuaded to drink it even if it was given away—with blackcurrant juice to add color. “Is it off?” The tattooed one asked, glaring towards the bar. “No, no,” Catriona said, recovering. “I just forgot what I asked for!” To prove it, she took another sizeable sip, keeping her face perfectly serene. When she lowered the glass she couldn’t resist looking across the table to the Magician. Once again, he was watching her, his face half hidden in the dancing shadows, and once again she refused to look away. It was difficult though, because he wasn’t smiling and she found his expression quite unreadable. Fortunately, before it went on too long, the Hacker claimed her attention, leaning across Dot to say, “So where else have you sung, Cat?” “In the bath,” she answered wryly and the Hacker grinned. “I won’t say I wish I’d been there! Dot says you’re old friends.” “Since childhood,” Catriona agreed and then, suddenly afraid he might ask for details of their first meeting, she said hastily, “And you—are you really?” “Am I really what?” “A hacker,” Catriona said dryly, taking another drink. Actually, once she’d got used to it, it was quite pleasant. The sweet blackcurrant masked the awful wine quite successfully now she was prepared for it. The Hacker only grinned good naturedly, and Dot broke off her conversation with the clown-girl to say, “Don’t ask gentlemen questions like that. Don’t even ask him.” “Mistress of the double put down,” Catriona murmured. The conversation moved on around her, accepting her, interested in her yet never over curious. It was the nature of the place. Hardly any of Dot’s acquaintances even used their real names. Partly, of course, this was fashion, a kind of pose, but Catriona began to wonder if it was not also necessary, if many of them weren’t actually lawbreakers hiding out in the warrens of the Old Town. And curiously, instead of appalling her, this prospect intrigued her yet further. Then she remembered there was no law here to break. She was still thinking in low and middle risk terms. As the blackcurrant-flavored wine began to disappear and the Pianist left to begin his second, solo, set of the evening, the only thing that disturbed Catriona was the fact that the Magician did not speak to her. In fact, sitting back in the semi-gloom, he hardly spoke to anyone, responding only in quiet monosyllables if anyone addressed him directly. Catriona found she wanted to hear his voice properly, not the performer’s cry, just a normal conversation, to learn what he sounded like, what he thought of, what his strange life was like.

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Determined to end the loud silence between them, she turned towards him, her mouth already open to ask him about his trade. Frustratingly, he had just stood up and was walking away from the table towards the bar, weaving his way between the few dancers swaying to the Pianist’s persuasive music. Catriona could only gaze after him, admiring his light, easy movements. There was something watchful about him, she thought, something almost—predatory. “So, do you like him?” Dot asked in her ear, having followed the direction of her gaze. “The Magician.” Catriona let her gaze fall back, glad of the bar’s gloom to hide the flush rising up through her body to her face. She even managed to shrug. “I can’t tell,” she said humorously. “He’s a man of few words, is he not?” “Oh that’ll be your fault,” Dot said. “Normally he’s the life and soul—funny too, most of the time. It’s your presence that’s rendered him speechless.” “Sure it is!” Stupidly, the thought was intoxicating, that she could possibly be affecting the stranger as he was affecting her. She knew it wasn’t true, just one of Dot’s inappropriate jokes. She knew too that it was only her own emotional vulnerability right now that was evolving this one-way school-girl crush on the first attractive man to smile at her. Yet when she saw him returning to the table with a tray of drinks, her heart lifted again. Despite her self-knowledge, if he had left the bar, something would have gone from her evening. Now he was walking straight towards her, planting the tray down between herself and Dot. “Good day on the High Street, Magic?” The Hacker grinned, helping himself to the long, beer-like drink. “Known worse,” said the Magician, passing the others around the table, the loose, woolen sleeve of his coat brushing against Catriona’s bare arm. She left her elbow where it was, only glancing up at him when he laid another wine glass in front of her. “You seemed to get used to it,” he observed, and before she was over the shock of that, he said, “Would you like to dance?” She knew her gaze was widening with surprise. Suspecting a joke, she searched his eyes from one to the other. They were very dark, scarily like her own, yet there was nothing soft or vulnerable there. They were oddly cool, veiled, almost hard, in line with the kind of life he must have led. And just to the side of the left one, was a tiny tattoo of a fish with a ring through its mouth. Fascinated, her gaze lingered on the fish till she saw what must have been a scar on the skin below it. The skin of the rest of his face looked smooth, though, young skin with just the beginnings of blue stubble shadowing his lower jaw and chin. His lips, when her scrutiny reached them, twitched slightly and she saw amusement begin to lighten his face. “Well? Will I do?” Recovering, she said lightly, “In the absence of a better offer,” and rose to her feet. To her surprise, instead of letting her precede him towards the other dancers, whose swaying shadows flickered crazily up the far wall, he casually took her hand, leading her in among them. His fingers felt strong, rough, capable. She knew they would have to be sensitive and flexible for his act. Perhaps it was that which made his touch so exciting. After all, she had never touched a high risker before…

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The Magician turned in the middle of the throng to face her, raising her hand to shoulder height while placing his other palm lightly in the small of her back. He was tall, broad shouldered under the long coat, the lapels of which pushed against the silk of her dress. The Pianist had done with liveliness and rock. He was onto ballads and softer music that it was easy to sway to. So she did, relaxing and letting her body decide for itself how to move. The other dancers were very close, occasionally even brushing against her and Catriona, too used to the sheer space of the Low Risk Zone, became uncomfortably aware of their body heat, their smell. Yet the novelty of it all only added to the strange excitement building within her. After a moment, very conscious of his warm hand at her waist, she lifted her eyes from the mesmerizing shadows to the Magician’s face. “You don’t say much, do you?” she challenged. And at last he smiled, the sort of smile he had given her with the flowers in the High Street. Annoyingly, it caught at her breath. “Well, you don’t say much yourself,” he observed. “Or at least not to me.” “What would you like me to say?” “That I’m the handsomest, sexiest man you’ve ever met. And the best magician you’ve ever seen.” Her surprised laughter was slightly breathless. “All right,” she said amiably. “You’re the handsomest, sexiest man I’ve ever met, and the best magician.” “That’s the stuff,” he approved. “For what it’s worth, you’re the loveliest, most intriguing woman I’ve ever seen—and one day I hope you’ll mean what you say.” Wildly, she realized that she had no idea if either of them meant what they were saying. Worse, she didn’t care. The music was sweet, she was Cat who could move people with her songs, and something strong and probably wicked was attracting her quite powerfully to the young man who held her so lightly. One day I hope you’ll mean what you say… Tilting her head with unconscious provocation so that her hair swung back from her flushed cheeks, she said, “What makes you think I don’t?” There was an infinitesimal pause, in which she realized she had actually surprised him. Though his face gave nothing away, it had lost its faintly teasing expression. Then he smiled. “Innate modesty. But it’s not inexhaustible, so don’t tempt me.” As if to explain himself, his arm slid farther round her waist, drawing her closer. Quite naturally, Catriona lifted her free hand to his broad shoulder. Now she could feel the warmth off his body. The open coat had flopped to either side of her and within it seemed suddenly a very tempting prospect—hard and lean and fit… His thumb moved on her hand, brushing the soft, sensitive skin between her thumb and forefinger, sending unexpected little shivers up her arm and down her body. Oh dear she thought in sudden panic. How long since she had been this close to a man…? Then he spoke again, and for some reason his voice calmed the panic, even while his breath on her ear aroused a different disturbance. “Like your dress,” he said, moving his other hand subtly, caressing her naked back. “Where did you get it?”

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“Oh it’s just some old thing I found at the back of my wardrobe.” His body seemed to vibrate with silent laughter and Catriona, who realized belatedly that here in the Old Town such a remark was clearly a joke, tilted back her head again to search his face for genuine amusement. The movement brought her breasts in contact with his chest, forcing her to acknowledge the tightness of her nipples and their growing hardness. She knew he must feel it through the thin shirt he wore, but he just smiled at her and she felt quite unashamed of her arousal. Her body, still going its own way, swayed nearer him without quite touching below the waist. Then she swung her hips provocatively, this time just brushing against him. With a delicious shock of excitement, she felt his erection already huge and hard in the frayed jeans he wore, and knew a strange triumph that she could arouse him so. Emboldened, she slid her hand from his shoulder up around his neck, subtly swaying her body into his. She felt his breath catch and quicken and smiled into his neck, inhaling the warm, oddly clean smell of his skin, free of all the aftershaves and body sprays that were the fashion in her own world. As if he sensed the smile, his hand moved against her back, pressing her into him, making her gasp as their hips fitted together. The height difference didn’t seem to matter. His rock-hard erection throbbed into her abdomen, the sensuous movement of his thighs and hips pressed against her crotch, blatantly arousing. And God, she was aroused. Between her legs, she was already hot and damp. Clamped into him, her hips followed his in perfect rhythm without need of the guiding hand caressing her back, slipping lower across her buttocks. She felt as intimate as if they were making love. And that was the second time this evening. Breathless laughter caught in her throat. The heat of his thrusting crotch, the feel of his warm chest against her breasts was unbelievably sexy. Her mouth went dry with a desire stronger than any she had felt in years, and it was getting worse. Dancing like this was torture and delight, pain and pleasure, but my God, the pleasure was winning. She thought that with just a little more contact, a little more help, she would come all on her own… As if he heard the thought, he moved his leg deliberately, bending his knee so that the top of his thigh just touched the hot tenderness between hers. The silk of her dress, the cotton of her underwear between them didn’t seem to matter. Involuntarily, her fingers tangled in the soft hair at the back of his head, gripping. His head lowered towards her, his breath tickling her ear as he said low, “I see we both like to dance…” And something else, his tongue surely, flickered across her lobe, making her gasp. She said, “Dancing. Is that what we’re doing?” His hand released hers, coming to rest instead with its partner on her buttocks, gently kneading her into his hard cock. “You say,” the Magician suggested softly. Another flood of moisture was released between her thighs. Convulsively, her freed hand reached up around his neck. Her breasts were crushed into his chest, so that his every movement sent delicious sparks shooting through them from her stiff, over-sensitive nipples right down her body to the wild center of heat below. Just above her pubic bone, she could feel the hard outline of his erection almost as clearly as if they’d been naked. His face moved closer to hers. She was held by his eyes, hot now and cloudy with desire, surely mirroring her own.

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You say. What words did she need to speak here? Just one and then go with him—where? To make love, to have that lean, hard body naked in her eager arms, the bone-stiff cock she could feel so clearly against her abdomen sliding into her… And God, yes, she wanted that. She wanted this stranger. Already, she was rocking on the edge of an orgasm. A few more sensuous, rhythmic movements and surely it would come, as slow and intense as this dance… She didn’t think she’d even bother to hide it from him. But her friend the Pianist let her down. His piece was finished, and the dance ended. For a moment, stricken, Catriona stood perfectly still, staring into the Magician’s fathomless dark eyes while around them, people moved on to the bar, or back to their seats. Confused by her unaccustomed desires, Catriona nevertheless registered that he seemed to be waiting. Certainly, he didn’t move. For several heartbeats they stayed like that, melded together, his mouth almost touching her trembling lips while her body silently cried out its loss now that his had stilled. Then his eyelids swept down over his eyes and she became distracted by the length and thickness of his lashes. When they lifted again, he was no longer waiting. His lips curved ruefully upwards. He observed softly, “The lady does not say. Perhaps next time.” And his arms loosened. For a horrible moment, she thought he would just walk away and leave her there, humiliated by the strength of her desire as much as by his desertion—and probably unable to walk without her trembling knees giving way. But he didn’t. One hand slid down her arm, making her shiver, until it held her hers, and then, turning away, he led her back to the table. There another ordeal awaited her in the shape of the wicked-sprite girl who had sat in the Magician’s lap last Tuesday night. ***** The Magician said casually, “Hi Angel.” Then, dropping Catriona’s hand so that she could sit in her old seat by Dot, he lounged beside her in the Tattooed Man’s vacated chair. Which put him also beside the angry girl. Dazed, Catriona tried to work out what had just happened, how she had come to be so suddenly transported into this distinctly deprived state from the blissful agony of sexual desire in the Magician’s arms and the promise, surely, of a very special fulfillment... Had she just blown it or had a narrow escape? Glancing at Angel, the Magician murmured, “Have you met Cat, the new singer here? Cat, Angel.” “Pleased to meet you,” Catriona said, rather more calmly than she was feeling. For the first time she began to wonder how her dance with the Magician had appeared to anyone watching. She rather suspected she had been pretty blatant, both arms around his neck, pressed in so close they might have been naked. And his hands had been on her bottom. She hadn’t exactly pushed him off. In fact, she had been encouraging, if not leading… The very memory was making her hot all over again, forcing her to shift involuntarily in her seat.

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The other girl just stared. Catriona didn’t blame her. Seduced by the intoxication of her new freedom among strangers, she had been acting purely from instinct with the Magician, and now deserved all she got. Yet it had only been a dance. A dance that still left her knickers wet and her entire body tingling. Swallowing, Catriona covered her novel feelings by lifting the wine glass to her lips. Fortunately, her hand seemed to be steady enough. The Clown said to Angel, “Did you hear Cat earlier? Isn’t she great?” Angel shrugged. “Heard her last time. Don’t care for that kind of music.” She looked deliberately at Catriona. “Sorry, but it sounds sleazy to me. No offense.” “None taken.” Catriona shrugged. “You’re right, though, it is sleazy music. I suppose you either like it or you don’t.” “Your act’d be better if you made yourself up more,” Angel said. “I can get you some make-up if you like.” “Thank you,” Cat said gently. “I have some.” This time Angel didn’t smile. “You should use it.” Beside her, Catriona heard the Magician’s breath catch. She didn’t know if it was amusement or annoyance, but in any case, he said nothing, only turned his head in her direction. Catriona refused to look at him. It was the Clown who warned, “Angel.” “What?” said the girl aggressively, and Catriona understood that she wanted a fight. Angel was hurt. And that sort of hurt Catriona knew too well to voluntarily inflict it on another. She said lightly, “Maybe I will,” and raised the wine to her lips once more. Her naked elbow brushed against the warm wool of the Magician’s coat sleeve, but when she lowered the glass, their arms were quite separate. It crossed Catriona’s mind, ruefully, that despite the physical temptations of the Magician, this would have to be a “safe” crush after all. Dot said, “I’ve got to go, Cat. Are you coming?” “Sure.” Catriona stood up quickly. “I’ll just get my flowers.” Too late, she remembered where they had come from. It took some effort to turn and face the group at the table, more still not to avoid the Magician’s gaze as she said, “Good night.” His eyes were laughing at her, the tattooed fish beside his left eye scrunched away to nothing.

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Old Town Magic

Chapter Three “You’re up early,” the Hacker said in some surprise as the Magician strolled into his room the next morning. “Stuff to do,” the Magician said carelessly, walking towards where the Hacker sat at his computer desk, mouse in one hand, stale, curled up sandwich in the other. Without any of the dramatic flare he used in his act, the Magician took his hand out of his capacious coat pocket and deposited a small bottle on the desk. “Got some of this for you. It won’t cure, but it’s supposed to help the coughing.” The Hacker glanced up at him with a quick smile. Mostly he didn’t think about it, but although he went along with the Magician’s wildly optimistic plans, he knew in his heart that all he could really hope for lay in the soothing bottle before him. “Thanks, Magic. What do I owe you?” “Can’t remember,” said the Magician vaguely. Already he was moving away, walking with his quick, light strides across the muddled floor to the window, where he looked down onto the teeming Grassmarket. There were food stalls set up today. Faintly, the Hacker could smell semi-fresh fish, and the fruit he’d seen arriving earlier hadn’t appeared too elderly. For a few moments, the Hacker let his friend look. Then he put down his sandwich. “What’s on your mind?” The Magician stirred. “That girl.” “Cat?” said the Hacker, grinning behind his back. “The singer?” The Magician turned towards him, a frown on his rather tough face. “Didn’t she seem a little—different—to you?” “Well, she is a friend of Dot’s,” the Hacker excused. “I know.” For a second, he hesitated. “You do trust Dot, don’t you?” “Yes,” the Hacker stated. “I do.” The Magician moved again, restlessly. “How well does she know Cat?” “Since childhood. Why?” Pausing beside the desk, the Magician said, “Did it seem to you that she singled me out?” The Hacker’s lips twitched. “Markedly.” “Why?” The Hacker blinked. “Why what?” “Why me?” the Magician demanded. “Well,” sighed the Hacker. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re a good looking bloke. Girls like you. Everybody loves a magician…” “Girls like Angel like me,” the Magician interrupted. It wasn’t derogatory or even judgmental. He just meant brash, streetwise, self-confident girls, not the quiet ones who lived with their families, usually wore masks and never went out either alone or after dark. The Hacker understood that. “Girls like Cat won’t normally speak to me.” Beginning to frown himself now in anxiety as to where this was leading, the Hacker said, “With respect, Magic, girls like Cat, or Dot, don’t often come our way.”

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The Magician just looked at him in silence for a moment. Then, pulling the hard chair across from the other side of the room, he sat down on it, facing his friend. “What,” he said, “if they’re on to us? On to one of us—namely, me. What if Cat’s trying to use me to find out everything and everyone else?” The Hacker’s breath caught. “Why?” he said quickly. “Why should they be on to you? To any of us?” “I don’t know,” the Magician admitted, “but it’s bound to happen sooner or later. And there’s something… wrong about Cat being here.” “Well,” said the Hacker slowly, “if that’s what you really think, take care with her. Should you ever see her again…” ***** Catriona woke as she’d gone to sleep, with a hand pressed to her restless pussy. The memory of powerful, unrequited need was strong, and yet her heart was light and smiling. It was so good to feel, and to feel that. She had loved singing in the bar, soaking up the audience’s enthusiastic response like a dry sponge, but that amazing dance with the Magician…! Smiling to herself, she pulled back the quilt and slid out of bed. In a vase on her elegant dressing table were displayed the pink roses the Magician had given her. A quick survey of the room showed her that Ken had not been here. She hadn’t expected him to be. For several months now, he had slept in one of the spare rooms until, gradually, most of the things he needed every day had migrated there too. Now he had little reason to enter the bedroom they had once shared. And this morning, for the first time, Catriona realized the fact no longer pained her. Pulling on her robe, she headed for the kitchen. There was no sign of Ken here either. No jacket slung over the back of a chair; no dirty plate and cutlery in the sink. Not even a used coffee cup. Presumably he had stayed all night with Whatshername. Something would have to be done, she knew. They couldn’t live like this for much longer. She would think about it properly tomorrow, decide how and when things should be done for least disruption to her family and the Company. And Ken would just have to get used to pissing off her parents. They probably knew about Whatshername anyway. Everyone else seemed to. Coffee mug in hand, Catriona went back upstairs and switched on the shower. Half an hour later, she was ready for work in her smart beige suit, her hair tied up behind her head, her face made up to the required standards of bland anonymity. Leaving the house by the integral garage, she noted without surprise that Ken’s car was still absent, and drove to work. ***** D.C. Vacs, one of the few organizations to have thrived since the epidemic—it manufactured the vaccine which had eventually ended it and still kept the virus at bay—had a big, new office building just outside the city boundaries. Accepting it as the norm before Dot had taken her to the Old Town, this morning she found it sterile and soulless. But she could live with that. Tomorrow night, she was due to sing again at the bar, and hard work was the best way to fill in time. Her main project just now was negotiating a merger with a London drug company. In no time, Catriona’s desk was littered with pages of draft contracts, clauses scored through and altered and queried. Within half an hour, the words had begun to dance before her eyes so

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that it was an effort to make them behave. Five minutes later, she was seeing not the dull, black and white print of her legal documents, but the sensual curve of the Magician’s lips as they hovered so close to hers she could have kissed them. She wished she had kissed them. Just once. For the umpteenth time, she let herself relive every moment of her dance with him, every nuance of every word spoken, every tiny caress of his fingers, every wicked movement of his lean, wiry body against hers. She could remember so vividly how the rock-hard column of his cock had felt pressing into her, so big and thick… Heat flooded through her whole body and into her face. She still had last night’s butterflies in the base of her stomach, and the memories were making her wet all over again. Inevitably, she began to wonder what would have happened if she had left the pub with him as he’d seemed to be asking, what it would have been like to make love with him. She imagined those long, clever fingers on her naked body, caressing her breasts and thighs while he leaned over her to kiss her mouth, at the same time pushing his big cock between her thighs, entering her pussy and thrusting right in… So engrossed was she in her own dreams that she actually jumped when the phone rang. “Mrs. Whithorn? It’s Beth, Mr. Whithorn’s secretary,” said the voice on the other end nervously. Nervous was unusual for her, causing Catriona to frown quickly. Drawing in a slightly ragged breath, she dragged her wayward thoughts back to reality. “Yes, Beth, what can I do for you?” “I was just wondering if Mr. Whithorn is with you?” “No, he isn’t.” “Ah. It’s just that he hasn’t been in yet this morning, and I haven’t heard from him. I was wondering if he was all right?” “Not in yet?” Catriona repeated, failing to keep the surprise out of her voice. “No. And it’s so unlike him…” “Yes,” Catriona agreed thoughtfully, “it is. Leave it with me, Beth. I’ll track him down and have him call you.” Disconnecting the call, her finger hovered over her father’s office number. Then, decisively, she laid down the phone and left her office. Her parents’ suite of offices was at the top of the building, all glass windows and roof to let in maximum natural light and provide stunning views over the Pentlands on one side, and over the city on the other. The city neither of them had been into for years. Vaguely, she wondered what they would say if they knew she had now visited the Old Town twice and planned to do so again three times a week on a regular basis. She almost giggled as she pushed open the glass door and found her parents engrossed over the same computer screen. It was a familiar sight, one that seemed to encompass their whole life together. Once, she had hoped for this sort of closeness of understanding with Ken… “Hello, darling!” her mother greeted her, straightening and taking off her glasses. “How are you?” “Fine,” Catriona said, impatient with the courtesies. “I was looking for Ken.”

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“Haven’t seen him all morning,” rumbled Charles Davidson, a big, powerful man with an equally overpowering personality. “Need to see him this afternoon, though— appointment at two-thirty…” “OK, thanks,” Catriona said, preparing to leave again before the force of their combined interest oppressed her. Then, a further thought striking her, she glanced back at her father. “I don’t suppose you were working late last night?” “Till nine,” her mother answered disapprovingly. Charles only smiled. Catriona said, “You didn’t by any chance send for Ken, did you? About seven?” “No, why?” “No reason. Just…let me know if he turns up, will you? And get him to call me.” Charles just grunted and returned his attention to the computer, but his wife, a taller, slightly more severe version of Catriona in appearance, rose, frowning. “Why don’t you call him yourself, dear?” Because these days he never answers my calls. That reply would have brought it all out in the open. Instead, reluctant to reveal her personal life in this sterile place, to this incredibly together couple she could never now hope to emulate—and no longer wanted to, she realized with a confused jolt—she said only, “Yes, I will.” “Oh, and Catriona? You haven’t forgotten Sunday?” For a moment, Catriona stared back at her mother blankly. The older woman snapped, “Dinner party, darling!” “Of course,” Catriona said, unable to keep the bleakness out of her voice. “I haven’t forgotten.” ***** When the door closed behind their daughter, Charles and Irene Davidson turned to look at each other. “We can’t keep this up forever,” Charles observed. “We won’t need to,” Irene returned, walking over to her own desk. “Ken’ll be back before you know it.” Charles said, “He was meant to be back before she knew it!” “So he’s proving unexpectedly stubborn. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be convinced otherwise before very long. And emerge a better, more useful man.” “Let’s hope so.” Charles turned his attention back to the computer screen. A few moments later, he threw himself back in his chair. “Damn it, Irene, I didn’t expect her to realize he’d gone! He spends most of his time with that silly tart as it is!” Irene didn’t lift her gaze from the screen. “Well, I’m sure that’s something else we can cure him of.” “What for? Would Catriona have him back?” “Charles, she hasn’t thrown him out yet! For some reason, she still seems to love him. Believe me, neither she nor I will object to a little enforced fidelity!” ***** When there was still no sign of Ken by lunchtime, Catriona called his mobile. It was switched off. So, taking a deep breath, she finally called Whatsername. The phone was answered right away. “Hello?” said a breathy voice. “Hello. Could I speak to Ken, please?”

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There was a pause, which for some reason seemed to radiate disappointment. “I’m sorry,” the woman said, “he isn’t here.” Definite unease began to prickle now. Catriona said, “Do you have any idea where I can find him?” Another pause. Then, “Who’s calling, please?” “Catriona Whithorn.” Although she usually used Davidson as her surname, there was no point in beating about the bush here. “I’m sorry, Marissa, but I can’t trace him. He hasn’t been to the office this morning and no one seems to have seen him. I was hoping he was with you.” And for the first time ever, it was true. A sound like a sob came from the other end of the phone. “I thought he’d just gone back to you. He didn’t turn up last night like he was supposed to….” “Oh well, don’t worry about it,” Catriona said ruefully. “He was always an inconsiderate bastard.” Though it felt good to say, it didn’t really solve the problem. Putting the phone down, she smiled distractedly at Dan her assistant who had just come in and was beginning to rummage for some papers. “Problem?” he enquired. Catriona regarded him for a moment. She liked Dan. A low risker himself, he had a rare and endearing knack of treating everyone, low and middle risk, with the same degree of courtesy and friendliness. A few years younger than Catriona—perhaps the same age as the Magician, she found herself thinking with some surprise—he was nevertheless a man who knew his way around most of life’s difficulties. “Dan,” she said slowly. “If you saw two men—probably middle riskers, smartly dressed—come up to someone just getting out of his car and show him ID, then a few moments later they all get back into the man’s car, and drive off, what would you think?” Dan blinked. “I’d think the police wanted to talk to him.” ***** An hour later, Catriona was driving into Edinburgh. Though it was something of a leap of logic, she was suddenly sure that Dan was right. Ken had gone with the police last night. And neither her father’s ridicule of the idea nor her mother’s gentler common sense could shake her from that certainty. The police station in Gayfield Square, surrounded by tall, gracious tenements, was in the middle risk zone of the city centre, though only just. From the other side of Leith Walk, beyond Calton Hill, ran the forbidden and largely criminal warrens of the Old Town. The police did not go there. Crime went unpunished. Pleased to find the reception area quiet, Catriona began to hope for answers at last. However, the courteous policeman insisted no low risker had been brought in last night, either under arrest or as a witness, and when she insisted he look it up anyway, he showed her the computer screen for the entire city, covering everyone who had passed the portals of a police station or even a police car in the last twenty-four hours. For a moment after she took this in, she stared blindly at the screen. Then, “In that case,” she said, “I have to report a missing person.” “Shouldn’t be hard to find, Miss. Missing low riskers are rare. We should track him down in no time. I’ll just need some more details…”

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Leaving her phone number to be contacted as soon as he knew anything at all, Catriona headed back to the office only slightly comforted. Her stomach still felt unpleasantly churned, though, and she knew it would stay that way until Ken finally turned up. After that, he was history. She’d waste no more of her life on him. ***** She had just changed into jeans and a loose, comfortable shirt after returning home, and was opening a bottle of restorative wine when she heard a key in the front door. Practically dropping the bottle on the table, she ran across the hall calling out in relief, “Ken?” “Sorry,” said quite another voice. “It’s only me.” “Damn!” She had forgotten it was Dot’s so-called “cleaning” evening. “Well, excuse me,” Dot drawled, closing the door behind her. “I thought you were over him at least to the extent of being pleased to see lesser mortals.” “I am over him! In fact, I could swing for him right now! The bastard’s disappeared! And do you know what makes me feel really guilty?” “Spill,” Dot said, dropping her coat and walking quickly towards her agitated friend. “The fact that I’m so sure he’s doing it just to spoil my fun.” “Hey, you need a drink,” Dot observed, giving her a quick hug before she finished pouring two glasses of wine and then going to sit down on the big cream sofa. “So what’s happened?” Catriona told her everything, including the fact that the police had still not phoned back. “Well.” Dot frowned. “He’d be easily traced if he’d left Edinburgh—hardly anybody does—so he’s still here. Not in the hospital and not dead, or you’d know.” “What if he was robbed of his ID and attacked?” “Unlikely in low risk areas. And seriously, can you imagine Ken even in the Middle Risk Zone for twenty-four hours?” “Then why can’t the police find him?” Dot raised her glass and took a sizeable gulp. Refreshed, she said, “Maybe they’re not looking. Or not telling.” Catriona stared. “Why shouldn’t they?” “I don’t know, Catriona, but these things do happen!” “You’re not going to start on conspiracies again are you, because I’m not in the mood!” “Catriona, face facts! Even in your ivory tower out here, you know we do not live in a perfect world! No one elects the people who presume to rule over us. We have a selfappointed Authority of low riskers whose only merit seems to be that they’ve never been ill! The truth is, since they have no right to their position, they have to protect it very carefully. Now I have no idea how Ken might have upset the powers that be, but if he has…” Catriona stared at her, whitefaced. “What?” she demanded. “I don’t know,” Dot admitted in something of an anticlimax, “but troublesome people have disappeared before now. Look, I can’t come with you tonight, but if you’re really desperate…?” “I can’t leave him missing…” “Then go to the Magician.”

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***** On Dot’s advice, she went first to the pub. It was quiet in the early evening, only a few steady drinkers propped up the bar, and at the far end, the Pianist was tinkering with the insides of his piano. “Hello, Cat,” he greeted her without surprise. “Can’t stay away, eh?” Catriona smiled dutifully. “I was looking for the Magician.” “He’s not here.” “I can see that,” she said patiently. “He’s not in the High Street either. Any idea where else I should look?” “Just around,” the Pianist said with a vague flap of his hand. “He doesn’t have much of a routine. Best thing is to come back tomorrow.” He lifted his head to wink at her with his one eye. “He’ll be in then to hear you sing.” Flushing in spite of herself, Catriona managed to say that tomorrow wasn’t soon enough and that she needed the Magician’s help. “Anything I can do?” the Pianist offered. Catriona glanced at him. “I don’t honestly know. I’m looking for someone who’s…missing. And Dot said the Magician was the man to see.” “Did she, by God,” the Pianist remarked, without emphasis. “Well, take a look around. Don’t hang around too late though. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking.” “Thanks.” Only minutes before she had been thinking that the one good thing to come out of all this was that she would be seeing the Magician again. Even if requesting his aid in the search for her husband was not the way she might have chosen. She spent the next two hours wandering around the streets and alleys of the Old Town, up grim, crumbling closes and down steep stone-step passages where the jagged shadows from either side met and fused. She meandered along colorful roads still boasting street performers, none of whom were the Magician, but with some of whom she left messages saying she was looking for him. None of them could tell her where to find him. Eventually, she realized that they wouldn’t have told her if he was standing behind her. They didn’t know or trust her and they had closed ranks. Knowing that she was an outsider didn’t help. The distrust soured her former feelings for the place, her precarious sense of belonging. In the Old Town, she began to realize, she was even more isolated than at home among her own people. By the end of the two hours, she was hopelessly lost, and not pleasantly so. It was dark and the street lights didn’t work. The evening was cloudy, so there wasn’t even much natural glow from the moon or stars. There were no pubs or fast food cafes to shed any light. Most of the windows on the buildings on either side of the narrow, winding street were boarded up. For five minutes, she hadn’t seen a living soul other than two lean and aggressive stray dogs that only lost interest in her when she ignored them. Just occasionally, a shadow darted silently past her. She had no way of knowing if it was threatening, or even human. In the distance, she could hear guitar music coming from one of the nearby pubs, the raucous chanting of drunks in a neighboring street. Inside one of the tenements, a baby was crying. Somebody else was shouting. Catriona hurried round the bend in the alley and came unexpectedly face to face with three youths emerging out of the darkness.

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One of them, in what looked like a tattered wooly hat with the pom-pom missing, grinned at her. She knew because she saw his teeth gleaming, so she blurted, “Excuse me, how do I get on to the High Street from here?” Almost instantly, she regretted it. The young man’s smile was not one of friendliness, and she realized too late that these were the sort of people you avoided eye contact with, even in the daylight, and hoped they would be inattentive enough to pass you by. “Never mind,” she muttered, sidestepping to pass them. The one on the left stepped with her, blocking her path. At the same time, the one on the right slipped round behind her, making the hairs on the back of her neck spring up in expectation of some imminent assault. “Got any money to pay for it?” the one in the hat asked. “No, nothing,” she muttered, again trying to pass between him and the man blocking her way—who again moved to cover it. “Lies, I think, lads. Let’s see what’s in the bag.” Since her ID was in the bag, as well as her protective mask, and she had a vague idea how such people would regard the straying of a privileged low risker into their territory, she instinctively grasped the bag closer and tried to run. In seconds, she was hemmed in to the wall of the tenement and hands were tugging roughly at her shoulder strap. Other hands took the opportunity to feel at her breast and real terror began to mount. Opening her mouth to scream, she hit out wildly with her elbows and fists. At once her breast was released with a curse, and the grip on her bag loosened too. But it was only surprise. Before she could even make one step away from them, the one with hat pressed her brutally into the wall, holding something sharp against her neck. “Bitch. I’ll sort you out properly in a minute, after we get your money. Right, lads.” Her arm was yanked straight by one of the others and the bag pulled down over her wrist. With the knife at her throat, Catriona could not move. Then another voice spoke. Astonishingly, it said her name.

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Chapter Four “Cat?” Short and clear, it had at least the merit of turning her attackers’ attention for a moment. “Yes!” she choked out, feeling the knife bite into her skin. Her eyes, desperately seeking beyond the three thugs, saw the dark figure of another man standing quite still in the shadows behind them. A tall man in a long coat. Suddenly terrified for him, she ignored the weapon to cry out, “They’ve got a knife!” “I’ve got three,” the Magician said clearly. He didn’t sound even remotely fazed. Bewildered, she wondered if he had heard her right, if she had heard him. One of her attackers shifted away from her, allowing her a better view of the Magician and, dry-mouthed she saw that he certainly held one knife. The blade glinted in the feeble moon light as he held it in one hand, thoughtfully stroking its blade with one finger of the other. “It’s the Magician,” one of the youths said uneasily. “You’re hurting a friend of mine,” the Magician observed. “Aw, come on, Magic. We’ll split it with you!” offered the man in the hat with an odd sort of whining laugh. But curiously, though he still held her, the knife had stopped pressing in her throat. The Magician said calmly, “I wouldn’t split an infinitive with you guys—that’s a joke, by the way. I told you, she’s a friend. Let her go now or I’ll skewer the three of you to the wall before you can croak.” Wildly, Catriona wondered if he could, if he would. And part of her, outraged by the attack and by her own fear, wanted him to do it anyway. Although since there were three of them, it was actually unlikely that the Magician would be the one undamaged… For an instant nobody moved. Catriona, the sound of her thundering heartbeat filling her ears, was frightened even to breathe. Among all her confusion of thoughts, she was conscious of a desperate plea that he would not die or get very badly hurt for this. Then, leaving the blade in his right hand, the Magician’s left fell to his side. And suddenly Catriona was free, the biting wind unexpectedly cold on her bloodless cheeks as the three thugs inched away. “All right, man, we’re going,” said the one with the hat, almost placatingly. “We didn’t know who she was, all right?” The Magician didn’t answer, just watched them, moving towards Catriona as the three thugs slouched away from her, until he stood between them and her. “You OK?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the three retreating youths, who were now yelling out some cry of bravado among themselves. Catriona nodded shakily. Then, realizing he could not see her, she managed to say, “Yes.” But reaction was setting in. She had never faced even the tiniest threat of violence before, and what had happened to her tonight, what had almost happened to her, made her legs weak and her head spin. Sick and dizzy, her entire body was trembling. “They’ve gone,” the Magician observed, grasping her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

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Catriona was incapable of answering. Stumbling, she tried to walk with him, to pull herself together enough to place one foot in front of the other without falling against him. Abruptly, he stopped, dropping her arm and wrapping his own around her shoulders. She wanted to be strong, she wanted him to see her as brave and insouciant in the face of averted danger, but it was terribly hard. Not least because his arm felt so warm and safe around her. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, and at last, she let herself look up through the darkness into his concerned face, forcing a trembling smile. Not insouciant, she knew, but really, not too bad an effort. “No,” she managed. Then, “Thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come…” “Nothing,” the Magician said grimly. “You’d be lying bleeding in the gutter for the dogs and probably dead by morning.” Gasping, she pulled away from him, retching over the brutal image he had deliberately conjured up. As if from a great distance, she heard the Magician swear under his breath. Then his hands were on her shoulders, turning her back into him, and she had cause to be grateful that she had only suffered what Dot called “the dry-boak.” For a second, he held her to his body, and through everything else, she remembered dancing with him. Then, dropping one hand to his side, he said, “Can you walk?” Catriona nodded. “I’m sorry…” “What possessed you to come down here?” he asked again, beginning to move on. And Catriona, secretly reveling in the feel of his strong arm around her, managed to answer ruefully, “I was looking for you.” “So I heard. Well, for future reference, don’t look for me in this part of town.” “I got lost.” Again came that breath that might have been laughter. Catriona glanced at him and his lips curved slightly upwards. “You’re the weirdest girl I ever met,” he observed. Which, reflected Catriona as his arm fell away from her, leaving her curiously cold and fragile again, was hardly the sort of compliment one dreamed of from the object of one’s hopeless crush. But at least it was notice, and she would take what she could get. “Come on,” said the Magician. “We’ll go to the pub and you can buy me a drink. I think we both need one.” “My bag!” Catriona suddenly remembered, and before he could object, she had run back to reclaim it from the road side, still where the thug had dropped it on the Magician’s intervention. At least her legs were capable of moving now, she reflected with some pride as she ran back to him. As it turned out, the pub was not very far away, but they had to pass through some rather narrow and ill-smelling closes to get there, places Catriona would never even have noticed on her own. The bar was busier now, although a quick survey found no faces she recognized among the customers. The huge barman, known only as George after the name of his pub, grunted at them and bringing out a bottle from under the bar, began to pour some of the amber contents into a glass.

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“Make it two, George,” the Magician said, and wordlessly, George poured another. Rather to her surprise, the Magician stood back and let her pay. Then he carried both glasses to an empty table at the back of the room and sat down, shoving a third stool away with his feet, no doubt to discourage company. Catriona sat down opposite him and grabbed the glass he pushed toward her. She sipped from it while she tried to regather her thoughts, to remember why it was she had been looking for him in the first place. The Magician let her drink, watching her unblinkingly as she lowered the glass from her lips and regarded him wide-eyed. “Talisker Scotch whiskey!” she observed in clear astonishment. Hardly a common Old Town beverage, she would have thought. The Magician only smiled, twitching one eyebrow and stretching the tattooed fish. She took another sip, savoring it. “I think he undercharged me.” “No,” the Magician said coolly. “He didn’t pay for it either.” “Did you?” she asked frowning. The Magician smiled. “No.” So it was stolen. And the Magician had probably been the thief. Which brought something else to mind. “They were afraid of you,” she blurted. “Who?” the Magician asked without interest. His gaze shifted around the bar. “The lads who attacked me. Did you really have three knives?” “Four,” said the Magician, bringing his gaze back to her. His eyes were hard, as when she had first met him, his face veiled and cold. Though it detracted nothing from his lean beauty, it forced her to realize afresh the huge gulf between them. Her heart beat and beat, and despite everything, she was still fighting the memory of last night’s dance. “Would you have used them?” she asked steadily. “No point in having them otherwise.” “Is that why they were afraid?” “In my profession, I have to be fast and accurate. To survive around here, a reputation helps.” He sounded impatient. His words sent shivers of ice down Catriona’s privileged spine, and as if sensing it, he negligently raised the glass in front of him to his lips and drank. But Catriona, not a lawyer for nothing, refused to let it lie. She said, “A reputation has to be earned.” “Has it?” he said flatly. “Shall we talk about yours?” Her eyes widened. “Do I have one?” “You tell me.” He put the glass down and sat back so that his face was in the shadows. “Why were you looking for me?” She swallowed, again trying to gather up the right words. “Dot—Dot thought you might be able to help me. How—how did you find me?” His lips twisted. “Cat, you leave a trail as clear as a warning bell. I trust you never have to hide from anyone. How could I possibly help you?” Licking her suddenly dry lips, she twisted the glass between her fingers, staring into the smoky liquor. “I—I need to find somebody who’s missing.”

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“Who?” She lifted her eyes to his shadowed face. “My husband.” Impassively, he continued to regard her. “Here? In the Old Town?” “God, no,” said Catriona, balking at the image of Ken in such a place. Almost, it was funny. “I think…” She took a deep breath. “I think the police arrested him, but there’s no record of him on their files. I saw.” The Magician stirred, briefly letting the dim light flicker across his jaw and the tattooed fish above. “So what’s his name?” “Ken.” “Ken. And what’s your name, Cat?” Stung by the light mockery in his voice, she retorted, “What’s yours?” “Fair point,” he allowed, and for a second, the hard eyes seemed to lighten, then his thick lashes closed down. There was silence while he gazed into his whiskey. Catriona watched him, but though her eyes were growing accustomed to the dim light and the shadows, still she could read nothing from his still face. At last, she said, “Can you tell me what I should do to find him?” His lips curved slightly. Glancing up at her again, he said, “Look below the surface. Look at more than they let you see.” “I don’t have time for riddles!” she exclaimed. “That’s funny,” said the Magician, “neither do I. When you leave, use the bus stop on George IV Bridge.” As he spoke, he stood. Barely understanding his words, she said in panic, “Why should I do that?” “It’s safer than farther down,” he replied, as if surprised. “Wait!” She jumped to her feet as he turned away from her. “Please, don’t leave!” She actually gripped his arm, so tightly that she could feel the warmth of his flesh through the thick wool. For a moment, he looked at her hand on his arm, but she was too desperate to remove it, so instead he lifted his wintry gaze to her face. Then, surprisingly gently, he said, “Look, Cat, I like you. You’re smart and different and sexy as hell. But I have no reason to trust you. And unless you give me one, I won’t risk one finger, one brain cell, to solve your problem.” For a long moment, she stared into the hard eyes, one to the other. Somewhere, among the confusion of frustration and anxiety, she became aware of a warm glow forming just because he had said she was sexy, but she knew she couldn’t afford to dwell on that. Dropping her hand, she said low, “My name is Catriona Davidson.” The Magician sat down. Her breath came out in an audible rush of relief. When she fell back into her own seat, she was shaking again. She said carefully, “I’m not a high risker.” His lip twitched. “Really?” And against her will, she found herself smiling. “You guessed?” she said ruefully. He shrugged. “Middle risk tourists are not so rare. Dot is obvious enough.” Catriona hesitated, then, taking another deep breath, she said, “I’m not middle risk either.”

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Though the impassive face opposite still did not move, Catriona had the impression that this was only because he was determined to give nothing away, not because she had not surprised him. She blurted, “Dot and I became friends because her mother cleaned my parents’ house.” His eyes steady on hers, he said, “I see. And your husband?” “Kenneth Whithorn. Last night, before I left to come here, I saw him arrive outside our house. Then two men appeared from nowhere and showed him ID, after which he got back into his car with them and drove off. I haven’t seen him since.” “And you know these men were policemen?” “I’d never seen them before in my life. I never even thought of them being police until this afternoon, when somebody at work said something. And then it made sense, why he didn’t object to being taken away again as soon as he’d arrived. They were middle riskers, yet after checking their ID, he never questioned their authority.” “Did he look—afraid?” Startled, Catriona shook her head. “No.” “Then he had no reason that you know of to fear the police?” “Of course not! It’s why I can’t understand it. I went to Gayfield Square, and they showed me their list of ‘visitors’ and arrestees. He wasn’t on it. The officer on duty told me it would take only a couple of hours to trace a low risker, but I’ve still heard nothing.” The Magician stirred and reached again for his glass, his eyes never leaving hers for an instant. He didn’t even blink. She felt almost mesmerized. Not like last night. It was difficult to remember now that this was the same man who had held her in his arms then, his erection pressing hard into her heated abdomen, subtly seducing her into a fever of desire by the swaying of his lithe, lean body. Now he was interrogating her. And now she knew enough of him to realize that he was a lawbreaker by her standards if not his own, that others of his kind, outwardly more vicious, feared him. She wasn’t just uncomfortable with this knowledge, she was well out of her depth, and they both knew it. Lowering the glass, he said calmly, “Has it struck you that he might want to disappear?” Catriona stared. “Why should he do that?” The Magician sat back in his seat, gently swinging one arm while regarding her. “He might have another woman.” “He has,” Catriona said candidly. “But she doesn’t know where he is either.” This time, he did blink. “You’re all on friendly terms?” “Hardly,” Catriona said with a touch of hostility. “But I needed to know. And before you ask, no I don’t think she was lying to me. She seemed genuinely upset.” “Are you?” She frowned. “What?” Again he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Did Ken approve of you coming here to the Old Town? Didn’t he think it rather demeaning for his wife to be singing—er -sleazy songs to the likes of us?” Flushing under the implicit contempt in his voice, she tilted her head with a touch of defiance. “He would have if he’d known anything about it.”

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“Retaliation for his affair?” the Magician mocked. “Release from boredom!” she retorted, and then, seeing his faint skeptical smile, she went on furiously, “Oh I know you think I’m some spoiled little rich girl, playing with fire. I know you think I should be damned pleased with my lot, living in a big house in the fresh air, but the truth is it’s dull! My job is dull, my so-called friends are dull, my life is dull! When Dot persuaded me to try for the job here, it seemed to give my life some meaning.” Abruptly, she waved one deprecating hand. “Purely personal meaning, of course. It’s the only kind low riskers understand.” “They and the rest of humanity. And your husband?” “What?” she asked, confused. “Is he dull?” the Magician asked patiently. Catriona stared at him frowning. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t sure what she should say. She really didn’t know the answer any more. Or why he should ask the question. Slowly, she lifted the glass to her lips and drank it to the dregs before the words spilled out. “Recently, yes. To me, as I am to him. Because he didn’t want them, we have no children. It used to be a grief to me, though now I think it’s just as well. To all intents and purposes our marriage is over. But we’ve been friends a long time, I can’t ignore the past. And if he’s in trouble, then I can’t ignore that either, I have to do something. For auld lang syne, I suppose.” Unexpectedly, his hand reached across the table, turning up her face. Her breath caught. As though burned, she jerked out of his hold and his fingers fell away. But his veiled eyes were still on her throat, in the place, she realized belatedly, where the thug’s knife had pressed so recently. It must have been cut slightly after all. If she thought about it, it nipped. “All right,” the Magician said suddenly, getting to his feet. Alarmed, Catriona stood with him, reaching round for the second time that evening to grasp his arm. “Where are you going?” she demanded. Again he looked deliberately down at her detaining hand, and this time she dropped it immediately, standing back in embarrassment. His eyes lifted to hers. He said, “You weren’t so afraid to touch me last night.” Hot blood rushed through her body and into her face. And it wasn’t just shame, it was the heat of memory, of a sudden flood of physical need. She had no idea whether or not he saw it, or even cared, for he turned away at once, answering her previous question. “To see the Hacker. Are you coming?” Since he didn’t wait for her, she had to trot after him through the pub to the door, though here at last he paused and held it open for her. Another Old Town custom, perhaps. The Hacker lived in a tenement building on the Grassmarket. Although she had to run in places to keep up with the Magician’s long strides, Catriona found the walk strangely exhilarating. Occasionally he brushed against her arm and she found herself wanting to push it through his to slow him down. Once, as they crossed the High Street, lit only by pub and café windows, the Magician lifted his hand to someone across the road, and following its direction, Catriona saw the wicked sprite girl, Angel, striding along in the opposite direction as if she hadn’t seen them. Ruefully, Catriona was sure she had. It seemed she was causing the Magician personal difficulties as well.

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By means of a prelude to an apology, she blurted, “Is Angel your girlfriend?” “How broad is your definition?” he returned, barely sparing her a glance. “She’s definitely a girl and she’s a friend. What more do you need to know?” Catriona realized she knew nothing at all. She didn’t know how the high riskers conducted their relationships. Clearly, they had children, but she had no idea whether or not they married, lived together in long term relationships, or if they kept relations between the sexes as casual and open. Something stirred within her at this final idea, but she squashed it ruthlessly. However he had been with her last night, tonight he wasn’t even seeing her as a woman. That much was very clear. There were kids on the stairs inside the Hacker’s building, some playing, some just lying there as if they were asleep. The Magician calmly stepped over the latter, unexpectedly reaching out to grasp Catriona’s hand to help her. However her knowledge of him had changed today, it hadn’t altered the electric pleasure of his skin on hers. Swallowing, she said, “Surely, they don’t sleep out here?” “They’re not asleep. They’re stoned.” Catriona shut her mouth. The Magician banged with his fist on the first door on the next landing. It was opened by a complete stranger who said amiably, “Hi Magic!” and wandered off again, leaving the door wide open. Catriona followed the Magician inside, stepping carefully over the mess of clothes, books, food wrappers and shoes that seemed to litter the place. He led her across what appeared to be a living room, occupied by a couple on the couch in a state of semi-undress. The girl lifted her head from her lover’s shoulder to smile at them. “Hey, Magic,” she said. The Magician only raised his hand in a careless wave before using it to knock on the door in the far wall. He went in without waiting for an answer. The Hacker’s bedroom was even more untidy than the rest of the house. A computer took pride of place in the middle of the floor. Crumbs and rubbish surrounded it. The Hacker himself lounged on his bed fully dressed, reading some tattered paperback book which he tossed aside, his mouth falling open at the sight of them. At once, he was racked by a rather nasty sounding coughing fit. “Yes indeed,” he gasped when he had recovered enough. “Great care.” The Magician smiled beatifically while Catriona looked uncomprehendingly from one to the other. “Need you to solve a problem.” “Just the one?” “For now. Cat’s husband is missing, possibly in police custody.” The Hacker sighed, heaving himself off the bed with what seemed to Catriona exaggerated effort and settling himself at the computer. “I do hope we won’t live to regret this…”

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Chapter Five By the end of two hours, Catriona was none the wiser about Ken’s whereabouts. While she sat patiently on the bed, legs tucked under her, the Hacker apparently found his way in to several secure sites, for he was able to confirm that Ken was not on the police’s records, or their list of wanted suspects, that he had not passed a check-point in more than a week. Frowning, Catriona said, “But if he was with the police, would they have bothered to register his ID at a check-point?” “Good point,” said the Hacker. “Tell you what, go home, Cat. I’ll look a bit further into this and get back to you.” Catriona glanced at the Magician who was standing behind the Hacker, gazing over his shoulder at the computer screen. Ungently, the Hacker nudged him, and he nodded, lifting his gaze to the girl. “Come on—I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” he said. “In the meantime…” “In the meantime,” the Hacker interrupted, “you might try and come up with some reasons for the police to want him banged up. Why should they silence him? What did he do for a living?” “He’s a chemist,” Catriona said, “by profession, although these days he’s more of an administrator. He’ll be a Director next year.” “Davidson,” the Magician repeated, staring at her. “Davidson-Collins— D.C. Vacs.” “Yes,” she said uncomfortably. “My parents are the Managing Directors.” The Hacker threw himself back in his chair. “Well, there you have it!” he exclaimed through another bout of coughing. “We’re doomed!” “Big girl’s blouse,” mocked the Magician. “I don’t understand,” Catriona complained. “Ken’s scrupulously honest at work. It’s not as if he’d diddle the books!” “What was he working on just now?” the Magician asked, coming round to sit on the bed facing her. There was a gleam in his hard eyes now that she was at a loss to account for, but something about it excited her. “The same as the rest of us. We’re working towards a merger with Gentle-Farnham in London.” “And what would that entail? Meeting with their representatives? Looking at their drugs list, their ‘recipes’ even?” “Possibly,” she shrugged, “no point in duplicating, and it’s always possible one of us does something better than the other.” The Magician said, “Do you have access to that information?” “I don’t know, I’ve never tried. I’m a lawyer, not a chemist.” “Take my advice and look, bring the information to me if you can’t analyze it yourself.” Catriona stared. “You’re a chemist?” He grinned dazzlingly. “I’m a magician. Jack of all trades.” “And this will help us find Ken?”

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“I suspect it will. Look for anything that might give a clue, either to him being afraid of something or someone, or needing to leave. Perhaps he knew something he shouldn’t. Look up his computer, his diary, anything. The other woman’s house too.” “All right.” Infused with his enthusiasm, she smiled, pleased to be able to do something. “And if we find him,” the Magician said, “what will you give us?” It was so totally unexpected that it took her breath away. Mainly, it was hurt, because she was already thinking of them, of him, as friends. And they weren’t. They weren’t at all. A cold lining wrapped itself around her heart, killing the smile in her eyes. She said carelessly, “Whatever you want. Money is no object.” “I don’t want money.” The sentence was clipped, not loud but incomprehensibly angry. And Catriona, suddenly tired of being the butt of his unjust mood changes, retorted, “Well I can’t read minds. I’m not the Magician. I’ve already said I’ll agree to any price.” The Magician said, “Then get some antibiotics in here.” Silenced, she stared at him. “Antibiotics? You mean the vaccine? Surely you have…” “No, I don’t mean the vaccine. They happily fill us full of that shit as often as we’ll let them. Nobody dies of the virus any more. They die of infections, of tuberculosis, because conditions in the Old Town are ripe for it, and because we have no antibiotics to cure it.” Somewhere, through the confusion and disbelief and outrage, she was aware of relief, because after all, his anger was not aimed at her personally. “But you have clinics…” she floundered. “For delivering the vaccine. Sometimes, they even let people die there. But they won’t admit it’s TB—or cancer or anything else. They tell us it’s the virus reappearing, as if nobody can remember the difference any more. They think we’re ignorant and enough in awe of middle risk doctors to believe whatever they say.” “Maybe you should,” she whispered, because the alternative was so awful. “Should we?” The Magician turned his head to ask the Hacker. “Don’t bring me into it, mate!” “You’re already in it! He’s one of those with TB.” Catriona’s gaze flew from the Magician’s angry face to the Hacker’s resigned one, taking in the wraith-like thinness she’d noticed before, the slight flush on his shadowed cheek. She remembered the painful coughing. She said intensely, “Do you know that?” The Hacker said, “We still have a couple of old doctors. They’re not allowed to practice, but we all know who they are. Without them, a lot more of us would be sick and dead. And not of the virus.” “But that’s….” She broke off, unable even to think of a suitable word. “High risk,” the Magician said softly. Catriona stared at him, frowning. A pulse was beating furiously in her neck. The sheer inhumanity of such an oversight was mind boggling. So much so, that even Ken’s plight, whatever it was, faded by comparison. Abruptly, almost grimly, Catriona said, “I’ll get you antibiotics. Whether or not you find Ken.”

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Something changed in the Magician’s hard face. It might have been shame or gratitude, approval or relief, or something else entirely. Whatever, it had gone before she could read it properly, and since he had already given her more than enough to think about, she slid past him off the bed and picked up her jacket. “Thanks,” she said, including both men in her gaze. “I’m singing at the bar tomorrow, if you’ve anything to tell me. It’s all right,” she added as the Magician stood and began to move with her to the door. “I won’t get lost again.” He didn’t reply, just nodded to the Hacker and opened the door. ***** They walked in silence back up to George IV Bridge, Catriona moodily mulling over what they had just told her. Perhaps she needed a long sleep to take in properly everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, because despite the tragedy and injustice, the nagging worry about Ken, the attack she had escaped only a couple of hours ago, what she was chiefly aware of was the easy way the Magician’s hips swung when he strode along beside her. She wanted to feel them pressed into hers again. She wanted, very badly, to see him without any clothes on, to sweep her hand down the warm length of his skin from shoulder to thigh, to tease her fingers around all the male parts of him that had felt so very big and so very hard last night… Abruptly, realizing that his attention was on her as he walked, she swallowed, trying to ignore the hot, heavy tingle in her loins. Desperate for a distraction, her questing eyes lit upon a big, building on the main road. “What is that place?” she asked, hoping he would think architecture made her breathless. “That,” he said, “is, or was, the National Library of Scotland.” “Are the books still there?” she asked, curious now in spite of herself. “Mostly.” He shrugged. “No one uses them. All the necessary stuff is on computer file now, so we get to use the stuff they don’t want. Comes in handy to have an inexhaustible supply of manuals in everything from carpentry to medicine.” “And conjuring?” A brief smile tugged at his lips. “And conjuring,” he allowed. Unexpectedly taking her hand, he led her across the road. Her pulses leapt at his touch, cried out with disappointment when he dropped her hand again. “The bus stop’s here. This building used to be Edinburgh’s Central Public Library. Now it’s the vaccination clinic on the ground floor and food depository on the upper floors. At least they call it food. I doubt you’d recognize it.” Two masked people waited nervously at the dimly lit stop. They looked like middle risk nurses. Catriona stopped well back from them, just in front of the old library doorway, which still said Central Library on the glass above. When he paused in surprise, looking back at her quizzically, she demanded, “Do you hold me personally responsible for all the ills of the Old Town?” Expressions flitted across his face. For a moment he didn’t answer. Then, ruefully, he said, “No. I don’t even know what they all are yet, never mind who to blame for them. If I blamed you, or suspected you, I wouldn’t have taken you to the Hacker.”

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Though the softening of his face was only slight, it was enough to melt her vulnerable heart. Like everything else right now, it seemed to glide down to her loins and add to the general confusion swirling hotly around there. Swallowing, she lifted her head, determined not to let him off too easily. “Is that by way of an apology?” This time a definite smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps.” He took a step closer. “Listen, Cat…” “Is that the bus?” She began to move towards the nurses, but before she had taken a full step, he had her by the arms, swinging her round into the old library doorway, backing her up against the wall with his tall body hemming her in. “Listen,” he said urgently, his hands on her waist now. “Be careful when you go home. The men who took Ken probably bugged the house before you arrived last night. Watch what you say, what you do. Don’t go anywhere with anyone you don’t know and trust. And if anything happens, find your way back here. Do you understand?” The words were purely secondary to Catriona. Somewhere they chilled her. But most of her was far too occupied with the warmth of his hands on her waist, with the incredibly deep, dark eyes which were suddenly not hard or cold at all. Her gaze dropped to his lips, almost as close to hers as they had been last night. In the flash of the arriving bus’s headlights, she could make out every line and crease in the skin texture, every tiny movement. And slightly parted, they were just too tempting to resist a second time. Before she could think, she acted from instinct, reaching up with her mouth to his. It was a brief kiss she gave him, a quick, delicious taste of his warm, surprisingly soft lips. And then, before he could move, she pushed past him towards the bus, muttering, “I understand. Good night.” But abruptly he caught her again by the shoulders, pressed her back into the wall, and even as she gasped at the suddenness, his mouth covered hers with far more serious intent. Instantly invading, his whole mouth melded with hers, his tongue sliding and stroking against her own. After the first stunned moment, she opened wider to him, caressing his mouth with her own lips and tongue and teeth, completely awash with sheer sensation. His hands slid up her throat to her face and hair, tangling there as he held her head steady for his mouth’s ravishment. His body pinned hers to the wall, pressing into her breasts, her hips, the hard column of his cock pushing and stroking against her till she was so desperate to have it inside her that a sound very like a sob fell from her mouth into his. Struggling to get her arms free to hold him, she felt him relax the pressure of his upper body just enough to let her. When she moved, throwing her arms around his neck, one of his hands slid downwards from her hair to cover her breast, his palm holding, caressing through her shirt in a beguiling circular motion that made her moan with the pleasure. Then his thumb began to flick gently at her hard, tight nipple, in perfect rhythm with his tongue in her mouth, and the sparks of new sensation flooded downwards. She began to move her trapped hips, catching his own rhythms, and this time it was he who groaned, tearing his mouth from hers to say breathlessly, “Do you object to doorways?” “Not so far,” she managed to answer. Both his hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her so that she could more easily grind her desperately hot crotch against him. Wriggling down to unfasten her jeans, she noticed over his shoulder the masked passengers on the bus, staring

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goggle-eyed from the window. Shamelessly, she didn’t care. The bus began to move off, depriving them of the glow of its headlights, but even if it hadn’t, she would still have pushed the waistband of the jeans down, uncaring who saw what, so huge was her need of him inside her. His lower body pressed her up against the wall, holding her there. His mouth was on her neck, sucking and nipping, his hands on her breasts, reaching inside her shirt for the skin. Again, she moaned, no longer sure whether she wanted more of that or his cock within her. Both. Everything. Both his palms brushed her naked nipples. “Hard and sweet,” he whispered, bowing his head to taste with his lips, his tongue flickering scorching heat across them, while his hands tangled with hers in their efforts to open the zip of his jeans. Then he got sidetracked on the bare skin of her hip and slid lower, inside the thin, soaked cotton of her knickers, and she gasped aloud at the feel of his questing fingers among the moist petals which were already straining open for him. His breath coming in labored pants now, his fingers trailed crazily along the path of her pussy, dragging wild pangs of pleasure in their wake, pausing only to feel so very lightly, so very maddeningly at the nub of her desire, until they found her slick throbbing entrance. Slipping one finger very slightly inside, he circled and caressed, making her gasp and gasp again before he slid out and spread the moisture teasingly around the hole. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered, and grasping her by the buttocks once more, he lifted her clear off the ground. Instinctively, Catriona wrapped her legs tight around his waist, and the Magician lowered her onto the huge, thick length of his cock. “Jesus…” Catriona whispered, rocking achingly, knowing only too well that her orgasm, already postponed from last night, could only be seconds away. The feel of him inside her like this was incredible, like nothing she had ever experience or imagined. Her hands pleadingly in his hair, she felt the sob of anticipation begin deep within her. “Please,” she said incoherently, “Please…” Obligingly, he pressed as far into her as he could go, jamming her against the wall, then pulling back and powering into her once more. She rocked on his cock, caressing and squeezing him, wildly persuading him to the same frenzy of lust as herself. His thrusts grew quickly frenetic, thrilling her whole body with the strength and fury of his passion. Desperately, she reached and rose towards her own pleasure, with a shameless lack of inhibition she had never known before. Perhaps it was that which intensified the pleasure. Perhaps it was all the months with no sexual release whatever. But this orgasm devastated her, convulsing her with wave after wave of joy until she thought she would die before it ended. And then, through it all, when it was just beginning to roll back, she realized he was whispering urgently, “Do you trust me? Do you trust me?” And understood that he was asking permission to come inside her. The Magician was a high risker. Though there was no chance of pregnancy for her, he was still a stranger with at least one other woman. She didn’t know if she trusted him. She didn’t really know what the word meant any more. All she did understand was that if he didn’t come inside her it would be a terrible crime against good sex, a crime she could not bear right now.

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“Come with me,” she whispered, “Come with me…” Gasping, he pounded her, increasing the rolling waves of pleasure for her again, and then she felt his release throbbing and streaming inside her. His mouth was on hers again, muffling the sounds of his joy and she thrust into it with her tongue, kissing him with wild gratitude for her delight and his. He kissed her back, as if savoring every last spark of pleasure. Slowly, he let her feet slip to the ground. His mouth released hers and she opened her eyes to find his intently on her, clouded with sated desire. Breathing heavily, he slid out of her. His hands gently pulled her jeans back over her hips, but did not let her go. She could feel his cock, still hard, pressing into her stomach, filling her with a burning curiosity to actually see it. After a moment, he said, “I hope it beats bus travel.” And laughter that was close to tears suddenly choked her. She buried her face in his neck. “I didn’t realize I was so wicked…!” “I wanted to take you to bed, do it properly… Not fuck you in a doorway.” “It felt proper to me,” she whispered, appalled that he might be regretting the most exciting, astoundingly beautiful thing that had ever happened to her. Pulling back her head, he kissed her mouth, and she clung to him. “Do you have to go home?” he whispered against her lips. And belatedly, the rest of the world began to intrude. Her eyes closed, she rested her forehead on his chest, letting herself imagine just for a moment, how it would be if she went with him to wherever he lived, if she spent the whole night naked in his arms, doing some more of this… Convulsively, she swallowed. “Yes, I have to go home. I need to look for Ken.” “He doesn’t deserve you,” the Magician said. Though his passionate face was relearning its veiled expression, his voice was suddenly serious. Catriona smiled a little tremulously. “He hasn’t got me,” she said. You have. The words hung unsaid inside her mind. She didn’t know if he could hear them. He hugged her to him briefly, then released her to fasten his jeans. Someone passed the doorway as she zipped hers, but his body shielded her. And then, his arm around her, his semen trickling decadently down the inside of her thigh, she moved to the bus stop in time for the next bus.

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Chapter Six Adrenalin was still flooding her veins by the time she re-entered her spacious house outside the city. Modern and clean, it suddenly seemed as sterile as the office building. But for the first time in months—years—she didn’t feel sterile at all. She felt alive as nothing in the world, even singing, had ever made her feel before. Between her thighs was a curiously pleasurable ache where he had been. She welcomed the discomfort, along with the lingering after-tingles, because of what and who had caused them. Because of what he had made her feel. Making love with Ken, even in the early days, had never been like that. Now that the Magician filled her senses, she could remember being slightly disappointed in the whole business with Ken, which had seemed appropriate enough at the time, for he had clearly found her disappointing too. That was one of the many memories that had got lost in her haze of hurt and misery when she had found out about Marissa. But theirs had not been a perfect marriage, and she finally recognized that a lot of her grief at losing Ken had been made up of hurt pride and loneliness. But the Magician—a man whose name she didn’t even know! Sex with him had been awesome, so wild and uncontrolled that Ken would certainly not have recognized his supposedly staid wife in that writhing girl with her legs wrapped around a stranger while he drove her, literally, up the wall. Giggling at the thought, Catriona poured herself a cup of coffee and tried to think what to do to prepare herself for sleep. Right now, slumber was impossible. So she took her coffee to the computer in her study, and before everything else, kept her promise to the Magician and the Hacker, praying that no one would query her instructions. That done, she read her e-mails. There was nothing from Ken. On impulse, she went across the hall to his study, and turned on his computer, but his whole system was password protected and she had to give up. Returning to her own machine, she sipped her coffee, deep in thought. Thinking of Ken, of his character, trying to search, as the Magician had advised, below the surface… look at more than they let you see… Catriona moved the mouse and started flicking through files—work she had done at home, letters to friends, downloaded films, books and music, all slightly haphazardly arranged rather than in the neat, compartment folders that Ken employed. And yet if Ken had a secret, if Ken wanted to hide something, even he would hardly hide it in a folder marked “Ken’s secret”. He would hide it… somewhere in Marissa’s house? No, he’d hide it in the mess of Catriona’s. Suddenly she was sure of it. And yet, desperate not to appear excited to any watching devices, she forced herself to sit still, as if idly checking through her files for stuff to clear out. Her thoughts were racing now. Could you bug a computer? Of course you could! Isn’t that what the Hacker did? Then wouldn’t they know where she was looking… Was she somehow injuring Ken by this…? Abruptly, something stared at her from the screen. A file named simply Schubert Lieder.

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She hated Schubert’s songs. Once, in Ken’s company, she had sat through an excruciating recital that the rest of the company had raved over. Catriona had run out of truthful things to say that didn’t describe how awful it had been. “What a beautiful voice.” “Very evocative…” “Such expression…” Meaningless twaddle that Ken had seen through right away, his eyes meeting hers humorously behind their hostess’s back in what had quickly become a rare moment of communication. Slowly, Catriona reached up to the shelf above for a disk. Inserting it into the rewriter, she set it to copy a couple of Mozart symphonies, the Schubert lieder and a large batch of Strauss, father and son. Even the Radetzky March, which she had only downloaded for her father and never listened to. Then, yawning, she took out the completed disk and put it in her handbag with the little personal stereo her parents had given her for Christmas. As if satisfied, she went upstairs to bed. Undressing gave her the willies. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, feeling a thousand eyes on her cringing skin. The skin that the Magician had kissed and caressed…. That made her feel a little better. At least it took her mind off other watchers. Hugging the delight to herself, she brushed her teeth and got into bed. Her handbag lay on the floor beside her. ***** She woke conscious of the languorous contentment of her body. And when she moved, she felt the dull pain still between her legs, reassuring her that the sexual interlude with the Magician had not been a dream. Only when she actually got out of bed did she remember about the rest, about Ken and Schubert, and the thousand watching eyes. She forced herself through the normal routine. Downstairs for coffee, back up for a shower, trying not to let her eyes dart continuously in search of bugs and intruders. The tingle in the pit of her stomach was no longer pleasant and it had nothing whatever to do with sex. She was afraid. And as it turned out, rightly so. The doorbell rang just as she was laying down her hair brush. Fully dressed but for her suit jacket, groomed and made-up, Catriona froze, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Ken, she thought. Please be Ken… Though why Ken would ring the doorbell was anyone’s guess. As if seeing her own actions in slow motion, far behind her racing mind, Catriona seized her bathrobe and wrapped it round herself tight so that she looked only half dressed. Then, grabbing her jacket and handbag, she ran lightly downstairs. The bell rang again, making her jump, as she reached the bottom. Carefully, she laid down the bag under a raincoat on the hall stand, and threw the jacket over the banister. Only then—please be Ken… did she open the door. Two men in suits stood there. They were different from the ones who took Ken, but she still recognized them instantly. Even before they presented their ID. Though her desperate mind missed their names, she did register their desire to come in, to discuss Ken’s disappearance with her.

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“Then you still haven’t found him?” Her genuinely shaken voice sounded good, she thought. After all, her husband was missing. “Afraid not,” said the first, stepping inside as she held the door for them. “We were wondering if you could help us, come with us to look at some photographs, people you might have seen with your husband. Oh yes, and I’m afraid we’ll have to take any computers away for analysis.” Catriona’s heart jolted at that and continued to pound in her ears. She knew she looked stunned. Which was good too, she supposed wildly. “That sounds serious,” she managed to say. “As if you think something terrible has happened to him.” “No, no. In thirty years nothing very terrible has happened to any man of his level,” the second policeman soothed. “But he is proving elusive, and we really need to do our best now to find him.” “Of course. Please go through to the living room.” She indicated the correct doorway off the hall, and obligingly, they went in. “Sit down,” she invited. “I’m really very grateful for all you’re doing. Will you just give me a moment to throw on the rest of my clothes? I’ll be back down directly.” “Of course.” Catriona went out, closing the door behind her. Her heart hammering, she tip-toed to the hall stand and slipped into the shoes waiting there. Then she took another shoe and her bag and going to the foot of the stairs she threw the shoe lightly up. With luck, the clatter would sound like her stumbling on the stairs. Catriona lifted her jacket and eased open the door. If she was right, any third officer would be at the backdoor in case she tried such a stunt. She prayed that no one would expect her to escape by the front. Her spine tingling horrifically, she slipped out of the house, pulled the door over without clicking it shut and ran lightly across to the outside garage, still wearing her bathrobe. No one loomed up in front of her, no call went up for her to halt. Not yet… Her hands shook as they unlocked the Rover. Had they noticed she was gone yet? Would they hear the engine in the house? Anyone at the back door would certainly hear it. So there was no point in wasting time. She would just have to gun it and pray. The engine didn’t catch on the first turn of the key. With a desperate prayer, she tried again, holding the key for longer, and this time, almost to her surprise, it sputtered to life. Catriona slammed off the brake, let in the clutch and bolted. Never in her life had she driven down the driveway at such a pace, careering over the gravel so that the wheels spun. And yet it got her out of there and out into the road. From the corner of her eye in the rearview mirror, she thought she saw a running figure at the top of the drive—the third man? Whoever, they knew she had run now. She had committed a crime by fleeing. And somehow, she had to escape unnoticed past two check-points to get into the Old Town. Slowing slightly to keep her speed moderate enough to attract no further attention, Catriona drove towards the city with one eye on her rearview mirror. The Old Town checkpoint was no problem. She’d go in the bus as always and not have to register her ID. But

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there were no buses from the Low Risk Zone, and by the time she reached the check-point, surely the call would be out for this car. And Catriona Davidson. Abruptly, she swung the car left at the next turn. Three houses up, she came upon Dan her assistant, just climbing into his car. Seeing her, he paused in surprise and straightened up. “Hello, what’s up?” he asked in surprise. Catriona got out of her own car, stuffing the bathrobe under the front seat and then struggling into her jacket as she walked across to him. “Silly question, but can I please steal your car?” “Steal my…?” “And if you left your ID card with it, that would help too.” His frown was not quite amused. “Catriona, are you…? “Serious? Oh yes, I’m in a spot of trouble, Dan, so for God’s sake, just go into the house to fetch something you’ve forgotten and I’ll steal your car. The police’ll find it again. I’ll even leave your ID inside it. Please, Dan.” For a moment, he stared at her. Furiously, she tried to think what she would do if he said no… Then he nodded once. Dropping his car keys and ID on the front seat, he began to walk back to the house. “Whatever you do, don’t say you lent me the car,” Catriona pleaded. “And when I’ve gone, give me twenty minutes before you phone the police. Imagine I’ve played a trick on you and you’re waiting for me to come back. Only I won’t. Thanks, Dan!” Twenty minutes, and luck that the check-point officer would be too busy at this time of the morning to do more than stick the ID card in his machine without actually looking at it. Twenty minutes later, having given the address of a middle risk employee as her destination, she was through the check-point. But the hairs still stood up on the back of her neck, she was still waiting to be called back, to be chased. Turning off Queensferry Road, she finally abandoned Dan’s car in a supermarket car park and hurried to the bus stop. ***** The Magician was quite pleased with the new addition to his act. This involved flames leaping out of his coattails every time he blew out a candle in his hands. He’d developed the idea during the sleepless hours of the previous night and at dawn he’d gone round to test it out on the Clown and the Tattooist. Though they’d hardly been delighted to see him at such a time of the morning, the new trick he insisted on showing them did surprise reluctant spurts of laughter out of their bleary faces. So he used it in his morning’s entertainment in the High Street. Which also worked well. The Builder and several of his men on their way to a job stopped to watch and then, yelling colorful encouragement at him, threw several coins into his top hat. That was a first. He also got one of the nurses from the clinic and a group of loitering teenagers who decided to spare him a coin from their meager horde. It was while collecting that one, for which he did an additional trick, showing the teenagers his levitating picture, that he finally saw Cat. He had deliberately distracted himself, avoiding all thought of her, although of course she had been there, somewhere in his mind, as she had been since he had first seen her. Yet he

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did not recognize her at first, for her hair was up and the smart suit and make-up were not how he had come to think of her. Besides, she was sitting incongruously on a doorstep on the edge of his audience, waiting for him. Not watching him. Her eyes moved among the people, shifting down the road and back again, but she could only be waiting for him. The Magician felt his heart thud, because she was here, because some danger must surely have driven her to the Old Town at this hour. But still, after an instant’s hesitation, he turned back into his audience, as if hoping for a few more coins for his hat, because suddenly, ridiculously and for the first time in his life, he simply didn’t know how to behave, what to say. Did he swagger up to her and imply that she couldn’t stay away from him? Did he keep everything light, as if last night had never happened? Or take her in his arms and kiss her? That was what he wanted to do, after which he would take her to his room and undress her completely this time. Then, when he finally held her beautiful, passionate little body naked in his arms, her rose-tipped breasts pressed to his chest, her strong thighs wrapped around him, pulling him into her gorgeous wetness, he would make love to her all day… After all, despite the massive, joyful release she had given him last night, he had wanted her again very badly before he had even made it home. But he felt cornered, bound, by what he had done last night. He truly hadn’t meant it to happen like that. But when she had kissed him, a reply in kind had seemed appropriate, and after that her exciting softness, her eagerness, had driven him so wild he hadn’t been able to stop himself. And that too was rare. He was the Magician. He was in control. So why had he let himself treat her like that? Not that he hadn’t enjoyed it. In fact if he was ever crass enough to compile a list of his all time great fucks, that one would have to be up there at the top. He still felt like melting into a growling heap, went instantly rock-hard again whenever he thought of it, her legs clamped around his waist, her nipples hard and taut under his hands, her head thrown back in abandon as she cried out her ecstasy. Her pussy had felt so tight and welcoming, contracting deliciously around him as he pounded her into the wall… But he found he didn’t want such a casual event to define their relationship. Relationship! He was well aware that no relationship was possible between himself and Cat, whatever her current difficulties. So maybe he was right just to grab what gratification he could from their brief encounters. After all, she was hardly indifferent to him and if his pride did not appreciate being relegated to the role of some rich girl’s bit of rough, well that was another problem. But the girl had come for his help, and he was being shabby enough to avoid her. With a sudden flourish, he waved his top hat in the air and brought it back down on his head. No coins escaped. Through the applause, he walked deliberately up to Cat’s doorstep. She must have sensed his approach, yet it seemed that she, like him, was having difficulty with the moment. She waited until his shadow fell over her before she turned her head and looked up at him. There was a smile in her eyes, at once entrancingly shy and overtly pleased to see him. “Hello,” he said, and reached down to draw her to her feet. He swept the hat off his head and with one flick of his wrist, it vanished inside his coat. Acting purely from instinct now, he then pulled the ties from her hair in one swift movement, and felt it swish against his hand as it tumbled free.

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“What…?” she began, as if torn between amusement and astonishment. “The smart lawyer look isn’t big in the Old Town,” he observed, drawing her quickly on with one arm round her shoulders. The deliciously soft fabric of her jacket irritated him. He wanted the warmer, fuller softness beneath. Under his touch, she was tense, very much on edge, though she managed to retort, “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to choose my wardrobe this morning. You’re lucky I lost the bathrobe.” “Here, the bathrobe would probably be better. You could have been my assistant. What happened?” She drew in her breath. “The police came. They wanted me to go to the police station to look at photos. Maybe I was wrong, maybe they really did want my help to find Ken, but I panicked. It was just too like the evening he disappeared. So I bolted.” “Did you pass any check-points?” he asked. “No, I abused a friend’s pass to get into the Middle Risk Zone and then got the bus up here. The drivers only check you have ID, they don’t register it…” “So no one knows you’re here? Did you go to Dot’s?” “No, I thought I’d better leave her out of it…” “I think you’re right,” the Magician said a little grimly. Under his arm, her muscles were beginning to relax. Turning her head to him, she said, “Can we go and see the Hacker? I want him to listen to some Schubert.” ***** This time, when they crossed the living room of the Hacker’s flat, the couple from the couch were fully dressed. They were even putting coats on, although they both stopped to grin at the Magician and the man said, “What’s this I hear about you setting fire to your arse?” “Show you later, if you’re still around,” the Magician offered. “For that, we’ll wait,” said the girl, sitting back down on the sofa. They both looked curiously at Catriona, but with Old Town courtesy, asked no questions. They discovered the Hacker at his computer as usual, gulping down a cup of coffee. Lowering the mug, he observed, “Tattoos was round here complaining vociferously that you set fire to your arse in his bedroom at five o’clock this morning.” “What’s his problem?” the Magician demanded. “He got a free show didn’t he?” “I think crack of dawn was his problem. Most of us don’t do crack of dawn. So what’s happening?” he asked, nodding amiably at Catriona. “She had a visit from the police, so she scarpered,” the Magician explained. “And I brought you this,” Catriona said, delving into her smart bag and bringing out the silver disk. “Can you look at a file called Schubert Lieder?” “I’m not a classical man,” he remarked, taking the disk from her, and sliding it into his machine. “I found it on my computer. And I didn’t put it there. I think Ken did.” “And?” the Magician said, his eyes searching hers. She smiled faintly. “I hate Schubert’s lieder. If Ken knows anything about me, he knows that. Anyway, I tried to play if on the personal stereo on my way here, and it just makes computer noise at me.”

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The Hacker had brought up the Schubert file, and now scanned down a large list of incomprehensible words and symbols. “It’s encrypted,” he said. “I can’t read it.” “Encrypted is good,” the Magician said. “It means he was hiding something. Get on the case, man!” “Slave driver,” the Hacker grumbled. “Go and make me more coffee then.” Handing his cup somewhat imperiously to his friend, he turned back to the computer. Only when the Magician had strolled out of the room did he speak again, saying casually to the girl, “So, do they set fire to their bums in the Low Risk Zone too?” “My cousin did when he was fourteen, but I imagine he had less style.” The Hacker’s lips curved acknowledgement. Casting her a quick glance, he said, “I gather that you and Magic have ironed out your differences?” “Did we have any?” she asked lightly, sitting down on the other chair, watching him work. “Well, he certainly did.” “If you mean the antibiotics, I didn’t take his attack personally.” “Quite right. How did you convince him, by the way?” Catriona frowned, sensing something close to hostility from him. “Convince him of what?” “That you weren’t a police spy.” She stared at him. Inside, something jolted and went numb. She knew it was big, she just wasn’t quite aware yet of what or why. “Police sp… Why should I have had to convince him of that?” The Hacker shrugged. “Ask him.” Abruptly, Catriona’s head spun with conjectures furiously rising out of the numbness, and over all began a strange, spreading pain. She knew she was letting the pause go on for too long, yet only when the Hacker glanced at her again did she manage to speak. “So does he still think this?” “Wouldn’t have brought you here if he did.” It was no comfort. Suddenly, it felt that everything was crashing down around her. Because it all made a logical, dreadful sense. The odd interrogation scene in the bar after she had been attacked, his coldness alternating so confusingly, if so fascinatingly, with his odd charm, and the seductive, incredibly sensual dance in the bar… All deliberate. There was no true attraction there. He had been testing her, interrogating her the whole time. And last night… Jesus. Last night, she had kissed him. She had made the first move. Why shouldn’t he have taken what she had offered? And looking back, she had more than offered. She had flung herself at him. Standing abruptly, she removed her burning face from the Hacker’s line of vision. Her legs were trembling. Suddenly, the exciting, spontaneous act of last night had become something cheap and dirty and she just an easy woman throwing herself at a stranger, who had simply used her for quick and easy sexual gratification. What man wouldn’t? And she, idiot, had been making some fairytale out of it, an admittedly doomed romance, but one graced by real feeling, not just the occasional rutting instinct of animals.

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Did she never learn? Had experience with Ken taught her nothing? An explosion of laughter from the next room told her that the Magician was performing his new trick for the edification of the couch couple. She wondered if he would tell them, tell the Hacker and his other mates, that he had fucked the new singer up against a wall without even having to ask. That was probably funny too. A moment later the door opened. She knew he had come in, heard the ubiquitous coat swishing against the wall and the computer desk, but she didn’t turn round. She couldn’t. Inevitably, he came up to her, putting a chipped mug full of some unappetizing muddy colored liquid on the window sill in front of her. “I got these from Allie,” he said, and forcing herself, she looked up from the cobbled street below. Even so she had to blink twice before she could see that he was holding out a pair of blue jeans. “They’ll be better suited to the Old Town.” He seemed to think it necessary to explain. Did he imagine she was stupid as well as an easy ride? Lashing herself into fury, because anger was easier to bear than the pain, she moved away from him, saying distantly, “Just leave them on the bed. I’ll change later.” The muddy coffee stood untouched on the sill. From now on, she thought grimly, this was a strictly business arrangement. Ken for antibiotics. No more crushes, safe or dangerous. Inside, she felt like curling up and dying. Her very stomach was cringing. But he would never know. Let him think that she had simply used him, once, because he was there. ***** She didn’t stay long at the Hacker’s. Instead, she changed into Allie’s jeans as soon as she could, and then, since she was learning her way around, she went to the pub in search of the Pianist. In his usual, phlegmatic way, the Pianist seemed pleased to see her. They discussed the evening’s songs, tried out a few ideas, jammed a little. Then, regarding her with his one unblinking eye, he said casually, “You all right?” “Of course,” Catriona said lightly. “Why?” The Pianist shrugged. “You seem a bit restless, that’s all.” Abruptly, he stood, pushed back the piano stool and reached for his jacket from the nearby table. “Come on, I’ll take you for a walk, show you the sights!” Unsure what to expect of the Old Town’s “sights,” Catriona was nevertheless happy enough to go with him. He took her the length of the Royal Mile, from the closed castle entrance to Holyrood Palace, once the home of kings and queens and now rotting half hidden behind the high walls that made sure the high risk occupants of the Old Town had no access to the open green park surrounding it. He had tales to tell about all of it, entertaining and often amusing tales that managed to distract her from her misery for short periods. He showed her places that had once been museums and houses where important people from Scotland’s past had once lived. She saw St. Giles Cathedral, outside and in, where the Old Town’s faithful still prayed, despite the state of decay into which the beautiful building was falling. He told her about life in the days before Edinburgh’s “New Town” was built, and how the people in the high, overcrowded tenements had used to throw their rubbish and waste out of the windows into the street below with the warning cry of “Gardez lou!”

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Then, buying some warm bread and slightly stale cheese from a corner stall, he sat with her on a doorstep to eat in oddly comfortable silence. Some of the street performers were out, the juggler she had seen last night, someone further away who might have been the amiable clown girl. Catriona could hear bagpipe music in the distance, though she couldn’t see who was playing it. The Pianist said, “I’ll take you to him if it’ll help.” Catriona’s gaze flew to his, startled. She wanted to say, “I don’t know who you mean,” only something about his one steady eye dried up her disingenuous words in her throat. Swallowing them, she looked away, muttering instead, “Thanks. It won’t.” Since he seemed to see rather too well for comfort, she glued her attention to the cobbled road at her feet. Still casually, the Pianist said, “Bitten off more than you can chew with Magic?” He had no need to be kind to her. Stupidly, weak tears of gratitude sprang into her eyes. Blinking them away, she shook her head. “Not at all,” she said as easily as she could. “Actually, I don’t seem to have bitten anything very much at all.” The Pianist said nothing, just carried on eating. Catriona wasn’t surprised. She didn’t suppose her last remark had made much sense to him. Lifting her own forgotten sandwich to her mouth, she took another bite. The warm bread was surprisingly good. When he had finally chewed and swallowed his last morsel, the Pianist brushed the crumbs from his knees, to the interest of several waiting pigeons, and observed, “Funny bugger, the Magician. He can be moody, aloof even to the point where you don’t believe he counts you as a friend at all. Then he does something for you without thought… and you realize he’s always been a friend.” Catriona glanced at him. Something Dot had once said came back to her. Reluctantly, because she didn’t really want to think about him at all, she said, “Have you known him long?” “Since he was a kid.” He smiled slightly. “I went to school before the epidemic. And afterwards there was no shortage of books to read in the Old Town. I was educated, so I educated some of the children here. Including him.” “You’re a teacher?” Acknowledging her astonishment with a sour twist of his lips, he said, “It used to be called that. I was just there for parents to send their kids to, if they wanted.” “And his parents wanted?” “His mother did. I never heard of a father. After she died, he kept coming back.” “When was that?” she asked. “I don’t know. He was about twelve, I think, when she died.” She didn’t want to feel compassion for him. He was only one of many orphans who had brought themselves up in the Old Town since the epidemic. “You’re not from round here, Cat, but you’ve probably worked out it’s not always… safe.” Catriona nodded vehemently at that and saw the Pianist’s eye gleam. “Well, believe it or not, it used to be worse. Gangs of thugs used to roam the streets day and night, looking for people to rob, or just somebody weaker to pick on, and nobody had the courage or the

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inclination to stop them.” He shrugged at her expression of angry distaste. “They were just people with no resources of their own, and no one else provided them with any then. They reverted to the feral. Anyway, I was a good target—a teacher, small in stature, hardly threatening. One day, I got careless and they jumped me not far from home.” He looked away suddenly, as if he couldn’t stand the pity he read in her eyes. She was at a loss to know why he was putting himself through this. Though she tried to tell him he didn’t need to, he spoke again right through her own stumbling words. “They were vicious, and I was never a fighter. There were other people in the street who saw it, but only the Magician came to help. And yes, he called himself that even then. He was fifteen years old and I never thought he even liked me very much. He took a hell of a beating too, but if it wasn’t for him I’d have lost my life, not just an eye.” Unexpectedly, he turned back to her. “As he would say himself, look below the surface. If you’re a friend, you’re a friend.” She swallowed. Because she couldn’t bear to be still, she stood up. “And of course you are, Piano. You’ve known him for years. You don’t need to convince me of his worth.” Following her, his eye bored into her. “Whose then?” he said deliberately.

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Chapter Seven “Dot, you’re wonderful!” Catriona exclaimed, drawing the red silk dress out of the bag. “How did you get it?” “Went and cleaned the house,” Dot said smugly. “Collected a pile of laundry, including that.” “But how did you know?” Catriona walked towards the toilet to make her second clothes change of the day—Allie’s jeans having got her from the Hacker’s flat to the bar several hours ago. She hadn’t been drinking, but talking, even practicing, with the Pianist. Almost, she felt strong enough, and calm enough to face the Magician again. If she had to. All things being equal. Unless he had anything to report to her, she had every intention of avoiding him. “How did I know? Got a message from the Hacker,” she said breezily. “It’s what he does! Listen,” she added, as they entered the empty toilet, “where are you planning on sleeping tonight? At the Magician’s?” “No,” she said forcefully. So forcefully that Dot turned to grin at her. “No? I thought you rather liked him. He’s certainly got eyes for you.” A stab of pain shot through her and was ruthlessly squashed. “I doubt that, but it doesn’t matter.” “They’re not all like Ken you know,” Dot said with unusual gentleness. “I don’t suppose they’re all like the Magician either,” she said, rubbing her aching temples. “I don’t want any more hassle, Dot, and I won’t stay with him. What about your other friends?” “I’ll ask around,” she promised. “Get changed. Your public awaits!” It was true that word seemed to have spread about her. The pub was fuller than she remembered on either of the other occasions she had sung here. And it was a good audience. George slung out a couple of drunks, or junkies, Catriona wasn’t very sure which, but certainly they were loud, and after that, she heard nothing but appreciation. And for herself, there was relief in losing her misery in the music, in letting the emotions of the song take the strain and account for the occasional wet eye and full voice. It was the way she sang anyway, and it helped. By the end of her set—and this time she sang to no one in particular—she knew she could face anyone. So sitting quietly beside the Pianist, instead of at the table with Dot and the Hacker and the Clown and the Magician, who had come in halfway through her performance, had nothing to do with cowardice. She drank the wine the Pianist brought her. And a little later, while the Pianist “noodled” about the keyboard beside her, another glass was laid in front of her by a different hand. “Are you avoiding me?” the Magician asked lightly. “Have you found anything out?” she countered, without looking at him. “The Hacker’s out drinking instead of getting on with the job. Want to come home with me?” “No,” she said, although in spite of everything, her heart leapt stupidly at the casual words. She was surprised he had bothered to speak them at all. After all he’d get a better lay from Angel or some other admirer.

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Only the gentle meanderings of the Pianist’s haunting melodies filled the silent space between them. She could feel his gaze on her face, though she pretended to be watching the pub’s clientele and only glanced up at last when several minutes had passed with him neither speaking nor moving. He was still watching her. His smooth face veiled his thoughts as usual. But in the dim light, his eyes did not look hard or cold. In fact, she thought indignantly, they might even have been amused, which added insult to injury. Then his lips parted, and his voice too was very lightly mocking as he said, “I don’t want to run your life, you know Cat. I was only offering you a bed. I have a spare room.” She frowned. It seemed to her that no one in the Old Town had a spare room. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why do I have a spare room?” Taking it as an invitation, he swung a chair over and sat astride it, close by her, leaning his arms across its back. “Well, I don’t really. My flat mates have been on a fortnight long bender and I don’t expect them back any time soon. I don’t even know where they are.” “Only you,” she murmured. “Is it settled then?” Dot asked, coming up behind her, and since she really had no other options, apart from going home to face the police, she could only agree that it was settled. ***** When they finally left the bar, it was late. Catriona had her shirt and Allie’s jeans tucked into a bundle and clutched to her side till they emerged into the narrow street, and then, wordlessly, the Magician took them from her and they instantly disappeared into his capacious coat. She blinked in the last of the light coming through the pub door. “Will I ever see them again?” He grinned. “Someone will.” His eyes appeared to be caught by something farther up the street. Following his gaze in the sort of instant trepidation that had been quite alien to her two days ago, she recognized the object of his interest almost at the same time as he said, “Do you like motor bikes?” “I have absolutely no idea.” “Come on, let’s find out.” On the words, he was already striding towards it, and after a moment, she ran after him saying indignantly, “It isn’t yours!” And then, with rather less certainty, “Is it?” “No,” he confessed. “But it’s a lovely machine…” One long, sensitive finger caressed the handlebars. His eyes glanced up at her. They gleamed with mischief. “Don’t you think?” Catriona shrugged with a hint of impatience, which he didn’t appear to notice. Certainly he paid it no attention, simply swinging one long leg over the seat and saying encouragingly, “Come on then, hop on.” “I can’t! It doesn’t belong to either of us!” “Ah me that low risk morality,” he sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I know whose it is. He’s a friend of mine.” “And his name?” she demanded. The Magician smiled beatifically. “Biker,” he said.

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“What else?” she murmured. “He won’t mind. I’ll leave him a note. He lives closer than I do anyway.” And delving into one of his many coat pockets, he took out a card which Catriona barely glimpsed before he dropped it into the gutter. It was about the size of a playing card and seemed to have a fish and a hat on it. Raising her eyes from it to the Magician’s face, she said, “That’s your note?” “You think he won’t understand it?” “I thought you had no petrol here?” she countered, changing tack. His eyebrow twitched once. “Or decent whiskey? Get on and I’ll show you some fun.” He beguiled her. Even knowing him as she did now, and hating what he had done to her, he was seducing her back into his web of charm. Well, she was prepared to get on the bike to get to a good night’s sleep, but that was as far as seduction would go with her. Gingerly, she lifted her leg up and climbed on to the saddle behind him. Instantly, she felt decadent. Legs wide apart, the flimsy red silk of her dress riding up to show an alluring length of thigh, she felt like a model on the front cover of a men’s magazine, or some sexy film star from before the epidemic. Catching back her breath of laughter, she held onto either side of the saddle and waited for whatever was to come. The Magician glanced back at her over his shoulder. “You’d better hold on to me, or you’ll fall off.” Somehow, it seemed a bigger step than actually getting on some stranger’s bike without permission, but since she had no desire to fall off, she obediently leaned forward and slipped her arms around his waist. “Don’t you need a key or something?” she murmured. “No.” Though he was fiddling with something in front of him, he seemed to know what he was doing because an instant later, the engine roared into life beneath her, and before she could even gasp at the novel, powerful sensation, the bike surged forwards and up the hill, dramatically picking up speed as it went. Catriona clung tighter around the Magician’s waist, gasping for breath. The sudden speed was electric, almost terrifying, and yet as she hurtled through the wind, her hair flying out behind her, she could feel an odd exhilaration rising with it. Faster and faster the bike went till it reached the top of the hill, and then, letting out a yell like an ancient Highland battle cry, the Magician plunged the machine down the other side. Catriona was crushed into his back, unable to prevent her moan as her stomach churned and flew, as if leaving part of itself at the top of the hill. It was incredible. She’d felt nothing like this since that rare fun-fair had come to the Low Risk Zone when she was a child. And it had the effect of wiping everything from her mind except the moment. Laughing aloud, she went with the wild ride, glorying in the speed, in the feel of the hot, powerful vibrations of the engine pounding through her from her bare thighs, her crotch and bottom, and right through the rest of her body. And it did no harm to the experience to have a strong, male body to hold on to either, while her silk dress and the tail of his coat flapped wickedly against her thighs.

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His coat was open so her fingers gripped over his shirt, feeling the warm flesh beneath. Unbidden now, the memory of last night flooded back. His body had been lean and hard and muscular, without an ounce of fat or of anything very soft at all, and her fingers remembered where they had groped. Convulsively, they opened now and closed again on his waist, resisting the temptation to slide lower. But the vibrations of the engine were reacting with her memories to arouse her without permission. Her seat was suddenly damp with her need, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. In a way it was even pleasant… delicious if she just accepted it and relaxed. He would never know—he couldn’t even see her. And so, secretly enjoying his body and her own helpless desire for the careless stranger in her embrace, she gave herself up to the vibrations too. He drove around the town for a long time, hardly taking the direct route anywhere, but Catriona was no longer interested in sleep. She was all seething, moist arousal, every bit of her absorbing the sensations from between her thighs. Carelessly, she relaxed one hand, letting it slip slowly downwards with the bike’s motion until it sat near but not quite touching his crotch. And yet from the feel of the stretched fabric, she knew he was hard. She could hardly blame him. Letting her stiff, over-sensitive nipples brush against his back every time the bike swayed, she was almost orgasming herself. He pulled off the road, slowing only slightly to speed down a ramp and into what had once been a car park below a building. Now it was empty save for some dustbins and a couple of pushbikes. The Magician roared the bike around the echoing chamber, careering at breakneck speed, rocking Catriona on the seat so that she sat on the very edge of a desperate climax, before finally bringing the machine to a not very gradual halt barely inches from the stone wall. Catriona catapulted even farther forward into him, her crotch actually touching his buttocks. It spoke volumes for her state that she almost cried out her disappointment at not being able to feel him properly through the voluminous coat. For a second, the only sound was the engine, fortuitously drowning out her panting. Her pussy throbbed, aching for the release of the orgasm, which was so close that she thought she could bring it on by just pushing into him from where she sat. In front of her, the Magician was very still. Then, moving slightly so that his erection slid under her hand, he said lightly, “Home.” She was incapable of lifting her fingers. She would pretend she hadn’t noticed. Then, slowly, he lifted one leg, and her palm trailed carelessly over the bulging cock as he dismounted. He hadn’t switched off the engine. It still throbbed, still delighted and tortured her as he swung round to face her, his thigh pressing lightly into her hip. “Exhilerating, isn’t it?” he said softly. She could only nod. His eyes on her face, no doubt seeing more than she intended, brought back some semblance of reality. She tried to get off, but his thigh, his body was in the way. Looking up at him helplessly, she saw heavy desire in his eyes once more. Nor was his breathing much more controlled than hers. Deliberately, he lifted one hand and slid it down inside the neck of her dress. She gasped audibly, as much at the devastating touch on her skin, as at the outrageous, uninvited

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invasion. Fire was flung out from her taut nipple, straight down to her pulsing crotch, and her second gasp was into his mouth as he slowly lowered it on to hers. The kiss was everything she remembered from last night, combining with the throbbing pleasure between her thighs, and with the caressing hand on her breast, to hold her captive and helpless in the grip of her own massive desire. She could feel his erection pushing into her thigh and hip. Then his free hand touched her back, moving caressingly downwards over her buttock till it found the thigh farthest from him and lifted it, swinging it over the seat until she sat side saddle with her crotch fitting perfectly over his erection. Beneath her bottom, the engine continued to throb. A long, low moan began deep within her. If she just pressed into him now, once, twice, she would come. Her body would shudder and cry out its unstoppable joy and she would not, she really would not be able to hide that from him. Abruptly, though with more effort than she had ever needed for anything before, she broke the kiss, clamping her mouth shut and tearing it free of his. Panting, she stared him full in the face, willing contempt into her own in place of the very real desire. “Enough,” she said shakily. “Perform your sordid fantasies on some other female.” Instantly, the thick, black lashes swept down over his eyes, so she knew he was hiding something. Hurt pride or anger, she couldn’t tell. But he did step back. He drawled, “My mistake,” and watched impassively as Catriona almost fell off the bike. Righting herself at once, she blurted, “Is this where you live?” “Not in the car park, no.” Reaching below the handlebars he somehow cut the engine. “I have a proper room.” “Two,” Catriona reminded him. “Two,” he agreed. Annoyingly, he had slipped easily back into banter mode, as if her last minute rejection hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. And yet the column inside his jeans might have been made of rock. Well, she understood that. Her own knickers were so sodden it was uncomfortable to walk. ***** The Magician’s flat, up countless flights of stairs at the very top of the building, surprised her in many ways. To begin with, it was far tidier than the Hacker’s. Then the pictures on his walls were an odd variety of Old Master prints, and portraits of long dead magicians from Houdini to David Blaine. The door from the landing opened onto an unexpectedly large hall with a glass skylight doming up form the ceiling, giving the place an air of decadent, very faded grandeur. Passing through it quickly, the Magician pushed open the second door on the left leading off the hall. “Living room,” he said succinctly. And then, crossing the hall to the other side, he pushed open that door too. “My bedroom. You can sleep here. I’ll be across the hall.” Taking a deep breath, Catriona followed and brushed past him into the bedroom. It was another large room, painted a rather surprisingly bright shade of sunshine yellow. It had no curtains, only the original wooden shutters which were still open to the night sky. There was a bookcase, jammed full of books, mainly about conjuring and magic.

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But what really dominated the room was the big four-poster bed facing the window. Although its drapes had long vanished too, he had slung some huge piece of dark netting over the poles to give it a semblance of a ceiling. Even more surprisingly, the bed had been made, and looked clean and neat. Blinking, Catriona found herself stating the obvious. “You’ve got a four-poster!” “So I have,” he said, as if he’d just noticed. “Where did you get it?” Catriona asked, moving into the room and laying her bag down on it. “Found it,” said the Magician. She glanced at him. “Of course you did.” From the inside pockets of his coat, he pulled out her jeans and shirt and walked across to drop them down beside her bag. “What a relief,” he remarked. “I won’t produce them for the kiddies instead of the rabbit after all. Do you want something to eat?” “You have food too?” she enquired, not entirely jokingly. Somehow, the idea of him doing anything so mundane as shopping and cooking food was incongruous. “Up to a point.” As she followed him across the hall and into the white painted livingroom, he finally shrugged off the long, black coat, slinging it over the back of a worn brown sofa. Slightly dazed still, Catriona realized that this was the first time she had ever seen him without the coat. He had worn it in the bar, and in the Hacker’s flat. He had danced with her wearing it. He had even fucked her in it. And now at last she was treated to the sight of his tight, sexy buttocks as they swung easily across the room. Unbidden, she began to tingle again. And it wasn’t just the fault of his bottom. Without the coat, his legs looked even longer in their denim casing, his thighs lean and strong, rising up to those narrow hips, which had fitted so perfectly into hers. And above the waist, the dark red shirt she had only glimpsed earlier in the day looked slightly stretched across his broad shoulders, as if he had owned it since he was younger and more boyish in build. But there was nothing boyish about the muscled arms below the rolled up sleeves, with their layer of fine, sexy black hair. It seemed her body didn’t really care about his motives, or his intentions towards her. The sight of him simply made her weak and wet with desire all over again. Drawing in her breath, she scrunched closed her eyes in an effort to regain some control. And when she opened them an instant later, she knew that her body’s wayward reaction made no difference to her decision to keep their relationship to a business footing only. The kitchen, a small and cramped cupboard of a place, was off the livingroom where, since the kitchen had no space for storage, he seemed to keep his food in an old Victorian dresser near the door. “The eggs are all right,” he said, straightening and turning to face her. She tried very hard not to look at his crotch. “And the tomatoes, if you cook them. Omelet?” Her mouth actually watered. “Yes please.” She couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of her voice, and he acknowledged it with a slightly twisted smile as he picked up the food and took into the kitchen.

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Catriona fought a dream-like sense of unreality that left her almost dizzy. Her hurt and anger was difficult to remember in face of this amiable friend who seemed quite happy to cook for her. Between her legs lingered the ache of badly aroused and unrequited desire, and yet he behaved as if the wild motor bike ride through the Old Town night had never happened. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had fallen asleep and dreamed it… Following him to the kitchen door, she watched his strong, capable hands cracking eggs into a chipped bowl. After a moment, she took a step farther in, picked up a knife, and began to chop the tomatoes. The Magician made space for her and began to whisk the eggs with a fork. “There are some things I don’t understand,” Catriona said at last. “Just some?” “Many,” she corrected. “Such as?” She took a deep breath. “Such as why this place, the Old Town, is so overcrowded that people are living in warehouses and piled two and three families to a flat when the virus is so rife. After thirty years, you should be badly under populated.” The Magician said, “I haven’t seen anyone die of the virus in twenty years.” She stopped chopping to stare at him. “That’s not what we hear in the other zones.” He glanced at her, his eyes serious for once, and quite open. “So why do you suppose that is?” Searching his face, she found no answers. She could only shake her head. Then, returning to the tomato, she said, “Dot thinks there is some conspiracy to keep the Old Town population isolated and ground down.” “And in whose interest would it be to do such a thing?” She said low, “Everyone else’s…” Then, her head lifting again, she said defiantly, “But you don’t look ground down to me. None of you do. You have more life in your little finger than the entire population of the Low Risk Zone.” He didn’t dispute it, just turned on the gas under the tiny stove in front of him. After a moment, watching the oil sizzle in the pan, he said, “Maybe it’s not good for any of us to live as we do. You with everything, us with nothing.” “Is that how you see it? Is that why you despise me? And my kind,” she added hastily, for at her words, he had glanced round at her. “Why should I despise you?” She shrugged. Because I’m too available… Aloud, she muttered, “Because I have all the wealth, food, fresh air and space… and yet still I have to come to you for help. Ken for antibiotics!” A laugh that was half sob stuck in her throat, forcing her to turn away from him, gathering up the tomato pieces to distract him. Taking them from her, he said, “You agreed to help whether or not we find Ken. I think there’s hope in that, don’t you?” He slid the whisked egg around the frying pan, apparently not paying her any attention. “You’re a very strange person,” she observed, and saw his lips twitch. She went on. “The local thugs are scared of you, you fight with knives, borrow motor bikes without

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permission, steal whisky and God knows what else—and yet sometimes you say things as if…” As if you care… Almost aggressively now, she demanded, “What is it you do here? Dot knew to send me to you for help. You have this big, spacious flat to yourself. You have no reason to help me, and yet you do. I think you’ve done this before… Or something similar.” She was thinking aloud, drawing together her meager facts until it began to make some kind of sense. But only some kind. His face turned towards her, impassive save for a trace of deliberate amusement. Catching her breath, she said, “Do you trade some kind of black market here? Or a— an opposition to the Authority?” With a flick of his wrist, he threw the omelet out of the pan and let it land perfectly back down. Somehow it had even folded itself over, and yet he hadn’t even seemed to glance at it. His eyes were still on her. Serenely, he said, “I’m a street magician.” “That’s another thing. You’re educated. So is the Hacker and several other people I’ve talked to. In the Low Risk zone you’re portrayed as street rabble, sick people living little better than animals waiting to die, cared for only by the doctors and nurses from the Middle Risk Zones who are brave enough to go among you…” “Masked against contamination,” he grinned with open mockery. “I know you have teachers,” she pursued, determined not to be distracted, to understand what went on here once and for all. “Like the Pianist…” He shrugged. “Not formally. There are people—like Piano—who teach groups of children. There are parents who send their children to them, and parents who don’t. Nobody makes anybody do anything.” “And your parents sent you?” “My mother was old fashioned. She still thought things would go back to the way they were and I would go to university and be a doctor.” He glanced at her. “Or a lawyer.” Flushing because she had been to the privileged New University outside the city, she held out the plates for him to deposit one half of the omelet in each. “But there, it worked out for the best. I found magic more interesting. And more immediate.” “Where is she now?” Catriona asked. “She died. Thirteen years ago.” “The virus?” “So they said.” Catriona looked up at him. “You don’t agree.” He shrugged, moving out of the tiny kitchen into the living room. “I never heard that the symptoms of the virus took five years to kill you.” Catriona felt the blood drain from her face. His anger over the antibiotics last night was suddenly more understandable. “TB,” she whispered, sinking down onto the sofa. “But…” She broke off under the violent glance of his eyes, veiled at once by the thick, black lashes. He said, “I know.”

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“This isn’t right,” Catriona broke out passionately. “Why should anyone vaccinate you constantly against a sickness that no longer troubles you, and yet let you die of curable diseases?” The Magician came and sat beside her on the sofa. “Not quite sure,” he said, lifting a forkful of omelet. “The drug companies sell us the vaccine for a minimal fee. Most keep buying. Fear of the virus controls us, all of us, in whatever zone, and the drug companies control the virus with the supply of the vaccine.” He paused to take the omelet into his mouth. His teeth were white and healthy. “With TB and such, I suppose it’s just cheaper to let us die in the Old Town, less of us to upset their economy while fear of the virus, or whatever they put in the vaccine, keeps us quiet. Most of us don’t care even what’s going on in the other zones, let alone in any other city, or any other country. I can’t think what importance we have to them.” “But that can’t be right!” she exclaimed. “It isn’t,” he said with grim humor, and when she stared at him, “Eat your omelet before it gets cold.” She ate, thinking. She thought about what importance the Old Town residents had to the economy of the other zones, and came to the conclusion that there wasn’t any. They were herded out of the way and kept there, while the big drug companies like D.C. Vacs, and the major energy producers, food producers, clothing manufacturers, employed labor from the socalled healthier zones, whom they also supplied. There had been no real national government in Catriona’s lifetime, not since the epidemic. Only a few low riskers traveled outside the city, or communicated beyond its boundaries, supervised by no none, answerable to no one. And on the local level, it was the companies who nominated the Boards for education and health and roads. And the companies and their employees paid for these amenities which they alone used. The Old Town was cut out of the loop. Still thoughtful, but inherently more receptive now to his ideas, she took another forkful of omelet. Realizing his eyes were on her face, she said, “This is really tasty.” He smiled, making her heart flutter like a teenager’s. “You can have a bath next if you like. Might even be warm. All the residents of the building got together with a plumbing manual a few months back, and now we sometimes get hot water from the tap. Providing we don’t run the cold at the same time.” Catriona hesitated. She had a bad feeling about bathing in his house. God knew she felt vulnerable enough already. And she had come to hate vulnerability. It was strictly a matter of Ken for antibiotics. “Yes please,” she said defiantly.

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Chapter Eight She was glad she had taken him up on the offer. Though hardly the hottest bath she had ever wallowed in, it was warm enough to relax her tense muscles and soothe her shrieking nerves, making the prospect of spending this night under his roof, yet far from his arms, one she could live with. She didn’t let herself linger though. For one thing the temperature didn’t encourage it, for another the sorts of thoughts that threatened to flood her brain if she stayed still too long were not of the comfortable variety. She didn’t really want to consider right now how long she would be obliged to hide out in the Old Town, what, when and if she finally did get back home, she would be able to do to change things for the high riskers. One thing she did know however, and it had been there in the back of her mind, growing, since she had first come here. That her quest to relieve boredom, to find some sort of fulfillment in her dull life, was meaningless unless she was considering people other than herself. And now that she knew what needed to be done, her determination stemmed not from her own need but from theirs. The Old Town had forced her to grow up. Climbing out of the Magician’s old-fashioned porcelain bath, she pulled out the plug and reached shivering for the rather worn towel he had given her. Quickly, she rubbed her abundant hair until it had at least stopped dripping, and then slipped the towel round her body, fastening it by tucking in the edge over her breasts. Regarding the skimpy length of it somewhat doubtfully, she hoped she wouldn’t run into the Magician in the short step from here to the bedroom. Hastily, she picked up her shoes, her dress and underwear from the bathroom floor and clutched it all in front of her like a shield. She listened at the bathroom door for any sound of his movements but all seemed quiet. Perhaps he had gone to sleep already. Taking a deep breath for courage, she slid back the loose bolt on the door and opened it. She stepped quickly through into the hall, and prepared to run for the cover of the bedroom. Then she froze. The Magician stood directly across the hall from her, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. His right hand was on the doorknob of the spare bedroom, as if he was just going in— but his head was turned in her direction. There was no hope that he had not seen her. For the space of several extremely loud heartbeats, she stood paralyzed in his gaze like a deer caught in the headlights. Desperately, she tried to think of anything other than the inviting breadth of his naked chest and shoulders, the strength latent in the muscled arms and long legs—which she would not look at. Too late. It had all been taken in at a glance. And even at this distance, he was beautiful. Beautiful and impossible. His eyes, which had seemed to lock with hers immediately, slipped down to the region of her lips, and lower, and kept going. And because she had to say something to break out of this stupid spell of paralysis, she blurted out, “I thought you’d sleep in that damned coat.” His gaze came back to hers, though not quite as immediately as she’d hoped. His lips curved slightly upwards.

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“I have done. On occasions.” His hand fell away from the door handle. “Since you’re here, do you mind if I get another pillow from your room? I won’t tell you what these guys did with theirs…” “Go ahead.” Though she didn’t want to watch the play of his muscles, the lithe motion of his hips as he walked, it was difficult to look anywhere else. As he came closer, she made out something that looked like a long, straight scar on his chest, another, more jagged on the back of his shoulder. Biting her lip on the inevitable question—she doubted she wanted to know the answer — she waited until he had disappeared inside the bedroom before deliberately bumping the back of her head against the bathroom door frame. For now she was in another quandary, both vitally important and desperately trivial. Should she wait out here like the frightened rabbit she was beginning to feel, until he had got his pillow and retreated back to his own room? Or did she pretend the sight of his semi-naked person was having no effect on her whatsoever and brazenly wander into the room after him and start combing out her hair? Yes, the latter was definitely more natural… So long as she didn’t come too close to him, and surely the room was big enough that they wouldn’t have to stand anywhere near each other? Chewing her lip with what she knew was pathetic indecision, she finally made her choice and put it into immediate practice before she could change her mind, almost sprinting across the hall to the bedroom. But she had agonized for too long. It was, after all, in the narrowest possible space that she encountered him—right in the doorway, a pillow dangling from his hand. Worse, she actually ran into him, and although she sprang away immediately with an incoherent apology, pressing her damp back into the door so that she could remove herself as far from the danger as possible, she had already felt the brief warmth of his skin against her naked shoulder and thigh. Her wrist, the backs of the hands clutching the clothes to her breast, had already come into contact with the rough dark hair of his chest. “Sorry,” she mumbled. He paused, his gaze unblinkingly on hers. Then it slid downwards again to her lips, to the towel only just covering her breasts, burning her like a flame as it slid lower over her naked thighs. He said lightly, “Don’t apologize. It’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me all day.” She heard his breath catch. He seemed to drag his eyes back up to hers, reluctantly. “Since last night in fact.” The flame scorched her now. The memory of the previous evening’s wild, spontaneous sex at the bus stop was suddenly so vivid in her mind that she couldn’t breathe for the desire to repeat it. She wanted that lean, hard body covering every inch of her. She wanted to sweep her hands down its entire length, trace his scars with gentle lips, push his big cock inside her and revel in every caress of those clever, sensitive hands… But it wasn’t going to happen. It didn’t matter how much he stared into her eyes, how much she wanted it. His reminder of last night had only strengthened her resolve not to be available. Perhaps, if she hadn’t felt what she did for him—whatever that was—she could have looked on it as he did and enjoyed the passionate encounters for what they were. But it was too late for that. It had always been too late for that… “Good night,” she said coldly. And if her voice was a little too loud, well that only served to emphasize her determination. Unflinching, she felt proud of her unwavering stance.

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He would never know how strong was the temptation to reach out and run her fingers across his chest as a prelude to… He moved towards her. Appalled, she pressed even farther back till the door actually rocked on its hinges, but he kept coming, and when she would have shamefully bolted either outside or in, he simply dropped the pillow and raised his arms to hold the door at either side, effectively hemming her in. Although he wasn’t touching her, she could feel the heat emanating from his skin. It seemed to engulf her. When she made a vain effort to escape it by ducking under his arm, he only lowered it to prevent her. The erection in his shorts prodded against her thigh. Gasping because she wanted it so much, she said forcefully, “No!” “Don’t panic.” His voice was mocking but quite unthreatening. “I understand the meaning of the word.” While she struggled to control the heaviness of her breathing, something began to change in his eyes. The mockery faded, turned into something gentler. Yet he didn’t move away, not even enough to avoid the contact of his ever-growing member. Harder and bigger by the instant, it thrust into her toweled hip without any voluntary motion on his part. Quietly, almost ruefully, he said, “I won’t hide what you do to me, Cat. But when I’ve said my piece I’ll go.” Still feeling hunted, she forced herself to stillness. “I know what this is about Cat. I know what the Hacker told you, and what interpretation you’ve made.” “There’s another?” she said politely. “Stop it. Can’t you be honest with me?” She blinked. “Can’t I be honest?” He shrugged impatiently, the movement flexing the muscles of the arms on either side of her. “What do you want me to say? Sure, I was suspicious of you—the way you looked at me when you were singing, the way you danced with me, could only have two possible causes. And I told you I was innately modest.” Trying not to think of those things, she only said, “Forget it. I’m not the first girl who ever sat in your lap.” “You didn’t.” It was true, she hadn’t sat in his lap. Angel had done that, and God knew who else. So what was he saying? That she was different? She couldn’t afford to believe that. She didn’t even need to. An honest attraction was all she had expected of him, and that there had never been. “Look, I’m tired,” she said. “There’s nothing to explain.” “My piece,” he interrupted again. He shifted his position, moving the cotton-covered erection against her. A fresh torrent of moisture flooded from between her thighs, causing what had pooled there already to run down the inside of her legs. It doesn’t matter, she thought wildly, I’m just out of the bath… But if he noticed her reaction it was not, apparently, foremost on his mind. “Can you really not understand how it was possible for me to suspect you and yet still want you so badly it left me speechless?”

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“Not noticeably,” she retorted, trying not to think of his silence in the earlier part of that evening, because that meant nothing either. “I think you’ll find it was very noticeable. Didn’t you know I wanted you the first night I saw you singing? That’s why I gave you the flowers at the end of my act in the High Street the next evening. I thought it was the only way you’d notice me. Except when you did, when you sang to me, I couldn’t believe my luck. Literally. You can’t blame me for trying to find out the truth, to see what you would say or do. Yet by the time the music stopped, you could have been Mata Hari and I would still have gone anywhere with you.” For a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She felt a surge of some nameless emotion, all muddled up with feelings of shame and stupidity and an acute sense of her own lack of sophistication. But there was too much here for her to handle now. For days there had been too much, and now, she needed peace and sleep very badly. She opened her mouth to tell him so. Before she could speak, he took one hand from the door and moved it towards her face, causing the words to dry up in her throat. But he did not touch her skin. Very carefully, he lifted a lock of damp hair from her ear and pushed it behind her shoulder. Then his hand fell to his side, allowing her access into the bedroom, if she chose to take it. There was a pause. His breath caught audibly, and for the first time Catriona realized that this speech had not been easy for him, that he was not a man who normally talked about his feelings. And that what he was about to say next was the most difficult of all. Half fascinated, half panicked, she could only hold her breath and wait. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his eyes steadily holding hers, “I didn’t fuck you in the doorway last night. I made love to you.” And then, while the shock of that registered, flooding hot color into her shoulders and throat and face, he dropped his other hand too, gave her a slightly twisted smile and went out of the room. When he bent to retrieve the pillow, stretching the shorts tight across his neat buttocks, Catriona finally whisked herself inside the bedroom and closed the door. Crossing the hall towards the spare room, trying not to walk as uncomfortably as his raging hardon insisted, the Magician resigned himself to another sleepless night and a very, very cold bath in the morning. ***** Like most of the Magician’s plans, it worked out more or less as he expected, although he did fall into a deep sleep for an hour just before dawn. When he woke, he was in quite urgent need of that cold bath. His cock stood so rigidly to attention that it seemed impossible there should be any blood left for the rest of him, and yet his whole body burned with the fevered dreams of his imagination. Even before he’d fallen asleep he had long ago run out of unsexy things to think about—cold cabbage and old women with wrinkled tights just couldn’t hold his interest, and anyway they inevitably turned into Cat, or part of Cat. Waking and sleeping, in his mind he had taken her every conceivable way, including a few that he suspected were downright impossible, although he was game enough to find out. He had made her scream with joy and beg for more, her eyes hot and cloudy as they were last night on the bike, her lips full and red from kissing him, from sucking his furiously swollen cock…

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But he couldn’t afford to go there all over again. He went for the bath instead, ignoring the hot tap. It didn’t help, but at least he felt clean again and in better control. To complete the process, he whistled some inane rock melody under his breath while pulling on his only other pair of jeans and a clean white shirt he found in his flatmate’s drawer. After that, without bothering to button the shirt, which was too tight for him anyway, he went through to the kitchen and made two cups of coffee. Taking a couple of mouthfuls of one of them, he took the other to Catriona’s door and knocked. He could hear the rustle of moving bedclothes inside and tried not to think what they covered. Or didn’t. “Hello?” Her voice sounded endearingly sleepy, making him smile in spite of himself. “Coffee,” he said. “Oh.” Before he could lay it on the floor, her voice came again. “Sorry. Come in.” A glutton for punishment, he obeyed. She appeared to be naked in his bed, one of the many thoughts and images that had been driving him mad all night. Struggling to sit up, she dragged the quilt with her to cover her modesty. Deliberately, he focused his attention on her face as he walked towards her, but he noticed hers dropped after a moment to his partially exposed chest Then, brushing her charmingly tousled hair off her face, she slowly lifted her gaze back to his. “Thank you,” she said, taking the mug from him. This morning there was no flinching. Nor was there any effort to touch unnecessarily, but the return of natural behavior was surely a good sign. Building on it, he said, “I’m just going out. I’ll meet you at the Hacker’s in a few hours if you like, or in the pub if you prefer. I’ll let you know when he’s found anything new.” Her tongue darted out, touching her upper lip. She said, “Do you have to?” “Have to what?” he asked, faintly amused. “Let you know?” “Go out.” He shrugged. His heart had started to beat again, but he would not let her see it. “Have to earn a crust. Why?” “I just… hoped you might… talk to me a little.” A rather pretty flush had mounted into her cheeks, and her eyes slid away from his, then came quickly back and held. Very carefully, the Magician let himself perch on the side of the bed. “What about?” She took a nervous sip of coffee, then smiled. “I don’t know. Everything. You.” “Me? Sounds a dull morning’s entertainment.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “What makes you care?” “About what?” “Everything. About what happens to Ken, about the people here. You don’t need to tell me what you do, I just want to know why.”

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His fingers closed on the quilt, pinching a small clump, then smoothing it out. He felt uncomfortable talking about himself, and yet if it mattered to her, he could do no less than try and put it into words. Shifting his hips on the bed, he looked towards the closed shutters, seeing far beyond the warped, pitted wood. After a moment, he said, “Have you ever been to the sea, Cat?” Her voice came back at once, both surprised and apologetic. “Yes. It’s not so far away.” “I know. You can see it from this window, in the distance, like a taunting postcard. Same in other parts of the Old Town. But none of us who were born since the epidemic began have ever been there. We only see the impossible temptation from my window, or pictures in books, like one I treasured when I was a kid. I was desperate to go there. To swim, or sail on a boat, just play on the beach, run for miles across one of those big, empty expanses of sand while the ocean waves rolled in and out beside me…” Even as he spoke the words, he realized they couldn’t make any sense to her. She hadn’t grown up literally bound to this place of tall stone buildings, this maze of steep stairways and winding streets and alleys. She could probably go where she liked, might even have crossed the sea for all he knew. She had no hope of understanding the urgency of such a simple, desperate need. When she touched him, he actually jumped. Her fingertips at the side of his face drew back at once. Then, when his startled gaze found hers, she lifted them again to rest butterflylight on the tattooed fish at the corner of his eye. Relief flooded him, along with astonishment. Somehow, he realized, she did understand, that the fish was his part of the sea, his goal. He needed to know what was between here and there, what was beyond both. “What does it cover up?” she asked softly. Avoiding her gaze, he found instead the naked flesh of her side and back, made suddenly visible when she had leaned forward to touch him. Nor did she draw back. At some point, she had laid down her mug on the bedside table. His heart began to thud faster. Inside his jeans, his semi-hardon began to grow. He said, “I came off worst in a fight when I was fourteen. I was vain. Not sure now whether I was trying to preserve my good looks or boost my reputation by drawing attention to my battle scars, but I got Tattoos to do it from a picture in that same book.” “I like it.” It sounded honest, not some line that he had heard before. “It suits you, somehow. And these?” she asked, reaching out again and brushing the big scar on his chest. Her fingers were slim and long, free of all rings except the gold wedding band, and their touch was light. Yet when they began to trail along the length of his scar, they left an over-sensitized path of fire behind them. If she kept touching him, he would either bolt or jump her. “Much the same thing,” he said, catching her hand and holding it still on his chest. “Cat…” Her fingers pushed convulsively on his flesh. Suddenly her face swam in front of him and her mouth reached up to his. Her eyes closed at the first touch, her soft lips clung, and he would have had to be completely inhuman not to hold her, not to kiss her back. Her mouth opened, sweet and inviting. Her moist tongue wound around his own, crazily exciting him.

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“I don’t even know what to call you,” she whispered against his lips. “And yet I want you so much it hurts…” His hands, beginning to tremble with the strength of his mounting desire and his effort to control it, slid up her naked back to her shoulders. The warm softness of her skin intoxicated him. He inhaled its unique and subtle scent, like some exotic spice. “If you kiss me like that,” he said unsteadily, “you can call me Lily Marlene for all I care.” A choke of laughter broke from her lips. To his disappointment, she drew back, burying her face in her own hands. “Oh dear, we’re not supposed to laugh!” she said shakily. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands and glanced up at him through her hair. “I’m not very good at seduction.” “Says who?” the Magician demanded, not troubling to keep the disbelief out of his face or voice. “Well, Ken. He says I have tendencies towards frigidity.” She sounded embarrassed, apologetic, as if she had determined he had to know the worst about her. Frigidity? Cat? The Magician reached out and gently tugged the quilt away from her. It came easily, sliding away to reveal the shape of her sloping shoulders and firm, full breasts. Her nipples stood erect and proud in their dark aureoles. His gaze fell lower, down her flat stomach to the glimpse of dark triangle just visible beneath the quilt. After one initial twitch of alarm, she made no move to cover herself or to hide from him, though he saw the warm blood spreading up her body, turning her breasts a deliciously dusky rose color, flooding her throat and face. The Magician swallowed. There were many remarks he wanted to make about Ken, the chief of which was that the man was clearly a total arse. After a brief internal struggle, he said only, “I think that’s another area where he and I must disagree. I’m very happy to be seduced by you, but I don’t see why we can’t laugh too.” Lifting his hand from the quilt, he touched her cheek with his fingertips, trailing them down the fine line of her jaw to her slightly parted lips, where he paused, gently rubbing one finger along their enticing fullness. Her lips moved, kissing his finger, and his other hand came up to gather in her hair as he drew her into his body and replaced the finger on her lips with his mouth. Her arms wound around him instantly, her mouth open and eager. Her nipples hardened like little pebbles against his naked chest, her lower body already arching into him. Breaking the kiss, he said breathlessly, “As to frigidity, I’m willing to give you another assessment. For example, how cold do you feel now?” “Not very,” she said shakily, as he began kissing her throat. Her head twisted from side to side, her breath came in short gasps. He felt her hands reaching up to his shoulders, burrowing under the shirt, pushing it down over his arms till he obligingly shrugged it off. Already she was kissing his chest, her lips sliding sensuously along the old scars that he had thought would revolt her, her hands stroking his skin with an odd sort of wonder that fuelled his desire almost to breaking point. Fighting for control, he further stoked the fire at the same time, holding her breast for his lips to ravish, gently sucking and pulling. She moaned aloud and her teeth bit lightly into his shoulder. Her hands slid down from his chest, sweeping over his jeans and his steel-hard cock, finding and stroking the length of it through

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the fabric. Painfully constricted as it was, her touch brought torture as well as pleasure that caught at his breath. Then, fumbling, she tugged at his zip and somewhere amidst the fever of his anticipation he knew awe. Her eagerness delighted him, filled him with a fierce pride he had never known before. He didn’t care any more if he was a “bit of rough” to her. He had wanted nothing but this since he had first heard her sweet, seductive voice, so full of passion and vulnerability and emotion so deep it had seemed unfathomable. Before he had truly imagined he would ever come this close to her. Before he had even seen her face. And this time would be no quick, desperate fuck in the dark. This one, he would make last and last. For her. Letting her go for an instant, his head swirling with erotic ideas that almost undid him before he began, he slid off the bed to tear himself free of the rest of his clothes. When he climbed on again, he was behind her, his arms winding round her body so that his hands could cover her full, delicious breasts, kneading, while he pushed possessively against the yielding flesh of her buttocks with his own hardness. “God, you’re so soft, so sexy,” he whispered against her ear, and felt her breathless smile. Following his movements she rose to her knees, reaching behind to touch his face, his hair. He kissed her cheek, her eyes, lightening the hold on her breast so that he could palm her nipples. He loved the feel of them, hard and straining into his brushing touch. She moaned and gasped, heightening his pleasure in the caress. One of her hands grasped his thigh, drawing it closer around her own silky smooth limb. Worshipping her silky skin, he swept his own hand down across her flat belly, gently pressing over the bone below, rejoicing when she instantly pushed back into his hand, and parted her legs to let him in. He groaned. She was gloriously wet, the moist outer petals quivering at his touch, the inner bud slick and swollen. As his fingers explored, her head twisted so that her mouth could find his, her moans of pleasure muffled inside him filling him with ever-greater excitement. If Ken had found her frigid, he thought grimly, the fool had definitely been pressing the wrong buttons. More likely, the accusation had been a cover for his own inadequacy. But it was impossible to think of another man with her. The naked, passionate woman in his arms was everything. Gently pushing, coaxing, enjoying every pressure of her soft flesh on his cock, he maneuvered her further forward until she was almost touching the corner bed post. When he slid his finger inside her, her pussy gripped him convulsively. “You like that?” he whispered, slowly caressing the soft, wet walls. She nodded, her whole body trembling as he withdrew again, and began to trace a teasing pattern around her clitoris, just occasionally touching, tenderly rubbing, then leaving to continue the complicated design around it. Writhing with pleasure, she pressed back into him, her wildly erratic breathing telling him all about her desperation and delight. Christ, you’re adorable! I want to give you everything now, everything at once…Oh fuck, can I really make this last when you do this to me? Focus, focus! Slowly, he took his hand away. With an audible cry of frustration that delighted him, she pushed herself forward into the post, and immediately he moved with her, holding her there as he at last slid his cock inside her.

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Oh Jesus, hold on! Her long, low moan was music in his ears, although his own unpreventable deeper groan smothered it. She was wonderfully tight, her soft glove throbbing and closing around him, caressing and squeezing. Did she really imagine she was not pleasing to a man? Her every instinctive caress, every movement, voluntary and otherwise, was deeply, naturally sensual. As he pushed into her moist, velvety softness, the bed post pressing between her breasts and against her pubic bone, she gladly accepted without shame or embarrassment, the extra pleasures it afforded. Trapped between it and him, she rode slowly up and down the hard column of his cock, shattering him with every movement, every twitch of every muscle. When he told her so, murmuring the hot words into her ear, she gasped, smiled, and squeezed all the tighter. Preventing himself from driving into her wildly until he exploded was the most exquisite torture he had ever endured. Instead when, sensing the closeness of his climax, she began to move faster, he deliberately slowed the pace back down. With every stroke he pushed as far inside her as he could go, right up to his balls, making her moan with increasing pleasure. And that he could do this to her moved him unbearably. A new hunger he neither recognized nor wanted rose up in him, consuming him, scaring him. Veering away from it, he distracted himself, concentrated on her pleasure alone. Both her hands hung on to the bed post now. He covered them with his own, laying his longer, thicker arms against hers. Her hair against his face smelled still of the fresh herbs of her own world. The Magician inhaled its sweetness, nuzzled it aside to lick a trembling bead of sweat from the soft, scented skin of her neck. Her taste filled him. He wanted more, much, much more, but he could wait just a little longer. For her. Thrusting inside her, he pushed her against the post, and her body rose up and down it rhythmically with him. Her hot, clouded eyes looked up and round into his. Come now, come now for me… He heard her orgasm begin in the strange growling deep in her throat, felt the contraction of her pussy around his cock. Her fingers showed white under his, beginning to scrabble frantically. “Oh yes,” he whispered, “yes …” Still he slid up and down her, slowly stroking, watching intently, savoring every moment of the mounting waves of her climax. Then, as it reached its apex, tenderly, achingly, he fastened his mouth over hers. It was wild, ravaging her. And feeling it, he nearly toppled over the edge. With an almost superhuman effort, he held off his own orgasm, wrapping his arms around her and the bed post together, holding her until at last the convulsions stilled. Her eyes opened, her fingers reaching behind again to touch his cheek, his lips as her mouth loosened on them. “Come inside me,” she whispered. “Please…” Despite the power of the temptation, the Magician had no intention of deviating from the broad plan he had already formed. It wasn’t just a selfless desire to bring her the maximum possible pleasure, although that was there too. Somewhere, only half acknowledged, was the determination that if they never met after this day, she would not only remember him, but remember him as the best lover she had ever had.

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And so, when she encouraged him to his own climax, he only smiled breathlessly and said, “In time. I haven’t finished with you yet…” Her eyes widened, her lips forming a soundless “O” of astonishment. Smiling, he slipped a finger into the o, and she sucked it sensually, her tongue snaking around its length. Her eyes smiled back with as much eager anticipation as wicked mischief. The Magician felt his heart crumble and melt.

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Chapter Nine After the slow, ravishing joy he had just given her, the last thing Catriona had expected to hear was that she was to have more. Still kneeling, she turned in his arms, winding her own around his neck. For a second, they stayed like that, breast to breast, hip to hip, and then Catriona realized that she had never seen all of him naked at once and just because she wanted to, she drew back to look. He didn’t have the tanned body of a low risker who could spend hours on a sunbed, or out in the open air. But his skin was a naturally golden color to match the darkness of his hair and eyes. And he was clearly a strong man who kept himself fit. Muscles bulged in his upper arms, his broad chest was pleasingly hard and firm, tapering down to his waist, from where the sexy line of tummy hair ran straight down to the hugest, most erect cock she had ever seen or imagined. Her breath caught. Her sated pussy began to tingle once more. Almost with wonder, she reached down to touch his rock-hard length. Her fingers stroked and held, felt with delight his instant throb of response. She slid her palm over the tender tip, tracing the bulging blue veins with her fingertips back down the rock-hard stem to his balls. His gasp sounded suspiciously like a groan. Only half teasingly, she said, “Did all of that really go inside me?” “Oh yes and it will do again. Very soon…” On the words, he moved, dragging her down to lie on the bed so that he could kiss and fondle her breasts with greater ease. Willingly, she arched into him, blatantly pleading, suddenly desperate not just for some more of the delight he had just given her, but to give some of it back to him. One of his hands swept down her thigh and back up to hold her buttock. His breathing wildly erratic, he pressed against her with his cock, but although she twisted in his arms to position herself better for him, he didn’t take advantage. Instead, he moved farther down out of reach. His tongue left off torturing her left nipple and began to trail down her stomach. Pausing every inch or so to kiss and nibble at her warm, responsive skin, he reached her belly button and licked around it gently. Her whole body quivered. Slowly, he pushed his tongue into her navel, exploring, its thrusting, circling motions beginning to imitate the act of sex. It had never entered Catriona’s head before that her naval could be a particularly sensual part of her body, but what the Magician was doing to it now was sexy enough to drive her crazy with new desire. Her fingers caught in his hair, caressing him. She could hear herself purring, and didn’t care. The sounds of her own pleasure, and his, all added to the intensity of the joy she found with him. His hands slid under her, holding her buttocks and his mouth began to move again, leaving her belly button and traveling lower. Urgently, Catriona pulled at his head. “Please… I want you inside me…” “Later,” he said breathlessly, and moved lower still. Gasping, she felt his lips in the inside crease of her thigh, sliding inwards, whispering among the petals of her pussy. Catriona moaned aloud, for she finally realized what he was going to do, and it was something she had never had before. Though Ken had liked oral sex, it had never entered his

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head to do the same for her. Never having known it, she hadn’t missed it, but she had been curious. And now, it seemed, the Magician was going to show her… With delicious wonder, she felt his tongue, gently probing, exploring, shooting little bursts of exquisite pleasure through her whole body. Finding its way around, it began to trace the same pattern his fingers had traveled previously, all around but not touching her clitoris. If he ever did, Catriona thought she would leap through the ceiling, so sensitive had it grown with his attentions. Yet she wanted him to. She was desperate for him to touch it, to lick it… His tongue flickered over it, and she cried out with the amazing pleasure. But already he had moved on, gently caressing around it, finding her entrance and tracing his way around that too before coming back by complicated routes and again licking her clitoris. This time he lingered. The joy began to throb its way up. His tongue snaked away again, scorching its path among her folds and valleys, thrusting into her opening and withdrawing, winding its way once more to her clitoris. She moaned, driven beyond thought or any self-control. When his mouth closed over her and began to suck, she cried out with the intensity of her delight. The orgasm began to roll again. She thrust herself upwards into his mouth. It loosened immediately and she gave a cry of outraged disappointment, like a child deprived of a treat she had just been shown. Again, he had snatched it from her, to drag his tongue across all her sensitive petals to the opening of her pussy. It thrust tenderly, arousing and teasing, pushing in and out until she felt again the rocking waves of orgasm. Sensing it, he drew back, tracing the old pattern, but faster now, so when his mouth closed on her clitoris she was actually sobbing with her need. She arched upwards into his devastating mouth, moaning again as he slid his finger inside her and caressed. While his lips and tongue kissed her clitoris, gathering wave after wave of intoxicating pleasure until it broke with impossible strength, exploding outwards from both places and melding into one that shook her whole body with a massive, shuddering joy that went on and on and on. Finally, as the convulsions began to calm, he slid his finger out and released her clitoris. “Oh…” she whispered achingly. “Oh….” “You liked that,” he observed, a mock accusation that made her smile through the retreating waves of pleasure. But already, wiping her juices off his face onto her hip, he slid up her sweat-slick body. She felt the hardness of his cock like hot steel nudging against her thighs. Then he was inside her, reigniting the spark with a thousand little ones that began to flame as he withdrew and thrust inwards once more. “Again?” she whispered in astonishment. “Oh I hope so,” he breathed. She thought he was trying to be gentle, but his pleasure had been delayed too long and he drove into her now with awesome, unstoppable power. She gloried in the roughness, as she had previously melted in his tenderness. Holding onto him, her splayed fingers caressing wildly up and down the hot skin of his back and his scarred shoulder, she pushed back, rocking and grinding with him as the fire began to consume her. But this time, she was desperate to see his pleasure. In the doorway last night, it had been too dark and quick, and he had hidden his face by kissing her. Now, as he hammered her, she felt the onrush of his climax in the rise of his breathless groans, in the throbbing of his cock inside her, and she grasped his face between her hands and watched him avidly all through her own joy.

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He had no intention of hiding. His eyes drank her in as he came, even as hers devoured him. The hugeness of his shouts, as jet after jet of his seed spurted into her, was the most profoundly satisfying experience she could recall. Ever. At last, pushing deep into her one last time to extract the last ounce of pleasure he could for both of them, he let himself fall forward onto her, quickly rolling them to the side so that he didn’t squash her. Suddenly afraid he would withdraw, she hugged him with arms and legs and pussy. His breath dragged in sharply through his teeth. “Minx…” he gasped. “Do that again.” Obligingly, she did, and he smiled while he kissed her, making her smile back against his mouth with sheer happiness. ***** “Magic!” yelled the Hacker, banging with the flat of his hands on the Magician’s battered front door for the third time. “Are you in there? Open the bloody door! What…?” Hearing quick footsteps inside the house, he broke off and waited while the key turned and the door opened to reveal an extremely tousled Magician. He seemed to have shaved that morning, but that was all the grooming the Hacker could detect. He took in at a glance the shadowed eyes, the rumpled blue-black hair falling forward across his forehead, the drying sweat still glistening on his naked chest. The jeans, which were his only clothing, were not even fastened, gaping open across his flat, muscled belly. “Where’ve you been?” the Hacker demanded, just because the question had been on the tip of his tongue for so long. However, since it was abundantly clear not only where he had been but what he had been doing, he added hastily, “No, don’t answer that,” and pushed past his friend into the flat. “Come in,” the Magician said wryly, closing the door and following him into the living room. “What drags you up here at this time of the morning?” “Morning? Magic, it’s way past noon!” To his surprise, the Magician actually flushed, a rare enough event to cause the Hacker to peer at him more closely for confirmation. The Magician, however, had already turned away, going into the little kitchen to switch on the kettle. “No need to ask what you’ve been doing,” the Hacker said with heavy mockery. “Just tell me quickly, is she as hot as she looks?” The Magician cast him a quick glance over his shoulder. His lips curved into a faint smile that wasn’t quite amused. He said, “Access denied. Hack not.” And began clattering mugs. The Hacker felt an unworthy surge of jealousy. He wasn’t even clear who or what it was aimed at, and he squashed it ruthlessly before he could find out. The Magician said, “What’s on your mind?” Pulling himself together, the Hacker replied, “Found out where her husband is. If you, or she, still want to know.” The Magician’s look was sharper this time. “Yes? Brilliant. Where?” “Here,” said the Hacker, taking the mug from his friend and going to sit down on the sofa. “In the castle.” “Sure?”

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The Hacker shrugged. “Ninety-nine percent. No names, but mouths to be fed jumped by one the night he disappeared. After staying the same for several months…” “The castle?” Another voice said from the hall doorway, and both men turned to look at Cat, dressed now in jeans and what looked like an old shirt of the Magician’s. “Why would he be there? Is it a prison?” She frowned. To the Hacker, she looked tense and uneasy as she walked across the room. He said, “Yes. It’s where they put rebellious middle riskers. I suspect your husband’s their first ever low risker though.” She gave him her full attention, although she kept walking past him to where the Magician stood in the kitchen doorway. And Magic—Magic hadn’t taken his eyes off her from the moment she spoke. The Hacker saw him raise his quick, clever fingers, gently brushing her cheek in a gesture that was curiously intimate as well as unimaginably tender. Yet it was over in a trice, and then the mug had changed hands so that the girl held it. And the smile she cast up into the Magician’s eyes, suddenly not distracted or remotely tense, took the Hacker’s breath away. “Oh shit,” he thought, with such intensity that for a moment he was afraid he had actually said the word aloud. But since they were moving toward him again without looking at him, he eventually assumed he hadn’t. The girl sat beside him on the sofa. The Magician leaned his hip on the window sill. The Hacker said, “There’s something else. I know what’s on that disk you gave me.” Cat’s breath caught. He had all her attention again, wide-eyed with anticipation, rather desperately concentrated. “It’s the ingredients of the vaccine.” “Against the virus?” Cat said eagerly. “Well, so they say,” the Hacker murmured. She frowned. “And what do you say?” “The Magician here thought it wasn’t a vaccine at all, that it was just some drug to keep us all docile. As a result he hasn’t been vaccinated in ten years.” The girl’s eyes flew to her lover’s. “But that’s insane!” she gasped. “No it’s not,” the Magician argued. “I told you last night. Nobody’s died of the virus in twenty years.” “That you’ve seen! Or acknowledged…” The Magician only looked over her head to the Hacker. “Well?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “Was I right?” The Hacker drew in his breath. “Not entirely…” “Meaning?” The Magician hated to be wrong. “Meaning there’s nothing in the drug to keep us docile. Then again, there’s nothing there to preserve us from this or any other virus. In fact, there’s bugger all in it at all.” For several seconds there was total silence. From outside, came the sound of a motorbike engine, prompting the Hacker to say, “Did you take the Biker’s Harley last night? Because he’s well pissed off.” The Magician brushed that aside without even thinking about it. Straightening, he moved towards the sofa with his quick, impetuous stride. “Nothing?” he repeated. “Nothing at all?”

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“But why?” Cat demanded. “We all get the vaccine! Not just high riskers...” “Are you sure it’s the same?” the Hacker interrupted. She blinked, dragging her eyes away from the Magician to meet his gaze. To his vague surprise, she did actually appear to think about it for a moment. She even sounded quite disappointed when she answered. “Yes, it’s the same. My parents’ company manufactures it for this area, and I know there is only one vaccine. So why waste all that time, all these people, administering a useless placebo?” “Control,” the Magician said grimly. “It’s all about control. If we need the vaccine, we need the people who supply it, who administer it. We need the drug companies. If we didn’t need them…” “If we didn’t need them, the middle riskers would revolt,” the Hacker supplied. He had been thinking about this all morning. “They’d kick out the company controlled government and replace it with something more democratic. If they still remember what that means. Certainly they’d push themselves into positions of greater power and wealth. And the Old Town…” “The Old Town would erupt.” It was the Magician who spoke, his voice a heady mixture of intense excitement and grim pleasure, compulsively drawing both pairs of eyes to him. “No illness, no one to contaminate, no need for boundaries. We can live where we like. We can break out any time we like.” “Except that we can’t,” the Hacker reminded him. “We still have the castle full of soldiers with guns, check-points round the whole Town.” “Manned by middle riskers who’ve been as misled as us! We’ve all been had!” His dark eyes blazed as he stared down at Cat. The Hacker didn’t know what his friend was going to say next. Though the Magician had clearly found something last night with this girl, the Hacker had no idea how much trust was involved, how much should be. “Are low riskers—you, Cat—really not aware of this?” “Of course not! We’re just people too. And even we get the vaccine! We’re more paranoid about the virus than anyone!” “But some of them know,” the Magician interrupted. “The chemists must have an inkling, and even if they pretend to the chemists who produce it, that there is some other secret part to it, produced by someone else, someone is giving the order for that pretense.” There was a long silence while she absorbed what the Hacker and the Magician had already worked out. When she spoke, her voice was small but curiously hard. “My parents. The Minister for Health. And now… Ken. That’s what got Ken arrested. He found out and wanted to talk about it.” Her gaze fluttered upwards to the Magician’s. “Whatever else he does, he couldn’t let this pass… And so he sent me that file— as protection? So that I can tell everyone? Both, probably…” The Magician crouched down in front of her, taking the mug from her lifeless fingers and holding both her hands in his. “The question is,” he said gently, “how are we going to use his information?” She swallowed. “What would you suggest?”

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“A trade,” said the Magician at once, before the Hacker could do more than open his mouth. “Your file for Ken’s freedom.” “Then we’ll have lost the information!” the Hacker exploded. “Given it up for one man we don’t know and don’t want!” “No,” said the Magician. Though his gaze didn’t leave the girl, he was talking to both of them. “You can’t lose information. Once it’s out, it’s out. We might lose the proof, but that doesn’t matter. Things will change now. We can make them. And the first thing we have to do is free the man who made it possible. It’s only fair.” “So who do we trade with? The Police Minister? The Health Minister? My pare…” She broke off, frowning. “What day is it?” “Sunday,” said the Hacker. “Why?” “Because tonight is my parents’ dinner party. Their chief guests are the Ministers of Health and Police…” The Magician’s eyes began to dance. Seeing it, the Hacker felt his heart sink. Here we go again… “They’re my parents. I’m not sure I can do it on my own… supposing I can get back to them without being stopped at check-points…” “You won’t be alone,” the Magician said. “We’ll make a deputation.” “But you can’t get out.” The Magician smiled. The Hacker raised his eyes to Heaven and prayed. The girl snatched her hands free, only to form them into fists to pound into the Magician’s chest. “You can, can’t you?” she whispered. “You’ve done it before.” ***** It had begun as a boyish prank, he explained, to see if he could. It had progressed to a means of acquiring black market goods—forbidden petrol for motorbikes, good liquor, food that was actually fresh, clothes, make-up… “Drugs?” Catriona said in a small, harsh voice that she hoped didn’t reveal how terrified she was of the answer. “Some,” the Hacker responded, as the Magician just looked at her. “We don’t get any medicines here otherwise, not even aspirin or cough mixtures or painkillers for teething babies.” She swallowed. “I mean the other kind. The kind the kids on your stair use.” “Ah,” said the Hacker. “The Mist… We don’t know where that comes from.” The Magician stirred at last. “We don’t bring it in. Though it isn’t made here, we don’t actually know how it gets in. We assume it’s enterprising middle risk black marketeers who supply it. Yes, there are those too. Competition if you like.” Catriona felt her whole body relax. Of course he would not be responsible for such a thing. She could not doubt him. “What is it exactly?” she asked. Both men shrugged. The Hacker explained, “Rumor says, some kind of byproduct from the vaccine. It’s deeply hallucinogenic, gives you one hell of a high, but it’s badly addictive. The word is, unscrupulous pharmaceutical workers pinch it and get it to us.” Catriona said, “Just to you.” The Magician frowned at her. “What?”

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She shifted. “No one else uses it. I’ve never heard of anyone, either low or middle risk who has ever used your Mist. If it was possible, I know Dot would have tried it. Have you?” she asked staring at the Magician. “Once,” he said steadily. “I try most things once.” “And?” “Didn’t like it. I prefer to be—in control.” That made sense too. Though he drank in the pub, she had never seen him take very much, certainly not enough to make him remotely drunk. The Hacker said, “Magic pretends he doesn’t care what other folk do, but he doesn’t approve of Mist. He’s seen what a wreck it makes of people—his own flatmates for a start.” “Anyway,” the Magician went on as Catriona felt a flush mount into her face, “we can get out of the Old Town, but we haven’t been far. We’d need Dot to get us into the Low Risk Zone.” “She’d be delighted,” Catriona said. “But wait, I want to know what else you do, what else you’re trying to do? Get out of here? Get rights for high riskers? Bring down the Authority?” The Magician’s smile was dazzling. “Oh yes.” ***** It was still light when the Magician pulled back the steel cover over the back entrance to Waverly Station. Clearly, the steel blind had been cut some time ago, and the tear disguised with tape and grafitti. Catriona could have stared at it for hours and never seen it. The Clown and the Pianist, both of whom clearly knew the way, ducked through immediately. “Don’t tell me we’re taking a train,” Catriona murmured as she followed them down the steps. “Not us,” the Magician apologized, drawing down the steel cover behind them and extracting a roll of strong tape from his pocket. “But it’s not so far to walk.” Unfortunately, most of it had to be done on hands and knees. Though a large, wire grid running across the deserted concourse blocked access to the station platforms, the Magician walked right up to it, near the far side, reached above his head and seemed to untie something. A moment later, the grid parted like an opening door, and again the Clown and the Pianist passed through. With conviction, Catriona said, “You’re mad. The line runs all the way along Prince’s Street, right under the castle.” “So it does,” said the Magician serenely. Sighing, she followed the others along the platform. It was unexpectedly cold in the station. Most of the glass in the roof was missing, Catriona saw, although an odd array of ropes and nets seemed to be hanging from the iron frame. She remembered seeing something the same gazing down from the bus on North Bridge. “What are these for?” she asked. The Pianist glanced back over his shoulder. “Playing. Some of the wilder kids started it years ago. Some of them still come back.” It entered Catriona’s head that they should be too dead to come back after doing anything so stupidly dangerous once. However, before she could voice the opinion, she

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glimpsed the Clown’s grin and the Magician’s beatific smile, and understood with a jolt who at least one—if not two—of those wilder kids were. She closed her mouth and swallowed. Why did she let anything about him surprise her? At the platform end, they had to jump down on the track, then move over several more tracks to keep into the wall. They were approaching a tunnel, likewise covered with a wire grid, and beyond that, the long open line through Prince’s Street Gardens. Catriona expected this grid to prove no greater an obstacle than the last—and it didn’t. After that, walking through the dark, eerily echoing tunnel, the Magician’s hand found hers. “The line’s overgrown,” he said low. “They can’t see us from the castle, not if we keep low. And quiet.” Catriona nodded, and his fingers squeezed. “After that, there’s another tunnel to Haymarket.” And Haymarket was the Middle Risk Zone, where Dot would meet them in her car.

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Chapter Ten Charles Davidson had a few things on his mind, not the least of which was the disappearance of his daughter. However, since nothing truly unpleasant had occurred to upset his comfortable life in thirty years, he was fairly sure that nothing would go pear-shaped on him now. Not in the long run. Catriona would turn up safely. The Ken Whithorn problem would be sorted out to everybody’s satisfaction and life would go on as normal. Probably from tomorrow onwards… For tonight, he found it easy to lose his nagging uncertainties in the familiar role of genial host. This was where Charles shone. His big personality, full of wit and bonhomie, could dominate the company most pleasantly, ensuring a smooth and enjoyable evening for all, a further cementing of personal relations between himself and Edinburgh’s chief ministers, between D.C. Vacs and the Authority. The Davidsons greeted their guests in their large, bright front room. Irene, resplendent in a tasteful black evening gown, was kissing the cheek of the Health Minister, Jenna Campbell. Behind Jenna, stood Dan MacQueen, waiting to greet his hostess. Although it was the first time he had been invited to so high powered a dinner, Catriona’s assistant looked as self-possessed as ever. “So, Martin,” Charles said, accepting another glass of fine dry sherry from the tray politely offered by the self-effacing Margaret Murdoch—her daughter was downstairs, providing extra help in the kitchen. “Any news?” Martin Selkirk, Police Minister, sipped from his own glass before saying blandly, “Of anything in particular?” “My son-in-law,” Charles said dryly. “Well, I did think we could convince him of the need for silence,” Selkirk said. “My men still believe that. What bothers me is that he claims there is no other copy of this information apart from the file on his office computer.” “Perhaps there isn’t.” Selkirk looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Since we’ve already found an encrypted copy on your daughter’s, I think that highly unlikely.” That was news to Charles. Only years of practice, and the knowledge that Selkirk was waiting eagerly to enjoy his discomfiture, prevented him from blanching. “And my daughter?” he said coldly. Selkirk shrugged. But Charles knew he was not as easy about this as he pretended. Catriona’s disappearance was a slur on the police minister’s professionalism. “I think she found it and became frightened. That’s why she ran away from my officers.” “Who haven’t located her in two days!” “I’ve got my best man on the job. He’ll find her in the end. We know she is somewhere in the city. She used Daniel MacQueen’s ID to pass the South Gyle check-point into the Middle Risk Zone. It’s a big area, and she has many names there on her list of contacts.” Selkirk was making excuses now, and they both knew it. The knowledge restored Charles’ good humor.

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“I think it’s time for dinner,” he observed. “Don’t worry, Martin. It will all sort itself out soon enough.” Thus subtly implying that Selkirk himself would have no influence on the outcome. Time the man was cut down to size. Amiably offering his arm to Mrs. Selkirk, he led the way to the dining room. This was another large room, dominated by a large rectangular dining table in golden oak, the matching chairs surrounding it ornate, high-backed and expensively upholstered. The room’s long window, which normally allowed magnificent views over the Forth, was masked by heavy red velvet curtains. The plush, Persain rug on the floor, the modern abstract paintings on the white walls, the upright Churchill piano at the far end of the room, all added to the atmosphere of cozy elegance which the Davidsons strived for. The Davidsons were famous for their hospitality, and tonight’s meal lived up to all expectations. Delicious canapés were laid out for the guests to nibble while the soup was brought in and served by their housekeeper and the ubiquitous Margaret Murdoch. Charles himself served the wine, since he considered himself a bit of a connoisseur, and had a jovial personal word with each of his guests while he poured. As he came to Dan MacQueen, he said, “Glad to see you here, Dan,” and then, bending a little closer, “You’re next to Jenna Campbell. Won’t do your career any harm!” Dan’s quick smile said he knew it. Of course, Dan was not an idiot. His career could just as easily have plummeted following the fiasco of Catriona pinching his car, and he might well suspect that his silence on her subsequent disappearance was being bought by this exclusive invitation to dinner. On the other hand, it would do him no harm at all to glimpse some of the good things cooperation could buy. As soon as they began on the soup, Charles knew the evening was going to be another resounding success. Conversation, both serious and jocular, flowed along with the excellent wine. Irene was magnificent as usual, always providing just the right tone for the serious points that had to be discussed in among the genuine enjoyment. This, Charles reflected, the cut and thrust of business and power won in the sharp yet amiable ambience of the dinner party, was what had kept him and Irene so close all these years, building up and maintaining the business, and now expanding it well beyond the immediate Edinburgh area—which of course was bringing new problems. Like Ken’s unexpected discovery before they had the chance to prime and explain to him. But they would come to grips with that too, as they had done with everything else. Together. The dining room door opened again, and Margaret Murdoch re-entered, this time with her daughter, to remove the soup plates. Dot Murdoch was a funny girl. Charles had always found her slightly rude, as well as unpleasing to the eye with her garish make-up and spiked hair which she had barely even troubled to tone down for the occasion. He could not understand his daughter’s persistent affection for the girl. However, at least she was quick and efficient, and tonight she seemed to smile more often than usual, so perhaps she was even enjoying herself among the high and mighty she pretended to despise… Margaret left first, loaded with plates, while Dot collected the last few and followed her out. Irritatingly, she left the door open. Charles frowned. But before he could say or do anything about it, someone erupted into the room in a bouncing blur of color.

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It was a clown, spectacularly somersaulting across the floor. And in her wake came a little man in an eye patch, wearing a bright tartan waistcoat, and another, much taller, in a long, black coat carrying a laundry basket by a leather thong over one shoulder. The lively conversation came to an abrupt halt. All eyes turned on the newcomers with sheer astonishment. Wildly, Charles’s eyes sought his wife’s, but Irene shrugged infinitesimally. Charles got to his feet. But by now the one-eyed man had seated himself at the piano and begun to play a loud fanfare more appropriate to the circus than a dinner party. “Good evening,” the tall man said, bowing low with a flourish. He wasn’t loud—on the contrary his voice was deep and rather pleasant—but suddenly his presence filled the room. In one hand, he held a battered top hat. The laundry basket now lay at his feet. Beside him, the clown was also bowing, white teeth gleaming in a huge, red-painted mouth. Charles thought irrelevantly that it was a woman. Opening his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, just to win back control of the unexpected and quite ludicrous situation, he was again forestalled. Straightening, and clapping the top hat onto his head, the tall man said, “We are your cabaret for the evening!” “Cabaret?” Jenna Campbell repeated in some amusement. “Irene, you always think of something different! Where on earth did you find them?” “Nobody finds us,” said the tall man reproachfully—and fortunately, perhaps, since for once even Irene was at a loss for words. “We find them. And look what else we’ve found!” Dramatically, the long coat swinging about his knees, he threw open the lid of the wicker laundry basket he had brought in. There was an expectant pause. In the silence, the clown bent and peered into the basket and began tugging at her companion’s coat until he too looked into the basket. “Bugger,” he said, and somebody sniggered. Charles thought it was Dan’s wife. The tall man picked up the basket and showed the inside of it to the table. “Empty,” he apologized. Charles, more furious about being kept out of the scene in his own house than about the invasion, enquired, “So what are you going to do about it?” He knew there was menace in his voice too. He meant there to be. He wanted everyone, including the intruders, to know, that it was only a matter of time until his people came and arrested them. They were already in so much trouble they should have been terrified if they weren’t completely and utterly stupid… “Could try this,” said the tall man, laying down the basket and closing the lid. Then, lifting up the clown bodily, he placed her on top of the basket. Next, he took off his hat, extracted from inside it an impossibly long wand, and with a flick of his wrist, the hat disappeared. Dan laughed. The tall man waved the wand in the air, then seemed to bring it down smartly on the clown’s head. “Ow!” she cried, clutching her head in both hands. “That’s the magic word,” said the tall man, apparently pleased, and just then the clown began to rock precariously on her perch. Something was undulating beneath her until with a spring, she catapulted off it, somersaulting across the floor once more. At the same

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time, the lid flew open and someone stood up in the basket, arms outstretched. Another fanfare from the piano accompanied her. Charles felt his mouth drop open. The girl in the basket wore jeans and a green shirt. Her shining chestnut hair fell loose about her shoulders, and she smiled rather hesitantly for a performer. It was his daughter, Catriona. “There,” the magician observed. “That’s what we’re all searching for.” Without looking at her, he took Catriona’s hand and helped her out of the basket. Irene said, “Catriona!” Clearly she was startled out of her normal composure. There was no way now she could pretend to anyone that this was planned or even expected. “Hello, Mother,” said Catriona. Charles, unusually irritated with his wife for not coping better than he, found himself floundering in a morass of unfinished sentences. “Catriona, thank God you’re… What the…? These people…” And then his eyes moved quickly from his daughter to the man beside her, and his gaze was held. Though the man was young, his eyes were curiously ageless, cold, opaque and totally fearless. A man Charles could neither read nor dominate. The instant knowledge threw him further. The man did not care that he was in trouble. He did not care for all of Charles’ wealth or power. So what was he? Some sort of anarchist escaped from the castle…? And what in God’s name was he doing with Catriona? “Catriona,” he said hoarsely. “Come here!” Although the tall man was no longer touching her, Catriona made no effort to move away from him. Instead, she stated, “We’ve got things to talk about, Dad. I want Ken released.” And when Charles dragged his eyes free of the magician’s, he saw that Catriona was looking directly at Martin Selkirk. “What are you talking about? Come away from these people before security comes for them!” “Security doesn’t know they’re here. I brought them.” She spoke quietly, but with no hint of the hesitancy, which his harsher tones normally inspired in her. Something had happened to her. For the first time ever, he sensed he couldn’t reach her by anger or by the old, unwavering certainty, so he tried sentiment, stretching one hand forward pleadingly. “Catriona, I’m your father,” he said in a hurt voice. “I’ve been so worried about you, and now this—please…” She interrupted, “Ken is wrongly imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle. I want him out before I talk to any of you.” Charles felt his eyes widen in genuine shock. “Edinburgh...? No, Catriona, what nonsense! The castle’s in the High Risk Zone!” “Ask him,” Catriona said shortly, nodding her head at Martin Selkirk, who actually laughed, much to Charles’s relief. “Who on earth fed you that rubbish?”

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“I did,” said the tall man, once again drawing Charles’s sharp gaze. Roughly dressed, he seemed also to have some sort of tattoo next to his left eye. Charles’s distaste began to mount. “And she should believe you—why?” Selkirk mocked, looking the younger man up and down. But the magician didn’t look at him. Suddenly his eyes were locked once more on Charles. “Because I’ve never lied to her.” That shut them all up. Except for Irene, who stood up and marched elegantly round the table towards her daughter. Charles, both fearing for her and for his own reputation, immediately started after her. Irene scolded, “Young man, whoever you are, your insinuations are offensive!” She was magnificent, Charles reflected proudly. Able for any situation, however difficult or apparently threatening. And she could reduce any smart mouthed young man, even this big thug whose gaze she now held, back to the status of naughty schoolboy. She came right up close to him until, tall as she was, she had to look up to stare him down. The thug did not back away, as Charles more than half expected. Nor did he break the gaze. Instead, sounding amused, he said, “It wasn’t an insinuation, and the truth is never offensive. But we stray from the point, which is, the release of Ken. Now, personally I don’t care whether you admit he’s in the castle or tell me he’s traveling for his health in Timbuktoo. The important point for you people, is that if he’s not released by dawn tomorrow, we will be circulating copies of—this.” And quite unexpectedly he lifted his hand to Irene’s head. Charles started forward at once. So did several others. Even Irene flinched, though she refused to draw back. But the tall man, without touching her, seemed to pull something out of her ear. It was a computer disk. Charles knew at once what it contained. Instinctively, he reached for it, hoping to be able to surprise the thug and snatch it. However, before he even came close, it vanished again. “And what are you going to tell us that is?” Selkirk enquired, apparently bored. It was a good act, but it didn’t fool either Charles or the young man holding the floor. “I’m going to tell you it’s the formula for the amazing virus vaccine supplied by D.C. Vacs. I’m going to tell you further that we’re prepared to trade it for the release of Ken.” “You don’t even know what it means,” said Irene contemptuously. Although she moved circumspectly away from him as she spoke, she appeared to do so more from a sense of distaste than of fear. “You underestimate him,” Catriona told her. “And even if he didn’t know, I do. And so will hundreds of thousands of others, come tomorrow morning, if you don’t get Ken out of there.” “Catriona, why are you doing this?” Charles demanded. “If you want help, you should come to us!” “I did,” Catriona reminded him, and her glare flashing across his face actually felt like a lash. “And I’m doing it because…”

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“She’s doing it because he’s her husband,” Irene interrupted. “That much is clear. Even understandable. What is unclear is why she has involved this rabble, and what she imagines we can do about it! We manufacture pharmaceuticals, not prisoners!” “Don’t be modest, Mother,” Catriona said wryly, and Charles had never heard her talk like that before either. “But I am in fact addressing Mr. Selkirk who, I trust, is prepared for the riot that will ensue when this is made public.” Selkirk, goaded now, actually stepped toward her, impetuously lifting his arm with unclear purpose. But the magician moved faster. “I wouldn’t,” he said softly, holding the offending arm in a grip that looked positively painful. “I really wouldn’t.” And Charles suddenly realized that the one-eyed pianist had materialized behind Selkirk, that the clown held something in her hand that seemed to glitter in the dining room’s soft light. “Jesus!” he exclaimed, trying to diffuse the situation. “Martin, that’s my daughter!” Selkirk tried to yank his arm free. “I wouldn’t have touched her. What do you take me for? But we need her away from him!” “Right now,” said Catriona, “you need me with him. If you agree to Ken’s release, we’ll leave you the disk.” “And all your copies?” Selkirk demanded. The tall man released his arm, and distractedly he began to rub it before he realized what he was doing and abruptly stopped. “Those we keep,” said the tall man, “until we have Ken. When he is free, and safe, we’ll wipe them.” “Funnily enough,” sneered Selkirk, “I don’t believe you!” “Then believe me,” said Catriona. Charles’s attention came quickly back to her. He knew that Irene and Selkirk looked too. Irene said, “It’s true Catriona would not lie. But I don’t trust him, or his influence on her.” “What influence would that be?” Catriona enquired, although the man himself only smiled faintly at the insult. “You tell me, dear,” Irene returned. She looked him up and down, apparently rather amused by what she saw. “He’s got a certain rough charm and he’s certainly full of himself. And you are vulnerable right now. I imagine you find him quite—plausible.” “I am plausible,” said the tall man, as mocking in his tone as Irene. “But not patient. What’s it to be, ladies and gentlemen? Truth or freedom? For good old Ken at least...” Charles looked at Irene, who moved her gaze quickly to Catriona and then to Selkirk. Only Charles could see the swift thoughts flashing through her mind. He was proud of her, for his own mind felt suddenly numb. He heard Irene’s breath catch. Then she said low, “Do it.” And at once, Charles’s brain began to work again. Of course, she was right. Deal with the immediate threat and then rectify the fallout later. They had been doing that for thirty years! This was no different, surely…

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There was silence. The intruders stood completely still. So did the three people facing them. And behind Charles, he could almost feel the rest of his guests turning their heads to each other in bewilderment. Selkirk snapped, “Very well.” Catriona closed her eyes in the sort of intense relief she would never be able to hide. But beside her, the tall man only nodded. “We’re going to leave now.” Catriona’s eyes snapped open again. As if she had forgotten, she said, “We’re going to make Dot drive us out of the zone. Don’t try to stop her—I think you’ll find your computers are temporarily jammed. ‘Bye, Dad, Mother.” She went quickly from the room, closely followed by the clown. The two men backed out more slowly, covering their strange movements by bowing elaborately like showmen. Irene said suddenly, “Wait! The disk!” The tall man straightened, his hand already resting on the open door. His grin was curiously attractive, crinkling up his eyes and lightening his rather tough young face. Abruptly, Charles could understand only too well what had drawn his daughter, and he didn’t like the thought at all. The tall man said gently, “It’s in the basket,” and went out. Involuntarily, Charles’s gaze flew down to the laundry basket which still lay at his feet. Selkirk reached down and picked up the disk. “Do you know the really annoying thing?” Irene said, as Selkirk drew out his mobile phone. “What?” Charles asked helplessly. “That’s my laundry basket!” A sound he had never heard before came from her throat. It could have been a growl of annoyance or a choke of laughter. Charles didn’t really care—he had other mysteries to solve. Staring at the offending basket, he demanded, “Then how in the world did he…?” “We can’t stop them right now,” Selkirk interrupted. “Guess what? The registration computers are all down.”

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Chapter Eleven Dot’s car sped back towards the Middle Risk Zone. Inside, they were singing—or at least the women were, joyously, because they had succeeded and it was such a buzz. The men were joking and talking over the top. Dot drove, with the Magician in the front seat, twisting round to address the Pianist who was squashed in the back with Catriona and the Clown. Then Dot stopped singing and said, “Well, let’s see if the Hacker’s done his stuff…” The joyful noise petered out. They were approaching the Gyle checkpoint. “Flash your ID if you’ve got any,” the Magician reminded them. “Those who haven’t, just flash something…” The Clown made a ribald suggestion, which set Dot and Catriona giggling, and at the sound of their mirth, the others couldn’t help smiling too. So it was that the police found a car full of relaxed and quite unsuspicious people, all happily waving what had to be ID cards at them. Smiling back, the police officer looked carefully only at Dot’s, then waved them on with the brief words. “Computer’s down—on you go.” “And on we do go,” murmured Dot, putting her foot down. “Tell you what, though, Cat,” the Clown said, “You’ve got bloody scary parents! Your mother’s eyes could cut glass!” “Tell me about it,” said Dot sourly. “She used to look at me like that a lot when I was a kid. It still makes me shrivel!” “Felt pretty shriveled myself,” the Pianist confessed. “Poor old Magic on the receiving end almost disappeared!” “Nah,” said the Magician, “I’ve got over being scared of Davidson women. I thought her jovial old man was worse.” “It’s funny seeing them through your eyes,” Catriona observed. “I always just accepted them.” The Magician shrugged and turned back to face the road. “It’s what you do when they’re your parents.” For a time they drove on in silence, each thinking his own thoughts. Catriona followed the familiar road with her eyes, feeling the recent adrenalin fade slowly from her system until she could concentrate on where they were. Queensferry Road, approaching the turn off for Crammond… And then they were passing Quality Street, as usual full of parked cars and a couple of motor bikes. Her breath caught. “Dot, stop the car!” she exclaimed, and Dot slammed on the breaks to the loud protest of the car behind. Unruffled, Dot showed the other car two fingers and pulled to the curb. “What is it?” she demanded. “Go back—down there,” Catriona ordered. “Please, Dot, just a quick detour…” “I can’t, Catriona. I have to get back for my poor old mother.” “Me and the Pianist have to get back too,” the Clown added reluctantly. “I think we’ve seen enough of your world for tonight,” the Pianist remarked. “I’m still dealing with the culture shock…I haven’t even been in a car since I was a kid!”

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Catriona glanced at the Magician, who’d turned his head again to peer at her through the dark. “What about you?” she said softly. “Can I show you something?” “Sure,” he said at once, reaching for the car door. “Don’t be silly,” Dot said. “You can’t get back from here.” “Of course we can,” said Catriona, swallowing a sudden upsurge of excited laughter. “Don’t worry, Dot, we’ll be fine.” And then she was outside, on the pavement, the Magician’s arm around her shoulder, and they were waving their only sure means of transport away. She could feel the Magician’s gaze on her face under the streetlight, and glanced up at him. “Well?” he enquired. Catriona turned, catching his hand and walking swiftly round the corner into Quality Street. Nodding at the motor bike parked a few yards away, she breathed, “Can you steal that?” She heard the surprised laughter catch in his throat. “Probably. Why?” “I want to show you something. Come on…” While she looked up and down the road for passersby, the Magician casually touched the handle bars and scanned the nearby houses for watchers. Then, blatantly, he lifted the bike off its stand and began to push it down the road, Catriona trotting along beside him. A few yards further on, he halted. “Get on then,” he invited and she did. Delicious, half embarrassed memories of their last motorbike ride began to swamp her. Fitting his long body on in front of hers, he began to fiddle under the handlebars. A second later, the engine sputtered into life, throbbing familiarly under her. “Where to?” the Magician asked, for all the world like a taxi driver. “Straight on,” she said happily. This was not the Magician’s territory. As before, she held him round the waist, rejoicing in his nearness, in the feel of his warm, hard body under the big coat, but this time there was no speeding down hills and round corners, for the consequences of being stopped were enormous. So he drove them steadily where she guided until, even through the darkness, he could see what she meant to show. Under her hands, she felt his breathing change. But he didn’t say anything, just followed the road, without her instruction now, into the picturesque village of Crammond. There, near the shore, he slowed the bike down and parked it, placing his hands on her waist to lift her off. But his normally questing fingers were quiet. His eyes were not on her, but on the seashore. Again, she took his hand, walking with him down onto the beach. It wasn’t the open ocean, but it was the best she could do tonight. His nostrils twitched, inhaling the distinctive, salty smell of the sea. Catriona saw him smile as his feet sank into the soft sand. Quickly, she bent, taking off her shoes, and after a moment’s incomprehension, he did the same, splaying his bare toes into the cold, gravelly substance. Smiling back, Catriona slipped her hand back into his. As they reached the firmer, wetter sand, she began to move faster, pulling him on until he ran with her.

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They were the only people on the dark deserted shore. Facing away from the village lights, they might have been the only people in the world. Catriona, desperate for his enjoyment, was super sensitive to his every movement. She knew when he held back, running only at a pace to suit her, while his taut body shrieked out to her his desire to be completely free. After only a few paces, she pulled her hand out of his, and slowed to a halt. “Go,” she said. “Go…” And without a word, he shrugged off his coat, abandoning it on the sand where it fell, and ran. His long legs stretched out, his arms began to swing in rhythm with the speed of his legs. The Magician raced through the first open space he had ever known, his feet pounding in the sand as they carried him further down towards the sea and then swerving on and on along the shoreline into the distance until he was only a tiny spec before Catriona’s eyes. Slowly, she picked up his heavy coat and walked back to find his shoes. He needed this, and she was so glad to have given him it. And yet it felt as if he had left her for ever. It felt as if he was never coming back. He did, though. Only a few minutes later, she saw the tiny spec grow gradually larger as he ran toward her. Smiling now, she watched him come closer until she could make out his long, lithe figure, the features of his face, even the play of his powerful muscles and the heaving of his chest under his shirt. Yet he stopped before he reached her, turning to face the sea. The gentle waves just lapping at his bare feet, he sank down at the water’s edge, letting the bubbling water play across his toes. She went and stood near him, but afraid to intrude she only gazed out across the sea to Crammond Island and the Fife coast beyond, watching the flicker of moonlight on the rippling water, listening to its hushed, distinctive music. After a few moments, his hand reached up to hers and tugged. Quietly, she sat beside him on the cold sand, unwilling to be the first to speak. He said, “Thank you.” Only then did she look at him, for his voice sounded odd, unsteady as if still panting from his long, wild run across the beach. The little fish beside his eye seemed to glisten in the darkness, perhaps with salt or sea spray. His fingers gripped hers convulsively. Fascinated, she watched the droplet of silver moisture seep over the fish and trickle slowly down his cheek. She reached up to touch it with her fingertip, almost afraid, knowing now that it was salt, but not from the sea. The Magician was weeping. ***** Dawn broke cold and damp in the Old Town. The rain drizzled down without pause. Hand in hand, still in the close, companionable silence of last night, Catriona and the Magician climbed the steep stone steps that led up to the castle entrance. Secretly, Catriona made the most of his nearness, for she had the lowering feeling that with Ken would come a vast array of trouble. Although they had slept naked in each other’s arms, she and the Magician had not made love last night—partly because they were exhausted. Since they couldn’t abandon the stolen motor bike too close to Haymarket in case it gave away their escape route, they had given themselves a long walk on top of the physical and emotional drain of the rest of the evening.

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However, despite tiredness, Catriona’s body was responsive to every touch of his, and she would have been more than happy to indulge in a little late night loving. It was the Magician who held back. Although he lay awake in her arms for some time, and she felt his cock alternately hard and semi-hard against her thigh, he seemed to want only to hold her. And that was fine with her too. There was something incredibly sexy, as well as emotionally intimate about just lying there with him and feeling. And what she felt almost overpowered her. It filled her whole body and made her face and throat ache. After the beach, it was as if a veil had lifted, allowing many things to come together in her mind as well as in her heart. She knew now that she would do anything for this man with the veiled eyes, the tough survivor of the Old Town’s high risk criminal world, who yet still cared for his fellow men and wept at his first sight of the sea. She would sacrifice everything to give him one moment of happiness. She would die for him. She would even leave him. “Ouch,” the Magician said as her fingers suddenly gripped convulsively on his hand. “If you want a piggyback, just ask.” “I’m not so precious that I can’t manage a few steps,” Catriona returned with the same lightness. It had been like that since last night, the words between them only banter, the real feeling simmering silently underneath. “Although,” she added fairly, laboring on with the ache in her calves growing steadily, “I wouldn’t like to do this too often when I’m eighty.” Reaching the final step, the Magician swung her up beside him. Across the road, the castle gate was closed. Once, before the epidemic, the castle had been a major tourist attraction. People from all over the world had come here to see the historic fortress, to view the Crown of Scotland and watch military parades. That was before the world had shrunk, before travel was forbidden between countries for fear of spreading the virus, before Britain and Scotland itself had broken up into city-states, the small, isolated units, which could only look after their own people by cutting off their access to anyone else. The Magician paused at the top of the steps, leaning one shoulder against the damp wall as if recovering his breath, and idly looking around him. Catriona followed his gaze. Farther up the road, sitting on a lower wall, was the bulky, unmistakable figure of the Tattooist. And wandering down from the other side, the Hacker and Angel. Unobtrusively, Catriona slid her hand free of the Magician’s. Feeling it, he didn’t look at her, but she saw him smile slightly. Across the road, something creaked loudly against the castle gate. The Magician said quickly, “Any trouble at all, bolt back the way we came. If I lose you, I’ll find you again at the pub.” Catriona swallowed. The gate was slowly opening. She murmured, “They won’t hurt me. It’s you who’ll have to hide.” “It won’t come to that. Just—be aware…” Two soldiers, both wearing masks and holding rifles before them at the ready, came out and stood on either side of the gate, waiting. “Magic,” said a voice behind Catriona on the steps, making her jump. So much for awareness. The Magician, however, didn’t even take his eyes off the castle walls as a tall figure in leather slid round beside them.

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“Biker,” he returned. Recognizing the title, Catriona looked more closely at the newcomer, a blond Viking who was regarding her assessingly. “You must be Cat,” he observed. “I believe you borrowed my bike.” “He did it,” Catriona said at once, jerking her finger at the Magician, and the Biker laughed. Just then, another soldier emerged from the gate, and immediately behind him another man, stumbling as another pushed him on from behind. The front soldier looked to right and left, then turned smartly and marched back inside, allowing Catriona, heart thundering with anxiety now, to recognize the man left standing there, smart coat over his arm. Short brown hair standing up in the rain, face unshaven and masked, shoulders unnaturally hunched, but unmistakably Ken. “It’s Ken,” she whispered, starting instinctively across the road. Instantly, the Magician and the Biker went with her, and even through her fear for Ken, she was aware of their watchfulness. But the soldiers standing guard at the gate ignored her, turning on their heels and marching back inside, slamming the gate shut behind them—though not before Catriona had glimpsed the masked face of another man behind the gate. Martin Selkirk, Minister of Police. She had no time to think about him though. Ken was standing in the middle of the road under the relentless drizzle, looking totally bewildered as she approached. Then, abruptly, as his unfocused eyes came to rest on her, he blinked. “Catriona?” he whispered. “Catriona, is that really you?” “Of course it is,” she said, putting her arms around him in pity. “I couldn’t leave you there…” “Let’s go,” the Magician warned, already turning back towards the steps. He and the Biker ran down them quickly. Catriona urged Ken after them, still with one arm around his waist. The Hacker, Angel and the Tattooist closed in behind them. Ken seemed to have grasped at least some of what was happening, for at last he began to make the effort to hurry along with her. “Where are we going?” He still sounded bewildered, though, which was not entirely surprising, she supposed. “Somewhere safe,” she comforted. “These people are all friends—they’ll look after you…” At the foot of the steps, she could hear the roar of a motor bike being started up, see the Magician standing eternally watchful, waiting for them. Catriona hurried on to the bottom, past the Magician to where the Biker waited on his roaring machine. “This is the Biker,” she said hurriedly to Ken. “Go with him—I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” Obediently, Ken climbed clumsily on to the bike, but when Catriona took the cumbersome coat from his fingers, he suddenly clung to her hands. “You’re not coming? Catriona, don’t go away!” “I am coming,” she soothed. “I’m just walking. Hold on tight, Ken—it’s all right now…” And then the Biker was off in a stream of noise and exhaust, Ken clinging precariously behind. “So far so good,” said the Hacker behind her. “Do I wipe the file?”

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Catriona nodded, but the Magician disagreed. “Wait,” he said. “See if he’s bugged, or if anyone follows us to the warehouse.” Catriona opened her mouth to object to her word being tampered with, but then, meeting the Magician’s eyes, she remembered who they were dealing with and shut it again. “Fair enough,” she agreed reluctantly. So while the others watched for surveillance activity, she went with the Magician and the Hacker, to the warehouse where they were hiding Ken. ***** When the Magician pushed open the heavy door of the disused warehouse, she saw that some effort had been made towards comfort. There was a mattress and a quilt on the floor at the far end, and closer to the door, an armchair, a table with a kettle and four chipped mugs. Just inside the door the Biker was crouched down, tinkering with his motor bike engine. He glanced up and nodded once. Ken, still masked, sat huddled in the chair, looking apprehensively up at the Pianist who was pushing another mug into his hands. Hearing them come in, the Pianist glanced up. “Were you followed?” The Magician shook his head. “Tattoos and Angel are still watching out. How is he?” The Pianist shrugged. “Pretty shaken. Not surprising, I suppose. I expect he’ll talk more to Cat.” “Is he bugged?” “How the hell would we know?” the Biker demanded, rising to his feet and following them up the floor towards Ken. “Apart from the fact that neither of us would know a bug if it sat up and sang to us, we can’t get near him without starting a fight.” “He thinks you’re carrying the virus,” Catriona explained. At the sound of her voice, Ken’s head snapped up, and a look of total relief flooded his face. “Hello, Ken,” she added, crouching down beside his chair. “Are you all right?” “I don’t know, to be honest. More all right than I was…” “Drink your coffee then, it’ll make you feel better.” She was talking to him softly, as if he was a child to be soothed—which was how he looked right now. Obediently, he finally took the mug from the Pianist, then paused, thwarted by the presence of his mask. “Take it off,” Catriona said, reaching up to help him, but in panic, he clapped his hand over the strings, preventing her. Only then, did realization seem to dawn. “Catriona, you’re not wearing yours! None of these people are!” “Masks aren’t necessary,” Catriona explained. “I thought you would have worked that out when you realized the vaccine was useless.” “The two don’t necessarily follow.” “Well, in this case they do. Look, Ken, you’re going to have to get used to this. You have to eat and drink. The people here are not ill and they won’t make you ill either.” For a moment, he stared at her. Then, reluctantly, he took off the mask. Catriona beamed at him. “Now drink your coffee.” As she rose to her feet, he lifted the mug to his lips, sipped and almost immediately spat it out on the floor. “Christ, that’s disgusting! What the hell is it?”

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“Around here it passes for coffee,” the Magician said tranquilly. “I can get you some better stuff, but it’ll cost you.” Ken stared up at him, clearly baffled again. Catriona said, “This is the Magician. And the Hacker…” “Why do they not have normal names?” he asked. Catriona smiled faintly. “Well, if you think about it, Chemist might be more meaningful than Ken.” Ken snorted. Clearly, he was returning to normal. The Magician said, “Did they put anything on you, or in your clothes, before you left the castle?” “Like what?” “Anything,” the Magician said patiently. “Not that I know of.” “Well, take off your jacket and shirt and let’s look. Cat, you can do the trousers and the underwear.” Ken stared at him. “Go to hell,” he invited. The Magician laughed. Catriona said, “Ken, you have to. If they track you here, we’ll all be arrested, and you’ll end up back in the castle with us!” A moment longer, he held out, the tussle of dignity versus common sense waging across his face. Then, tightlipped, he laid down the mug and took off his jacket. The Hacker twitched it out of his hand while the Magician stood waiting for his shirt, which Ken eventually held up, deliberately looking straight ahead. As the Magician turned away with his prize, Catriona said, “Trousers, Ken.” Without a word, Ken stood and removed his trousers. Catriona scoured through the pockets and seams, feeling all over for anything unusual. Then, finding nothing, she crouched down again. “Quick feel of the underpants,” she said, and before he could object, ran her hand inside them, front and back. There was silence. Then, “Why, Catriona,” he said softly. “I’d almost forgotten what a light touch you have…” Hastily, since his originally flaccid cock was showing unexpected signs of perkiness, she withdrew her hand. “Clean, so far as I can tell,” she said, hoping her heightened color was not too apparent. The funny thing was, though, she wasn’t embarrassed for herself, but for Ken. Her husband’s tanned but soft muscled body, with its beginnings of a spare tire round the middle and tiny paunch underneath, really did not measure up to the excitingly hard leanness of the Magician’s. She would not and could not compare them, but the thought of what Ken kept in his underpants simply did nothing for her. Not after the Magician’s big, blue-ribbed cock had opened such exciting new worlds of sex to her… With memories of sex with the Magician suddenly flooding her, she had to catch her breath, swiftly standing up to hide from Ken the hot flush he would surely misunderstand. Instead, tossing the trousers back to Ken behind her, she met the veiled eyes of the Magician himself. Inviting him to share the joke of Ken’s mistake, she shrugged, rolling her eyes in her husband’s direction. The Magician’s lips curved slightly in response. “Seems to be clear,” he said, handing Ken back his shirt. “They must be playing the game after all.”

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“Coffee?” Catriona suggested, while Ken climbed back into his trousers. Using the time to get herself back together, she was quite pleased when the Pianist changed the subject. “Forgot to say. George wants you to sing tonight as well.” “All right.” “Sing?” Ken repeated, buttoning his shirt. “What’s this?” “Cat’s the toast of the Old Town. Best singer any of us can remember.” “I’m not surprised,” Ken said ironically. The Magician came over to collect his coffee, saying, “Well, make sure George pays you first. Have you seen any money off him at all yet?” “No, it never entered my head I’d get paid too!” The Magician smiled, his finger briefly caressing her cheek in quick affection. Grinning, the Pianist said, “I’ll hassle him for you, Cat. I’ll make it a condition for tonight.” “Are you really going to sing?” Ken asked, as if he still wasn’t sure that they weren’t joking. “Of course she is,” the Hacker said. “You should come.” Ken gave a short laugh. “Perhaps I will.” In her ear, the Hacker said, “Find out what you can from him, Cat—it all helps.” Catriona nodded, and reluctantly went back to Ken, kneeling down near his feet with her coffee. He watched her coming with an odd mixture of smug triumph and uncertainty, as if he was trying to remember her, or match her with the wife she had become in his memory. The other men wandered over to inspect the motor bike. “So,” she said quietly. “Rough time, Ken?” His face changed again, instantly reflecting the fear he must have experienced over the past few days. However, with some attempt at bravado, he shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Not so bad, I suppose. Uncomfortable mainly.” “What did they do? Did they want something?” “I take it you found the Schubert file?” She nodded. “Pretty clever…” “I thought so. Well, they wanted to know where else I had copied it. They wanted to convince me I shouldn’t publicize it.” “And did they?” she asked steadily. “No,” said Ken with a not undeserved pride. “Nothing justifies that—depriving people of protection like that. Even these people.” Catriona let both mistakes pass. Time enough to quarrel later. Forcing herself, because she didn’t really want to know the answer, she said, “Did they hurt you?” His smile was twisted this time. “Torture, you mean? I wouldn’t call it that. No one beat me up or stuck me on the rack or applied thumb screws. But there are other ways of wearing you down, wearing you out. Verbal abuse, the fear of violence, the constant, nagging, sapping of your confidence…” Abruptly, shudderingly, his breath caught. Covering his face with his shaking hands, he said, “Christ, Catriona, Christ…!” There was nothing else she could do. Rising to her knees, she put her arms around him, cradling his head on her shoulder while the silent sobs rocked him. Anger filled her, and pity, but oddly, neither emotion felt helpless any more.

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Behind her, the warehouse door opened and closed again. The Hacker called over, “The Magician’s gone out. He’ll meet you later at the pub.”

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Chapter Twelve The Magician went, for the first time in ten years, to the vaccination clinic in the old Central Library. Though there were no books left there any more, the sign over the waiting room door still proclaimed, “Children’s Library.” Likewise the glass-fronted surgery still said it was the “Lending Library” and the signs downstairs to the basements, where the staff had their private room away from prying eyes, directed you to the “Edinburgh Room.” There was an armed and masked policeman standing in the entrance hallway looking bored. Though he couldn’t see him from the hall, the Magician knew there would be another in the surgery to protect the nurses from their criminal patients. The Magician entered the Children’s Library, trying to imagine it full of toddlers and picture books, with bright drawings on the walls and loud, childish laughter ringing in the air. The idea was a lot pleasanter than the bare, depressing reality with its peeling walls lined by tatty chairs, occupied by largely silent, worried people. Their anxiety stemmed more from their unaccustomed closeness to authority, as represented by the police and the nurses, the Magician knew, rather than any very immediate concern for their health. Slouching into a seat, beside a pretty but nervous looking girl and her mother, he prepared to wait it out. Whistling to himself, hands in pockets, he passed the time by trying to catch the girl’s eye. When eventually he did, he took a large sponge out of his ear. The girl stared. The Magician pretended to wash his face with it, inspiring a quick smile. Smiling back, the Magician took one from her own ear and gave it to her. She laughed aloud, drawing the attention of her mother, who quickly pulled the girl as far away from his contaminating presence as was possible before she freezingly returned the sponge. “Keep it,” he offered. “I am rich in sponges.” “Next!” called the masked nurse from the inner doorway. Young and shapely, she looked vaguely familiar to the Magician. The woman stood up, dragging her daughter by the arm, but the girl looked back at him over her shoulder, still smiling. The Magician picked up the rejected sponge and threw it to her with a wink. Deftly, she caught it in her free hand before going into the surgery. Maybe quiet girls did like him after all. The Magician began to whistle again, looking around him for further amusement. There wasn’t much to be had from the sad looking collection of old and frightened people who were today’s main victims of the vaccination fraud. And in any case, he knew too well why he was seeking distraction. The sight of Cat with her husband was not one he was comfortable with. Pity and compassion were all very well, but there was a history between them from which he was forever excluded, and no amount of rationalization could prevent jealousy arising from that. And fear. Because no matter what he and Cat were to each other, in bed or on the beach, she was of Ken’s world, not his. Surprisingly quickly, the girl and her mother re-emerged. Staring at him, the mother returned the sponge once more. This time, the Magician held her eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Next!” said the nurse again. When the Magician smiled at her, she looked so comically astonished that he laughed aloud. And yet she was a pretty enough woman. She must have been used to men smiling at her. Just not high risk patients.

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He didn’t actually remember where he had seen her before until it was his turn. Then, walking past her into the surgery, it came to him in a flash. A bus stop outside this very building. Two masked women. And Cat with her jeans round her thighs and her legs round his waist. A breath of laughter hissed between his teeth. He felt himself hardening at the vivid memory, and tried to concentrate on something less inflammatory. Like the job ahead. “Take off your coat and roll up your sleeve please,” the nurse said efficiently. Ignoring the first part of the instruction, the Magician yanked up his coat sleeve along with the shirt beneath, while checking out the lie of the room. There was a table at the far end, with two seats. The less comfortable, wooden one was clearly intended for the patient. To one side of that, at one of the high windows, lounged an armed police officer, clearly as bored as his colleague in the hall. The nurse had marched off in the other direction, to the cabinets where all her equipment and supplies were kept. Nodding to the police officer, the Magician lowered one hip onto the tabletop, stuck his free hand back in his pocket and waited for the nurse to come back. His body now shielded his hands from the police officer’s view. When the nurse turned back, one small ampoule in her hand, the Magician smiled at her again. It was hard to make it appear genuine when half her face was hidden behind the mask, but he did his best. Again, she looked flummoxed. Watching her hands as she quickly unwrapped the new needle, the Magician saw that he had made her nervous, which was all to the good. “Have you been vaccinated in the last year?” she asked severely. The Magician shook his head. “Do you know,” he said, “I think behind that mask, you must be really pretty.” Her eyes flew up to his. He leaned forward, not enough to be threatening, but enough to let his coat pocket brush against her fingers. Even without the help of the hand inside his pocket, she would probably have fumbled. As it was, it was ridiculously simple for him to palm the ampoule she dropped so clumsily, while at the same time dropping a bottle top on the floor. His eyes held hers easily while he did it. She never saw a thing. Making it appear reluctant, he withdrew his gaze pretending to follow the progress of the supposedly fallen ampoule rolling under the cabinet. “It went under there,” he said, nodding toward it. “I’ll get it for you.” “No, no,” she protested at once, as he’d known she would. He had her far too rattled not to want him out of there as quickly as possible. “Everything all right?” asked the police officer, without much hope of reprieve from his boredom, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Perfectly,” said the nurse coldly. “I’ll get a new one.” Although the Magician was good as gold this time, taking his injection without flinching and making no effort to chat or distract her, he still remembered to smile when he said goodbye. He even winked. ***** Catriona was alone in the bar, sitting at the piano, idly matching her voice with the various keys, occasionally singing a line to herself from the songs she and the Pianist had chosen for the evening.

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Although the pub didn’t open for another half hour, and she wouldn’t be singing for some time after that, she had already changed into the red silk dress. She had been restless all afternoon. All day really, since leaving Ken in the warehouse. Since the Magician had left so suddenly without a word to her. Well, he was a free spirit. He had neither the character nor the necessity to tell her his movements. But Ken had unsettled her, and not just because of what he had to tell about his prison. He reminded her of the life she was in fact so desperate to leave behind. He reminded her too forcefully that their world was not this one. Eventually, angrily, she whacked her finger off two keys together and stood up. “Ouch,” said the Magician’s voice. “Discord!” Whirling round, she found him emerging out of the shadows, walking across the barely lit room toward her. Impetuously, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck before she remembered that she had decided not to cling to him. However, since she was there, and since his arms closed so quickly around her, it seemed she had no choice but to remain. His long, lean body felt like her one haven. And when his mouth sought hers, she thought her happiness was complete. His tongue parted her lips at once, his kiss excitingly urgent, demanding and receiving her instant response. Against her stomach, she felt his delightful hardening and pressed into him. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth, brushing his lips back and forth on hers, flickering his tongue along them. “Good,” she said breathlessly, and he smiled against her mouth before sinking into it once more. Gently, he pushed her backwards, dancing, his hips moving, subtly gyrating against her, sending wild shivers of desire through her. Deepening the kiss, he continued to dance her back until she was halted against the piano keyboard, when he took the opportunity to press further into her. His knee moved between her legs, parting them, so that he could fit his hard erection into the hot, increasingly moist place between. His hands swept up her back to her shoulders, deftly slipping the straps down her arms, so that he could find her breasts. “Stop!” she gasped. “Someone’ll come in…” “No one’ll come in,” he said, breaking the kiss to bend and claim one of her taut, hard nipples with his lips. “The pub’s shut. George and Piano are down in the cellar. They’ll be ages yet. Besides,” he added, pausing to tease the nipple with his tongue, then to roll it between his lips, slowly. That done, he moved to the other, giving it much the same treatment, while his knee moved deliberately up to her crotch. Catriona swallowed. Her body was already consumed by heat. “Besides what?” she managed to ask. His lips smiled against her nipple. Then he straightened. “Besides,” he said softly, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you in that dress.” Before she could prevent it, a moan escaped her lips. Covering it, she got out, “It wouldn’t fit you!” He laughed breathlessly. “Be quiet and take it like a woman,” he advised, tugging up her skirt while his mouth again ravaged hers, his tongue winding around her own in a dance every bit as sensual as the one which had brought them up against the piano. His fingers

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found her pussy covered by the damp cotton of her knickers, stroking, making her moan again. “Wet for me,” he whispered, pushing aside the fabric in his way and pulling down the zip of his jeans. “We can’t,” she protested shakily, but the Magician’s fingers were inside her, making her gasp, proving her wrong. Caressing, they slipped out to smear her own moisture around the already slick folds surrounding her clitoris. “Then make me stop,” he whispered, and kissed her mouth some more while his wicked fingers worked their magic on her pussy. Without meaning to, she pressed into his hand, her own grasping at the piano behind her for support. They keys sounded some awful discord which she barely heard, for with one stroke he slipped his big cock inside her and she moaned aloud for the third time. One hand on his cheek, caressing rather than pushing him away as she had once vaguely intended, the other on the piano keys, she drew him into her. She sighed into his mouth, glorying in the delicious feel of his hard length and thickness. He withdrew it almost completely, only to thrust back in immediately, and this time it was her bottom that sounded the keys. She writhed on his cock, squeezing it between the moist walls of her pussy, desperate now for the astounding fulfillment she knew he could give her so easily. He obliged, pushing into her repeatedly while his tongue danced with hers, thrusting to his own rhythm within her mouth. She held onto his tongue, sucking as the climax began its hectic rise. His cock hammered into her. Desperately, she fucked with him, her buttocks pounding the keys, one hand floundering on them for support while the other held onto his hair, her fingers grasping, opening and closing helplessly as she fell into the total joy of orgasm. “You!” she gasped out incoherently, because she had no name for him. “You…! Through it, she heard his rising growl, felt the wilder throbbing of his cock, as her own orgasm sent him over the edge. His seed erupted inside her, his shout of ultimate pleasure explosive even though muffled in her mouth, and this time it was his hand which thumped the keys, searching for support as his bodily control vanished into climax. The piano creaked in protest. At last, his mouth slack over hers, he closed it softly, briefly on her lips, and straightened to ease his weight off her. “The dress is good,” he said raggedly, and a choke of laughter caught in her throat. “The Pianist will never forgive me for this.” “Or this?” he asked, reaching down with his hand to her pussy once more. Outrageously sensitive as he had just made it, she cried out at once with the sheer sharpness of the pleasure. “Again,” he said, low and breathless, and still with his cock inside her, he began to stir her clitoris back to orgasm, watching her avidly the whole time. It didn’t take long, for the waves had barely receded. Only seconds after the first, she climaxed again for his fingers, hugging his still hard cock inside her pussy. After the power of the last one, the strength of the second took her by surprise, collapsing her forward onto his chest, dizzy almost to the point of unconsciousness as the intense joy crashed over her. He held her close, one hand stroking her hair, the other inside her knickers on one naked bottom cheek.

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Then a voice spoke from the doorway that led to the cellar. “I might have known it was you two,” it said dryly. Catriona snapped her eyes open, pulling back to stare wildly into the Magician’s face. Infuriatingly, he looked as if he was going to laugh. “Sorry, Piano,” he said without noticeable regret. His eyes were still dancing, at once soothing her and inviting her to share the joke. Unobtrusively, he drew up the straps of her dress, and took the time to kiss her lips once before sliding his cock out of her and smoothing down her skirt. It all seemed so casual and subtle that for a moment she thought they might even get away with it, that the Pianist might think they had only been kissing. With just a little groping. The Magician pulled up his zip, twitching his eyebrows at her and she felt the crazy laughter rise up again. But when she tried to draw herself out of his arms, her legs shook so much that she thought she would fall over if she tried to walk on them. Worse, his semen trickled down her thighs. Speed in this case being the better part of discretion, she muttered incoherently about washing her face before the show and bolted ignominiously for the toilet door. Behind her, she heard the Pianist complaining, “If you’ve broken my piano, Magic, you’re dead! Can’t you leave the lassie alone till you get her home?” Catriona shut the door and shoved her burning face under the tap. ***** When the Hacker arrived at the pub, it had only just opened, but he found the Magician already there, sitting with the Pianist at the table nearest the piano, deep in talk. They both nodded to him as he slid into the spare chair, and the Magician said, “How’s the great man?” The Hacker shrugged. “Recovering, I suspect. I know he’s had a bad week and I expect it takes time to get used to us, but between you and me he’s an irritating bastard. I can’t imagine him as Cat’s husband.” “Magic has the same problem,” the Pianist remarked. “So where is he?” “Back at the warehouse. Tattoos will bring him along later. If he hasn’t murdered him first. Hi Cat,” he added, as the girl emerged from the toilet and walked toward their table. She looked incredibly pretty in the red silk dress, her eyes sparkling, the delicate color in her cheeks visibly heightened, even in the bar’s gloomy light. Ruefully, the Hacker acknowledged what his friend saw in her. What the rest of them did too, even rough old Piano. The Magician hooked a foot round one of the chairs at the next table and dragged it over next to himself for her. As she sat, exchanging quick, oddly conspiratorial smiles, the Magician put up his hand quite naturally to her cheek in a brief, intimate caress. The Hacker had never seen him so demonstrative with a girl before, and the knowledge sat in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight. “So, ask me where I’ve been all day,” the Magician invited, and the Hacker realized that the perceptive dark eyes had turned on him. Hastily, he smoothed his face of as much expression as possible, before saying obediently, “Where have you been all day, Magic?” “I went to the clinic and got vaccinated.”

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The Hacker stared at him. Vaguely, he was aware that the statement had drawn much the same reaction from the others. “What the hell for? You haven’t been for ten years! Why now when we know the damned thing’s useless?” “Proof,” said the Magician, setting a small ampoule on the table in front of himself. It appeared to be full and unopened. The Hacker’s breath caught. No one asked what it was. Instead, the Hacker said, “How did you get that?” “Palmed it,” said the Magician briefly. Cat said slowly, “To replace the proof the Hacker has just wiped from his computer.” The Magician smiled dazzlingly upon her. “We used that up on Ken. Now that we know they’ll play, we can trade this for antibiotics.” Cat opened her mouth, as if about to protest, then shut it again. It was the Pianist who said, “Nice one, Magic!” But the Magician’s eyes were still on the girl, waiting, the Hacker knew, for her approval. “What?” he said at last. “Don’t you think it’ll work?” Cat smiled, a little anxiously. “I don’t know. They’re wise to us now.” Us. She took an audible breath. “Also… Every time we do something like this, we become more important to them. They’ll start looking for you properly. Selkirk’s already out for blood, and no one crosses my mother—my parents—with impunity.” “Will they protect you?” asked the Magician seriously. “Probably. Up to a point. Although I don’t think Selkirk cares very much whose daughter I am. Besides, any protection I have will definitely not extend to the rest of you. My association with you is just another reason to—er—get you.” “We need the antibiotics.” “I know.” She frowned, quite heavily for several seconds while everyone waited expectantly. Curious, thought the Hacker, how they had all come to trust her in a week. “Yes, you have to do it,” she said at last. “Only, be prepared for a trap, for a doublecross this time. My parents won’t just lie back and be blackmailed.” The Pianist stood up. “Sensible words,” he approved. “Time to tune the piano.” Here he glared for some reason at the Magician, who only smiled beatifically back at him. Cat shifted in her seat towards the Hacker. He noticed her color was up again, though she said only, “How’s Ken? Is he coming here?” While the Hacker filled her in, the bar began to fill up with people, many of whom had been drawn by Cat’s previous performances or by reports of them, and before long, she went to join the Pianist and began her set.

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Chapter Thirteen By the time they took him to the pub, Ken had gotten over most of his fear of disease, though not his distaste for these weird, often painted people with their odd speech and complete lack of respect for either Authority or himself. It was the tattooed thug with the shaven head and the girl-clown who took him. “You’re not going in like that are you?” Ken said to the latter as she opened the pub door still dressed and painted in her performing costume. “’Course,” she said, staring at him. Ken shrugged and followed her. The first thing he noticed about the pub was its horrible, airless overcrowding. In the Low Risk Zone, you never came close enough to anyone to rub elbows unless you chose to, but here there were bodies everywhere, dirty and smelly for the most part. The stench of stale, probably bad alcohol assailed his nostrils immediately. Oddly enough, apart from a low background hum, there was very little noise from such a large, boisterous-looking crowd. The sound that filled Ken’s ears was a surprisingly sweet voice singing “Blue Skies,” a song Catriona used to like. As he blinked through the gloom, his mouth fell open. The figure singing by the piano was Catriona. Wearing an incredibly sexy red dress, low cut across her breasts and clinging deliciously to all the curves he’d forgotten she had, she looked perfectly at ease in this awful place, singing her heart out as if it was the New Theatre. “Good God,” he uttered, because he couldn’t stop the astonished words from spilling out. “Amazing, isn’t she?” the tattooed man murmured in his ear, making him jump by the sheer closeness. “Come on, over here.” The man was actually pushing him across the crowded barroom in Catriona’s direction. And in fact, the clown-girl was already sitting down at the table nearest the piano, beside the thin young man they called the Hacker and the one in leathers who had driven him from the castle on his motor bike. At this point, Catriona finished her song to tumultuous applause. These people really liked her. Not surprising, he reflected. They could have precious little in the way of entertainment here. Catriona was bowing gracefully, smiling with disarming delight at the audience’s reaction. Somehow, that shocked Ken even more. She actually valued their approval. As she rose from her bow, her eyes finally landed on him. Her smile was hardly instantaneous, but then she would know almost exactly what he was thinking. Someone, probably he of the tattoos, pushed him down into a chair and Catriona began to sing again, another of those old jazz songs she had hunted down and played to distraction when they were students. And when they were first married, he recalled. This was a sadder song, about a woman welcoming back her straying lover. As he realized it, Ken’s heart began to beat unexpectedly faster. Could this song be aimed at him? If he left Marissa for her…? “Where’s Magic?” The man with the tattoos was saying low voiced across the table to the Hacker. “Not here yet?” In response, the Hacker only jerked his head in the direction of the bar. Following the gesture with his eyes, Ken saw the man in the long black coat. Catriona called him the

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Magician, and he appeared to have organized things this morning, although he’d disappeared quickly enough after the humiliating search he’d initiated. Now he leaned one elbow on the bar, twisted round to watch Catriona singing. “Of course he is,” the tattooed man agreed. “Where there’s Cat, there’s Magic!” The Hacker smiled a trifle sourly. Some of the others laughed, although the clowngirl shushed them. Ken found himself frowning. “What do you mean?” he asked Tattoos. “Use your imagination, man!” was the rude response. “Are you saying that man is—chasing Catriona?” Tattoos grinned. “Aye, that’ll be right. Chasing her.” Ken looked again at the young man in question. Tattered, rough as hell and clearly ignorant. Smirking he said, “Put him out of his misery. He’ll never catch her.” As he spoke, his eyes moved on to his wife, and were shocked again. Her gaze was surely on the man lounging against the bar. And she was singing the words to him. “Hush now, don’t explain “You’re my joy and pain. “I’m glad you’re back “Don’t explain…” A technique, Ken told himself numbly. She had picked a punter to sing to. But why that one? Just because she knew him? Ken supposed he was good looking in a tough sort of a way, but surely she was not attracted to that? Gradually, he became aware of the behavior of his companions. The tattooed man grinned openly, while the clown-girl kicked him under the table. The Hacker and the Biker were exchanging sardonic if singularly knowing smiles. “From what I hear, the chasing’s done,” Tattoos remarked, standing up. “I’m going for a drink. What do you want?” Blinking at the abrupt change of subject, Ken latched tenaciously on to the first statement. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “I mean what do you drink? The beer’s piss but George makes his own killer poteen.” “What are you implying about my wife and that man?” Ken interrupted. Tattoos sighed. He met Ken’s gaze without compassion. He said deliberately, “He’s fucking her.” And walked off toward the bar. Stunned, Ken gazed after him, watched him go up to the man in the long coat and clap him on the back to get his attention. The taller man spoke, but didn’t take his eyes off the singer. Catriona, Ken’s wife. “Right or wrong don’t matter “If you’re with me still…” The Hacker was speaking now, not vindictively, but hardly apologetically either. “Don’t look like that, mate. What’s sauce for the goose…” With an effort, Ken brought his angry gaze back to the thin man. “Do you people know all of our private business?” The Hacker shrugged. “Only what we needed to know to find you.” Understanding began to dawn. “So that was his price? She went to him, to you people, to find me, and now she has to pay?”

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Suddenly, the Hacker’s eyes were glacial. He said contemptuously, “She doesn’t look to me as if she’s paying.” And involuntarily, Ken looked again towards his wife. Instead, he found the tall man in the long coat blocking his view. A cloudy beer glass was plonked down in front of him, and the Magician pulled up a chair between him and the Hacker. Bemused by what he was hearing, and by his own fierce reaction to it, Ken blindly picked up the glass and drank. Almost immediately he spat it out, over the Magician’s boots, he saw with some satisfaction. “That’s foul!” he exclaimed. “So I’m told,” said the Magician, not even bothering to move his foot, let alone clean his spattered boot. “But then we only get what you guys have pissed out, so what do you expect?” Wild cheering broke out again, making it impossible for Ken to reply. Catriona took her bow, smiling and actually hugging the monstrous little one-eyed pianist before clapping her hands back to the audience, and finally, stepping down from the little dais to join them. “Hello Ken,” she said brightly, her eyes still shining from the uneducated applause of a pub full of drunken criminals and street performers. Wordlessly, the Hacker moved his chair, dragging another in for her beside the Magician. Annoyance cut through Ken like a knife. She was his wife; she should sit by him! Hell, she had rescued him! “Cat, you get better and better!” the clown-girl said warmly, as if she would know good music if it had a label on it. “Sleazier and sleazier,” said a new voice, and Ken saw another girl, wickedly madeup—hadn’t she been there this morning too?—pausing behind Catriona’s chair. Catriona turned and the girl lifted her glass to her, smiling very faintly. Catriona’s smile was warmer as she lifted her own glass in response. “Thanks, Angel.” “So,” Ken said, determinedly returning to the Magician. “What’s this I’m hearing about you fucking my wife?” “Ken,” Catriona said despairingly. The Magician at least did him the courtesy of meeting his gaze. But it couldn’t be said that he looked either embarrassed or apologetic. In Ken’s world, it was customary to at least feign fear when confronted by an irate husband, but this character looked as if he didn’t even understand the words. Suddenly Ken was sure once more that the rumor was a lie, malicious or otherwise. The Magician said, “I don’t know what you hear.” “Is it true?” Ken challenged. In his own world, he was not known for backing down, nor for letting his victims go, and he felt only superiority over this ignorant thug. The Magician just looked at him, without speaking. His face didn’t give much away, but abruptly Ken was sure he understood everything perfectly. “Well?” he snapped. “Stop it Ken!” Catriona interrupted. “If you want short answers, yes it’s true. Now shut up about it or go away!” Floored by this blatant admission, Ken felt the blood drain from his face. Anger followed quickly, anger against Catriona for so lowering herself, whatever the reasons and

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provocation, anger against the man who had dared to touch his wife. Well, it wouldn’t happen again, not if he could help it. “Well, well,” he drawled, “now you do surprise me. I’d have thought a good looking young guy like you would’ve had plenty of girls to chose from.” Still the Magician didn’t speak, just looked, and again it was Catriona who warned, “Ken, leave it alone.” “Why?” he asked, genuinely amused. “Do you think he’s going to fight me for you? Sweetheart, he’ll be gone by the end of the week! I’m only surprised if it’s happened more than once!” It was an old technique, splitting an uneasy alliance by unexpectedly supporting the weaker partner, and Ken found it ferociously enjoyable here. Catriona’s eyes closed at his words, her face blanching. Well, what had the silly girl imagined? That the thug was in love with her? Turning to the Magician, he furthered his new alliance. “Don’t feel bad about it. I for one understand completely. She’s lovely to look at, all over as I well know, being married to her for five years! But she just hasn’t got it in the bedroom, has she? All the right equipment, you might say, but no real idea what to do with it!” Ken was aware of the silence around him, though he hardly felt threatened by it. In fact, he felt triumphant, for Catriona’s white face was suddenly agonized. The Magician continued to look at him, though, unmoving, unblinking. As Ken met the dark eyes once more, he realized they were surprisingly hard, almost—icy, and for the first time he felt an inexplicable tingle of fear. Finally, the man’s lips moved. “Arse,” he uttered, with such complete contempt that Ken could hardly miss it. Angry heat flooded into Ken’s face, fanned almost to flame by his total astonishment. He got to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over, but still the Magician sat there, his eyes simply following Ken’s upwards. “Christ!” Ken exploded. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Suddenly a tattooed arm snaked around his neck from behind, and Tattoos’ guttural voice said, “He’s the man who got you out of prison, dickhead, so sit down and say thank you.” Ken sat, more abruptly than he had intended, since Tattoos helped the process along with an ungentle shove. Physical threat hovered ominously in the air, reminding Ken only too well of his fear in the castle. He realized now that it had always been here too. These people lived by violence, surrounded by violence. He had always known that. Yet he had allowed his anger, his jealousy, to blind him. His hands trembled as he said bitterly, “Thanks! Out of the frying pan and into the bloody fire!” His gaze found Catriona, his only possible ally all along, the only one who could possibly understand. “How the hell are we supposed to get home from here?” Her mortified eyes widened, changing expression at once. “Get home? Is that what you want to do?” “Don’t you?” She stared at him. For at least a moment, Ken felt at last that the others were cut out, although he had no idea what was going through her head. It was simply beyond his comprehension that she might want to stay.

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She said bleakly, “What for?” And Ken actually laughed. “Because it’s real.” ***** They left the pub in a big huddle, Catriona, the Magician, the Hacker, Tattoos, the Clown, the Biker and Ken. “Ken,” Catriona said as civilly as she could manage. “The Biker says he’ll take you back to the warehouse. I’ll come in the morning so we can talk about what to do.” Ken looked sullen. “So where are you going, if not to the warehouse? With him?” His head jerked contemptuously to where the Magician was talking urgently with a complete stranger. The Magician seemed to be questioning him. “Yes,” Catriona said, lifting her head. “With him.” And she found more pride in that statement than there had ever been in her entire marriage to Ken. The Magician whirled round. “I’ve got to go, Cat. Hacker?” The Hacker, appearing to understand, nodded mutely, but the Magician was already running down the road, his long coat flying out behind him. “See?” said Ken. Catriona ignored him. She tore down the hill after the Magician, calling out, “Wait!” Never had she found it so frustrating to have no name for him. It seemed somehow impossible to call him “Magician” or even “Magic” like his friends did. However, apparently he heard her, for his pounding feet slowed and he turned to look. An instant later, he was striding back to meet her. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Sorry,” he apologized, putting his arms round her in a quick hug. “I’m not used to responsibility! I’ve just found out where Rammer and Janie are—my flatmates, wrecked on Mist. I’ve got to go and get them back before they kill themselves. I’ll explain it all to you later.” “Alright.” She stood back at once, strangely stricken by his remark about responsibility. It was the last thing she wanted to be to him. Immediately, he followed, taking her back into his arms and kissing her mouth thoroughly enough to take her mind off any doubts. Then, breaking the kiss with a groan, he said, “I’ve got to go, Cat. Wait for me at home. The Hacker will go with you.” Smiling now, she stepped back once more. “Go on then. I’ll keep your bed warm. Only, please tell me what your name is?” Already turning away from her, he paused, regarding her quizzically. “My name? What for? It was given by my parents and doesn’t mean anything anymore.” “I have to call you something. You just doesn’t cut it for me.” Remembering, his grin was briefly wicked. Then, while it died on his lips, he said, “David.” “David?” she repeated, peculiarly surprised for some reason. His eyebrow twitched once. “What did you expect? Harry Houdini?” She laughed, and began to retrace her steps toward the pub, suddenly ridiculously happy, even though he wouldn’t be with her for a while. But this time it was he who called her back.

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“Cat?” She glanced back over her shoulder. He said clearly, “You really are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.” Warmth flooded through her. She said, “I love you.” But she spoke it to the air, because he was already running on down the hill, his coat flying out behind him once more.

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Chapter Fourteen When Catriona and the Magician arrived at Ken’s warehouse next morning, he didn’t look pleased to see them. Ruefully, Catriona knew they must look exhausted, as if they were advertising their recent night of passion. If only. The Magician’s flat had changed beyond recognition. No longer the quiet place she could wander comfortably around wrapped only in a towel, although everybody else did, it had become a center of noisy music, hectic laughter and angry recrimination all rolled into one. The reason, of course, was the return of the Magician’s flatmates, Rammer and Janie. She had been in bed when they came in last night, laughing loudly and clattering about in the hall until the living room door was closed on them, mercifully muffling the racket. Catriona sat up slowly and switched on the battered lamp at the bedside. While she was still wondering whether to go in and say hello, or wait until the morning, the bedroom door opened and the Magician came in. “Found them,” he said unnecessarily, sitting on the side of the bed. Something about the way he held his taut body screamed excitement, and it wasn’t just sexual, although his glittering gaze was all over her shoulders and the parts of her breasts left visible by the quilt. Deliberately, she moved, so that it fell a little further, and his eyes followed that too. She said innocently, “Are they all right? It must have been quite a bender.” “It was,” he agreed, bringing his eyes reluctantly back up to her face. “And I don’t know yet if they’re all right. I think they will be. And I’ve just figured something else out too.” “What?” His hand reached out, gently tugging the quilt further down yet, so that all her breasts were revealed. Under his gaze, she felt her nipples hardening, and from his smile, he saw it too. “I’m cold,” she said with dignity, although she made no effort to cover herself. “So what great matter did you figure out?” “Why they—your parents, the Authority—are so desperate to keep us quiet. Why they seem to need the Old Town so much. It never made sense to me. Why do they need to control us with fear of disease and false vaccines? What can we possibly be giving them that is so important? And then, when I saw Rammer and Janie, just lying there in a room full of strangers who’d knife them for the price of a fix, a complete mess after spending and swallowing everything they ever had, it came to me. They—D.C. Vacs—don’t just create Mist by accident. It’s not a byproduct we acquire through some black market. They’re deliberately manufacturing it and supplying it.” For a time, from instinct, she had refused to believe that her parents could possibly be involved in anything so dreadful. Yet was it really any worse than withholding medicine that could keep people like the Hacker alive? One was as immoral as the other, and the Magician was right. There was a terrible logic to it, and she couldn’t discount the possibility. It at once shamed and outraged her that what had begun as a desperate means of controlling the epidemic—the isolation of the high risk portion of the population—should have turned into a ruthless exploitation. And people like her were complicit simply through their own willful ignorance.

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Seeing her real distress, the Magician had begun to comfort her in the best way he knew, with arousing lips and hands, when the door again flew open and a girl with long, bright orange hair had fallen in. “So you’re Cat,” she said, staring at her through grotesquely dilated pupils. She sniffed. “You’d better be good enough for him.” “Janie, go away.” “And I don’t just mean in bed, though that’s important too. I suppose you’re beautiful enough. Hey Rammer! Come and see Cat! She’s…” Resignedly, the Magician stood up, considerately pulling up the quilt to cover the parts of her his body had just vacated. “Come on, we’ll go and get coffee. Cat? Want some?” And so, another extraordinary night was spent with him, short on passion but long on learning as Cat watched the harrowing effects of withdrawal and its accompanying mood swings. At one point, Rammer, a pasty youth even thinner than the Hacker, had asked her to sing, and when she just smiled, he demanded, “Magic, make her sing!” And so she had, hastily, the first song that came into her head. Oddly, it had seemed to soothe the suffering pair until they fell into uneasy sleep on the living room floor. Catriona and the Magician had covered them up with the quilt from the spare room, and gone to his bedroom to watch dawn break across the Old Town. And now they were here, to take their turn of Ken watching. Eyeing the Magician with dislike, Ken said, “What are you here for? As chaperone?” “Don’t try and rile him,” Catriona advised. “He’s here to try and get you home, if that’s what you want.” “Brought his magic wand, has he?” “Never travel without it,” the Magician said, strolling across the room to speak to the Biker. A moment later, the Hacker and the Clown arrived, the latter still breathless from her morning act. “So then, Magic!” she called. “What’s the big plan?” The Magician looked at her, one arm stretched out before him, his finger and thumb miming the act of holding something. A moment later, the ampoule he had stolen seemed to materialize in his hand. “This so-called vaccine in return for the TB drugs.” “I thought Cat was going to get us those,” the Clown observed. “Well, she can’t now, can she? Now, they bring the antibiotics, we hand over this and throw Ken in as a bonus.” “They’ll just stick him back in prison,” the Hacker objected, while Ken looked from one to the other, for once following their conversation intently. It seemed he had finally realized his position here, and how these people were affecting his life. “Well, they might,” the Magician agreed. “Which is why Ken has to decide how far he’s prepared to toe the line. After all, that’s all they wanted from him. He’s still one of theirs. So, Ken, if you went back, would you keep quiet about the vaccine?” Ken drew his breath in with a shudder. Catriona saw him actually thinking about it. Then he sank down in the armchair, saying, “I can’t. Even now I’ve met you, I can’t. It isn’t right and I won’t pretend it is.”

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Involuntarily, Catriona smiled. She felt pride in him, and was oddly glad to, because it justified all those years of her life she had spent on him. Quickly now, she knelt down in front of him. “Good for you,” she said warmly, and he gave her a glance that was both surprised and full of hope. “But what,” she went on hastily, not wanting to think about his false aspirations right now, “what if you signed something, some legal document, stating exactly what your position is, what you were and were not prepared to do? You could agree not to publish the information, even not to talk about it outside the company for the time being. You and I can work out the exact wording. Of course, their own lawyers will pick it apart, but we can make it convincing enough, so that you can still be—passively informative if you like. You don’t need to give the information away. In your position, you just need to not suppress it. Do you see what I mean?” From his eyes, the flash of hope and cunning and calculation, she knew he saw exactly. However, he warned, “Don’t put me in the position of their mole, Catriona. I’m not. I don’t want to pull down the walls of the Old Town. It would bring political and economic chaos. There’s a hell of a lot of mouths to feed, and no law, no control, and if that spread outwards….” “All right, Ken, you don’t need to preach to me. Just remember that their law, their education and their rights to health were taken away when they were herded in here and isolated. And if you and I personally didn’t do it, we’ve done nothing to make it better either. You can help make it better, slowly, since that’s your way. And one day, Ken, if you play it right, you’ll be in charge of D.C. Vacs, not my parents… Then you’ll have the chance to try things your way.” Ken stroked his unshaven chin. At last, while everyone watched him, he said, “Would your parents buy that? Would Selkirk?” “I think so. We can only ask.” “How?” “E-mail, of course,” said the Hacker. Leaving Ken to write down some notes for Catriona to work with, the others moved out of his way to discuss the rest of the plan. “Cat thinks they’ll spring some kind of trap if they agree to this,” the Magician said, “so we’ll have to involve everybody, be prepared to fight back if they try to arrest us, or swan off with the drugs once they’ve got the vaccine sample.” “Better pick a spot carefully then,” said the Clown. “Far enough into the Old Town that we have the advantage, and the cover.” The Magician nodded. “I’ve got a few places in mind. I’ll check them out and then come round to yours, Hack, to send that e-mail. Cat, will you be all right with him?” “Sure,” Catriona said. “He’ll be a pussy cat now he knows he’s got the chance of going home.” In fact, Ken was, mostly, good as gold while they composed his legal statement—even if he refused to drink “the muck they call coffee” and insisted on drinking boiled water instead.

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Only at the end, as they both bent over the piece of paper, heads close together to read, did she feel his head slowly turn and his eyes burn into her face. Deliberately, she kept reading. “Catriona?” “Yes?” she said discouragingly. “Are you coming back with me?” She shook her head. “No. If I choose to come back it will be on my own terms and in my own time.” “Are these not your terms? You thought them up. We could do this together.” At last, although she didn’t want to get into this right now, she straightened up and looked him full in the eye. “Ken, we both know it’s over between us. It has been for a long time, even before you slept with Marissa. Who, incidentally is worried sick about you.” To her surprise, he brushed that aside with a quick wave of one hand, as if Marissa’s pain, Marissa’s love, was suddenly of no consequence. And that after he had risked his career to be with her. “I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about you. Can’t we start again, Catriona?” She shook her head, a little sadly. “No, Ken. It’s much too late for that.” “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. “Didn’t you come here first, start singing in that awful pub, just to annoy me, to get my attention? Didn’t you start sleeping with your oafish Magician to get me back?” At that, she couldn’t help smiling. He had got it so hopelessly wrong, and so predictably Ken-oriented, that she wanted to laugh. “No, Ken. I won’t deny I was hurt, terribly hurt, when you took up with Marissa, but I came here because I was bored, if you want the truth. I needed something else in my life, a little excitement, a chance to do something I wanted to. So I sang. And I loved it. As for the Magician, the reasons I sleep with him are none of your business. But they have nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him.” He didn’t like that at all. His lips twisted unpleasantly. “Why, because you fancied a bit of rough? I can be rough!” Unexpectedly, he grabbed her chin painfully in his fingers, forcing his mouth onto hers while his other hand closed hard over her breast, squeezing. Just for an instant, she was taken by surprise. But the lips that had once been so familiar now revolted her. His hold was more akin to the attack of the Old Town youths that the Magician had scared off, than a lover’s caress. Worse than anything, he clearly thought all he had to do was touch her again, any old how, and she would be won over, taken clean away from the man who had come so quickly to mean more to her than life itself. Her anger rose faster than Ken’s desire. Swinging one arm up forcefully between them, she broke his hold and yanked her mouth free, backing a foot away from him before she spoke. Then, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she said coldly, “Don’t touch me again, Ken. I mean it.” “And if I do?” he mocked. “For your own sake, I wouldn’t.” She stared at him, then warned, “Don’t underestimate me, Ken. Or the Magician. He doesn’t live by your rules.”

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Ken continued to stare back at her, but she thought she had finally got through to him by hinting at the criminality, the sheer violence that lurked just below the surface of even the most civilized aspects of the Old Town. More quietly now, she added, “And Ken. You only want me back now because you see someone else wants me too. We’re not right for each other. We never were.” “And he is right for you?” Ken almost snarled. “For now,” she said calmly, while in her heart, the words for ever wound their way around and hugged. ***** Leaving Ken sitting warily watching Tattoos and the Pianist, Catriona made her way to the Grassmarket. There, she paused to buy some bread and cheese and a slightly tired lettuce from the stalls, and took the lot up to the Hacker’s flat to share. The Magician was already there, leaning over the computer with his friend, while the lovers normally only seen on the living room sofa stood looking over the Hacker’s head. Glancing up, the Magician smiled at her at once. Catriona, covering the ridiculous leaping of her heart in response, said, “I brought lunch.” “Bring it on!” cheered the girl, Allie, and they sat around in the Hacker’s bedroom, munching bread and cheese, drinking the awful coffee that had almost begun to taste palatable to Catriona, and deciding exactly how to word the e-mail to Irene Davidson. “You’re sure they won’t be able to trace it?” Catriona said nervously. “Hey, I jammed the registration computers for an hour, didn’t I? Compared with that, this a piece of piss.” “Elegantly, phrased, Hacker,” Catriona approved, and he grinned before pausing to cough again. “So where has it to be?” The Magician explained, “Near the Cowgate, there’s a sort of bridge in the road from where you can look down on to the narrow street below. We’ll arrange the meeting for the lower street, just before the bridge. We can hide people above till we need them. And there will be others inside the buildings who’ll probably join in whether or not we ask them to.” An hour later, the message sent into the ether, Catriona left to meet the Pianist at the pub where she was doing her normal spot this evening. The Magician caught up with her at the front door. “Cat?” Her foot already on the first step down, she glanced back. “What?” “Just this,” he said, pulling her back up and into his arms for a very long and thorough kiss. Ignoring the footsteps coming up the stairs towards them, Catriona returned the embrace with fervor, sliding her arms inside his coat to feel the warmth of his hard body. The Magician put both hands on her bottom cheeks, the more easily to grind his growing hardon against her abdomen. The footsteps paused. A girl’s voice enquired, “Any point in ‘Excuse me’?” Disappointingly, the Magician broke the delicious kiss, his arms loosening slightly. “Angel,” he said. The name broke through the pleasant haze of desire into which Catriona had fast been sinking. Gently, but determinedly, she extricated herself from the Magician’s hold. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

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The Magician smiled, accepting his dismissal graciously. He went back inside the flat while Catriona stood aside to let Angel pass. “Are you going in?” she asked. After all, she had no idea who else lived in this building. “Yeah. Collecting Hacker so we can go and babysit that husband of yours.” “Thanks,” Catriona offered as the girl brushed past her. Indecisively, she watched Angel step over the threshold and take hold of the door to close it on her. Then, finally deciding it was best to clear the air once and for all, she blurted, “Angel?” As if expecting something of the sort, the younger girl paused, her gaze lifting towards the ceiling. “Stop, Cat,” she said roughly. “I don’t do the sisterhood thing. Just give me some space.” Abruptly, she turned on Catriona. “Look, I know you’re probably OK. After all twice now, you let him go when you saw me instead of flaunting him in front of me. Which is what I would have done to you. I know you haven’t stolen him from me. He was never mine in the first place, not in any way that matters, so sleep easy for God’s sake. I won’t knife you.” “I’ll settle for that,” Catriona said ruefully. “And I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m really not.” Angel’s smile was slightly twisted. “Nah. I wouldn’t be either. He’s got something, has Magic. Sexy bastard, isn’t he?” She spoke with conscious bravado, her spirit so determinedly undaunted, that a plan began to form in Catriona’s mind. “Angel. Tomorrow morning, would you do me a favor?” To her surprise, the girl listened. And when she finished, Angel actually grinned. There was even a glint of admiration in her eye. “All right,” she shrugged. “No worries. See ya, Cat.” The girl sauntered nonchalantly on into the flat, as if she didn’t care, either about the favor or about the Magician. Yet for some reason, Cat knew far more compassion for her in that moment than she had earlier felt for her husband. ***** Dot arrived in the pub, before Catriona was due on, embracing her enthusiastically, until, over her shoulder she caught sight of Ken. “Hi, face-ache,” she greeted him, causing Ken’s lip to curl. “I might have known you were involved in this. I suppose it was you who introduced Catriona to this…” “Mind your manners, Ken,” Dot mocked. “You’re not in the Board Room here, and nobody cares who you’re married to. Cat, where’s the Hacker?” “Tied to his computer, waiting for mail.” Dragging Dot off to the toilets, which served as her changing room, Catriona filled her in on the Magician’s plans, and her own. By the end, Dot whistled admiringly. “Looks like you and the Magician are stirring things right up! In more ways than one!” “What do you mean?” Catriona said, blushing as she emerged from her cubicle in the red silk dress. “Oh come off it, you must know it’s all over the Old Town.” “What is?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

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“You and Magic! He’s not exactly an inconspicuous figure round here, Cat, you must have noticed that. And his romance with you is definitely the talk of the town. If they had newspapers, it would be Magician Tamed at Last in banner headlines, or Where There’s Cat There’s Magic or Singing Sensation Keeps Magician Off the Streets!” “Stop it, Dot,” she whispered in sudden pain, twisting away to wash her hands with unnecessary vigor. “Why, what’s the matter?” Dot asked, frowning. She came and hauled herself up to sit on the rickety basin facing Catriona. “You’re not telling me it’s over?” Catriona dashed one hand over her eyes, shaking her head impatiently. “And you’re not pretending he’s not special to you…?” “Oh he is, he is,” she whispered, as the silly tears began again. Giving in, she grabbed the tattered towel that was at least still clean, and wiped her face with it. “It’s just that… it’s just… I don’t want to change him, Dot! I don’t want to tame him, or keep him off the streets. And I know he hasn’t been out doing his thing yesterday or today, but that’s not just my fault… I don’t want to be a—a responsibility!” She said the last word with such loathing that in spite of herself, Dot smiled. “Catriona, it comes with the territory. You look after each other.” That struck a chord. Looking rather blearily up at Dot, she said, “I suppose.” “Exactly,” Dot said bracingly. “After all, you’d save him, wouldn’t you?” Save him, die for him, leave for him. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I would.” “Then, cheer up and come and sing.” “All right.” Splashing a last dash of water on her face, she dried it again, striving for normality with a teasing question of her own. “Anyway, what about you and the Hacker?” “What about us?” Dot said sourly. “How is your romance?” “Non-existent.” Surprised, Catriona looked at her more closely. “I thought you liked him.” “I did. That is, I do, just not in that way. We’re friends. All right!” she exclaimed as Catriona’s eyebrows rose skeptically, “I won’t deny I used to fancy him, but since it was a definite loser, I got over it!” “How a loser?” “Catriona, use your eyes,” Dot pleaded. “If the Hacker’s in love with anyone, it’s with your Magician! He’s gay!” ***** Catriona saw the Hacker come into the bar while she was singing. With Dot’s revelation still at the forefront of her mind, she watched him approach the Magician, not touching him, but sitting beside him, talking urgently. The Magician grinned, so that she could almost see the tattooed fish crinkling beside his eye. Watching them together, talking, with all the intimacy of old friends as well as the excitement of the plans being hatched, she thought that if the Hacker did have other feelings, they were definitely unspoken, even unacknowledged. The Hacker simply lived with his daily pain, as she might well have to do herself.

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When the set finished, instead of waiting for her to come to the table as he usually did, the Magician came to meet her, slipping one arm quickly round her waist. “The Hacker got a mail from your old Mum. We’re on. Tomorrow morning, first light.” Although she had already guessed it, she felt her breath catch. This was it, the breaking point. One way or another. He said in her ear, “Can we go home now? I want to make love to you.” Her body flamed its instant response, setting every nerve end tingling. Striving for sense, she said, “Dot has to witness Ken’s signature. None of us will do.” “Taken care of. Shall we go?” “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

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Chapter Fifteen When the door bell rang, Irene Davidson was pacing the floor. “At last,” she muttered, moving quickly out of her large living room and heading across the vast open hall to the front door. Her heels tapped efficiently on the parquet floor as she moved, for Irene was not a woman who ever wore slippers, even in the privacy of her own home. She felt no hesitation about opening the door herself, for although it was so late, she knew exactly who was on the other side of it. Her security people wouldn’t have let anyone else get so far. Her chief emotion was, in fact, irritation, because it had taken him so long to get here. She wanted the matter sorted out tonight so that she could get some sleep and see her plans carried out properly tomorrow. But it seemed that the night was not one destined to follow her plans. First there had been the insolent, blackmailing e-mail purporting to come from Catriona, and now, when she had summoned Martin Selkirk to give him her orders for dealing with the crisis, he did not come alone as he should. He had a younger man with him, a tallish, fair nobody in a leather jacket and no tie. Irene’s swift assessment was not malicious. She had reason to know everybody who was anybody in this city as well as in several others, and the fair young man had never previously crossed her path. Irritation mounted. She stared glacially at Selkirk. “It’s not a conference, Martin. Can’t your man wait in the car?” Selkirk’s thin lips didn’t smile either. “No, he’s important at this point.” Irene turned away from the door before he finished speaking, the fact that she left it open being the only invitation she offered. Behind her, she heard Selkirk smoothly closing the door while saying sardonically, “Mrs. Davidson, Inspector Cameron.” And the unwelcome Inspector’s brief and neutral, “Good evening, Mrs. Davidson.” Irene led the way back into the living room. As usual, Selkirk sat before being invited. His minion didn’t, though Irene was vaguely aware of him looking around without embarrassment, taking in the size and tasteful splendor of the room, from the luxuriant gold curtains and thick pile Eastern rugs scattered on her highly polished wooden floor, to the distinctive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. At this point, she knew Charles would have offered the two men refreshment of some kind, whiskey or tea, but Charles was not here. He was in London, discussing the final points of the merger that would bring D.C. Vacs so many benefits. Irene had to deal with this fresh crisis alone. It was a long time since she had done anything very important without Charles, but despite her irritation with Selkirk, a man who usually managed to annoy her somehow, she found the challenge oddly exhilarating. And since they were doing things her way, she offered the men nothing, simply turning to face them in front of the decorative fireplace. “You did understand what I said on the phone, Martin?” she began. “Of course. But we have some new information that would appear to be pertinent…” “Such as?” she interrupted. “Such as the location of your daughter,” Selkirk drawled.

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That held her. “Catriona?” she frowned. “She’s with those anarchists who’re trying to blackmail me. If you know where they are, have you arrested them?” “It’s not quite so simple,” Selkirk said, the apology in his tone, clearly insincere. Irene began to suspect that he was enjoying this and felt the first twinge of alarm. “Why not?” she said frostily. “You run the police department don’t you?” Selkirk sighed. “Have you ever been to the Old Town, Mrs. Davidson?” Thrown again by the change of subject, Irene resorted to ridicule. Casting her eyes up to heaven as though praying for the patience to deal with such a fool, she answered, “No. At least not for thirty years. I’m low risk, remember? Why?” “Well, I have. I pass through periodically. So does Cameron here. Cameron, by the way, is something of an expert in finding missing persons, so I put him in charge of finding your daughter when she first went missing.” Irene’s interest was too strong now, effectively drowning her irritation. Her gaze swung to Cameron for the first time. He didn’t look much, but at least there was a glimmer of intelligence in his eyes. However, he didn’t speak. Selkirk still held the floor. “I didn’t stop him when Catriona turned up safe and well at your dinner party. On the contrary, I gave him a description of the people with her. Now, like you I had thought they were dressed as they were as a disguise. It was Cameron who guessed the truth, that they were—are—in fact, residents of the Old Town.” Irene’s heart thudded once, so loudly that she thought they must hear it, so heavily that it constricted her breathing. “High riskers?” she breathed. “Catriona was with high riskers? She actually brought these people into my house? But they can’t get out of the Old Town! No, he’s wrong about that.” “It made sense,” Selkirk interrupted, and again Irene knew that he was enjoying her discomfiture. Tomorrow, she thought, after she had dealt with the crisis and got Catriona back, she would think how to get rid of this little weasel. “Street performances are big in the Old Town. Probably some sort of hangover from the old days when we had the Arts Festival. When you drive through you can see them all painted and dressed up, hear them shouting and singing and God know what else. Clowns. Magicians.” Irene swallowed. She didn’t want to believe this. She had no idea where it was leading, but she knew she had to hear it to the end. “OK. It’s possible. Is there proof?” “There is now,” said Selkirk. He flapped one hand at Cameron by way of instruction and obediently the younger man said, “I checked the surveillance cameras…” Distracted, Irene interrupted, “You keep surveillance in there? Why, for God’s sake?” Cameron shrugged, not the sort of respectful gesture she was used to. “Only where middle riskers are likely to come in contact with the population. At food delivery points, and the clinics. I couldn’t find much. Though some people on the recorded disks might have fitted your suspects, I couldn’t see anyone remotely like your daughter. However, one of the disks was missing. From the camera outside the vaccination clinic on George IV Bridge. It held me up for ages, until I finally found it in the surveillance office itself.” Frowning impatiently, Irene glanced at Selkirk for clarification. He smiled lopsidedly. “The men were holding onto it,” he explained, “for their own entertainment in the dull

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watches of the night. Cameron found several of them huddled round a computer screen watching it with, shall we say, ribald commentary?” “Why? What was on it?” Although she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer— Selkirk’s every smallest gesture warned her of that—she was quite unprepared for the one she got. “Two people having sex in the clinic doorway,” Selkirk said with incomprehensible satisfaction. Completely mystified, Irene continued to stare at him. “Sex in the…? How?” “Knee-trembler,” Cameron explained with what sounded like genuine apology, and for some reason the words conjured up an image graphic enough to bring rare color into her cheeks. Angry at herself, she transferred it to them, demanding waspishly, “And how precisely is this supposed to concern me?” “One of them was your daughter,” Selkirk said with unmistakable pleasure. Irene couldn’t help it. She let her mouth fall open. Closing it with a furious snap, she didn’t even consider doubting Selkirk’s words. He would never have dared to make such an allegation if he wasn’t completely certain. But Catriona? Her own staid little Catriona? “And the man?” she asked, forcing her voice to careful neutrality. It was Ken, of course. She was hiding out with Ken, though who would have thought either of them would have been so desperate, let alone so stupid? “Well,” Selkirk said thoughtfully. “Tall fellow, young, dark, long, black coat. You couldn’t call the tricks he was performing there magic exactly, but I’m sure you recognize the description.” Irene felt her head spinning. Mixed in there was fury as well as incomprehension, but from somewhere a maternal concern forced itself to the forefront. “Did he rape her?” she asked harshly. “No,” Cameron said at once. And a moment later, as Irene wondered whether the powerful emotion seething upwards was relief or anger, Selkirk elaborated. “Afraid not. Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Davidson, I’d love to get the cocky bastard for rape or any other serious crime against a low risker, but I’m afraid the evidence just wouldn’t stand up, even in a packed court. From the recording, it was clearly Catriona who initiated the whole business and she certainly didn’t object to anything he did after that. Aiding and abetting is closer to the mark. Apparently,” he ploughed on, “it was the obvious enjoyment of the couple that kept Cameron’s men so—er— interested in the event. We just have too many witnesses to claim rape.” Irene turned away from them, walking swiftly to the drinks table in the corner and pouring herself a large measure of whiskey which she knocked down her throat in one before she could bring herself to speak. “If I hadn’t been there,” she said intensely, “I would doubt that I gave birth to that girl. For twenty years she shows no interest in any man except her faithless husband, and now she chooses a high risk thug who’s out to get us!” It was small comfort to reflect that it was unlikely to be a lasting affair. After all, Catriona couldn’t even keep Ken, a far more sexually restrained individual than she instinctively knew the high risker to be. The affair had already cost her untold troubles.

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Inspector Cameron spoke voluntarily for the first time. “What is it he’s out to get from you?” he enquired. “Antibiotics,” Irene snapped. “He’s blackmailing us for antibiotics.” “What for?” Cameron asked. “TB. It doesn’t matter. The blackmail is what matters! Martin, will you give me men for tomorrow?” A further plan was suddenly forming in her brain. The high risker had a taste for low risk women, no doubt for low risk life. Irene had learned long ago that anyone could be bought if you knew their price, and she rather suspected she knew his. More than that, she knew her own worth as a powerful and attractive woman, and there was a hint of unexpected breathlessness in her excited laughter. “If you give me enough men, Martin, I’ll keep the antibiotics, get Catriona and Ken back, and deliver up your magician, one way or another. You won’t need a trial, packed or otherwise.” Selkirk warned, “I can’t be there. I’ll give you the men as legitimate protection for a shipment, but if I’m there, it makes the operation too important.” Irene brushed that aside. She neither wanted nor needed the little weasel with her. She just needed his manpower, his fire power. Cameron said curiously, “Why don’t you just give them antibiotics?” And as they both stared at him, united for once in their total incomprehension of such crass stupidity, he sighed and waved a metaphorical goodbye to his career prospects. ***** They had Rammer and Janie to deal with before they could escape to the sweet haven of the Magician’s bedroom, but the troubled couple were quieter tonight, almost sullen. Only as they made their goodnights did Janie rouse herself from contemplation of the wall to say unexpectedly, “Cat? Will you teach me to sing?” Surprised, Catriona glanced back over her shoulder. Though slumped miserably on the sofa, the girl appeared to be serious, her huge, cavernous eyes staring directly at her from the once pretty, now white and ravaged face. Lightly, Catriona said, “If you like. But you should know I’m a rotten teacher!” And I might not be here after tomorrow. It was funny how much it hurt to have to let her down. Two weeks ago, she hadn’t known any of these people and now… Thrusting that all to the back of her mind, she concentrated on the moment, the delicious moment, full of anticipation for the first full night of love spent in the Magician’s arms since… well, ever. And however unkind it might prove to be, she wanted him to remember it. Closing the bedroom door on the outside world, she leaned her back against it and watched him take off his coat at last, tossing it onto the chair near the bed. Then, meeting her gaze, he came towards her, his stride purposeful and predatory enough to make her heart thunder. His hand came up, as if to take her by the waist. Involuntarily, her breath caught. She wanted his touch so badly it made her dizzy. But his fingers barely brushed the silk of her dress. Instead, they pushed a key into the lock and turned.

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Smiling, Catriona moved out of his reach, only turning near the big four-poster bed to face him. He was watching her, his lips slightly curved, and she could see the semi-hardon outlined clearly through his jeans. “Come here,” she said, low. He did, not hurrying, just watching steadily, drinking her in. He stopped in front of her, still not touching, hands hanging loosely by his sides. It was Catriona who moved first, reaching up to unbutton his shirt, carefully, one button at a time. Although her concentration was deliberately on her fingers, she could feel his eyes on her face, making her skin tingle all over. When she glanced up, he was gazing in the region of her lips, with the kind of hunger that caught at her breath. Her fingers fumbled for the first time, and his eyes came back to hers, the beginnings of another smile growing there. Slowly he bent his head, his lips parting, but she had done with his shirt now, and knelt down out of his mouth’s reach. His face told her he was enjoying the teasing. The growing stiffness in his jeans said he would only stand it for so long. Slowly still, she unbuttoned his fly till it sprang open around the huge bulge of his underpants. Catriona inserted one finger into the elastic, drawing it back so that her other hand could delve inside. His breath hissed between his teeth as her fingers closed around his cock. It was almost fully erect now, so as soon as she brought it out of his pants she bent and wrapped it in her lips. He groaned, his fingers in her hair. Catriona felt his cock growing impossibly inside her mouth, filling it, pushing at her cheek. She inhaled the warm, male smell of his skin, lapped up the salty taste of him. Easing back the skin, she began to suck at the tender head. To the intoxicating accompaniment of his gasps and groans, and even the occasional curse under his breath, she snaked her tongue around the rock-hard length of his cock, licking and sucking, slowly working the skin up and down with one hand. With the other, she cupped his balls caressingly, rolling them in her fingers. Then, drawing back to see its effect on him, she saw his eyes closed, his lower lip held firmly between his teeth, his head thrown back in just the sort of ecstasy she had hoped to give. “Oh,” she sighed, and slid both hands inside his jeans, till she held his firm buttocks. She gazed once more at his fiercely upright cock, its blue veins standing out like ribs, visibly throbbing. A trickle of juice escaped the slit at the top of it. Catriona smiled and again caught his cock into her mouth, tasting, this time pulling with her mouth alone, using her tongue alternatively to lash hard at the shaft, or to tenderly tease the soft tip. Her head rose and fell with the action, her rhythm increasing. His hands tangled in her hair, following the motion until, almost convulsively they closed into fists. “Enough,” he said raggedly. “Let me inside you now.” She shook her head, without releasing him. Instead, tightening the grip of her mouth, she sucked harder. He gasped out, “Cat, I can’t hold it…” But she wouldn’t stop. She wanted him to come like this. Although it was what she had intended from the moment she closed the door, it excited her so much now that she was as desperate for his climax as he was to postpone it. At last, when she knew triumphantly that he could hold it in no longer, he took her surprise, suddenly moving his entire body forward and pushing her back across the bed. He dragged his cock out of her loosened mouth with his hand, just as the semen spurted over her throat and breast and shoulders, and he shouted out

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uncontrollably. Reaching with both hands, she wrapped them around his cock, glorying in its every throb, every twitch of joy. At last he was in enough control to move, to climb onto the bed between her legs, tugging down the straps of her dress so that he could rub the semen he had spilled into the skin of her breasts in slow, sensual circles. A languorous smile formed on his mouth, in his eyes. “Naughty girl,” he said unsteadily. “Didn’t you like it?” “So much that I’ll have to give you something special in return.” While his fingers moved in ever decreasing spirals toward her taut nipples, he impatiently kicked off his jeans. Catriona closed her eyes, sparks of pleasure shooting out from her breasts to every nerve in her body. She even made a sound of distress when his hand left her, though it was only to lift her into his arms and take the dress off completely. Her knickers followed immediately afterwards, flung carelessly on the floor. “I’ve damaged your dress,” he said, his hands sweeping up and down her naked back, making her shiver and arch into him. “It’ll clean,” she said optimistically. She wasn’t really listening. She was more interested in his naked body, in what he was doing to hers. Caressing the hard muscled chest and shoulders, she offered up her mouth, pleading for his kiss, almost moaning when he finally covered it. It was a long, slow one, deep and satisfying. Then it changed, becoming a thousand small, arousing kisses, his tongue sliding along her lips and pushing excitingly inside her mouth to dance with hers. His teeth brushed her lips too, nipping at her tongue when he had drawn it out for the purpose. She hadn’t known it was possible to be so desperately aroused from mere kisses, without the aid of his clever hands on her body. Though she wanted them on her now, though she wanted him inside her very badly, she was too enchanted with his mouth to do more than return his passionate, absorbing kisses with her own. He moved at last, kneeling with her till she felt the corner bed post against her back. Still kissing her, he swept his hands around from her back to her shoulders, caressing down her arms to her hands and lifting them high above her head. Only when she felt something at once tight and silken-soft at her wrists did she open her eyes into his. His mouth loosened. “What…?” she said against his lips. They smiled on hers, while above her head his hands left hers, busy with whatever he was winding round her arms. He drew back slightly and she realized she couldn’t move them. They were bound to the bed post. “What are you doing?” she whispered, more puzzled than anything else. “I’m tying you to my bed, so that I can have you whenever I like. The only trouble is,” he added winding what seemed to be a sort of silk cord across the top of her breasts and round behind her, “I don’t think I’ll ever go out.” “Where did that come from?” she asked, bewildered. “I’m a magician,” he reminded her. As he passed the cord behind her, his naked chest came up against her lips, and despite the strangeness of this situation, she kissed it trustingly, licking at his nipple, at the

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jagged line of his scar, waiting with curiosity as well as anticipation to see what would happen. Next, he brought the cord round her body again, trailing it across her nipples. When she gasped at the unexpected sensation, he tightened the cord, moving it slowly up and down so that each time it caught at her nipples, caressing, gently flicking them, causing wild surges of pleasure to melt down her breasts and into the pit of her stomach. Moisture pooled in her aching pussy and began to trickle slowly down her thigh. Leaning in again, he passed the cord around her body once more, holding it in place just along the line of her nipples, and round again just above her navel. If she moved, even very slightly, she could make the cord stroke her nipples, enjoy the strange, sensual pleasure again. So she did. The cord came round her bottom now, passing across the front somewhere in the middle of her soft triangle. Again, he tightened the tension, letting her feel the cord pressing gently into the skin over her pubic bone, and this time she gasped aloud. Smiling, he brought the cord round the back once more, then tied it in a knot right at the front, just above her pussy. Catriona felt a bead of sweat break out on her forehead. Another broke at the base of her throat and trickled down between her breasts. The bed post was hard between her bottom cheeks. She tried not to, because it all felt so strange, but she couldn’t help pushing herself into his fingers. The knot duly tied to his satisfaction, he pressed back, eliciting a faint moan. Then, drawing the dangling ends just into the top of her pussy, making her eyes roll, he said softly, “From here down, you’re free to express your pleasure. From here up, you just have to take what I mete out.” Kneeling with her, naked breast to naked breast, he slanted his mouth across hers and kissed her. Then, while she still basked in the fiery glow of that, he lifted his head again, and trailed one finger down her throat to where the first cord was wound around her breast. Jumping over, it continued down her cleavage to the next obstacle, and there tweaked, making her gasp at the sudden pleasure it gave her stiffly erect nipples. He bent his head again, lower this time, and with his tongue, pushed under the cord to lick one nipple, to take it between his lips and softly suck. With each tiny motion, the cord moved too on her other nipple until she couldn’t tell which one felt the most. At last, he released her ecstatic breast, although only to move to the other, replacing with lips and tongue and wickedly teasing teeth what he had previously given with the silken cord. It was now dragged back across the first nipple, stoking the fire his mouth had just built. Catriona badly wanted to hold him. That she couldn’t, that she was held firmly back, unable to use her arms or her body to caress him in return, filled her with a completely new, weirdly pleasurable tension. Remembering his words, she moved her legs, pressing her thighs into him. She felt his cock, upright and iron-hard once more, and her sudden upsurge of heightened desire released another pool of moisture down her leg. Feeling it, he let her nipple go to reach for her thigh with his hand, tracing the trickle back up to her pussy. “The source,” he murmured, “of my joy and yours. So wet… can I do anything for you there?”

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Since his fingers already knew very well what to do for her just there, stroking and stirring, she could only hang in her bindings, wordlessly, helplessly, suddenly more aware of the bed post pressing between her buttocks, as she felt her orgasm hover tantalizingly close. Maybe he felt it too in the change in her breathing, for he took his hand away. A small animal sound of frustration and need broke from her lips. “Sh-sh,” he whispered, kissing her mouth again. “All in good time.” As far as Catriona was concerned now was a very good time indeed. Since her mouth was occupied in his, she tried to use her legs to tell him so, to wind them around him, but the rest of her was held too tightly in place and she couldn’t move them except to shuffle slightly forward or back on her knees. However she could, and did, press her crotch into his erection, writhing against it, both to assuage her own desperate need and to arouse his to the same degree so that he would have to take her… It seemed to be working. His cock moved, probing between her slick thighs, till it found her pussy. Gasping with gratitude, she opened to him, felt him begin to push in and moaned aloud her pleasure. But he stopped there, letting her feel it throb just inside her. Pleadingly, she used her own muscles to caress and hug it, willing him further in. His sigh was low enough to be a groan, but still he didn’t oblige her. Instead, he slid out of her again and before she could complain, swung one leg around the bed post behind her, holding on to the post with his hands as he slid the length of his body down hers until his feet touched the floor. Bewildered, literally dizzy with the strength of her desire, she felt his fingers on her back, tracing intricate patterns on her burning skin all the way down to her bottom, on both sides of the dividing pole. And there he paused again. Wildly, she wondered what he was doing now. Then she cried out in surprise as she felt his teeth nibbling her buttock. The next instant, his tongue was there too, licking, tasting, moving lower towards her thighs and in between. As his tongue touched her clitoris, she closed her eyes in ecstasy. From there, he licked along the fold to her pussy entrance, pushed in once, and came back to her clitoris. The dormant orgasm began to mount again, but infuriatingly, he again retreated. She felt him move, saw his knees arrive on the bed on either side of her. Again she felt the heated hardness of his cock nudging her bottom, pushing into her pussy. This time he came right in, his groan of pleasure mingling harmonically with hers. His arms came around her from behind, his hands covering hers on the post, then sliding down her arms to her shoulders and her breasts over the silken rope, sensually kneading while he withdrew his cock and pushed in once more. Twice more he thrust into her, slowly, before he slid right out. She felt his body slide up hers until he was standing on the bed around the post. Then one long, muscled leg stepped round her, bringing his big, purple-headed cock tantalizingly close to her lips. Putting out her tongue, she got in one quick, flickering lick before he knelt, breast to breast with her as before. Constantly watching her face, the Magician slid his cock into her from the front this time, slowly, sensuously thrusting. His head bent, his tongue came out to lick the sweat from her upper lip, then teased its way into her mouth and his lips fastened on hers. She could smell herself, taste herself.

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Once more, she felt the hovering orgasm catch fire. Her hands twisted in their silken cords, her mouth opened wide in a low moan of anticipation. And he slid right out of her. “Don’t you dare,” she said clearly, and he laughed softly. “I’ll dare anything while you’re tied up.” “Please,” she said incoherently, shamelessly. “Please…” “Please what?” he asked, his teeth latching on to the side of her throat, making her head twist in sudden new pleasure. “Please this?” His mouth moved down to her collar bone, her breasts, snaking down her cleavage so that he could lick each of them. “Or this?” His tongue tweaked the binding cord over her pebble-hard nipples, rolling it first above and then below them, so that he could kiss them. “Or this…” Now his mouth roamed down her stomach, stopping to tease her navel briefly on the way to her triangle and the pulsating heat of her pussy. There it pushed inwards, nuzzling among the wet petals, and then closed on her clitoris. She gasped, pushing herself into his mouth, rocking her pelvis until she began to climax yet again. She felt his tongue at her entrance, thrusting deliciously inside. Then his finger replaced it and he straightened so that he could kneel facing her. Once more he pushed his cock into her, just in time for his fingers to stroke her clitoris to final, overwhelming orgasm. “Oh!” she cried out with awe, and then louder, “Oh God!” Her pussy convulsed, clamping ecstatically around him as she writhed helplessly in her bonds. “David,” she moaned, remembering and smiling through the wildest joy she could ever remember. As the climax reached its apex, his free hand tugged once at the knot at her mound, impossibly, magically adding even more sensation. The silken cords around her unraveled immediately, and she tumbled forward against him. The cords fell in slow motion, winding around their bodies in soft, curling folds. His arms held her close, and when she lifted her face in a mute, helpless plea, he covered her mouth with his, kissing her until the waves of joy began to roll back and she could fold her arms around him and cling. The whole buildup, the astounding intensity of the long, long pleasure left her dizzy. When he moved, laying her flat on the bed, she barely knew what was happening to her, only that he was still with her, the length of his lean, hard body covering hers. She felt his cock moving inside her, catching the afterglow of her orgasm. “This time, together,” he whispered, and suddenly her lethargy vanished. As he thrust himself deep into her, she pushed back desperately. Her fingers clawed at his back, grasped his buttocks, pulling, willing him to harder and faster strokes. He obliged, each thrust shooting arrows of pleasure straight up her pussy to mingle and fuse with the glow left over from last time. Almost as if it came from someone else, she heard herself sob. He moved, bringing up his knees on either side of her, kneeling to allow even greater penetration of her body. He pounded into her until their voices rose together in shared ecstasy and he collapsed on top of her. Their open mouths met and joined. Gradually, very gradually, the waves began to recede. The Magician eased his weight off her without leaving her body, turning her into him so that they could lie comfortably still

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fused together. Stroking his hair, she saw with joy that he was smiling, that his eyes were still closed. It was several more seconds before she realized he was asleep. ***** Catriona dozed too. She wasn’t sure for how long, only that when she woke next, she could feel his cock inside her, semi-hard, as if it had been contracting and hardening continually since he fell asleep. He still slept, his breathing deep and contented. By the dim light from the ancient, tatty lamp, his face looked smooth and boyish. Young. She didn’t know his age, didn’t care. The little tattooed fish was still, just a little bumpy over the scar it covered. Catriona felt a rush of love so strong it made her throat ache. Inside her, he twitched. It was a nice sensation. Gently, she squeezed his cock in return and felt it instantly begin to grow, filling her. She moved, drawing him farther in, caressing his cock with the soft, moist walls of her pussy, rejoicing in its hardness, in the sensual pleasure she got from it. And he was still asleep. She could make herself come on his cock, and he wouldn’t even know. Suddenly, the idea was intoxicating. She moved on him some more, adjusting her position until she could feel him on her slick clitoris too. Then, gently, so as not to wake him, she pushed him onto his back, rolling with him, sitting astride him so that she could ride him slowly, sweetly. She wondered if he would come in his sleep. From the feel of him, it was entirely possible, and God, she wanted him to. She was so excited by the thought that she had to move just a little faster. His hips began to move with her, thrusting upwards, making her gasp. She rocked on him, rubbing her swollen clitoris against him, caressing him only with her pussy, bringing herself to slow, delicious orgasm. It was a wonderfully naughty secret, and to add to the intensity of her pleasure, he came too, groaning in his sleep, shooting his seed deep inside her. Still smiling because of what she had done, glorying in the joy she had just given him as well as taken for herself, she bent her body down, laying her cheek on his warm, sweat dampened chest. Unexpectedly, she felt his hand on her head, stroking her hair. His voice murmured lazily, “My very own wet dream…” Outraged, her head snapped up. “You were awake all the time!” “Well, sex is better when you’re awake, I find. Unfortunately, I only woke up halfway through, but hell, what an awakening! You really are the sexiest little…” “David?” “Yes?” “How many women have you known?” For a moment, her abruptness seemed to throw him, which was hardly surprising. It had thrown her too, but she couldn’t unsay the words. After a pause, he said, “In the Biblical sense? I don’t know. A few. I don’t do notches in the bed post. Why?” His eyes were open now, gazing into hers, so she laid her head on his chest once more, hiding from his perception. “Nothing.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. His hand caught in her hair, tugging her face up to his. His eyes, his whole face, were serious. “Cat, everything you do to me, everything about you is—amazing!”

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Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his and kissed him. Then, trying to explain, she said, “It’s just… Before you, there was only Ken.” “Well that’s your loss,” he pointed out. “And if we’re talking comparisons, I’d better score higher than him!” Laughter shook her. “If you only knew! I never felt anything like this, never wanted, never knew it could…!” “Sh-sh,” he said, stroking her hair. He presses his lips to her forehead. “I only want to make you happy. It’s all I’ll ever want.”

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Chapter Sixteen The butterflies in his stomach were no longer pleasant. The Magician was a performer. He enjoyed the adrenalin of a show, the excitement of a little danger. Even bearding Cat’s parents in their own home had been fun. He had always liked outsmarting the opposition, so putting one over on the Davidsons should have been an unparalleled pleasure, and not just because of the life-saving medicine it would bring to the people here. Yet somehow, nothing could make this fun for him, not even the girl at his side. So passionate in his arms last night, so serious now in the cold light of dawn as she stood shoulder to shoulder with him to make the exchange. Bleakly, he wondered if she recognized as he did, that their time together was over. He had made his plans as carefully as he could, prepared for the Davidsons’ treachery. And now, standing alone with Cat, and Ken only a few paces away, he could hear the moment approaching. Apart from a few delivery vans from Middle Risk Zones and the buses hurrying through to the other side, car engines were rare in the Old Town. He felt Cat tense as she heard it too. From the bridge running above the road, someone called softly, “It’s coming, Magic,” and he nodded silently. For a moment, the girl’s hand crept into his, squeezing his fingers with unexpected strength. Low-voiced, curiously intense, she said, “You know I love you.” And it was all he could do to keep his eyes open through the pain, because she wouldn’t have said it if she hadn’t known she would be leaving. He said steadily, “I’ve only ever loved you. I only ever will.” By then they could see the plain black van driving slowly along the cobbled street towards them. It was time to thrust everything personal aside, and so, although her fingers gripped convulsively at his words, he drew his hand free and prepared to carry out his job. Standing at apparent ease between husband and wife, the Magician watched the van draw closer and come to a halt on the other side of the empty, narrow road. His concentration was total now. Everyone’s safety as well as the success of the enterprise depended on his watchfulness. With his heightened sensitivity, he heard the Hacker’s soft footsteps approach behind him. His friend said breathlessly, “Piano signaled—only the one van. No one’s noticed any other vehicles coming into the zone anywhere.” Not taking his eyes off the van, the Magician nodded. He expected them to play it by the rules to this stage. It was what would happen next that worried him. The back of the van slid open and several police officers, masked and armed, spilled out to form a line between the van and the four people opposite. After a quick sweep of the buildings on either side of the road—it was too early for any activity there—all their weapons pointed at the Magician. Ken made a quick, almost involuntary movement towards them. Interesting that despite his recent treatment by these people, all his instincts still drew him back to them. The Magician commanded, “Wait,” and the man stilled. Pity in its way, because the Magician had a powerful urge to thump him just once before he left.

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Something was being unloaded from the van now. Two other men, also masked, carrying a box each, came round the police line and laid their burdens down in the road. “OK,” said the Magician, his eyes still scanning the van and the road beyond it, careful never to look upwards to the bridge. “Let’s go. Slowly, Ken.” He didn’t have to tell Cat. She moved when he did, keeping close to him, keeping pace. She was still with him. A few paces from the boxes, the Magician halted. This was the bit he hated. And yet, she was the one who knew. She was the only one who could be trusted to recognize the right drugs. “Look now,” he said. Every muscle, every nerve was tensed for action. His eyes were not on the girl but on the line of police officers and on the van behind. Cat moved slowly forward. Again Ken made to follow, till the Magician said curtly, “Stay.” Cat knelt by the box, ripped through the tape. It didn’t take her long to look. Then she rose to her feet once more and backed away. “It’s a trick,” she announced. “They’re full of empty cartons.” Behind him, the Hacker swore under his breath. The Magician, who had expected something of the sort, continued to watch the van. This time it was the driver’s door, which opened, and someone he recognized stepped out. Irene Davidson, all understated elegance in black trousers and jacket, her hair brushed back in a style carefully simple. She looked good. She strolled forward between the row of armed police, saying conversationally, “Hello, darling,” to Cat. Her gaze, though, was not on her daughter. It was on the Magician. His own eyes continued the same patrol--van, police, road, Irene. “Now what are you going to do?” she mocked, stopping in front of him. “Give me a self-righteous lecture in honesty? In keeping one’s bargains?” “I couldn’t really do that,” the Magician observed, “since I didn’t bring the vaccine sample either.” For a second, her eyes flashed irritation, and something else that might have been admiration before it vanished. “You mean I’m wasting my time here?” He lifted one eyebrow. “If you are, it’s not my fault. The vaccine is close, and will appear as if by—er—magic, just as soon as the correct medicine is in our hands.” “And I should believe you—why?” she asked politely. The Magician shrugged. “Well, as a mark of good faith, I’ll throw you a bone. Ken, feel free to rejoin your mother-in-law. Just don’t get in the way of her teeth.” “What a very rude young man you are,” Irene marveled, and the Magician smiled, dazzlingly. He had a distracted, if witty, response halfway to his lips, but in the end he never made it, because of Ken. Ken wanted it all. He wanted, and needed, the upper hand, not just over the Magician but over the people who had let him go to prison. And on both counts, Cat was the key. The Magician knew it. He had heard Ken’s low-voiced appeals to her on their walk here this morning, was already prepared for his final plea to her to go back with him. What he hadn’t bargained on was the man’s treachery.

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During the Magician’s exchange with Irene, Cat had kept coming towards them, her eyes on her mother, until she was almost on top of Ken. And Ken, instead of making space for her, or even putting his arm around her, either of which the Magician was prepared for, suddenly launched himself forward, crashing into her, his momentum carrying both of them half way across the road before they fell in a tangled heap. Catriona let out a shout that might have been fury or pain. The order was swiftly given and an instant later, the police closed around them. It all happened in a trice. But the Magician’s reflexes were swift. He made his first move instinctively, before Ken had even touched her. And maybe he could have wrested her back, given the order that would have resulted in mayhem and the loss of any chance of the medicine. But he didn’t. After the first involuntary start, he forced himself to stillness. His hands fell back to his sides. He even saw Irene watching them for signs of anger or distress. He showed her none and that was not so difficult, for really, Ken’s move changed very little. They had Cat now by force instead of later by her own choice, and this way would probably be easier for her. In bargaining terms, it meant very little, except that Irene would now be in a good mood. She had her daughter back and she still wanted the vaccine sample. The Magician still wanted the medicine. Behind him, urgently, he heard the Hacker hiss, “Now, Magic?” And shook his head clearly enough for everyone to see. Instead, carrying on his conversation with Irene, he nodded towards where Ken and Cat were emerging from the ring of police officers, and said mildly, “Around here, that is considered rude.” Irene smiled. “Never come between husband and wife,” she advised. Ken said petulantly, “It’s a bit late for that sort of advice!” He had pushed his way forward until he stood quite close to Irene. Behind him, Cat walked more slowly, a police officer holding her arm, though she was trying to twist free of him. Irene’s eyes widened, and yet the Magician knew she wasn’t surprised. She laughed. “No, really? He and Catriona? I never thought she had it in her!” Weirdly, she sounded more admiring than disapproving. Unexpectedly, her expression changed to one he was not unfamiliar with, even if it was completely disingenuous and he thought perhaps it wasn’t… Her gaze raked him unhurriedly from the top of his head to the foot of his coat. “Well, I expect you can be very—persuasive. I wonder,” she added low-voiced, “if you could persuade me?” The Magician smiled. “No,” he said flatly. Something inside him revolted. It made him suddenly sick to let Cat go back to that. He knew she had to have a choice, but she had also to understand that she had one, that he had the will and the means to bring her back if it was what she wanted. Cat stood still now in the police officer’s hold, some distance off. He had no way of telling if she had heard the exchange with her mother. Within her calm, carefully cold face, her eyes were stormy, almost desperate as they found his, but he couldn’t afford to linger there. He had to keep looking, keep patrolling with his eyes, van, police, Irene, road… Lifting his voice, he said clearly, “Say the word, Cat and I’ll get you back.”

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And this time, when he let his gaze come back to her, her face was calm, as if his offer had meant something important. She even smiled, hiding her pain. “We’d lose the antibiotics.” He shrugged. Road, police, van… “Other days, other ways.” She said sadly, “Last night, you were saying goodbye.” He let his eyes meet hers again, briefly. Say the word, Cat…Aloud, he said, “I think we both were.” Irene, soldiers, van, road…. Behind him the Hacker was saying furiously, “For God’s sake, Magic, you can’t put that on her! Let’s just get her back!” “And lose the antibiotics?” he said low. “Yes!” said the Hacker baldly. “The girl would die for you!” “She’s more likely to die of me,” he muttered, but it was impossible to explain to his friend, certainly not here or now, about the moment of understanding he had glimpsed between Cat and Ken, a moment that had brought it home to him afresh how wrong it was to keep her here. She belonged there, if not with Ken then at least not with him in this claustrophobic rabbit warren that would then become her only home. Speaking very quickly, he said, “She didn’t come here from choice. She has to be able to chose.” “Not like this, Magic! You can’t do this to her!” Just as if he were committing some cruelty. Well, perhaps he was, but it was for the greater kindness. Whatever she felt for him now, she belonged to the low risk world full of fresh air and possibilities. And yet if she said the word, if she would just say the word… Road, soldiers, van, Irene. The silence twisted into him. “I’ll tell you what,” he said to Irene Davidson. “Why don’t you bring out the antibiotics I’m sure you’ve got stashed inside that van somewhere, and I’ll conjure you up a vaccine sample.” She said clearly, “Why don’t I just have them shoot you?” Behind him, the Hacker’s breath hissed. The Magician hoped he had not glanced involuntarily up at the bridge and given away the hidden army. Cat seemed to have frozen. The Magician looked down at Irene, letting all his amusement show in his eyes. “Because then you’d still have to find the vaccine?” he suggested. “Of course, we could make the swap and then you could shoot me, but I suppose that’s a chance I’ll have to take. What do you say?” She smiled, a slightly twisted smile. “I say you’re a pretty cool customer. Do you know, I could use a man of your caliber? In my employ, I mean, not in my bed,” she added, mockingly with a slightly contemptuous glance in her daughter’s direction. “I’d have a problem getting to work in the mornings,” the Magician said flippantly. “No you wouldn’t. You call yourself a magician, I believe, but it is I who make things happen in this city. Work here in the Old Town for me, and you’d spend your weekends in a big house with an indoor swimming pool, food and drink you couldn’t even dream about here, any number of beautiful, healthy girls, waiting for you—all in the Low Risk Zone.”

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The Magician brought his roving eyes back to hers. Suddenly the silence was deafening. Into it, he said, “Would I have a sea view?” Again, the Hacker’s breath hissed. He knew, of course, what the sea meant to his friend. The Magician refused to look at Cat. He couldn’t bear her doubt, her hurt reproach. Or had she already fallen back into low risk pragmatism? Would she just think that they could spend “weekends” together this way? Irene smiled. “It could be arranged.” “Let’s have the drugs then. I owe my friends.” Irene snapped her fingers. Immediately two more men emerged from the van with another box. “Show them to her,” the Magician said, jerking his head towards Cat. Irene nodded. He sensed Cat’s scrutiny, felt her every movement as if it were his own. Say the word. For Christ’s sake, Cat, say the bloody word… She said, “It looks like them.” And rose to her feet. Though the Magician waited, she said nothing more. He felt as if his heart was breaking in pieces all over the road. Irene said playfully, “Vaccine.” The Magician held up his hand. The ampoule lay cozily between his finger and thumb. Irene’s breath caught. “You had it all along…!” “Misdirection. Of sorts. Do I come to you, or do you bring me the drugs?” “You give me the vaccine first.” “Somehow I thought you’d say that. Oh well, one of us has to trust first.” With a flick of his finger, he sent the tiny ampoule spinning into the air where a glint of pale sunlight caught it against the grey of the cloudy sky. Say it… It would have been perfect timing, with all eyes involuntarily on the falling ampoule, but Cat was silent still. She alone appeared to have no interest in the ampoule’s destination, her eyes were performing his patrol, looking back towards the van, the road. Say it… Irene reached above her. She stepped back and the ampoule fell straight into her grasping hands. “Now,” she said, and abruptly, more police officers were spilling out of the van, this time facing in the direction of the bridge, even while Irene’s men picked up the box of lifesaving drugs and began to retreat with it. “Magic, it has to be now!” the Hacker urged. But he had to give Cat a moment longer, endanger himself and everyone else for the possibility of that one word that she would never give. It was her mother who spoke. “My employment offer’s still on the table. The antibiotics aren’t. Nobody blackmails me.” Say it, Cat… She didn’t say it. She didn’t say anything, and he knew she wasn’t going to. In his heart he had always known it. She was watching both lines of police officers. And the Magician couldn’t wait any longer. His lips parted. “Cat!”

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It wasn’t his but a quite different voice that spoke this time. A girl’s voice and one that he knew very well, coming from above, on the roof of the nearest building rising from this road up to the bridge. It was Angel, looking every inch the wicked sprite that Cat called her, silhouetted against the pale, grey sky. She threw something down, something light and small and Cat caught it deftly in both hands as if it was the most precious treasure in the world. The Magician saw her smile. She stretched up one hand towards Angel, fingers splayed in some peculiar gesture of friendship and gratitude, and then she turned to the Magician, meeting his gaze for the first time in ages with a look so full of triumph, gladness, and determination that he was almost taken by surprise. Cat said the word.

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Chapter Seventeen When Angel finally came, it was as if an unbearable weight fell from her shoulders. It was pure instinct to turn at once to the Magician, to share it with him. Although his eyes had been veiled since Ken had first taken her, although his strange tension made her fear that he was secretly glad of her removal from the equation, she never doubted that he would understand. Her smile said, “We have an alternative source of antibiotics, you can just turn and go home.” It said, “We’ve won, we’ve started to change things. I helped, as I said I would.” And it said, if he cared to hear, “I love you.” His own words of love to her, spoken only seconds before her mother had turned up to ruin things again, were suddenly filling her mind. She knew, even as she smiled, that despite her determination to allow him all the freedom his spirit needed, that if she found just one glimpse of loss in his eyes, then she would do everything in her power to get back to him one day. For an instant, the world stood still. They were the only two people in it, and she could watch the expressions chase across his face as if they were in slow motion. There was bewilderment first, closely followed by a flash of understanding, a recognition of her triumph and pleasure in it. There was admiration as well, and she basked in that. A brief softening of his whole rather hard face. And then, suddenly, some blazing joy that she was at a loss to account for, mingled with a relief so intense that her smile began to die in an upsurge of panic. She didn’t have time to think about it. Even as she stared at him, aware that he held all other eyes too, he seemed to lift off the ground. Catriona blinked. It was true. His feet were some three inches off the road so that he could waggle his toes in mid-air. She had seen him do it before, in the High Street the first night he spoke to her, yet his purpose here, in this situation, was far from clear. Irene, taken aback, stepped abruptly away from him. One or two of the police officers looked worried to the point of fear, and Catriona didn’t blame them. Such forms of entertainment were more or less unknown in the Middle and Low Risk Zones. They would never have seen a magician’s act before, let alone one as remarkable as his. The officer who’d been guarding her moved nearer again, trying to get in front of her, but instinctively, she moved forward, preventing him. She had to see what the Magician was up to. Grinning wolfishly at the disquiet he had sown, the Magician said loudly, “Gardez lou!” Catriona knew the phrase from school history as well as from the Pianist’s more amusing lecture. It was the warning cry of the old inhabitants of Edinburgh before they emptied their rubbish out of their tenement windows into the street below. It was also the agreed code word between the Magician and those hiding on the bridge above. Suddenly the Magician was not just levitating, but flying through the air at alarming speed, his big coat billowing out behind him as he swooped across the road toward her. Smoke seemed to be belching out behind him like some bizarre rocket. At the same time, his hands moved so quickly that Catriona barely saw what he was doing. Something glinted in either hand, twice, and the officer beside her cried out in surprised pain, a wicked, silver-

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handled knife protruding from his right arm. His gun clattered to the ground, just as Magician’s boot caught him full in the face. Somewhere, Catriona was aware that other police officers had fallen, other weapons dropped. “Did you really have three knives?” “Four.” A noise filled her head, an ear-splitting many-voiced shout, like some battlecry of old. She had a moment to realize it was real, that the Magician had finally mobilized his hidden army, time to feel the upsurge of fury with him because he hadn’t understood after all. She tried to tell him, as he landed hard on the ground in front of her, tried to say it wasn’t necessary to risk anyone since they had antibiotics after all, the ones she had ordered before leaving the Low Risk Zone, but the words never came. Before her lips could even part, someone seized her arm from behind. It was Ken, angry and possessive and unforgivably superior. The Magician hit him, his arm swinging through the air to land a cracking punch with sickening force, somewhere on his face. Even as he fell like a stone, the Magician had her by the waist, swinging her round and under his coat. The world went dark and dizzy. She felt his hands briefly pushing into her waist and then something catapulted her over a huge distance and hit her hard, all over, winding her for one black, terrible moment. Then she realized she wasn’t blind, or hit, that the Hacker’s anxious face was bending over her. The Magician’s trick had hidden her from everyone’s view and thrown her across the road to safety. Some small gadget was still attached to her waist. Swiftly, desperately, she struggled to sit up, to see what was going on, but there seemed to be a strange, grey, swirling haze over the world. From somewhere came a deafening crack that could only be a gunshot. She couldn’t see anyone except the Hacker, holding her arm, helping her to her feet. “What has he done?” she whispered. “What he should have done ten minutes ago,” the Hacker answered grimly. Then, as if he had caught sight of the terror in her face, his voice changed. “Cat, it’s just the same plan, remember? You’re not blind, the smoke will protect our people because the police can’t see to shoot in it. The rest is just a fight.” “People get hurt in fights!” she cried, turning her fury on him. To her surprise, the Hacker only laughed. “Cat, people get hurt in fights here all the time. Don’t waste your pity on him.” Catriona stared at him. How did the Hacker know, when she barely understood it herself, that through all her genuine concern for the others, it was fear for the Magician that was making her so angry? If he was shot, and despite what the Hacker said she had heard two ear-blasting gunshots through the chaos already, if he was captured, there was no point for her in any of this. Unworthy perhaps, but true. Beyond the Hacker’s shoulder, the smoke began to clear. From a high window on the right, someone yelled obscenities and lobbed heavy objects toward the ground. Catriona could make out the small, ferocious figure of the Pianist on the bridge, hurling rocks. She could see a police officer lying on the ground. She could see Tattoos leaping off the high bridge on top of another, and she could see the Magician kicking something out of the way—a

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gun?—while he dodged some flailing fist. An instant later, his own fist was flying, so was his leg, and she heard them both connect with something solid before the smoke veiled the scene once more. But it was ending. Through the smoke and chaos, she heard an order barked, an order, surely for retreat. The doors of the van slammed. The engine started, more doors crashed, and then through the rapidly clearing smoke, she saw the Magician standing upright with his back to her. The engine roared, the tires shrieked in protest, and in a moment of frozen horror, Catriona saw the black van hurl straight at him. There was no time for him to escape. A step or two to either side would not defeat the charging van. The rushing blood sang in Catriona’s ears. A voice in her head cried out in agony, “No, no, no, no, no...” She wasn’t conscious of the decision to move. There was no choice to make here. She had to leap forward in some desperate, futile bid to save him, or perhaps just to be with him when he died. It was all instinct, not thought. She did feel the Hacker’s surprised hands grabbing at her arm as she ran, but he could not hold her. Her feet pounded towards the Magician as the van bore down on him and she knew with awful certainty that she was too late. She had always known. Then, the barest instant before the van hit, the Magician rose. His body shot upwards, with the same speed as he had used to fly at her captor, so fast that even she, with her eyes glued to his beloved body, barely saw it. It looked almost like an impossibly high jump into the air, and then he vanished. Catriona stopped dead in her tracks, panting wildly, forgetting all about the van, which careered wildly on towards her. She barely even saw it, so terrified was she for the Magician. She caught sight of him the same instant the van swerved to avoid her, crouched down on the road beyond the van, staring at her in horror. Then, like a track athlete, he launched himself forwards towards her. She felt a hard, glancing blow on her hip and fell sprawling to the ground. ***** It could only have been seconds later, for she could still hear the van’s engine roaring off into the distance, its tires still screeching on the tight bends. The Magician’s was the first face she saw, white and drawn, fear standing out in his huge eyes as clearly as the lust had shown last night. There was a cut above his left eye, a smear of dried blood on his jaw. Others were there too. She could feel them clustering around her, but it was the Magician who held her enfolded in his coat for warmth. His trembling fingertips brushed the hair off her face, touched her lips, her throat for signs of life. There was blood on his knuckles too. “What?” she said unsteadily. “I’m not the one who should be dead!” Relief flooded his fearful eyes. An odd sound came from his throat. It might have been a sob, or laughter, or a mixture of the two. “You’re the one who got knocked down, you idiot,” he said ungratefully. “What do you think? That I can’t do magic?”

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She should have been furious with his ingratitude, but since he tempered it by pressing his warm cheek to hers, holding her convulsively close into his hard body, she elected to forgive him. “Where does it hurt? Can you move?” “Not if you hold me so tightly,” she said into his coat, though her fingers gripped his shoulders so fiercely that he would have had difficulty letting her go if he wanted to. “Seriously, Cat.” She felt him shift position, raising her upper body, standing up slowly, drawing her up until she stood with him. “Ouch,” she gasped as pain shot through her bruised hip. She took a step forward. It hurt, but it was not impossible. “Nothing’s broken,” she confirmed, and was surprised by the sudden rousing cheer from everyone else clustered about her—the Pianist, the Clown, Tattoos, the Biker, Angel, the lovers from the Hacker’s flat… Smiling at them all, she leaned her cheek on the Magician’s chest. The Magician said happily, “Complete victory in the first round, I think—and two sets of antibiotics!” There was renewed, much louder cheering now, much of it coming from the buildings on either side of the road. Catriona could see people hanging out of the windows, joyfully yelling and banging pots on the window sills, and she saw the box of medicine raised high above Tattoos’s bald head. The Magician had started a war, but the people of the Old Town had won the first battle, and they were intoxicated, exhilarated by their victory Through the noise, the Magician said to her, “Why didn’t you tell me about the other antibiotics?” Their friends had drifted off a little way, leaving them tactfully alone together at the side of the road. An impromptu party seemed about to start on the cobbles, a crowd of local residents emerging from their houses to join in. Beginning to limp along in the supporting circle of the Magician’s arm, Catriona said, “The order might have been stopped. I put it through the night before I left my house. I thought if it was delivered to the clinic on time, we could prevent any fight. And if it didn’t come, then we could just stick to your plan. How was I to know you would do it anyway?” “Had to get you back,” the Magician said in her ear, and in spite of everything that had just happened, his breath on her skin made it tingle all over. “Especially when you said the word.” Catriona smiled. “What word?” He opened his mouth to answer, then a frown began to form on his brow and his lips closed again. “I can’t remember. But you said something, right after Angel dropped the drugs down to you. The words I’d been waiting to hear since that bastard grabbed you.” His arm tightened. Abruptly, his head swooped down, pressing a hard kiss on her lips. Not a long or intimate one, but still enough to start her heart beating for him. “Jesus Christ, I would have let you go if you hadn’t said it…” His mouth took hers again, still hard, but more intrusive this time, more demanding, wiping out the protest that had almost risen to her lips. She was quite happy to respond to him, even reaching up with her hand to touch his warm, rough cheek and draw his face closer, deepening the kiss. Against her sound hip, she felt his erection spring into life, and desire hit her with sudden, overwhelming force.

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Gasping, she tore her mouth free. “Let’s go home,” she said, breathless with this devastating urgency. “Now!” His eyes gleamed. “Anything you say… I’ll just see the Doctor about these…” “Now,” she interrupted fiercely. ***** She was never sure how they made it back to the Magician’s flat. Somewhere, her mind tried to control her unprecedented urgency by rationalizing it, accepting that it was the result of what and who she had so nearly lost. But her body didn’t care about that. Desperately, she wanted to pull him into one of the dark closes and have him there and then, like the first time… It was he who held her to the road, pulling her onwards. Despite the short, heavy breathing she could hear coming from him, he would not be distracted, not even when they finally entered his close and she jumped him, pushing him against the wall and reaching for his mouth, pressing her writhing body into his hardness, uncaring of the pain in her bruised hip. Kissing her back, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, carrying her swiftly towards the stairs. Half way up, she wriggled so much that he had to put her down. Instantly, her hands were inside his coat, fumbling for the fastening of his jeans. The Magician laughed softly, breathlessly, but his fingers covered hers, drawing them away. “Morning,” he said to a shadowy figure trying to pass them on the stairs. Catriona didn’t care. She pulled down his head for another kiss, lifting her uninjured thigh over his, staggering on her sore and weakened leg, then standing on tip toe to try and press her hot pussy over his erection. The Magician pulled her up the stairs. The door of his flat was not locked. From the living room, Catriona could hear Rammer and Janie having some kind of row, and belatedly, sense began to intrude. Pausing in the hall, she glanced quizzically up at the Magician. He only shook his head and pushed her into his bedroom. Smiling with relief, Catriona grabbed him before he had even finished locking the door, and this time, he didn’t hold her back. As their hot mouths melded together, he pressed her back into the door, grinding his rock-hard cock into her abdomen, lifting her so that it fitted better between her thighs. And yet he was careful of her sore side. She loved him for that, even though the pain meant less than nothing in her wild fever. Catriona, almost sobbing with the force of her need, yanked down his zip and reached inside, closing her hand possessively around the hot, ribbed shaft and dragging it free. With a cry that was almost animal, she impaled herself upon it. He rammed into her hard, once, making her cry out again with the exquisite sensation, and then, imprisoning her against the door with his big body, he said breathlessly, “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself like this.” “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I want you.” “Oh you can have me,” he breathed, “but not like that. Like this…” To her astonishment, he began to undress her. While his strong body held her still, pinned to the bedroom door, he took off her clothes, one by one, starting with her jacket and shirt. When she tried to do the same for him, he caught both her hands in one of his and held them captive above her head, against the door, so that he could unfasten her bra unhindered.

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Then he began to push down her jeans. Even that he managed with one hand, using his leg to devastating effect, teasing down her trousers with it while arousing her even further by its movement against her thigh and her pussy, and the resultant jerking of his cock inside her. With astounding tenderness, he touched her sore hip and through her fevered haze, she could see a large, ugly, multi-colored bruise forming there. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said urgently. “Please… Please don’t look at it.” But he went on looking, not just at her bruises, but at her whole body, particularly at her breasts which he kissed while pushing down her knickers with his foot. His lips and tongue on her pebbled nipples drove her desire towards insanity. Desperately, she tried to writhe on him, to pull her hands free to hold him at least, but though he straightened, he held her still quite effortlessly while his eyes dropped lower to where his cock entered her body. “You are so beautiful,” he said unsteadily, “and this is so bloody sexy.” And it was, unbelievably, decadently sexy. With all his clothes still on, and Catriona impaled stark naked against the cold door, he began to move within her, slow, sensual strokes that filled her with delicious, unbearably intense sensations. For some reason, the feel of his rough coat lapel against one naked nipple, his buttons pressing into her bare flesh, was astoundingly arousing. He had this incredible way of taking what she wanted, and making it so much more. Finally, he released her hands so that he could use both of his own to caress her as she rose invincibly toward her ultimate pleasure. Her arms fell around his neck. Sighing, gasping out his name, she reached up for his mouth, and at the first orgasmic contraction of her pussy, she felt his own climax begin. Trembling, throbbing, he somehow maintained his slow strokes as they came together. Catriona cried out into his mouth, releasing his own ecstatic groans, and with one final push his body stilled at last. ***** Later, as they lay in the big four-poster—both naked now—his head pillowed on her breasts, Catriona remembered again the conversation they had never finished after the fight. “Had to get you back… Especially when you said the word…” “David?” “Mmm?” He was playing with her nipple, idly rolling it between his fingers while his tongue licked it over and over, teasing her to distraction. Determinedly, she caught at his hair. “I didn’t say anything. When Angel brought the drugs, I didn’t say anything to you. I was too busy looking for a sign…” “What sign?” His fingers quieted at last, lying lightly over her breast as he moved his head to glance up at her. “That you wanted me to come back.” Her breath caught. Surely she wasn’t going to cry, not now… “I only want to be with you, David, I don’t want to tie you down, or try to change you. Christ, I don’t ever want you to be—or even to feel—responsible for me…!” “Shut up,” he said, shifting position and kissing her mouth to ensure it. And thinking again how close they had been to losing each other, simply by being too careful of each other’s imagined rights, she clung to him fiercely, secretly wiping away the foolish tear with her knuckles.

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When he unhurriedly lifted his head again, at least enough to let her speak, she covered her emotion by demanding tenaciously, “So, if I didn’t say anything, what was it you heard?” “Magic,” he said at once. Though there was a wonderfully tender smile in his eyes, Catriona realized she had no idea whether or not he was joking. “There’s more to it than trickery, you know…”