I found out shortly after my trip to Copenhagen who my sister’s study-buddy had been and it wasn’t who I expected. Lance Turner was the son of a man enraptured with Scotland and its oldoldhistory of being invaded. He was a genealogist who wasn’t quite right and was desperately searching for a state that would never exist. Like too many others before him, Majken had captivated him and he sunk into her manipulative world of crazy theories with enough realism to hook people in.
His son comes into the café wearing all black, hair the same with one streak of purple. He’s carrying a laptop bag and has the pained emo look to perfection. I can see why Majjie would’ve been catnip for him; she drew in the waifs and strays and offered them an identity and a place to be, because that was what she was looking for herself.
I killed my sister and I have to live with that for the rest of my days, but I don’t regret it, however much of a monster that makes me.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
He sits down, his hood still up even though he’s indoors so I reach round and knock it off his head.
“That’s how you draw attention to yourself rather than stay hidden.” My words are a murmur as he looks distressed now his disguise has gone. “You’re in a café in Glasgow. Act like it.”
“Sorry.” It’s a whisper of a response and I realise he’s younger than I thought.
“You wanted to get in touch?”
He nods. “Majken. Someone shot her.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him it was me. I also don’t know how he’ll react.
“It was the group’s fault. After you left they went mad with her. They said she helped you escape.” He looks up with eyes that haven’t seen half the things he’s read about.
“She didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “She kind of did. When they found out that you’d gone she stopped them from looking for you. Said you’d gone out to get her some things she’s asked for and you’d be back. When you didn’t come back they beat her up and tried to get information out of her. That’s when they realised she didn’t know where you were. Or some of them did.”
I want to bang my fist on the table and shout at my sister for being so loyally dense. Never in her head would she have imagined that they’d turn on her. Majjie thought she could fix everything. She was the resurrection and she was the fucking light, and she’d found herself in deep waters before she’d managed to get out of it.
“Is that how she ended up being in the car to go to the castle?” It’s a moot question because I already know the answer. She became their murder weapon that could self-detonate and she was expendable. So very expendable when they knew I was a lost cause.
Plus they had their other source. Someone with even more intel than me. Someone with more at stake.
“They told her she had to go. They said they knew where you were and they’d kill you.” He side-eyes me as the waitress brings over a milkshake he’s ordered, making me feel old with my espresso.
“I don’t think she believed them.” He takes a slurp.
“Or she didn’t care, which is more likely. Don’t forget, I grew up with Majken. And she’ll have wanted to get back in their good graces, be part of the cause again.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I think she thought that if she was here she could help you.”
I should feel guilty. I should hate myself for killing my flesh and blood. But if I hadn’t, someone else would’ve and it wouldn’t have been quick.
“Tell me what else her friends have been up to.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I got out of there fast. There’s some shit going on and they were trying to get people to believe that if they died or end up in prison they’ll be rewarded or their families will be. It’s some messed up shit. A few people left at the same time and we’re now trying to hide. You did the right thing, man.”
I eyeball him. “Where are you staying?”
He shrugs. “With my dad in a place in Lewis. It’s okay. Internet’s slow but I can still do my thing.”
Hack. The world loves a good hacker.
“Let me know if they get in touch or you’re freaked out by anything.” I dropped a couple of notes on the table to cover the drinks and patted him on the shoulder as I left, leaving him already glued to his phone and his online life. His virtual world shelters him and I don’t begrudge him that feeling of safety. In fact, I’d wish it for myself and Isaac and Blair.
Blair
Franklyn looks almost dishevelled. I’ve never seen him in anything other than perfectly put together but he’s all reds and ambers and oranges that are blurred together with no particular order.
“We have a problem, Blair.”
