anything comes up.â
He looked up from the freezer. âNothing for me to worry about, though?â
She shook her head. âNothing. Nothing at all.â
Lily woke early the next morning, from the deepest of sleeps, as if a light bulb had gone on in her head. She opened up her old, frequently wiped netbook, and connected via the most complicated proxy she could find. She began a straight LCG hack of Vicky Shadboltâs Facebook profile. As the program ran, she showered and dressed. Ten minutes later, she was in.
She sat on her bed and checked the messages and the profile. Yes! Vicky had posted the IM handle for her phone app. Lily browsed some hack apps and installed one, then ran it after taking a guess at Vickyâs make of phone. One more guess and she was in. Vickyâs messages were mainly to a Jen Cooper about school, how she hated working on the stall and was bored of babysitting. She didnât mention a boyfriend at all, but there was a series of messages to and from a David Smith. David Smith had no avatar and no other friends. He was older, liked privacy, didnât want to meet her friends.
She looked at the last message. Oh, no .
There was a light knock on the door. âIâve made some toast. And thereâs a letter for you from the doctor. I think it might be a reminder about that blood test.â
âThanks,â Lily said, distracted. Blood test? She clicked through Vickyâs Facebook photos, including those in private albums. One added a month ago caught her eye.
âLily? Are you . . .? Is everything all right?â her father asked through the door. He started back as Lily opened it.
âFine,â she said brightly. âI have to go out.â
âBut itâs only . . .â he checked his watch, âten past seven. Where are you going at this time of day?â
âFollowing a lead.â Lily packed her satchel.
Her father frowned as he let her past and followed her to the kitchen. Lily picked up a triangle of toast and gulped at the tea in her mug. Her father picked up a sheaf of papers from the counter. âAre these yours? They were in the printer.â
âOh, yes.â Lily took them hurriedly and stuffed them in her bag. âThanks. School project.â
âFolklore?â
âUm, yeah. Myths, legends, that sort of thing.â
He smiled. âI thought you were an all-science, see-it-to-believe-it kind of girl.â
Lily nodded. âI was. I mean, I am!â She took another gulp of tea. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she grabbed her keys and left.
âCall me when you know something,â he shouted after her.
Lily took the main gate out of the Temple and stuck to Fleet Street all the way into the City, staying visible and away from the edge of the pavement. She walked quickly and kept her eyes open. As she passed the blue hoarding on Ludgate Hill she glanced up, seeing the lifeless cranes outlined against the afternoon sky. She hurried on. In ten minutes she was back at the entrance to the alley in Bow Lane. Cautiously she made her way down the narrow passage.
The Rookery courtyard was as desolate as ever, the building looming up around her. She climbed the stairs up to the top floor, then stood in front of the door she remembered, slightly breathless. It opened before she had a chance to knock.
Regan stood there in a pair of distressed old jeans with a torn-out knee and a bright white but ratty singlet, his feet bare. The extent of his tattoo was remarkable, seeming to cover the upper right-hand side of his chest, his right shoulder, his whole right arm, his wrist and the edge of his hand â but even more curiously, his left leg, from what she could see through the rip in his jeans, and finally the bridge of his left foot.
âLily? Did you want something?â he said after a long moment.
âOh, hi,â she managed lamely, realising sheâd been
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