The Lamia Hunt

Chapter Thirty-Five: Trains

10:06 09/03/2015

"Oh look, fields! Know how long it's been since I saw a field?"
"It's been a day, Jones. One fucking day."
"Shh." He was kneeling on his seat in the train, his face pressed against the window like an overexcited four-year-old.
Claire rolled her eyes.
"You're ridiculous."
He didn't respond, and continued,
"I feel so free, now; finally, I can see the sky again, see the beauty of nature-"
"One day, Jones."
"I just felt so disconnected after all that time-"
"It was a bloody day."
He turned back to her, laughing as he sat down.
"Anyway," he continued, "No time to dilly-dally. Now it's off to France we go!"
Claire nodded. She still wasn't certain that Lucy would be there, although Jones seemed sure of it. Was that really something she'd do? It didn't seem at all logical to go to a place where you knew you'd be caught, where you knew that someone would come looking for you. Not from a human's point of view, at any rate. Things could probably go either way with a Lamia, and that was worrying. That was the factor that separated them, not just from humans, but from all other creatures. They could learn to copy normal behaviour, and could occasionally imitate it brilliantly, but it wasn't natural for them.
Honestly, though, it wasn't worth worrying about; once they'd reached Fidèle's lair, then they'd have to deal with that.
"Anyway," said Jones, opening one of the briefcases. "Want to start reading the documents they've got on Lucy?"
Claire shrugged.
"Might as well." The prospect didn't seem fascinating, but it needed doing, and it was better than listening to Jones' rant on the beauty of the Cornish countryside, which had persisted since their leaving the hideout some hours ago.
"Here, then." He chucked a folder at her, bursting into a fit of laughter as it hit her in the face. Claire rolled her eyes, opening it on her lap.
Inside were several identical sheets of paper, at the top of each the text: Lucille Taite, Port Lennings Grammar School.
Jones glanced at her, peering over the top of the paper.
"What did you get?"
"School reports."
"Fun. She do well?"
Claire shrugged, and, skim reading, said,
"Judging from the phrases "interesting sense of humour" and "mildly disruptive to her classmates", I guess not."
Jones laughed.
"God, those sound familiar." He paused. "Anything from after the first Fidèle incident?"
"Yeah." Claire flipped through to a page near the back, then read, ""Lucy is doing very well after her long absence. However, she has become prone to mood swings, and it is affecting her schoolwork. I would recommend extra maths tuition.""
"What the hell?" Jones exclaimed, glancing at her.
Claire shrugged.
"Well, I guess she was struggling with maths... It's hardly too much to ask that she gets special attention for it-"
"Not that! I mean, this kid was away for months – months! - under odd circumstances, and when she struggled at school after coming back, they suggest a maths teacher!"
"It wasn't as if they knew what was going on."
"They must have had some idea! There must have been some inkling that there were issues!"
"I guess." Claire shrugged, continuing, "But it sounded as if they already thought there were issues; they weren't going to go and stir things up."
Jones nodded, staring out of the window. Claire hadn't before seen him angry, and it was mildly disconcerting; it hadn't exactly entered into her vision that he even had strong feelings on any subject; he'd never shown much interest in anything whilst they were training, and he didn't seem like the sort of person who got worked up about anything... Ever. Now that he had, she didn't really know what to think.
"Yeah," he said, calmly, the storm that had been in his voice completely gone. "They didn't know. It'd be wrong to assume they did. Still... How old was she at this point?"
Claire shrugged.
"About eight, I don't know. Why'd you ask?"
He shrugged.
"Comparison, I guess." He paused. "I'm not sure about you, but I wasn't dealing with half as much crap as she was when I was eight."
"You'd done the same amount of Praedatori training as she had - if not more."
"Yes, genius, but that's nowhere near a comparison. Just because we'd done the same amount of schoolwork on a topic didn't make our situations the same."
Claire nodded. She knew that, of course, but she didn't see much sense in dwelling on it. Getting angry over Lucy's old school reports wasn't going to help find her, and besides, it wasn't comforting to hear Jones talk like that. If he was serious, then it meant that something was deeply wrong, and Claire didn't want to believe that.
Not yet.
For the moment, all she wanted to do was try and find Lucille; there was nothing in that that should have caused aggravation, so why was it there? Why was it that things had taken this turn?
And what could she do to put a stop to it?
"Anyway," said Jones, all trace of malice gone from his voice. "There anything else? Any of her schoolwork in the file?"
"No. Just reports. I'll tell you if I find anything new."
"Okay."
He sat back with a different file, and opened it, and from then the train ride continued in blissful uninterrupted silence.

#

"Phew," sighed Jones, stretching back into the orange fabric of the seat. "Not much longer now, eh?"
Claire nodded.
"I mean, there's, like, eight hours left on this train, and it's still ages from there. But yeah, not far."
Jones rolled his eyes.
"Anyway," he said, "At least we're leaving London."
"What?"
He shrugged.
"You know, London. It's pretty vile."
Claire shook her head.
"I kind of like it."
"What? You mean you like it dirty?"
Claire rolled her eyes.
"That's not your best, and it's not what I meant" She paused. Was it an immediate reflex for him, interpreting things the wrong way? It wasn't a bother, really; he was probably just trying to be funny, and she should probably just appreciate it.
"Yeah, I know." He paused, snorted. "But it was on short notice, and, you know, I think it was better than saying 'you like it depressing and rainy' or 'you like it so polluted that you can't go anywhere without smelling exhaust fumes'."
"I guess."
The train whirred into action, and they began to move, each of them leaning back with a sigh.
For better or for worse, they were off.

For the first part of their journey, they did nothing; there wasn't any attraction in reading through any more of the files, and there was nothing to talk about that wasn't related to the case.
And, frankly, they needed the break; neither of them had mentioned it, but it was draining to do this. It wasn't just the travel, and it wasn't much to have to do with having to look through all the documents; they'd done far more intensive work in training. But it was horrid, if you could say one thing about it. It was horrible to think about what it was that Fidèle had done, horrible to have to recreate a timeline of Lucy's childhood. And what was worse was that they were only doing it so that they could kill her. And when she knew what had happened, it was impossible for Claire to want to kill her. How could she? Lucy hadn't done anything wrong; she'd just been unlucky, truly unlucky, and it was all Fidèle's fault. God, it was easy to want to kill him. When she saw what he'd done, it was easy for Claire to think of dismembering him, slowly, letting him see his own death. In training, they'd been told that anger at Lamiae usually impacted on hunters' abilities to slay them, but she didn't see how that could be the truth; the anger she felt towards Fidèle gave her power, more power than she knew how to handle. When she next saw him, when she and Jones had caught him, she'd feel no fear, no regret. It would give her joy to kill him, to make him suffer. No amount of pain would be more than he deserved.
However, she was more than willing to test that limit.
She glanced at Jones, hoping that he wouldn't notice her. Was he thinking the same thing?
She wasn't prepared to find out. She didn't much want to talk about the case, but it was better than not talking about it. When it was silent, she had time to think. And that was worse.
"Hey, Jones," she said, turning so that she could see him better. "How likely do you think it is that there's going to be someone at the other lair?"
Jones shrugged.
"Do you want it as, like, a percentage, or odds, or what?"
Claire rolled her eyes.
"Does it matter?"
"Guess not." He paused. "But honestly, I think it's pretty fucking unlikely."
"Fair enough."
Jones nodded.
"What about you, Clairy-fairy? Do you think they'll've stayed there?"
She shook her head.
"Doesn't seem right. From what we've seen, Fidèle likes to hide. He wouldn't go back; he knows we're after him. There's Lucy, though..."
"You think she might have stayed."
Claire shrugged.
"It's possible. But then, I don't know. There's not enough on her to know for sure."
Jones nodded.
"But you think there's a chance?"
Claire shrugged.
"Dunno. But it's worth a shot going there, just in case."
"Yeah." He laughed. "Be brilliant, though, if we didn't, and she was actually there."
Claire nodded. Brilliant wasn't the word she would have used, but it would be. Utterly fucking brilliant. What's more, they didn't have any other option; the place was their only link to Fidèle, and to Lucy.
They just had to pray that they found something there.