Page 131 of Tapeworld Induction

“It’s a saying.” Jeff took a breath. “It means you’re a couple of bloodsucking parasites.”

It pissed Isaak off that they’d needed Jeff’s help. Having known him for a while, he was certain that if the Second Revivalists were still around, Jeff would have been exactly the type of guy to become a devout follower of Eltarc Romly’s xenophobic teachings, even though he mocked them today. He just had that vibe to him.

Isaak pulled up his sleeve, ready to give in and offer up the payment implant on his wrist. Dylan glared at him, taking it as a sign to intervene.

“Talk to Elodie,” she told Jeff, voice taut like razor wire. “She’ll pay you.”

“Mmm… Okay. She better pay me enough.”

Isaak and Dylan walked out of his flat and to the elevator, not looking back.

“Hey, and buddy, you gotta let me take that sword for a ride one time!” Jeff shouted after them.

Isaak waved him off.

“Wanker,” he muttered.

“Damn right,” Dylan said through gritted teeth.

45

Truth

Isaak

Having received the photograms they sent from Jeff’s place, Elodie instructed them to deal with any unfinished business. She would trace Cardinal Row’s exact location in the Docklands as soon as she could and would be in contact again.

He didn’t know what that meant for him. He barely had any business, and it all felt irreparably unfinished. Five years without hearing from his dad. Twenty since his mother had disappeared – and it turned out Astrid was the person most likely to be able to answer questions about that anyway. Sacha was his only remaining link to the London Lazarus. Nobody else ever bothered to check in on him.

When Dylan invited him to come meet her parents, his heart jumped with a mixture of joy and apprehension. He was excited to learn more about where she came from. But would he be judged for his looks, for the way he walked, for his lack of parents that gave a fuck about him?

He was about to find out.

He rang the doorbell, Dylan at his side. Her woollen coat wrapped around her gave her a fairy goth look that really suited her. He was just in his usual clothes, the fake leather jacket and dark-wash jeans.

The door opened. “Come on in! I’m Wesley, nice to meet you.”

“Isaak.”

Her father looked friendly, warm. The opposite of his own. No coldness to his eyes, no calculating skew to his movements. He was in decent shape for a man his age.

The house was a classic English home, the kind he never got to live in. Two floors, with a kitchen and living room on the ground floor separated by a moveable thin glass triptych door, added after the fact, and bedrooms upstairs. Home ownership was a world he knew little about, and living in a house much less. His family – and “family” was a strong word – used to live in a flat, and he went on to live in his rented studio.

“Hi, you two! I’m Constance.” Dylan’s mum stretched her hand out. There was an undeniable resemblance between her and her daughter. Same mischievous smile, height, build. But her mum’s hair was black going grey. “Come in, come in…”

They sat at the dining table, all mahogany and polished wood. Old, well taken care of. Wes sat at the head of the table nearest to where the room became the kitchen. Constance was on one side of the table close to him, and Dylan and Isaak sat on the opposite side, with Isaak the furthest from Wes.

“Tea?” Constance asked, warm and friendly and kind.

The gesture jolted him. Kindness got under his skin. He hadn’t been mothered in years, hadn’t felt that kind of warmth and joy since his mum left his dad. Other than the company of Dylan, which was a different kind of thing, he hadn’t felt anything like this in a while. He didn’t think he deserved it, and his first reaction was to be repelled.

Dylan looked at him with quiet, pleading eyes, and he acquiesced. He was getting used to fitting in. “Yes, please,” he said politely. His mum had taught him manners and the importance of respect before she left…

“I’ll get on it! Soy, almond, potato milk?”

“Er… soy, thanks! Potato milk always makes my belly full,” he said, prompting a chuckle from everyone else.

“I still find it weird myself,” Wes said, a sense of sombreness taking over his voice. While Constance busied herself in the kitchen, Wes seemed intent on getting to the more serious part of the conversation. “So what have you two been up to?”