Vigil: Verity Fassbinder Book 1 Read Free Page A

nations that
     had changed their names multiple times, people like Bela, Aviva, Ziggi or my father, often had to find new homes, or cease
     to exist . . .
    So the first Weyrd came over on their creaking, stinking, packed ships, as stowaways, or convicts, caught by accident or intent,
     sometimes even as soldiers or governors or wives. Those who survived to put down roots in the new land, who set up shop as
     the major cities developed, generally became the Councillors, keeping watchful eyes on the rest of the Weyrd population. They
     ensured peace and dealt with the Normals, using people like Bela – essentially a cross between prime minister and spymaster
     – to keep the worst ‘disturbances’ under control. And someone like Bela would employ someone like me, because those of us
     of mixed parentage can walk between the two worlds. As long as we behave ourselves and don’t cause a fuss.
    It had gone relatively smoothly until I got injured. Quite apart from my freshly acquired physical limitations, the ancient
     car I’d inherited from my grandparents had been found burning outside my house a few hours after I’d been admitted to hospital.
     The insurance payout was just about enough to buy me a second-hand pair of running shoes. The net result of that particular
     evening had been one dead ’serker, a long-term limp for me, and a new chauffeur.
    ‘You think they’ll know anything?’ Ziggi had been trying to find a parking space for about ten minutes, although in the grand
     scheme of things that wasn’t a long time in West End. I figured he had maybe ten minutes of patience left, but I had about
     two.
    ‘There’s a good chance. Whether they’ll be willing to share? That’s the real question.’ As we passed Avid Reader for the third
     time I noticed the snail-trail of people waiting to get their books signed by the author sitting in the window had dwindled.
     ‘Do you know what this
other something
is that Bela wants to talk about?’
    He sort of shrugged and made a noise that didn’t answer me one way or the other.
    ‘Ziggi.’
    ‘Not sure. He met with Anders Baker today, but that might be unrelated.’
    I frowned, but didn’t say anything. Anders Baker was a self-made gazillionaire thanks to a variety of import-export concerns,
     land development and general dodgy deals, including, so rumour had it, brothels, porn movies and some rather heavy-handed
     loan businesses. He was Normal, so I wasn’t quite sure why he and Bela would be having dealings, unless it was to do with
     his once-upon-a-time wife; she’d been Weyrd, so maybe that was the connection.
    We were about to begin another loop around the block whenI decided enough was enough. ‘How about you let me out here and I’ll text you when I’m done.’
    He pulled up, blocking the flow of traffic, and a chorus of car horns began. ‘If it’s Aspasia,’ he said, ‘be polite – you
     catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’
    ‘So my grandma used to say.’
    A great number of Weyrd didn’t cause problems but lived as quietly as they could. Although many were moon-born and preferred
     the night, most of them didn’t roam the dark hours. They were generally good citizens, paid their taxes, held down all sorts
     of jobs and kept their secret selves hidden, or at least camouflaged. There were a few places, however, where they could just
     be themselves, and Little Venice was one of them.
    The name was an in-joke, because none of the floods that periodically overran Brisbane had ever touched the place, not even
     when everything else in West End was under water. It looked ordinary enough: a three-storey building, commercial premises
     below, private residence above. The café-bar was cute: dingy little entryway lapping the street, long thin corridor leading
     into four big rooms filled with shadows and incense. Out back was an enclosed courtyard paved with desanctified cathedral
     stones, not used much during the day except by stray