High Stakes (24 page)

From somewhere ahead, there’s another booming explosion and the sound of breaking glass. The building trembles with the force and something hard and heavy lands on my head. I roll to the side, realising it’s a gilt-framed painting. I shove it away from me, revealing in the process that it’s a print of that bloody painting I used to hide myself in Medici’s lair. Perhaps it’s some kind of bizarre, inanimate revenge.

By this point my lungs are burning. The smoke is so thick that I’m forced to shut my eyes and grope my way forwards. When I feel a light breeze to my right, I change direction and head into a room at the side. I won’t make it unless I can find something to protect myself with first. The room is smoky but it’s clear enough for me to open my eyes and look around. Closing the door behind me, I search around the small office. The windows have been blown out and the curtains ripple in the light wind drifting in from outside. I spy a glass of water on the paper-strewn desk. That’ll do.

I take a gulp to cool my insides then I move over to the curtains and yank the first set down, ripping off a foot of fabric. I douse it in water but, just as I’m about to wrap it around my head, the other set of curtains moves and I freeze. Someone’s on the other side.

Keeping low, I step backwards, watching the window carefully. There’s a flash of fabric and a leg appears. Whoever it is, they’re not wearing a fireman’s livery. The fingers of my right hand curl around a heavy bust on a shelf above me. The second I see a torso join the legs, I let the bust fly. It connects with the body and I hear a startled ooomph.

Sodding hell.

‘Why didn’t you say it was you?’ I stride over and help Michael to his feet.

He glares at me. His face is streaked with soot, making his eyes stand out. And they’re not happy. ‘What?’ he demands. ‘On the off-chance that an idiot like you was hanging around? What’s with the projectile weapon?’

‘Sorry,’ I mutter. I notice belatedly that he’s wearing the Montserrat midnight blue. ‘I thought you were one of them.’

‘One of whom, Bo?’

‘The fucking daemons who are attacking this place.’

‘How do you know they’re daemons?’

I sigh. This isn’t the time for lengthy explanations. ‘I just do.’

He gives me a hard look. ‘You shouldn’t be risking your life for a dodgy human lawyer and an even dodgier quarter-daemon.’

‘Neither should you,’ I shoot back.

‘It’s not them I’m here for.’

I fall silent. With extraordinarily bad timing, both for the building and for us, a sprinkler in the ceiling decides to turn itself on. Water rains down with surprising power. At least I got what I came for.

‘Here,’ I grunt, passing him over the piece of curtain. ‘You’ll need this.’ I rip off another section, let the water soak it, then wrap it around my head.

‘Do you know if they’re still here?’ Michael asks.

No longer able to see him, I shrug. ‘I have to be sure.’

I edge back to the door and fling it open, then get down onto all fours. Taking a deep breath, I crawl towards the heat again. I keep my head down and continue moving, putting one hand in front of the other. It’s not until something blocks my way that I stop. Pulling up the edge of the fabric, I peek out. As far as I can tell, part of the ceiling has collapsed. Exposed wires hang down but I think there’s a big enough gap to squeeze through.

Michael tugs my ankle. ‘There are three fire engines round this side. It’s getting too dangerous, Bo. Leave it to the professionals.’

I’m about to reply when I hear a shout from the other side of the rubble. I throw him a look and he nods reluctantly.

‘Don’t you have minions to do this kind of thing for you?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

‘None of them are stupid enough to run into a burning building,’ he answers.

I pull my makeshift mask back down again and start climbing, pushing chunks of fallen plaster out of my way so I can enlarge the gap and make it wide enough for Michael to follow. Blinded as I am, it’s not particularly easy, but with a little perseverance and sweat I make it through. I listen. I can’t hear any more shouts.

‘Hello!’ I yell. ‘O’Shea! Nisha! Harry!’

Panting slightly, Michael joins me. ‘So he’s Harry now, is he? When did that happen?’ He pauses. ‘Wait, let me guess. You’re friends, right?’

I don’t deign to answer. Instead, I lurch forward. ‘Devlin! Are you there?’ I turn my head back. ‘He’s a friend too,’ I sniff. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

There’s an answering shout from up ahead. The smoke is getting thicker, if that’s possible, and it seeps through the wet rag round my face. I plunge in deeper, arms out in front of me. I find the far wall and feel my way forward. That’s when I realise I’ve found them.

Nisha’s office door has buckled. My fingers brush a warm hand that’s reaching out to me. I grab the fingers and squeeze tight.

‘Bo? Is that you?’

O’Shea. Thank goodness. ‘It’s me!’ I yell.

‘We’re trapped. The ceiling has caved in on the other side. We can’t get to the window and we can’t open the door.’

‘Who’s with you?’ Michael asks calmly.

‘Nisha.’

‘Is D’Argneau there?’

‘No, he’d already left.’

‘Hardly the conquering hero, is he?’ Michael mutters.

‘Stand back,’ I shout. ‘We’ll try to break the door down.’

‘Be careful! I think it’s the only thing holding up the wall right now.’

I nod grimly. I turn to Michael. ‘Can you…?’

‘I’m already there.’ I sense him moving beside me and stretching up to hold the door frame.

‘Are you strong enough to do this?’ I ask.

‘Are you suggesting I’m not?’ he shoots back.

I take three steps back, brace my legs and launch forward, smacking my shoulder into the door. The wood splinters with a loud crack.

‘Almost!’ O’Shea calls. ‘Do it again.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Ready?’ I ask Michael.

‘Do it.’

I hold nothing back. I may be small but I’ve got both power and strength. This time, I hit the door in just the right place, forcing it open. There’s an almighty creak from above and Michael grunts. ‘Move fast.’

Nisha appears, blood streaking her face from a wound on her cheek. She’s caked in dust and very shaken, but otherwise unhurt. O’Shea follows. ‘We need to get out of here now!’ he gasps.

‘Go!’ Michael yells.

I lead them back down to the mountain of rubble. ‘Michael!’ I scream.

‘You first.’ He still sounds calm and collected whereas I’m shrieking like a bloody banshee.

I spring up, my hands scrabbling over plaster and bits of stone. I throw myself over. ‘Get ready to run,’ I hear from behind.

There’s another ear-splitting creak and I feel the floor vibrate. Then Michael’s hands grab me as he pulls himself through. Together the four of us start sprinting as the walls and ceilings finally yield. There’s a loud rumble and a crash. We swerve through the corridors; Nisha and O’Shea aren’t moving fast enough and we won’t make it in time.

I pull down the wet rag and exchange a look with Michael. He nods and lunges for O’Shea, throwing him onto his shoulder. I grab Nisha and do the same. My legs pump and my eyes stream. Nisha clings on to me for dear life. We twist left into the glass-covered lobby. There’s another boom, although I can’t tell whether it’s more of the building collapsing or another explosion. I put my head down. Shards of glass fly up around my feet as I run towards the large front doors. Then we’re out, running down the stairs and breathing in fresh air.

I finally come to a halt when I’m down the steps and onto the road. Gasping for breath, I put Nisha down. Her knees buckle and she collapses. A paramedic rushes over and fixes an oxygen mask round her face. Another paramedic gestures towards me but I wave him away and turn to look at the Agathos court. Although the fire brigade has extinguished most of the flames, the entire east side of the building is devastated.

O’Shea hacks out a long cough and doubles over.

‘Do you need oxygen?’ I ask

He waves me away and straightens up. His face is still pale and his orange eyes blink at me in shock and horror.

‘What the hell happened?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was a bomb.’

‘Is this about the ear?’

‘If it is, then you need to run, Bo.’

Puzzled and alarmed, I look at him questioningly. Nisha pulls off the oxygen mask. ‘The ear is a fake,’ she gasps. ‘It’s not Renfrew.’

Michael starts. ‘Tobias Renfrew? You’re kidding me. That’s what this is about?’

‘Bo!’ O’Shea begs. ‘You have to run.’

He’s not making any sense. ‘Run where?’

‘They’re after everyone.’

I nod. ‘I know. Kimchi and his owners…’

‘No, you’re not listening. A letter arrived by messenger just before the first explosion.’ He thrusts a crumpled piece of paper at me. ‘They’re going after everyone who knows who they are.’ He stares at me. ‘How did you know about the funeral directors, Bo?’

I know what he’s getting at instantly. ‘Rogu3,’ I whisper.

O’Shea closes his eyes. ‘Run,’ he repeats.

Chapter Nineteen: Friday Night Frights

I don’t even look at the piece of paper. I simply thrust it into my back pocket and do exactly as I’m told, taking off down the street. I’m vaguely aware of repeated flashes of bright light pointing in my direction and voices calling my name, but I focus on one thing and one thing only – getting to my bike and getting to Rogu3.

From the footsteps behind me, I can tell I’m not alone. ‘What day is it?’ I shout. My words are whipped away into the wind.

‘Friday,’ Michael answers. ‘Who the fuck is Rogu3?’

‘Friend.’

‘Another one?’

I run faster. I leap over a cordon, ignoring the wide-eyed looks and smartphones held in the air. The bike is just ahead. I pivot round a group of Japanese tourists who goggle at me and vault onto the bike. Michael joins me, his arms linking round my waist. With a loud roar, the bike takes off, tires squealing.

‘What time is?’ I call back.

‘Almost ten.’

I thought it was later. Rogu3 will probably still be at that gig. By blowing a hole in the goddamn Agathos court, the daemons have proved they don’t care who gets hurt. So not only is Rogu3 in danger but so are all of his friends.

‘My phone’s in my pocket,’ I yell to Michael. ‘Take it out and call the third number in the contact list. Call it three times. Tell the person who answers to hide. Now.’

Thankfully, Michael doesn’t ask any questions. He reaches into my pocket for the phone. I weave round waiting traffic, ignoring the red light up ahead. Cars sound their horns and a cacophony of hoots blares through the night. I narrowly avoid hitting a jogger and curse.

‘There’s no answer,’ he shouts in my ear.

‘Then keep calling!’ Although if Rogu3 is round the back of the proverbial bike sheds with his Natasha, he’ll never pick up. My heart pounds painfully. Michael senses my panic and tightens his grip round my waist. ‘It’ll be alright,’ he says into my ear.

I shake my head. Not if they hurt Rogu3, it won’t be.

*

Eleven and a half minutes later, I screech to a halt outside the school gates. They tower menacingly, as if the school is as much of a prison as Marsh. Still, at least the gates are open to allow for the steady influx of teenagers.

I jump off and start running again. There’s a kid leaning against one wall, smoking; he holds the cigarette awkwardly as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. I guess some things never change. I snatch the glowing end, throw it away and grab the lapels of his denim jacket.

‘I’m looking for …’ Shit. I pause. I don’t know Rogu3’s real name. ‘A teenager. Good with computers. He’s about this tall,’ I raise my hand, ‘and has brown hair.’

The smoker shrugs. ‘Lady, you just described about a hundred people.’

I lean my face in closer and bare my fangs. He flinches. ‘Where’s the gig?’

He points to his left with a shaking finger. I release him and launch myself in that direction. I look left and right. I can’t see any daemons around – adult or teen. It doesn’t mean they’re not already here, though.

Michael catches up. ‘Bo, this is a school.’

‘I know.’ I slam open a set of double doors and run down a corridor towards the thump of music. My shoes squeak on the floor and there’s the distinct smell of chip oil in the air.

‘Bo!’ He grabs my arms, swinging me round and forcing me to stop. ‘We’re vampires. We can’t be here. You can’t go around threatening children.’

I yank myself free. ‘Then go,’ I snarl. ‘Get out of here. I’m not leaving.’

I set off again. The music gets louder. I’m almost there. All of a sudden, I hear the tinkle of smashed glass and a fraction of a second later, there’s a familiar piercing howl. I whirl round. Michael is standing beside a fire alarm set into the wall. I nod at him as kids pour out of a room at the far end. Virtually all of them are taller than I am. I moan in despair, shoving my way through the crowd, craning my neck upwards to find Rogu3’s familiar face.

‘Curmudgeon!’ I yell as loudly as I can. ‘The word of the week is curmudgeon!’ Startled eyes flick in my direction. None of them are Rogu3’s.

‘Everyone, you know the drill. Just because it’s night time, things don’t change. Make your way calmly and quietly out to the field.’ I look at the harassed teacher ushering the kids out and push my way towards her. ‘Is everyone out?’ I ask.

Her mouth drops open.

‘I said,’ I grit my teeth, ‘is everyone out?’

She nods. I mutter a curse under my breath. ‘Check the toilets,’ I instruct Michael.

His face is an impassive mask. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for.’

‘Teenager. About this tall.’ I indicate Rogu3’s height. ‘He has brown hair and he knows who I am. If you find him, phone me immediately. The daemons who attacked the Agathos court will be after him.’

‘From what I can gather, they’ll be after you too, Bo.’

‘I can look after myself. He can’t.’ The teacher’s eyes dart from me to Michael and back again. ‘Go,’ I growl.

Michael takes off while I turn back to the shaking woman. ‘Do you know who I’m talking about?’ I demand.