The Burning (29 page)

Rachel looked around her, eyes closed, feeling for the direction her brother’s thoughts were coming from. She opened her eyes and began to walk diagonally across the square towards the little streets of bars and restaurants. Ahead, she saw two men in yellow jackets and red scarves moving fast towards her. Rachel made a stupid slip by looking at one of the men and making eye contact with the black eyes behind his mask. She saw him size her up in a millisecond. A millisecond was long enough for him to realize that she was different: ill at ease in her Spanish costume and hobbling on her high-heeled flamenco shoes.

Long enough to see the panic on her face.

Rachel quickened her step past the men and heard the scrape of their heavy boots as they turned on their heels to follow her. She made it across the square, feeling safer where people were drinking late or drifting back to the bars and
discussing the bizarre events that had taken place minutes before. She crossed the street. Rachel caught her reflection in the window of a restaurant and could see, several paces behind,
three
yellow shirts now following her.

Rachel kicked off her shoes and ran. She darted into a little side street behind a restaurant.

A dead end.

Rachel backed into the shadows, trying to make herself invisible, but her fear prevented her from finding the state of mind to allow her to blend into the background. She held her breath and pressed herself tight against the wall, hoping for the best.

It was at that moment that the sky exploded.

G
abriel kept running, glancing up at the dazzling showers of red, green and gold as the fireworks exploded high above him, the bangs rattling around the square like machine-gun fire. The crowds parted ahead of him: mothers, seeing the figures in yellow that were hot on the boy’s heels and sensing the danger, pulled their children out of his way as he ran at them.

Behind him, Gabriel could hear shouts and screams. He knew that there would be others pursuing Rachel, but felt fairly sure that Adam had made it away unseen. That had always been the plan: create enough chaos and confusion to give Adam the time and space to get away with the relic.

Gabriel could hear the men gaining on him, but he did nothing to quicken his pace. He knew where he was going and was happy to let them think they had him trapped.

He took the stone steps up to the church three at a time, stumbling at the top and quickly picking himself up.
He could hear them panting, their firebrands crackling just a few steps behind.

“Diablo!”
he heard one shout.
“Monstruo.”

Devil. Monster.

Gabriel crashed through the heavy, wooden doors and turned, waiting. He watched the four of them as they stepped inside after him, the cascades of fireworks lighting up the night sky behind them.

The tallest smiled beneath his black mask.
“Sangre envenenada,”
he said.

Poisoned blood.

More poisonous than you know, Gabriel thought, as he slowly backed away down the central aisle of the church.

The three men in yellow coats moved slowly through the pools of shadow, spreading themselves out across the alleyway, leaving no space for escape. They seemed in no great hurry; seemed rather to be enjoying their moment of triumph, now that they had the girl trapped and at their mercy.

Mercy which they had no intention of showing…

Rachel watched them moving towards her, with their dark masks and the slashes of red round their necks, and felt goose flesh prickle along her bare arms. She reached out with her mind for Gabriel and knew straight away that he was in no position to help her. That he was in as much danger as she was.

She was on her own.

The abilities that she and Adam had inherited, that were in their bones and their blood, had been developing quickly since they’d escaped from Hope, but now she needed to call on powers of a very different sort. This was not convincing someone that she’d paid for something, or talking someone into giving her a hotel room. Now she had to save her own life, and she had no idea at all how to go about it.

If she was going to fight, it would have to be as the girl she had been before. She would use the only weapons she had and, if it came down to it, she would fly at them with her nails and with her teeth. She would do whatever she had to, but she would not surrender to these men.

The thought must have shown on her face, or in the stance she took, ready for them. She heard one of them snigger behind his mask and mutter something to his friends.

They started to come faster.

Rachel backed hard up against the wall, feeling the jagged edge of the bricks pressing through the material of her dress. She clenched her teeth and balled her fists.

She watched them drop their torches and reach into their pockets. She saw the blades appear in their hands and knew for certain that she had no more than moments to live.

“Es tu ultimo momento,”
one of them said.

The end.

The three men turned at the growl of an engine and watched the huge, dark van roar past the end of the alley. They turned back to Rachel, smiling, then froze at the vicious
scream of brakes and the pounding footsteps that grew louder, until two figures ran round the corner towards them.

Jean-Luc and Jean-Bernard.

Rachel felt the blood start to rush through her veins, the tension ticking in her, thumping in time with her heart. She still felt as though she was about to die, but guessed that now it might take a little while longer.

Gabriel stood with his back to the altar. The stained glass windows behind him were lit by flashes from the fireworks which continued to crash and fizz outside.

He could hear screams and the mounting tide of aggression, like building drums, coming from the mob that still milled around the square. He hoped more than anything that Rachel was all right.

The four men who had been sent after him moved a few steps closer…

Their eyes glowed in the torchlight behind the masks they wore and as Gabriel watched, he could see their dark intention flickering against coal-black pupils that were otherwise flat and dead.

He saw what they were there to do; they carried their weapons blazing in their fists. Considering where they were, and what the crowds had come to commemorate, these men would probably consider it fitting.

Gabriel gave them a small nod.
He
thought it would be fitting too.

He raised his arms and in the second before he closed his eyes, he saw the confusion on the men that were there to murder him. He sensed their bewilderment.

What was this boy doing? This
monster
. Why wasn’t he running for his life?

With his eyes shut tight, Gabriel could feel the power surging through him, building to the point where it could not be stopped, even if that was what he wanted. He could hear the boom and the crackle of the fireworks outside and the shattering of glass as the crowd began throwing stones through the windows of the church.

And then the other sounds; the ones from only a metre away.

The gasps, as the first, tiny flames began to lick at their bright yellow jackets. Then the screams as they began to burn.

Adam looked at his watch. Five minutes after midnight. He had ten minutes to make the rendezvous with the others in the shadow of the tower. He had to keep moving.

The plan had worked out exactly as Gabriel had wanted and as Adam pushed through the crowds, unhurried, unseen, he could feel the package, beneath his jacket, bouncing against his chest as he picked up the pace.

The remains of someone who, like the man whose body they had found back in Triskellion, was his own ancestor…

The traffic was at a standstill. It would have been busy
enough anyway, but now, after what had happened back in the square, chaos had created panic and virtual gridlock in every street for miles around. Cars sat nose to tail, the drivers leaning on their horns or hanging out of the windows screaming at one another. Adam moved round or between them, pushing through the crowds, trying to keep one eye on street names, checking the landmarks and his own position relative to the river to make sure he was moving in the right direction. He began to feel another fear growing in his mind and gnawing at his guts. Rachel. Something was not right.

He jumped as a rocket exploded above him, clutched the package a little tighter to his chest and began to run.

The fighting was not clean or elegant, and as Rachel watched, she guessed that this was the way Jean-Luc and Jean-Bernard had learned to survive on the dirtier streets of Paris.

Within a few seconds of the French boys rushing at the men, the knives had clattered to the cobbles and kicks and punches were being thrown with frightening speed and ferocity. She heard the Spaniards gasp as the breath was kicked from their lungs and saw their eyes bulge as the red scarves were torn from their necks.

The boys moved with incredible power and speed; talents – if they could be called that – conferred on them by the unique DNA they had inherited. They were unstoppable and their opponents were no match for them.

“Enough!” Rachel shouted.

The blows continued to rain down on the three men, who by now were crawling along the cobbles, desperate to escape with their lives.

Fists, feet, foreheads. Fingers jabbing at eyes and tearing at ears.

Rachel rushed across and yanked Jean-Luc back by his hair. He turned on her and she saw the cold, hard determination in his face, heard it in the growl that came from somewhere deep in his throat.

“We need to go,” Rachel said. She took hold of Jean-Bernard’s collar and pulled him away from a lifeless body on the ground. “We’ve only got a few minutes.” She placed a hand flat against his cheek, left it there until she could see he was calm.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

Rachel nodded. “Thank you.”

He dropped a hand on to his brother’s shoulder and took a deep breath. He began to walk away, then turned to deliver one final kick to the man on the pavement before joining the other two and running back out of the alley.

G
abriel heard the doors of the church crash inwards and opened his eyes. He watched as the local priest staggered towards him, shouting, waving his arms in horror at the sight and the dreadful
sound
of the three burning men. One for each of the innocents who had died for Rafael.

“Give it to me!” the priest shouted.

“Why?” Gabriel asked. “Are you worried you won’t get quite so many tourists?”

“Give it to me!”

Gabriel stood his ground. “I don’t have it.”

“Liar!”

“Don’t worry; it will be taken back where it belongs.”

The priest’s face was white with fury and his voice was high and cracked as he screamed out curses in Spanish. He ran to the side wall and pulled one of the ornamental axes from its mount, swinging it awkwardly in front of him as he moved past the men on the floor and advanced on Gabriel.

“All this, for a dead man’s hand,” Gabriel said.

The priest ran at him…

Gabriel closed his eyes a second time until he heard the buzzing begin. Then he opened them, keen to see the look on the priest’s face when
he
heard it; when he dropped the axe and began trying to fend off the bees.

“The truth stings,” Gabriel said. “Doesn’t it?”

The priest flailed and spun, waving his arms helplessly at insects that he could not see; that existed only in his mind. The pain was real enough, though – sting upon sting on every exposed inch of flesh, until it felt as though his body was on fire.

Gabriel read the man’s mind and made it happen.

The priest turned and ran, as his body was engulfed by the flames. Tearing out of the church, down the steps and out into the square he followed the same route his ancestor had taken half a millennium before on his way to light the pyre. From the doorway, Gabriel watched as the burning figure carved its way through the crowd, its scream echoing as shrill as any firework.

Gabriel watched as the priest finally collapsed on to the pyre that he had helped to build, and Gabriel saw the fire begin to rise. He watched the horrified crowd move back from the searing heat, turning their eyes away, then he turned and hurried out of the square in the opposite direction.