Hellraisers (12 page)

The teacher—Marlow couldn't remember her name—folded her arms across her chest.

“You're not supposed to be here,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching his head. “About that. You don't have to worry, it's all sorted. Mr. Caputo apologized to me, actually commissioned me to decorate the rest of his car.”

“Nice try,” she said. “Now leave. You know what happens when you're on school premises without permission.”

By the time she'd finished Charlie was out of his seat and halfway across the room.

“I'd better go see what the trouble is,” he said as he reached the door.

She protested some more, but Charlie just flashed her one of his grins and closed the door behind him.

“What the
hell
, dude?” he said, grabbing Marlow's arm and hauling him down the corridor. “Where have you been?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he replied, leaning in close and keeping his voice low. Charlie reeled back, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Wouldn't believe you? Jesus, Marlow, I can
smell
it. You could fuel a goddamned power station with those fumes.”

“It's not…” Marlow covered his mouth self-consciously. “It's not what it looks like, Charlie. I was drugged.”

“What?”

“By these guys. They injected me with alcohol.” He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. Nothing was making sense up there, the last couple of days a storm of dream-like half-memories. Charlie's eyebrow just about shot off the top of his head.

“They injected you … with
whiskey
? You okay? Did they…?”

Marlow realized what he was asking.

“No! No way, dude. It's because I saw something. I was there, at the hospital.”

“The one the terrorists blew up?” Charlie said.

“What?” Marlow said.

“It's all over CNN, man. The cops got there before they could do too much damage. Some wacko cell is claiming responsibility. You saying terrorists made you get drunk?”

“No, wait.” Marlow looked back, saw the demons ripping themselves from the walls, the girl with the hole in her heart. “That's not what happened. They weren't terrorists.”

He heard a door opening, the hammer of distant footsteps.

“There were these people, and these … I don't know, creatures I guess.”

“Creatures?” Charlie actually took a step back. “Listen, Marlow, I don't know what you've been on but—”

“I'm not
on
anything,” he spat back.

Charlie spluttered out a sigh.

“Look, I get it, Marlow. This is how you deal with things. You burn up and take off. But you got to get it under control, dude. I'm serious, you sound crazy.”

“I'm not crazy,” he started, and would have said more if the intercom hadn't fizzed to life.

“Please listen carefully,” said a voice that Marlow recognized instantly as the principal's. “The school is currently in lockdown. We request that all students remain inside their classrooms. Staff, this is a code orange. Please ensure that all doors are secured.”

“What's going on?” Marlow said. “What's a code orange?”

“I have no idea,” Charlie replied. “But I'm guessing it's you.”

“Me?”

The sound of footsteps grew louder and the door at the end of the corridor exploded outward, the giant shape of Yogi lumbering through as fast as his fat legs would let him. It only took him a second to see Marlow, and when he did he started fumbling at the Taser on his belt.

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “I'm pretty sure it's you.”

“Stop!” Yogi roared, ripping the weapon from its holster. His other hand held a radio. “He's in east wing, level two. No weapon in sight.”

“Weapon?” Marlow said, frowning. Yogi was jogging toward them, everything jiggling. “What's he talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Charlie replied, backing away. “But if I were you, I'd start running.”

He didn't need to be told twice, sprinting after Charlie toward the far end of the corridor. They burst through the double doors, skidding around the corner into the stairwell. Caputo must have seen Marlow entering the gates, probably thought he was here for payback. He didn't blame him. Victor G. Rosemount was the kind of place where payback could be brutal.

“Where are you going?” he asked Charlie, feeling the monster start to squeeze its fingers around his throat. “And why are
you
running?”

Charlie grinned back at him.

“Gotta be more exciting than geography, right?”

They punched through the doors at the bottom of the stairs, running out into the main school corridor. Yogi was still behind them, grunting like an injured bear, and Marlow took the lead, splitting right, heading toward the way out. He smashed through the final set of fire doors into the lobby, the sun so bright there that it was like a flashbang going off in his face. He slammed into something big, spinning to a halt and panting for breath.

Two school cops stood between him and the way out. They weren't as big as Yogi—
nobody
was as big as Yogi—but there were Tasers in their hands and murder in their eyes. Marlow froze, lifting his arms over his head in surrender. Charlie flapped to a halt beside him, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. Yogi appeared behind them, growling, at the same time that Caputo stepped out of his office door.

“You shouldn't have come back, Marlow,” the principal said, hovering behind one of the guards. “You have just violated your contract with the school and broken the law. The city police have been notified.”

“Whoa,” he said, coughing out phlegm. “Don't give yourself an aneurism, I just came to see him.” He tipped his head at Charlie.

“Yes, sure.” The man sneered. His lips moved as he carried on speaking but Marlow didn't hear it, his head suddenly full of noise. It was a sound like breaking china—as though somebody was walking across broken glass. He clamped his hands to his ears, gritting his teeth against it.

What is that?
he said, or maybe didn't. Caputo's face was turning red, the principal jabbing a finger at him, his words drowned out by that infernal noise. Behind him the school doors opened. Marlow glanced up, squinting against the pain, against the light, to see the girl walk in—the one he'd seen outside the cop shop, the one who had followed him here. A girl he didn't know, but who seemed so familiar.

“Hello, Marlow,” she said, smiling right at him.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

 

CRAZY STUPID

“We've got definite fluctuations in the reality continuum.”

Pan sighed, looking over her shoulder at Herc. He was sitting at a bank of computers in the back of the van, his scarred forehead furrowed as he focused on a stream of data on one of the monitors. She put her hands behind her head, struggling to stay awake in the stream of golden light that poured through the windshield.

“You know, Herc,” she said, “the fact that you say stuff like that is one of the reasons nobody likes you.”

“I thought everybody liked me,” he said, pouting. “I'm the life and soul of the party.”

“You couldn't be the life and soul of the party if the party was full of demons,” she said. Then, when he didn't reply, “You know, because demons don't have lives or souls.”

“Pan, it isn't really a joke if you have to explain it,” he said, smudging a palm across the screen as if he could somehow change what was written there. “Seriously, though, we've got a hit. What do you think?”

Pan reluctantly got to her feet, and moved to the back of the van. She sat next to Herc, staring at the lines of code and trying not to go cross-eyed. It was hopeless. She could read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics better than she could read the data pumped out by the Lawyers.

“I have absolutely no idea, Herc,” she said.

She knew what he'd found, though. Tiny inconsistencies in the fabric of the world—
cracks in the code
is how the Lawyers always described them—that were a sign an Engineer was close by. When you used the Engine it basically took a sledgehammer to physics, smashing a great big hole into reality. Those holes were like a homing beacon, if you knew how to look for them.

“How many?” she asked.

“I can't tell,” Herc said. “The data's off. Two, maybe. Possibly more.”

Great.
Two enemy Engineers, at least. That could be bad. The trouble was you never knew what their powers were until you saw them—or
didn't
see them, if that's what they'd traded for. Invisibility was always popular. You didn't know whether you'd be facing up to superstrength, supersonic speed, the ability to blow fire out of your ass. Or the big one, of course: invulnerability. But the contract for that was a nightmare to break, so only idiots and crazy people went for that.

Yeah, and which one are you?

“Shut up,” she told her brain.

“What?” said Herc, pouting again.

“Nothing.” She stood up, yawning as she paced the length of the van and back. She felt like she could sleep for a week, and she would have if someone could guarantee that there would be no nightmares. “This is a bad idea anyway. Why would they even care about him?”

“Marlow? Because he's seen us. Because they think he'll be able to lead them to Ostheim, give them something to work with.”

Pan snorted. Ostheim was way too clever for that. They were always moving, always hiding. This war had been raging for decades and they'd never been found. Marlow could tell them everything he knew, everything he'd seen, and it wouldn't do the Circulus Inferni any good. All they'd find is an empty high-rise in Manhattan.

“And remind me again why
we're
here?” she asked, examining her filthy fingernail.

“See if we can't lure some of them into a trap, take out a couple of the enemy, even up the odds a little.”

Tit for tat, just like always.
You kill some of the enemy, the enemy kills some of you, and the demons just sit there waiting for a chance to drag everybody down to hell. Maybe she
should
have taken Ostheim's offer of escape.

“They're never going to show up,” she said. “The kid's not a big enough target.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before the radio squawked and Truck's voice boomed through. He and Nightingale were three streets up, on lookout duty.

“We got movement here. By the school.”

“Yeah?” Pan said. “You getting some fluctuations in the reality continuum of your bowels?”

“No joking, Pan, got a bad feeling. I think something big's about to go down.”

Your fat ass,
she wanted to say, but before she got the chance a squealing hiss of static erupted through the speakers. She clamped her hands to her ears as Herc wrenched the volume down.

“Truck? You there?”

Just static.

“Goddammit.”

Herc clambered behind the wheel and fired up the engine. Pan just had time to grab hold of the rail before it roared up the street.

“We're eyes-only on this one, Pan, hear me?” Herc said.

It was good advice. Without a contract she'd be as vulnerable as it was possible to be out there. An Engineer could crack her open with just a thought.

“I mean it. Do
not
do anything crazy or anything stupid.”

She reached back with her spare hand, felt the crossbow there, praying she wouldn't have to use it but knowing she would.
Crazy or stupid, Pan?
she asked herself as they skidded around a corner, accelerating hard.

Probably both.

 

WHEN ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

The girl smiled again and Marlow almost screamed. It was a friendly smile, like they were old friends, like they were the only two people in the room. But there was something just beneath it, something sharp and dangerous, like a razor hidden by icing sugar. She was still dwarfed by her huge jacket, her mousy hair falling in tangled curls. Even in the dazzling light of the lobby her eyes seemed to glow, too big, too bright.

Marlow's gut tightened, that same wave of nausea bubbling up from deep inside him. Something felt wrong.

Something felt
really
wrong.

The girl walked across the lobby, pushing past the guards and the principal like they didn't exist. Caputo frowned at her.

“Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?”

She didn't reply, those big, moon-bright eyes never leaving Marlow. Caputo reached out, grabbed hold of her coat.

“You have no right, I'm asking you to…”

The words dropped from his lips in clumps, his eyes bulging like something inside his skull was pushing them out. He put a finger down his collar and tugged at it as if he were standing inside a furnace.

“You,” Caputo said, gulping. He was shaking now, like he was on the verge of a seizure. “You you you…”

“Hey, Vince,” said Yogi, “you okay?”

Caputo didn't reply, just collapsed against the wall, shaking like a broken machine, saying that one word over and over. Yogi and the other guards had run to him, one of them calling for help on his radio. The girl ignored them, still smiling at Marlow. His guts did another somersault with every step she took, like she'd unraveled them and was using them as a red carpet. Charlie must have sensed something too because he grabbed Marlow's arm.

“Dude,” he said quietly. “This is weird.”

“I said hello, Marlow,” said the girl. She took another step forward and the air around her seemed to shimmer, giving the illusion that her feet weren't touching the ground. It had to be the heat, right? But could the weather be blamed for the way her words seemed to ricochet around the room like bullets, making his ears ring?