Red Angel (8 page)

‘Can’t you control that thing?’

‘You’re welcome to try,’ I say to O’Shea as I’m rapidly propelled along the tarmac before being swung to my right and thrown flat against the wall of another building.

‘No, thanks,’ he says, catching up.

I step back, only to be thrust against the wall again. It’s pebble-dashed, and sharp little stones dig uncomfortably into my skin. I turn my face to the side but I’m still being squashed thanks to the Trace.

‘Do you think it wants us to go inside?’ I ask, my voice muffled against the stone.

‘Pardon?’ O’Shea leans towards me. I think he’s enjoying this.

I drop the Trace and feel as if a great burden has been lifted from me. It looks pretty innocuous now I’m no longer touching it. I turn my head and look at the wall. There’s a dark smudge where the grease on my cheek has rubbed off. I shiver. ‘Bloody chunk of…’

O’Shea stops me. ‘Semi-sentient, remember? Perhaps you don’t want to piss it off.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Bloody thing. Come on. Let’s find the door.’

Rather than pick up the Trace again, I kick it gently along the ground, mindful of O’Shea’s warning. Every time my foot connects, I feel another burst of static ripple through me. It doesn’t help when we reach the door and discover it’s tightly locked, with a keypad for entry.

‘We could try a window,’ O’Shea suggests.

I crane my neck. There are small panes of glass in the second storey of the building. I’m spry enough to reach them but I bet they’re alarmed. ‘I have a better idea.’

I turn round and jog to the nearest patch of grass, digging my fingernails in it to grab some soil. It has not rained for a week or two so the earth is dry enough to suit my purpose. I crumble the clumps into fine particles, return to the door and blow them gently onto the keypad. As I’d hoped, several stick to the buttons where traces of oil from human skin linger.

‘One, two, three, seven, eight,’ O’Shea reads, flicking me a look. ‘Not necessarily in that order though. There are only 55,049 possible permutations. That won’t take us long.’ When I stare at him, he shrugs. ‘Maths and magic go hand in hand. At least for mixing potions like I do.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a potion for this?’

‘Give me six months and I’ll come up with something.’

‘Helpful,’ I murmur, staring at the numbers. ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter which order you press them in.’

He snorts. ‘Yeah, right.’

I shrug. ‘There’s no harm in trying.’

‘Of course, you can try. We’ll only maybe set off an alarm that’ll wake up the entire base if we get it wrong.’

‘I’m sure it’ll give us a few attempts,’ I say, not feeling sure at all. A troubling thought nags at the back of my mind but I push it away.

O’Shea grins. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ He pulls his sleeve over his finger to avoid leaving his prints and presses the numbers in quick succession. There’s a whirr followed by an immediate click. Then the door opens.

‘Huh,’ he says, ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

He starts to move forward but I grab his arm and shake my head. ‘No.’

‘What?’

I keep my voice low. ‘It’s too easy. All this is too easy. They know we’re here.’

He scratches his nose. ‘Explain.’

‘Getting through the main gate like that was a stretch. But those soldiers veering off at the last minute because they got an order in the middle of the night? And now this? It’s too pat.’

O’Shea’s eyes dart from side to side as if he’s expecting platoons to appear from every corner. ‘We need to get out of here.’

‘If I’m right, leaving now won’t make any difference. They’re not going to let us stroll off the base.’

‘We’ve not done anything illegal yet.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Other than venture onto a military installation, you mean.’

He looks uncomfortable. ‘Other than that.’

‘They probably don’t know who we are. Our little ploy with the grease might be working – they might still think we’re witches.’

‘All they need is to catch a glimpse of your face in the light and…’

I hold up my palms. ‘I know, I know.’

‘So what do we do?’

I outline my plan. O’Shea looks at me as if I’m crazy – which may well be the case.

‘That’ll never work,’ he says flatly. I don’t say anything. He puts his hands in his pockets and sighs. ‘Alright then.’

‘Turn round.’

‘You know, as lovely as your legs are, they don’t actually do anything for me.’

‘O’Shea…’

‘Fine, fine,’ he grumbles, facing away from me.

I bend down and pick up the Trace again, making sure I’m away from the open door when I do so. I hike up my dress and shove the Trace underneath and against my belly, just managing to keep my balance as I do so. I have to brace myself with one hand against the wall when I pull the hem back down. The dress is tight enough that the Trace is snug against my skin.

‘OK.’

O’Shea turns back round. ‘You realise you look like you’re about five months’ pregnant?’

I glance down. ‘I guess so. This baby has got a hell of a kick for five months though.’ The words have barely left my mouth when I’m flung against the wall once more. The only thing that stops me from being squashed against it is the bulge of the Trace acting as a barrier between the pebble-dash and my skin. I pray the globe won’t break easily.

‘Ready?’ I ask grimly.

O’Shea bites his lip and nods. ‘I hope that when they lock me up and throw away the key I at least get some good-looking soldiers to guard me.’ His light words belie the tremor in his voice. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this. It’s not as if I’m investigating Tobias Renfrew for any reason other than curiosity. We’ve come too far now though.

I wish I had my little pebble with me. I could do with some reassuring solidity. Instead I take a deep breath. ‘OK dokey.’

I step back to the door. The Trace reacts almost immediately and I’m thrown through to the corridor on the other side. A split second later I’m dragged down the hall as the Trace continues its inexorable pull towards the time orbs.

I’d have let it yank me the whole way but I spot a bucket outside a small door and force myself to stop. Although it feels like I’m fighting against gravity itself, I lurch over and fling it open.

‘Bo, what the hell are you doing?’

‘Here,’ I say I reach inside, grab a broom and toss it to him.

He catches it and frowns. ‘I’m well aware that I’m your sidekick, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to act as general dogsbody too.’ I give him an exasperated look. ‘Wait, you’re not going to…’

‘
We
, O’Shea.
We
are going to.’

He tuts. ‘I’m never going to live this down.’

‘If it works,’ I promise, ‘no one will ever know.’

I relax slightly and let the Trace continue its magnetic pull. Now that it’s getting closer to its destination, it’s easier to handle. I hope the theory that the further away it is from whatever it’s seeking the stronger it feels holds true once we start to leave the base. It’s the only way the escape plan will work.

We twist through the labrynthine corridors, passing laboratories, offices and classrooms. Things become more awkward when the Trace yanks me down a flight of stairs leading to the basement; it’s almost impossible to stay on my feet. When there are only a few steps left I think I’ve managed it, but my over-confidence is my downfall. I trip, tumbling headfirst and landing in an ungainly heap at the bottom.

‘Bo! Are you OK?’

My ankle feels twisted and sore. If I were still human I’d probably be unable to walk – but then again, when I was human I’d never have attempted something as foolhardy, reckless or illegal as this.

O’Shea helps me up and I stumble a few steps, gingerly testing my weight. With each step, the pain dissipates. He registers my look of surprise and grins. ‘Cool to be a vampire with those regenerative skills, huh?’

I smile back. ‘You know, it is.’ Then something else hits me. ‘The Trace,’ I whisper. ‘It’s not pulling me any more.’

Both O’Shea and I look around. Several boxes are piled neatly on the floor, each one with an official-looking tag prominently displayed on the front. I crouch down, open the first one then recoil.

‘Fingers,’ I say, utterly disgusted.

‘Eh?’

O’Shea peers inside. Rather than having a similar reaction to me, his expression changes to one of awe. He reaches in and pulls out one long-nailed specimen. ‘Do you know how rare these are?’

‘Jesus, get rid of it! We don’t have time for sightseeing. You do remember that all those soldiers with big guns are on to us?’

‘I certainly hope they have big guns,’ he mutters but he does return the finger to the box.

I pull open the next crate. Bafflingly, it’s filled with what seems to be drug paraphernalia. The next one is a collection of empty glass vials. I throw open box after box. There are no time bubble orbs.

‘Uh, Bo?’

‘What?’ I snap.

‘Look.’ His voice is quiet.

I glance up, following his pointed finger. There, directly opposite us at the end of the room, is a door marked ‘Incinerator’. I close my eyes briefly. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ No wonder we’re surrounded by all manner of illicit materials. This is where they are sent to be destroyed.

‘We’re too late.’

‘This is ridiculous! Why would they destroy them? We could use them!
They
could use them! Bloody British nanny-state bureaucracy!’ I kick at the nearest box before realising I’m giving a good impression of throwing a tantrum. ‘Sorry,’ I murmur. ‘I’ve dragged you into this and made you commit what could be construed as a terrorist act for nothing. I swear that this is the first and the last time I ever try to break the law.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ O’Shea chides. ‘I’ve broken the law lots of times. Sometimes it pans out and sometimes it doesn’t. Much like life.’

‘O’Shea,’ I sigh, ‘much as I love you, you’re not exactly my role model. At least I had an excuse when I screwed up with Bergman. This time there’s no one to blame but me.’

‘You remember what you were saying about the men with big guns?’

I meet his eyes. ‘You’re right,’ I say quietly. ‘We need to get out of here.’

I know from my experience of being a good guy that the easiest way to catch a thieving bad guy and have an airtight case against him is to wait until he’s leaving the premises with the stolen property in his possession. Our only wiggle room if we get caught is that we don’t have anything belonging to the military on us. Apart from the broom.

I don’t imagine my fabulously overblown reputation as the Red Angel will survive a stint in jail – not to mention what might happen to O’Shea with his colourful record. Still, at least I can keep us safe until we exit the building.

When we finally make it back to the door with the keypad, we both stop and listen. O’Shea points to his ear and shakes his head, indicating he can’t hear a thing but if these army guys are any good, they’ll be as quiet as the grave.

I shrug and take the broom from him, turning so that my back is to the door. Then I straddle the broom carefully. O’Shea sidles up behind me and puts his arms round my waist. ‘You’d better hang on tight,’ I whisper.

‘We’re going to look like idiots when this doesn’t work,’ he says.

‘It’ll work. It has to.’ I squeeze my eyes shut.
I want to find the moon
, I think to myself.
I want to find the moon
. I envisage it in my mind, round, full and complete with craters.
I want to find the moon
.

Still stuffed under my dress, the Trace tugs. ‘Start backing out, Devlin,’ I say. ‘Slowly and carefully.’

He does as he’s told. We shuffle out. I’m gripping the shaft of the broom with both hands and O’Shea’s hold around my waist tightens.

‘Stop right there,’ a deep voice yells, followed immediately by the sound of a dozen guns cocking. ‘Hands up.’

‘Oh no,’ O’Shea whispers.

The Trace pulls at me. I mouth the words.
I want to find the moon
. Then the force almost takes my breath away as the Trace flies upwards, taking both O’Shea and me with it. He screams aloud as we rise into the air. The soldiers below seem to panic.

‘I said stop!’ followed by ‘They’re fucking flying!’

The material of my dress is starting to give. We’re not high enough yet – neither are we close enough to the fence. ‘Lean left!’ I yell to O’Shea.

Our combined weight is just enough, although a gust of wind helps. There’s a loud rip. ‘Any seco…’ My voice falls away as my dress finally rips apart and both O’Shea and I start tumbling. I catch a glimpse of the Trace as it’s freed, hanging against the night sky for an instant and no longer in the shape of an orb but now a tiny moon. A moment later it’s gone.

Trees and buildings blur as I try to turn my body so I can roll when I land and avoid any real injury. The thump when I hit the ground is extraordinary. It’s as if all my internal organs have mashed together. I lie there for a moment, groaning. It bloody hurts.