Sutton, Surrey, November 28th
Gabriel lay staring at the ceiling, the chair reclined as far as it would go, wondering exactly when it was he’d started thinking of himself as Gabriel again. Perhaps he’d been Gavin for a little longer than was usual, certainly under more intense scrutiny than was usual. People looked, people probed gently, but it was all superficial.
“Why did you tell them, Charisma?” he enquired, quietly, eyes still fixed on the first signs of damp on the plaster of the ceiling.
“Sophie’s medical opinion was that you need to come to terms with the loss of Giselle.”
“If you’d not told her,” he countered, “she’d have not known about Giselle.” He finally dragged his eyes away from the ceiling and pushed himself to his feet, headed for the kitchen.
“It is apparent that your behaviour is atypical for a man of your age and apparent status.” Charisma pointed out. “The details might assist in a treatment, the condition was quite accurately diagnosed – the term ‘misanthrope’ was used.”
“Very psychobabble.” He sneered, coming to a halt at the kitchen door, as he found Sophie and Caerys already seated. Both of them stared at him over steaming cups, almost identical smirks greeting his entrance.
It came down, ultimately, to the pair of them. He hadn’t created persona to stand up to this sort of close contact. Every time he finished a mission he learnt something new – this would be it for this time.
“You don’t see it?” Caerys asked, quietly. “You think this is normal?”
“Who wants to be normal?” he countered, heading for the fridge.
“Is this what passes for conversation for you, Gabriel?” Sophie put in, turning to follow him as he walked. “You and the computer?”
“Why not?” he barely felt tight across the faint scar at his hip as he bent down to the cold cabinet. “She’s as good a conversationalist as most, better than many.”
“It’s not good for you.” Her voice softened as he straightened, and he turned to face her. “You should… you should have talked about this with someone, many people.”
“I should be over Giselle?” he turned, briefly, to Caerys who nodded her agreement. “I should talk to someone, and it’ll all be better, right?” His tone drew Caerys up short, but Sophie wasn’t backing down.
“Not just like that, but…”
“No, you’re right.” He cut her off. “Your marriage broke down, for whatever reason. I’m sorry for you, I really am.” He turned to Caerys. “You’ve never had the opportunity for a real relationship, I hope you do.” He paused to place the food on the counter and turned back to face them both. “Giselle is gone, and she’s not coming back. Talking about it can’t change that, being sorry can’t change that, wishing it were otherwise can’t change that. She’s gone. There was never anyone else that could make me feel like she did, and I don’t need to pretend like what she gave me wasn’t special by going out and expecting to find it in someone else, alright. I’m content with my life. I make other people’s lives just a little better, when I can. You find me a dozen people that can say that, right now – you two sure as hell can’t.”
He waited several seconds, nodded at their silence, and turned to the grill. “Poached eggs or omelette?”
“Omelette, please.” Caerys finally managed, shaking her head slightly. The look she shared with Sophie showed they both thought they’d come further than that the previous evening.
“So what do we do now?” Sophie asked, quietly. “How do we get ‘content’?”
“Well…” he spoke quietly, slowly, attention fixed on the cooking, “first of all we have to get the pair of you away from here and somewhere safe. I know a little of Caerys’ father, I can try and cause him some trouble elsewhere and draw his attention away. I need to know more about this Paris military operation, though.”
“Have you found anything on the computers?” Caerys asked.
“No, nothing.” He shook his head, chopping spring onions with a practiced hand. “Which is strange in itself – even the most secret of projects usually has a mundane cover story to explain personnel and materiel movements.”
“And your suggestion?”
“I think… I think you need some sort of official help.” He turned to face them both. “Neither of you are in the country legally, and whatever problems you are facing involve some considerable financial and organisational institutions. I think, later today… I think we should go and see my father.”
Portsdown Hill, Hampshire, November 28th
“I’m still not sure about this.” Caerys observed, staring down from the little car-park at the military town spread out below them. Ferries moved slowly back and forth across the harbour, well in front of the line of steel grey military vessels at the dockyard, waiting under the glistening pinnacle of the curved tower looking down upon it all. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“No.” Gavin admitted, after a moment’s thought. “But the odds favour it as a good move. My father’s connected in the military, and should be able to find out what’s happening in Paris. He’ll be able to get you directly to some security service personnel, which should bypass any military channels that would cause you problems, and – given the scope of your father’s activities – there’ll be plenty of officials willing to give you a hand in return for information.”
“And you?” Sophie asked, pushing her hair back out of her eyes in the strong wind. “What will your father say to you?”
“Nothing, at least at first.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes, staring back towards the low, squat, red-brick fort hunkered down atop the hill’s crest. “Later he’ll talk to me, when the important things are out of the way.”
“The important things? Like ‘son, why did you fake your own death?’ or ‘hey, kid, haven’t seen you in about six years or so, what’s up?’” Caerys shook her head in bewilderment.
“Unimportant.” Gavin turned to look at her. “He’ll understand I must have had reasons, he’ll want to know what they were, but there’ll be more important things to deal with in the short term.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Is this going to cause any trouble for you?” Sophie asked, quietly. “Going home, I mean?”
“Trouble, no. It’s not going to be comfortable, but… I don’t have the resources to deal with this one on my own.” He shrugged, but neither of them was convinced by the nonchalance into believing that confession hadn’t cost something for him.
“You don’t have to do this for us… if your father is the man you think he is, won’t he just help us anyway?”
“Perhaps.” He nodded. “Perhaps not. He’s also reasonably wealthy in his own right, he’s not given to just accepting anyone who wanders into his home… and then you’d have to explain to him why you chose to visit him, he’d not be top of many people’s lists.”
“We could keep you out of it.” Caerys assured him, and he smiled.
“I don’t think you could – I’ve had a great deal of experience at hiding who I am, and I wasn’t trying to tell half the story and keep the other half secret, and I didn’t have to co-ordinate what I was saying with someone else, and I still couldn’t keep the truth from the pair of you… it’s not a slight on you, but I don’t believe you could keep my involvement secret and still get his help.”
“At least you wouldn’t have to face him.” Sophie offered. “He doesn’t sound particularly… hospitable.”
“I won’t leave you to face that when I won’t myself.” He almost sounded offended. “It’s… courage isn’t something I’ve ever lacked.”
“Courage of a sort.” Sophie muttered, and he turned to look at her. “You’ll face physical dangers, death even, without so much as a thought – death doesn’t hold any fear for you, you’re actively courting it, you’re looking for a way out. You won’t face up to loss, though.”
“I figure you’re not used to losing, much.” Caerys added with a shrug.
“No, probably not.” He admitted. “I… when I was young the competition that was put before was always beatable – not easy, but within my grasp. I learnt to beat what was put in front of me, I was forced to grow to keep doing it.”
“But not taught how to deal with failure.”
“I don’t fail.”
“What about how to deal with loss?” Sophie asked, and watched as his face clouded over, slightly.
“How is anyone taught to deal with loss? You face it, like anything else, and you find a way to carry on, or you don’t.”
“And this is your way?”
“So far.”
“Don’t you want anything more than this?” Sophie stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the fort. “What do you want to do?”
“Nothing.” He looked up. “I don’t really want anything, I just get on and do it.”
“Easier not to look forward in case you look back too?” Caerys asked, wrapping her arms around herself against the wind. “You’ve got to have some dreams, don’t you? Why do you go out and do all that retribution shit if you don’t actually want anything?”
“He’s still trying to atone.” Sophie offered, when all he did was shrug. “He’s stuck in trying to fight back. Have you heard of the stages of loss?” Gavin snorted, derisively, while Caerys just looked blank.
“Denial, Bargaining, Anger and Despair,” Sophie directed her comments to Caerys, but none of them were under any illusions who she intended the words for.
“He withdraws from everyday life so as to avoid the reminders of what he’s lost, so he can deny the impact it had on him. He then goes on this little personal crusade of his to try and ‘earn’ Giselle back, or atone for whatever he did that took her away – that’s bargaining, and he fuels that with the anger he represses over the loss. And he can’t look forward, can’t see a way out of the life he’s built, can’t imagine moving on without her, which is despair.”
She turned to stare at Gavin as she finished, and it was he that turned away first.
“That’s what I felt from you yesterday, in the cottage.” Caerys pointed out, quietly. “That last bit, the…. Lost. Stuck somewhere with no idea how to go forward. Shown the way somewhere, but unable to find it on his own…”
“Psychology?” Gavin turned back to face them. “That’s almost as dark an art as Caerys’ magic… can we go now?”
Portsmouth, Hampshire, November 28th
The motorway was slick with the early afternoon rain as they drove in silence along the waterside, between a landfill and a dumping ground for old submarines, highlighted by a roadside abstract sculpture that drew attention to the large marine salvage yard that looked to be abandoned, and a greyhound racing track that looked like it needed to be. Curving round the edge of the peninsula Caerys attention was drawn by the bulky ferries manoeuvring upstream of their jetties, and suddenly the motorway ended in a flurry of square office-blocks and a large roundabout.
“Where do we go from here?” Sophie sat up a little, staring along the pedestrianised main street as they moved along in the flow of slow traffic.
“There’s a few naval bases around here,” Gavin pointed out, as they drove. “HMS Nelson, there, is mainly accommodation, and further down the road you get HMS Excellent, which is the working end of the dockyard, but we’ll head down to the waterfront. There’s a public access there where you can get in to look at HMS Victory and HMS Warrior, and what’s left of Henry VIII’s Mary Rose. From there I should be able to get hold of my father without causing too much fuss.”
“You a tour guide, now?” Caerys asked, leaning forward, as the jutting masts of the two historic ships came in to view above the high, brick wall.
“I grew up here.” He pointed out. “My father took me round both ships when I was young, and the submarine museum across the water in Gosport.” He pointed over the harbour to where the urban sprawl continued. “I remember watching them bringing the Mary Rose up from the harbour bed as a kid.”
“In the harbour?” Caerys stared into the oily grey waters for a moment as the car moved along the harbour front to the little ferry terminal and rail station. “Did they crash or something?”
“No, the French were trying to invade the Isle of Wight over there in the 1540’s. Their first flagship burnt as they left, and the second ran aground, but they made it here eventually.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to insult your navy.” She smiled at his tone, and he turned to look at her as he stopped the car.
“Our Navy’s pretty good, but it’s not perfect. Before my time, but the HMS Vanguard ran aground in the harbour when they were towing it away to have it broken up. Almost ran into the Still and West – that’s a pub – and the Customs Jetty down there at the point. There used to be a chain-ferry across the harbour, it ran into the chain for that, too.” He waited until they were out of the car, and pointed back the way they’d come.
“I thought you’d be a little more defensive.” Caerys offered, as they started to walk.
“About the Skates? Marines are technically part of the Navy, but… Skates, Squids and Wafu’s are a completely different breed.”
“Skates? Wafu’s?” Sophie asked.
“Sailors are skates, submariners are squids.” He explained. “Wafu’s are – were – the Fleet Air Arm, naval airmen. They’ve just about disbanded the Wafu’s now, made the RAF responsible. They all call us Bootnecks.”
“You’re talking differently.” Sophie pointed out, as he led them back towards the large sign advertising ‘Historic Dockyard’.
“Differently?”
“You are.” Caerys confirmed. “You’ve lightened up a lot, you’re… I don’t know, it’s like you feel different, I guess.”
“This is about as close to home as I get.” He shrugged, paying their entry at the arched gate. “I was barracked at the other end of town in Eastney, but… Portsmouth was where I grew up.”
“I didn’t really get to leave home, much.” Caerys observed. “It’s not somewhere I want to go back to.”
“I liked where I grew up.” Sophie decided, as they turned to look at her. “But I’ve moved past that, now, I have a new ho… had a new home. Do you think I’ll ever be able to go back?”
“I don’t know.” Gavin admitted, with a sympathetic shrug. “It’s… with the military involved, there’s a good chance your government’s tied in with it… I’m sorry, but there’s a good chance you’ll have to start over, go somewhere else.”
“Hey, maybe you’ll be able to give up medicine and become a musician.” Caerys nudged her with a hip, getting a slight smile in return.
“Wait here.” Gavin muttered to them, as they drew up beside a souvenir stand laden with postcards and he headed over towards a pair of nearby sailors.
“Do you think he’s just nervous about seeing his dad?” Caerys asked, as the pair watched him cross the sparsely populated thoroughfare.
“I don’t know.” Sophie admitted. “He’s… if it were anyone else I’d say it’d be difficult, but I don’t think he’s really thinking about it. He’s still trying to be Gavin at the moment… but I think Gabriel’s showing through… are you alright?” Caerys was turning back and forth, staring around as though looking for something.
“I can… I can feel something. Someone’s waiting… they’re not expecting us… I don’t know, it’s a weird feeling.”
“Calm down, Caerys.” Gavin reappeared at their side suddenly, making Sophie jump with tension she didn’t realise Caerys’ words had built up. “You’re drawing attention.”
“She thinks someone’s already watching.” Sophie explained, but Caerys laid a hand on her arm.
“They’re not watching… but we’re going to meet… it’s one of them.”
“One of who?” Gavin asked, pitching his voice low.
“One of the Daemons.”
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
“What did you say to get an appointment this quickly?” Sophie asked, as the car pulled away from the harbour, following their route back through the city, past the steel and glass tower looming over the gleaming shopping area looking over the marina.
“I asked someone to tell him Giselle d’Antonio was looking for him.”
“Giselle?” Sophie asked. “As in…” he nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I couldn’t very well use your real names, could I?”
“I… probably not.” She acknowledged. “Why Giselle?”
“He’d recognise the name, know it was someone he knew, but that wanted to be subtle.”
“So where are we going now?”
“My father’s home, he’s moved out of the city.”
“I don’t like this.” Caerys interrupted, obviously edgy. “Someone’s out there, I can feel them.”
“Are you sure?” Gavin half-turned to look at her.
“You believe me?” Surprise shook her from her nervousness for a moment. “I thought you didn’t be…”
“I don’t think you’re seeing like that.” He admitted. “But you’ve demonstrated an ability to process subconscious clues into a reasonably accurate assessment before, it’d be unwise to discount that out of hand.” Caerys’ mouth opened a closed a few times as she tried to decide whether to argue or be satisfied, and Gavin slewed the car round onto the motorway.
“Where is this house?” Sophie asked, as the conversation lapsed.
“It’s only a few miles away. Portsmouth’s a bit inaccessible at times, so he’s moved to Fareham, it’s at the base of the hill we were on earlier.”
“And…” Caerys shook her head, like she was trying to clear her ears of water, and looked back up again. “Someone’s waiting, for us.” She said, with an air of certainty. “There’s a big junction over a highway, signs for… Boarhunt. Someone’s waiting there.” Pulling off the motorway, Gavin frowned to himself, and both Sophie and Caerys saw the signs they past that advertised the road led to Boarhunt.
“Sophie, get ready to drive.” He muttered, quietly, and heard Caerys sigh in relief in the back. Turning off the roundabout, he swerved suddenly as large bin lorry emerged from a side-road and slewed the car around into a turn-off instead of heading up the main road as it curved.
“What are you doing?” Sophie asked, with a squeal, as he stamped on the break.
“Going to talk to the lorry driver.” He pointed behind them. “He’s neatly blocked the road, you’ll see…. That’s to keep us in.”
Caerys and Sophie both turned to watch out the back window as he cut to the right of the car, through the long grass along the side of the road, and straight up to the back of the lorry, springing lightly first onto the tail, and then to the roof.
He paused, there, and they waited a moment until a figure emerged from the cab of the truck, looking up the ascending road with a pair of binoculars.
Shaking his head, the driver muttered something into a mobile phone, and then collapsed as Gavin dropped feet first onto the top of his head, driving him to the floor.
Two shots rang out, and Gavin rolled away from the truck, heading towards the car where he skidded to a halt.
“Up the road, first left past the little monument to Nelson, and the first right takes you into the drive. Caerys, your father’s people have the place under watch…” He held up the mobile, where the familiar voice of her father could be heard shouting something.
Sophie slipped into the driving seat, hands shaking slightly as Gavin reiterated her instructions.
“Where are you going?” she suddenly cut him off, realising he wasn’t following.
“Someone’s shooting at us – at you, probably – I’m going to get them. I’ll follow you in.”
“What if…”
“No time.” He cut her off. “Whatever else happens, my father’s not going to have you shot for turning up on his door, not when he’s expecting someone.” He pointed out, slamming the door and heading away to their left, into what appeared to be farm fields.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Caerys scurried over from the back seat as Sophie turned the car in the tight little dead-end road. “Not when he’s expecting someone… does he shoot people normally? I didn’t think they had guns in England?”
“With people shooting outside?” Sophie squealed, jerking the wheel slightly as another gunshot sounded, and accelerated up the hill. “Where did he say to go?”
“Left.” Caerys pointed out of her window at the small statue rapidly approaching on the left.
“There’s no road!”
“There is, there.” Stamping on the brakes, Sophie watched Caerys slide off the chair into the dashboard with a whoosh of breath leaving her body
“Are you alright?” Sophie yelled, reversing a few yards and turning the car into the narrow lane.
“Don’t shout.” Caerys wheezed, buckling herself back into the seat. “I’m fine… just winded…” Forcing herself to sit upright, she kept an eye out for the entrance, and pointed it out as they approached in time for Sophie to make the turn, scraping the wing of the car along the heavy brickwork of the gatepost.
Gravel sprayed from the tires as she wildly jabbed her foot down on the accelerator, and the car slewed sideways a little on the angled drive, but she managed to head in the direction of the low, sprawling house tucked back between the hills – hills, Caerys saw, surmounted by men in military uniforms with guns.
More of those figures waited clustered around the ornamental statue in the middle of the rounded end to the drive in front of the pillared entrance portico.
“Out!” the nearest barked, a faceless individual behind a rounded helmet and the business end of a rifle, and the pair of them slid out the car slowly.
“The Admiral’s expecting…” Caerys began, and paused suddenly, turning pale. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” Sophie whispered, making to shuffle a little closer, and freezing when a gun tracked on to her.
“Ladies…” a voice called from behind them, and they both turned slowly, recognising the figure before them. For Caerys it was the brief recall of the military figure that had tried to hijack her sacrifice back in Paris, but Sophie remembered him rather as Georg’s superior.
“Where’s Gabriel’s father?” Caerys demanded. Determined not to crumble again, she stared at him, and was surprised to see the shock that passed across his face.
“Gabriel… I see.”
“Shit!” She swore, and Sophie ignored the gun this time, shuffling closer again.
“What’s going on? Where’s Gabriel’s father, what have they done with him?”
“He’s not done anything to him.” Caerys explained, quietly. “That is Gabriel’s dad.”
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Gabriel moved through the waist high rape-seed in a half-crouch, barely making a noise in the gently rustling stems, approaching the first look-out point. Slowing to a crawl he trekked round to the side of the slight hill that was away from the road, knowing the shooter would be nearer the trail, and headed over the crest. Keeping below the level of the plants he avoided silhouetting himself against the skyline as he ghosted the final few yards to his target.
“I don’t know how they got through!” the gunman hissed into his mobile phone with more than a hint of irritation. “It’s like they knew we were here already.”
“We did.” Gabriel confirmed for him, and lunged the short-bladed knife through his throat as he turned, taking the mobile phone from his limp hand as he collapsed backwards.
“Hawk?” came the insistent – familiar – voice from the device.
“Hawk?” Gabriel mocked. “Seriously, Mr Michaelson, Hawk? Do you employ anyone with more than one name?”
“You.”
“Yes, Mr Michaelson.” He scanned the horizon, slowly, before jogging gently down the back slope of the hill again to clear the area, sure they would co-ordinating on Hawk’s position. “I have a simple message for you – stop chasing me. Stop following your daughter or her friend, and prepare. I’ll be coming for you soon.” The connection went dead, and he tossed the phone away into the crop, scowling to himself slightly.
What am I thinking? He wondered, pausing as he approached the narrow road. You don’t warn the target, you don’t tell them you’re coming… fucking showboating? The scowl deepened as he continued to berate his lack of control, knowing for sure that he’d let Caerys and Sophie under his skin from the reaction.
He paused, pressing himself flat against the thick hedgerow bordering the road, waiting for his senses to catch up with the danger his instincts told him was there. The road was clear, the field opposite showed nothing, and he edged back towards the direction he’d come from, catching movement from the corner of his eye.
What he saw, perched atop the brickwork of his father’s wall, was the distorted, distended, figure of a parody of a man, head stretching back from a deep-set neck amidst bulky shoulders. The stunted, pig-like nose ruffled once, twice and then it launched down into the crop like a stooping bird of prey, a brief squealing, screaming tussle and then it slowly, laboriously hauled its way back up the wall.
Footsteps neared, from the road, and he hunkered down as a uniformed, three-man unit trudged past in a practiced move and cover formation, advancing on the scene of the struggle. Ghosting in behind them he followed at a safe distance until he saw the mutilated remains in the midst o the trampled space in the tall plants.
It took a moment to mentally reassemble the remains, but the gnarled, twisted, over-muscled form of Michaelson’s ‘half-trolls’ was easily recognisable. He looked up again, puzzling, but soon recognised the silhouette on the wall from the struggle in Sutton, the cluster of odd figures that had lurked outside the doors as they’d chased Caerys. The ones Sophie had seen in the tank in Paris. The military, in his father’s house.
“Maybe I came back just in time?” he half-muttered, but couldn’t help the slight shudder that ran down his spine. It wasn’t fear, as such, that was common-place in a way this wasn’t. It was, he knew, the fact that Sophie and Caerys were already in there. Then he had to dive away as his mutter brought the diving guardian monstrosity his way.
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Caerys didn’t even struggle against the bindings, knowing the futility of trying to escape the ropes in the time she no doubt had left.
“It’s a shame we don’t have an altar here, you know.” Lilith smirked, shoving her forward for no other reason than she could. “It means Marduk can’t sacrifice you right now, and he thinks you’re too dangerous to leave alive.” Caerys shuddered, a little.
“You don’t sound too upset.” She managed, after a moment, looking about the narrow corridor for something sharp she might cut her bindings on.
“Well, every cloud has a silver lining…” Lilith smirked. “If he can’t take your blood it at least gives me the chance to make use of you. You have a talent, Seer, and I want it.”
“You can’t do that, no-one can do that.” Caerys scoffed. “My father would have done it years ago if it were possible.”
“No-one can do what I can do.” Lilith confirmed grabbing her by the hair and pinning her against the wall. “Watch…” Drawing one long nail down Caerys neck she drew blood, and quickly scrawled a symbol on her blouse. For Caerys, everything went dark. “You see, even your real eyes are just a manifestation of your power… once I deny you that power, you can’t see at all.” She shoved Caerys forward, where she immediately fell over a step she didn’t see. “Oh, stairs, by the way…” she laughed, and Caerys slowly got back to her feet.
“Do you really think Marduk will let you keep the power?” she quivered, knowing the fear showed in her voice and hating herself for it.
“Marduk won’t be able to take it from me.” Lilith snarled at her back, recognising the weak ploy for what it was. “Marduk needs the blood of the Seer’s line, not the power. Neither of my parents was a seer. Turn left.” Caerys pivoted slowly, and stepped into a wall.
“Oh, did I say left?” Lilith’s grating laugh sounded again. “I meant right, silly me.”
“All that power,” Caerys sneered, “and you still have the sense of humour of a four year old.”
“And you’d rather have the sense of humour than the power, right?” Lilith dragged her to a halt and, by the sounds, unlocked a door. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not getting the chance to find out, isn’t it.” Shoving her forward again, Lilith moved into her room, and Caerys cracked her shins off a low couch and fell on to it on her chest.
“Stand up, you idiot.” Lilith dragged Caerys up by her hair, looping it over something and dragging her up onto her toes where she was left hanging. “Now, let’s have a look… how the hell did they d… oh, that’s clever.” Lilith muttered, to herself more than Caerys.
“How did they do what?”
“They locked you up, idiot… you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Caerys’ scowl was enough of an answer. “You have a talent, inherited through your family, but that talent feeds of a base power. You’re a Seer, which is the only vestige of your power that squeezes through this dam they’ve put up over your soul… you’re going to be more of a treasure than I imagined…” Lilith was practically drooling, and Caerys cringed away from the long nails that trailed possessively down her neck, clawing the buttons away from her blouse.
As the blood-soaked sigil was pulled away from her skin her sight returned, and she took her first view of the room. Neatly decorated, if slightly old-fashioned – although it was in England, so perhaps it was common here – the rather quaint air had been superseded by shelves of odd powders and liquids, mortars, candles and large books, looming over the painted patterns on the sanded floorboards. Amidst the stereotypical witch’s paraphernalia, though, stood a computer system and a desk with the sort of equipment she’d expect to see in a chemistry class.
Her attention was dragged back to Lilith by a strange buzzing, and she looked down to see the woman coming towards her with an electrical device she didn’t recognise.
“What the fuck is that?” Lilith laughed, pressing it against the exposed flesh of her stomach, and sending a burning pain through her skin as the noise increased. Dragging it across the skin, the old woman slowly drew out a more complex symbol with the tattoo gun, inscribing the sigils into her skin with a deft, practiced touch. She began to struggle, twisting away from the gun until a short jab to the centre of her chest drove the air from her lungs.
Exacerbating the blow she’d taken from the dashboard in the car, it left her with spots before her eyes and wheezing, struggling just to stay conscious, giving Lilith all the time she needed to finish the work. Suddenly, radiating out from the tattoo, a gentle warmth spread through her system, flooding her sense of touch as it went, numbing her to the reality of the pain. The warmth spread, blinding her to the sight of the room as it past her eyes in a gentle golden wave, filling her ears with a calm hum, masking the musty scent of the room with the aroma of honey and cinnamon.
“What… have… you… done?” she finally managed to gasp out, as the sensation faded away, returning her to the pain and discomfort of the room.
“Uncorked your potential. Opened you up to the power that resides within.” Forcing her eyes up from where her head sagged down with a tiredness she couldn’t explain, Caerys looked around the room again, her attention caught by a subtle glow from a nearby cupboard. “Why tap merely a fraction, after all.”
“Aren’t… aren’t you worried I’ll do something with it?” Trying to focus through the wave of weariness that flowed through her, Caerys kept feeling her eyes drawn to the glow again and again.
“You have power, and talent, but you’re ignorant.” Lilith mocked her, grasping her chin and lifting it for a moment to ink something onto her cheeks with light, delicate, practiced strokes of a brush. “There are any number of things you could do… what… what are… oh, I see.” Smirking, she stepped aside and waved towards the cupboard like some parody of a game-show hostess. “You sense that, do you. They used to be your mother’s, once upon a time.” Turning to the cupboard, she blocked off the sight of the glow, and Caerys shook her head slightly to try and focus.
She was ignorant, it was true. For all she had the talent, she’d never worked to develop it, had been actively discouraged from doing so – her father had been most persuasive in that area. Which left her with nothing more than she’d ever had – her body. She suspected Lilith would be less enthusiastic about that than others had been.
“In fact, if it weren’t for these,” Lilith caught her attention, voice muffled in the enclosed space of the cupboard, “we’d probably never have met. I used the…”
She cut off abruptly as Caerys feet slammed into her raised rump, cannoning her head into the depths of the cupboard with enough force to break the wooden shelf. Hanging from her hair for a moment, scrabbling to get her feet under her, Caerys managed a savage smile to herself as she trembled with equal parts fear and trepidation – that’s what her body could do.
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Sophie stood in the corner where she’d been put, watching ‘Marduk’ co-ordinate the troops through the building. The military efficiency of the uniformed men was matched by the barely controlled savagery of the few distorted, twisted things that occasionally came into the main room.
“What are they?” she whispered, as much to herself as anyone else, but Marduk turned with a calm sneer to look at her.
“Troops.” He explained. “Genetically, chemically, physically altered to suit a particular purpose. Custom built soldiers – watchmen with enhanced vision, assault troops with natural armour and weaponry, the list goes on.”
“This is what you thought I was going to work with you on?”
“Work with us?” Marduk laughed, a cold, dark sound bereft not just of humour, but of anything even closely resembling humanity. “You weren’t supposed to be working with us.”
“Then… why did you send for me?”
“That… I think Dr Roffmai should explain that to you. He’ll be here in a moment.” He turned away, as obvious as dismissal as any of the crisp orders he issued to his men, and it was several minutes until Georg arrived.
“Sophie!” he smiled, broadly, almost dashing across to her until he caught sight of Marduk’s face.
“Are they ready?” he demanded, dragging the doctor’s attention back to the matter at hand.
“No, not really. But then, you knew they wouldn’t be. They can act, they can fight, but they aren’t ready, not even close.”
“They’ll have to do. Activate them. Take your prize with you, she’s in the way here.”
“Come on, Sophie.” Georg beckoned her, and as distasteful as she felt it was, going with him had to be a better option than waiting with the Admiral. Outside the door, hurriedly flanked by a trio of armed, uniformed men, she found herself pressing against his familiar form a little.
“Georg, what’s happening? What’s… what’s this all about?” He held silent for a while, as they trekked down a series of stairwells to a point somewhere well underground, and then he guided her into a well-appointed laboratory and gestured her towards a seat. The three soldiers followed them in and took up spaces around the walls.
“There’s… a war, of sorts.” He began to explain, cutting her off as she was about to ask again. Wandering around the room, slowly, checking readouts and reports, he spoke quietly. “Not an open war, not between nations, but a war, nonetheless.
And who wins, wins everything, eventually. The Admiral recruited me many years ago to work with him. You’ve seen some of the fruits of our labours.”
“These twisted freaks you’ve created? How could you, Georg?”
“How could I not? You have no idea what the alternatives are, Sophie. Camael was… psychotic, sociopathic. His rule would have been anarchy. The others are no better; primitive religious zealots of one sort or another, deluded by their dreams of magic and myths, not understanding the sciences they apply.”
“I don’t understand the sciences you’re applying… where do I fit into all this?”
“You… Sophie, dear Sophie.” He stopped his roaming, coming across to stand before her, staring down with a worryingly possessive stare. “I tried, but you couldn’t see past this twisted shell, and I understand that.” He held up his hands placatingly as she started to comment. “So I created Henri, but that was ultimately… unsatisfying.”
“Created Henri?” Sophie was stunned. Turning to a row of lockers against the far wall, Georg opened one up to reveal a glass case within which, suspended in a thick, viscous liquid hung the blank faced figure of her former lover. “What have you done to him?” she whispered.
“Done? Turned him off.” Georg told her, closing the door. “Much as you would a light, or a drill, or any other tool. He’d served his purpose and was no longer needed.”
“He wasn’t a tool, he was a human being.”
“No, Sophie, he was a shell. A controlled thing, created by me, controlled me…”
“What are you saying?”
“Sophie, Henri was what I should have been. My DNA, my intellect, my consciousness, but without this twisted withered shell.” She shivered at the possibility, unwilling to really accept it despite Georg’s apparent certainty.
“I… but… why?”
“For you, Sophie.” She paled, and he grasped her limp hands from her lap. “Winning the war was enough, once, but after I met you, it wasn’t any more. What was the point of being a hero if you couldn’t share it with someone.”
“You can’t be serious, Georg.”
“I understand, Sophie, you can’t possibly love me like this, I know that.” He tried to placate her. “But there are other techniques…” he pointed to the lockers. “Another Henri, a better Henri. Not an automaton, a replacement body. I’ll switch bodies, Georg Roffmai will look like that…”
“Georg… I… your body was never something that came between us.” She whispered, and he hesitated.
“What?”
“I... I didn’t pass you by because of your condition.”
“Then… then why?”
“I just didn’t think of you that way.” She shrugged a little. “You were… a teacher, a mentor.”
“I see.” He sagged a little, and she venture a slight half-smile.
“You were a friend…”
“Were a friend?”
“Georg, what you’re doing, what you’re involved in… I can’t rationalise that against the man I kn… I thought I knew.”
“That is… unfortunate.”
“I’m sorry, Georg.”
“So am I, Sophie.” He smiled, gently. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”
“Come… come to… Georg?” She tensed as he turned away, saw the three soldiers level their rifles at her with a gesture from him. “You aren’t going to kill me, Georg, mon Dieu!”
“Kill you, heavens no, Sophie.” He smiled again, turning back towards her with a syringe in hand. “You look at the soldiers here, Sophie, they’re obedient. It took a long time to master that piece of neural conditioning, even longer to achieve it without destroying the higher reasoning functions of the brain. They’re never quite the same, but it’s close.”
“You can’t do that to me, Georg… what… what have I ever… What of your oath to do no harm?”
“I’m saving you, Sophie. Saving you from yourself. If you aren’t with us, you’re against us, and we can’t have anyone against us.”
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Gabriel feinted as though he were going roll, then stepped to the side as the leaping figure slammed into the floor where he would have been, wicked claws driving deep into the packed earth. Before it could draw them out, Gabriel’s sword bit deep into the back of its neck and it slumped to the floor with a hissing sigh.
For a moment he was tempted to investigate, work out exactly what had been done to it – confirm his suspicions that it had once been human – but the sound of approaching footsteps warned him off, and he slunk away through the crops leaving the carcass behind. One quick circuit of the compound – and it was a compound, now, with armed guards on the walls and the distorted silhouettes of the watching ‘gargoyles’ – and he realised that climbing the wall simply wasn’t an option.
Even if he could present a distraction, he suspected from the layout that there was a reserve held inside to respond to surprises. Formulating his approach plan as quickly as he dared, he found himself an ambush point and waited for a patrol. Letting the first man of the trio pass him by, he tripped the second as he approached, then stabbed him through the neck with a knife as he landed on the floor.
The rearmost man stopped in his tracks, waiting for his companion to rise again, which gave Gabriel the opportunity to throw the knife, taking him in the throat in time to rise with the sword and cut down the first man past him with a simple cut. Stripping the three of useful equipment in the shadow of the tree he’d waited under, he headed for the gate.
The first shot, taking out the sentry outside the gate, was so simple Sophie could have made it. The second and third shots, removing the two hunched ‘gargoyles’ were far more impressive with the single-shot rifle more for their speed than their accuracy, though that was sufficient. The artistry of the moment came in the precision with which he co-ordinated the grenade he tossed through the barely opened gates, and the muffled *crump* of another explosion at the rear of the building.
The nearer blast opened one gate and tore the other from its hinges completely, giving him an easy entry to the courtyard. Tossing one of the bodies from the patrol ahead of him, he watched it quickly riddled with bullets, and hauled himself up the plants flanking the gate to gain purchase atop the wall.
The ‘reserve’, stationed at the door to the main building quickly converged on the bullet-riddled body in the narrow gateway, and clustered themselves conveniently around his last grenade that went off when they rolled the body away. Shielding himself from the flying shrapnel and pieces, he was forced to fire off three shots to put the last of the soldiers down, and headed for the main building, avoiding sightlines from the large windows. The old stable at the side of the building offered an easy access to the second floor and, more importantly, the stout Victorian pipes that led to the guttering and the roof.
Shinning up in the narrow channel between the original building and the Edwardian extension meant he was hidden from the bulk of the courtyard for the climb, and reached the roof in time to roll onto the gape between the roof and the decorative crenelations. From there, it was an easy walk to the dormer windows, and into the building.
Speed was on his side, for the moment – most of the soldiers would still be looking outside for further assault – so he forced himself to stay on the move and not hole-up somewhere. Normally he’d be looking for somewhere to secret himself until the fuss died down and he could come out and be about his business. Normally, he corrected himself, slinging the gun behind his back and drawing his sword, I’d already know where I was going to hide. This time, though, it’s not just me…The mission was different this time. It wasn’t infiltration, it wasn’t assassination. It was rescue, and that didn’t sit well.
Pressing himself against the wall of the corridor he paused long enough for two men to step out in front of him and realise he was there, then lashed out. The sword bit flesh twice, quickly, cleanly, and the only noise was that of the two bodies toppling to the floor, hands barely clutched around the pistols they wore. Tugging the bodies, one in each hand, into the nearest room he paused at the sound of voices from beyond a door and approached cautiously.
“GEORG!” he heard the yell, recognised the voice, and was on his way through the door before he had time to really think.
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Sophie pressed herself back into the chair, legs twitching with the suppressed urge to bolt, eyes flitting back and forth between the three rifles pointed her way and the relatively innocuous syringe.
“It won’t hurt, Sophie, I promise you.” George assured her, with a slightly forced smile, and all she could do was shake her head.
“Stay away from me, Georg.”
“It’s too late for that, Sophie.” He whispered, closing cautiously, seeing the tension in her arms as she balled her fists before she even realised she’d done it.
“GEORG!” she yelled at him, dismayed at the quiet sympathy in his face when something – anything – else would have been better. The first guard was down before anyone realised something had happened, the heavy wooden door slamming into his back and driving him to the floor.
Sophie only heard the crunch of splintering wood – and muffled grunt of pain – from behind Georg’s twisted figure, but she didn’t need to hear anything more.
“Gabriel!” she hissed, barely heard above the suppressed *phut, phut* of two silenced shots, each round taking one of the other two guards through the forehead before their rifles finished turning.
“Good day.” Stepping into the clear, moving around Georg, both pistols trained on the gnarled doctor’s head, he spared a brief glance Sophie’s way. “Are you alright?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment, but stood up, bending slightly to try and keep herself as far from Georg as she could.
“Sophie, stop…” Gabriel hissed at her, but she stepped in front of the Doctor, and he grasped her round the waist, dragging her close to press her between himself and the guns. She tensed as she felt the needle of the syringe pressed against the exposed skin of her neck, and cringed away from it.
“Put the guns down, Mr Gabriel.” Roffmai hissed.
“Or what?” Gabriel’s voice didn’t waver, neither did the guns, though he stared not at the Doctor but at Sophie. Despite herself, she felt somehow calm. Even with the needle pressed against her neck she didn’t doubt for a moment that Gabriel would get her out.
“I’ll inject her.”
“What is it, Sophie?” Gabriel asked.
“She doesn’t know.” Goerg almost screamed.
“I didn’t ask you.” Gabriel spared him a brief glance. “Sophie, what is it?”
“Je ne sais pas.” She hurriedly blurted. “I… I don’t know. An anaesthetic, probably.”
“It’s a neuro-soporific.” Georg snapped, shouting it. “It’ll put her brain to sleep… unless I reprogramme it, she’ll never wake up.”
“Can it be administered through the skin?”
“No, only by…” he stopped, abruptly, both pistols spitting again. The first smashed the syringe, spraying Sophie’s cheek with the fluid and a significant amount of blood from Georg’s wrist where the bullet carried on and punched through flesh and bone. His pained scream stopped an instant later when the second bullet passed over Sophie’s shoulder and in through his upper lip, punching the back of his skull across the room as he fell.
“Mon Dieu…” Sophie dropped to her knees at the sight as she turned. “Georg…” Trembling at the sight she retched heavily, emptying her stomach over the corpse, then reached out to brush it away, tears in her eyes. Gabriel dragged her back, not harshly but firmly, pulling her to her feet with a strange expression.
“Are… are you alright?” he asked, and she recognised the sympathy in his voice.
“I think… I think so…” she looked back down at Georg’s body, shuddering slightly.
“I had to do it, you know that, right?” She didn’t move, for a moment, and he moved around in front of her. “He already had that syringe when I came in, it wasn’t for defence, he already planned to use it.”
“I know.” She whispered, reaching for his arm with a firm grip.
“I’m… you knew him. I’m sorry.” She turned to press herself against him, but he eased himself aside out of her way. “We… Caerys is still out there.”
“You’re right…” she brushed at her eyes, dashing away the tears, but still couldn’t take her eyes off the body.
“Come on, let’s move on.”
“Don’t you have to… I don’t know, hide them?”
“By the time anyone finds them I want to be gone.” He told her, bluntly, checking his pistols quickly. “Come on, stay behind me.”
Fareham, Hampshire, November 28th
Slipping out into the corridor again, Gabriel forced himself to settled down, frowning to himself as he considered what happened. She needed consolation, it was obvious. It wasn’t hard to just hold her for a moment, let her calm down, but he’d… run away? Forcing himself to concentrate – denying the guilty feeling that it was easier to work than deal with the issue – he concentrated on the corner and moved around like a ghost, guns at the ready, only to find no-one there.
Pausing, knowing he’d heard footsteps, he held his breath for a moment, and pair of soldiers emerged from a room ahead, bringing rifles to bear as they saw him. Both pistols spat, both hit, but not quickly enough to prevent three rattling rounds sounding off from one of the soldiers’ rifles.
“They know we’re here, now.” He muttered over his shoulder, checking to be sure Sophie was still following him. Face set in a grimace, she followed forcing herself not to jump or scream at the gunshots and sudden spurts of blood. He noticed, feeling saddened at the expression on her face, and berating himself again for straying from the task.
Turning at the next junction he looked down a stairwell, listening for the sound of footsteps, and then started downward.
“Do you know where they took Caerys?” he asked, quietly, pausing at the next landing. All he got in response was a tight shake of the head as Sophie clutched at her own arms, white knuckles as clear as the tension in her jaw line.
Calm down? He thought about saying. It’ll be alright? Do I know that? What do I say? He didn’t even try to address the deeper worry he had, about why he cared at all anyway.
“Then one way’s as good as…” he cut off, hearing a number of footsteps approaching at pace from ahead. “This way!” he hissed, and dragged her bodily through the nearest door, into a small cleaning cupboard. “Quiet.” He urged, though she’d said nothing, and he held his breath as the unseen group trudged past.
“Come on…” he muttered to himself, taking advantage of the apparent security of the cupboard. “Think, idiot… where would they have father?”
“Gabriel…” Sophie whispered, hearing his musings, and he turned to face her, just a pair of gently glowing eyes in the darkness.
“Are you alright?”
“It’s… they don’t have your father, Gabriel.” She tried to explain. “The Admiral from Paris, he is your father.” He felt her tense in the darkness, knowing she was expecting an outburst of some sort.
“I don’t think so.” He replied, calmly. “He may have told you so, but… I don’t think that’s –“ he wanted to say ‘possible’, but in all conscience he couldn’t, “-likely, do you?”
“Likely or not, Caerys thought it was true.”
“I’m adopted, Sophie. He doesn’t look like me, you’ve got no way of recognising him.”
“It was the way he reacted to your name…” she rested a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. “It’s… he knew who you were, knew who Gabriel was.”
“Still not a guarantee.” Gabriel decided after a moment’s pause – a telling moment. Sophie let it go. “Come on.” Dragging her out into the corridor again before she could argue they found themselves surprised by the sudden appearance of one of the hulking, over-muscled deformities created by Doctor Roffmai’s twisted medicine.
Two large clawed hands swiped down at them, but Gabriel reacted faster. Pushing Sophie back into the cupboard out of they way, he used the momentum to push him inside the reach as it shattered the open door to kindling. Gabriel’s other hand drove the barrel of a pistol into the exposed armpit and let loose three shots into the body cavity, hearing them ricochet off enhanced, reinforced bone and cartilage inside.
Grunting inarticulately in surprise and pain the hulking mass toppled to the floor, and before Sophie could properly get herself to her feet Gabriel was dragging her onward again.
“Where are we going?” she gasped, as they paused at the top of another stairwell.
“Ground floor.” He muttered, paying her only half a mind. “Easier to get out, and if need be we can clear the building from the ground up.” He meant it, she knew, fully intent on going room by room and killing or incapacitating anything that moved until he found Caerys.
“What… what can I do?” That caught his attention, and he looked up at her, seeing the pale determination in her eyes. “I… I want Caerys back, too.”
“I… I want to beat them.” He admitted, though that nagging doubt at the back of his head told him it wasn’t an admission but avoiding agreeing with her. He shook it away and carried on. “I… we beat them by getting Caerys back. Keep an eye out behind us, make sure nothing creeps up on us.”
Setting off again, Gabriel quickly realised that this floor was far more heavily populated than either of those they’d been on, and he was forced to half-lead, half-drag Sophie down a short passage between two rooms to avoid detection.
“There’s so many…” she whispered, as they paused by a door.
I know. He admitted, to himself, trying to listen to the sounds from beyond. There was nothing he could say that would make her feel any better, so he kept his silence. The voices from beyond the door were pitched quietly, but without the urgency or crispness of orders or reports, and there weren’t many of them. They needed to get out of the travelled sections of the building, so he braced himself and slipped in, taking in the array of people quickly.
The far end of the room was lined with bulky, over-muscled, bone-covered monstrosities – no doubt more of Dr Roffmai’s creations. Eight pairs of black, beady eyes fixed on him as soon as he appeared, catching the attention of the three figures in the middle of the room looking over a chart spread out on the broad table.
Two almost identical, pale-skinned men stood relaxed but alert, dressed in urban camouflage fatigues and dark-glasses pivoted towards him. One ignored the pistol at his waist and grasped instead for the wicked looking axe slung over his shoulder, whilst Gabriel’s single silenced shot sent the squat, squared shape of an uzi out the other’s grasp.
“Ah,” the third figure turned, staring at him with a familiar gaze, “the Prodigal Son has returned.”
“I’m guessing,” Gabriel managed, as they began to slowly advance on him, “that you haven’t just seized control back from rogue elements, father?”