though locked. When the others filed through after her she replaced the chain, hanging the padlock so that it did not quite click shut.
Jenna groaned, leaning on Sparky for support. Blood dripped from her boot.
“At least he'll have smelled us by now,” Rosemary said, kneeling beside the wounded girl.
“Make him sound like a bloody vampire,” Lucy-Anne said.
“There's no such things as vampires,” Rosemary muttered, and that made them all laugh softly. She looked up, surprised at first, and then smiling along with them. “Fair enough,” she said. “Maybe there are, and I just haven't met them yet. London's full of secrets.”
She rested Jenna's foot against her leg and touched the cut, growing still and silent as her fingers did their work.
A door opened behind them. Something long and dark emerged, aiming their way, and behind it was the most terrified face Jack had ever seen.
“It's me!” Rosemary said, jumping up and holding up both hands, the right one still bloody. “Gordon, it's me.”
The man behind the gun blinked and looked at all of them, one by one. “They're from outside!” he said.
“Yes, of course. I told you I was going.”
“But I never thought you'd come back.” Gordon lowered the gun slightly, and a smile struggled to break his expression. But he still looked frightened. “Come inside, quickly. There's been lots of patrols. I'm sure they know I'm here.”
“If they knew, they'd have come for you by now,” Rosemary said. “It's nice to see you, Gordon.”
He swing the rifle down by his side, and at last the smile looked almost at home. “And you.”
Rosemary went first, and the others followed, with Gordon closing the door behind Jenna and throwing bolts, turning a key and clipping shut two heavy padlocks.
“Nothing like home security,” Sparky said.
“Peace of mind,” the man said. “That's all it gives me.” He was a short, thin man, with closely shaven hair, a small goatee and piercing blue eyes. He looked exhausted, with dark bags under his eyes and heavy jowls. But Jack guessed he always looked like that, and probably had before Doomsday. He wondered what Gordon had been: Stock trader? Doctor? Shop keeper? He almost asked, but decided he didn't really need to know something so buried in the past. Nobody was what they used to be.
Gordon's eyes also looked haunted, as if he already knew why they had come to see him.
They followed him through the kitchens, store rooms, and back-of-house areas of the hotel, eventually coming to the service staircase that took them up twelve flights and six floors. By the end of the climb Sparky and Jenna were panting, and Lucy-Anne grinned at them both.
“You need more exercise!” she said. Emily was filming her, and she gave the camera two thumbs-up. Jack was pleased to see her smile.
“Give me a second,” Gordon muttered, disappearing through a door and leaving them alone on the top landing.
“Where's he gone?” Jenna asked.
“Security measures,” Rosemary said. “He must like you all.” They heard some strange noises from beyond the door-a whirring sound, clicking, and the clinking of dozens of bottles-and then the door opened and Gordon peered around the jamb.
He offered them a weak smile. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
The door opened onto the junction of two long corridors, perpendicular to each other. From the decor, carpet, furniture, and mirrors placed along the corridor, Jack could tell immediately that this had once been a plush hotel.
They followed Gordon along the left hand corridor, passing a complex arrangement of bottles, wires, and metallic stands that he must have just decommissioned. Jack wondered whether it was just a warning system, or something more sinister.
Gordon unlocked the door and waved them into a room.
“What's this, the Presidential Suite?” Sparky asked, but beneath the bluff and bluster, Jack could sense his awe.
The room was huge. It contained the largest bed Jack had ever seen, and even that was swallowed by the space, standing on a pedestal to one side and surrounded by a heavy oak four-poster frame and fine drapery. There was a large seating area with three full-sized sofas, a dining table that would probably sit a dozen people, and close to the main panoramic window there was a sunken area scattered with low tables, floor cushions, and what looked like a small water fountain.
“So, where's everyone else sleeping?” Sparky asked, leaping onto the bed. He wriggled his eyebrows at Jenna and patted the covers beside him, and she gave him the finger.
Emily giggled and aimed her camera somewhere else.
“I've never slept in here,” Gordon says. “There are several side rooms, and I have one of those. More than enough for me. But I do spend a lot of my time sitting here, reading, looking out over London…” He wandered across to the far wall, stepping down in to the sunken area and standing before the huge window.
“Can't you be seen from outside?” Jenna asked.
“Reflective glass. The only way anyone out there will see in is if I light this place up at night, and I never do that. A candle in the bedroom, that's all I allow.”
“Plumbing still work?” Lucy-Anne asked.
“Not for over a year.”
“Oh.”
Gordon turned around and smiled apologetically, and Jack thought he was enjoying this human contact. Maybe talking to people without having to wonder at their advanced, evolved powers was a refreshing change. “There's somewhere you can go down the corridor, room 608. The bath's filled with water and a bucket. Not the most luxurious of flushes, but it works well enough.”
Lucy-Anne nodded her silent thanks but remained where she stood. There was an awkward silence. Gordon glanced around at them all, and Jack saw something pass across his face, the shadow of the same haunted expression he'd seen downstairs.
“Gordon,” Rosemary said, “you did something for me a long time ago, and now these people need your help in the same way.”
Gordon nodded, then sat down slowly on a pile of floor cushions. “They know how it works?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
“I'll go first,” Sparky said. He hopped from the bed, crossed the room, and dropped down beside Gordon. “Name's Sparky,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Sparky.” Gordon shook.
“Yeah, well, you don't look that pleased, mate. But my brother, he was here when it happened. And Rosemary said you can help. And I'd really…I want to…” Sparky trailed off. Jack had never seen his friend looking so scared. He could face wild dogs and drunken men looking for a brawl, but now he was close to the truth about his brother Stephen, and reality these days was known to bite.
“I can try,” Gordon said. “None of us can work miracles, and I never promise anything. But I can try.” He looked at Rosemary strangely then, frowning and glancing around at Jack and his friends.
“They know,” Rosemary said. “They've already had cause to see what I can do.”
Gordon slumped down, almost as though the cushions were swallowing him up. “Well then, Sparky, I'll need a drip of your blood.”
Sparky pulled his knife and flicked it open.
“Just a speck,” Gordon said.
Jack and Emily went forward, as did Jenna and Lucy-Anne. The air of the large room suddenly became heavy and uncomfortable, as though there were too many people breathing at the same time, and that reminded Jack of his strange dream of following his mother along the airless street.
“Are we really ready for this?” Jack said, and foolish as the question sounded to him, nobody treated it as
