The Burning Man

Church registered an odd note in the Libertarian’s tone. ‘Proceedings?’

The Libertarian smiled.

‘You’ve been manipulating events.’

‘I learned a great deal from the Tuatha De Danann when I was you. This is all about alchemy. You need to be shaped by events so you can transmute into the gold that is me.’

The Libertarian was consciously echoing Hal’s words of guidance; both sides trying to see him transformed so he could be a force for either Light or Dark.

‘Of course, it’s not all about that. I have to ensure you don’t end up with the two Keys. That would be very bad. Thankfully, that terminal failure Veitch already has his hands on one of them.’

‘If only you knew where the other was,’ Church taunted.

‘Enjoy your stay. I hear the New York Police can be quite rough with terrorists. Oh, and cannibalistic serial killers.’

He waved flamboyantly and left, but there was an uneasiness behind the gesture that both pleased and troubled Church.

5

Church was being led out of his cell for another round of questioning when a loud crashing of glass was followed by a thunderous cacophony punctuated by shouts. His escort ran Church into the open-plan detectives’ office only to be brought up sharp by a whirlwind of black wings. The Morvren had burst through one window and were flocking around the room in a dense mass. Detectives pressed themselves against the floor to avoid beaks and talons.

In the birds’ movements, Church once again saw strange patterns take shape, but this time they remained enigmatic; yet some single intelligence was clearly directing them.

Amidst the chaos, Church glimpsed a figure flitting across the office, barely more than a shadow, and though it approximated a human shape there was something avian about it, too. It disappeared into the mass of feathers, and a moment later the Morvren funnelled out through the shattered window into the night.

‘What in the name of Alfred Hitchcock was that all about?’ Tombstone levered his huge frame upright.

‘I tell you, it’s the pollution,’ someone said. ‘Gets into the rain, birds drink it, this is what you get.’

Nelson brushed himself down, then coolly summoned Church over. ‘Homeland Security handed you back to us. Lucky you.’

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ Brow furrowed, Tombstone stared at his laptop. Nelson joined him, and for several minutes they pored over whatever was on-screen, casting occasional glances towards Church. Finally, they brought the computer over and ran the CCTV footage from the back of the fast-food restaurant. Church, Shavi and Tom were no longer there. Instead, a man with wild, black hair was hunched over the body. When he was done he loped away without showing his face.

‘Explain that,’ Nelson said.

‘I couldn’t explain what you had the first time. Maybe this is what really happened.’

‘Shit,’ Tombstone hissed. ‘This is fucked-up. The digital signature was right before and it still is now.’

Neither Nelson nor Tombstone was prepared to voice the questions running through their heads.

‘He’s still a terrorist, right?’ Tombstone said eventually.

‘Except Homeland Security don’t want him. Tried to pull the files, but all the intelligence community are tied up with whatever’s going on in China.’

‘What about that sword? We can hold him on hidden weapons-’

‘Bit big to hide,’ Church said. ‘It’s a sword.’

‘Don’t get smart.’ Nelson studied Church. ‘You’re involved in all this. The sword, the birds, the homicides — it’s all too much of a coincidence.’

‘There aren’t any coincidences,’ Church said.

Tombstone answered a ringing phone, and when he was done he said to Nelson, ‘Another one. In a car outside the Guggenheim. Throat torn out, only partially eaten, perp was probably disturbed. Guess that clears him.’ He nodded towards Church.

Nelson slipped on his jacket. ‘We’ll take him with us. He’s involved. I want him knee-deep in it, see how he reacts.’

Church protested, acutely aware of being dragged further and further away from the hunt for the Second Key. But at least out of the precinct he might have a chance to escape and double back to free Shavi and Tom. ‘Okay. I’ll do what I can to help.’

As Nelson and Tombstone led Church out of the room, he saw a detective with a sly face talking hastily to Oakes, the Homeland Security Action Man. A moment later Oakes had summoned Nelson over and was forcefully questioning him.

‘Oakes is coming with us,’ Nelson said when he returned.

‘He doesn’t trust us?’ Tombstone said. ‘I thought Homeland Security had walked away from this.’

‘Reckons he’s the only one who can keep an eye on sword-boy.’ He turned to Church. ‘He’s going to be on you like slime on a toad. Me, I reckon you were better off with us.’

6

Frank Lloyd Wright’s distinctive inverted ziggurat that housed the Guggenheim Museum loomed up pure and white in the darkness. In front of it, a car was surrounded by yellow police tape, the doors flung open so that it resembled a bird about to take flight. Crime lab cameras flashed, the white glare turning the arterial spray across the windscreen into a Rorschach blot that haunted Church with hidden meaning.

As the traffic rolled by feet away, Nelson escorted Church to see the victim. It was a man, early thirties, long blond hair, tattoos.

‘Know him?’

Church shook his head, the iron smell of the blood and the exposed flesh making him queasy. He felt the looming presence of Oakes at his back and the psychological pressure of the spiders.

Oakes grabbed Church roughly by the shoulders. ‘What have you got to do with this?’

Church threw him off. ‘You and your little spider-buddies don’t like it when you don’t know what’s going on, do you?’

Rage bloomed in Oakes’s face, and Nelson was forced to intervene. ‘Leave him.’ He held Oakes’s gaze, underlining who now had the authority.

Tombstone approached, examining his BlackBerry. ‘The CMU downloaded the feed from the camera.’ He nodded towards a red light high up a lamp post across the street. ‘We’ve got him leaving the vehicle, but still no ID. This is what disturbed him.’

The BlackBerry’s screen showed a car swerving to avoid the victim’s fishtailed vehicle, slowing as it passed, and a teenage boy leaning out of the rear window to shout abuse. Instantly, the wild-haired killer leaped out of the passenger side of the victim’s car and chased the disappearing vehicle until he moved out of range of the camera.

‘Got a short fuse if the kid pissed him off,’ Tombstone noted.

‘What kid?’ Oakes said.

‘The one hanging out the back window.’

‘I didn’t see a kid.’

Tombstone patiently rewound the footage and indicated the boy.

‘What are you talking about?’ Oakes said. ‘I don’t see any kid.’

Tombstone and Nelson eyed him with an expression reserved for complete idiots. Uncomfortable, Oakes