The Wrath of Angels

blank. He began to write on it with a crayon. When he was done, he handed the sheet of paper to Darina, and she read what was written there before folding the page and placing it in her pocket. She then spoke one word:

‘Parker.’

The boy advanced on Marielle, and the sense of an old mind trapped in a younger body was stronger than ever. His lamprey mouth opened, and a pale tongue flicked at his lips. Darina laid a hand upon his shoulder, and he stopped, his face inches from Marielle’s.

‘No,’ she said.

The boy looked up at her questioningly. He tried to say something, but the words just came out as a pair of harsh croaks, like the cawings of a young crow.

‘We promised,’ said Darina. ‘I promised.’

The boy stepped away from her. He went to the table and began packing his tools in his child’s bag. It was time to leave.

Darina stood over Marielle.

‘You lied to me,’ she said. ‘You should have told me about the detective. I could declare our bargain void, and kill you for it.’

Marielle waited. Nothing she could say would make any difference now.

‘But perhaps because of your lie something special has been restored to us. Do you know what your detective once did?’

‘No.’

‘He killed the being that you see here.’ She pointed at the boy. ‘He stilled his great spirit for a time.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Marielle.

‘No, but Parker will when we confront him. I promised that I would let you and your brother live, and I’ll keep my word. We always keep our word.’

The boy went searching in his bag again, and came out with his metal case of syringes. He filled one from a small glass bottle of clear liquid that Marielle had not seen before.

‘No more, please,’ said Marielle.

‘This is different,’ said Darina. ‘But don’t worry: it won’t hurt.’

Marielle watched as the boy injected Grady for the last time. Her brother did not react to the needle, or to the boy’s presence. His gaze was directed inward, but within seconds his eyes had closed, and his chin fell upon his chest. The boy refilled the syringe from the glass bottle. When he was done, the vessel was empty. He dropped it in his bag, and approached Marielle.

‘It’s Actrapid,’ said Darina. ‘Injectable insulin.’

Marielle made her move. Her knees were still drawn up to her chest, her feet flat on the couch. She launched herself at Darina, but the woman was too fast, and Marielle caught her only a glancing blow before she landed hard on the floor, and then the boy was on top of her, the needle was biting, and the world was filling with shadows.

‘You’ll sleep,’ she heard Darina say. ‘You’ll sleep for a very long time.’

The massive dose flooded Marielle’s system, and her mind began to descend into coma.

39

Eldritch woke in a hospital bed and thought, I have dreamed this dream before: a bed; a small, clean room; the pinging of a machine nearby; the sharp chemical odor of antiseptic and, beneath it, all that it was meant to hide; and the clawed fingers pulled at him, trying to keep him forever in the darkness. He lifted his arm and felt a tug as the intravenous drip caught on the sheet. He reached for it, and a hand closed gently but firmly upon his arm.

‘No, let me,’ said the voice, and he smelled that familiar scent of fire and nicotine, and he knew that his son had come to him; not the Collector but his son, for the Collector was never so gentle. His voice sounded slightly muffled: Eldritch’s hearing had been damaged in the blast.

‘I dreamed,’ said Eldritch. ‘I dreamed that she was gone, and then I dreamed that it was but a dream.’

His face hurt. He touched his fingers to it and explored the dressings on the worst of his wounds.

‘I’m sorry,’ said his son. ‘I know what she meant to you.’

Eldritch looked to his left. They had brought his possessions from the scene: his wallet, his keys, his watch. Little things.

But the woman was gone.

‘What do you remember?’ asked his son.

‘The power. We lost power: twice, I think. I went down to the basement, but I could see nothing wrong.’

‘And after that?’

‘A man. He passed me on the street, and I was concerned, but then he walked on, and I let him go. Seconds before it happened, I thought that he called to me. I think he was trying to warn me of something, but then there was an explosion, and I did not see him again.’

‘Do you recall anything about him?’

‘He was in his late forties or early fifties, I think. Unshaven, but not bearded. Perhaps six feet tall. Carrying some weight.’

‘In which direction did he walk?’

‘South.’

‘South. On the far side of the street?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you tell the police this?’

‘No. I don’t think I have spoken to anyone until now. I held her in my arms, but she was gone, and I don’t remember anything else.’

‘The police will want to talk with you. Don’t mention the man to them.’

‘No.’

The son took a cloth and wiped his father’s brow, cooling it while avoiding the wounds.

‘How badly am I hurt?’ asked Eldritch.

‘Cuts and bruises, for the most part. Some concussion. They want to keep you under observation for a few days, though. They’re concerned.’

‘I have trouble hearing. Your voice, my voice, they don’t sound right to me.’

‘I’ll tell the doctors.’

Eldritch twisted on the bed. There was a pain in his groin. He looked beneath the sheet, saw the catheter, and groaned.

‘I know,’ said his son.

‘It hurts.’

‘I’ll tell them about that as well.’

‘My mouth is dry.’

His son took a plastic beaker of water from the bedside locker and held his father’s head while he drank. The old man’s skull felt fragile in his hand, like an egg that could be broken with just a tensing of the fingers. It was a miracle that he had survived. Minutes earlier, and he would have been gone too.

‘I’ll come back later,’ said the son. ‘Do you need anything?’

Now it was his father’s hand that gripped his arm, and his upper body rose from the bed. So strong, this old man . . .

‘Parker came. Parker came, and she died. She was getting his file, and then she died.’ Eldritch was tiring now, and tears of grief squeezed themselves from the corners of his eyes. ‘He warned me, warned you, to back off. He was afraid of the list. He knew that his name was on it.’

‘I had doubts. So did you. The woman, Phipps, she told me something—’

But his father was no longer listening.

‘The list,’ he whispered. ‘The list.’