Blood & Magic (21 page)

“Where is he?” he growled.

“Upstairs, but you’ll never make it up there alive.”

Tristan hit him again and the life was lost from him as he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“
Sorry
? Who the hell says
sorry
when you are questioning someone?” Tristan said.

“I wasn’t sure, I…”

“Let’s go.”

They ran back into the corridor and toward a rusted spiral staircase that disappeared into the ceiling.

If Tristan had any fear heading upstairs, it didn’t show. The clunk of his boots against the metal steps echoed distantly around the deserted factory. At the top of the stairs, gunshots, screams and the unmistakable cry of a human coming into contact with an inanimate object sounded out. A few minutes later, the noise subsided: the signal for Henry and Gabriel to follow on up.

Tristan stood in the middle of the room amongst a sea of bodies. In front of him, lay a man slowly trying to edge himself away from his attacker who stood like a silent golem above him. He was in his late sixties, gaunt, his hair receded. Henry looked toward him and they exchanged a glance, but Henry didn’t see anything. Were they hunting humans now?

“Who is he?” Henry said.

“A traitor who must be executed,” Tristan said.

“What is his name? How can you be judge, jury and executioner?”

“Oh, I’m only the judge and jury. Henry, you are the executioner.”

The man’s eye’s widened, his expression a rush of panic.

“My name is Nigel Elmore and I am a government employee, you can’t do this,” the man said.

Tristan walked over to Henry and flicked a switch on the side of his gun, positioning Henry’s arm so it pointed at the man.

“The guns have a lethal mode and, at times, you will be expected to use it. This man has been judged too dangerous to live. Henry, to pass your trial, you are expected to execute him. One shot is all it takes and don’t close your eyes,” Tristan said.

“I am not a killer.”

“You are an Inquisitor and this duty is expected of you.”

“I will not do it.”

“You will, otherwise you have failed and will be cast out from the Inquisition.”

“Then cast me out, I won’t shoot him.”

“If you leave the Inquisition, you will lose your dysprosium treatments and protection the council provides you with. Think of your family.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I am telling you what will happen. Your death will be slow and agonising, your family and friends will most likely be tortured to set an example. All of this, because you haven’t got the guts to do what is needed.”

“He should be tried for whatever crimes he has committed.”

“He has and the sentence is death. I am going to count to five. 1…”

This was mad, Henry couldn’t kill someone.

“2…”

He couldn’t, Tristan must be bluffing.

“3…”

What if he wasn’t? Henry didn’t fear for his own life, not that anyone would believe him, but what about his mother and father, or Elle…

“4…”

Henry held the gun straight, pointed at the man’s chest.

“5…”

A shot sounded out around the room as the old man slumped on the floor. Henry’s body shook involuntarily as he lowered the gun to his side. The shot had hit him between the eyes, but it wasn’t Henry’s weapon that smoked.

“You failed.”

What an idiot the boy had been, but at least he showed spirit. Henry Fellows, at his first meeting with some of the most influential alternates in the country, if not the world, had managed to make an enemy of both the Master of the Council and one of the most powerful Doyens of the last century, as well as accusing every person in the room of being part of a cover-up over his fathers death. How to win friends and influence people indeed. There was also of course the result of last nights patrol with Tristan to come, but even the boy couldn’t bugger that up, surely?

Meyer woke at 8am, earlier than he had forced himself to do in a long, long time. Ruth hadn’t stayed over, or at least there was no sign she had retuned to the mansion after visiting Rosalyn the day before. Today however, Meyer had a job to do and it was perhaps better she wasn’t around to join him. He was going to find out what happened to Mark’s body, having confirmed to himself that the Inquisition investigation into it was a farce - it was orchestrated by Wade after all. The first step in Meyer’s mission was to trace who had taken his body and that meant a visit to the morgue.

His thoughts still, two days later, turned to the mystery he had uncovered in Wade’s office. It wasn’t the assassination of humans that concerned Meyer, he was already vaguely aware of the unlisted actions of the council. No, it was something else entirely that had made Meyer’s sleep the night before a restless one. That damn word, written on the cover of the deceased Inquisitor files in dull amber ink. ‘Possible’. What the hell did that mean?

To add to his sullen mood, Meyer’s face still stung this morning, a painful reminder of what a old useless fool he had become. After he had left Wade’s office, the notes stuffed into his jacket, who should be walking towards him, but Wade. In a rare and ill advised moment of action, Meyer had thrown himself into a storage closet at the side of the corridor to avoid detection. As could be expected, it hadn’t gone well. Catapulting through the door, he somehow fell over a mop that was propped against the inside wall, sending him head-first into a pile of cleaning supplies. Meyer lay on the ground, an ungraceful ball of gluttony and frustration, as Wade sauntered by. The bruise that had developed was quite impressive, almost perfectly round with rings of purple and yellow like the age-rings of an old tree. When he finally exited the closet, he had found himself a little too embarrassed to go to Ruth immediately and the bruise had merrily developed. It was only the next day she spotted him and healed the damn thing, but it still stung. He was getting old, too old to be playing games like this. Retiring somewhere was becoming a much more tempting idea with every passing moment. Excerpt he couldn’t, Meyer had a duty to help Henry get through this.

“Good morning, my name is Dr. Drake and I am here to investigate the disappearance of a body from your facility on the 15th,” Meyer said.

He had taken a taxi to the morgue after retrieving details of where Mark’s body had been taken from Rosalyn, who was useful for discretely accessing police records when he needed them. The girl at the desk had a mousy look about her, which was a sign, as stereotypical as it was, that this wasn’t going to be terribly difficult. He reached out with his thoughts and sent a feeling of trust surging through her body; a warm familiarity that she wouldn’t be able to place, yet that would influence her actions all the same. She didn’t speak for a second, before deciding to only arm herself with a nervous smile.

“Do you want me to fetch Dr. Calder?” she said.

“That won’t be necessary. Can you tell me who was on the nightshift on the 15th please?” Meyer said.

The girl turned her attention to the computer and, in a few clicks, brought up the digital rota, her face glowing a shade of cold blue from the monitor.

“Harry Watson and Angelina Stevens were on that night,” she said.

“Are either of them in today?”

“Let me look. Yes, Harry is. Do you want me to call him down?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Can you point me in his direction?”

“You won’t be able to get into the facility I’m afraid, you need security clearance.”

“And this is something you can
help
me with, I’m sure. Although we need to proceed quickly as this is, of course, a matter of
great importance
. I don’t want anyone to
get in trouble
for not cooperating with an
official
investigation, but I’m sure that won’t be an issue, will it?” Meyer said.

Rather than overuse his power, Meyer leant on it slightly, providing a slight pressure across the girls thoughts. This way, the trigger words he spoke would do all the work and he wouldn’t waste very much magus at all.

“I could… give you a visitor pass I suppose and a… temporary key fob to get around the building,” she paused, “although, that is against policy. I should check with Dr. Calder.”

“You really don’t want to
bother him
, do you? This is official business and I don’t think he will appreciate you
wasting his time
. After all, you know why I am here and I know you want to do the
right thing
and assist me in, what is, a
very serious
matter. I’d hate for there to be complaints raised about
obstruction
from your department. Anyway, it is not for me to tell you what to do, I am sure you will make the
right decision
,” Meyer said.

He wasn’t sure if he’d over egged it, but he supposed he would find out the result of his suggestions soon enough. The mousy girl reached across the desk towards the phone and paused, inches from the handset. There was conflict in her eyes, she didn’t want to be
wasting
anybody’s time, or
obstructing
a
very serious
investigation. She knew what Dr Calder would say, that they should do the
right thing
and cooperate with any
official
investigation.

“Here is your visitor’s pass and a temporary key fob, Harry is in the prep room. Take the elevator through those doors to the basement and it’s the third door on the right,” she said.

“Thank you, you have been most helpful,” Meyer said.

He turned and headed towards the double doors that lay between the reception desk and the inside of the morgue. Reaching the security entrance, Meyer swiped the access key fob and with a click, the doors in front of him unlocked.

“Wait!” the mousy girl said, suddenly coming to her senses. “I don’t think this is right, I should let Dr Calder know you here.”

She reached again for the phone. Meyer needed to do something quickly or the whole situation was about to get a lot more complicated. He reached out with his thoughts and stole the one piece of information he knew might do the trick.

“
Katie
,” he said. “
Stop
.”

She stopped momentarily, the mixture of the use of her name, the pressure from Meyer’s power and the command to
stop
temporarily freezing her.

“
Katie
, you have done
everything right
and I will be making a recommendation to Dr Calder about
how efficient
you have been. There is
nothing to worry about
, you can
trust me
,” Meyer said.

There was a pause while she processed this and Meyer felt the distinct moment when she buckled under the weight of his suggestions. Magus was wonderful sometimes, especially for the simpler things such as retrieving a name, a trick he always used at parties.

“You’re right, sorry Dr. Drake,” she said.

Meyer continued in.

The thing about clinical environments like morgues, hospitals and labs, is that they all have the same distinctive smell. Disinfectant. It fills the air and burns the senses, the reassurance that everything is clean and germ free, with the constant undertone of why that needs to be the case. Meyer shuddered at the thought, squirting some hand sanitiser from a dispenser on the wall and rubbing it vigorously through his fingers.

He followed the receptionist's instructions and found himself in a small lab filled with medical equipment being prepared for use in some part of the facility. In the corner of the room, huddled over a tray of what looked like scalpels, stood a stocky man with a balding head. He must have only been about 5ft tall, although that may have been an exaggeration.

“Who are you?” he said, turning as Meyer entered the lab.

“I am looking for Harry Watson,” Meyer said.

The man put down the scalpel he held in his short fingered hands. “You’ve found him, what do you want?”

As he spoke, the man met Meyer’s gaze. A subtle approach wasn’t going to work here, he was far too suspicious.

“
Differas personalitatem
.”

Meyer reached out with his thoughts and entered the man’s mind. Full on interrogation seemed unnecessary, Meyer needed something quick, yet powerful. A personality spike should do the trick, everyone always had at least one persona that was helpful.

First, he needed to set the scene in Harry Watson’s mind, that was inevitably the first step in any mental attack. For the personality spike, Meyer went traditional. One massive room, fading into a blur at the horizon. In the middle, stood Harry Watson, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt beneath a lab coat. Meyer stood across from him, wearing a rather fetching tweed suit, a mirror image of the clothes he was wearing in reality.

Like cells undergoing mitosis, Harry Watson’s personalities began to multiply. First there were two of him, then four, then eight. The process continued, parts stopping splitting early as that aspect of the personality was unable to be divided any further, until Meyer stood before twenty versions of him. Immediately, his personalities starting talking amongst themselves and the white room erupted with noise.

“I would like to talk about the 15th,” Meyer said, with an exaggerated cough. The conversations trickled to a stop, all attention focused on him.

“Who the hell are you, I’ll give you the 15th,” One of Harry Watson’s personalities shouted, charging towards Meyer.

This was the personality representing anger and Meyer was glad to sort this one out early on. As the personality got close, Meyer raised his walking stick and swung it with all his strength like a golf club. It hit the personality side on, sending him flying across the room with an impossible force, completely disproportionate to the effort Meyer had injected. The personality disappeared into the whiteness and the others turned to Meyer with a mix of expressions to match their corresponding personalities. As no other personality made an immediate charge for Meyer, he took that as an indicator to continue.

“Back to the evening when the body disappeared,” Meyer said.

All of the personalities began to shake their heads.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Didn’t see a thing.”

“What you on about?”

“The 15th?”

They all spoke in jumbled synchronicity.

“So the body just disappeared?” Meyer said.

“We didn’t see anything,” they all said in chorus.

“You saw nobody here that night?”

“Nobody,” they all said together again.

The word reverberated around the white space but, as it finished, there was another sound echoing across the room. Laughter. It was faint and came from the back of the group. Meyer walked into the crowd, pushing the other personas aside until he found the source. It belonged to a version of Harry Watson who stood coyly, a massive smile across his face. Meyer knew what emotion he represented immediately.

“Why are you laughing?” Meyer said.

“No reason, just happy,” the personality said.

“You are happy when you think about the night of the 15th?”

“You are going to ask what I saw and I know that I didn’t see anything.”

“How did you know that?”

“I know it.”

“And you didn’t see anyone?”

The personality smiled and laughed again. To this persona’s right stood another and, judging by the expression that reminded Meyer of a portly child eyeing a chocolate bar, Meyer took him to be lust.

“Nobody, we know to say that,” the personalities of happiness and lust said together.

“We are all friends here. What are you so happy about?”

“Perfection,” they said, before realising it and quickly rushing to correct themselves. “Nothing, we saw nothing.”

The two began to squabble like deer fighting, each blaming the other for the outburst.

“Perfection? Can I take it we are we talking about a woman? Can’t imagine she was perfect,” Meyer said.

They both stopped fighting and stared at Meyer intensely.

“She was perfect, absolute perfection. Her hair, her lips, her body…” they said, as lust began to drool.

“What was her name?”

“No name, she didn’t have a name. She said to say she had no name… we saw nothing.”

The other personalities started to flicker in and out of existence as the conversation turned to this woman.

“No name? Well, I suppose it can’t have been that nice a name then. Probably something horrible, no doubt?” Meyer said.

“It was not, it was a lovely name. The best name. The only name,” lust said.

“Ah, it was perfection, told to us in a whisper,” happiness said.

“Liars,” Meyer said.

“I’m not a liar, she was perfection. Sabrina will love me for ever, and I will love her,” lust said.

Meyer smiled, “Thank you.”