The Nephilim (23 page)

“You've had contact with him – recently.”

“N … N ...” She tried desperately to deny him, terrified of giving away the man she still believed was her grandfather. But she couldn't lie to him. No one could. Not when he hunted. And it was when they tried that they became his. It wasn't long before she was babbling the truth. Crying with every syllable that came out of her throat, and hating him as terribly as she had every hated anyone in her life. But he didn't care about that. He only cared that she told him. About the text messages she'd sent on the phones of the other kids. Phones she'd borrowed and stolen. Messages that had told Benedict an awful lot about the academy and the town.

The girl had told him a lot about the names of the teachers and some of the other students. A little about some of the things they could do. Enough that the ageing counterfeiter had probably discovered a gold mine of useful talent waiting for him and drawn up his plans accordingly. Garrick could feel the hunger within him. An endless aching need for wealth, for indulgence and luxury. A desire for service and prestige. A yearning to be admired and envied. And underneath it all something darker.

Armando Benedict wanted the dreams of all the wealthy, but a thousand times more so. And no amount of wealth would ever be enough to satisfy him. If he had a hundred servants caring for his every need and fulfilling his every desire, he would want a thousand. If he had a mansion he would want a castle. There was no end. And there was no limit to what he would do to get it. There was none to what he had already done, and as he concentrated on him Garrick could sense his machinations. A little of what he had planned, but a lot more about those that he had already carried out.

Garrick had hunted many men over the years. But he had never encountered one like Armando Benedict. No one quite so clever. Still, it didn't matter. He had his scent. He knew his quarry. And he had a direction. The man was back in New York. And he was planning his next caper. A robbery that could not go ahead without Katarinka. But he still planned on getting her back.

“Kid, congratulations. You hooked up with a real peach and he's coming for you.”

Garrick and everyone else in the room saw the sudden flash of hope in her eyes when he said that. She was still completely under the man's spell.

“But he's not your grandfather. He lied to you. And there's a reason he knew how to find you. He had spies out hunting for people like you, working through all the orphanages, children's homes and foster carers. A lot of us end up there. And you showed off your gift to others. Word got around. There was a reason that he knew you'd be in the orphanage when he came for you. That he knew your mother would be away again. When he discovered that there was a key in a particular orphanage he immediately set to work. Isolating you. Making you vulnerable to his lies. So first he had to get your mother out of the picture. No more in and out of care, seeing you when she could. So he framed her and had her committed against her will. If that hadn't been enough he would have had her killed. He wanted you alone and vulnerable. Ready for him to swoop in.”

“That's not true!”

Katarinka screamed her denial at him. In fact she very nearly spat it at him. She didn't believe him, mostly because she didn't want to. He understood that. He understood only too well what it was like to be a child, alone and frightened in a strange world, without parents to protect you. Many of his people knew the same. So Katarinka had been left alone in a dark place until he had come to her and offered her a perfect dream. She could not let it go.

“It is completely true. I am a hunter and I can see his signs in you. In your memories and in your actions. I can see how he shaped you to his ends. Turned you into his willing tool. I can see his every word that he spoke to you, the ones that were true and the ones that were lies. And they were mostly lies.”

“He has betrayed you, lied to you, deceived you and used you from the very start. His plans began before you even met him. And he has no plans to let you share even a fraction of his money. His plan is a one shot deal. He will need you to open one door, and after that you become unwanted baggage. Remember that. But if you really want proof ask for a DNA sample if he ever catches up with you. Better yet don't ask. Just grab a used coffee cup and send it off to a lab for testing. That way he can't interfere.”

“Also if he does get you back, don't do the job. It is your ticket to a lifetime in jail after all, or worse. He may pretend innocence but he has blood on his hands. A lot of it. Say no to him and then watch his so called love evaporate. He already has eighty million from what you helped him steal. That should be enough to live on comfortably for the rest of your lives. Why does he need more? And why hasn't he shared any of that money with you?”

Garrick didn't ask to convince her of the truth. He knew he would never be able to convince her that the kindly old grandfather she knew was in fact a cold blooded, lying snake. He asked because he hoped that his questions would raise some doubts in her. Enough that she would finally start to ask questions. To think.

“You know why kid – even if you don't want to admit it.”

“No!”

But finally he heard a small whisper of doubt in her denial. Not a lot. Just a very tiny bit. But he hoped it would be enough. It would have to be. Because in the morning he and Maricia would be heading back to New York, and Katarinka would be left behind. And in time if they didn't catch him first, Armando Benedict would come for Katarinka. And when that happened, despite all the warning they had and all the skills, there would be a very good chance he would get her back. Because that was the other thing he now knew about his quarry. He was unbelievably clever.

Armando Benedict was a game player. The world and all his capers were simply moves on a giant chess board. And he never lost.

But he was going to lose this game. He had to.

Later though, as he was heading to the dining hall for dinner, there was another thought on his mind. A worry. He had Benedict's scent now. It wasn't yet strong but it was strong enough. And with it he could track him. More than that, he now had a sense of who he was. Of what drove him. And with that had come one worrying understanding. The man knew too much. Much too much.

Cassie had said he had information. But she had not told him how he had obtained that information. Maricia had said he was a former spook. That he had stolen the information he needed. And that he had an organisation behind him. All of that was true. But it was more than that. The man was too clever. It was almost as if he was a hunter himself. But his prey wasn't people. It was information. Secrets.

That wasn't a gift he'd heard of. But if it had been that would have made him either one of the nephilim or their close descendants. As a nephilim the Choir would have stopped him long ago. As one of their descendants he would have been able to see the angels, and that would surely have given him pause in his machinations. It was easier to do bad things when you didn't know for certain that there was a God and that there would be consequences. Garrick though could sense nothing of that in his trail. His mark was clear and bold. There was no sign of hesitation in his work. All of which left him with no idea of what Benedict was.

Whatever he was though, Garrick was certain the thief wasn't normal. And that worried him.

Chapter Twelve

It was late and most of the academy was sleeping. Katz however was still awake. Awake and fuming. Fuming at what had been done to her. Fuming about what had been said about her grandfather. She'd been fuming for days.

They were liars! All of them!

She didn't understand that. Ms. Iron Britches was supposed to be running a school for children. She was supposed to care for them. But instead she was telling vicious lies to her student about her own family. Making up more of these damned angel stories!

Then the Council guy had been talking about the school preparing to defend themselves against Armando; as if her grandfather would ever attack them! That was obscene! He wasn’t a monster, whatever they said. Then the dark haired woman had made up some fairy story about her grandfather being a spy gone bad. But worst of the lot was the bastard agent who'd brought her here. After telling her some more lies about how Armando had shot him he'd then tried to tell her that Armando wasn't her grandfather at all. And now he was off somewhere, hunting him down like an animal.

The terrifying thing was that the bastard could do it. She hadn't thought he had a gift at all. Hunting didn't sound like a gift. It sounded like something someone had made up to make themselves sound good. But when he'd pulled the truth from her she'd understood that he had one. And that he was dangerous.

She wanted to warn her grandfather. She needed to. Because everyone seemed to agree that the steroid munching freak was a hunter and that he never failed to catch his man. They said he would catch him. But she couldn't warn her grandfather.  Ms. Iron Britches had stolen her phones. All of them. And then she'd made sure she couldn't use anyone else's. She'd even put a guard on her room, since she knew that with her gift Katz couldn’t be locked in.

Which left her stuck in her room fuming. She'd been there for two days and was only allowed out under escort! For meals and to do her lessons. She was a prisoner!

And that was after they'd interrogated her like a criminal! After the principal had made her reveal every means she had for contacting Armando. She had made her betray her own grandfather! There was no way to describe how terrible that was. But, still, she could plot her revenge. And with every hour that had passed since then she'd been plotting all sorts of horrible deaths for them. Dreaming of how they'd suffer for what they'd done. She might never be able to do it, but it still felt good to dream about it.

For the moment though she was stuck in her room, unable to do anything. Even sleep would not come to her. She hadn't slept at all the previous night and she probably wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight either. Instead she would no doubt lie awake all night in her bed again, fuming about what had been done, and pray that her grandfather was as clever as she thought he was. That he could outwit the hunter.

But she wasn't sure that he could. Everyone kept telling her that Garrick was a bloodhound who never failed. Even Mark, her friend. Maybe her only friend in this prison they called a school. He seemed to idolise the man. He kept telling her about all the people he'd caught, never even thinking about her poor grandfather. That hurt. Maybe he didn't know that Armando was her grandfather. But it still hurt.

Especially when she had no other family. Armando was all she had and if he was caught and killed she'd be alone again. Her father had never even left so much as a name. Whoever he was he was simply a dead beat dad. Her mother was schizophrenic and had spent most of her life in institutions. She had no brothers and sisters. No aunts and uncles. No one except her grandfather.

And now that gorilla in a suit was trying to take him away from her.

She hated him! In all her life Katz had never hated anyone as much as she hated Garrick. And when she'd seen him in that cast she'd enjoyed it. Someone should break his other leg, she thought. In fact if it hadn't been pointless she would have prayed for it to happen – and a lot more besides.

It was as she was thinking about all the things she'd like to have happen to the hunter, that she heard the sound of someone outside her window. It surprised her. It was late, people weren't supposed to be out at night. Certainly not the students. It was another one of the stupid rules of this place. Lights out at ten thirty; no exceptions.

Curious, she got up and went to the open window. She kept it open because even though it was cool at night she liked the fresh air. And no one would complain she knew. No one would worry that she might try to escape either. Not when she was on the third story of the building and she had no way of climbing down a sheer brick wall. The chances were that she'd kill herself if she tried. Maybe that was why she'd been given the room in the first place.

Poking her head out through the curtains she studied the courtyard below, trying to see who was out so late. But there was no one below – not out in the open anyway – and for a while she wondered if she'd been hearing things.

Then she heard the noise again. Footsteps. Quiet, as if whoever it was, was trying not to be heard. But still loud enough. And when she looked at where the sound was coming from she saw movement. She couldn't see who it was, she couldn't really make out anything at all, but still she saw movement.