‘What articles?’
‘You know, the ones where you admit that all this ghost stuff is nonsense.’
Hannah heard a gasp.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Sure I would. Then I’ll publish one about how all the UFO stuff is a load of guff too.’
Hannah heard the voice of the man she’d seen leaning out of the window earlier – Ox. ‘Hey, what did I do?’
‘Well, when your soulmate here takes the jump, I assume you’ll follow in a grand romantic gesture.’
‘For the last time, we’re just flatmates!’
‘All right, that’s enough.’ Grace’s voice boomed over the others’. ‘All of you, back inside, right this minute. Nobody is jumping off anything or shooting anyone. There is a young, impressionable girl in the building – have you all forgotten that?’
‘I don’t care,’ came the aforementioned impressionable girl’s voice from somewhere else.
‘Shut up, Stella! I will not tell all of you again. Now – I am doing the lunch orders. Ox?’
‘Quarter pounder with cheese, chips and gravy.’
‘Reginald?’
‘I’m …’
‘Reginald?’ Grace repeated.
‘Halloumi salad, please.’
‘Certainly.’
‘I’ll have the all-day breakfast,’ shouted Banecroft.
‘I told you that you would not get lunch if you threatened to shoot anybody again.’
‘It’s not even loaded.’
‘All right, fine.’
Banecroft leaned back in the window and looked at Hannah. ‘What do you want?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Lunch. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is? You’ve done bugger all except eat it for a decade.’
Hannah opened her mouth and then closed it again. ‘Wait, you’re hiring me?’
Banecroft sighed. ‘Yes. Your CV may contain absolutely nothing, but out of thirty-eight applicants, it was one of only two that contained fewer than three spelling mistakes. This newspaper may be a pile of excrement, but as long as I’m here, it’ll be correctly spelled excrement.’
‘But …’
‘Incidentally, the other applicant with fewer than three mistakes had written the CV in his own blood.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t give the job to him.’
‘I tried. He turned us down. He got a job at Subway, apparently. So, what’ll it be?’
Hannah looked about the room and took a deep breath. ‘Yes, OK, I’ll take it.’
‘What?’ said Banecroft. ‘The job? Of course you’ll take it. You wouldn’t be here if you had a choice. For the last time, what in the name of all that is good and holy do you want for lunch?’
‘A chicken sandwich?’
Banecroft stuck his head out the window again. ‘The new Tina will have a chicken sandwich.’
He leaned back inside and closed the window. ‘Now, if that will be all, it’s nearly lunchtime and I have yet to drink my breakfast. I can’t face the afternoon editorial meeting sober.’
He sat back in his chair heavily and tossed the blunderbuss into the corner, where it promptly fell over and shot him.
CHAPTER 4
Jace needed to keep the excitement from his voice, or at least try to pretend it was something else. He turned and smiled at the client, who beamed back at him. Luckily, this idiot was American. The Yanks were so gosh-darned optimistic and positive about everything that he probably saw fevered excitement as a default setting. One look at this short-arse’s great big gullible face and Jace’s heart had leaped for joy.
The guy had walked into the agency’s offices eating a kebab, for God’s sake – who does that? It had taken every ounce of Jace’s self-restraint not to say anything when the slob wiped his hands on the upholstery of Jace’s BMW on their way to the viewing. He hadn’t got himself in serious debt so some gluttonous pig could mess up his perfect ride. Still, seeing as there was a thousand-pound bonus for anyone who could shift this dump, there was a chance he was about to get a bit of breathing room on that front. Fiona had stopped him from using the agency cars when he’d been caught – well, no time to think about that now.
Normally, Mondays were pretty dead in the office. Most staff at the estate agency had the day off, given the vast majority of viewings took place on a Saturday. Jace was only working it as a punishment. Fiona was penalizing him because, well – all right, he had messed up. He’d been showing that apartment in Macintosh Mill only for the client to come home and find Jace in bed with the woman he’d been showing it to. Fiona had said it was unprofessional, which Jace had to admit it was, but that wasn’t the main source of her annoyance and they both knew it.
Jace should never have gone back to her room after the Christmas party. It had been a mix of pity, convenience and free alcohol. Fiona had threatened to fire him after the Mac Mill incident and he had threatened to tell her husband if she did. The atmosphere between them had been toxic ever since. He felt like the whole thing was very unfair. He’d initially thought giving a taste to grateful older women was his secret weapon; it had sold that penthouse over in Ancoats after all, but now it had backfired spectacularly. Not only had the Mac Mill woman walked away from the sale, but she had left him with a nasty itch down there. He was going to have to go and see somebody about that. He also needed a holiday, but there was zero chance of that if Fiona carried on keeping him away from all the juicy commissions.
Mostly, the agency dealt in residential sales and lettings. The money was in sales, but that’s why Fiona used them as an incentive, dangling them in front of her acolytes like carrots. They also had a few commercial properties, mainly because Fiona was greedy and incredibly good at convincing people she could sell anything. Still, in over a year, nobody had been able to lease this place. The one prospective client they’d had in the last six months had walked out on the viewing, offended that they had even dared show it to her.
It was an old warehouse. If the owner had any sense he would have gone to the right pub, dropped an envelope containing a couple of grand on the right table, then waited for the police to call and regretfully inform him that it’d been gutted in a suspected arson attack. Bloody kids.
As the metal shutters juddered up slowly, Jace realized he needed to cover the pained squeal with some small talk. What did you say to men? They’d never been his target demographic.
‘So, have you been in Manchester long?’
‘Couple of weeks.’
‘And where were you before that?’
A particularly loud screech meant Jace didn’t catch the answer. He could have sworn the guy said prison, but he must have heard wrong. The bloke was five foot nothing and looked way too soft to have done time. Not that Jace knew a lot about such things. He smiled and nodded, and the Yank smiled and nodded back.
The location was bad. The condition of the property was worse. Still, neither of those things was the warehouse’s really big problem. Or rather, one of its four really big problems. In reverse order, the place was filled with mouldy old furniture that looked terrible and smelled horrendous. Human beings hated it but apparently rats didn’t, hence problem number three. Jace was just hoping the little shits wouldn’t pop out during the viewing. Problem two was the lack of plumbing, which seemed doubly ironic given problem one: the foulest of foul stenches from a blocked-up sewer under the property which, despite some less than subtle hints, the vendor had no inclination to get sorted.
As the shutter door ground its way upwards, the smell hit Jace so hard he had to take a step back.
‘Sorry about the pong. The place hasn’t been open for a couple of weeks.’
‘Oh, is it bad? I don’t have much of a sense of smell.’
Jace’s heart leaped but he didn’t miss a beat. ‘No, not really. Just a little musty. It’ll be fine with a bit of air going through it.’ He reached over and flipped on the lights, which slowly blinked into life. ‘So, no sense of smell?’
>
‘Yeah,’ said the Yank. ‘It’s one of the weird side effects of the particularly brutal torture I was subjected to.’
‘Right,’ said Jace.
Was that a joke? It could be one of those peculiar-sense-of-humour things. People were weird. Only last week Jace had visited a flat in the Northern Quarter on the landlord’s request to discover the tenant was living with fourteen rabbits roaming free in the property. An argument had ensued as the guy disputed whether they were considered pets.
Jace needed to press on. ‘As you can see, plenty of space.’
The place was filled with random piles of broken furniture that stretched back into the darkness. Apparently, at some time or another, someone had had the brainwave that loads of furniture nobody wanted in the first place could be upcycled and resold. It had proven to be as bad a business idea as it sounded.
‘The owner wouldn’t mind if you wanted to get rid of all the furniture, and just look at all this space. I mean, you will never find this amount of space anywhere else in this price range.’
‘It’s off the beaten track, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Jace. The whole area was a sinkhole. Storage units and dodgy garages were interspersed with abandoned-looking premises. The only reason they were still standing was that nobody had been inclined to bulldoze them and put up something useful in their place. ‘It has access to lots of local amenities and again, you will not find this kind of space so close to the city centre. It’s a rough diamond.’
‘You say the word “space” a lot.’
Jace forced a laugh. ‘Ha, sorry. Well, it’s just that there’s so much of it.’
‘And the smell?’
‘It really isn’t that big a deal.’
Jace used every ounce of his self-control to resist the urge to retch. It really was that bad. He needed to get this idiot to sign the forms today before he brought somebody with him who had a functioning sense of smell. Jace felt peculiar. Like there was a buzzing in his head. He wasn’t sure if he’d asked the man already, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember either the client’s name or what he actually wanted the space for. He looked down at the clipboard in his hands, where those areas on the paperwork were blank.
‘Actually, I … Sorry … Could you give me your name again?’
The Yank smiled. ‘I didn’t give it to you the first time. It’s Moretti.’ He was digging around in his leather satchel as he spoke.
‘Right. And what is it you’ll be using the property for?’
‘Oh, I’m going to be saving a sick child’s life.’
‘Wow,’ said Jace. ‘So, like, medical research?’
Moretti smiled. ‘No, no. It’ll be blood magic. Highly illegal.’
Jace stood there with his pen poised over the clipboard and looked at Moretti.
‘I see.’ This guy was clearly completely mental. He decided to choose his next words carefully. ‘I don’t know what you mean by that. Obviously, I can’t rent it to you if you tell me you’ll be using it for an illegal purpose.’
Moretti laughed. ‘My kind aren’t governed by your laws.’
‘When you say “my kind” … I appreciate you’re American, but obviously in Britain – British laws apply.’
Moretti pulled a couple of what looked like steel ball bearings out of his bag.
‘Here they are. And no, I don’t mean countries. You see, I am a member of the cabal of immortals that secretly runs your sad little world. I view you as you view those rats you’re trying to pretend aren’t running around over there.’
The buzzing noise in Jace’s mind was growing louder. This man was clearly insane. He was still wearing the same grin as when they’d first met, but somehow it now looked demented rather than clueless. Jace needed to get out of there. Some part of his brain, still focusing on the sale, spoke next.
‘Rodents are always a problem in any warehouse-type space. I’m sure some traps will fix that.’
‘What a good idea.’ There was now an air of malevolence to Moretti’s smile. ‘I’ve actually got myself a little trap right here.’
He casually tossed one of the ball bearings up into the air, where it stopped dead, floating about ten feet off the ground.
‘How … how are you doing that?’ asked Jace.
‘That’s not the question you should be asking.’
‘No?’ said Jace, shuffling his feet, angling himself towards the door.
‘No,’ said Moretti. ‘The question you should be asking is: why am I not running?’
Jace sprinted for the open door, not looking back. He heard Moretti whistle. With a flash of silver, the ball bearing zipped through the air, coming to a stop in front of him. It expanded before his eyes. Where there had been one tiny ball of steel, there was now a rectangular plate of metal. Three. Five. Seven rectangular plates of metal.
Jace turned around to run the other way but Moretti was standing with his arms folded, smiling at him. He began to feel the metal grasping around his wrists, ankles, neck. He wanted to shout for help as a force lifted him off the ground, but no noise would come. He felt himself somersault through the air and then slam into the corrugated steel wall. He drew in a breath to scream but metal wrapped itself around his mouth, sealing it closed.
Eyes wide, he looked about him, his heart pounding. He was pinned to the wall ten or so feet off the ground. Metal bound his ankles, wrists, neck and stomach, holding him very firmly in place. Below him, Moretti took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose messily. He then looked up at Jace, a wide grin beneath his wild eyes. He nodded his head in satisfaction.
‘Good, good. They work. Needed to check that.’ Moretti ran a hand over his bald pate, smoothing down the hair he still had left around his ears. ‘So, whatever your name is, couple of things you need to know about me. One – my sense of smell is perfectly fine, and two – I really dislike being lied to.’
Jace tried to speak but it was impossible.
‘Oh, and three – I’m, y’know …’ Moretti wiggled his fingers in the air. ‘Magical. I’m also a little bit …’ He twirled a finger at his own temple. ‘… crazy, but torture really does have that effect on you. Do you have any idea what kind of torture a bunch of immortals can come up with when they want to punish you but they aren’t allowed to kill you? You see, when I say we’re immortal …’ Moretti stopped himself and waved his hand. ‘Oh, never mind. Look at me, gabbling on. I must not forget my purpose – I’m here to save a child’s life.’ He clasped his hands to his chest. ‘You see, I’m not all bad. I like to help the needy. I want you to know that this inconvenience to you does serve a higher purpose.’
Moretti looked at his watch. ‘Speaking of which, we must move this along. So, you’ve got ten seconds to see if you can escape those bonds and if you can’t, I’m going to kill you.’ He looked up into Jace’s eyes. ‘Don’t look so scared, we all have to go sometime. I mean, not me – but you do.’
Jace tried to move his arms as panic surged through him.
‘Come on,’ hollered Moretti cheerfully. ‘It feels like you’re not really trying. Perhaps you work better with an audience?’
Moretti made a motion with his hand and Jace heard a squeal from within the jungle of furniture. A shape rose up and flew towards him. As it grew larger in his vision, he clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact that didn’t come. After a second he opened his eyes. Floating in the air, inches from his face, close enough that he needed to close one eye to focus on it, was a large rat. He could make out the wild terror in its eyes as it attempted to squirm away from the invisible hand that was holding it. Jace could sympathize.
He couldn’t see Moretti any more but his voice rang out. ‘So … ten …’
Jace tried with every fibre of his being to twist and turn any of his limbs, to gain any sort of wiggle room, but nothing gave. It felt as if the metal were moving to counter him, resisting his attempts. All the time he did so, the calm, almost bored-soun
ding voice continued to count down.
‘… three … two … one … zero, and – you’re dead!’
Jace watched numbly as the rat soared away from him and, with a sickening squeal, collided with the back wall of the warehouse.
He heard Moretti whistle, and before he knew what was happening the metal that had bound him so tightly wasn’t there any more. Jace tumbled messily to the ground. He looked up to see Moretti holding out his hand, palm up, as the plates of metal re-formed above it into an impossibly small ball bearing.
Jace started to get to his feet.
‘Relax,’ said Moretti, moving towards him. ‘I just needed to test these bonds worked as advertised. Don’t worry – I’m not really going to kill you. You’re not important enough for me to kill. Oh, and hey – little bit of good news.’
Moretti mouthed a word, wafted his hand and the air was filled with the pleasing scent of lilacs.
Jace felt numb, as if his mind could no longer process anything that was happening to him. He watched as Moretti took something from the inside pocket of his jacket. A gold coin on a chain now dangled before Jace’s eyes.
‘Relax, buddy, it’s almost over. Just watch the shiny coin …’
With a flick of Moretti’s wrist, the coin started spinning impossibly fast.
‘That’s right. Now, you’re going to forget everything that happened over the last couple of hours, and when you go back to the office you’re going to remove this property from your files. If anyone asks, it’s not available. Give me the keys.’
Jace handed them over compliantly.
‘Good boy,’ said Moretti. ‘Oh, and one last thing. For the next two weeks, every time you say the word “space”, you’re going to excuse yourself from the room, find a quiet spot and punch yourself in the nuts. Hard. Got it?’
Jace smiled and nodded. ‘Got it.’
Moretti patted him on the head. He stopped the coin spinning and placed it back in his jacket pocket. ‘Now run along. I’ve got shit I need to do.’
The Stranger Times Page 4
