Reeves swept his arm, bringing the mural to her attention.
The blood had spilled from the corpse like the overfilled vessel it was and Reeves had used the insides to rouge the walls.
It was coming along. The outline was there and he was pleased with it. He’d got the lips just right, that down-curve of disapproval and he’d added just the right amount of fantasy too. He’d added a glint to the eye, brought out the cheekbones. It was an idealised vision of the subject, playing on the attraction the subject held toward his vessel’s body.
He could taste the colour rising in Bridget’s cheeks as she took in her own image. It was a nude, drawn from memory of the first night he’d been summoned when the binding had been fresh and strong.
She was already rolling up her sleeve, looking back to the door.
Reeves gave a weary sigh.
The binding contracted the moment her thumb brushed the ink. It was like being pulled deep into a void within himself, black and fathomless, like being encased in rock and being alone and naked in a vast gaping nothingness all at once. He could sense no other living thing, not the drivers outside, not Bridget before him or the seething, skittering insects that lived beneath the floorboards. The only glimmer of light was that tattoo on Bridget’s arm, that small pinhole into the world.
Except it was no longer quite so simple. The void was thinner. Though he couldn’t feel the emotions, he could feel where they were, maybe even reach out and touch them if he tried. Bridget’s tattoo was no longer the only beacon, there were other paths he could take, darker but traversable.
Bridget removed her thumb from the sigil and the binding dropped back to being merely an annoyance. Bridget blinked hard, swaying a moment. The effort of restricting him had cost her a lot more than it had him.
Reeves grinned as he got back to his feet.
She had felt it too, the truth plain on her face, the bond between them had decayed to almost nothing. There was a momentary flicker before she tried to reassert control, heading back to the door and checking that it was locked. ‘I want this cleaned up.’ Coming to stand at the bed, she hissed the words, trying to shout them but not be overheard by Jamison’s man outside. ‘I order you to clean this up.’
Taking his time in complying, he reached out across the bed, admiring reflections in the gore. He made as though to pull at the duvet, roll the corpse up in it. Bridget’s right hand was in reach, so he struck, firmly grasping her wrist, pulling her and the duvet toward him, across the body, cradling her hand to his chest.
Surprise spread across her face as she tried not to fall into the red pool between them. Her free hand clutched at her handbag to stop it falling from her shoulder, a foot went out behind her so that she could keep her balance.
‘It’s almost over,’ he said.
‘Let go of me.’ Her hand snapped back to the sanctuary of her chest, holding it in a mirror of the gesture he’d just performed. There were bloody marks where he’d gripped.
‘You feel it too.’ Blood ran in dribbles to the floor, the mattress creaking as Reeves began to climb across, a hand deep in the cook-boy’s torso, gore soaking his knees and crisp, clean cuffs. ‘Crumbling away. You want the release. You want to know it’s over. You lie awake at night, fretting over what I’ll do next. Aren’t you tired of my weight around your neck? Let me have my way.’
The corpse’s hand flopped from the side of the bed as Reeves dismounted, more blood falling in a treacle-thick waterfall.
Bridget was backing away, cornering herself by the window. She was tugging at her sleeve again, her thumb finding the familiar spot in the crook of her elbow. She pressed.
The blackness yawned again but Reeves kept coming. Each step was agony, weak and thin as water. But the darkness was less consuming, as flimsy as the curtain she hid behind. He could still feel her, follow her power out from the leash around his heart and back into hers. He touched it but it wouldn’t give. Not yet. But he could give it a tug.
The woman gasped as he did. Her thumb came away and the world returned and he was inches away from her. He could smell the perfume on her skin and in the small space between them it mixed with the blood on his breath.
‘Bridget’s hubris can finally be at an end. It sickens you. After, all the closed minds, too stupid to realise your genius and now they are right.’
‘Shut up, I order you to shut up.’
‘—no better than those who failed before you. You finally got what you wanted and it was worth nothing at all. What does that make you?’
Bridget was pale, shaking and taking in every word.
‘You will be among the last to die. You will chew out your own tongue, bite the ink from your skin. The blood of everyone who knows your name will be on your hands and countless others besides. You will go down as one of history’s greatest fools. Your death will be very public – a parable for all who come after.’
Bridget stood, stricken. Reeves could feel her emotions closing down and saw only the briefest, hottest of flashes as she pressed into her tattoo. The veil ripped open in him again with the force of a tempest, sheering away thought and flesh and time.
‘Then maybe I should make the most of it.’ Those words the only thing he could perceive.
The phone began to ring. The world flooded back in as Bridget went to answer it. She couldn’t completely disguise the tremble in her voice. ‘Hello? Yes. Yes, I’m there now. We’re on our way.’
Reeves dipped his head to the receiver so he could be heard. ‘I enjoyed the food, Mr Kavanagh. A welcome surprise.’ He locked eyes with Bridget. ‘I look forward to hearing about the job you have for me.’
Bridget blinked, put out. ‘What job is—?’ But Kavanagh’s voice had been replaced by a single musical note.
‘You weren’t told. They have a new job for us. Even when I’m on my knees I’m above you.’ Reeves stepped away with a sneer. ‘But I’m covered in viscera.’ Without waiting for a reply, he stripped, letting the clothes fall about him.
He smiled, knowing she was watching.
‘The task drips with ambition. The requirements this job makes of me will be extraordinary.’
His eyes never left her face as he shrugged on a fresh shirt.
‘The day you’ve feared has arrived – a matter of hours before I slip from your chains. You will want to run.’
He could feel the turmoil inside her. She’d paled, a hand clutching at the windowsill for support.
‘Maybe you’ll even find a way to hide from me.’
She gave a shuddering breath, hope kindling in her eyes.
Reeves smiled as she strode to the door, turned as he pulled on trousers and felt the wards’ glow against his back.
‘Be sure he gets to AK on time,’ said Bridget to the guard. ‘There’s something I need to do.’
The door closed behind her and Reeves raised his arms, a conductor about to awaken the orchestra.
Chapter 26
Reeves
The next day
‘So, what’s it going to feel like, man? Doing it, I mean.’ Skeebs leaned on the small table and took another sip of his drink. ‘Must be fucking awesome, getting people to do what you say.’
Without Bridget, the meeting had gone smoothly and now the only thing to do about AK’s ambitious new job was to destroy it. Reeves had shaken hands with the three men who would accompany him, though their exact roles were a mystery to him.
They had taken seats at a coffee house opposite their target. Men and women criss-crossed the square before them, phones in hand and all in a hurry. Classical music was playing through invisible speakers. Reeves’ cup was growing cold under his hand.
In the background, Reeves could feel Bridget’s anxiety as he flexed his bonds, readying to break loose. He let free a wide smile, knowing that she wouldn’t be standing in his way.
‘It will feel… liberating,’ he said. ‘Their feelings become yours, you feel everything they feel.’
‘Yeah but, like, to make
them do whatever you want. They like slaves or whatever, that’s got to feel badass. You got to teach me.’
‘It’s the greatest thing there is. To truly exert your will over another.’
‘Man,’ Skeebs sat back, his posture out of sync with the other suited men in the coffee house. ‘Way Fergusson looks when she does it, you’d think it tasted like ass. I’d make people do all sorts of shit.’
Jay’s face contorted as he failed to hide a yawn.
‘You best not fall asleep on us,’ said Skeebs, giving him a bump.
Jay shook his head, letting go of a full-throated yawn and following it with the final dregs of his coffee. He set the empty cup down next to the first. ‘Can’t help it, man. Never get up before your morning wood. Fuck this early shit.’
‘Getting up this early what gets these motherfuckers so rich. They clock off by lunch making fatter stacks than all of us. Ain’t you seen that Wolf film?’
‘Seen it? It’s going to be my fucking manual on how to live starting tomorrow.’
‘Would you shut up?’ growled Livingston.
‘Fuck,’ said Skeebs. ‘Yeah, I can see it. Big house and a garage full of gold-plated guns, tiger in the back garden and diamond fucking teeth. Man, even with money you’d have no class.’
‘Go on then. What’d you fucking do?’
‘Didn’t you hear me, I said shut your fucking mouths.’ Livingston’s teeth were gritted. ‘People are watching, the same people we’re…’ he clamped down on the words.
‘What’s your problem?’ said Skeebs. ‘We got Reeves here, he can handle it.’ He punched Reeves in the arm in an effort at camaraderie.
‘You’re acting like fucking amateurs. Why don’t you keep your fucking mouths shut until we’re done?’
‘You just don’t like it that Skeebs was put in charge,’ said Jay. ‘I’m telling you, man, should have heard the bitching he was doing when you were out taking a piss.’
‘That right?’ Skeebs gave Livingston a dead-eyed stare across the table. ‘You think you better than me?’
‘I wouldn’t be talking about the job I was pulling in front of the people I’m fucking robbing. Talking about the job and talking about spending the money like a pair of rap-star gangstas. This job goes south it’ll be because the boss put fucking kids in charge of it.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘No, fuck you. Fuck. You.’
The square teemed with men and women in suits, carrying cases, scurrying as busy as an ant nest. Some were queuing for coffee at the counter, sneaking glances at their table. Reeves could feel the suspicion coming off them. Even in their expensive suits the group didn’t blend in, a hundred small details signalling that they weren’t part of the herd. Their haircuts lacked the same geometric precision, except for Skeebs’ but the tribalistic patterning sheared into the sides of his head had the same effect. Their shaves were imperfect, patches of stubble evident even so early in the morning. Jay’s dying acne was still noticeable. Those hundred little imperfections took a lot of money to erase. These people casually spent it on a daily basis and could spot those who couldn’t afford to a mile away.
Reeves had taken in the casual use of magic as well. Almost all of these people were casting, subtle charms to feed them energy, heighten the senses, sharpen awareness, give a little extra edge to their work. Illegal, Reeves presumed, but the amount of accumulated wealth in the area made certain that the local constabulary turned a blind eye.
Reeves took a slow sip of his coffee, taking note that the charms were an additional weak spot to exploit.
Skeebs drained his drink and wiped his mouth with a suit sleeve. A flick of his hand and they stood. Livingston pulled a suitcase out from under the table after him.
‘This going to work, right?’ said Jay.
‘Don’t be such a bitch, man,’ said Skeebs.
Livingston stopped Reeves before he reached the square. ‘And you’ve taken care of the cameras?’
Reeves replied with a stare.
‘OK,’ Livingston took a breath, ‘OK.’
‘Fuck, man, look at you,’ said Skeebs to Reeves as they emerged out onto the square. ‘You’re ice cold.’
It was Reeves’ understanding that the building’s private security were able to scry electronically from a remote location. This had been frustrating not just because he couldn’t affect them directly but also that he would have been able to sever a magical eye in a trice. These electronics the humans had advanced since he’d last visited were a mystery to him. So he simply hadn’t done anything about them. By the time he had started it would simply be too late for them to do anything about it and he cared little for the consequences of what came after.
The square was warm and only going to get warmer. The stone of the square was beginning to smell of better climes. The sky was blue, made a painting by the dome of St Paul’s cathedral, the old building dwarfing the new.
The crowd began to diminish, funnelling through the doors of the building opposite. A cluster around the doors were talking into their phones, staring into the middle distance. Behind it all, Reeves could still hear the roar of the traffic, smell the thoughts of thousands of others, headed to their own jobs, a street and a world away from this little enclave of people the criminals felt such envy and disdain for.
They joined the back of the group, waiting for their turn to move through the revolving doors. Television screens had been set to the windows displaying a constant roll of numbers.
‘This better work,’ said Livingston under his breath.
There was certainly something wrong with the four of them in this crowd. Heads kept turning, reproachful glances. They could tell that the group in their midst didn’t belong. Reeves suppressed their suspicion, forced their minds to other things, plucking at random emotions without a care for the result. It was a joy to stretch his powers without censor.
Until something responded. A curious little flicker of interest at his actions. Regardless of the local laws, these people had hired mages to guard against magical assault.
They were skilled but limited in their perception. They couldn’t even comprehend the directions in which he attacked them. He caught a brief glimpse of them, a room of glass and ivory tile as their hearts exploded in their chests, their bones melting in their muscle sleeves. It was over in moments.
They were among the last to get inside.
The atmosphere struck Reeves like a blow; stress, exhilaration and the more physical smell of sweat.
Inside, the atrium was a palace, a sculpture of glass, steel and stone polished to a shine. There were protection wards everywhere, meek little things that he ignored and swept aside.
Moving images ribboned above the crowd’s heads as they funnelled themselves through turnstiles at the other end of the room. Access was granted by a small disc pressed against a sensor. None of the group possessed such a thing.
Watchmen dotted the room, small eyes taking in everything with indifference, shaved heads and earpieces.
Jay and Livingston’s steps faltered as they took it all in. Their hesitation attracted attention, a discord in the harmony of the crowd. Skeebs pushed past them, walking with forced street swagger at Reeves’ side, pointedly ignoring the stares of the guards nearby.
The guards shifted from foot to foot, hitched belts, cleared throats, traded glances.
Reeves didn’t hesitate, approaching the guard at the turnstiles. He didn’t adjust the man’s mind, he ripped through it, plunging in and hollowing out.
Apart from a twitch under one eye, there was no visible change in the man but in a single moment the only thing holding him on his feet was Reeves’ will.
The man pulled out a small disc of his own. Another larger low door swung open and he urged Reeves through. The others followed, almost running through the breach, their relief palpable.
‘Yeah, nice one,’ Skeebs muttered, looking back over his shoulder.
The guards had already turned their attention to th
e stragglers in the crowd, the group forgotten. The guard who had let them through gave Reeves a nod and a smile.
On leaving the lift, a receptionist stood with a bright smile to greet them and then immediately sat back down as Reeves entered her mind like a battering ram. The two receptionists beside her looked in confusion and turned away again as they received the same treatment. Their uniform tight-lipped smiles became fixed, eyes empty as they beamed at the passing men, nodding at their greetings.
‘Like fucking Stepford,’ muttered Livingston, unaware of what was happening.
‘Shut up,’ replied Skeebs.
‘You see the number of flat screens they got up in here?’ asked Jay.
They let the glass doors swing shut behind them, into the office proper.
The receptionists stood in unison behind them, their smiles tinged pink. They opened their mouths, pools of bright red spilling down their chins in a waterfall, their severed tongues floating in a broth of blood and spit.
There was the slightest hint of a scream but the soundproofed glass made a mute of it. Oblivious, Skeebs sniffed, unable to leave his nose alone as his nerves increased, scratching and tugging at it.
Reeves led the way, following his nose towards the feelings of stress, anxiety, exhilaration and pleasure. Climbing stairs, it was like rising into the heart of a thundercloud. They began to hear the dull roar of voices like waves breaking on the beach. It was a rare place, so many minds so focussed on the same task, like a battlefield.
‘Fucking hell,’ said Skeebs, staring at the glut of men and women in wonder.
‘Yeah,’ said Jay, enjoying the spectacle.
The room stretched in every direction, row upon row of men, women and screens, a hive of activity and motion.
Livingston was frowning, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose which was already freckling with sweat. From his briefcase he pulled out his documents, gave them a glance before squinting at the nearest set of screens.
‘You remember the instructions?’ he asked.
The End of the Line Page 28
