All The Things You Have To Burn (Grey Corp Book 1)

by Abbey, Kit

  They wandered over to the pub, where Filk selected a secluded booth along the wall. Chris and his crew were at the main bar, laughing and joking loudly. Jacob spotted William with Filk and choked on his beer, so great was his mirth. He directed the attention of the others, and soon they were all laughing and pulling faces in William’s direction. He stuck out his tongue and flipped them off while Filk’s attention was taken with ordering drinks.

  “Now, Bill,” he said, “Mr. Grey wishes for me to assure you that he feels nothing but pleasure and pride in regards to yourself.”

  “Ok,” said William. “That’s good.”

  “Oh indeed it is! Yes!” Filk nodded rapidly, and his Lennon specs slipped down his nose. “He was concerned that you might be feeling somewhat down, following yesterdays events, but you should not! Not at all! You may not have been able to replicate your great feats of life and death, but Mr. Grey appreciates that you are still new to your abilities, and he has every confidence that you will soon be able to do a great many things without first being needed to be placed under duress. It’s just been far too long since our ranks have been graced by one with the power to Illude in another’s mind. Mr. Grey had high hopes that you might be such a person, but of course it’s not your fault that you’re not! Not your fault at all!”

  This got William’s attention. Hadn’t Rowan said the same thing that morning? There had been others who could Illude in heads? Could Jones? What that why he was so down on William doing it? He wanted badly to ask Filk for more details, but knew it would be unwise to appear too interested. They were obviously keeping close tabs on him.

  “And do not think for a moment that Mr. Grey does not feel overwhelming gratitude towards you for saving Mrs. Cross’s life! She is a highly valued member of our team, and your quick actions ensured that she remains so!”

  Mrs. Cross? Was that Rowan? Holy shit, Rowan had a husband?

  “Alright,” said William, his head spinning with this new information, “so why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

  “Now, now, Bill. He wishes he could but he’s powerfully busy. However, on account of the decisive way you took care of those unpleasant young men, Mr. Grey feels that perhaps, as early in your career here as it is, you are ready to take on a more involved role within Grey Corp?”

  “A more involved roll?”

  “Yes. A small promotion, but with a large pay increase I assure you.”

  “Do you mean I would work independently of Rowan?”

  “Oh no, not at all. Don’t fret Bill, with shan’t be splitting you up just yet! No, rather, do you feel you are ready to engage in acts of a more serious nature for the benefit of Grey Corp.”

  “That seems like a polite way of saying murder.”

  “Perhaps, were they deserving. Grey Corp, you understand Bill, has only the interests of the community at heart. We do what the police and the mayor refuse to. We are the reason our fair city is such a desired place to live. And should individuals stand in the way of this then, why, yes, I dare say they would need to be removed, shall we say, from the equation.”

  William thought for a moment. “If I say no?”

  “Come now Bill, you’ve lived in the city your whole life haven’t you? I’m sure you understand what Grey Corp must sometimes do. You could say no, I suppose, but Mr. Grey would be most disappointed. Most disappointed! He is placing a lot of faith in you, young Bill, how will you repay him?”

  William thought for a moment. The collectors suddenly burst into raucous laughter over at the bar. William looked over his shoulder. Barry was telling a joke that involved a lot of lewd hand gestures. Watching his friends helped William make a decision.

  “Alright then. Where do I sign?”

  “Splendid,” said Francis, “splendid, indeed.”

  Chapter 30.

  After offering several more times to show William his sword collection (William really hoped that wasn’t a euphemism), Filk wandered off to bed.

  The collectors had headed off to collect stuff an hour or so ago, and now only a few quiet tables remained. Kirk and Horace were talking in the corner; thankfully their William hating charges were nowhere in sight.

  Instead of directing the Eastern elevator to his rooms, William travelled two floors down, to the library. He knew it held records of every Company employee, ever. If there had been another with the power to Illude inside minds, William would find them there.

  Except there really were records for every employee. Ever. From Grey Corp’s start in 1901, to the most recent new addition; William himself. And the records were sparse; just name, date hired and either a ‘to present’ or a date of death. There was no way William was going to find what he was looking for in here. Which didn’t mean there weren’t other interesting facts to be gleaned from the rows of ledgers.

  He checked out the first ever company employees. Morris James Barten, February 1, 1901 - d. August 14, 1911.’ and ‘Sarah Louise Grey, nee` Bunch, February 1, 1901 – d. September 12, 1919.’ William dimly recalled the old fashioned photographs he’d seen on the day he was hired. These were the same people. He started to pull ledgers out at random, glancing over the names of all the employees who had gone before him.

  He found Rowan in the 00’s section. ‘Rowan Annette Cross, nee` Jameson-Smith. April 3, 2009 – present.’ So she was married. The mind boggled. Was her husband still around, or had she bitten off his head?

  After a bit more searching he found Jones’ entry: ‘Caspien Augustus Jones, July 7 2011 – present.’ His parents must have hated him; there was no other explanation for a name like that. William was also surprised to learn that Rowan had been hired before Jones; she looked a lot younger than he did. The entry directly under Jones’s was obscured by black ink and completely unreadable. No other entry William had seen had received this treatment. He tapped the destroyed entry thoughtfully and wondered what the person had done to be removed from the records completely.

  This little excursion had left William with a great many questions. And he hadn’t learned the one thing he came here to learn; the identity of any previous Employees with powers like his. He was checking out his own entry, (William Alexander Black, January 7 2016 – present), when the door to the library swung open. William peered through the gap in the shelves and saw that it was Mr. Grey, or possibly Nobody. He checked out the fingers and a glint of gold confirmed it was Nobody. It was so strange to see one of the men without the other. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they shared a bed. He surreptitiously watched Nobody head towards the fiction section. It was awfully late to be looking for something to read, but Maybe Nobody had trouble sleeping, thought William. Maybe-

  He could almost believe she was sleeping, if it wasn’t for all the blood. He reached out a trembling hand to touch her hair. Her beautiful, soft hair. It fell over her arms and along his desk. She must have unbound it specially; she never wore it lose during the day.

  How odd, to be thinking about her hair! She was dead, all of her laughter and wonder emptied from her wrists and he was considering her hair!

  His letter opener, a gift from Morris years before, was on the floor by her. And on the desk, written in her neat and careful letters, was a note;

  “It is too much, what you demand of me. I wish you had never found that thing! It is a monstrosity, a blight in the face of God, and I wish you have never brought it into our lives! It is an abomination, to look into the thoughts of other men, to impose my will upon theirs. An abomination visited unto me by that thing! I will carry this burden no longer.

  Yours no more,

  Sarah.”

  He traced the letters. The ink was still damp, it smeared across-

  Nobody was leaving, a dry looking book tucked under his arm. William head throbbed, and his eyes watered. What was happening to him?

  Chapter 31.

  The next morning as the Mustang zipped through the city William told Rowan about his meeting with Fran
cis Filk. When he was done Rowan, as was her nature, rolled her eyes.

  “I can not believe they promoted you.”

  And I can’t believe someone was crazy enough to marry you, thought William. What he said was, “it was probably because I’m so pretty, right?”

  “I worked my arse off for years before they promoted me.” She shook her head, clearly disgusted at the whole situation. “And I practically grew up in Grey Corp. You just wandered in off the street.”

  “I guess Mr. Grey thinks I’m ready for it.”

  Rowan snorted. “Bullshit. So you blew some guys up, so you healed a few holes in my chest, big deal.”

  “Can you do any of those things?” asked William.

  Rowan glared at him. “Maybe you’d like me to demonstrate my ability to make you feel great pain?”

  William was fairly sure that Rowan wouldn’t be allowed to kill him or do him any permanent damage now that he was all promoted and stuff. This theory was supported by the fact that he’d been late downstairs that morning and she hadn’t done anything. He’d dozed off on his couch after obsessing over what happened in the library for hours, and had fled downstairs as soon as he woke still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

  “And in any case,” Rowan went on, “it is not about power. It is about trustworthiness. You might have one, but I remain unconvinced that you have the other. You’ve done nothing to prove yourself.”

  William could think of nothing to say to this, and so he just played with his watch until they reached their destination. A tidy little office tucked between two other almost identical tidy little offices, on a pleasant and shady street. You could tell without even looking at the signs that they all housed accountants or physiotherapists or some other sterile, beige kind of businesses. A lady in yoga pants pushed a three wheeled pram briskly along the footpath.

  It was almost the most safe and boring street William had ever seen. He should take a photo so if he was ever asked why he joined Grey Corp he could refer to it. This street and all the streets like was the cell he’d joined Grey Corp to escape.

  Surprisingly Rowan’s bright red Mustang was not the most out of place thing there, because it at least was impeccably neat. The beat up Valient Charger she’d parked behind stuck out like a ratty concert poster in a posh art exhibition. It was a dented, scuffed, and matte black from start to finish.

  With a little love and care it would be glorious, but right now it just looked mean.

  “I wouldn’t touch it, if I were you,” said Rowan. “He’s really funny about that thing.”

  William stopped drifting towards the Charger, then turned to follow Rowan into the building. It was a dentist’s office and it had that minty, burnt bone dentist office smell. Lovely. The door had been unlocked, but reception was empty. There was a cup of coffee and a muffin on the desk. The muffin half eaten, the coffee still steaming.

  Next to the recently abandoned reception desk was a door, which Rowan paused before opening, casting a quick look over her shoulder at William.

  “I hope you’re ready learn what your promotion means.”

  He couldn’t say that he was, but he still followed her through the door.

  There was a dentist’s chair, with a man strapped to it. The dentist, presumably. He had a white coat on, like a dentist. He also had a dentist’s drill jammed into his arm.

  William figured Jones could be blamed for that.

  He stood over the dentist, his white shirt rolled up to his sleeves, (the scars that William had glimpsed on his wrists continued up his arms and out of sight again), and hands on his hips, a knife protruding from his back pocket.

  “Anything?” Rowan asked.

  Jones didn’t start at the sound of her voice, he must have heard them enter. “No,” he said, turning to face them. He was lightly splattered with blood.

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right dentist?”

  Jones nodded. “He’s just being stubborn. Aren’t you Doctor?”

  William had thought the dentist unconscious, but his eyes opened to slits when Jones spoke. Rowan reached over and twisted the drill, snapping “where is she!”

  The dentist cried out, then leaned over as far as his restraints would allow and vomited. Jones and Rowan were quick enough, but William’s jeans got a bit splattered with it. He made a disgusted noise.

  “You can’t rush these things,” said Jones. “The doctor will tell us where Gwendoline Shannon is when he’s ready.”

  “We’ve done nothing but search for Gwendoline Shannon for five bloody years Jones.” Rowan glared at the dentist like this was all his fault. “No one could accuse us of rushing.”

  “I know what will get him talking,” said Jones. “Think you can keep him alive for ten minutes?”

  “Fine, whatever,” said Rowan. “Hurry up.”

  He caught William’s eye and jerked his head towards the door. William followed out into the fresh air. Boring the street may be, but at least it didn’t smell of vomit. Jones unlocked the Charger. “There’s a spare set of jeans in the back if you want to change.”

  “Uh, thanks,” said William. He changed quickly, pretending not to hear Jones’ snickering at the love hearts on his boxer shorts. The jeans were too long for him, and a little big around the waist, but at least they were lacking in vomit. “So is this dentist a bad guy, or...?”

  Jones studied him for a moment, although for once it was more a look of curiosity, and less a look of a hungry lion faced with a limping gazelle. “Do you need him to be?” he finally asked.

  “No. Maybe... I’m just not overjoyed at the thought of hurting innocent people.”

  “Then you probably should have got a job someplace else.”

  William had no answer for that. Jones was being a dick, but he was also right. William could right now be scratching out a meagre little living for himself at some supermarket or shitty face food place, but he had chosen Grey Corp. And no matter his reservations he’d make the same choice again. Life was too short for dead end jobs and a constant, monotonous struggle just to get by.

  Jones rested his hand on the Charger’s roof. “Are you going to be a problem?”

  “No,” said William.

  Jones considered him for a few seconds more. “Good.” He paused, then added casually, “I hear the boss had you tested to see if you can Illude in people’s minds.”

  “Yeah,” said William, just as casually. “I failed to show any skill at it.”

  Jones nodded. “So I heard. Shame.”

  “Uh huh,” said William.

  Jones reached into the back pocket of his jeans, the one that didn’t already contain a knife, and pulled out a photograph. He held it out to William, who took it from Jones’ blood stained hand automatically. It was a young girl, ten or so, with short brown hair and a mess of freckles. “Think you could Illude a workable illusion of her?” he said. “Doesn’t need to be able to talk, just walk and look scared.”

  “Who is it?”

  Jones shrugged. “His daughter, maybe? Someone he cares about enough to keep a photo of on his desk.”

  William felt ill and Jones shook his head in exasperation. “Would you rather go threaten his actual daughter?”

  William studied the photo with some reluctance. “I can’t just conjure her out of thin air. I’d need something to work with, as close to human shaped as possible would be best.”

  Jones cast his eyes about the street, thinking. He held a finger up in a ‘wait here’ motion and jogged over to boutique clothes shop a few doors down from the dentist. William spared a moment to feel bad about the shop girls who were going about their day before being confronted with a blood splattered Jones, before Jones appeared again with a mannequin under his arm.

  “That’ll do it,” said William.

  Illuding a person was still unlike anything he had attempted to do before, but he managed it eventually. Her hair wasn’t quite the same colour, her
eyes were a bit uneven, and she looked somewhat more confused than scared, but William thought he’d done pretty well.

  Jones gave the illusion a critical once over. “It’ll do,” he finally announced. Jones moved clap a hand over the illusion’s mouth, but his hand passed straight through. “Could you make it a little more solid?”

  “This seems like a lot of effort,” said William while he worked. “Is it really so hard to find one woman? Can’t you just check security cameras and whatever?”

  “Any form of electronic surveillance hasn’t worked in the city for five years.”

  “What, seriously?”

  Jones gave him a look. “Didn’t you wonder why I spoke so freely to you in the Grey Building?”

  “Huh. I guess not.”

  Jones shook his head.

  “So no cameras for five years.... And you’ve been searching for Gwendoline Shannon for five years?”

  “Yes. Interesting coincidence, isn’t it?”

  William still thought they should have been able to find the woman. The city was not that big, after all. But he’d finished making the illusion solid, and now he was focused on getting it to walk. The dentist was very near to unconsciousness by the time they re-entered the office, but his eyes widened at the sight of the Illuded mannequin, Jones’ hand over its mouth, and his knife pressed firmly to its throat.

  “Amy,” he struggled at his bonds, weakly at first but with increasing strength as he grew more worked up. “No, you bastards, you let her go!”

  “Are you ready to talk now,” asked Jones mildly, “or is your petty stand against big bad Grey Corp worth more to you than her life?”