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

by Abbey, Kit

  “Sure,” said Willliam. “That’s why you pay me.”

  Mr. Grey nodded at Dr. Smith, who immediately bustled over to a draw and pulled something out. He brought whatever is was back over to them, and handed it to William. It was a small silver disc.

  “It’s a tracking device,” said Dr. Smith.

  “But didn’t you just say they don’t work?”

  “We theorise,” said Mr. Grey, “that that it would work if it were alive.”

  William looked at the little disc. “And that’s why I’m here?”

  “Quite so. It needs to be a strong enough illusion to fool the well, our previous attempts have not yet worked.”

  William looked at Rowan. “Does that include your attempt?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Rowan and yourself will do that tomorrow,” said Mr. Grey.

  “Can I leave?” said Rowan.

  “You may,” he said.

  She didn’t wait around for him to say it twice.

  Chapter 34.

  Mr. Grey and Nobody remained in the lab to discuss something with Dr. Smith, so William rode the elevator up alone. It delivered him to the hall outside his room, where Clarissa was waiting. William very nearly groaned at the sight of her.

  “Oh,” he said, “You’re still awake. Did Mr. Grey tell you to go to bed?”

  She shook her head. “No, he just meant that I should leave the entry hall. It’s probably not the safest place for me to be, with those big doors letting in so much light and all.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know,” said Clarissa, “because of how I’m…” She trailed off, looking over William’s shoulder with wide eyes. William turned, and saw Jones emerging from the elevator, still barefoot.

  “What were you doing in Smith’s lab?” he asked by way of greeting.

  “You’re not wearing shoes,” blurted out Clarissa.

  Jones looked at her. “Good catch.”

  He turned back to William, but before either could say anything Clarissa piped up again: “Aren’t they cold?”

  Jones looked at her again. “Excuse me?”

  “Your feet? Are they cold? Because you’re not wear-”

  “Go away,” said Jones. He looked awful, like he was fighting the worst hangover the world had ever seen.

  “Of course,” said Clarissa, “I understand, you’re trying to have a conversation. I was just concerned, is all. I could go get you some socks or something?”

  Jones stared at her, and she gazed back. William considered slipping into him rooms and leaving them to it.

  “Socks!” Clarissa declared, and she turned and ran away.

  Jones shook his head and returned his attention to William. “What were you doing in the lab?”

  William shrugged and leant against the wall. “Was just getting a new assignment, is all.”

  “What kind of assignment? Does it involve Gwendoline Shannon?”

  “I think the doctor was scared of me,” said William. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “The most weirdest thing ever,” said Jones. “What kind of assignment?”

  “An assignmenty one.” Jones narrowed his eyes, and William back-pedalled. “They want me to help find the well.”

  “Do they think you’ll be able to?”

  “I’m not just pretty you know.”

  Before Jones could agree that this was obviously true the elevator spat Clarissa out. “I didn’t know if you would like stripy or plain better,” she said, waving socks around.

  Jones sighed. “I told you to go away.” The hairs on the back of William’s neck stood up. Jones was using his bad voice. The voice that never boded well.

  Clarissa looked hurt.

  “Come here,” said Jones.

  “No, Clarissa, run away,” William told her. “Seriously.”

  Clarissa hesitated, but in the end her crush on Jones was too strong and against any kind of survival instinct she let herself move within arms reach of him. In one quick, expert movement Jones grabbed her arm and twisted. There was an audible breaking noise. William winced. Clarissa stared at her arm, still held in Jones’ grip, her face uncomprehending.

  “Is that enough? Would you like me to break some more?” He moved his grip further up her arm and twisted again.

  “Jones!” William flinched away from the noise. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.”

  Clarissa wasn’t screaming, or crying. She didn’t seem to be in any pain at all. Was she in shock? She stared down at her twice broken arm like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She gave a feeble attempt to tug it free from Jones.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” she said. Her voice was small, and hurt. Not hurt in the broken arm sense, but in the hurt feelings kind of way.

  “You say that, but do I believe you?” Jones tilted his head thoughtfully. “What will they do to you if I break both your legs and you can’t run errands anymore?”

  For the first time Clarissa looked scared. She paled, and she was already so pale, and she shook her head. “Please don’t. I’m sorry!”

  He let go of her arm and stepped back. It all happened so quickly. One moment they were both standing, the next Jones had lashed out with his foot and Clarissa was crumpled on the floor, her leg at a wrong angle. Her shoulders shook like she was crying, but she made no noise.

  “What he hell is the matter with you!”

  Jones looked over his shoulder at William and shrugged. “Now she’ll leave me alone.”

  “Leave you alone? I’m the one she was following around, you crazy bastard!”

  “Oh, did I just imagine that someone had been snooping amongst my things?” He knelt down by Clarissa, and her shoulders started to shake harder. The already awful scene grew even worse when Jones pulled a knife from somewhere. His voice was low. “Did you think I wouldn’t smell you, you nasty little blood sucker?”

  “Stop it Jones!”

  “No, William.”

  Angrily, and without really considering the ramifications of what he was about to do, William Illuded the air around Jones and threw the older man across the hall with enough force to crack the wall when he hit it. He didn’t lose his grip on the wicked knife.

  William couldn’t help but feel that what he had just done was a very, very, very ill advised move on his part. Despite how hard he had hit that wall, Jones climbed easily to his feet. Blood was spreading across his front, and William guessed the stitched gash along his chest had ripped open.

  Jones looked down at the blood. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  William decided not to admit that no; he really didn’t.

  One moment Jones was over there, and then he was right there in front of William. He had moved so fast William wasn’t even aware of it until he’d already stopped again. “Perhaps,” Jones said, “you’d like to take Clarissa’s punishment for her?”

  “I don’t think the boss would be very happy if you did that,” gambled William.

  Jones grinned. It was terrifying. “I think you are overestimating your worth, as opposed to mine.”

  And then the knife was unpleasantly close to William’s eye. He tried to Illude it into something less pointy, but he couldn’t focus enough to do it. He felt-

  He can not abide the beach in summer. Hot sand and loud crowds made him tense. But this, he loved. The sky low and stormy; the waves choppy; and the wind bitingly cold against his cheeks.

  “Are you scared?”

  Jude shook his head, his hair moving wildly in the wind. “Nah.”

  They walked along the water’s edge, dancing back from the reaching waves. “Are you lying?”

  Jude grinned. “Yeah.”

  They both laughed. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave Jude a shove. “Well don’t be, idiot.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Jude started to walk backwards, waving his arms in the air. “Oh, I’m Caspien Jones, I’m not scared of a
nything!”

  “I’m Jude Cross,” he replied, “I have highly questionable taste in women.” He shoved Jude again, harder this time. He went sprawling on the damp sand, laughing. He nudged him the side with his foot and said, “you’re gaining a wife, you twit, not in incurable disease.”

  He reached down a hand to help him-

  William gasped. He was back in the hall, there was still a knife pressed into his eyelid, and still a glint in Jones’ eye.

  “Who’s Jude?” William asked.

  Jones went very, very still. For a moment it seemed that his defences might slip, and William thought he caught a glimpse of someone who maybe didn’t enjoy making people cry. But the moment passed, and Jones spun around. He crossed the hall quickly to where Clarissa huddled, grabbed her by the hair, and stabbed her deeply in the chest. He yanked the knife free and jammed his hand into the wound. William clapped a hand to his mouth. He felt sure that he would vomit or faint or something and then Jones pulled his hand free, and clenched in it was Clarissa’s heart.

  She slid to the floor, and Jones turned his attention back to William. “You idiot,” he said. “I told you to stay out of my head!”

  And then he was back in front of William.

  Clarissa’s heart still clutched in his hand.

  Blood dripping on the floor.

  And then he slit William’s throat.

  Chapter 35.

  There was a music store in the heart of the city, and after his mother and sister died William spent more time there than anywhere else. They had wooden park benches inside, and hanging from a brace suspended above them were big black headphones. The headphones were too big for him and the benches weren’t the most comfortable, but he would happily stay there listening from the moment the store opened to the moment it closed. The staff felt bad for him and wouldn’t make him move along like they did the older shoppers. Sometimes they fed him lunch.

  He would curl up on the hard bench and watch the mouths of the people in the crowded store move and watch their hands gesturing. He could only catch snippets of conversation in the few seconds of silence between tracks, before their voices were once again drowned out by the music.

  What was happening to him now was exactly like that.

  There was no music filling his mind, only a smothering weariness that blocked sound as effectively as the music ever had. But every now and then this clinging fog would lift, and he would catch fleeting sentence fragments before it settled upon him again.

  “-I can’t believe-”

  “-we can harness that power-”

  “-too far this time-“

  “-miraculous-”

  Time passed. How much William did not know, but it felt like a lot. When he awoke fully he was alone in the medical ward, with no clear memory of how he had come to be there. He wasn’t in any pain, and he did not feel particularly weak. He sat up tentatively in the bed, half-expecting sudden hurts to mob him, but there was nothing. He considered it, and decided that what he felt most all was hunger. Also confusion, but this confusion was a candle next to the raging bushfire that the hunger.

  The floor was cold on his feet, the air was cool on his bare chest, and the grey hospital issue pants hung low on his hips in danger on falling off entirely. These were but secondary concerns. William was hungry. The medical ward was adamantly devoid of food, but William was not going to give up. He left the ward behind, and came to the Western elevator.

  Food, he thought at it.

  Meh, it replied.

  Food, he thought again.

  No, I don’t think so, it replied.

  William kicked the elevator wall as hard as he could. FOOD!

  With a decidedly sullen air the Western elevator began to rise. It spat him out a few moments later, into a hallway. He was about to turn and give the elevator a piece of his mind when he spotted the vending machine. Never had anything appeared so beautiful to William’s eyes.

  I’ve given you money, he thought at the wonderful machine, now give me chocolate.

  The vending machine lacked the willpower of the Western elevator, and it dutifully spat out several chocolate bars and a packet of salt and vinegar chips. I gave you more money than that, thought William, and the vending machine gave him some more.

  He unwrapped a mars bar and Illuded the wrapper into a bag to hold the rest if his bounty. And then he stuffed the entire chocolate into his mouth. It was glorious.

  He kept stuffing his mouth his sweet/salty/gooey goodness as he wandered the halls of the Grey Building, encountering no one. Hopefully this wasn’t going to be one of those 28 Days Later situations where he was all alone and there were zombies everywhere. (Chris was adamant that one of sub levels housed an army of zombies, William struggled to envision a scenario when an army of zombies would be called for). He finally found himself in Albert’s room. He was relieved, given that he was still shirtless and wearing thin hospital pants, that Albert wasn’t too drippy.

  Which didn’t really make sense. When William had been in the entry room with Clarissa, (something flitted past a window in his mind when he thought of Clarissa, but it was gone before he could get a real look at it), the floor had been especially disgusting. He could recall the way it squelched under his shoes as he crossed it, and now it was clean. He must have been out of it for longer than he’d first thought. Thinking about that, William didn’t at first notice the nervous kid.

  He stood framed by the black doors, in jeans and a thick red sweatshirt that was almost the exact shade as the red carpet.

  “Uh, hi,” said the kid. “I’m um, I’m here about maybe getting a job.”

  William stared at the guy, who looked very, very young. “You have to be at least eighteen.”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Oh,” said William.

  The kid stared at William with wide eyes. William wondered what kind a sight he must make. He hadn’t seen himself in any mirrors since he’d woken up, but he figured spending an indefinite amount of time in a hospital bed wouldn’t have left him looking his best.

  “What should, I mean, um, is there like, someone I should be talking to? About a job?”

  “Well,” said William, “you’ll need to go to the testing room.”

  “The testing room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ok, sure, bring it on. I’ll pass any test you throw at me.”

  “Uh-huh,” said William.

  His reserves of bravado apparently tapped the kid went back to looking nervous.

  “What’s your name?” William asked.

  “Ben,” said the kid, “Ben Waters.”

  “Hi Ben,” said William, “I’m William.”

  “Hi,” said Ben.

  “Hi,” said William.

  “So, um, what now?”

  “Well,” said William, “I guess now you have to look up, if you haven’t already. And I don’t think you have.”

  “Look up?”

  “Yeah,” said William, “at the ceiling.”

  “Ok then,” said Ben. “Um, what happened to your neck?”

  “What about my neck?”

  But before answering, Ben looked up. His eyes widened, his face drained of colour and he fainted dead away.

  “What about my neck?” William muttered to himself, ignoring the kid’s prone body on the floor. He explored with his hand, and discovered something in the space between his collar bone and adam’s apple. With a frown he Illuded a mirror out of another chocolate wrapper.

  The William who looked back from inside the mirror was not the William that William remembered being. This new William was pale, and gaunt. He had a wasted look about him, like someone who has been doing a great deal without a great deal of food. More troubling, however, was the scar. It stretched lazily across the base of his neck like a silver river viewed from a plane. It was thin, with the smooth feel of a wound long healed.

  He ran an inquiring finger along
its length and then, quite suddenly, he remembered how he’d gotten it. The mirror illusion slipped away as he lost his mental grip on it.

  The eastern elevator opened, and Rowan stepped out.

  “You know,” she said, “when you wake up in a hospital bed, the prudent thing to do is stay there.”

  “Jones tried to kill me!”

  “That’s no excuse,” she snapped.

  William touched his new scar again. “How long was I out for?”

  Rowan shrugged, her anger replaced by well trained boredom. “A couple of weeks, I guess.”

  William blinked. “A couple of weeks?”

  “Give or take.”

  “Oh.”

  Rowan noticed the kid sprawled on the floor,” who’s that?”

  “Ben Waters,” said William. “Was looking for a job.”

  “Oh,” said Rowan. “Albert?”

  “Yeah.”

  She delicately nudged Jake in the side with her shoe. “Maybe they’ll make him a collector. I hear they’re down a member.”

  “Was I really out for months?”

  “That’s what I said isn’t it? Did he show any potential?”

  “Who?”

  Rowan nudged Ben again. Although this time it was harder and probably more of a kick than a nudge.

  “I dunno, how can you tell if someone has potential or not? What’s the date?”

  “Well, if they go and get their throats slit and manage not to die, that is usually a sign of potential.”

  “Hey,” said William, “did you just admit I’m not entirely useless?”

  “What? No.”

  “But-”

  “Shut up.”

  He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes. “It is vaguely impressive,” she said, “not many people live to complain about it when Caspien Jones decides to kill them.”

  William’s grin faded. “Do you think he’ll try it again, then? To kill me, I mean.”

  “Probably not. The boss pitched a right fit when he found out what Jones had done.”

  “And Clarissa,” added William

  “Who?”

  “Clarissa! Jones killed her!

  “Ohhhhh,” said Rowan, “the Collector, right. No, the boss was not too worried about that. Collectors aren’t hard to make. And it was her own stupid fault really. Do you know she actually broke into his room? Serves her right.”