by Anthony Ergo
"You're strong Sasha, and smart. So be strong in here tonight and make smart choices. I'll be right behind you."
Under different circumstances we might have kissed. Zara makes an angry whistle and I snap out of my momentary crush. Aaron boosts me up and I stretch far enough so that Zara is able to pull me to the top.
"Hurry up Hart!" she urges.
Despite his strength, Aaron struggles to gain a footing without anyone to lift him from the ground. A passer-by glances up from underneath their umbrella and Aaron stuffs his hands into the pockets of the yellow raincoat and whistles innocently.
"This isn't going to work," he says after several more failed attempts. "If someone reports me or the police find me here it will blow our cover. I'll find another way in, you two get going."
He looks up at me and pushes his hair, soaked with rainwater, out of his eyes.
"You'll be fine," he whispers.
"I know," I say without conviction.
Then he's gone.
Zara helps me down from the perimeter wall and we hide in the shadows to survey the Tower's grounds. The fog descends around us like a wispy blindfold, obliterating anything distant from view. I stay close to Zara, the atmosphere making me even more edgy.
"Great, like we needed things to get any spookier."
"It's fine," Zara reassures. "The fog will provide natural cover."
Towering oak trees and manicured lawns are skirted by rows of black-and-white half-timbered houses. I'd read in a tour guide that they provide accommodation for the Tower of London wardens, the Beefeaters. Two ravens hop over and caw loudly as if trying to expose us.
"Pssst!" I hiss in a lame attempt to scare them away. "Fly off, will you!"
"They can't," says Zara. "Legend says that if the ravens leave, the Tower and kingdom will fall, so the wardens clip their wings to keep them here. Don't worry, they won't bother us."
"I didn't read that in the guidebook," I say. "You really did your research."
"When you decide to break into the place holding the crown jewels, you have to be prepared. And being prepared is that much easier when you can see into the future. Now stay close; keep low and don't stop moving."
Zara moves with the elegance of a cat and the stealth of a ninja. The fog closes in behind us like a portcullis and I can barely see beyond the fingers of my outstretched hand. I have to concentrate on each footstep, trying to avoid treading on brittle twigs. Zara has better fitness levels than me; I get the feeling that her regular shadow-stops are simply a chance for me to catch my breath. My nose still feels slightly blocked from the last asthma attack, so I take another dose from my inhaler before we set off again. The dash takes us through a courtyard and past a building with a plaque naming it as "The Bloody Tower."
"Shouldn't we take a look in here?" I ask.
"The ghost of Jack Ketch is in the White Tower," says Zara confidently. "That's where the torture chamber is."
"Sounds great," I mumble under my breath.
My sarcasm is only a front; underneath it, rising fear builds like a fire that's burning out of control.
We wait in the alcove of a building while two Beefeaters walk by, chatting casually as they patrol the grounds. I lean against the hard stone wall, making the most of the time we have to recuperate. Working on autopilot, my brain tries to forget how desperately tired I am. Once they are out of sight, we tiptoe up the wooden staircase.
A grand stone archway provides the entrance to the White Tower, the centrepiece of the tourist attraction. Our entry is denied by an imposing wooden door strapped with blackened ironworks and sealed shut with a sturdy padlock.
"This is the tricky bit," says Zara.
She pulls a small case from her rucksack and zips it open to reveal a set of little metallic wires. After a minute or so of twisting the wires at different angles, the lock clicks. I stare at her in awe and Zara simply shrugs off the achievement.
"Lock picking is week one of Agency training," she explains. "I'll show you one day."
The door creaks open to expose a draughty stone corridor. Zara closes the door gently behind us and flicks on a flashlight. As I move forward, she grabs my arm and points at the top of the wall.
"See those little boxes up there? They're motion sensors which emit invisible infrared rays. If they detect movement, it will trigger the alarm system and alert the guards. Wait here while I find the control box and disable them."
Zara slips outside and into the fog and I'm left alone in the dark corridor. I feel cold; my breath plumes, then disperses in wispy white clouds. I'm not cut out for this paranormal investigation business. I'm just a girl; a very frightened, tired, homesick girl.
I hear a noise behind me, like the faint footsteps of someone trying not to be heard. I can feel my insides churning. It isn't the instinctive adrenaline surge, but rather the cold, sickening pang of nerves. I tell myself that I'm being stupid for feeling so frightened, but I'm not. Cold fingers reach out from the gloom and wrap around my mouth. I'm dragged backward into a shadowy recess, my feet scrabbling on the floor. Powerless to resist the firm grip, I prepare for the worst. A strand of dyed red hair rests on my shoulder and a familiar voice whispers into my ear.
"Sasha, it's me."
I know the voice ― it's Katalina! As she releases me, I hug her instinctively, so relieved to see her. Strangely, she doesn't return the hug.
"Kat, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here for you, Sasha."
When Kat speaks her friendly broken English is replaced by a much harsher accent. It's an accent I've heard before. It's the same voice I heard talking to Blake at Tyburn. . .
"Mr Blake no longer needs your assistance."
My brain takes half a second to process everything. I feel the blood rush to my head, and light up the crimson around my irises. Kat is one of Blake's spies! I can barely believe it. I'm far too stunned to speak.
I feel the rough stone wall pressing into my back as she pushes me into an alcove. Kat is far stronger than she appears. Any distinction I could make between reality and fantasy has been obliterated. Blake has made a spider's web of spies and I'm the poor little fly caught up in it. For so long Katalina has been the only constant in my life. She was more than a friendly foreign housekeeper, she was my only friend, or so I thought. I've depended on her so often since my mother disappeared. And now it turns out — much like everything else — that she isn't the person I thought she was.
"I've put up with you and your father for too long … "
Having discarded her mask of innocence, Katalina's face becomes twisted with hatred, her eyes burning with malice.
"Sorry, Sasha, but you're too dangerous to be left alive."
Katalina stands directly in front of me, blocking the exit door. She is the one person I trusted more than anyone. My friend turned killer-to-be. As I back away, I'm aware of the invisible web of infra-red rays spanning the corridor behind me. If I step back it will trigger the alarm and the Beefeaters will come running to my rescue. It might save my life, but we'd never make it to Dad in time to save his.
Kat raises her hands to display a set of vicious-looking nails, sharpened to points like claws. I've never noticed that she had such long nails before. I slowly move my hand to my pocket, feeling for the Athame knife. Kat flicks the strands of dyed-red hair from her forehead, her face contorting into a wicked snarl. It's not the face of the woman I cared for; her body has transformed into something much more evil.
"Sorry it has to end like this."
As Katalina swipes at my face, I throw myself sideways and slam into the hard stone wall. The impact of stone-on-shoulder makes me wince in pain. I slump to the floor like a dead weight and land in a heap at Katalina's feet.
"Nice move," she says with an evil smirk. "But you can't avoid me forever."
I draw the Athame and hold it out in an attempt to ward her off. The small dagger shakes in my outstretched hand. Katalina snaps out a sharp kick to my wrist and sends the kni
fe flying from my grasp.
"Your Witch tools don't scare me. Your luck just ran out, Sasha."
As she leans over me, I notice a movement of dust particles in the air. Has Zara managed to disable the infra-red rays? My question is answered when the wooden door flies open and Zara bursts through, landing a kick high on Katalina's back. She falls forward onto the stone floor where the infra-red rays had previously spanned the corridor. Zara smoothes down her suit jacket and adjusts her designer glasses, regaining her usual composed image. She picks up the Athame and tosses it to me.
"You're good to go. Keep heading along the corridor and find your dad. I'll catch up after I deal with this one."
Katalina begins to pick herself up, snarling, as Zara readies herself in a fight stance. I want to stay even though I know I'll be powerless to help.
"Go!" shouts Zara.
Her single word is like a shot going off from a race starter's pistol. My body reacts instantly and I begin to run along the dark corridor. If there's one thing I know about Zara, it's that she can look after herself.
Chapter 24
Thursday 19 September 11:18pm
Zara Gordon
I stare into its eyes. I refuse to consider it human, because it's not. It might look like a human, even move and act like one, but this thing is otherworldly. I've studied these creatures during my time at The Agency but never seen one in the flesh. They're known as Metamorphs because of their ability to assume a human appearance. This particular freak seems to be vampiric in origin.
We circle one another in the dark, cold corridor like two boxers sizing each other up. The thing that calls itself Katalina has its claws raised and teeth bared. It looks completely different from the human facade it portrayed at the hospital, when it had fooled all of us. Hart's Empath senses didn't feel anything and no visions warned me. Just as I knew nothing of Sasha, I had no awareness that this thing had assumed a role in Agent Hunter's life. Menzies Blake had planted it on Hunter like a deadly leech.
Why had I never envisioned this? No time for analysis now, post-assessment will come later, if there is a later. I'm not exactly trained to deal with this scenario. I've never confronted a physical supernatural entity and I'm not sure how well a blue belt in Taekwondo will fare against a Metamorph.
"You can't help her," hisses the creature in its harsh accent. "Menzies Blake has told me all about you. He is fond of you and thinks highly of your abilities. Hunter and his girl are lost causes, and Aaron Hart is too wild to conform. But we could use you. It would be a shame to have to destroy a Precog, your skills are so rare. Join us, Zara."
I fake an expression of consideration for this sick offer, stalling for time. I had underestimated Blake. Only now am I able to understand the scale of his grand plan. He had masqueraded as head of The Agency and used his power to create a sub team of deadly creatures. Agent Hunter had come close to unravelling his plan when he pursued the Hangman Ghost, but Blake had used this female beast to keep tabs on him all along.
"You can't win this," I say to the creature. "I've seen how it ends."
As long as I can continue to distract Katalina and keep myself alive, Sasha will have more time to find Agent Hunter.
"Liar!" she hisses. "And now you'll die."
It launches at me with a sweeping overhand right, her fingers arched like an eagle's talons. I block her swipe with my forearm; the blow stings but I barely notice it. She grits her teeth and releases a frustrated groan, more animal-like than human. As she shifts forward I duck to my right and slip past her, my guard up and ready for her next attack.
The creature loses its smirk; maybe it realises it has a fight on its hands. It comes at me again, surprising me with its speed and dexterity, reminding me that it's more than human. Seizing my shoulders, the razor-like claws that replaced her human fingertips pierce my flesh. I clench my back teeth together and force the pain from my thoughts. Its claws dig into my skin and it pulls me down toward her bent knee. Her mistake is to fight like a human.
I'm able to counter by thrusting my arms upward to break her grasp, then landing a short elbow clean on its jaw. It was not expecting that; she stumbles backward, but does not fall. Her forehead tightens into a scowl of concentration. I close the distance and launch a spinning back-kick. Before my foot hits the target I feel claws shred through my suit jacket and tear at the skin on my back. The adrenaline masks the pain coursing through my body. I fall down and feel wet blood at the base of my spine. She smiles, enjoying my moment of agony.
She comes at me again, fast and fluid in movement, pinning me against the stone floor before I can react. The claws pierce my upper arms and this time I feel the pain shoot through my body. I do my best not to let the hurt show on my face; I won't give it the satisfaction. I feel its hot, putrid breath on my neck as I strain to break free.
It's useless; I'm trapped in her clawed grip, like a mouse in the talons of a bird of prey. My short burst of energy has drained me; the build up of lactic acid stings my muscles, yet the creature is barely out of breath. I know I can't win this fight, but I don't have to accept it. Despite the horror of my situation, I refuse to close my eyes. As my final act of defiance I will stare it down.
"Last chance," says the creature. "Join us, or die."
I'm overcome with a wave of dizziness. The premonition that follows may be my last.
I'm kicking and screaming like a gazelle in the jaws of a lion. The creature smiles, then pulls its head back before launching it forward and sinking its incisors into my neck. The sharp teeth pierce my jugular vein with the precision of a surgeon. I see my own life ebb away as the vision ends.
"I'll join you," I say quickly. "I'm ready."
I do my best to say this with utter conviction. The creature releases its grip and a searing pain shoots through my body as its claws are extracted. If nothing else, at least I've bought Sasha more time. The Metamorph pins me to the floor with her knees, looming above me with a menacing scowl.
"You'll understand if I don't take your word for it. I'll need a show of commitment."
She reaches into an inner pocket and presents me with a corked test tube filled with dark, red liquid.
"This is an old ritual. You should be honoured to be chosen. Drink it, and join me."
I'm suddenly faced with a prospect worse than death. My choices are reduced to one. The Metamorph wants me to drink from this vial of blood and I dare not think about the consequences of doing so. My trembling fingers take the test tube from the outstretched clawed hand. Our hands brush and I'm struck by its icy cold flesh. All my research on Metamorphs is borne out; its exterior is as human as the average person, yet under its skin rages a deadly assassin.
The creature removes the cork and smiles, revealing its razor sharp teeth. As I tilt the tube torward my mouth, the warm red liquid starts to roll down the glass like deadly lava. My eyes are fixed on the Metamorph which calls itself Kat. Her hungry eyes widen in anticipation as I open my mouth.
"Go to hell!"
I scream the words like my own salvation depends on their clarity. With all the energy I can muster, I hammer-fist the test tube into the creature's face. An explosion of glass and blood is followed by a guttural howl as the demon-woman recoils, blinded in one eye by a long shard of glass. Her claws retract and the sharpened points of its teeth recede. It's morphing, and losing its otherworldly power. In its moment of extreme pain it transforms back into its human form, her body contorting in agony. Staggering, it bounces off the walls of the corridor and palms its way out of the exit.
I lie still for a moment. My eyes are closed and I'm trying not to focus on the pain in my arms and back, or the blood on my clothes. My job is not done. I can't let that thing escape into the night, or recover only to return for revenge.
Hauling myself to my feet, I wipe the specks of blood from my glasses. I feel like a car crash victim; the euphoria of still being alive didn't last long. Wincing, I pull a clawed fingernail out of my left shoulder. The Metamorp
h had me all but beaten; now it's hurt and on the run. I cast a glance over my shoulder and along the dark corridor, hoping Sasha can find the power within her to defeat Blake and Jack Ketch. Only a White Witch could face up to the combined might of a Necromancer and a Poltergeist; I just wish Sasha had been given more time to develop her skills.
I start to feel a wave of dizziness, followed by a premonition of how it all ends. . .
Chapter 25
Thursday 19 September 11:42pm
Sasha Hunter
I'm truly alone. I follow a signpost which points the way to the dungeon; the place in Zara's vision. The route takes me through a gallery with coats of armour, walls of weaponry and horse mannequins. They would have frightened me a week ago, but not anymore. Breathless, I race down a spiralling stone staircase. Every minute that passes is another minute closer to the deadline: at midnight Jack Ketch has the right to take Dad's life.
I arrive at a closed door marked "Torture Chamber"; it can only be a place where horrific things happen. Feeling like my lungs are about to burst, I take a moment to compose myself. The last thing I need is an asthma attack: I'm no good to anyone if I'm not breathing. I steady my breaths and reach for the door handle, but it twists all on its own. When the door opens, it's no ghostly apparition. The massive frame of Ludvig blocks my path.
Ludvig steps into the corridor and closes the door behind him, removing his sunglasses to reveal his soulless, icy blue eyes. With his dark suit, huge chest and shaved head, he couldn't be any more physically intimidating. But he's more than that; he's a Pyromorph, and he can generate fire from his hands. I never expected this to be easy; I hadn't prepared myself to have to break through layers of supernatural barriers. Having only just escaped the wrath of Katalina, now I've got Ludvig to deal with. He steps forward slowly, and something about the way he moves unnerves me.