I also needed tea. A lot.
Tea first. Then plan.
It was Sunday and 110th Street was closed, so Connor was home. I felt like it would be a good idea to keep out of his way, so I stayed upstairs and tried to think about what the hell to do. Typical. Something meaty had finally happened, several things in fact, and I felt entirely out of my depth. I wished I could ask Eddie. Maybe I could . . .
But I couldn’t. Because he would have been cross and he would have nagged.
And none of them wanted anything to do with this kind of crap.
So plan, kid. Plan solo.
It seemed to make sense to go and find Lauren, speak to her, find out what – if anything – she knew. Maybe do a bit of probing about this friend of hers. The idea of having a new superpowered friend was appealing, while the idea that there was someone, maybe loads of people, who might need rescuing . . . well. I’m not going to lie, the thought of busting into whatever theoretical prison was holding my empowered brethren and setting them free . . . it wasn’t a terrible notion.
No. I gave myself a mental slap. People. People trapped, held against their will. That is a terrible notion. This isn’t a game.
Need to think clearly, remember? Logically.
So. Logic. Somebody wanted to kill me, someone who was very probably affiliated with the Angel Group. The fact that they hadn’t tried again was odd – perhaps it was a test, hopefully I passed I guess – but I had to assume that they were watching me. In which case, I could end up leading them straight to Lauren. Which would be bad.
Why, though? So long as neither of us use our powers they’ll just think I’m visiting a friend.
It wasn’t that simple, though.
Eventually I got tired of running around in circles, and called Nailah. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi. It’s Stanly.’
‘Ah, Junior Birdman.’
‘You what?’
Nailah laughed. ‘OK, excuse me while I high-five myself for out-obscure-pop-culture reference-ing you.’
‘Consider yourself excused. Can you talk?’
‘Yeah. Wha’ gwan?’
‘I’m not totally sure what to do.’ I filled her in on my tangle of circular thoughts, and she listened in silence. ‘So,’ I finished, ‘as someone who’s fairly high profile in terms of the maybe-bad-guys’ radar, seems like maybe I’m not the best person to go and bring the person we want to keep safe into the open.’
‘That was a fairly dreadful sentence. But yeah, I guess you’ve got a point. Maybe I should go then.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yeah. I mean, I’m not on anyone’s radar. And I was thinking about going myself before . . . just thought it might be better coming from you.’
‘Give her my number,’ I said. ‘Tell her everything about me, whatever’s necessary. But make it very clear that, if she wants, she has friends. Allies.’
‘Will do. And I’ll report back. Got a load of stuff to do this afternoon but I’ll head over there this evening. Wait to hear from me, OK?’
‘Thanks, Nailah.’
‘No problemo. Laters.’
I hung up and my brain, being what it was, immediately felt guilty and pathetic for not going myself. Intellectually I knew it made sense – I was a target, and it was utterly counterintuitive to go to someone who we thought might be in danger with the intention of making her less in danger, and potentially make her more in danger in the process. Another cracking sentence there, sport. But still . . .
By the time darkness fell I still hadn’t heard anything, and I was starting to worry. What if something had happened? Maybe I should go? I decided that whatever happened, I would head out that night, either to go and find Lauren or just to go out and stretch my legs and work off some of this tension. But then I started to feel bad about sneaking out behind Connor and Sharon’s backs, and a couple of times I was this close (holds up thumb and forefinger so they’re almost touching) to telling Connor and asking him to come with me . . . but no. I had to keep reminding myself that they didn’t want to be involved.
And anyway, you’re the one Morter Smith wants to kill.
You’ve got every right to be going out and investigating.
Yeah, every right to betray your friends’ trust.
There was a whole other side to this as well: Tara. At some point in the future, Kloe and I would have a child, and the danger from the Angel Group, or whoever else, would be so great that I would find a way to bring her back in time, to keep her safe. It was incredible, ridiculous, more ridiculous than any of the other ridiculous stuff I’d experienced, but I knew it was true. If Pandora hadn’t convinced me, Oliver and Jacqueline would have. And even if they hadn’t . . . I knew. Tara and Kloe and I were connected. I couldn’t have found and rescued Tara by accident. I couldn’t have found Kloe in a city of over eight million people, in the right park, at the right minute, on the right afternoon. Maybe it was my powers, subconsciously guiding me. Whatever. I didn’t care. But we were connected. And if that kind of trouble was on the horizon, trouble so terrible that we would need to travel in time to escape it, I was going to need all the superpowered allies I could get, reluctant or otherwise.
And if I have to move out and find somewhere else to live . . . so be it.
Finally Connor went to bed, and I sat in my room and stewed. Wait to hear from me, Nailah had said. It was pretty late now, and going to Lauren’s myself was starting to seem silly. If I hadn’t heard from Nailah, it was for a good reason.
As if on cue, my phone bleeped. It was a text from Nailah. Went to see her, it said. She didn’t want to know. Told me to leave. New plan?
Damn.
Now what?
I texted Nailah back: I’ll go myself. Her response was quick: Do you think that’s a good idea?
I didn’t bother answering.
Out the window again.
I liked to think that I knew London well, insofar as anyone can know such a mind-bogglingly big city, but the area that I needed to go to was pretty foreign territory. I racked my brains, trying to remember the route I’d less than meticulously planned out earlier on. A bus and two Tubes, and after that I could probably walk.
I felt totally different tonight. Whereas last night the city had seemed full of strangers, now I felt on top of it. It was as if little videogame-style menus were appearing above the heads of anyone who might have been a threat, detailing their weaknesses. I was on a mission. I was doing something, finally, after what felt like forever. I transferred from one train to the other, surrounded by heat and cold, fabric, people’s breath and words, phrases from posters and billboards and timetables bleeding together, forming cryptic haikus. City code.
I narrowly caught my last train, which was almost empty, apart from an old woman sitting at the other end of the compartment. She was completely wrapped up in coats and headscarves but wore no gloves, and her fingers were almost skeletal, and her expressionless face was a mass of wrinkles. I couldn’t even see her eyes because they were too sunken, too dark. She barely moved, although she was definitely breathing. I didn’t relish spending an entire train journey with a living corpse so I tried to disappear into my brain. I was getting good at it. So good, in fact, that I almost missed my stop.
The moon flickered, a pale pensive sliver in the deep night. Time was getting on, and I was feeling slightly less safe. Something about that old lady, and the way the lights had dimmed to a seedy dullness. Like harbingers. People hurried as though they were frightened, eyes stared distrustfully from under hoods, grim men observed me balefully from doorways, arms crossed over broad chests, and the wind played desultory street games with old kebab debris. I love my city, but sometimes it finds it hard to love me back. Or maybe it could sense that something was afoot and was picking up on my anxiety, the way a pet does.
I vaguely knew where I was going now. I pass
ed a club, the walls and air around it reverberating with the sound of heavy techno beats, and imagined people dancing, pulsating, cells in a brand-new, temporary organism. I liked the poetry of that, although I was pretty sure I’d loathe it if I were actually in there. Too much noise, too much sweat. And why are people raving on a Sunday night anyway? Does nobody work Mondays anymore?
Directions, remember directions.
I pulled out my A-Z and studied it. Focusing might help, less wandering in a daze if you please. I managed to work out exactly where I was, and that I needed to go down the dark alley to my left. Oddly, it felt safer than the street, and I emerged at the other end facing an empty road and a hunched-over heap of tower block beyond, most of its windows darkened.
Not far now—
A howling roar like a planet exploding, and something tore its way out of the ground behind me, showering the street with shards of broken tarmac. I swivelled around and looked up, and up, straight into the face of a heavily-muscled dog. It was the size of a small elephant and a bright electrical blue, and as it shook itself free of the wreckage it opened its mouth and howled again, showing far too many teeth. Faintly ridiculously, I struck something that could have been a fighting stance, my brain and heart and muscles all bellowing different instructions at me. Trap! Run! Fight! Fly away! Psychically tear a lamppost out of the ground and beat it to death! Phone Eddie!
No time. It lunged and I dived to my left, the dog’s jaws snapping shut with a sound like grinding steel. I got to my feet, trying to win back my equilibrium, keeping my eyes fixed on the monstrous canine. I wasn’t even aware of any people around me, there had to be some, surely, and cars, and were they watching? I couldn’t . . . this thing—
—stop thinking and jump out of the way—
—I dived to the side again, and this time I felt its stinking, molten breath as it came at me. My brain was flashing through possible strategies at lightspeed, but none seemed workable. I could fly out of its reach, but—
—jump out of the WAY—
—I jumped backwards, right into the road, and heard a car spin to a halt, and a crash, and an alarm . . . and screaming. Lots of screaming, in fact. The dog raised its head and howled at the sky, melting my skin, and when the noise subsided the immense beast looked down at me, straight into my eyes, and I stared back into its own shark-like orbs. I knew that if I looked for much longer I would be hypnotised and it would devour me.
I can’t die now. Tara needs me. Kloe needs me. So many things to—
MOVE then, you berk!
The dog snarled and lunged again but I was already ten feet in the air, fifteen, twenty. It passed underneath me, spun and jumped, snapping and bellowing. How can something that big be so graceful?
Ooh, yeah, let’s think about that LATER IF WE’RE NOT DEAD.
I was hanging in the air out of reach, trying to think, but—
—it’s jumping—
—I flipped over backwards, feeling friction and smelling its breath as its jaws smashed together inches from my head, and flew without looking, slamming into the side of a building. Winded, ouch, ouch, ouch. I slid down a few feet, unable to keep altitude because of the pain, and now the dog leapt towards me, all four of its feet leaving the ground. I spun clumsily out of its way and it crashed against the building, denting the concrete with the force of its jump and raining glass and ruined brickwork down on the street. It snarled and swiped at me with one of its paws and just caught me in the back, knocking me down. I hit the ground, rolled instinctively and jumped to my feet, diving forwards and flying between its legs, but it adjusted too fast, whirling around on the balls of its feet and snapping behind me again, countering my dodges so fast that I couldn’t possibly think of an attack. I darted up again, turned in the air; it was coming towards me again, soaring up, and I rolled over its head and for one hellish second our eyes locked again. Nothing there . . .
I heard Sharon’s voice in my head: That was when I knew that there was nothing in this thing’s mind that I could understand, it was just a monster . . .
Eyes!
Take out its eyes!
I couldn’t possibly get close enough to its face to do that . . . but there was another way. I headed back groundward, landed roughly and sprinted towards the alley from which I’d just come, towards the hole in the ground that the monster had created. It was pounding behind me, roaring, and I jumped, flew, planted both feet on a wall and backflipped, back over the beast, and as I turned in the air I concentrated on its eyes with my mind. Burst. Burst. BURST! BURSTBURSTBURST—
They exploded, just as a huge paw scored a direct hit on my back. I felt sharpness too, lost control and hit the ground, all of the wind I had managed to regain knocked out of me for a second time. I was cut and bruised now – although if the angle had been different its claws would probably have ripped straight through me – and I rolled over on my back and looked up at the beast. It was screaming, a sound that was, amazingly, worse than its howls, dark blood pouring from its ruined eyes, but still it turned and faced me and I knew it was sniffing me out, and I couldn’t do anything. Move!
I can’t.
MOVE!
I turned to fly . . . but something made me stop. Chancing a look back, I saw that the giant beast was shaking and staggering, trying to fight off a small blur of white and brown that was rushing around and around its neck and head, tearing out chunks of bloody flesh and tufts of blue fur and spitting them away. The dog was moaning and roaring in agony, snapping at the tiny blob of energy that was killing it, blood and torn fur flying, and eventually, with a final low moan and a shuddering spasm that racked its entire ruined body, it collapsed into the road and lay still. I glanced around. There were people everywhere now, staring, some standing in shock, some running away, a few unconscious. I could hear screams too. None of the cars were moving.
Turning back to the dead dog, I saw something small and white trotting down the great corpse like it was a familiar hill, a place for strolling. It stepped onto the pavement, looked up at me and cocked its head, inviting me to speak.
‘What . . . the . . . fuck?’ I said.
Daryl winked. ‘You were expecting somebody else?’
Chapter Eight
I BLINKED SEVERAL TIMES. Giant dead dog / small talking dog (beagle) who used to be my best friend / people watching (screaming, sirens?) / small dog killed big dog / can’t form coherent . . .
‘We’d better skedaddle, chief,’ said Daryl, in a low voice. ‘Police and all that. Just follow me, walk naturally, and maybe don’t talk to me for a minute.’
I nodded dumbly and followed him across the street. A group of people parted hurriedly to let us through, and I made brief eye contact with a kid about my age wearing a heavy green coat. Weirdly, he was the only person who didn’t seem utterly flabbergasted by what had happened. I didn’t like the look he gave me, but I must have been in shock because I immediately forgot about him and followed Daryl on autopilot, up a street, down a street, across a road, right turn, along an alley choked with rubbish, a steel-tinted puddle reflecting the moon, another right turn past boxes and walls daubed with illegible graffiti, an empty spray can lying discarded in a nest of old newspaper. I tried to think but couldn’t so I just followed the dog, remembering our last conversation.
Daryl: “Where do we stand?”
Me: “Unless you get some new information that I might need, we stand a long way apart.”
What the hell is going on?
Daryl slowed down, glancing up and down the alley. ‘Good. Probably OK to stop for a minute. Catch your breath.’
Now I realised that I was gasping. Panic? Probably a delayed reaction to the enraged elephant-sized dog that almost killed me to death. I closed my eyes, gripped my body’s reins and tried to bring my breathing under control, willing my hands to stop shaking. Daryl waited quietly until I was able to open my eyes. ‘OK,
’ I said. ‘What the shit was that?’
‘Monster.’ He was always like that, so to-the-point. No messing about.
‘It was after me?’
‘Maybe,’ said Daryl. ‘It could just be another one randomly finding its way up . . . but it’s a funny coincidence, you walking over that particular spot just as a monster dog the size of Belgium decides to pop up for a snack. And it was bigger than any I’ve ever seen. Well . . . pretty much.’
‘So who could have sent it?’ I’m sounding pretty calm now. Fair dos to me. ‘And what do you mean, “pretty much”?’
‘I did have a life before you, kid,’ the dog smiled. ‘And as far as who sent it . . . search me. I honestly don’t know who would be able to summon a beast like that, let alone control it. If anyone could. Maybe your powers attracted it? There is a weird connection between these monsters and empowered people. You probably noticed that when you fought Smiley Joe.’
I had. ‘I suppose . . .’
‘So until I see evidence to the contrary,’ said Daryl, ‘I’d probably go with coincidence. Or a six-pack of bad luck. What were you doing out here, anyway?’
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘Looking?’ said Daryl. ‘Found someone you have, I would say, hmmm?’ His Yoda accent had improved. I laughed weakly. ‘Right.’
‘Sorry. You were saying.’
‘Looking,’ I said. ‘Yeah. For a girl. Woman. Another empowered, name of Lauren. That’s all I’ve got, name and address.’ I took out the piece of paper with Lauren’s address and showed it to Daryl. It felt like a minor victory that I still had it.
‘Who gave you the address?’ asked Daryl. He was scrutinising me with his quiet beagle eyes, all business. I don’t know how I could talk to him so normally, considering the history we had behind us, and the slightly insane manner of our reunion. Maybe I was still in shock. I think I probably was. My foot kept twitching, and I was speaking in a dull monotone. ‘A friend,’ I said. ‘Kind of. Blogger. Investigates weird stuff, people with powers, monsters. She worked out who I am. Came to me with the name.’
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