There was a thundering crash, and the air filled with crumbled particles of masonry, covering my face and making me sneeze.
‘Rockfall, further down,’ he said. ‘They won’t be able to get through. We’re safe – for now. Come on, we need to get out of here.’
He stooped over his bag, clicked it open, and pulled out a torch. A bloody torch – of all the mundane, boringly human things. He flicked it on, and a bright beam of light shone into my flinching eyes.
‘You look a real mess,’ he said, laughing and pulling a chunk of plaster from my hair.
‘Yeah, well …’ I replied, fresh out of witty repartee. Near-death experiences will do that to a girl, I suppose. ‘What now?’
‘Now, we walk out of here. We leave, calmy, through the emergency exits.’
And that’s just what we did, picking our way slowly and carefully along the abandoned tunnel until Gabriel spotted another door, similar to the one we’d entered. It was rusted shut, and next to it was a rolled-up copy of the Gazette. From 1979. I guessed these tunnels hadn’t been used in quite some time.
With a quick curse, Gabriel managed to pull the padlock loose and manhandle the door open, this time using sheer brawn instead of any flicky-finger stuff. We emerged, blinking, into the light. I looked around, and realised I knew where we were.
Edge Hill. The old one – the original nineteenth-century station that was now disused. We’d walked a few miles underground, and were now near the edge of the former platform. Very Harry Potter.
Gabriel jumped up nimbly from the track on to ground level, as easily as stepping up a steep kerb. He reached down for me and, after a moment’s hesitation, I took hold of his hands. There was no other way I was going to get up there myself, unless someone conveniently brought me a dwarf to stand on.
He hauled me up, and I fell, probably with a great deal of comedic value, on to the concrete.
I wasn’t bothered about that, though. I was too busy coping with the buzzing head and the mega brain tingle as his fingers twined into mine. Great timing, I thought, as I sank on to the floor, and into the vision.
It was of me. Again. Which was an alarming trend, but not as alarming as the fact that I was screaming in agony. My stomach was wracked with cramping pains, and when I looked down, it was huge. The size of a hump-backed whale. I was pregnant and, it seemed, about to give birth. He was there, Gabriel, at my side – not holding my hand or offering breathing advice like dads on telly, but wielding a vast golden sword. A sword that was … on fire.
I regained consciousness as quickly as I lost it, and found myself yet again lying in Gabriel’s arms. This was getting to be a habit, and bearing in mind the subject matter of that last flash, not one I wanted to encourage.
‘You OK?’ he asked, half an eye on me, half scanning our surroundings, presumably for mysterious and threatening assassin types.
‘Yeah,’ I said, looking at him cautiously. ‘But before we go any further, I should make one thing clear: I will not, under any circumstances, be having your baby!’
Chapter Five
‘I need to go home,’ I said.
‘You can’t go home,’ he replied.
‘You can’t stop me,’ I said. OK, so that last statement was patently untrue, but I’ve got my pride. And I really, really needed a shower.
‘You can shower at my place,’ he countered, doing that infuriating mind-reading trick again.
‘I don’t think so, lover boy – not after that last vision. That was like living birth control, as far as I’m concerned. No more touching. Of any kind.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, pulling his dust-covered sweater over his head and shaking it. Underneath he was wearing a grey jersey T-shirt that clung like water to every ridge of muscle, every perfectly outlined abdominal. Which really wasn’t playing fair.
I averted my eyes, like a proper lady should, and tried to ignore his smirking expression. We could both do with a shower, truth be told. And, in my case, possibly a new identity and a safe house.
We were in a small playground near the old station. Gabriel thought our pursuers would be patrolling the mainline routes looking for us, so we’d retreated to the park to regroup. For him, that involved being very bossy, and for me, it involved trying exceptionally hard not to lose my now-fragile control.
‘They’re looking for you. They want to kill you. What part of that don’t you understand?’
‘All of it,’ I replied, sneaking a look to check he was decently clad again. ‘I don’t even know who “they” are.’
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked, grabbing hold of my chin and twisting my face upwards so I was looking into his eyes. I slapped his hand away viciously.
‘No! I don’t even know you. Why should I trust you, when all you’ve done so far is evade my questions, raid my brain and drag me through collapsing tunnels?’
‘You missed out the bit about saving your life.’
‘I only have your word for that, Gabriel. If that’s even your name. So you do what you like, but I’m going home. I’m going home, I’m having a shower, and I’m going to work. That’s just the way it is.’
He stood tall, in fact even taller than he usually was. I couldn’t tell how it was happening, but his body seemed to be getting bigger. His face was set and determined, and the violet in his eyes had dimmed and deepened and was now almost black.
‘I won’t allow it. It is my duty to protect you, and I will die trying if I have to.’
O-kay. There was clearly going to be a personality clash here, and frankly I didn’t know how to handle it. I live an independent life. I’ve learned to cope with a whole lot of weirdness and isolation, and have formed my own existence despite that. But growing up with Coleen also ingrained in me a deep respect for – by which I mean fear of – authority. I never choose direct conflict, and have instead evolved a set of behavioural rules that usually allow me to live how I want to without the need to butt heads. Rules such as working night shifts, and living alone. Now the Incredible Hulk seemed set on derailing it all.
Time for a change of tactic.
I sat down on the roundabout, kicked at the damp clumps of grass with my boots. He’d obviously decided he was my protector. And I’d obviously decided to go along with it – at least for the time being. Now it was a matter of managing that situation without the use of sledgehammers or nail files to the eyes.
‘Look, Gabriel,’ I said. ‘You need to understand how I see all of this. You say you’re here to protect me. Fine. There’s clearly a whole other world out there I don’t get. And yes, I believe you when you say those men were after me. But if we’re going to work together, if I’m going to let you protect me, I need to do certain things. And going home is one of them. I’ll compromise on the shower, but I do need to call in to my flat, grab a few things. Things that are important to me.’
‘Things that are more important than your life?’ he said softly, giving the roundabout a gentle push so it started to spin. The wind was cold and fresh on my face as I whirled, and by the time I returned to face him, I was ready to answer: ‘Yes. That important.’
His expression softened, and he finally nodded his agreement. I tried very hard not to look smug as we walked towards the main road and hailed a cab.
My flat is tucked away in a side street in a part of Liverpool known as Lark Lane. Anyone who’s been there will describe it as ‘bohemian’, which means you get vast Victorian villas full of actors, writers, students and smack-heads, all living side by side in uneasy harmony. At the bottom of the road is a vast green space, Sefton Park, with a boating lake and an aviary and loads of Peter Pan-style statues. It’s a nice place to visit, on those days when you’re not running for your life.
As we approached the house, I felt Gabriel place a hand protectively in the small of my back, and I can’t say that I felt any urge to pull away from it. I hadn’t got a good look at my pursuers back at the station, and that wasn’t filling me with regret. I knew – I sensed �
�� that they intended me harm. And Gabriel? He intended me something else entirely. I just didn’t know what.
I fished the key out of my pocket, but there was no need. My front door, down the side of the building, was already open, banging in the breeze. Gabriel pulled me behind him, and I let him. There is a time for bravery, and this wasn’t it.
As we tiptoed into the hallway, I heard screams and crashes coming from the living room. A shrill female yell, a barrage of thuds. The sound of something formerly made of pottery smashing into pieces.
‘Stay here!’ he ordered, shoving me up against the wall. He took a deep breath, and this time I wasn’t mistaken – he started to swell, to enlarge, gaining a couple of inches in height and even more muscle. He reared back and kicked the living-room door so hard it swung off its hinges.
Inside were two men. Both dressed in black. One was collapsed in the corner, blood coming from his nose. The other was lying unconscious on the floor, his head wearing a plant pot and half a bonsai tree. Above him, arms raised and preparing to deliver another whack with the remaining plant pot, was Carmel.
Gabriel dashed in, heading towards them, and I saw Carmel about to change course and go for him instead. He flicked his fingers and the pot disintegrated into smithereens, the pieces clattering harmlessly to the wooden floor.
‘It’s OK!’ I shouted, following him in and standing between them. I didn’t know who I was more worried about: Gabriel might be some kind of magical warrior dude, but Carmel still had bloodlust in her eyes. That usually ends badly.
‘Carmel, it’s me! Gabriel, this is my friend!’
Carmel ignored Gabriel and lurched towards me, swallowing me up in a hug. That showed exactly how upset she was – she knows better than most how little I like to be touched.
Gabriel looked away from our happy reunion and crouched down, touching the neck of Plant Pot Man with his fingers, then doing the same for Nose Bleed.
‘They’re out, but still alive,’ he said, with an element of regret.
‘Shame,’ said Carmel, kicking the one nearest to her in the ribs. ‘I was aiming for annihilation. Now – is someone going to tell me what’s going on? I was worried about you, Lily. You didn’t return my calls, and I thought you were freaking out about the whole Maura Delaney thing.’
I saw Gabriel’s eyes brighten at the unexpected mention of the name.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said to him. ‘I’m not quite as dumb as I look. What happened, Carmel?’
‘I came round to check on you, used that key you keep so well hidden under the recycling box out back. Within a minute of me arriving, those two bastards came in, shouting something about death to the Mother of the Mortals, and full-on Lord of the Rings mayhem ensued. I tried to tell them I wasn’t the Mother of the Mortals, whoever the fuck that is, but, well … they weren’t very nice. And you know how upset I get when people aren’t nice.’
‘How did you do this?’ asked Gabriel. ‘When you entered the building you triggered a surveillance spell, and they attacked. They will have been waiting nearby. These men are warriors. How did you defeat them? What kind of martial art do you use?’
Carmel stared at him, as though seeing him for the first time.
‘The martial art of having six big brothers. I don’t take shit from anyone.’
She turned to me and gave me a small grin.
‘You were right, he is.’
‘Is what?’ asked Gabriel, as he started to drag the men feet-first into the centre of the room.
‘Nothing!’ I snapped, still enough of an immature girl to want to hide that I’d described him as gorgeous the night before. ‘Now, if you two can give me a few minutes, I’ll grab what I need – are we OK for that, Gabriel?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But make it very few minutes, or there will be more of them. They’re like cockroaches: however many you stamp out, more appear.’
Nice image, I thought, making my way into the bedroom. I grabbed a backpack and started to shove in a few essentials – underwear, clothes, phone charger, iPod – before pulling out my top drawer and getting what I’d really come for. The photograph. The only one I had of my parents before they died, apparently with me along for the ride. So many questions, and so little time – this whole fleeing-from-death scenario was getting seriously tiresome.
The door opened, and Carmel peeked her head in. Her thick black hair was wild, her whisky eyes still bright from battle. She was wasted on that news desk, when there were wars to be waged.
‘Come on! Mr High and Mighty says we need to leave – now!’
I nodded, slipped on the backpack, and we ran back out into the street. As we reached the pavement, a silver Lexus pulled up across the road. The windows were tinted a nice shade of drug-dealer black so I couldn’t see who was inside, but from Gabriel’s reaction I could hazard a guess.
‘Run!’ he shouted, taking hold of my hand and dragging me yet again down the street. Carmel sprinted ahead, even faster, and I could feel the adrenaline flowing from her as she headed for the park.
We dodged traffic as we crossed the road, ran through the wrought-iron gates and on to green fields that were dotted with kids playing football and mums pushing prams. Gabriel was doing a weird thing as we ran, kind of sniffing the air like a bloodhound, his head swivelling around like a satellite as he checked the layout of the park.
I’d heard the dull clunk of expensive car doors slamming, and the sound of feet thudding behind us as we ran, so I didn’t need to look back to know we were being chased. Again.
‘This way!’ Gabriel shouted, after an especially big sniff, pointing towards the gleaming glass of the park’s Palm House.
The Palm House was built in the nineteenth century, a magnificent dome made of a cast-iron frame and hundreds of panes of glass. It houses exotic plants and statues, like an especially big, especially beautiful, greenhouse full of art and flowers.
It was also, I realised as we ran inside, currently being used as a wedding venue. Luckily, your average Scouse wedding party is a raucous crowd, and nobody seemed to even notice as three wild-eyed strangers covered in dust, brick and soil appeared.
Gabriel scanned the room, ignoring the fancy frocks and the band playing the opening chords of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, and headed for a statue. Typical nineteenth-century, mock-Classical woman leaning over an infant, as though about to kiss its forehead. ‘Mother and Child’, said the plaque in front of it.
‘Hold my hands!’ said Gabriel, gesturing to both Carmel and me. She looked at me, eyebrows raised, and I nodded. I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t trust him, but he’d gotten me this far. And I’d never been a big fan of Van Morrison.
We grabbed hold of his hands, and the world went black.
Chapter Six
We were standing in a large room, in what appeared to be the top floor of one of the huge towers that had sprung up on the Liverpool waterfront in recent years. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered stunning views of the river, and put us almost at beady-eye level with the Liver Birds.
We were also, I realised, still holding hands. I snatched mine away, which Gabriel took as his cue to laugh. Irritating pig.
Carmel laughed too, but hers was tinged with hysteria as she glanced around. I can’t say that I blamed her; I was feeling less than grounded myself. A natural enough reaction to our whole Beam Me Up, Scotty experience, I suppose.
The room was vast, decorated in modern block colours, furnished with black leather couches and dark wood. On one wall was a huge flat-screen TV, surrounded by fancy-looking speakers and a kitted-out games console. A bar area was home to a beer fridge and a full set of optics, with gleaming glasses in neat rows. Everything your off-duty mystical warrior would need for a spot of R&R.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ said Gabriel, picking up a lone magazine from the glass-topped coffee table. ‘I wasn’t expecting guests.’
Carmel stared at him, stared at me, then did what comes naturally to her: walked to the bar and
poured herself a very stiff vodka.
She gulped it down, poured another one straight away, then handed me a bottle of Peroni. The journalists’ creed: if in doubt, get drunk.
I pulled off my backpack and coat, dropped them to the floor, and slumped on the sofa. God, it was comfortable, and God, I was exhausted. If this was one of my hallucinations, it was a real humdinger.
Carmel joined me, and I felt instantly better for the warmth of her body next to mine. Close enough to comfort, not too close to crowd. I may have got the shitty end of the stick when it came to my childhood, but, I was starting to realise, I’d won the friend jackpot.
‘Gabriel,’ I said, after a few minutes of silence. ‘I hate to break it to you, but the charm of your international man of mystery act has officially worn off. We need answers. And we need them now.’
He nodded, and pulled up a leather footstool, perched himself in front of us. His face was still speckled with dust, the dark waves of his hair matted with cobwebs and clumps of masonry.
‘All right, Lily. No more games. What do you want to know?’
‘We’ll start with how we got here. One minute we’re wedding crashers. The next we’re here in your shag pad. How?’
‘Shag pad?’ he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. Carmel made what I can only describe as a growl, and he dropped the attitude. He had more common sense than I thought.
‘Would you settle for “it was magic”?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Carmel and I replied in unison.
‘Thought not. But it is … at least, that’s the best word I can find in your language.’
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