CHAPTER 26
Waiting was a penthouse suit, all round edges, shining surfaces and white carpets. Jeremy Dempsey looked up at me expectantly. Above him a magnificent chandelier glittered in soft light.
“Hello, Jet,” he said. His face was calm and inviting. But posture rigid with authority.
I wish I could have said I was surprised to see him.
To my right, seated on a broad leather couch, three children were shoulder to shoulder. They stared at news coverage of the uprising on a gargantuan television. Each was the age of Perry.
“You’re not who I’m looking for,” I said to Dempsey.
“Have you met my children? This is Lucy, and…”
“Mother!”
“I know you’re a busy person, being an Enforcer and all. But why don’t you spare a few moments? You’ll find listening to me very much in your benefit, I believe.”
The spell was descending on me again and again. It persistently probed and explored, looking for entrance.
“Mother!” I roared, “Mother! Come out. I’ll tear this place apart.”
The three children did not look round.
“You’re being very rash, Jet,” Dempsey said. He shook his head. “I want you to stop for a moment and think. Consider what is being given to the city.”
“It is chaos out there! That’s hard to see when you’re a thousand feet off the ground, isn’t it?” I waved a hand at the television. “Is that how it looks to you?!”
“Wrong,” he said, gesturing to his right, “I have the best seat in the house.”
An enormous picture window looked out onto the city. A grid of brown shapes dissected by black roads stretched off for what seemed eternity. Far below flickering sparks of light identified where I had left my comrades to do battle.
“A dead man is lying out in the corridor behind you,” he went on, “Four more lay dead in Valhalla Hotel. And another up in The Marlon, face squashed flat. A penthouse not so different from this, I’m told. You did what you had to do. And I understand that. But I ask you this; what did those men die for?”
‘He’s distracting you!’ my brain screamed at me.
The Spell descended again and again. Black tentacles lashed out at my brain, probing for purchase with clumsy eagerness. I bolstered my Place of Calm.
“Where is my mother?!” I snarled.
“Now, Jet…”
I dashed forward and grabbed him by the collar. My eyes locked on his. Multiple layers of defences and already existing spells were penetrated.
‘Tell the truth! Tell the truth! Lie and you will suffer!’
His eyes glazed.
“Where is my mother?”
“Barbara Starling is in the kitchen. She is not your mother.”
I released him. He staggered and plopped into a sitting position on polished wood.
“That’s assaulting a servant of the city,” a voice said.
I spun. My mother, Liza Clarence, Barbara Starling, stood in the doorway of an adjoining room. Her appearance was as far away as it was possible to be from how I had last seen her.
The flame went nova. It expanded from a pinpoint of light and grew to a sun. My body was bathed in white heat. I stepped forward. But realised both my legs were broken at the knee and fell. I hit the floor beside Jeremy Dempsey.
I attempted to push myself up, head whipping about for the assailant, only to realise my arms were shedding their flesh in miniature rivulets. My eyes closed and I grasped for my Place of Calm. But a cold steel point plunged into my stomach and I screamed. Both eyes flew open. Above me stood my grandmother with fire poker clutched in hands. Its tip vanished an inch into my stomach. She twisted it, I screamed again.
There were clicking footsteps and my mother towered over me. She bent and helped Dempsey to his feet.
“Why don’t you fix us some drinks, dear?” she said to him.
“Yes, I’ll fix some drinks,” he replied, heading off.
My mother’s eyes turned down to me.
“Those are your brothers and sisters,” she said, glancing at the three children.
I craned my head. One, a redheaded boy, and the little girl beside him, were gazing at me. Their combined power was immeasurable. I attempted to fall inwards again and find calm. My grandmother twisted the poker; I heard a wet crunch and screamed until my throat hurt.
“Stop struggling, Jet,” Gran said, “Sit still.” She turned to my mother. “Quickly.”
My mother nodded and walked to a cabinet. From one of the drawers she extracted a pistol.
“Oh God…” I breathed.
My stomach was burning. It shrieked from the pain, simultaneously exploding with white light. My mother began inserting bullets into a clip. I frantically reached for calm again, but gran needn’t have turned the poker. I was shaking all over. The pain was unbearable. Defeat excruciating.
“Why,” I hissed, “why are you destroying the city…?”
“It’s just good business,” Dempsey said, returning with a tray of drinks. My spell lingered in his head. “New laws, you see. Lighter magical laws mean magic-user owned businesses will flourish. Some will see never before imagined increases…”
“Shut up!” gran snapped at him.
“Good business…?” I gasped.
“Why, yes Jet. The number one factor of growth restriction in magic-user owned and run businesses…”
“Shut up! You shut up!” gran snapped again. She turned to my mother. “You only need one bullet!”
My mother inserted the clip and pulled back the slider.
“It really is a mercy, dear,” she said, “You’ve attempted to assassinate Jeremy Dempsey. And I’d rather be dead than spend the rest of my life in a white bed. Wouldn’t you?”
From above my head a bolt sizzled into the room and exploded against my mother. The chandelier rattled and she was flung backwards. Gran’s head snapped around, just in time to have a second bolt burst against her chest. She staggered and went to the ground. The poker remained upright in my stomach. A new set of footsteps approached.
“What in God’s name, Jet?”
Clara Anderson. She stooped and picked up the gun. She pulled the clip and ejected the bullet. But gran was sitting up. Clara, bless her, had gone easy on the old woman. A wrinkled finger pointed.
“Her,” gran said.
“The children!” I gasped, “Clara! The children! The children!”
She looked round and met their gazes. Then she was shrieking and clutching her head, body crumpling into the foetal position. My arms and legs were again unharmed. The poker, however, had to be grabbed and extracted with both hands. Clara and I were screaming as a duet. A second pair of hands grasped the poker and began to force it back down. Gran was on her feet, face contorting with strain.
“Just stay down,” she snarled, “Stay down and go away…”
I pulled, she pushed. The glistening end of the poker hovered above my bleeding stomach.
“No,” I heard myself hiss through clenched teeth, “Not like this.”
My mind snapped into focus. Spirit leapt into my chest and I released a clumsy bolt from the space before my eyes. There was a POP and gran went staggering, the poker clattering to the floor. Nearby Clara continued to shriek incomprehensible words.
I lay still holding my stomach. Breath escaped me in whimpers and blood pooled beneath my waist. A glance down the length of my body saw gran writhing. She attempted to sit up and failed. Her old body was finally calling it quits.
“Don’t give her the chance,” I growled, “don’t let her…”
I rolled over and got my arms beneath me, drawing strength from the boundless white flame that consumed my innards. It fuelled me, pumped me with adrenalin. I was back on my feet, gran’s horizontal figure centred in my vision. I walked towards her.
After two steps her head rose and eyes fixed on me. An attack descended and I shrugged it off. She winced. A bony finger raised and pointed at me. I did not see it but knew the thr
ee children were turning their gaze.
I noticed warmth descending down my legs. This was followed by what felt like rubber tubing slipping from beneath my shirt and bumping against my thighs. I ignored it and continued forward. Gran was now rolling over and attempting to slither away across the floor. Next, I realised my left shin had fractured. I yelped and tumbled to hands and knees, but continued crawling. Just ahead Gran had been backed into a wall. Tubes looped down and dragged on the floor beneath me, brushing the carpet. Something larger wrenched free, my stomach, and hit the ground with a wet PLOP. I continued crawling.
Slowly I moved into position over gran, eyes fixed on her expression of frozen terror. Comprehension was dawning in her eyes. My hands reached for her neck and she attempted to push them away. I felt my cheeks being pulled taut. The result of my jaw coming loose and wanting to tumble to the floor. I ignored it and clamped my hands around gran’s neck.
“No, Jet,” she mewled, “No, please, no…”
I squeezed. In my stomach the furnace was churning like a million torrential suns. My fingers curled tighter. Gran’s face turned the colour of beetroot.
“Die,” I heard a voice snarling. The demon knelt beside me, its hands wrapped around nothing. The flame blazed around its body. “Die! Die, you bitch, die! Die!”
Slowly life began to fade from her eyes. A purple tongue ceased its flickering between grimacing teeth. And she was dead. But I held tight; part of me not believing it to be true. After another minute I released my grip. My body shook and chest heaved. Around me the world shifted. At first I thought this to be a manifestation of my deed; the universe acknowledging a quest completed. But I looked down and realised my guts were again where they belonged. I had been released from the spell. The children were again watching television.
For a long moment I sat and did nothing. Waiting for elation to strike, for a feeling of victory to explode and eclipse the furnace. But it did not.
“Mother,” the demon said beside me.
I took a breath and stood. Blood leaked down my waist. Clara was staring at me, knuckles clamped to her mouth.
“What have you done?” she whimpered. The mask of terror was as pale as ivory. “Oh my God, you monster. What the hell are you?!”
“Clara…” my voice croaked.
“Clara…” the demon mimicked.
She turned and bolted from the room. An enormous cosmic lock clicked as it slid into place. My options were dwindling down to none. How fast would the D.O.M respond to a report that a Class 5 Enforcer was going off the rails? But for Clara it was a different cosmic lock and different bolt. She had been given what she most desired that night; a demon. And it was me.
I turned into the apartment. “Mother!”
“Mother!” the demon repeated.
But mother was gone. The floor she had occupied was empty. Jeremy Dempsey, however, remained. Still holding a tray of drinks.
“I brought the drinks,” he said. “Martinis. I find they’re the best universal option when no specific drink types are mentioned.”
“Where is she?!” I barked in his face.
“She told me not to tell you, Jet. Very specifically…”
No time. I hobbled through an archway and pushed open a door. A bloody trail was left in my wake. A study, empty. The next door along, a spare bedroom. Empty. Next one, opposite side of the corridor. A bathroom. Empty. But a second before I stepped out my eyes focused on a space in the bathtub. For the briefest instant I could have sworn I saw my mother there. Huddled, lips trembling in fear, staring at me with bulging eyes. But no, my eyes unfocused. There was nothing.
‘Ignore me, ignore me, ignore me…’
I stepped out, intending on going back and checking the other side of the house. But rapid footsteps approached via the front door.
“Oh shit, oh shit, it’s Genevieve Starling,” a voice said, “Jesus Christ, I think she’s dead as well.”
“Franco was dead?”
“Yes. It’s him. It has to be.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here, man. Let the Enforcers deal with this shit. They’re on their way. He’s a Class 5.”
My head swam. Blood had begun to gather and spill over the tops of my boots.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself. “Mother…”
I steadied myself on wall.
“Run, vanish, regroup,” the demon said at my shoulder.
I headed for the exit, stepping past the two security guards…
‘Jet Clarence is not here, ignore me, Jet Clarence is not here, ignore me…’
…and moved as fast as I could to the elevator.
Balance - Book 2 Page 65