“Why do these places always have to be so dreary?” Night said, tugging at the drapes. The light flooded in like a dam had been breached, waves of dust billowing out. Pan was pretty sure she saw some mice darting into the skirting. Yeah, the Hellraisers might have been richer than Croesus but they were stingier than Scrooge McDuck. It’s not like a room at the InterContinental would have broken the bank.
She coughed out a lungful of dust and walked to the kitchen, slinging her bag onto the counter. Through the greasy window she could see another building, a mirror reflection of their own. Past that, across the Hudson, lay Manhattan, drenched in sunlight. She wondered what would happen if she just walked down the stairs, crossed the river, disappeared into the heat, did her best to forget about the Engine and Ostheim and the dead. She checked her watch. 654:32:20:11. It would be twenty-six days of bliss, then an eternity of hell. It was one of the rules—go AWOL during a contract and the Lawyers won’t break it.
Not worth it, Pan.
Besides, it really did look like they had a chance to catch Patrick. The fight in Budapest had injured him, but this was something else. He thought they were responsible for his sister’s death and it looked like it had driven him insane, looked like it had forced him to go renegade. If Patrick was gunning for revenge, then he’d be alone, and thoughtless, and all of that would make him easier to find. Maybe this would be the mission that ended it all, the one that set her free. She opened her bag, blinking sunlight out of her eyes. The laptop was state-of-the-art and she booted it up, connecting with the Pigeon’s Nest through a secure satellite connection. Herc’s face appeared, and he didn’t look so hot.
“Sorry, must have the wrong number,” said Pan. “I think I’ve connected to an old people’s home.”
“Pan,” said Herc.
“Is your grandson around? His name’s Herc, white hair, face like a dog-chewed catcher’s mitt—”
“Pan, it’s late, and I’m tired, and I will gladly murder all of the Lawyers in this place and leave you to the demons if you don’t quit it.”
“Sorry, Gramps,” she said, unable to stop the smile from spreading. “We’ve arrived, you got anything?”
“He’s in Manhattan,” Herc said, rubbing his stubble. “We’ve been monitoring all channels and he’s uptown. He isn’t hiding, Pan.”
“Any sign of Mammon?”
“Nothing, but keep your eyes open. That bastard snuck right up on us last time.”
“Will do, boss. You rest up, get your slippers on, put something nice on the gramophone.”
“Go fu—”
She cut the connection, stretching in the little pool of sunlight by the window. It truly was filthy in here, reminding her of the apartment she’d grown up in, a hellhole in Queens. The memory made her skin crawl and she turned her back on it, walking into the sitting room. Night and Marlow were staring out the window, chatting quietly. Truck looked like he’d fallen asleep. She almost smiled at the sight, then she remembered the others—the fallen, those who’d been murdered right in front of her eyes, and those who’d been dragged kicking and screaming to hell. You couldn’t have friends in this line of work. You couldn’t get attached.
“Herc’s going to let us know when they’ve zeroed in,” she said. Marlow turned to her, just a silhouette against the glowing city.
“How long will it be?”
“Not soon enough,” she replied, walking to the sofa and kicking Truck until he grudgingly made room. She collapsed, her leg jiggling impatiently. The waiting was always the worst part. “Just get some rest. And Marlow?”
“Yeah?”
She gave him the fiercest look she could muster.
“I don’t wanna see you do your vanishing act again, okay?”
He grinned at her.
“Sure.”
DOING THE VANISHING ACT AGAIN
Being back on Staten Island felt like waking up from a dream, and it was a good feeling. Walking out of the ferry terminal into the cool, golden evening, Marlow found himself wishing that the events of the last few days were some kind of hallucination. A machine that let you play with the fundamental laws of physics? Demons that came after you when you did? It was insane. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the ferry, lulled into nightmares as it swayed across the upper bay. Here, now, with people bustling past him—tourists snapping pictures, suits heading home from late nights in the city, tired children yelling—there could be no such thing as monsters. It was just him, in the place he’d lived his whole life.
Then his new cell buzzed for the fourth time and he saw Pan’s text there—Get your stupid ass back here, Marlow, last chance—and the world flipped upside down again like a stunt plane. Of course it was real. He’d seen it, felt it, been beaten half to death by it. He could still feel the power of the Engine thrumming inside him, knew that he only had to start running and time itself would slow down to accommodate him. He checked his watch, those numbers counting down relentlessly, thought about what would happen when it reached zero, what would come after him.
Yeah, there were definitely monsters.
He batted back a quick text, wont be long. Then he pocketed the cell and set off. Technically he hadn’t disobeyed Pan, she’d said she didn’t want to see him disappear, and she hadn’t—she’d been fast asleep on the couch when he left. Besides, he needed to go home, needed to check on his mom.
He could have taken a bus, but at this time of day it would be quicker to walk. It was farther than he thought, though, and by the time he reached his street the sun was hovering over the rooftops, nesting in the trees, making it look like the island was on fire. His legs were grumbling as he walked up the steps to his house, but there was a song in his heart he hadn’t heard for what felt like forever. He was smiling as he pushed open the door.
“Yo, Mom,” he said, walking into the cool interior. “Donovan, here boy!”
There was a familiar scrabble of claws on wood, a gentle ruff from the dining room. Donovan skittered around the corner, tongue dangling, tail wagging, and Marlow dropped to one knee, slapping his legs.
“Come here, D, I missed you.”
The dog stopped, his tail dropping like a guillotine blade. He took a few clumsy steps back, cocking his head and whining from the darkness at the end of the corridor.
“Hey, stupid, what’s up?” Marlow said, scooching closer. The fur on the dog’s neck began to rise, the skin around his mouth pulling back to reveal teeth. Donovan whined again, then barked, twice, the kind of bark usually reserved for yappy dogs in the park.
Or for strangers.
“Hey, dude, it’s me,” Marlow said, patting his legs again. When he disappeared for a couple of days Donovan usually had him on the floor by now, that pink tongue trying to lick his face off. The dog’s eyes were huge and white and there was a definite growl throbbing in his throat. Marlow stood up and Donovan flinched, retreating to the wall, that growl like a generator. He barked again, white foam flecking his mouth.
“Better get out,” came a voice from the back of the house, his mom, her words slurred. “Dog’ll tear you a new one.”
“Mom, it’s me,” he yelled. “It’s Marlow.”
Footsteps, soft and slow. The dog looked to the side, whined, licked its lips. Then his mom was there, squinting around the corner. There was a glass of Bacardi in her hand and she was swaying like they were at sea. But it was good to see her. Marlow smiled, taking a step toward her, but Donovan barked again, his hackles fully raised.
“Jesus, Mom,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “What you been feeding him?”
His mom didn’t answer, just stared at him, studying him like he was a TV show with crappy reception. The only noise in the house was that pulsing growl from Donovan’s throat.
“Mom?” Marlow said, his gut churning. She leaned forward, her face screwing up.
“Marly?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s me. What’s going on? I’m sorry I went away. I’ve been somewhere. I’ve got a … a job. I
should have called but you wouldn’t believe—”
“Not him,” his mom whispered, the words almost lost beneath Donovan’s growl.
“What?”
“You’re not him,” she said, jabbing her glass at him so violently that some of the alcohol slopped out over the dog’s head. Donovan didn’t even notice, padding forward on those big feet, barking wildly. Marlow took a step back, crashing into the door. “You’re not my son, you’re not my Marly.”
“Mom, please,” he said. The dog was still advancing and Marlow scrabbled for the doorknob. “Donovan, boy, it’s me.”
The dog was running now and Marlow ripped open the door, tripping out and pulling it shut behind him. Donovan thumped against it, his claws scraping at the wood. Marlow crawled back on his ass, almost rolling down the steps. By the time he’d found his feet again he could hear his mom behind the door, screaming.
“What have you done with him? What have you done with my boy?”
He backed away, out onto the street, clamping his hands to his ears.
“You’re not him, you killed him, you killed my Marly.”
It couldn’t be real.
“You killed my boys, my boys.”
He turned, blinded by tears, not caring where he was going. He just had to get that voice out of his head, that awful, fear-choked, desperate cry.
“My Marly! My Marly! You killed him!”
A horn blared, tires screeched, and he looked to see a car next to him, the red-faced driver throwing him the bird. Marlow lashed out before he even knew what he was doing, a thumping blow that flipped the car into the air like it was made of tin foil. It crunched down, riding a wave of sparks along the street before finally grinding to a halt. Marlow stood there, shaking his head, wondering whether he should go help. Then another car pulled up, somebody yelling at him. Doors were opening along the street, a woman’s voice yelling for somebody to call the cops.
Marlow ran, knowing for sure now that there were monsters in the world.
And knowing that he was one of them.
CONFESSIONS
“Try this one,” said Pan, pointing up the hill.
Truck steered the stolen car around the corner, honking the horn at a delivery van blocking both lanes. Tired of waiting, and not wanting another Budapest incident, they’d driven to Staten Island in search of Marlow. She was planning to throw him in the trunk as soon as they found him, keep him there till this whole thing was over. Luckily Marlow wasn’t exactly clever or subtle. She figured he’d probably head straight home.
“You guys found him yet?” Herc barked in her ear, speaking through the open channel from the Pigeon’s Nest.
“Dammit, Herc,” she spat back. “Do you have to ask every thirty seconds?”
“That him?” Night asked, leaning between the two front seats and pointing. Pan looked to see Marlow up ahead, staggering down the hill, his expression vacant.
“That ain’t Marlow,” said Truck, pulling the car to the curb. “That’s a zombie.”
“Truck,” said Pan, “I seem to remember that when you got your first contract you were so upset you ran away and broke into the Empire bakery.”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Not me.”
“Yeah, we found you curled up in the corner, crying like a baby.”
“Must have been somebody else,” said Truck, squirming in his seat.
“You’d eaten fourteen doughnuts.”
“It was eighteen doughnuts,” he grumbled. “And it still wasn’t me.”
Pan popped the door and stepped into the cool evening air.
“Circle the block,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Just try not to kill him,” Night said as they drove away.
Marlow stomped toward her, his eyes red and puffy, his chest heaving. He was close enough to touch before he noticed her, and when he did he turned away sharply, wiping his face.
“What do you want?” he asked, sniffling like a baby.
“Came to check on you,” she said. “See if you needed your diaper changed.”
He spun back, fists clenched, and she took a step away. Marlow could probably knock her head clean off right now if he wanted to—and if she defended herself she’d turn half the street to dust.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said.
“Oh yeah, I’ve never, ever been in your shoes.” She tried to swallow the rest of her sarcasm, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “Marlow, we’ve all been here. Come on, let’s get off the street, we can talk.”
“Yeah?” he snapped back. “Talk about how my mom doesn’t recognize me, how my dog tried to chew my throat out?”
Count to ten, Pan, she thought, reaching five before she ran out of patience. She grabbed Marlow’s arm and pulled him into an alleyway between two rows of houses. The sun had all but disappeared, just a smudge of dirty orange against the horizon, and there were no lights down here. Marlow was two dark, sad eyes blinking in the twilight. He shrugged himself free and stood sniveling. There, in the darkness, he could have been any of them. He could have been her. She almost hated him for it.
“Look, Marlow, it’s part of what the Engine does, it doesn’t—”
“I might have killed them, Pan,” he blurted out.
“What? Killed who?” she asked, keeping her voice to a whisper. Somebody in one of the houses flicked on an upstairs light, casting a sickly yellow glow across the alley.
“Some guys, in a car. I…” He sniffed, scuffed the ground with his sneaker. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Anyone see you?”
“What?” He looked away and she took that as a yes.
Dammit.
“Any cameras?”
“No, no I don’t think so. How the hell would I know?”
“Because you could use your eyes?” she said, biting her tongue too late. “Look, you know the first rule, Marlow. Nobody can know.”
“That’s all you care about?” he said. “Nobody knowing. Christ, Pan, I could have killed somebody.”
“Look, Marlow, I know what it’s like, how bad you feel.”
“Yeah?” he shot back.
“Yeah.” She took another deep breath, then opened her mouth and let the words tumble out before she could stop herself. “I was in care, a few years back. Some guy decided he liked me, wanted me, and there was nobody around to make him stop. So I made him stop. I made him stop everything.” She choked, remembering the soft, brittle crack of his skull, remembering the way his eyes had filled with blood, the way his whole body had twitched like he was being electrocuted. “I killed him, because it was the only way of making it end.”
Marlow was studying her intently, the alleyway suddenly quiet and still, as if the whole world had frozen. She gripped the fence, clutching the wire so hard she could feel it biting into her skin. Better to feel pain there, though, than the crushing agony in her chest.
“I know how much it hurts,” she said.
“Guy was a creep,” Marlow said after a moment, chewing his knuckles. “Had it coming. Not them, though. I didn’t even know them. I shouldn’t have lashed out.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Pan said. “But you did. And you can’t take it back, but you can make up for it.”
He looked at her and she could see the desperation there, the need to make everything right. Marlow was a mouthy, rebellious idiot, no doubt about it, but he had heart.
“Herc chose you for a reason,” she said. “What we’re doing, it’s about more than just saving one life. We’re trying to save everybody. Everybody. If it wasn’t for us—for me, you, Truck and Night, Herc, Ostheim, every single Hellraiser, even that turdblossom Hanson—then there would be nobody left. The Engines will be united and the whole world is on a fast train to hell. You get that?”
Marlow nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
“One life, Marlow. It sucks, but it’s done. You know the best way to get over it? Save a million more. A billion. We’re th
e only ones who can.”
“Yeah,” he said, sucking in a ragged breath. “We’re the good guys.”
The alley lit up as a car pulled to a halt at the end of it, the engine purring.
“What about my mom, though?” Marlow asked. “What happened to her?”
“Not to her,” she said, pressing a finger against Marlow’s chest. “To you. It’s the Engine. When you use it … you change. You’ve got to remember, Marlow, got to remember what it is. You made a deal with the Devil, or at least something as old as the Devil, as old and as evil.”
She closed her eyes, seeing the pit inside the Engine, the darkness, the creature who sat there, watching, every time she made a contract.
“It’s inside you now, and it changes you. In good ways…” She looked at him, shrugged. “And bad ones too. Sometimes it’s worse than others. Some people feel it more, especially if they know you, if they love you. Animals too, like your dog. Their senses are a lot sharper than ours. But it does go away.”
“When the Lawyers break your contract?” he asked, his face full of hope.
“Yeah.” Truck flashed the high beams and she looked away, blinking smudges of light from her vision. “Y’know, provided they can break it.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Marlow said, almost smiling. “Provided the demons don’t get you first.”
The smile took her by surprise and her face ached as she tried to clamp her jaw shut around it. She punched Marlow hard in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, pouting. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”
“You don’t have to be such a baby,” she said. He grinned at her.
“As sweet as this is,” said a voice in her ear, making her jump—Herc, on the open channel, she’d completely forgotten about him. “Can you two get your asses in the car? We’ve found him.”
“Where?” she asked, putting a hand to her ear.
“St. Patrick’s, Fifth Avenue.”