Page 24 of Fortune's Ashes
Whirling around, I ran back through the silent graveyard to Tallulah. I threw myself inside and turned the key to start her engine. She stuttered, refusing to spring into life, and I thumped her dashboard with my fist. ‘Not now, Tallulah! There’s at least one life at risk!’
I turned the key again. For one long second nothing happened, then her engine roared. Thank goodness. I put her into gear, slammed my foot on the accelerator and took off. I’d been to the gremlin’s office before, so I knew where I was going. I could get there in less than ten minutes. I could do this.
Whizzing straight ahead then veering left, I reached for my phone while keeping my eyes on the road. ‘Message Lukas!’ I yelled at it.
The phone beeped. ‘Messaging Lukas,’ the automated voice responded. ‘What do you want to say?’
A taxi came out of nowhere and swung towards me. I narrowly avoided a collision by spinning to the right, while the taxi driver slammed on his horn. I cursed loudly.
‘Fuck off,’ the phone chanted at me. ‘Is that the message you want to send?’
‘No!’ I shouted. I ground my teeth and tried again. ‘Message Lukas!’
‘Messaging Brookers,’ the voice said. ‘What do you want to say?’
Brookers was my damned dentist. ‘No! Not Brookers!’ I spun Tallulah’s wheel and made it through the next set of traffic lights in the split second before they turned red. Carmichael’s street was just ahead.
‘Come on,’ I muttered. ‘Come ON.’ As Tallulah obliged and jerked forward, I gave my phone one more shot. ‘Message Lukas.’
‘Can you repeat that?’
‘Message Lukas.’
‘I didn’t catch that.’
I resisted the temptation to throw the damned phone out of the car window as I pulled up in front of the office entrance. I grabbed my crossbow from the back seat and leapt out. Contacting Lukas would have to wait.
My vision hadn’t given me any real clue as to who the arson victim would be, but I didn’t need my Cassandra powers to know who was being targeted. I already knew who was in trouble; of course I did. And the words that had spouted forth from inside me were ‘fuel to MY fire’. This prophecy was related to me.
There was a light on inside the building. I couldn’t see anyone through the glass door but somebody had to be in there. I rattled the doorknob but the place was locked up, so I stepped back and scanned the doorway for the intercom button. I pressed it hard until I heard the buzz somewhere inside.
Nobody answered. I checked my watch: it was already five minutes past ten. My stomach was churning. If my interpretation of my vision was accurate, there were only six minutes to go.
I pressed my palms to my forehead and tried to recall what I’d seen. What details had I missed? I tried the door again, banging on it and pressing the buzzer. No shadows appeared, and the dim light inside Carmichael’s office didn’t flicker.
Panicking wouldn’t help anyone. I sucked a long gulp of air into my lungs, stepped back and reached inside Tallulah for my phone. This time I was connected within seconds.
‘This is DC Bellamy. I am at premises on Barron Street. I have reason to believe that a crime is about to be committed inside and there is real risk to life. I am breaking the door down to gain entrance and request immediate back-up.’ The switchboard operator’s response was both rapid and reassuring as I gave him my exact location.
I went back to the door, gathered my strength and kicked it in with one sharp movement, shattering the double glazing and its carefully etched lettering proclaiming Carmichael’s services. A heartbeat later I was inside.
I couldn’t see anyone. I peered around, noting the closed door in front of me and the bright chink of light underneath it. I moved towards it determinedly, ignoring the crunch of broken glass under my feet but it swung open before I could reach for it and a dark shape lunged at me. I registered the baseball bat and ducked, then raised my crossbow and pointed it straight ahead. ‘Police! Don’t move!’
Phileas Carmichael was already lifting the bat for a second time. When he saw my face, his jaw went slack with astonishment. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he spat. ‘Did you just break down my bloody door?’
‘Where is he? Where is Alan Cobain?’
Shocked understanding flashed across Carmichael’s expression. ‘I told him that baiting you into approaching him wouldn’t work,’ he said. ‘I guess I was wrong.’
‘Phileas! Cobain’s in danger! Where the fuck is he?’ The gremlin tilted his head in confusion. ‘Whereishe?’ I bit out.
I doubt he would have told me if he hadn’t heard the wail of sirens heading our way. That was when he seemed to realise I was telling the truth. ‘I keep a flat across the road for clients who need it,’ he said. ‘Alan Cobain is there.’
As he spoke, the flickering glow of nearby flames reflected across the lawyer’s face and I heard screaming in the distance. I spun around and saw the fire coming out of the third-floor window of the building opposite us – and the shadowy shape of the writhing figure who was already engulfed by it.
* * *
I saton the edge of the pavement with a blanket wrapped around me while I stared ahead at nothing. What good were any of these damned visions if I either triggered the events myself or if they occurred too late for me to do anything about them?
