Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [24]
‘No chance,’ said Ace. She got into the Mazda and leaned out of the window. ‘You may have guilt‐tripped me into coming along but don’t think you’ve earned my trust. As far as I’m concerned you two might be the bad guys.’
‘Okay, okay.’ The man held his hands out as if to stop the flow of her suspicion. ‘You follow us in convoy. Just don’t expect red sports car‐type speed from Morrison.’
‘Morrison?’
‘Our van,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m just an old hippy at heart.’ He winked at Ace and climbed into the Volkswagen.
As he pulled away along Allen Road, Ace slipped the Mazda into gear and followed him. The gun was on the seat beside her, in easy reach. Chick shifted in the back and made a small growling noise, as if asking a question.
‘Van Morrison,’ said Ace. ‘He thinks he’s funny.’
Chick made a small disdainful noise then settled down on the seat again.
* * *
Chapter 4
Outside the skyscraper the wind howled, spinning around the building. Beyond the window New York seemed lost behind roving charcoal storm clouds.
The room was silent except for the pulsing of the plastic on the window. Like big lungs breathing, thought Creed.
‘The spirit of warlock is coming,’ said the older Mayan. He was nodding slowly, his eyes shut. He looked smaller sitting this way, cross‐legged on the carpet. Smaller and somehow humble. The room seemed to be growing darker around him. ‘We’ve invited it to join us. We’ve paid our respects by taking the drug and now warlock will reveal itself to us.’
‘Warlock’s going to enter the room and help us find the cop,’ said the younger brother, his eyes squeezed shut.
Miss Winterhill shifted in her chair. The hooker sat on the coffee table, staring at her feet. Russell stood with his back to the wall, nervously wiping his hands on the tail of his long white shirt. Larner sat as if carved from stone, but a stone you might any moment strike a spark from. The expression on his face was rigid and unhappy.
It could be anger but Creed thought it was a different emotion. He could smell fear in the room. It was beginning to smell like the precinct house. He sat there in the growing darkness, trying to relax. Maybe he could just ride it out. He stared towards the window, trying to keep his mind calm and blank.
Through the rippling plastic he could see that the afternoon had died somewhere behind the cloud front moving over the city. He thought he saw the first faint splash of rain against the gently bellying plastic.
Then the hooker gave a sharp gasp and Creed’s attention snapped away from the window. ‘Something’s in the room,’ she said.
‘Shut up,’ snapped Larner. ‘She’s just trying to freak us out, man,’ he said to Creed.
‘It’s started,’ said the older Mayan brother.
‘It’s just a breeze,’ said Russell. He was standing tensely against the wall, also looking at Creed, his eyes pleading for agreement.
‘A breeze from where?’ said Creed. The plastic over the windows was sealed tight at the edges. There was no way for a breeze to get in. But there it was, a distinct chill passing through the rising heat in the living room. Like a cold current in a warm lake.
It wriggled, snakelike, weaving amongst them, and you could see the hooker flinch as the clammy air rushed past her. There was sweat on her upper lip. Creed watched her, wishing there was something he could do to help her. She was terrified by the thing happening in the room. Her eyes were bugging with panic. Any minute she might lose it altogether.
Creed could read the signs. But he believed that terror began where your ability to understand things failed. No phenomenon was completely frightening while you could find explanations for it. This witchy wind haunting the room was enough to freak anyone out. But Creed had the wit to begin building an explanation, and he was building right now,