Sixty-One Nails Part 12

I went to the wardrobe and opened it so I could look at myself in the long mirror on the inside of the door. The reflection made no sense. In the mirror, the room around me danced in the faint flickering light, but I was completely dark. I was so dark, even close to the mirror I could see no feature of my face in the strange radiance. What on earth was going on?

I turned around and the light s.h.i.+vered as if it pa.s.sed through water disturbed by a languid hand. Even when I was completely still it s.h.i.+fted as if rippled by a wind I did not feel. I turned to the mirror and placed my hand upon the surface. Where my hand touched it was completely black but around it the glow intensified as if the gla.s.s itself had taken in the light, outlining my hand in a nimbus. When I moved my hand the glow trailed behind it, fading back to normal after a second. Experimentally I wrote "h.e.l.lO" on the gla.s.s with my finger, but the letters didn't last long enough for the word to show. There was no doubt, though, the glow was connected to me.

I stepped back, perplexed but intrigued. I looked around me and tried to encourage the glow, or at least that was the closest I could come to describing what I did. The glow pulsed and brightened, allowing me to pick out creases in my pillow and the darker pattern in my dressing gown. Then I damped it and it dimmed down until it flickered and died away. I stood in the near dark of my room, but it didn't come back. I turned back to my reflection and noted that even though it was now darker, I could see the features of my face and body in the meagre light leaking around the edges of the curtains.

Is this what Blackbird had meant by my magic? Is this what I could do?

Having done it once, I had to try again. I tried to glow, thinking of the strange light, but nothing happened. I looked at my hand, wis.h.i.+ng it dark, but there was no change. Why didn't it do it again? Had I exhausted it? I thought not, but I wasn't sure what had started it. How did one glow when one wanted to? I wished Blackbird were here to see it as I was sure she would know, but then I remembered I was naked and somehow those thoughts didn't mix. She was sixty or something, or a lot older. Either way I could not imagine being naked in front of her. It felt wrong.

I went back to thinking about the glow, putting aside that troubling train of thought. What had she said to me? Magic responds to need? I tried to need to glow, but you can't just need something because you think you can.

I shook myself, shedding my confusion like water.

Blackbird told me that the power was within me, that all I had to do was learn to reach for it. I knew I could do it, I had seen it for myself. What had sparked that connection? The dream?

I closed my eyes and remembered the feeling from the dream, bringing an involuntary s.h.i.+ver. Then I imagined myself standing in my bedroom, with the glow starting dim and building until it flickered over the walls. I made that thought real in my mind, a.s.suring myself that was how it would be when I opened my eyes. Within me, something that had been waiting stirred to life. There was something inside me, something dark and deep. I reached within, and as I did, it reached for me and the connection was there.

I opened my eyes and the room was filled with milkyblue dappled light.

Alarmed, I pulled away and the light flickered and died. I tentatively reached within myself again. It was there. The connection formed at once. Light spilled out into the room.

I grinned at myself. I had made magic. It was me doing it. I could make a glow. OK, it wasn't summoning lightning or transforming base metal into gold, but I had made a glow.

I relaxed my hold and the connection within me subsided so that the light flickered and vanished. Then I called it back and it returned, quicker this time and stronger, the light brightening until the walls swam like a room underwater. I was so pleased with myself. It was strange and exciting. I couldn't stop grinning. I released it again, s.h.i.+vering in the pre-dawn chill. My earlier doubts and depression were swept away by my new talent. Maybe I could do other things as well? It made me even more determined to find Blackbird again tomorrow, or later today as I realised it would shortly be. I was tempted to experiment some more with my new-found skill, but I made myself get back into bed and settle down. I needed more sleep if I was going to be able to face the new day. Briefly I summoned it back and made the interesting discovery that the glow wasn't stopped by the bedclothes. It flickered across the ceiling over the bed. It formed around me rather than on me. I was so thrilled, I couldn't wait to show Blackbird. Mind you, she would probably say everyone could do it from the age of three and that I should concentrate on doing something more useful.

With thoughts of what I might say to her tomorrow I drifted towards a deeper, more restful sleep. That was when I heard the stair creak.

Six.

There are some noises that you immediately recognise. Something about them, the resonance or quality of the sound means that they are unmistakable. My creaky stair was like that. When I'd first moved into the flat it had irritated me. I had kicked it, banged it and knocked nails into it. It still creaked. It didn't creak when the house cooled or when the wind was in a certain direction. It didn't creak when my neighbours downstairs moved around in the lower half of the house. It only creaked when someone stood on it.

I slipped quietly out of bed and went to the door. It was shut and I put my hand against it, listening intently for any other sound. Maybe it was Alex. Perhaps she'd stormed out after a bad argument with her mother and turned up here for tea and comfort, all hormones and teenage angst. But I had bolted the front door. Alex would have had to ring the bell or hammer on the door to get me to come downstairs and undo the bolt. The step creaked when you stood on it, and again when you stepped off. I was pretty sure that it had only creaked once. There was absolute stillness. I stood and listened, naked in the dark, starting to feel chilled, but nothing stirred. The memory of the unseen pursuer and chill air from my dream returned to me and I was just on the point of thinking that the creak had somehow been part of the dream when it came again. There was definitely someone on the stairs. Someone or something.

Could it be Blackbird? A bolted door would be unlikely to stop her if she wanted to come in. She'd said that she would find me, hadn't she? But why would Blackbird creep up my stairs at four in the morning? And why would she stop when the stairs creaked? No, whatever it was, it wasn't good news. She'd told me to watch my back. She'd warned me, "If they catch you, you'll die," and she wasn't joking.

I put my finger on the light switch, then hesitated. It would show under the door and whatever it was would know I was awake. I looked around the darkened room. There was no weapon, nothing I could use to defend myself. Besides, if it was something like Gramawl I was kidding myself if I thought I could fight it and win. The window was the only option. If I opened the big French windows, I could climb over the railing of the half-balcony, drop down onto the patio and make a run for it.

I moved around the room, trying to locate my clothes in the dark. While it was tempting to just open the window and jump for it, I knew I would be much worse off naked. The delay between stepping on and off the stair told me that whatever it was on the stairs was being cautious. That meant I had a few moments to get my stuff. I fumbled, pulling on my T-s.h.i.+rt and slipped quickly into my underpants. The trousers I had left out for the morning were here somewhere. I cursed silently in the dark. Then I remembered my glow.

I summoned it, but nothing happened. No wonder, my mind was like a b.u.t.terfly. Knowledge leant me calm and allowed me to focus. I reached within and my glow flickered into life. It was unsteady, reflecting my state of mind. I glanced towards the door and wondered how much time I might have? Not long. If only the door had a lock on it.

Pulling on my trousers, I tried to think of something to wedge in the door to keep it closed. The milky light danced around me. If only I could seal the door. But perhaps there was a way. Magic responds to need, that's what Blackbird said. Well, I sure as h.e.l.l needed it now.

I went to the door and put my hand on it, remembering what she told me. The power was there, I just had to believe in it. I knew I could do magic, the light was all around me. I needed to bend it to my will and seal the door.

I focused on the door, thinking, Yes, I remember there used to be a door here, but it was nailed shut. I reinforced the thought, feeling an echo of something inside, a pulse of darkness. I struggled to link it somehow with the thought that the door was nailed shut so no one could use it. I opened my eyes, only then realising I had closed them. My glow had gone and the door looked the same, but I knew it was nailed shut. It was no good trying it, because it had been nailed shut long ago. I had to believe.

I went back to the end of the bed and rekindled my glow, fumbling with my socks. Abandoning trying to put them on, I stuffed the socks into the top of my rucksack and put my bare feet into my boots. It would have to do. I pulled the laces tight without lacing them up, knotting them roughly to stop them from tripping me. I heard a tiny sound that might have been something in the kitchen. d.a.m.n! That was where my coat was. I'd have to abandon it.

I froze. The door handle on the inside of my bedroom door slowly turned downwards. I frantically reinforced my belief that it was no good trying to open the sealed door and edged towards the window. The handle reached the bottom, but the door didn't open. I grabbed the rucksack and pulled the top closed. Whatever was on the other side of the door now knew I had barred it. I went over to the French window and pulled the curtains back.

The door creaked. I glanced at it while I fumbled onehanded with the security locks on the French windows. Why were security locks so fiddly? I stopped trying to watch the bedroom door, which was nailed shut anyway, and concentrated on the window locks, bringing up my glow so I could see what I was doing. The light swelled and swayed around me, making it more difficult to see what I was doing.

Tiny pings and creaks were coming from the door, as if enormous pressure were building up on the other side. The door bulged inwards as the strain built up. The tips of my fingers were numb with the strain of trying to open the catch when I finally managed to release it and the security lock flipped open. I yanked the catch across and wrenched opened the window. There was a sound behind me and I glanced back. The door had held. I reached over and grabbed the rucksack, hoisted it over the railing and dropped it onto the patio below as quietly as I could. I didn't want whatever was outside my door to know I was escaping and go back downstairs to intercept me as I came around the front.

A glance over my shoulder revealed dark spots forming on the door. The spots ran together to form a dark stain in the centre of the wood. Each spot had the same flat unreflecting black as my skin when I called my glow. Hesitantly I stepped back around the bed towards the door, fascinated by the spreading blackness. It was like the opposite of my glow, cancelling out any light I could make.

"Brother." The breathy murmur from the other side of the door resolved into words, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "Open the dooooor." That did it. I went back to the half-balcony and swung my leg up over the railing, finding it uncomfortably tall in awkward places. I fought for a footing on the other side. As I looked back into the bedroom from the far side of the railing I could see black spots spreading over the wood of the door. They spread like drops of water condensing on a surface, running across it, joining and merging into a dark stain. What the h.e.l.l was that? The spots paused at the edge of the door then swelled onto the wall, running across the wall and up onto the ceiling.

I had seen enough. I took a quick look down to where my rucksack was lying on the patio, squatted down to get as low as I could and dropped from the rail to the paving below. The impact jarred me to the core and I banged my chin against my knee as I sprawled onto the wet slabs made slick by the rain. I pushed myself to my feet. My glow was gone, but I could see my rucksack by the city lights reflected from the low clouds. I grabbed it by the strap, swung it over one shoulder and glanced up at the room, now dark with the window wide open. I would have to leave it like that. What else could I do? The flat had been the one place I could be myself. It was a refuge from work and from life. Now I was being forced to abandon that as well. Anger swelled in me, taking the edge off my fear.

Turning away, I edged up to the corner of the house and peeked around to see if anything was waiting to jump me. There was nothing to be seen. At the front of the house, a quick glance at the front garden told me the way was clear just as a loud dull thump came from the back of the house. It spurred me on and I headed straight for the front gate.

Out on the road, I ran down the street. After an initial sprint, I slowed to a steady jog, putting as much distance between me and the thing in my flat as possible. I'm not a natural runner and the loose boots and rucksack didn't help, but all I had to do was keep moving.

The rain pattered down in steady drops and began to soak through my s.h.i.+rt as I crossed the empty street and turned the corner. Occasional cars rolled past but there were no other pedestrians. I guess four in the morning was a little early, even for the London suburbs. My breath was burning in my lungs as I turned right into a side road, heading vaguely towards the tube station. My rucksack began to pull at my shoulder and I stopped to s.h.i.+ft it from one side to the other.

That was when the police car put the blue lights on and pulled over beside the curb.

It crossed my mind that I might run for it, but I was already breathing hard and they were fresh, unenc.u.mbered and probably a lot fitter then I was. The last time I had been to the gym had been to fetch Katherine home and that had been a while ago. Both the driver and the pa.s.senger got out, effectively cutting off the avenues of escape. I didn't move, but leant over, resting my hands on my knees and wheezing like a steam train. "Isn't it a little early for jogging, sir?"

That was bad news. They always called you "sir" when they were expecting to arrest you.

My throat burned and I wheezed while I thought of something to say. Unfortunately whatever I told them was going to have to contain at least a portion of the truth. I glanced back down the road for signs of pursuit, but the pavement was empty.

The policemen waited while I caught my breath. The first was tall and heavily built, like a rugby player, and had a slightly crooked nose to match. The other was slight by comparison. His face was narrow and his cheekbones sharp. He wore black gloves and was holding his baton.

"I'm not jogging." I paused to breathe. "I'm running away."

The rugby player took the lead. "Running away, sir? "

"Officer, look I know this is going to sound crazy, but there was something in my flat, trying to get into my bedroom. I jumped out of the window and ran for it." I panted while he looked me over sceptically. "With your rucksack, sir?"

"I was going on a trip, later," I explained. It sounded lame, even to me.

"Do you mind if my colleague takes a look in your rucksack, sir?" I let the thin one take the rucksack from where it rested against my legs. "Meanwhile you can show me some evidence of your ident.i.ty, if you'd be so kind." I patted my pockets. My wallet, watch and keys were still in my top drawer in the bedroom. Good plan, bring clean socks but leave the money behind.

"I don't have them with me. I left them behind when

I jumped out of the window."

"So you say, sir."

He glanced at his colleague who was busy rooting though my belongings. "Just clothes, Jim. Some food," he acknowledged.

Jim watched me. "Tell you what, sir. Why don't you get into the back of the car where it's dry and you can tell us all about it?" It wasn't really a question. His colleague held the door open and they herded me into the back of the car. I was willing to bet the door didn't open from the inside, so I was stuck. They spoke to each other after the door shut and then the thin officer opened the pa.s.senger door of the car and deposited my rucksack on the front seat. Jim walked around the back of the car and got in beside me. He easily filled the s.p.a.ce behind the driver's seat. I was starting to s.h.i.+ver and my hands were shaking in my lap. He must have noticed because he got out again and opened the boot, returning a moment later with a grey blanket. "Here, put this around your shoulders. It'll stop you getting a chill."

I nodded, my teeth starting to chatter, partly through cold and partly reaction. I unfolded the blanket and pulled it around my neck, s.h.i.+fting it around to pull it down behind me in the cramped rear of the car. "Thanks."

Was he more sympathetic than his colleague, or was he just playing good cop, bad cop like they did on TV? I had to remind myself that this wasn't a television drama, these were real police and if I came across badly I would end up spending a night in custody. The thought of spending a night locked in a room where the thing in my flat might find me set me s.h.i.+vering again. The driver slid into the driver's seat in front of his colleague and pulled the door closed with a dull thunk. He picked up the car radio and twisted around in his seat. "I'm going to need to check your ID, sir, if you don't mind. Can you give me your name and address? "

"It's Petersen. Niall Petersen. I live at 145 Cromwell Road."

He nodded. "And how long have you lived there? "

"Just over a year. I moved in at the beginning of September, last year."

Clicking the b.u.t.ton on the radio handset he spoke into it. "Control, this is four-two-five-six. I need an electoral check on a householder?"

There was a momentary crackle. "Go ahead, Colin. "

"Name, Petersen; first name Niall." He asked me to spell it and repeated it into the handset. "Lives Cromwell Road, number one-four-five. "

"Stand by."

He rested the handset in his lap. "Nice place? "

"Sorry?"

"One hundred and forty-five, Cromwell Road. Is it a nice place?"

"I like it." It had taken a while for it to become home after the breakup of my marriage, but in time it had become mine.

The radio crackled. "Colin, I have an affirmative. Niall Petersen, age forty-two, lives one hundred and fortyfive, Cromwell Road."

Colin lifted the handset again. "Thanks, control. We have a suspected intruder at that address. Requesting backup, a dog handler, if we can have one? "

"Negative on that, Colin. The dog handlers are all on night-club duty. Will another car do?"