Page 116 of The Angel Maker

Her brother’s voice.

“Katie, over here!”

She shook her head, then made her way across the room as quicklyand carefully as she could. It felt like the floor was tilted at an angle, and her body kept leaning over and threatening to fall away to the side. She grabbed hold of the rusted ends of the bed like a lifeline. And then she registered the sound of metal clinking against metal. Handcuffs. She couldn’t see them right then, but she knew that her brother was trapped here.

“There might be a key,” he said. “Look—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her thoughts and words were slurred. Keeping hold of one bedpost for balance, she maneuvered herself around, like the hand of a clock circling the center of a dial. The old man was lying in front of her, his fingers still clutching helplessly at his throat. There was blood everywhere: all over his shirt and scrabbling hands, and the floor beneath his head. It came bubbling out of his lips as he rasped and choked on it.

His hands were empty now, and she frowned to herself as she leaned down. Hadn’t he been holding something before? A book? A lighter? She couldn’t see either of them now, and her vision was beginning to star at the edges.

She reached inside his suit—and his hands immediately shot toward her wrists, trying to grab them. But he was growing weak now, and she just batted them away. She slipped her fingers into the silk pockets in his jacket, under the bright red rose that was pinned to his lapel.

Searching.

“Katie,” Chris said.

“Shhhh.”

She found the key—or at least, it felt like a key—then circled back round the bed. Her hands began trembling as she attempted to get the key into the lock.

Chris snatched it off her.

“Let me.”

“Fine.”

She heard a few scrapes and clicks of metal, and then her brother was standing up and grabbing hold of her. She was surprised by how stronghe seemed. It was her job to help him, and yet it was he who was supporting her as they moved toward the archway. Maybe they were both supporting each other.

They reached the arch. It was going to be okay.

“You shouldn’t be here,” her brother told her.

“Yes,” Katie said, “I should.”

And then she heard a sound behind them.

Scritch.

She looked back over Chris’s shoulder and saw the old man had somehow managed to rotate his body around in the pool of blood. She wasn’t sure he could even see them anymore, but he was staring mindlessly in their direction, a flame now dancing above the lighter gripped in his hand.

There was a suddenwhumpthat reminded her of the boiler coming on at home.

A flicker of green and blue light.

Then everything spun—suddenly and violently—and she had the sensation of rough, dank stone slamming against her as her brother threw them both into the corridor ahead, casting them forward just as the whole room burst into flame behind them.

Forty-eight

An explosion of light at his back.

Michael Hyde saw his shadow cast suddenly against the door of the house in front of him. He spun around so quickly that he almost fell and had to reach out for a nearby lamppost to steady himself. The movement caused the pain in his other arm—his bandaged, broken one—to flare, and the side of his head began pounding violently. And all for nothing. Just the sun emerging briefly through a break in the thick clouds.

Hyde held on to the post and closed his eyes.

Focus.

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