called the Candle Man because his body would glow in the presence of a murderer. He had a
death touch.
He only had to put his hand on an enemy and their skin and bones – even the clothes they were wearing – would bubble up and melt away. There was this saying:
Evil melts like wax at the hands of the Candle Man.’
Foley stared up at Theo, ghostly white. ‘I only ever half-believed it until, until …’
‘Until what?’ pressed Chloe.
‘Until I met
him.’
Foley gulped, shrinking away from Theo so much he nearly fell off his chair.
Theo could feel Chloe’s curious gaze burn into him. She must know now that he had used his deadly powers. He didn’t mind. He looked at his own hands in awe. He gazed down at the old robber, a hardened villain, who cringed at Theo’s mere presence. He experienced a strange, not unpleasant sensation – one he had scarcely known before in his life – a feeling of power.
I am not Theo Saint,
he told himself.
I am Theo Wickland. Last descendant of the original Candle Man.
‘Look,’ Chloe butted in, ‘do you want to help get revenge on the people – the so-called charity – that helped to murder your grandad? We can help you. But only if you tell us everything you know.’
‘Already have,’ sighed Foley. ‘Never witnessed none of it myself. Just heard the legends from time to time. Now and again, someone in the burglary trade would whisper one of the old myths – that if the Candle Man crossed your path, you would soon be snuffed out.’
Wind rattled the window. Chloe and Theo both jumped, then relaxed.
‘We’d better go,’ she said.
‘No, not yet!’ Foley suddenly begged them. ‘This is my chance – to get it all out of the house!’ He gave them an ingratiating grin. ‘I’ll show you the stuff,’ he said. ‘Come down to the shop!’
Chapter Fifteen
Closing In
U nknown to the people inside the room, a grey figure was clinging to the wall outside, crouched just above the window. The thick, dirty fog concealed him from human eyes. Flin, a smoglodyte spy, had been following the events within. He scampered back up to the roof, where his leader, Skun, was awaiting his report.
‘They’re moving!’ hissed Flin. ‘Reckon we should strike now!’
‘Not yet,’ whispered Skun, the chief smoglodyte tracker. He narrowed his tiny eyes in thought, his face resembling a shrewd, shrivelled turnip.
‘Let’s see where they go. We could learn some secrets here.’ Skun wasn’t like the average smoglodyte. He didn’t believe in just following orders – he wanted to know
why.
Most smogs never bothered with that part. The tribe had been told by the illustrious Society of Good Works to grab Theo. Skun had been watching this strange boy – he looked weak, bewildered, half-asleep most of the time. Why was he so important?
Skun crept up the rooftop and spoke to a group of surly, wrinkled smogs huddled at the top under a big chimney pot.
‘Our target is on the move,’ he said. ‘I’ll need one of you under every ledge and above every doorway.’ Skun surveyed the ragged mob. He distrusted every one of them. He alone, the great hunter, had tracked the boy Theo all the way – by scent – from the graveyard, in a slow, painstaking pursuit. He had been forced to gather these scum along the way, as reinforcements.
‘Let’s just kill him now,’ said Frub, a bloated old smog. ‘That’s what the Society really wants. It’s what it always used to want, anyway.’ The other smogs leapt to their feet. They were all ready to follow Frub. They wanted to score a quick man-kill and then live off the reputation for years.
‘They’re in the downstairs shop now,’ reported Flin, the spy smog, popping his head back up over the roof edge. ‘Make your move, Skun, or someone else will.’
It was looking bad. Skun’s glorious hunt for the boy – across a London that had grown to a stupendous size – should be a tale enjoyed by smoglings for years to come.
Capturing
the
death touch.
He only had to put his hand on an enemy and their skin and bones – even the clothes they were wearing – would bubble up and melt away. There was this saying:
Evil melts like wax at the hands of the Candle Man.’
Foley stared up at Theo, ghostly white. ‘I only ever half-believed it until, until …’
‘Until what?’ pressed Chloe.
‘Until I met
him.’
Foley gulped, shrinking away from Theo so much he nearly fell off his chair.
Theo could feel Chloe’s curious gaze burn into him. She must know now that he had used his deadly powers. He didn’t mind. He looked at his own hands in awe. He gazed down at the old robber, a hardened villain, who cringed at Theo’s mere presence. He experienced a strange, not unpleasant sensation – one he had scarcely known before in his life – a feeling of power.
I am not Theo Saint,
he told himself.
I am Theo Wickland. Last descendant of the original Candle Man.
‘Look,’ Chloe butted in, ‘do you want to help get revenge on the people – the so-called charity – that helped to murder your grandad? We can help you. But only if you tell us everything you know.’
‘Already have,’ sighed Foley. ‘Never witnessed none of it myself. Just heard the legends from time to time. Now and again, someone in the burglary trade would whisper one of the old myths – that if the Candle Man crossed your path, you would soon be snuffed out.’
Wind rattled the window. Chloe and Theo both jumped, then relaxed.
‘We’d better go,’ she said.
‘No, not yet!’ Foley suddenly begged them. ‘This is my chance – to get it all out of the house!’ He gave them an ingratiating grin. ‘I’ll show you the stuff,’ he said. ‘Come down to the shop!’
Chapter Fifteen
Closing In
U nknown to the people inside the room, a grey figure was clinging to the wall outside, crouched just above the window. The thick, dirty fog concealed him from human eyes. Flin, a smoglodyte spy, had been following the events within. He scampered back up to the roof, where his leader, Skun, was awaiting his report.
‘They’re moving!’ hissed Flin. ‘Reckon we should strike now!’
‘Not yet,’ whispered Skun, the chief smoglodyte tracker. He narrowed his tiny eyes in thought, his face resembling a shrewd, shrivelled turnip.
‘Let’s see where they go. We could learn some secrets here.’ Skun wasn’t like the average smoglodyte. He didn’t believe in just following orders – he wanted to know
why.
Most smogs never bothered with that part. The tribe had been told by the illustrious Society of Good Works to grab Theo. Skun had been watching this strange boy – he looked weak, bewildered, half-asleep most of the time. Why was he so important?
Skun crept up the rooftop and spoke to a group of surly, wrinkled smogs huddled at the top under a big chimney pot.
‘Our target is on the move,’ he said. ‘I’ll need one of you under every ledge and above every doorway.’ Skun surveyed the ragged mob. He distrusted every one of them. He alone, the great hunter, had tracked the boy Theo all the way – by scent – from the graveyard, in a slow, painstaking pursuit. He had been forced to gather these scum along the way, as reinforcements.
‘Let’s just kill him now,’ said Frub, a bloated old smog. ‘That’s what the Society really wants. It’s what it always used to want, anyway.’ The other smogs leapt to their feet. They were all ready to follow Frub. They wanted to score a quick man-kill and then live off the reputation for years.
‘They’re in the downstairs shop now,’ reported Flin, the spy smog, popping his head back up over the roof edge. ‘Make your move, Skun, or someone else will.’
It was looking bad. Skun’s glorious hunt for the boy – across a London that had grown to a stupendous size – should be a tale enjoyed by smoglings for years to come.
Capturing
the
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