Mammon by J. B. Thomas

mass of trees at the giant, grey monstrosity that loomed there. As they moved closer, the sun disappeared behind it, bringing the huge wall into clearer view.
    Joe frowned. ‘What the hell is it?’
    â€˜This way.’ Breaking through the last line of trees, Diana let them towards a curve in the wall.
    Gazing up, Grace noticed the razor wire that ran along the top of the wall. ‘Is this . . . a prison ?’
    Diana punched in a code and waited. A bearded face appeared in the window. He leaned into a microphone. ‘Morning, Diana.’
    â€˜Hello, Brutus.’
    The guard gave Grace and Joe a once-over. ‘Fresh meat?’
    Diana grinned. ‘My niece and nephew.’
    â€˜Go on through.’ He turned away; the door swung open. They moved through the guardhouse, where Brutus and another guard stood behind a glass barricade. Behind them was a wall of surveillance monitors with blinking monotone images.
    Grace squinted, trying to make out those images.
    â€˜Come on,’ said Diana.
    Proceeding through another door, they moved out into a courtyard. The door closed, echoed off the walls like thunder.
    No colour, no sound. Around the sparse courtyard sat three storeys of concrete, topped by a corrugated iron roof and the obligatory razor wire. No windows. Diana led them towards a white door, strangely stuck within the concrete. Through long windows of frosted glass, Grace could see the dull light within. She struggled to draw air. The whole place felt . . . sticky. As if they’d stepped into a different climate zone.
    Grace pictured the Residence, with the ocean air that brought the scent of roses through windows that glowed amber at night. Cool, yet welcoming. Could this really be on the same grounds?
    â€˜It’s our secure facility,’ Diana said. ‘Where we bring the bad guys. Consider it a jail . . . for demons.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Grace pulled her jumper tighter around her. Her gut began to burn as the nausea rose. She sucked in a breath of stale air, folded her arms and stared at the pavers. The place felt so dead, so resistant to life that weeds dared not grow.
    They moved on through the door and into a cramped reception area. Staff, all dressed in hospital tunics, sat behind a long window and stared at computer screens.
    Through another door into a large recreation room. A suffocating cleanliness. Everything was slathered in white paint.
    Standing out against the pale visage were a number of guards, covered in black from head to toe; faces obscured by balaclavas and black goggles. Each stood rigid, alert; each one held a rifle to their chest.
    The guard standing nearest turned his head a fraction. Through the mask, she could feel vigilant eyes penetrating. She caught her breath at the sudden feeling of angry suspicion that overwhelmed her.
    Diana touched her arm. ‘It’s all right, Grace. They’re here for our protection.’ She stopped at a water cooler, grabbed a cup and began to fill it.
    â€˜Here they are!’ A voice boomed across the room. A slim, middle-aged man with short dark hair, glasses and a friendly smile crossed the room with long, confident strides. He wore a light blue polo shirt and beige pants. Behind him were two other adults, wearing white tunics and matching trousers, both with short hair and unsmiling faces.
    All three wore the same pendant as Grace. She reached up and grasped her pendant, a twinge of sadness at the memory of Mum’s fingers securing it around her neck.
    â€˜Hello.’ The bespectacled man smiled and nodded. He shook her hand; Grace noted the roughness of his palm and his educated yet friendly accent. ‘My name is Lucius Penbury.’
    â€˜Lucius is the boss,’ said Diana. ‘And yours, if you decide to join.’ She gestured towards the silent man nearby. ‘Marcus, his brother.’
    Marcus didn’t smile but looked out through calculating grey eyes. Harsh, thin lips sat below a