"Unannounced and with a stranger in tow." His eyes met mine – and widened. He faltered.
Suddenly all the colour drained from his face. His lips were pressed back against his teeth so hard they were paper white. He convulsed in one sharp spasmodic movement, letting out a strangled cry. Without warning, the tumbler in his hand shattered, one minute it was whole and the next a million tiny crystals exploded into the air, spilling golden liquid onto parched boards that swallowed it greedily.
From out of the shadows Baldman re-emerged, hand on the gun concealed under his dark jacket, but the stricken old man at the desk waved him back. His eyes still bore into mine, both of them, thought I had the disquieting notion that the cold marble orb was the one he was really seeing me with. Cherry red droplets dripped unnoticed from his fingertips.
"It’s you," he rasped and the look in his eye said he recognized my face though I knew we’d never met before. "You," he croaked, "The Unlucky Man." His words tumbled out atonally, like those spoken in a dream and I heard them both from his pale lips and echoed in my head, drumming at my temples with every syllable.
"I knew you would come. I’ve seen it." His skin looked suddenly thin and pale as paper. "Chaos follows you; death is in your footfalls, Unlucky Man." He spat the words at me and, as I heard them, something shifted once more in my head and I felt the dark particle coil and flex itself, almost like an animal that recognizes its name being spoken. Happen, too, it occurred to me was touched by the same darkness.
"You should not have come here." Mr. Happen still spoke like someone asleep but his gaze didn’t flicker from my face. "You bring chaos everywhere your crow shadow touches. It will be drawn to you." There was pain etched in his features, a thin line of blood ran from his felt nostril. If this was a parlor trick, I thought, then it was a damn good one.
"We’ve done terrible things," Mr Happen whispered, "And you are our reckoning. I knew you would come, I wanted to be ready." He shut his eyes, his face creasing with an emotion I couldn’t even begin to read.
"It will be drawn to you," he repeated in a whisper.
An enormous booming crash rocked the building. It felt like some massive object had collided with the outer walls. Everything shook, plaster drifted in torrents from the ceiling, the light flickered as the floor bucked and swayed.
"What the hell was that?" Baldman grunted as the door opened and Loess stepped into the room, white and anxious.
"Time to go," she said urgently, a worried look on her face. The sudden cacophony seemed to have roused the Make it Happen Man from his trance as, with an effort, he pulled himself up onto his feet.
"We cannot help you," he repeated in a whisper. "We will show you the way out and then you will go. Take your troubles with you." Without another word or a backwards glance he limped from the room, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. We followed, subsumed by his entourage, into a long austere green corridor much like the ones we had entered through, at the end of which was another door leading, I guessed, to a staircase back to ground level.
We were about halfway along the floor when the far door opened, a cluster of figures emerging from the gloom beyond. They looked at first glance for the most part like our escorts - grim, dishevelled, grimy - but there was a uniformity to their unkempt appearance that was lacking in Mr. Happen’s ragtag ensemble.
For a long, tense moment they looked at us and we looked straight back, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness. But it couldn’t last.
The first bullet took Baldman through the lens of his wraparounds. I heard the glass pop as his head cannoned backwards then his legs splayed and he went over like an unruly mannequin. Somehow, as he fell, I got a hand under his jacket, popped the clip on the holster, and brought out his pistol, firing off round
Suddenly all the colour drained from his face. His lips were pressed back against his teeth so hard they were paper white. He convulsed in one sharp spasmodic movement, letting out a strangled cry. Without warning, the tumbler in his hand shattered, one minute it was whole and the next a million tiny crystals exploded into the air, spilling golden liquid onto parched boards that swallowed it greedily.
From out of the shadows Baldman re-emerged, hand on the gun concealed under his dark jacket, but the stricken old man at the desk waved him back. His eyes still bore into mine, both of them, thought I had the disquieting notion that the cold marble orb was the one he was really seeing me with. Cherry red droplets dripped unnoticed from his fingertips.
"It’s you," he rasped and the look in his eye said he recognized my face though I knew we’d never met before. "You," he croaked, "The Unlucky Man." His words tumbled out atonally, like those spoken in a dream and I heard them both from his pale lips and echoed in my head, drumming at my temples with every syllable.
"I knew you would come. I’ve seen it." His skin looked suddenly thin and pale as paper. "Chaos follows you; death is in your footfalls, Unlucky Man." He spat the words at me and, as I heard them, something shifted once more in my head and I felt the dark particle coil and flex itself, almost like an animal that recognizes its name being spoken. Happen, too, it occurred to me was touched by the same darkness.
"You should not have come here." Mr. Happen still spoke like someone asleep but his gaze didn’t flicker from my face. "You bring chaos everywhere your crow shadow touches. It will be drawn to you." There was pain etched in his features, a thin line of blood ran from his felt nostril. If this was a parlor trick, I thought, then it was a damn good one.
"We’ve done terrible things," Mr Happen whispered, "And you are our reckoning. I knew you would come, I wanted to be ready." He shut his eyes, his face creasing with an emotion I couldn’t even begin to read.
"It will be drawn to you," he repeated in a whisper.
An enormous booming crash rocked the building. It felt like some massive object had collided with the outer walls. Everything shook, plaster drifted in torrents from the ceiling, the light flickered as the floor bucked and swayed.
"What the hell was that?" Baldman grunted as the door opened and Loess stepped into the room, white and anxious.
"Time to go," she said urgently, a worried look on her face. The sudden cacophony seemed to have roused the Make it Happen Man from his trance as, with an effort, he pulled himself up onto his feet.
"We cannot help you," he repeated in a whisper. "We will show you the way out and then you will go. Take your troubles with you." Without another word or a backwards glance he limped from the room, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. We followed, subsumed by his entourage, into a long austere green corridor much like the ones we had entered through, at the end of which was another door leading, I guessed, to a staircase back to ground level.
We were about halfway along the floor when the far door opened, a cluster of figures emerging from the gloom beyond. They looked at first glance for the most part like our escorts - grim, dishevelled, grimy - but there was a uniformity to their unkempt appearance that was lacking in Mr. Happen’s ragtag ensemble.
For a long, tense moment they looked at us and we looked straight back, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness. But it couldn’t last.
The first bullet took Baldman through the lens of his wraparounds. I heard the glass pop as his head cannoned backwards then his legs splayed and he went over like an unruly mannequin. Somehow, as he fell, I got a hand under his jacket, popped the clip on the holster, and brought out his pistol, firing off round
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