Part 18 (1/2)

With their numbers hidden, the Templar had worked on projects throughout the city, establis.h.i.+ng beachheads they could use in their eventual war against the demons. Even now, the work continued, as they hollowed out more and more s.p.a.ce underneath London.

”I am Giselle Fletcher, Sergeant of the House of Connelly.” Her voice was clear and proud. Sergeant?Simon thought, remembering that Giselle was the same age he was. Then he realized that with all the deaths at St. Paul's Cathedral, field promotions had come rapidly. And there was the possibility that Giselle had made sergeant while he was gone. She'd always been ambitious, her eyes constantly on the prize.

”Welcome home, Sergeant Fletcher. Do you require anything?” ”I've got two wounded. They need treatment.”

”Of course. You also have two unauthorized personnel with you.”

That hurt Simon a little. He knew when he'd left two years ago that the Templar Underground would be closed off to him. At the time he'd departed, he hadn't cared. He hadn't thought he would ever care again.

But he did. A little. He walled that part of himself off and refused to be vulnerable. Templar were trained to seek out weaknesses in their opponents. At the moment he knew he was going to be viewed as one of their enemy.

”One is Simon Cross,” Giselle said. ”We knew that. He's not-”

”He's here as my guest,” Giselle said with an edge to her voice that immediately caught Simon's attention. ”As is the woman with him. I claim that right.”

”You may speak to the proper authorities regarding that matter, Sergeant Fletcher. Please come ahead.” The wall in front of them suddenly parted. High-intensity lights flooded the checkpoint, stabbing into Simon's eyes like daggers. He covered his eyes with one hand, but he kept his other one free-in case he was attacked. He had no reason to believe he was safe.

Giselle started forward and Simon followed automatically. The lights were still bright enough to be blinding. There was nowhere to hide.

Twenty.

What have you done to Kelli?”

The angry voice woke Warren. He cracked his eyes open and blinked against the light, raising his right hand to ward it off. Someone had moved the curtain over his window.

”Did you hear me, Warren?”

Moving gingerly, Warren rolled over on his side. He was still dressed, almost, in the burned remnants of his clothing. He hadn't wanted to face pulling his clothing off, fearful that so much skin and flesh would come off with it.

George stood at the opening, a cricket bat in his hands. He was tall and athletic, fair-haired and blue-eyed. He belonged to an amateur rugby team and was used to physical violence.

Warren looked at the bat. He didn't want to be hit. George was powerful and the bat was hard. Even if the bat didn't break his bones, it would tear his flesh. He still didn't know if he was healing or merely lingering on the edge of death. He also didn't know if the pain was leaving or if he was growing more accustomed to it.

”Don't...hit me,” Warren said, sitting up. He focused on George, willing him to listen to him.

A crazed look gleamed in George's eyes. Before the invasion, he'd truly been the fair-haired boy.

Where Warren, Dorothy, and Kelli had barely gotten by, George had grown up in a world accustomed to wealth. He'd turned his back on his father, who had wanted to groom him for the family business. George had insisted on a career in art.

As it was, George was usually the one who mishandled his money. He'd never had to manage money, and he didn't feel the same pressure as the rest of them because in the back of his mind he could always go back to his father and his father's money. He wouldn't have to live out on the street. ”Why shouldn't I hit you?” George demanded.

”Because...I don't...want you to.” Despite the fear that quivered through him, Warren met George's gaze.

”I don'tcare what you want.” George's nostrils flared. He took a fresh grip on the cricket bat.

He's scared,Warren realized.Of me. The feeling that went through him was curious. George had always been disrespectful and standoffish to him. Now George was afraid.

”You can't stop me from hitting you right now,” George declared. He took a step forward.

Warren almost dodged back. Only thinking that sudden movement might rip open some of the burns kept him still. ”Don't,” he said.

”Why not?” George yelled.

Movement at the curtain let Warren know someone was out there. He thought it was probably Dorothy, mousey Dorothy who worked at the bakery and babysat for professional parents. She didn't like confrontations, but Kelli and George sometimes made her ask Warren for extra money for the rent and utilities.

”Because,” Warren said softly, nonthreateningly, ”I don't want you to.” He tried to put more energy into the force he was directing at George.

George hesitated. He looked panicked and confused. ”What have you done to Kelli?” ”Nothing.”

George cursed. ”You're lying, mate.” ”I'm not.”

”Kellinever cared about you, Warren. Shehated you. She thought you were creepy and disgusting. And she hated the way you looked at her with those calf-eyes.”

That announcement hurt Warren. He'd always known he'd never stood a chance with Kelli, and most of the time he wouldn't have wanted to. They had nothing in common. But every now and again, he'd thought she was humorous and attractive. And every now and again she'd treated him like he'd been a real person instead of just a flat mate who had extra money when they needed it.

”Before you got burned,” George said, ”she wouldn't have given you the time of day. Now she's waiting on you hand and foot. It's hard to get her out of the flat to go scavenge for food. And weneed food, Warren. Water, too.”

Warren hadn't known that. He hadn't been conscious much for-for however long he'd been in bed. The sheets were littered with blood and stray bits of burned flesh that had torn free. The stench was suddenly noticeable too.

”I...asked her...to watch over me.”

”She's acting like she's been possessed. Won't leave the flat.” George's eyes hardened. ”You did something to her.”

”No.” Warren's voice sounded firmer and stronger. Some of the pain fell away as he concentrated on George. ”She just...wants to help.”

George shook his head. ”Not you, mate.” ”You want to help me, too.”

For a moment, George hesitated. Then he took a step back and cursed. ”Stop.” ”What?” Warren tried to sound innocent.

”Just shut up!”

Warren sat still and silent.

”You should have died,” George snarled. ”Burned up like you were, you should have died. Anybody else would have.”

”I didn't. It's not as bad as it looks.”

George laughed bitterly. ”Yes it is. You're disgusting to look at, you are. A proper fright.” ”What do you want?”

”If you'd died, I wouldn't have minded you wasting the water, mate. If it didn't take too long. But it doesn't look like you're going to die any time soon. Now you've done something to Kelli.”

”I haven't done anything wrong.”

George attacked without warning, swinging the bat off his shoulder straight at Warren's head.

Self-preservation warred within Warren. If he didn't move, he knew George would take his head off with the bat. But he was afraid if he did, he might fall to pieces right there on the bed.