The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (48 page)

“He can’t,” said Anne, shaking her head.

She pushed off the wall, running towards The Collector.

“No,” cried Joe. “Anne!”

The Collector stopped, and the children abandoned their wobbling path. They swayed at his side like two drunks.

“I would take his advice, Anne Harper,” said The Collector. “One wouldn’t like these two innocents to have a little accident…”

Anne still hurtled towards them, fists pumping at her sides.

“Hmm,” considered The Collector. “Maybe I underestimated the protective mother. Montgomery?”

His creature padded out of the crowd of Prowlers, its black eyes surveying the street.

“Do the honours, would you?”

The creature grunted and sprang forwards, landing between The Collector and the approaching Anne. It snarled.

Anne skidded to a halt.

“Now we’re listening,” cried The Collector with glee. “Prowlers!”

A few chirps sounded behind him.

“You are no longer needed. Return!”

Instantly the Prowlers moved. They headed to the whirlpool, entering the thick mire. The hole widened amid the circling tarmac and the Prowlers scuttled inside. They poured in, becoming impossible to see as they crawled into the darkness. After the last of the creatures disappeared through the doorway, The Collector returned his attention to Anne.

“I presume you’d like these two darlings back,” he said, shaking the hands of the children.

“Let them go. Get your hands off them!”

“Ah, Mrs Harper. If only it was that easy!”

Anne growled.

“Give me back my children.”

“I recommend you relax.” The Collector smiled. “Stress doesn’t help anyone in these situations. Do you not agree?”

Anne screamed and dived forwards, but stopped again as Montgomery roared a warning.

“Try that again,” said The Collector, “and Montgomery gets to find out what you taste like.”

The mouths of the creature opened, immediately salivating.

“Anne, don’t move!” Joe, with Eleanor under his arm to help him walk, limped up behind her. “Wait.”

“We’re coming,” called Eleanor.

“How touching,” said The Collector. “Your little friends are rushing to your aid, although…” He cast an eye in Joe’s direction. “I don’t know what McGuire intends to do…apart from bleed on me.”

“Give me back my kids,” Anne screeched.

“Personally, Anne Harper, I would. I really would. But because of your interference, I simply cannot.”

Joe and Eleanor joined Anne’s side.

“What have you done?” asked Eleanor, looking at the children.

“These two? Well my dear, let’s just say I’ve been inside their heads to push a few buttons.”

“My children,” cried Anne. She ran forwards, but Joe held her back.

“What have you done to them?” he shouted.

“They are merely in a calmed state,” replied The Collector. “Something you could benefit from, I imagine. There’s no harm done, and the children will be right as rain in an hour or so. But look…”

He let go of the children’s hands, which fell back down and hung still. The children stood in silence, completely placid.

“A little something to make life easier,” beamed The Collector. “Every parent’s dream.”

“What do you want them for?” said Joe. “Why do this? To make us suffer? For revenge?”

The Collector laughed. “Oh, Joseph McGuire! Do you believe me so petty? No, this is not for something as simple as revenge. The state of calm just makes the transition a little smoother.”

“Transition?” cried Anne. “What do you mean?”

“Why, the transition through the doorway of course. Why else would I endure all this aggravation? I’m taking them back to the City!”

16.

The three of them stood in shocked silence.

The Collector beamed.

“The City?” said Joe, struggling to find his voice. “W-Why? Why would you want to do that?”

“As you know, my job is returning the mana. True, a little has been generated in several unfortunate incidents, but still not enough. The Founders and their scientists will not be satisfied. Therefore, to avoid their disappointment, I need to make it up to them. As I said, the mana burns brightest in the young…”

Anne dove forwards, once again held back by Joe.

“But this one,” said The Collector, reaching to stroke Bronwyn’s hair, “is very special, isn’t she? Very talented. I think the Founders will be very excited when they meet her.”

“They’ll never get the chance. I’ll kill you first,” screamed Anne, struggling against Joe’s hold.

“Really, my dear. I think not.” He turned to his creature. “Montgomery, it’s time to go home.”

It barked a protest and growled at Anne.

“Now! Don’t be a pest, Montgomery.”

The creature lowered its head and slowly padded to the whirlpool, its hands slapping against the road. It waded to the moving hole and with a final sweep of its black eyes and flare of its countless mouths, vanished inside.

“Let go of me,” cried Anne. “It’s gone!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Joe. “Do you think he would leave himself defenceless?”

“Quite,” remarked The Collector, holding the hands of the children again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be on my way.”

He approached the whirlpool, but Joe, Anne and Eleanor leapt between.

“You know we can’t let you do that,” said Joe.

“How absurd!” The Collector chortled. “So, good sir, what do you intend to do?”

“Well, there’s probably nothing I can do…”

The Collector’s eyes widened at the sound of a footstep behind him. He dropped the children’s hands and spun around.

Jake, the hammer held high, stopped dead, his arms still up in the air.

“Nearly,” said The Collector, a grin replacing his surprise. “Very nearly…” He frowned.

Suspended on his tiptoes like a marionette, Jake began to shudder. A gurgle escaped his throat.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? This is for giving me the finger, rogue.”

Blood exploded from Jake’s nostrils in a thick spray. After the initial jet, it gushed over his lips and chin.

“Stop it,” cried Joe. He released Anne and started forwards, arms outstretched.

The area around The Collector crackled with static, and Joe felt the hair on his head rise. He staggered on his good ankle, pressing further forwards. A shot, like lightning, flashed through his head. He tried to raise his hands to clamp them on his skull, but he found himself paralysed. He screamed, the sound blaring out between his still lips. Blood seeped out of his nose.

The Collector stared back at Joe. His eyes glowed a bright, crystalline blue and he bared his teeth. The red hair streaming from under his bowler whipped around his face.

“Fool,” he said, his voice low and distorted.

Joe groaned.

“Why can’t you people just admit defeat?” spat The Collector. He closed his eyes.

Joe and Jake screamed higher.

“Joseph!” cried Eleanor. “Anne, help me!”

She stepped forwards and grabbed Joe by the shoulders. She pulled back. Anne held onto her waist and heaved.

The three tumbled back and fell on the road.

The Collector roared and raised a hand to his forehead. Behind him, Jake collapsed to the ground, dropping the hammer.

“Damn you people.” The glow had left The Collector’s eyes, and the air no longer crackled.

Jake climbed to his feet, wiped the blood from his face and picked up the hammer. He burst into a run.

“Coward,” said The Collector. “Just like his mother.”

Jake disappeared around the side of his house.

“That’s one more out of the way. Anyone else fancy themselves a hero? It really is quite tiresome now.”

Anne struggled to fight free of the tangle of limbs, standing in front of Joe and Eleanor.

“Give me back my kids. Please!”

The Collector lifted the children’s hands and guided them towards the hole in the whirlpool.

Anne ran at them.

The Collector’s eyes flashed blue light.

Anne slammed to a halt. Her arms waved in the air, like a drowning woman struggling to shore. Her legs had locked.

“You can’t,” she wailed. “Please!”

The Collector and the children waded into the dark waters of the whirlpool, liquid tarmac splashing around their shins. The hole had closed, allowing them to stand at the very centre.

“Be grateful I’m letting you live,” said The Collector. “If anyone would believe you, you’d be Prowler food by now. Fortunately, I’ve done this before. I know no-one will listen!”

The whirlpool opened around them. The Collector and the children started to sink.

Anne fought to move.

Joe crawled forwards.

“Don’t take them,” he pleaded. “They’re only kids!”

“Never have I met such resistance and determination,” said The Collector. “You truly have earned my respect, at least. Oh, and Mrs McGuire?”

Eleanor sat up.

“Thank you so much for the tea. It was splendid.” He dipped his bowler. “Ta-ta!”

The Collector ducked and the whirlpool splashed over him and the children.

“No,” bellowed Anne, stepping forwards. Paralysis broken, she jumped to the whirlpool, aiming for the centre.

She grunted as her body hit the road with a solid crunch. Anne looked up and around. The street had returned to normal, and the Prowler bodies were gone. The road was cold and hard beneath her.

“No,” she cried again, smacking her fists against the ground. “Noo!”

Epilogue

1.

The curtains were almost closed. A narrow sliver of light cut Jake’s room in two. He stood in the shadows, watching the police and ambulance men swarm down Penny Crescent like the Prowlers had done before them. He knew it wouldn’t be long until they came to his house.

Jake lifted the mobile phone to his face. He held down the standby button until the small screen blinked off. He tossed the handset onto the bed and peered through the gap in the curtains again.

Two policemen stood talking to Anne and Eleanor. The two men passed nervous glances to each other. He wished he could hear what the women were saying. Two paramedics fussed over Joe.

Jake gazed down to see a single officer, tall with an ashen face, walk up the drive towards the house.

They’ve come sooner than I thought. I’d better get going. They’ll start with the garage.

He left the window and walked out of his room.

Aside from some minor damage in the kitchen, the house had barely been touched throughout the night. He cut across the landing and stood in the doorway to Adam’s room. The smell of an aftershave cocktail hung in the air like invisible smog, mixed with dirty clothes and body odour. The sheets on the bed were still crumpled and swept aside from Adam’s last sleep.

Jake stepped inside, wiping the tears from his cheeks. His gaze passed over Adam’s posters of various films and rap artists. He shook his head.

On Adam’s bedside table lay a small, golden pile of jewellery. Jake put his hand on it and separated each piece, spreading the chains and rings out across the white surface.

He smiled, remembering all the names he had for his brother because of all this.

Mr T.

The Bling King.

He tried to laugh, but his face contorted into a grimace.

“Love ya, bro,” he told the empty room.

He picked up a thin chain from the collection. He’d given it to Adam for Christmas a few years ago; one of the few things he’d actually bought rather than lifted. Adam had barely worn it, opting for the more garish and chunky items. Still, the chain held memories for Jake, and he dropped it into his pocket.

His mother’s room had the same effect as he ran his hands over her possessions and smelled her perfumes and powders. He touched the door of the wardrobe, running his thumb over the splinters of wood where Joe had prised it open.

I would spend an eternity in there
, he thought,
to have Mum and Adam back. An eternity.

A look around, and Jake left his mother’s room.

Thuds echoed from downstairs. He stopped and listened.

They’re done in the garage. Thought it would take them longer.

He listened to more bangs, accompanied with a shattering of glass.

Either way, they’re in now.

Jake reached for the cord to the attic hatch.

2.

Joe was relieved to get out of the stuffy house and onto the street. Although grateful to his grandmother’s friend for taking them in at such short notice, he felt glad to be out of her overbearing company.

The authorities had sealed off his grandmother’s house, as well as the rest of Penny Crescent, while they continued their forensic work. The police worked around the clock to find the murderer and kidnapper.

Joe took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air, and leaned on his crutch. The knife wound in his shoulder had been superficial, and his ribs bruised, not broken. His ankle had fared the worst, resting on the pavement inside a heavy plaster cast.

Turning at the sound of her voice, Joe watched his grandmother walk from the house, dressed in a pale yellow dress and white cardigan. Her friend, Glenda, followed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” pleaded the plump old woman. Curls of dyed red hair hung in her eyes, which were framed with stark blue make-up. Her lipstick was splashed crudely across her mouth. To Joe, she looked like the world’s oldest, and probably poorest, prostitute. “Hospitals can be boring places with all that waiting. You might need the company.”

“It’s okay, Glenda,” said Eleanor. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“Okay, okay. Can I at least make you some sandwiches and a thermos of tea to take? You know how much those machines cost in there and…”

“Look! The taxi’s here,” said Joe, trying to rescue his grandmother. “We’d better get going.”

“Remember, dinner is at five,” Glenda called as Joe and Eleanor made their way to the curb. The approaching white car slowed to a stop. “It’s roast chicken. Be good for you that, Joe, all that protein. It’ll help with your ankle!”