Sometimes she glances at Mallory, and sometimes he casts a furtive glance at her, but their eyes never meet. It has been that way for as long as they have worked there, which feels like for ever. Occasionally they wonder what they would see in those depths if their gazes did coincide.
On this particular night, Mallory was so engrossed in the woman that he did not hear any footsteps approach through the echoing annexe. Perhaps there had not been any. Startled by a cough, he turned to find the kind of man who could appear in any situation and leave no impression whatsoever: bland features, neither handsome nor unattractive; dark hair, cut short but not too severely; dark suit, not too expensive, not too cheap. Mallory even had difficulty estimating his age.
‘I’m Mr Rourke, the night manager,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you finished here yet? Stop dragging your feet.’
Mallory thought he knew everyone on the night staff, but he had never seen Rourke before. ‘Nearly done.’ Sullenly, he returned to his cleaning products. Something about the manager set his teeth on edge.
When he had retrieved the window cleaner, he was surprised to see that another person had arrived silently behind Rourke. Mallory had a second to take in the man’s determined face before a fiery crackle severed Rourke’s head from his shoulders.
At first Mallory had difficulty perceiving the assassin’s weapon. His mind told him it was some kind of clockwork machine, much too large for him to hold, then a crystal glowing a brilliant white. Finally he realised it was an ancient sword with a thin blue flame flickering along its edges.
And suddenly he was no longer the Mallory who cleaned the toilets five times a day. Instinctively, he whisked his mop handle to the stranger’s throat like a sword. The stranger simply smiled.
‘You killed him,’ Mallory said incredulously.
‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time. They hid you well,’ the stranger said. ‘My name’s Church. I’m here to take you back to your real life.’
Mallory’s thoughts were already racing ahead, evaluating numerous strategies for disarming the assassin, defensive positions to protect the woman in the next room.
Church appeared to know exactly what Mallory was thinking. He wagged one cautionary finger, then pointed down.
Where Mallory had expected to see Rourke’s corpse and severed head, there were now spiders, lots of them, some small, some as big as his fist. Rourke’s body was also disintegrating rapidly as more spiders poured from its depths. With a single mind, they surged towards Church, and where they passed it looked as if the very fabric of the building was being scoured away to reveal a hole into space.
‘Don’t ask questions now,’ Church said. ‘If the spiders get you, you’ll be gone from this world in an instant.’ He grabbed Mallory’s arm and hauled him away from the black stream. ‘To the stairs. I’ll explain everything once we’re safe.’
Mallory half-resisted, but in the same instinctive way he had wielded his mop like a weapon, he knew Church could be trusted. ‘There’s a woman-’
‘She’s being taken care of.’
Through the glass, Mallory saw an unfamiliar woman who reminded him of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, dark, curly hair framing a pale, attractive face. She was talking intently to the woman he had been watching work at the terminal.
‘Her name’s Ruth,’ Church said. ‘She’s one of us. She’ll get your friend out.’
Mallory had no time to question Church’s use of the word ‘friend’ for the spiders were now flooding in pursuit. Mallory flipped over a desk to block their path, but they cut through it with such ease it appeared illusory.
‘What the hell are they?’ he hissed.
‘The things that really rule this world. Now move.’
Ruth and the other woman emerged from another door into the lobby near the lifts.
‘Two for two,’ Church said to Ruth. ‘Result.’
‘We’re not out of here yet.’ Ruth flashed a smile at Mallory. ‘This is Sophie Tallent,’ she announced. ‘She feels as if she knows me from somewhere.’
Sophie. Mallory turned the name over in his mind. He was oddly pleased to see a determination in her face, somehow familiar. Her eyes met his for the first time: an instant connection, deep and puzzling and exhilarating.
Casting a glance at the spiders flooding into the lobby, Church threw open the door to the stairwell. ‘We’re not risking getting trapped in the lifts. You’re the one with the power,’ he said to Ruth. ‘Can’t you do something?’
‘It’s not like turning on a light switch,’ she snapped. ‘I really need a ritual-’
‘Just do what you can.’
Cursing under her breath, Ruth turned to face the spiders, half-bowed her head and closed her eyes. Mallory heard her whisper a word he didn’t recognise, but which made his stomach turn. An instant later the lights went out.
‘Brilliant,’ Church said.
‘I told you I needed a ritual!’
Mallory felt himself being propelled into the inky stairwell and heard the door slam behind him.
‘That won’t hold them at all,’ Ruth said.
Church sighed, said nothing.
A cool hand fumbled into Mallory’s and he realised it was Sophie’s.
‘If we can get down three floors there are windows,’ she said. ‘The spotlights aimed at the outside of the building will give us enough illumination to see what we’re doing.’
‘If we haven’t all broken our necks by then,’ Ruth said sourly.
Clutching onto the handrails, they moved down the stairs as quickly as they could in the pitch darkness. An intense rustling came from the door at their backs.
‘Moan, moan, moan,’ Church said. A faint blue light began to glow. Mallory realised it was coming from the sword that Church was now holding aloft like a lantern.
Down two flights they hurried, stumbling and cursing, until small objects began to fall on Mallory’s head and shoulders, each igniting a burning sensation that made him yell. Church brought the sword closer. In its glow, Mallory was horrified to see spiders clinging to him, eating through his thick overalls and into his flesh. More were raining from above.
‘Get them off!’ he shouted. ‘I hate spiders!’
The others helped tear them off him as they stumbled down the stairs. The spiders felt hard, almost metallic, and they writhed sickeningly under Mallory’s fingertips. His overalls sticky with blood, he hurled the spiders away as fast as he could pull them loose. Some burst against the walls, but the majority merely bounced and renewed their attack.
They were only a few steps ahead of the cascading spiders when they reached the windows that looked out over London’s glittering cityscape.
‘Is this supposed to be some kind of rescue?’ Mallory snapped. ‘Because if it is, it’s the worst one ever.’
They made it down three more floors, their injuries mounting with each level. Finally they could go no further. The volume of spiders behind them was so great that the stairwell was covered — floor, walls and ceiling — apart from a small semicircle where the four of them had been backed against the window.
‘How many of them are there?’ Sophie said, aghast.
‘About ten billion,’ Church replied. ‘Give or take.’
‘You’re pretty blase about this,’ Mallory said, tension hardening his tone.
‘You’re taking it in your stride, too.’
Mallory was surprised to realise this was true.
‘Give me your hand,’ Ruth said to Sophie. ‘If everything’s right, you should still have some vestige of ability to manipulate the Craft.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Sophie bristled, unable to take her eyes off the advancing black line. Ruth took her hand nonetheless.
‘Try not to make things worse this time,’ Church said.
Ruth mouthed some insult, but she was already focusing her attention internally.