‘So, what’s it going to feel like, man? Doing it, I mean.’ Skeebs leaned on the small table and took another sip of his drink. ‘Must be fucking awesome, getting people to do what you say.’
Without Bridget, the meeting had gone smoothly and now the only thing to do about AK’s ambitious new job was to destroy it. Reeves had shaken hands with the three men who would accompany him, though their exact roles were a mystery to him.
They had taken seats at a coffee house opposite their target. Men and women criss-crossed the square before them, phones in hand and all in a hurry. Classical music was playing through invisible speakers. Reeves’ cup was growing cold under his hand.
In the background, Reeves could feel Bridget’s anxiety as he flexed his bonds, readying to break loose. He let free a wide smile, knowing that she wouldn’t be standing in his way.
‘It will feel… liberating,’ he said. ‘Their feelings become yours, you feel everything they feel.’
‘Yeah but, like, to make them do whatever you want. They like slaves or whatever, that’s got to feel badass. You got to teach me.’
‘It’s the greatest thing there is. To truly exert your will over another.’
‘Man,’ Skeebs sat back, his posture out of sync with the other suited men in the coffee house. ‘Way Fergusson looks when she does it, you’d think it tasted like ass. I’d make people do all sorts of shit.’
Jay’s face contorted as he failed to hide a yawn.
‘You best not fall asleep on us,’ said Skeebs, giving him a bump.
Jay shook his head, letting go of a full-throated yawn and following it with the final dregs of his coffee. He set the empty cup down next to the first. ‘Can’t help it, man. Never get up before your morning wood. Fuck this early shit.’
‘Getting up this early what gets these motherfuckers so rich. They clock off by lunch making fatter stacks than all of us. Ain’t you seen that Wolf film?’
‘Seen it? It’s going to be my fucking manual on how to live starting tomorrow.’
‘Would you shut up?’ growled Livingston.
‘Fuck,’ said Skeebs. ‘Yeah, I can see it. Big house and a garage full of gold-plated guns, tiger in the back garden and diamond fucking teeth. Man, even with money you’d have no class.’
‘Go on then. What’d you fucking do?’
‘Didn’t you hear me, I said shut your fucking mouths.’ Livingston’s teeth were gritted. ‘People are watching, the same people we’re…’ he clamped down on the words.
‘What’s your problem?’ said Skeebs. ‘We got Reeves here, he can handle it.’ He punched Reeves in the arm in an effort at camaraderie.
‘You’re acting like fucking amateurs. Why don’t you keep your fucking mouths shut until we’re done?’
‘You just don’t like it that Skeebs was put in charge,’ said Jay. ‘I’m telling you, man, should have heard the bitching he was doing when you were out taking a piss.’
‘That right?’ Skeebs gave Livingston a dead-eyed stare across the table. ‘You think you better than me?’
‘I wouldn’t be talking about the job I was pulling in front of the people I’m fucking robbing. Talking about the job and talking about spending the money like a pair of rap-star gangstas. This job goes south it’ll be because the boss put fucking kids in charge of it.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘No, fuck you. Fuck. You.’
The square teemed with men and women in suits, carrying cases, scurrying as busy as an ant nest. Some were queuing for coffee at the counter, sneaking glances at their table. Reeves could feel the suspicion coming off them. Even in their expensive suits the group didn’t blend in, a hundred small details signalling that they weren’t part of the herd. Their haircuts lacked the same geometric precision, except for Skeebs’ but the tribalistic patterning sheared into the sides of his head had the same effect. Their shaves were imperfect, patches of stubble evident even so early in the morning. Jay’s dying acne was still noticeable. Those hundred little imperfections took a lot of money to erase. These people casually spent it on a daily basis and could spot those who couldn’t afford to a mile away.
Reeves had taken in the casual use of magic as well. Almost all of these people were casting, subtle charms to feed them energy, heighten the senses, sharpen awareness, give a little extra edge to their work. Illegal, Reeves presumed, but the amount of accumulated wealth in the area made certain that the local constabulary turned a blind eye.
Reeves took a slow sip of his coffee, taking note that the charms were an additional weak spot to exploit.
Skeebs drained his drink and wiped his mouth with a suit sleeve. A flick of his hand and they stood. Livingston pulled a suitcase out from under the table after him.
‘This going to work, right?’ said Jay.
‘Don’t be such a bitch, man,’ said Skeebs.
Livingston stopped Reeves before he reached the square. ‘And you’ve taken care of the cameras?’
Reeves replied with a stare.
‘OK,’ Livingston took a breath, ‘OK.’
‘Fuck, man, look at you,’ said Skeebs to Reeves as they emerged out onto the square. ‘You’re ice cold.’
It was Reeves’ understanding that the building’s private security were able to scry electronically from a remote location. This had been frustrating not just because he couldn’t affect them directly but also that he would have been able to sever a magical eye in a trice. These electronics the humans had advanced since he’d last visited were a mystery to him. So he simply hadn’t done anything about them. By the time he had started it would simply be too late for them to do anything about it and he cared little for the consequences of what came after.
The square was warm and only going to get warmer. The stone of the square was beginning to smell of better climes. The sky was blue, made a painting by the dome of St Paul’s cathedral, the old building dwarfing the new.
The crowd began to diminish, funnelling through the doors of the building opposite. A cluster around the doors were talking into their phones, staring into the middle distance. Behind it all, Reeves could still hear the roar of the traffic, smell the thoughts of thousands of others, headed to their own jobs, a street and a world away from this little enclave of people the criminals felt such envy and disdain for.
They joined the back of the group, waiting for their turn to move through the revolving doors. Television screens had been set to the windows displaying a constant roll of numbers.
‘This better work,’ said Livingston under his breath.
There was certainly something wrong with the four of them in this crowd. Heads kept turning, reproachful glances. They could tell that the group in their midst didn’t belong. Reeves suppressed their suspicion, forced their minds to other things, plucking at random emotions without a care for the result. It was a joy to stretch his powers without censor.
Until something responded. A curious little flicker of interest at his actions. Regardless of the local laws, these people had hired mages to guard against magical assault.
They were skilled but limited in their perception. They couldn’t even comprehend the directions in which he attacked them. He caught a brief glimpse of them, a room of glass and ivory tile as their hearts exploded in their chests, their bones melting in their muscle sleeves. It was over in moments.
They were among the last to get inside.
The atmosphere struck Reeves like a blow; stress, exhilaration and the more physical smell of sweat.
Inside, the atrium was a palace, a sculpture of glass, steel and stone polished to a shine. There were protection wards everywhere, meek little things that he ignored and swept aside.
Moving images ribboned above the crowd’s heads as they funnelled themselves through turnstiles at the other end of the room. Access was granted by a small disc pressed against a sensor. None of the group possessed such a thing.
Watchmen dotted the room, small eyes taking in everything with indifference, shaved heads and earpieces.
Jay and Livingston’s steps faltered as they took it all in. Their hesitation attracted attention, a discord in the harmony of the crowd. Skeebs pushed past them, walking with forced street swagger at Reeves’ side, pointedly ignoring the stares of the guards nearby.
The guards shifted from foot to foot, hitched belts, cleared throats, traded glances.
Reeves didn’t hesitate, approaching the guard at the turnstiles. He didn’t adjust the man’s mind, he ripped through it, plunging in and hollowing out.
Apart from a twitch under one eye, there was no visible change in the man but in a single moment the only thing holding him on his feet was Reeves’ will.
The man pulled out a small disc of his own. Another larger low door swung open and he urged Reeves through. The others followed, almost running through the breach, their relief palpable.
‘Yeah, nice one,’ Skeebs muttered, looking back over his shoulder.
The guards had already turned their attention to the stragglers in the crowd, the group forgotten. The guard who had let them through gave Reeves a nod and a smile.
On leaving the lift, a receptionist stood with a bright smile to greet them and then immediately sat back down as Reeves entered her mind like a battering ram. The two receptionists beside her looked in confusion and turned away again as they received the same treatment. Their uniform tight-lipped smiles became fixed, eyes empty as they beamed at the passing men, nodding at their greetings.
‘Like fucking Stepford,’ muttered Livingston, unaware of what was happening.
‘Shut up,’ replied Skeebs.
‘You see the number of flat screens they got up in here?’ asked Jay.
They let the glass doors swing shut behind them, into the office proper.
The receptionists stood in unison behind them, their smiles tinged pink. They opened their mouths, pools of bright red spilling down their chins in a waterfall, their severed tongues floating in a broth of blood and spit.
There was the slightest hint of a scream but the soundproofed glass made a mute of it. Oblivious, Skeebs sniffed, unable to leave his nose alone as his nerves increased, scratching and tugging at it.
Reeves led the way, following his nose towards the feelings of stress, anxiety, exhilaration and pleasure. Climbing stairs, it was like rising into the heart of a thundercloud. They began to hear the dull roar of voices like waves breaking on the beach. It was a rare place, so many minds so focussed on the same task, like a battlefield.
‘Fucking hell,’ said Skeebs, staring at the glut of men and women in wonder.
‘Yeah,’ said Jay, enjoying the spectacle.
The room stretched in every direction, row upon row of men, women and screens, a hive of activity and motion.
Livingston was frowning, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose which was already freckling with sweat. From his briefcase he pulled out his documents, gave them a glance before squinting at the nearest set of screens.
‘You remember the instructions?’ he asked.
Reeves was looking out of the window. The offices formed a concentric square around the void of the atrium, all of them seen through near invisible glass. Every direction Reeves looked he could see more workers, more screens.
‘Yes.’
‘Then get started.’
Reeves could feel a tingling in his fingertips. He smiled.
It was the simplest of instructions: a tiny string of almost random letters and a single command. Buy.
Sending out a tendril, he touched the mind of the man beside him. The worker was already using magic to give himself an extra bit of pep. Reeves stole inside along with it. He established a bond, more subtle than the brute force with which he’d taken the guards. This was more nuanced, more insidious, a coupling and connection that went both ways, flooding the demon with the tumultuous chemical sensation of humanity. The man barely even blinked, the only sign that Reeves had taken him was that he stopped talking midsentence leaping from one conversation into another entirely.
It was so easy. He reached out and took another mind, like plucking a stream of thought from the air and reining it in. Two minds became ten became a hundred. The feeling was exhilarating, done under orders but able to stretch the boundaries so far to spread himself so wide. He could feel the bond within him straining, thinning.
Bridget’s anxiety had begun to spike into fear.
He had the room in the space of thirty seconds, the crowd lapsed into silence for a moment but there were none left to notice. He allowed himself to be swept along the tide of hormones and instincts, hopes, dreams and urges for a moment. He could taste a man’s breakfast pastry, feel the pain of a fingertip papercut, the warm afterglow of an early morning fuck.
Skeebs, Livingston and Jay stood off to one side, looking around with dawning expressions of wonder as the room began to hum their tune. Men and women were still arriving, shirt sleeves rolled up and ties loose. The surprise barely had time to register in their eyes before they were caught too, joining the rabble in its war cry.
The feeling was incredible, like stretching muscles after being confined in too small a box, breathing fresh air after too small a room. The taking of these minds was pure sensation, power in its purest form, all blood and nerves and a grin that’s also a snarl.
He sank deeper into every mind, enjoying how easy it all was. They were talking on phones, typing on computers but now they were talking louder, typing harder, faster, driven on like whipped horses before a carriage, compelled for reasons they didn’t know.
But it wasn’t enough. He could go further.
Another minute and he had the minds on the rest of the floor. Another and he had the whole building singing like a choir.
The feeling was incredible, the power in his chest growing and growing, smothering the bonds that had held him in check, the way the brightest light can swallow a silhouette. There was no break in the bond, no pivotal moment when he felt it snap, one moment it was, the next it was not.
He exulted in it, let them continue their orders, pushing the value of this strange intangible stock higher and higher. This cold place of steel and glass and stone was his church – entirely his. This was the natural order and he would remind humanity in no uncertain terms that this was how it would remain.
Except…
The three of them were just standing there at arm’s length, their hearts quick with elation, smiles wide, eyes bright. Jay, grabbing at Skeebs’ shoulder, was practically jumping. ‘We fucking did it, man. We fucking did it. Look at it fucking climb!’
Livingston winced as the volume continued to rise, every throat in every room of the building roaring to make itself heard, fingers hammering at keys, spouting nonsense. Spilled drinks were ignored, scalded palms disregarded.
There was a man at the nearest desk shouting and yelling with the rest. Face beet red, thinning hair plastered to his scalp with sweat, his little eyes rolled in their sockets as though only they were beyond Reeves’ control. Reeves could feel his heart running a minute mile, his voice strained to breaking point, screeching high and piercing like a violin.
A push was all it took. The man took another heaving breath, bared his teeth and brought them down on his bare forearm. Blood squirted into the eyes of the man next to him, the crimson standing out beautifully amongst the white and black of their clothing. The man with the blood in his eyes wiped a hand across his face, never pausing in his baying for shares.
The biter spat the chunk of bloodied flesh into his computer screen, ignoring the blood running down his crisp white shirt as he took a second bite.
Reeves exulted in the simple cruelty, tasting the blood on the man’s lips, feeling the throb of pain and pump of blood. Until it wasn’t enough.
The room went silent in the space of a heartbeat, the only noise the tinny voices of people on the other end of the phones.
Skeebs, Livingston and Jay looked around surprised, unsettled as they gazed across the frozen crowd. They looked to Reeves. Reeves laughed.
The room erupted, everything happened at once. Men and women started to tear at each other, clawing at one another’s clothes then down into the skin, fingernails bending and breaking as they rent deep grooves in flesh.
A woman proceeded to bite off her own fingers one by one, spitting them to the floor.
There was the strange tonal sound of several heads hitting the glass windows at once, spots of blood left behind as those who had hit it stepped back to try again. Some started to succeed, glass shattering. They started to funnel through, falling and joining the fall as others on other floors broke through below, bodies colliding mid-air as they rushed to meet the polished marble.
The second wave didn’t reach the windows, men and women falling to their knees and devouring the glass by the handful, fingers, lips and tongues turning red, blood dribbling onto the carpet.
The place was a sea of violent motion as they kicked, stamped, stabbed, strangled and crushed themselves and one another. Paper took to the air, swept up in the action and the draft coming from the broken windows which led to the square outside. Screams were already to be heard from passers-by at the bodies lying spread below.
Reeves smiled. He should have been doing this a month ago. His entire body sang with sensation as he felt the pain of everyone in the room, the squeeze of an expensive shoe crushed down on a colleague’s throat, the tender pain of a pen thrust through a navel.
He was aware of the three watching, blinking with dull cow eyes as they tried to comprehend what was happening.
Reeves ignored them, directing the ebb and flow of the crowd as they turned this way and that like a flock of starlings turning in on itself, attacking, devouring.
‘Man, fuck this,’ Skeebs hurried over, grabbing Reeves by the arm. ‘Come on, we got to get out of here.’
Reeves swatted him away, not even pausing to watch the boy tumble across the floor.
‘Don’t you get it?’ said Livingston, shouting over the noise of the massacre as Jay went to pick up his friend. ‘He’s doing this.’
There was so much red now, soaking in puddles on the floor, running from the broken windows to obscure the moving tickertape of numbers outside.
Skeebs had picked himself off the floor, shrugging off Jay’s attempts to see if he was OK.
‘Man, you need to step off,’ he shouted to Reeves, reaching around his back for the gun nestled there.
Livingston was backing away towards the exit, turning to realise that it was no exit at all. The glass was matted red, the gore smearing as a man and women fought together, biting and gouging and scratching and tearing. Their weight held the door closed.
‘I ain’t asking again,’ said Skeebs when he didn’t get a reply, panic rising in his voice.
Metal rang like a bell as a worker hit a balcony railing on his way down into the atrium. His body jackknifed neatly in half, his head shattering the partition glass.
‘Man, I said stop!’ He strode across the room, levelled the gun at Reeves’ head.
The sound of the hammer cocking echoed around the room. Every head turned toward the three men. For a long moment the only sounds were coming from outside, the distant wail of sirens, the moans and screams of those below in the streets.
Skeebs hesitated, looking around at all those bloodied faces staring back from eyeless sockets, cheeks so bitten they hung in tatters. He licked at his lips, shifted the grip on his gun. It rattled as his hand shook.
Reeves didn’t turn his head.
‘Man, fuck you.’ Skeebs pulled the trigger.
There was the fleshy snap of bone and Skeebs flinched, blood spattering his face. Jay didn’t make a sound, his finger bending and swelling where the pistol hammer had closed on his knuckle. His other hand snatched the pistol from Skeebs’ grip. In the work of a moment the gun was disabled and Jay was stepping away, that same blank look in his eye as the others.
Astonishment gave way quickly to anger, the boy’s growing fear veneered in typical aggression. ‘Why you doing this?’
‘I’m sending a message.’
‘We were going to be rich.’
‘I don’t need money.’
‘You don’t let us leave,’ said Livingston, ‘you’re a dead man.’
It was enough to make Reeves laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.
The crowd began to close in on Livingston. The man backed away, looking in every direction for an escape. Backwards held nothing but empty space and broken glass. ‘Skeebs?’
Reeves put his hand on Skeebs’ shoulder as soon as the boy’s head was turned. ‘Did you wonder what it would be like to be controlled?’
Livingston punched and kicked at his assailants, but they kept on coming, ignoring the pain. First hands had his wrists then more had his arms. There was a fist in his hair pulling. ‘Skeebs,’ the word was choked, his windpipe closing on itself as his head was pulled back toward the ceiling.
‘You will live,’ said Reeves into Skeebs’ ear. ‘All you must do is watch.’
Livingston jerked this way and that but only moved by inches, too many hands, too much muscle holding him in place.
His arms were raised until his hands were level with bloodied teeth.
Livingston screamed as one by one, they took his fingers, spitting them at his feet.
Skeebs was making small noises he wasn’t even aware of, his breath catching in his throat.
Flesh and bone crunched with each bite, far louder than the near silent pat of each digit falling to the floor.
The whole process took less than two minutes. His knees were sagging towards the floor as his legs failed to support him. A dozen strong hands held Livingston on his feet. His face had turned white, his head lolling as he fought the black clouds threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. Blood flowed like a stream from each bright red wound.
Skeebs was shaking from head to toe. Reeves could smell the fear and sweat coming off him. Jay stood by their side, watching the events, calm and placid as cattle.
‘You made your point,’ said Skeebs, ‘now let him go.’
‘You asked what it felt like to control another,’ said Reeves.
‘I wanted the money.’
A woman emerged from the crowd, a bright blue cord trailing behind her, the noose she’d made from the end bobbed in her hand.
‘What are you doing?’
Livingston didn’t struggle as she looped the noose over his head. He didn’t even acknowledge its presence. The crowd lifted him, carrying him to the window ledge.
‘I want you to push him.’
‘What? No. Fuck that.’
‘You will push him, then you will push the other.’
Jay moved to join his colleague at the ledge.
‘You will do it or I will make you.’
Reeves lifted his hand from Skeebs’ shoulder.
The boy took a step and another. His head turned this way and that as he sought an escape but the mindless traders had gathered now, forming a funnel so the only direction he had was onward.
Each breath came with a keening moan of pain from Livingston. Jay stood straight-backed and silent.
Skeebs looked from one to the other.
‘You may choose which goes first,’ said Reeves.
Jay released the pistol into the air where it dropped down to the ground far below. The view was magnificent, London stretching out in every direction.
‘I’ll kill you,’ said Skeebs.
‘You won’t.’
The sound of footsteps, the crack of glass, the near silent swish of material and another worker had brushed past Skeebs and stepped out the window.
‘Fuck!’
‘Choose.’
‘Skeebs?’ Jay’s voice shook.
Skeebs lunged. It wasn’t a hard push, it wasn’t even a good one but Jay stepped forward at the boy’s touch. Reeves released Jay’s mind. He screamed the whole way down.
The boy didn’t give himself a chance to think. He’d moved onto Livingston and in the work of a moment he was gone too. The blue cord snapped tight.
Skeebs’ hands were trembling as he tried to smooth down his hair. He was fighting tears, sniffing and rubbing at his nose. ‘Let me go now,’ the words barely croaked past his lips. ‘I did it. Let me go. Please, man, please.’ He fell to his knees, paying no mind to the red, glittering glass under him. ‘I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. I just wanted to go home.’
Hands grabbed him.
‘And I will.’
The hands tore at the boy’s shirt, pushed him down. A woman approached, a curve of broken glass tight in her hand.
‘I just want you to deliver a message for me first.’