Hellraisers (27 page)

“You shouldn't be out wandering the corridors,
mutt
,” he said. “Isn't it past your bedtime?”

“Isn't it past yours?” Marlow replied. He knew it was probably the lamest comeback that had ever been uttered but he had been too tired to think of anything else.

“You better be in the dorm before Hanson catches you,” Bullwinkle said. “There are rules. You shouldn't be pissing around out here. What were you trying to do? Find Pan's bed?”

“I wasn't—”

“I'm telling you to go to your dorm, rookie,” Bullwinkle said. “You understand me? That's a direct order.”

Bullwinkle walked past, barging Marlow with his shoulder. Marlow stood firm and the big guy bounced off, grunting.

“Disobey me and you'll have Hanson to answer to,” he grumbled as he walked into the shower room. “And give up, she doesn't want you.”

Marlow heard the rush of water from inside. He sighed and took a couple of steps toward the gym. Then he stopped. He'd rather eat his own crap than take it from Bullwinkle and his eyeless freak of a boss. Besides, Bullwinkle was right. It would do him good to get away from Pan for a while, try to fill his head with something else.

He turned and walked back to the elevator, quietly shutting the gates before pressing the button for the top floor—the way out.

Time to have some fun.

 

DOUBLE DOUBLE DOUBLE CRAP

Pan wanted nothing more than to be able to sleep, but Marlow was making that impossible.

He was the only thing in her head, invading every thought. She tried to fight it, but he was a tick burrowing into her skull, impossible to dislodge. She thought about how annoying he was (
how beautiful he looks when he smiles
). She tasted his breath, a hint of vomit from when she'd kissed him (
but his lips are so soft, so warm
). She tried to focus on all the negatives, on how much she hated him, but then she'd see him there, grinning at her, moving in for another kiss, and she felt her heart melt into a warm, gooey mess, her stomach doing loop-the-loops.

She cursed, turning onto her side. She knew it wasn't really Marlow's fault (
nothing could be his fault, he's perfect—oh, god, shut up, brain!
). It was Hanson. He'd known exactly what he was doing, planting that image in Marlow's head right before he went into the tank. He'd done it before, the first time Truck had brokered a contract—although luckily Truck was of another persuasion and it hadn't worked. Hanson was just an asshole, but he was one of Ostheim's favorite Engineers so there wasn't a damn thing any of them could do about him.

Except Marlow. He stood up to him, punched him in the face. So brave, so strong.

She growled, pulling the pillow over her head. Marlow stared back at her from the darkness, moving in for a kiss, and her mouth was open, ready … She threw the covers off and sat up, her heart drumming, her skin cool with sweat.

“Goddammit!”

“¡Silencio!”
said Night from the other side of the dorm. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

Pan crashed back down, thumping her fist against her forehead to try to knock out the Marlow images. She knew it was just the Engine messing with her thoughts, but it felt so
real.
She loved him. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops,
I love Marlow Green!
But it couldn't be true because she'd sworn never to fall in love, never to give anyone that power over her. Not again. Not after what had happened last time.

She saw him now, the guy she'd met when she'd been taken into foster care, the guy who told her she was special, told her he wanted her more than anything else in the world, wanted to own every little piece of her. And she'd believed him, right up to the point he'd tried to take those little pieces for himself. She'd just turned thirteen and she hadn't even known she was capable of violence until that point, until she'd snatched up the only thing she could find—a cast-iron lamp by her bed—and beaten him to death with it.

If only Marlow had been there, he'd have saved you.

“Oh shut up,” she told her head, the rush of emotions—love, hate, love, hate—churning inside her stomach, making her feel sick. No, she was never going to put herself in that position again. The day Herc had marched into her holding cell, the day he'd given her a choice about who she wanted to be, was the last time she would ever let somebody else control her head, her heart, or any other part of her.

Apart from them, of course, Herc and Ostheim.

She wasn't stupid. She knew they had manipulated her. That's what Herc did—picked the troubled kids, the ones in care, the ones who'd been kicked out of school, the ones shivering inside a cell. She knew why, too. These were the guys who had nothing to lose, the ones who'd run right out of choices.

Marlow fit the bill perfectly. They'd run a background check while he was out cold in the Manhattan tower—minor criminal record, just been expelled—he was a model candidate for an Engineer. Herc would have recruited him on the spot if he hadn't wanted him to escape, to become bait.
But thank god he did recruit him, otherwise I wouldn't be in the same building as him now, wouldn't be so close to him, wouldn't be able to sneak out of my room right now and find him …

“Traitor,” she whispered to her brain.

He was cute, though. Marlow. Too young for her, obviously, and annoying as all hell. And his breath stank, and he was a pretty awful kisser, and his hair was truly atrocious. She sat up again, probing her thoughts, picturing Marlow. She screwed up her face, nothing there but distaste.

“Thank god,” she said, scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand, a sour taste on her tongue. The Lawyers must have cracked this part of Marlow's contract. Maybe now she'd finally be able to get some rest. She closed her eyes, her thoughts blissfully empty, sleep wrapping itself around her like a warm, comfortable blanket.

*   *   *

The alarm ripped its way through the beginning of a dream and Pan shot up, her heart just about catapulting through her throat. Night was already out of bed, a blur as she bolted to the door. Pan struggled into her pants, buttoning them as she went. It was rare that the alarm went off but not unheard of. Usually it was a contract that was nearing expiration and needed emergency work, other times it was a drill. Plus Herc had set it off at least twice trying to smoke a secret cigarette in the toilet.

He was there now, standing outside his room looking like somebody had just dragged him from his grave.

“No rest for the wicked,” he mumbled, rubbing at his stubble. “Any idea?”

She shook her head, running to the elevator, bundling in alongside Herc and Night and Hope. It was an uncomfortable ride down to the bearpit, and when she opened the gates she saw Hanson there, wearing a new pair of sunglasses. He looked pissed and he jabbed a hand at Herc.

“You happen to know where your latest mongrel is?” he said.

Oh crap.

“Herc, you have Marlow, right?” blasted a voice from hidden speakers. Pan straightened to attention when she recognized Ostheim's accent. “Tell me he's inside the complex.”

“He's inside the complex,” Herc said.

“No, Herc, he's not,” said Ostheim. “He breached the door.”

Double crap.

Herc stormed across the room to one of the monitors. It was the security feed from outside the door, but it wasn't the courtyard entrance. A streak of light burned across the image, just a second.

“Again,” Hanson said. “Slower.”

The clip replayed at a fraction of the speed and Pan saw Marlow running across the street, a goofy grin plastered over his face. The tape ran on and Pan saw Marlow reappear next to Hanson's shiny blue BMW—the same one he kept in every city connected to the Red Door. He looked like he was scratching something into the hood with a rock.

“What is that?” Pan said. “Looks like a rocket ship.”

“Why the hell wasn't anyone watching him?” Hanson said.

“I left him with Seth,” Pan said. “He—”

“That old git wouldn't know where to find a turd if he'd just laid it,” Hanson said. “Jesus Christ, Herc, this is a total clusterf—”

“Keep your knickers on,” Herc interrupted. “We'll just go get him.”

“You'd better make it fast,” said Ostheim. “And I mean fast, Herc.”

“Why?” he said. “What's the hurry, all he'll do is mess around for a bit. How much damage can he do?”

Hanson sucked his teeth, pointing at another monitor. It was filled with data, the type used to identify fluctuations in the code, and at the moment it was going wild. Herc stared at it for a second and turned three shades paler.

“Because we've got Engineers in the city, Herc,” said Ostheim. “Enemy Engineers.”

“In Prague?” Pan asked.

“The door didn't let him out in Prague,” said Hanson. “It dumped him in Budapest. That's where we're watching him.”

Double double crap.

“For the love of…” Herc said, his cheeks blazing. “So there are Engineers in Prague, right?”

“No, Herc,” said Ostheim. “Wake up, they're in Budapest, five hundred clicks from Prague. And if they get to your boy before we do, then he could lead them right back here.”

Double double double crap.

 

HOW THE HELL DID WE GET TO BUDAPEST?

This. Is. Awesome.

Marlow couldn't stop grinning as he ran into the night. He didn't feel like he was going particularly fast, but as soon as he started to run everything else dissolved into slow motion. The raindrops falling from the sky became almost stationary, defying gravity, hanging like jeweled ornaments. Cars slowed from silver bullets to snails, slow enough that he could climb over their hoods, could look in through the windshields and see the drivers, oblivious to him. Every time he ran a shock wave rippled out from him like a gunshot, kicking up dust and dirt and making windows rattle in their frames.

I want to run faster than sound.

The Engine had given him what he wanted.

There weren't many people out at this time of night, in this weather. And to those who had braved the streets Marlow was a ghost. He ran up to them, the slow-motion world only starting to spin again when he stopped. It must have looked like he'd appeared out of nowhere because they always jumped back, screaming, scared out of their skins. Then he'd bolt and the world would grind almost to a halt, turning the people into statues with startled faces. He laughed at the sheer joy of it, the impossibility of it, as he broke into a run once again.

He had no idea where he was. He hadn't emerged in the same courtyard he'd entered through but rather on a quiet road facing a river. He'd had a sack over his head en route to the Engine so none of the streets were familiar, but he didn't care where he was going. It just felt so good to be moving, to be the fastest thing in the night.

He sped around a corner, dodging a slow-moving couple and careening across a cobbled street. He slipped on the wet asphalt, momentum throwing him toward a parked car. He reached out to stop himself and his hand left a crater in the metal side panel of the vehicle, the window glass shattering. The vehicle rocked hard on its suspension, the alarm sounding like it was drenched in syrup—slow and deep—until time pinged back to normal.

Whoa.
He looked at the dent in the car, then back across the road to the startled couple. They stared back, jaws almost on the floor, eyes bulging, trying to figure out what had happened.

Marlow ran, everything blurring, stretching, like he was entering warp speed. He crossed the street in a heartbeat and stopped again, seeing the couple stagger away, shouting to each other in shock. In their eyes he must have just blinked out of existence. He left them to it, sprinting down the street, over a moving car. He kept thinking he'd have to stop soon, kept reaching down to his pocket to make sure his inhaler was still there, but his lungs were working at what felt like 200 percent of their capacity, like someone had ripped them out and replaced them with a carburetor.

He sped up, just a blur as he crossed onto the sidewalk and wove his way between the streetlights. He couldn't remember a single time in his life, not one moment, where he'd felt this exhilarated, this
free.
Every time he opened his mouth the laughter spilled out, cool and golden. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this either. It felt like it might never have happened before.

He ran through a group of guys, all of them drunk, specks of their spittle hanging in the air like dewdrops. He was close enough to one that he grabbed the bottle of beer from his hand, zipping around a corner before slowing. He peeked back, seeing the man lift his hand to his face, the moment he realized his drink had gone, the confusion as he studied his hands and the concrete behind him. Marlow collapsed against the wall, snorting with laughter.

The beer was cool in his hand and he lifted it to his lips. The smell hit him hard, made him think of his mom, sitting at home cradling her Bacardi. It was a world away from this moment, tearing through the streets, faster than time. He pulled back his arm and lobbed the bottle down the street, watching it spin in a perfect arc, dropping earthward. Then he ran, catching up with it in an instant, snatching it out of the air. Man, if he could keep these powers he'd be a millionaire, a football star, the only person ever to play as quarterback and wide receiver on the same team—for the same pass.

He slam-dunked the bottle and darted into a park, sprinting between the trees, leaves dancing weightlessly in his wake. Taking a deep breath, he jumped onto the roof of a van, using it like a springboard, crossing the whole street in one bound before crunching down on the opposite side. Facing him was a hill, covered in green. He bounded up a set of stone stairs, climbing, climbing, climbing, feeling like he was scaling a mountain, feeling like he was running right into the heavens.