Wild Thing Read online

  She smiled, relieved that she was doing it right after all, and dashed back into the bathroom where she'd seen a mug standing on the basin. She filled it to the brim and carried it back carefully with both hands so as not to spill a drop, and handed it to him. She felt strangely grown-up as he smiled and took it, despite the tricky business of getting it from her hands to his while both hers were still wrapped around it.

  But then he just stood there, and she had to ask him if the water was nice before he even took a drink.

  After that, though, he seemed to settle down, and together they browsed the net for books and vids to download to the ’sheets. Mostly he steered her to really old stuff, ages before the Unfolding, just like at the, the… just like she was used to. They found lots of stuff on African animals, as well as one that sounded ’specially good, about a king of the lions. He also loaded a map of the Institute like he'd promised, and then spent some time pointing out stuff like where she could put her dirty clothes for the ’bots to launder; and zooming around the grounds. There were also a couple of smaller buildings quite close by. One of them was Mr Shanahan's, he said – the security man who'd spoken to her from the drone.

  A lot of the map of the Institute building itself was kind of sketchy, though, and marked as unused. She thought her uncle looked a little sad when she asked why, but he just said it was complicated. Which was what grown-ups said when they didn't want to tell you stuff.

  There were a whole bunch of “interview” and “treatment” rooms, mostly on the levels below and above this one. She noticed there were two basement levels, too, which he tried to distract her from. Which probably meant they'd be especially good to explore. But she was extra careful not to look too interested in them.

  Finally, he helped her unpack her clothes and craft stuff. By that time, though, her tiredness had come back and she could hardly keep her eyes open. At last he said goodnight and left her to clean her teeth. She clambered onto her bed and fell straight to sleep.

  -

  From his office, Harmon activated the holovid he himself had concealed in Sara's room.

  She lay on her bed, surrounded by a scattering of the smartsheets to which they had “printed” all the pre-Unfolding and copyright-expired children's vids and books they had downloaded. And the free superhero trids and movies she had been so keen on. He focused his trideo camera upon her little form, until her small face floated in the air before him, just within arm's reach. She seemed tired still, and slightly confused. The more he considered that fact, the more it indicated a problem.

  Deep in thought, he tapped a stylus against his teeth. The conclusion, unfortunately, appeared quite clear. She still suffered from the effects of his magical adjustments in the nun's office. Although… perhaps that was as interesting as it was annoying? The spark he sought to fan to life, though unquenchable by normal means, seemed in some ways delicate when shaped by the currents of magic. It could be interpreted as striking confirmation he was on the right track: that the human spirit itself was akin to the paranormal patterning of magic. Perhaps even, was constituted of the same stuff.

  He stared at the girl, tapping his stylus. Shutting his eyes, he mulled the possibilities.

  And gently, slowly, drifted into sleep…

  He stood in an American forest – old, undisturbed. Searching. Searching for something he had trained, some animal. Down dark trails he traveled, following faint scents. Gradually, though, he grew aware of another presence; and sensed that it, too, felt him. Searched for him: hunting. His pulse quickened as he realized he had come too far, that he needed to leave. He turned, retreating.

  It followed.

  He ran, knowing it drew closer, gaining ground.

  Running, bushes tearing at him, he burst from the forest, heart pounding in fear. Turning to look back he saw it emerge from the trees: a mountain lion. With feline grace it padded closer, jaws a little open. He met its eyes. And saw Death.

  It gathered speed, padding faster, accelerating, but now he stood transfixed: the eyes were not a cat's: the eyes were amber-flecked – Sara's. A growl escaped its throat as muscles bunched for the attack.

  The noise broke his paralysis. Suddenly free, he wrenched himself around, leapt-

  And sat up straight in his office chair, panting.

  A dream!

  His heart still raced. He also realized he felt strangely disturbed, and had the beginnings of an erection.

  Dismissing the physical reaction and shrugging off an odd feeling of unease, his fingers drummed as he contemplated the rest of it. Perhaps… could his dream have taken him through the strange layers of the Imaginal? Had he in reality tapped into the great Unconscious?

  On his video feed Sara, asleep, moaned as if in frustration.

  Chapter 3

  At breakfast the next day, eating her second bowl of muesli, the girl seemed fully recovered. Harmon tried to mull all the various possibilities, but thoughts of the upcoming session with his most challenging patient kept distracting him. His wristcomm chimed, and he took the call from the Director.

  'Just checking that you'd seen your patient's latest missive, Dr Harmon.'

  He didn't need to ask which patient Professor Sanders referred to: ninety percent of his attention went to the Institute's most troublesome case. 'You mean last night's one, where he wrote of sensing a “disturbance in the Force?” Rather mixing his metaphors. You are aware, Director, that it's a quote from a very old Hollywood movie?'

  'Really? Odd timing, though – matches your arrival last night. The Synchronicity Effect, you think? We know he can't sense beyond his cell. Not through those Wards.'

  'I agree, Director. I really don't see that it would be possible. I'll check their integrity however, as always, when I see him.'

  'Good, good. Do take care, though.' The Director disconnected.

  Sara looked ready to burst with questions, but he waved her off. 'Just my work.' He ignored her pout, easing back in his chair as he recalled “Godsson's” arrival.

  Not that he would ever forget it.

  Five years ago Godsson had been brought in, not by ambulance, nor police escort, nor even by FBI helicopter. No, Godsson had been carried in, unconscious, in the arms of a Chinese man. A man whose arrival had made all the Barriers at the Institute's boundaries flare into alert, clawing at the pair as if they were spirits rather than corporeal beings.

  The magical Barriers were only there to counter arcane intrusions. At the time, they had assumed the trespasser was attended by unseen entities, now held at bay beyond the walls. Otherwise, he could not have entered…

  No one who had raced out to confront the intruders had had the slightest idea how they'd arrived: there had been no vehicle of any kind. Just the front gates wrenching opening and the powerfully-built oriental man stalking up the long winding road to the main entrance, somehow traversing the half kilometer in under a minute.

  It had been Harmon and the previous Director – and at that time, the more-numerous orderlies – who had faced the fellow, then, on the graveled path.

  The sheer force of will radiating from the man had been disconcerting, even as Harmon had noted the strange injuries to them both – not burns, or cuts, or bruises, but stranger alterations – patches of skin with a glassy sheen, the flesh itself a sheath over something black underneath. Twitches and movements where there were no muscles or tendons; disturbing ridges…

  He still didn't like to think too deeply about that.

  There was something strange about the man's eyes, too: as if tiny chips of gold gleamed in the near-black irises. A cosmetic alteration?

  'It is done. Melisande d'Artelle is dead. We won.'

  It was only then that they realized who he was. Who they were. Harmon remembered how Director French had gasped beside him, as they all belatedly recognized Lord Lao Pi Shen, the New Emperor of China and self-proclaimed dragon. He and his small team – the second team to make the attempt – had been missing, presumed lost or dead now for three
months.

  'This is… Benson?' the Director had asked. 'But what of your third member? The monk?'

  The golden motes in the man's dark eyes glittered as he stared at them, considering.

  'Victory, as ever, came with a cost. My companions fought bravely, but…'

  The powerful voice shivered, almost cracking. Hearing that had been strangely disturbing; seeing a fissure in the indomitable certainty that wreathed him. In the sudden silence, Harmon had found himself wishing the man would hold back the words on his lips, as if he expected a curse.

  'She had chosen to retreat to a place where no… person… should ever stand. A place that casts long shadows. Where every action has consequences. It was well for us all that she reached it only shortly before we did.'

  No one spoke.

  'And there we slew her.'

  He had gazed at Harmon then; and as if the man had spoken, the young magical researcher sensed that there had been some other price for that death; a price as yet unpaid. Those dark eyes had held his before tracking very deliberately down to the young man held casually in his bronzed arms. Harmon felt his own eyes dragged down to the unconscious, innocuous-looking man cradled there. Held out now to him.

  Your problem now. The words sounded inside his head as the man, or dragon, stepped forward and Harmon found his own arms lifting without conscious thought to accept the burden. Which suddenly lightened, though Harmon had seen just the sketchiest motion of spell-casting.

  'What- what's wrong with Benson? I thought, that is, his reputation, surely…?'

  Some had said Benson was perhaps as powerful as Shen; perhaps as powerful as d'Artelle herself. Harmon struggled to marshal his thoughts. 'Why did you bring him here, to us?'

  'Because here is where he needs to be.' The satisfaction in the accompanying smile made Harmon's hackles rise. 'Unfortunately, his mind has broken and he now represents a great danger to us all.'

  'But why not keep him in your own country? Surely, you are better placed…'

  There was the slightest twitch to the eyebrows, the faintest gleam of malicious pleasure in the strange gold-and-black eyes, and he stopped, sensing that every word he spoke somehow made him appear more naïve in the eyes of the dragon. Who, somewhat to his surprise, answered his question. In a fashion.

  'Well, since the Fey-born declined to help, she can hardly object to hosting her replacement during his… convalescence.'

  Again, the faintest emphasis on the final word made Harmon feel he was missing something important. And who did he mean by “the Fey-born?” Surely not the trillionaire, Morag Feyborn – she'd been dead a decade. And what did he mean by “her replacement?” Was he claiming the deceased Feyborn had been one of the two strangely-anonymous companions who'd made the first attempt, with him, to track down the Enemy of Mankind?

  Shen's statement raised more questions than it answered. Before Harmon could ask more, however, the man was moving.

  'Come. We will need to strengthen and improve your Barriers. I will show you how: I will do that much, at least, to ease your burden.'

  And with regal self-assuredness despite his tattered silk clothing, he swept past them and up the wide steps as if the building were his own.

  Which was how, minutes later, Dr Alex Harmon, 36, had found himself assisting the man who was now very likely the most powerful mage on the planet as he constructed a series of towering, interleaved magical workings Harmon scarcely understood.

  Lao Pi Shen had also worked with Harmon to mend the younger man's disturbing injuries. Or perhaps alterations? A second working of magic, even subtler this time, and Harmon felt uncharacteristically humbled as he saw it wasn't only the strength of the man's magical power, but his knowledge and skills which clearly exceeded his own by at least an order of magnitude.

  It had been humbling, yet also enlightening. It made him the only person still alive, as far as he knew – with the probable exception of their newest inmate – who had worked magic with the sorcerer who had recently come to rule China.

  Harmon had dared to ask, then, how the third member of their team had died. The dragon lord had remained silent so long he had decided there would be no answer, when their visitor finally responded.

  'There are some humans whose spirit make even one such as I, humble. We would not have succeeded without his sacrifice.'

  But after that, the dragon had spoken no more. Except, as he left – surrounded, to his apparent amusement, by a hastily-assembled group of State Department officials and FBI agents – to wryly observe that he thought their government would be wise, in the circumstance, not to hold him to task over his lack of a passport.

  Harmon had half expected the man to depart as mysteriously as he had arrived, but instead, the Emperor of China had simply bent his frame elegantly to enter the provided limousine.

  Harmon snapped out of his reverie, blinking, as Sara's insistent tone ended his introspection.

  'What is this place, anyway? Are we under the ground?'

  'This is the Institute of Paranormal Dysfunction. I study magic, Sara, and what it means when it goes wrong inside people. Indeed, at the Institute we have one of the most skilled and powerful mages of our times. Unfortunately, something damaged his mind and he is here now to be studied: not to study with us.

  'And no, we are not underground at present – although this building is such a maze of corridors it would be easy to imagine you were. Would you like to go outside into the fresh air?'

  'Yeah!' She pushed her chair back and jumped up, ready to leave at once.

  'After you have finished your breakfast, little one.'

  She cocked her head to one side, staring at him. Her eagle look, he recalled with a smile. Structuring his will and thought, he gestured, and her chair returned, turning round a little toward her. Her eyes widened at the casual display of magic. Impressed and showing it, she returned to the table. 'Do some more magic!' she demanded.

  He cocked his head to one side. 'Say please.'

  She considered the command, pouting. He looked away, twirling his fingers idly, and had to conceal his satisfaction when at last she broke. 'Please.'

  'Very well.' He gestured again, frowning slightly in concentration. She dropped her spoon as it suddenly twisted in her hand, then gazed at it wide-eyed as it drifted down into her cereal bowl. Her eyes followed it avidly as it dipped to ladle up a mouthful and then float up to her mouth, which she opened with a delighted grin.

  He almost jumped when she unexpectedly snapped forward, trapping the spoon. Then slowly, gently, drew back to slide it from her mouth, her eyes locked on his all the while. A spark seemed to leap between them.

  Harmon felt quite… strange.

  Chapter 4

  She kept an eye on her new uncle, just in case he did more magic, while eating her cereal as fast as she could. But it still took ages to get outside.

  Blinking in the bright sunlight she pushed open the too-slowly opening door, pausing on the top step and drawing in great big breaths of the air. It smelled weird but good, all kinds of rich scents that were nicer than those back in the city. They were somehow familiar though, and she frowned as she tried to remember where from.

  Jumping down the steps two at a time, she raced across the gravel and onto the grassy area beyond, stretching her arms out in eagle wings to swoop in a wide banking turn, a single 'Aaark!' escaping from her, that she just couldn't hold inside. She paused then to look back at the building and the strange man who'd adopted her. As his hooded eyes watched her intently, she wondered what he'd be like, as… as an Uncle. Would he get married one day? Give her a… uh, an Aunt?

  She watched him standing there all stern and serious, in his white coat like a proper doctor, or maybe a scientist. She tilted her head sideways, considering him. Could he be a mad scientist? That'd be pretty cool.

  Except mad scientists didn't get married.

  She stared up at the building. It sure was big! It even had those up and down steppy-things running all a
long the edge of the roof. She wondered what it would be like to run along them. It did look a little bit dangerous, though. Maybe when her legs were longer, she decided.

  He was still making his way toward her, so she ran back to him. 'It looks like a castle!'

  He turned and actually looked at it, which was nice. Most grown ups just ignored what you said, except to tell you you were wrong.

  'It was Victorian, originally, but there has been a mish-mash of later extensions. I suppose… it is reasonably old.'

  From the corner of her eye, she saw something run across the lawn between two trees, and grabbed his hand. 'Look, look!' she squealed, but he just stood there like a lump. She darted off toward it, but it disappeared before she'd gone more than a few steps. She turned back to him, wondering if he'd seen it too. 'What was it?'

  'A squirrel, Sara. There are many small animals in the grounds.'

  A squirrel. So that was a squirrel. She wondered how hard it would be to catch one? What would they be like to hold? Could you pet them? It'd be nice to have something to cuddle. Quietly, she stalked toward the tree it had run up, then stood at the bottom, checking out the hand-holds. It didn't look like it'd be too hard to climb.

  She looked back at her, uh, her uncle, and he had an odd expression on his face, like he was studying her, maybe deciding something. But he looked interested, too. Which was kinda nice.

  The sky was blue, the smells so nice. It was like she'd moved to live in a castle in the middle of a forest. She wondered if maybe there'd be a wicked witch lurking somewhere? She turned in a big circle, taking it all in, amazed by just how clear and sharp everything was, right to the horizon.

  She stopped, at the sound of steps coming around the side of the building behind them. Only a man, but by his side…

  'Oh, wow, who's that?'

  'Hmm? Brian Shanahan, our security-'

  But she was already in motion, racing toward the sleek and powerfully-muscled dog. Its glowing red eyes had locked on hers with such interest, and its tail had already thumped once in hopeful anticipation…. She could tell straight away the robo-dog needed someone to play with: its eyes – her eyes – said how alone she was, and how happy she was to see Sara.