“You were well on your way to killing me,” I say, “but that’s not why I’m here. I came to talk to you.”
I’m surrounded by them now. It’s like standing inside a stone circle.
“Don’t like talk,” one rattles out. It might be the one in the jumper again. Or it might be this one, right next to me, wearing an electric blanket, the plug dragging behind it on the ground.
“Too cold to talk,” another growls. “Time to rest.”
That’s right, I forgot. Numpties hibernate. I must have woken them. “You can rest,” I say. “I’ll leave you. Just tell me this one thing.…”
They rumble to themselves.
“Who sent you after me?”
The numpties don’t answer. I feel like they’re moving closer to me, even though I can’t see it happening.
“Who sent you to take me?” I shout. I’m holding my wand in the air, my arm coiled back behind my shoulder. Maybe I should already be casting spells at this point, but killing them won’t bring me answers. And what if they fight back?
Are they already fighting back?
It suddenly feels like I’m squeezing between stone walls. They’re closing in on me, pinching around my left arm … around the fire in my hand … the fire.
“If you crush me,” I yell, “my fire will go out!”
The crunching stops; I think they’re standing still. They seem to settle in sloppy slabs around me, around my hand. How long do they think I can stand like this? (And why don’t they just move somewhere tropical?) “Tell me,” I order. “Who sent you to take me?”
“Won’t say,” one of them answers. It’s like listening to rocks being broken into gravel.
“Why not?”
The wall behind me lurches closer. “Told us not to.”
I stand straighter. “Well, I’m telling you otherwise.”
“Kept us warm,” the biggest one says.
“You don’t look warm.”
“Kept us warm for a while,” it says.
“Told us not to talk,” grumbles another.
“Don’t like talk.”
I let the fire in my hand go out, and they make a noise like ten thousand teeth grinding.
“More fire,” I hear. “More firrrre.”
“I’ll give you more fire when you answer my question!” They’re vibrating. I’m not sure whether it’s from anger or impatience or something else. “Who sent you? Who paid you to take me?”
“Warmed us,” I hear.
“Who?”
“One of you.”
“Magic ones.”
“Which one of us? Was it a man? What did he look like?”
“Like a man. Soft.”
“Warm.”
“Wet spot on the pavement.”
“Green.”
“Green?” I say.
The largest numpty unfolds, then crunches down into a pile right in front of me, forcing the others away. “Your headstone!”
“One of you.”
“Warm.”
“Take the vampire brat,” the big one grinds, “keep him in the dark, give him blood.”
“Hold him till the cold comes and stays.”
“Fire. Warm. You promised.”
They’re pressing closer again. “You promised.”
I restart the fire in my hand, but instead of backing off, they crush closer to it; I can’t even see my wrist.
“Get back!” I yell. My left arm is sucking away from my shoulder, and my wand arm is pressed up against my ear. “Back off!”
“Cast Paper beats rock,” someone shouts. Not a numpty—a man!
“What?!”
“Paper beats rock—do it.”
I call out, “Paper beats rock!” And then a specific kind of chaos erupts: There’s someone hopping on top of the numpties, slapping them with sheets of newspaper like he’s playing whack-a-mole. They try to heave away, but when he thumps them, they go still. Actually still. The pressure around me stops.
I look up and see none other than Nicodemus himself standing on top of the biggest numpty, catching his breath.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask him, my mouth surely hanging open.
He sneers. “I came to save you from numpties.”
“Did you just put them to sleep with The Guardian?”