“Then I think you should go back to 602 to join them,” the man said. He raised his right hand, as if to point back along the corridor.
“But I'm…” Jack began. The man's fingers flexed. Jack's right bicep twitched and clenched, and the muscles in his thigh contracted, like the worst case of cramp he'd ever had. He groaned and took a step back, feeling as though he'd been shoved.
The woman was smiling at him. Her eyes shone.
The man came forward, and Jack saw that he was limping, one leg of his trousers torn and dark with blood.
“I'm going,” Jack said, and when the man lowered his hand the feeling of manipulation left.
Jack turned and ran. With every step, he listened out for more shouts and screams from Lucy-Anne. But she was either too far way for him to hear anymore, or she had at last seen or sensed the danger they were all in.
At the door to room 602 he paused and looked back. The woman was close, and behind her came the man, limping heavily but displaying no sign of pain in his expression. In fact, his grim face gave away nothing, and Jack had always been afraid of masks.
The door had not been closed properly, and just as the woman reached Jack it swung open, revealing Gordon and Rosemary standing just inside.
“We heard the noise,” the woman said. “We'd like to join the party.”
“You've no business here,” Gordon said.
“No business?” the tall man replied, talking over Jack's head. “No business in this fine hotel, in this dead city, where law no longer reigns?” He leaned across Jack, his voice lowered. “The likes of you don't decide whose business is whose.”
Jack could see panic in Rosemary's eyes, and he wondered just how dangerous these two Superiors were. He turned around. The woman was directly behind him, scruffy but beautiful, and she held him with her piercing gaze.
“We don't want trouble,” Jack said, his voice bled weak by the effect she had upon him. She blinked, slow and sensuous.
The tall man looked down at him then, his face so close that Jack could smell his stale breath. “If you don't want trouble, boy, why find your way into London at all?”
“They're not from outside,” Gordon said, “they come from—”
“Where are they from?” the woman asked.
“Outside,” Gordon replied. He frowned and looked away.
“You're Superiors,” Jack said. Perhaps if he could connect with them, things would not go so bad.
“And you're normal,” the tall man said, with evident distaste.
“Yeah, sorry,” Jack said. “I can't heal wounds or make people tell me the truth. No interest at all, me.” He could see between Rosemary and Gordon now, and Emily, Jenna, and Sparky were gathered together in the sunken seating area inside the room. They all looked scared. He wondered what they had been told.
“I think we'll still come inside anyway, just to check things over,” the Tall Man said. He pushed past Jack and into the hotel room.
Jack looked at the woman. She seemed to wear a permanent, cute smile. “After you,” she said.
When they were all inside the room, the woman shut the door and locked it behind them.
“I'm Puppeteer,” the tall man said.
“And I'm his beautiful assistant, Scryer.” The woman by the door performed a small curtsey, lifting an imaginary skirt hem.
“Oh, very imaginative,” Jack said.
Puppeteer glanced at him, then away again, as if dismissing Jack entirely from his consideration. He looked around the extravagant hotel suite, and then his attention rested on Jack's sister and friends. “Three more boring, unimportant people from outside, yes?”
“No, we come from—” Jenna began, but Jack stepped forward, taking the opportunity to join his friends. The air stank with danger.
“Don't bother,” he said. He pointed at Scryer. “She can make you tell the truth.”