The Jack Hansard Series: Season Two

Episode 10.3

I spluttered awake. Intense pain spiked in my stomach, radiating up through my chest. The world was loud and full of confusing colours.

I glimpsed Rupert cowering against the far wall. The rifle lay near his feet, apparently dropped or thrown by Vincent, who now writhed on the floor in a struggle with Ang. She was clever, had made it onto his back where it was hard to reach, and had both arms locked around his neck.

I tasted iron in my mouth, along with an acid sting in my throat. There was no way I could stand. But I could crawl.

The computer console wasn't far.

I dragged myself to it, leaving bloody handprints on the floor. The shouts behind me were incomprehensible, no inkling of who was winning or losing the fight. All I could hope was that this stunt would give Ang a chance to get away.

I hauled myself onto my knees. Swung my arm up. I felt around blindly until my hand encountered the protruding shape of the USB stick. I grabbed and yanked.

It clattered to the floor and wobbled in and out of my blurry vision. I shoved myself backwards against the console so I could stretch out a leg. With an awfully pained grunt, I lifted my foot and smashed the heel down on top of the stick.

The first sensation was of fresh autumn wind, the crispest breeze. It washed over me like a welcome bucket of water.

Zawba'ah's voice whispered in my ear. 'I keep my word, mortal. What is your wish?'

Think carefully. Never try to be clever with a jinn. Keep it simple, stupid.

Blood dribbled from my mouth as I said, 'Open all the locks in this building.'

The wind swirled about my head and emitted a cruel, cackling laughter.

'It is done.'

Immediately, the alarms blared again. I clutched my head, blind both from pain and disorientation. In the background, other noises quickly built on top of each other. Squawks, shrieks, and grunts. The pounding of many feet and hooves.

Ang's distraught shouts penetrated the turmoil. Her small hands covered mine. I opened my eyes to see her steely grey ones grimly examining me.

The fuzzy dark shape of Vincent clung to the wall, staring dumbly out into the hallway where creatures – precious preternatural assets, no doubt – streamed past in panic.

'Y'should go,' I slurred.

'Don't be stupid, twpsyn.' Ang wrenched off her waistcoat and pressed it hard into my wound. 'Yer comin' with me, Jack.'

I looked up. Opposite Vincent, but unseen by him, stood Death. She inclined her scythe towards me.

'Not yet,' I muttered.

Vincent was backing away. He seemed ready to dive for his gun, but whatever had spooked him now stood in the way. It clip-clopped into the room.

Ang tried to wave it away. 'Geroff, yer nasty goat!'

Solemn, slit pupils met mine. I put a hand on Ang's shoulder. 'S'aright,' I mumbled.

The unicorn regarded me with that same peculiar sense of intelligence. Perhaps it was taking the measure of me.

It trotted closer and lowered its mutilated horn to my abdomen.

'Psssh.' I was on the verge of hysterics. Not me! I wanted to shout. This isn't meant for me!

A tingling warmth spread through my torso, like a perfectly heated bubble bath. The pain seeped away, and I saw a red vein pulse along the spiral groove of the unicorn's horn. It dipped its beardy chin at me and turned away.