“I helped him. This crazy guy in the centurion getup said I’dboundhim.” I looked up at Lady. “Like his soul to his body or something. I thought I saw . . .”
“Jack, man,” Chuey said, starting toward me, “were you really shot?”
I felt my chest—hole in my shirt but no wound. “I’m okay. But something came after me. Like a Rottweiler, but bigger and all torn up.”
Church and Lady shared a look.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why are you guys looking at each other?
What do you know?”
Church raised his hands. “Try to calm yourself, Jack.” “Seriously? I was just almost killed. Or maybe Iwaskilled!”
“Ese?” Chuey only called me that when he was angry or scared or trying to sympathize. “There’s blood on your shirt.”
Lady came over and put a hand on my arm. “You’re safe now. So slow down and tell us about Henry.”
I clasped my hands to stop them from shaking. “When I came to, he was gone. I searched his flat, but he wasn’t there . . . I found blood in the alley where he fell.”
“And this creature you saw,” said Church, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, “where is it now?”
I shook my head. “The centurion slowed it down but it still came after me. Almost got me, too, but it hit something—like an invisible wall. I felt it, too, but got through somehow. Church, what if Henry’s out there with that thing right now?”
Church jabbed a finger at his cell. “Pray God he answers.”
Even without the phone on speaker we could hear it ring. Eight times, then it went to voicemail. Church hung up.
He reached back into the booth for his leather satchel, pulled a fistful of papers out, and riffled them like a deck of cards before shoving them back in and slinging the satchel over his shoulder like a bandolier. I’d never seen a bag filled with documents look so menacing, so weapon-like. Lady dashed behind the bar and pulled out two cots, which she quickly unfolded and set against the far wall of the pub. Like Church, she slung her bag over her head, then pulled out a police-style baton and snapped it open with a flick of her wrist.
Church picked up his cane and pulled the hook handle from the length, revealing a long, shining doubled-edged blade. “Let’s go,” he said. “Henry may need our help.”
Chuey rushed into the kitchen, returned with a butcher’s cleaver and a chef ’s knife, and handed me the knife. Church and Lady started moving toward the door.
“Church!” I screamed. “Tell me what’s going on!”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jack. There’ll be time for that later. But right now, please, take us where you last saw Henry.”
Right, Henry. I hurried to the door, and we stepped out into the quiet dark of Manette Street.
“If we encounter this creature that chased Jack,” whispered Church, “guard yourselves against sudden feelings of anger and despair.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Chuey asked. “Go to our Zen place?” “Close,” Lady said. “Happy memories.”
Chuey cocked his head to the side. “You do remember where we’re from, right?”
“Easy, Chuey.” I recalled the feeling when the beast had attacked Cassius and me. “What is this thing, Church?”
“I can’t be sure,” he said, “but proximity to some Strata entities can influence the mind.”
“The centurion mentioned the Strata, too.” I flipped my knife around. “Once we find Henry, I’m going to need some answers.”
I then led them back across Charing Cross Road and onto Flitcroft Street. We passed my place and headed toward the T-section at Stacey, where I’d last seen the beast . . . and Cassius. Ten feet from the alley’s end, we bumped into that strange barrier, but there was no sign of either the creature or the centurion. Church and Lady each extended a hand and probed the barrier like mimes.
Church removed his stogie and put it in the inner pocket of his tweed jacket. “It’s receded, but feels as durable as ever.”
“Agreed,” said Lady.
I reached out and touched it. “What are we talking about?”
