A heartbeat later, Kitch screamed and Bray heard his body collapse to the ground at the same time as Reuben’s. Echoes from the gunshot still resonated around the garage.
Seeing that the threat had been eliminated and the three men immobilised, Bray let out the breath he had been holding and turned to the girl. Her mouth drooped open and she was staring at him with a dazed expression, although fortunately she had had the foresight to step away from Kitch. The thug was struggling to his feet and snatching a clasp knife from his pocket.
Bray looked at the blood leaking from the man’s thigh, a dark stain spreading out through his jeans. He had missed the pelvis which was the target. With a shattered pelvic bone, he wouldn’t have risen. If he didn’t suppress his emotions, Bray would be cursing himself.
“Stay back, you freak,” stuttered Kitch, brandishing the clasp knife with a shaky hand.
Bray saw fear in the injured man’s eyes. He took a step towards him, reaching for the smuggler’s pouch.
Both girl and thug watched in disbelief as he appeared to draw a sword out of thin air. He put the point against Kitch’s neck and twisted it, as if inspecting its razor-sharp edge. A sudden smell of urine hit his nostrils. Kitch had emptied his bladder.
Bray raised an eyebrow as another dark stain spread down the man’s leg. Bullies always made the weakest victims.
He was about to flick his blade down, severing the hand that held the knife and finish by driving the hilt of the sword into the man’s face, but the girl slipped behind and struck the back of her attacker’s head with a crowbar. The man sank to the floor, the girl watching wide-eyed as he went, hands trembling as they gripped the weapon. She looked to him, as if unsure of what to do next.
The buzzing of a phone broke the silence. Bray returned his sword to the smuggler’s pouch, walked back to Reuben and retrieved the phone from his inside pocket. He put it to his ear and pressed the answer button.
“Reuben?” came a dry voice. “Are you there? Have you still got the girl? Reuben!”
Enraged, the voice changed from human-sounding to the typical insect-like clicking of a takwich. The clicking went on for several seconds until the owner of the voice regained control. There was a pause, then the human voice resumed.
“Shadojak. Leave the girl be, do not harm her. Leave her there and be gone by the time we arrive and I’ll forget this happened.”
“And what’s the girl to a takwich? Why’s she so important?”
“Do as I say, or I’ll tear this city to shreds. Then we’ll see who does the balancing.”
There was a moment’s silence before Bray spoke. “You will be judged.” There was another furious burst of clicking, then the creature hung up.
It was clear to Bray that the takwich wanted this girl for something more than just possession. What her importance was, who could say? He dropped the phone onto Reuben’s body and turned back to the girl. She was staring down at Kitch and looking horrified at what she had done.
“It’s alright,” he told her. “You didn’t kill him.”
Elora unlocked her fingers and let the metal bar fall. It clanged as it struck the concrete floor, the ringing nose echoing around the workshop. Relief flooded over her. She hated these men, but she had no desire to kill them.
“How did you do that? Are you Shadojak?” she asked.
“The Shadojak. It’s a title, not a name. And no. I’m his Shaigun. My name’s Bray.”
Suddenly, the London accent seemed to have vanished. In its place was the curious, faintly foreign-sounding voice she recognised from earlier. This was the man she had spoken to in the phone box.
“What’s a Shaigun?”
“An apprentice.” He seemed keen to change the subject. “Why do they want you?”
“I don’t know. But they’ve got my uncle. I need your help, or Shadojak’s, or the Shadojak’s or whatever. Please.”
He regarded her for a moment, then reaching fingers to his jaw, pulled his face off.
“What the...?”
“Latex,” he explained, holding the mask in his hand.
Elora’s shock quickly gave way to curiosity. The face under it was smooth and without blemish. He had a strong jawline and cleft chin and the most dazzling green eyes. She guessed they had probably melted the hearts of many girls.
Approaching sirens in the distance brought her back to earth with a jolt.
“It’s him, Silk. He’s got people on the police force,” she said hurriedly, feeling the familiar fear return. “We need to get out of here.”
Calmly, Bray slipped the boiler suit off his shoulders and tied the arms of it around his waist. He wore a plain black T-shirt that clung to his wide shoulders and thin waist, showing that he wasn’t at all as skinny as she first thought.
“I want answers. This Silk is a takwich and he wants you badly, but all I can see is a little girl with odd eyes. Maybe my best course of action is to leave you here,” he said, those green eyes drilling into hers.
“But I came to you for help. Isn’t that what the Shadojak’s supposed to do? Help those in need?”
“No, you’re confusing him with the Samaritans. The Shadojak doesn’t help, he judges and restores the balance.” His voice was deep and full of authority and lacked the tiniest bit of compassion.
Elora felt her face flush.
“Well, can you at least take me to him? I’ve nobody else to turn to. Maybe he can rebalance this takwich.”
“Silk will be judged, there’s no doubt about that. Earth is no place for his kind. But be under no illusions, Elora. The Shadojak will also judge you. You’re no more Earth-born than I am.”
By now the sound of sirens was coming from directly outside. At least two cars had skidded to a halt although Elora couldn’t see them as the roller door was down, Reuben’s body still slumped against it.
“I’ll take the risk. Please.”
There was a deafening rattling sound as somebody attempted to force the door.
