Taken

I woke up the next morning starving and light-headed. Obviously the effects of Anne’s spell hadn’t worn off. I had to eat everything in my flat and make a trip to the supermarket for a second breakfast before I was feeling human again.

Sonder rang just as I was finishing up. “Hey,” I said into my phone, carrying the plates to the sink.

“Alex?” Sonder said. “Those men who were after you and Anne? I found them.”

*  *  *

The block of flats was in Stoke Newington, not close to where the attack had happened but not all that far either. It was a border area between a run-down council estate and a nicer street of semidetached houses; the sort of area you’d find students, immigrants, and anyone who wanted a place with more-or-less affordable rent and not too high a crime rate. The flats were dark brick, spread wide, and three storeys high, and they were quiet. It was late morning and most of the people living here would be at work or school.

The weather had clouded over and a chill wind was gusting down the street. I ducked into a doorway next to Sonder, taking what meagre shelter we could from the cold. “Which flat?”

“Second floor, number three twenty-nine,” Sonder said. He was shivering.

I concentrated and path-walked, watching my future self cross the street, make my way into the flats, and navigate to the door. I kicked the door down . . . and the future dissolved into a chaos of combat and gunfire. I pulled back, the future fading away instantly. “It’s them.”

“I told you.”

“How did you find them?”

“How do you think? I followed the route here.”

“Were they in a car?”

“Yes.”

“And you traced them on foot—”

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing it took a long time.”

“Yes.”

“All right,” I said. “Thanks. I know it wasn’t an easy job.”

“I’m freezing,” Sonder said. He was still shivering. “What are you going to do?”

I studied the block of flats. “I’m going to go in and have a chat.”

“Then I’m coming too.”

“Sonder—”

“You always try to leave me behind,” Sonder said. “I’ve been doing this for five hours. I’m not turning around and going home.”

I hesitated. It’s not that Sonder’s incompetent. Several times he’s managed to accomplish things on his own that I think are pretty impressive. Just because he doesn’t specialise in combat doesn’t mean that he can’t look after himself; he can react surprisingly fast and he knows some uses of time magic that are very useful in a tight spot. I’d rather have him at my side than most mages twice his age.

The problem is that Sonder is basically nice. He doesn’t fight except in self-defence and he avoids hurting people whenever he can. I on the other hand am not nice. The reason there were two people in the flat ahead of us rather than three was because I’d stabbed the third one to death. And if necessary I was quite willing to do the same to the other two. Sonder would never think of doing something like that. I’ve never been sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I knew the difference in approach was likely to cause trouble.

But Sonder had earned the right to come along, and I could use the backup. “You don’t come into the flat until I tell you it’s clear,” I said. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

We crossed the street, cold wind whipping our clothes. A fine drizzle had started to fall, chilling my skin and damping my hair. The entrance to the flats was sealed with a security door; I studied the panel for a second and pressed the button for a first-floor flat. We waited for a second and the speaker buzzed. “Hello?” a female voice asked.

“Delivery for flat seventeen?” I said.

“Delivery?” the voice said doubtfully. “I thought they said tomorrow . . . Just a second . . .” The door beeped as the unlock light came on and we ducked inside.

“Why didn’t she ask why you weren’t using the tradesman’s bell?” Sonder asked as we started up the stairs.

“No idea.”

The stairwell was concrete, and cold. We were on the first-floor landing when something pinged on my precognition. I stopped, Sonder doing the same, and in the silence I heard footsteps descending above us.

I moved quickly to the doors, pulling Sonder through them and letting them swing closed behind me. Sonder started to ask a question and I raised a hand for silence. The door had a small wired-glass window and I watched through it.

The echoing footsteps kept coming, muffled through the wood and concrete, and then through the window I saw a man descend into view wearing the uniform of a London policeman. Black vest, webbing belt, conical hat. He crossed the landing, his hand twisted oddly on the banister and his back to us, and disappeared from view without showing us his face. His footsteps faded away.

I waited a minute, then pushed the door open an inch. There was no sound from below. “What was he doing here?” Sonder asked uneasily.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you think he was here to see those guys?”

“Maybe,” I said. Something about what we’d just seen was nagging at me. One lone policeman . . . “Sonder? Don’t police usually go in pairs?”

Sonder sounded doubtful. “I’m not sure.”