All Chapters of The Master's Child: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

MichaelAndres is a sizable figure, hulking and well-muscled, with the easy movement that suggests he knows how to use the muscle.I make another move to reach the woman, but he blocks me, fists raised, knuckling white."Come on," I say. "You can't get away. I don't have to catch you. Just to stop you going anywhere until the cops turn up."His eyes dart to the woman, "Julia?""Get him, you idiot!" she hisses. "D'you want to still be here when the police arrive?"He nods, sniffs and straightens up. "I'll handle this one. You get away." Then he squares up to me again. "You heard the lady."In the background, behind the sunglasses, Julia smiles. Arms folded, she stands, watching, one foot tapping...Then... as Andres makes a move... jabbing forward with a fist... she darts off to one side... Ignoring him, I lunge after her, arms outstretched for a grab, but she's quick on her feet and I only have a handful of empty air for my trouble. Andres comes up from behind, seizi

JamesCharlotte's with Beth and Richard in the lounge. I don't want her to see me like this. And with Georgie sleeping upstairs, it's awkward. I don't know what to say to her.So I don't try. Instead, I head for the kitchen where I can be alone. Splashing water over my face, I try to pretend that it's the soap making my eyes sting. Then I sit at the table, nursing a whiskey. Georgie...Stannis standing over her, unbuckling his belt... Sneering... Enjoying her fear... Her tears..."Oh, God... No... Please... You want money? My father... He's rich. He'll pay..."Of course I'd have fucking paid...My mind is churning. My gut clenching. I knock back the whiskey but I'm not truly enjoying it. My throat burns but there's no heat inside me.Still... Sliding the bottle across the table, I pour another inch into the tumbler.The door from the back whines open, admitting a cold draught, Michael and Klempner. Both look a little wary as they see me there.Klempner hovers,

It's an old house, not too far from what's left of Finchby's old premises. It rises above me: a gable-end property of a block of maybe a dozen tall, terraced townhouses; four forlorn storeys plus attic of brown-brick memorial to a lifestyle that's passed on. No-one wants them now, certainly not here, in this area.God knows there's enough of these old places, here around the tired end of the City. Some are converted into cheap apartments, but most stand empty, long unloved, often derelict, sometimes downright dangerous.And if I'm not mistaken, these are marked by James and Haswell for demolition in plans they brought forward after the debacle with Finchby.Many in the block, this one included, are bricked up, I assume against squatters. Their windows blind, concrete blocks are cemented into the stone mullions. The front door too is blocked up, now just a canvas for spray paint and graffiti. I didn't pop a sledgehammer or angle grinder in my pocket as I left, so I'll not be en

Without meaning to, I turn my head aside, blinking away the burn on my retina. Lights glare out of the darkness, a line of four spots, like a cheap remake of Close Encounters, although I suspect the occupants of the glare are more like the bad guys from Alien.Play the game..."Baxter?"The darkness shifts and there's that sound again...And this time, I get it.A giggle...Hardly a sound Baxter would make.A female sound...I've never cared for giggling women, but that's just me. Always before, it's been simple irritation on my part. This sound sets the hairs prickling up my neck and my pulse yammering...... and it occurs to me that the Bad Guy in Alien was in fact, a Bad Gal... a Queen...It's a mad sound. An insane sound. It's the sound heard in every children's fairy tale since Hansel and Gretel pushed the witch into that oven. It's a sound that monsters make.Moving slowly, sucking some saliva back into my mouth, I reach for my Glock. Perhaps I'll have somet

KlempnerMy phone...Quickly, I power down, remove the SIM, snap it in two, then four, and drop plastic-and-metal shards in my pocket. Julia's hammer serves a useful purpose smashing the phone itself, but that's hardly enough.A quick search of the kitchenette produces a roll of aluminium foil. Several layers wrapped around produce an effective Faraday cage and make the phone effectively invisible.And now, I need to hole up for a few days. Get out of sight. And... I need to make a call.A cheap hotel. Somewhere inconspicuous. Somewhere with internet. Somewhere they don't pay the staff too much.Out on the street, a morning north-easterly whistles around me, nipping at face and fingers. My stomach growls and belatedly, I realise I'm hungry.The aroma of the food of the gods wafts by and I follow my nose to a street-vendor. Swathed in layers of woollens and with a scarf pulled over his face to the nose, he could come from some Dickensian image of London. But his stall cons