The Claws of Evil - By Andrew Beasley Page 0,32

Molly.

Lucy brought up the rear while Molly meekly followed the Weeping Man back across the rooftop, studying where he put his feet and matching his every step across the tiles. Lucy could see Molly’s six-year-old legs almost running in order to keep up with his purposeful strides. She knew that Molly was still learning, but speed was of the essence. It was a busy life being a Watcher, Lucy knew full well. There were plenty of cries for help in a city like London.

“Are you ready?” Josiah asked Molly as they neared the edge of the roof. Molly nodded vigorously. Lucy knew what was coming next; it was the most exhilarating and the most terrifying feeling in the world.

Josiah scooped Molly up and tucked her under one arm, as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. Then the big man took half a dozen steps backwards across the flat roof of the London Hospital, adjusted his balance to account for the small girl he was carrying, and then ran, full pelt, towards the edge and the drop beyond.

Molly clung on with all her might, her tiny knuckles white, but Lucy knew that Josiah would never drop her. Or, at least, he hadn’t dropped anyone before, as far as she knew. It was too late to say anything now though, because they were already in the air.

Lucy wished that she was on the ground at that moment, but only so that she could look up and see them making the jump from one rooftop to another. It was as if they were flying. Josiah’s strong legs ran on nothing, his sure feet landing them safely on the other side. Lucy had lost count of the number of times she had seen Josiah jump, but the thrill had not diminished. If anything it was growing stronger.

Mostly the Watchers crossed the gap between buildings using extendable ladders, or death slides, or sometimes even pole vaults. But the most skilled boys had the gift, and Josiah was the most gifted of them all. Josiah made it look easy. He could leap and bound across rooftops and make seemingly impossible jumps with the grace of a mountain lion.

Sometimes Josiah reminded Lucy of her father. Not so much in the way that he looked – but in the way that he made you feel: safe. Protected. The boys said that the Watchers were an army, but really it was more like a big family, made up of children like her; the ones who had nothing in this world except each other. Boys and girls who tried to be brave, but were bruised inside or out.

Lucy watched as Molly and Josiah landed on the far side with a scrunch. And then she followed. With a small run-up, she threw herself into the arms of the air, trusting to experience that her momentum would carry her in an arc onto the lower roof on the other side of the road. The wind lifted her golden hair around her head and she could feel the smile splitting her face in two. It wasn’t just the Watcher boys that could jump.

Lucy landed like a cat, her legs bent low, one hand touching the roof tiles for balance. Then Molly reached for Josiah’s hand and all three of them ran on across the rooftops together.

“I know the Watchers,” Carter said. “Or more properly I should say I know of them. They are a...society, let’s call them that, and my path and theirs have intersected a number of times in the past.” He smiled grimly. “I know for a fact that they are established right across the Middle East,” he continued. “I have had dealings with them in Jerusalem and Cairo with varying degrees of success.” He said this with a sideways glance at the claw where his hand used to be. “I have reason to believe that there are smaller units operating right across the East.” He began to list exotic names from his travels, while Ben sat enthralled. “In Carpathia; Transylvania; Constantinople, I’m certain of; Moscow too probably, although I have no firm evidence of such. I even heard a rumour that there was a Watcher cell in Paris for a brief while, although I never did discover what they were doing there.”

“But who are they?”

Carter took his time before replying, tapping the tip of his claw against his desk, not caring about the scars it left in the leather inlay.

“Who they are, I can’t answer you,”