the way one of them had wanted it, at least ...
Harry shook himself again. His numb mind cleared, and he heard ... police sirens? Of course, and they'd be here in just a few minutes.
Harry, are you okay? (It was Trevor Jordan, but faint now that the pressure was off).
Yes, Harry answered. Are you out of it?
Well out of it, Jordan answered, with a mental sigh.
See you later, Harry told him, nodding.
But right now ... there was something he had to do, had to know.
He had seen the girl outside the garage. Then he'd seen her inside (but couldn't be sure), when she'd saved his life.
And he'd seen her a third time, in Jakes's dead mind, so that finally he was sure! Now he wanted to see her again, find out who she was, why she was here. Jakes had pictured her at the far end of the basement. To the Necroscope's knowledge there was no exit down there, and he knew that the maintenance yard doors on this level were locked. She had got in through those doors but couldn't get out that way. Which left only one escape route. She had to come this way. And she did.
She came panting, alert, aware of the growing clamour of the sirens. But Harry was waiting for her well inside the garage, at the landing where the down-ramp met the ground floor. She came up the ramp at the run, still carrying her
'shopping bag.' The Necroscope knew what was in it: her crossbow. She'd shot two bolts to deadly effect and was probably out of ammunition, else she'd be holding the weapon. But he stil had the Browning. And he'd found the main switch for the lights, set back in a recess in the wall at the top of the ramp.
As the girl drew level he threw the switch, stepped into view. She gave a small cry of surprise, skidded to a halt and blinked in the suddenly bright light. 'Who ...? What...?'
'Don't be scared,' Harry told her. 'It's all over. I just wanted to thank you - for my life.'
'Oh, it's you,' she said, and breathed her relief. 'I... didn't know which one of you to shoot! I was ... just lucky, I suppose.' her dialect was a distinctive, husky, even sexy Edinburghian brogue that Harry vaguely recalled and recognized from early childhood days in Scotland, and from later visits.
'Me too,' he grinned, however wryly. 'Very lucky!' And for the first time he felt the stiffness of his drying blood sticking his torn trousers to his legs.
'But the one in the stocking-mask,' she continued, 'well, he looked the most likely target.' She licked her lips nervously and glanced this way and that, obviously seeking a way out. She had seen the gun in his hand.
'And the man in the van?' Harry was intent now, staring at her. 'The passenger? I mean, why didn't you shoot the driver?' It would have made no difference but he wanted to know anyway.
Her eyes went this way and that. 'I ... I saw what looked like a big dog or wolf, sitting in the van, but it was a man in a mask.
He attacked the driver, tore at him. And I... I - '
' - you fired at the one who looked the most dangerous,' Harry nodded. 'So ... were you hunting them, or what?' He stepped closer to her but she didn't shrink away. Out in the night the sound of the sirens had grown very loud, and he could feel the girl's urgency radiating from her.
'Just one o' them,' she replied, her brogue thickening as her anxiety increased. And now she moved closer to Harry. 'Are ye the police?' The way she said police it sounded like 'polis.'
'No,' the Necroscope shook his head, and at the same time made up his mind about something. This girl should answer questions - to the law if not to him - but she had saved his life after all. 'I was hunting them, too.'
'Well, and we got them, did we no? But now, I've to go . . .' She made to brush by him, and cars skidded to a screeching halt immediately outside the garage, where orange flames lit up the night and black smoke roiled for the moon.
Tell me one thing and I'll help you,' he gripped her arm, and she looked at his hand where he held her. 'I promise, I'll get you out of this.'
'Better make it fast, then,' she gasped,