You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Fifty-Four

When Rob was about five years old, the sisters had brought a fish-tank into the dorms. He still didn't know whether it was out of sympathy or some misplaced naivete, but there it was, sitting in the common area where they had their meals beneath the portrait of the Sacred Heart and the Virgin.

There had been two goldfish, one orange, the other white. The children had taken turns to feed them. One week it fell to him, but he had forgotten, and by the Thursday the goldfish were found floating upside-down in the middle of the tank.

Now, Rob felt like those goldfish. He was still there, somehow, but in the depths of himself, hidden in the recesses of his anger. Irritation swirled around him like grains of sand in water, or old pellets of fish-food, cast around two bobbing bodies with the shapes of pets.

He could barely feel his foot. The ache had receded into the background, just another one of the many things fighting for his attention.

Rob forced himself back into his immediate surroundings, pulling himself together with everything he had.

They were all standing in the prayer room now — the small multi-faith chapel for the use of airport travellers — him, Yusuke, August, Jen, Christine, and the man in the trenchcoat called Nimrod Weathercock. It was small, but the sparseness made it seem much bigger than it was. There was a table with Korans, Bibles, and a stack of Buddhist pamphlets, and nothing on the floor save cushions and gray carpet.

Management had probably thrown it together after pressure from various groups, without actually paying any attention. Then again, what did he know? He was just the baggage boy.

The fat man was sipping very slowly on a large cup of Coke, and chewing a single McNugget with the air of a disenfranchised bohemian. The other twenty had long vanished down his greasy maw, eaten with such dispassionate rapidity that they reminded Rob of vespers.

"Mr. Weathercock," said Yusuke, "this is a place of prayer. Not a restaurant."

Nimrod yawned and wiped a fleck of ketchup from his chin. He scrunched the paper bag into a ball and dropped it on the floor. Even though it was clean on the outside, the bag's mere presence felt like sacrilege.

"When I invoked the First Law of Magic," he said, "I was not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. You see, darlings, I have absolutely no incentive to observe it."

"Then why talk here and not out there?" asked Christine.

"Isn't it obvious?" smirked August.

This cheerful remark was so out-of-place that Christine and Jen both turned to stare at him. Rob followed Christine's gaze, feeling like his retinas were being dragged through a tray of sand.

"He's trying to bargain with us," said August. "That's why he's here, that's why he stole your luggage. He wanted to draw you out here, to this public place, simply because here none of you can do anything without bringing the full force of the law, the press, and airport security on your heads. Very clever, if I do say so myself."

"What?" frowned Christine.

But Jen nodded slowly.

"I think we've been had," she said. "What do you want, Nimrod Weathercock?"

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask," said the fat man. "Listen carefully, you four."

He pointed at Rob, who had the sudden urge to rip the man's fingernail right off. It wasn't like he had anything to lose anymore.

"Rob Slade has been a person of interest to us for some time," he said. "As you know, we of the Hunters Three are on a prolonged, protracted, practically elongated mission to protect humans all across the world from Otherworldly predation."