Kill Baxter (29 page)

‘Ah yes,’ she says in a bored voice. ‘I did like that grey fish. Find out if it’s still alive and how much money I’ll need to donate in order to eat it.’ Her assistant nods once and writes something down in his notebook.

‘Now, hand me my book of muses!’

He quickly passes her a fat black file. ‘Boring,’ she says, flicking through the pages. She holds up a picture of a blond-haired male stripper with, by my count, twenty-four-pack abs. ‘It’s like masculinity has given up on complexity and has decided rather to produce giant penises. And do you know what the ugliest thing on the planet is?’

‘A giant penis,’ her assistant says dutifully.

‘Correct.’ She sighs, thumps the file down on the table, and then turns her head. Her eyes fix on me and widen. ‘That!’ She points a bubble-gum-blue fingernail at me. ‘I want that!’ She leaps up and comes to stand in front of me. ‘Such conflict on his face.’ She strokes my chin tenderly. ‘So flawed. It’s like his soul has been chewed on by hyenas. I love it!’

‘Um,’ I say. ‘I’m not a model.’

‘Oh, everyone is constantly on display,’ she says, as if she’s revealing the secrets of the universe to me. ‘We just don’t all know it. Yes, you’ll be my muse. My boy wonder. You’ll ignite the passion in my loins and get the juices flowing.’

‘I’m not sure I can …’ I say, looking past her to where Meptu is wrapping up the panel discussion.

‘Of course you can,’ she says, chopping her right hand on to her left palm in a gesture of finality. ‘That’s done, then.’

Meptu and two of her Skinsects sweep through the crowd and out of the bar.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, leaping up. ‘I’ve got to go.’

I follow Meptu at a distance, sliding in and out of the crowd and staying out of her line of vision. She strolls through into an area cordoned off by a velvet rope and manned by a huge bouncer, and gets into an elevator. I try to follow, but the bouncer stops me at the rope.

‘VIPs only,’ he says with a smirk.

Shit.

‘Found Meptu,’ I whisper into my cuff. ‘But she’s in a VIP area.’

‘Stay there,’ Ronin says into my earpiece. ‘I’m on my way.’

‘Darling.’ The grey-haired woman from the bar takes me by the arm and brushes past the bouncer. ‘Let’s get wasted.’

Her assistant scuttles after us and the three of us get into the elevator. The woman presses the button for the top floor.

‘Thanks for getting me in,’ I say. ‘Um, who are you?’

‘I’m Mermi Brock,’ she says, extending her hand. ‘Head designer for Imbramani.’

I shake it. It’s cool and soft.

The elevator reaches the roof and we step out into an opulent rooftop party complete with ice sculptures, an infinity edge pool, fire dancers, and a white Bedouin tent stacked with cushions, hookah pipes and buckets of champagne on ice.

Mermi breezes into the party and immediately a pack of photographers surround her.

‘This is my new muse,’ she declares, and puts her arm through mine. A thousand camera flashes explode in my face. ‘He is the artistic inspiration for my new collection,’ she continues.

A guy in a lime-green corduroy suit pushes a dictaphone into my face. ‘David X, from the street style blog Fashionistaologist,’ he says. ‘Your personal style is clearly influenced by teenage ennui, but who or what would
you
say your biggest inspirations are?’

I don’t easily get flustered, but the lights are flashing in my eyes and making my head throb.

‘Um,’ I mumble.

Mermi leans in close and I can feel her breath on my neck. ‘Darling, it’s easy. Just make something up.’

‘Padlocks,’ I blurt. There’s a murmur of appreciation from the crowd. My mind is whirling and I just begin to free-associate. ‘DVD piracy,’ I continue. ‘Poppy seed muffins, the US gun control debate, that small piece of fingernail that always hurts to pull off, objectophiles, pigeon feathers and dial-up modems.’

The crowd breaks out in spontaneous applause and the crush forward is immense. Bloggers strain to hold their iPhones right in my face. Mermi drapes an arm around my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek. ‘You’ve just started a new trend,’ she whispers.

She leads me over to the Bedouin tent and pushes a glass of champagne into my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I see Meptu talking to a group of people. She takes a phone call, nods, and then heads towards an emergency exit.

‘Just need the bathroom,’ I say to Mermi, downing my glass of champagne.

She winks. ‘Let me come with you to see if there’s anything I can help you with.’

‘No. It’s OK,’ I say, breaking into a run for the exit.

I push open the doors and look directly into the face of a goblin before he hits me in the solar plexus and drags a bag over my head.

I’M HANGING FROM
chains that have been attached to ceiling bars in an upmarket private gym. Through the windows I can see the convention centre, leading me to believe that I’m being held in the centre’s hotel complex. My headpiece, microphone and weapons are hanging from a bicep curl machine in the corner.

I am suddenly filled with the most terrible feeling of anxiety, and oddly enough it’s not because I’ve been captured by goblins. I’m thinking about Kyle and Esmé.

‘What’s up, boy wonder? Why the long face?’

I look up to see that Mermi has been chained to a shoulder press machine. The look on her face seems to say that she meant to be kidnapped and beaten by goblins but will only tolerate it as long as she finds it amusing.

‘I’m chained and bloody,’ I blurt out.

‘Darling, it’s not a party until SOMEONE is chained and bloody,’ she says. ‘But that sadness is not just about getting beaten up, am I right?’

So I tell her about it. I tell her about Kyle and Esmé and how I can’t hang on to my friends or my girlfriend. ‘I’m trying to be a better person,’ I say.

‘Oh darling. Vanity is my favourite of all the vices. You’re trying to be good, which is admirable, but you’re become so invested in this image of yourself as a good person that you’re ignoring common sense. That’s just vain. Fashion is about liberation. Fashion is not about trying to be who you are, darling; it’s about trying to be who you’re not. Is there anything more liberating than that?’

‘I’ve really fucked this all up, haven’t I?’

‘Quite, darling, quite. But how about we get out of this little predicament and then we can have our nails done and chat about it?’

She gives me a sly look, then vaults up on to her chains like a gymnast and uses her feet to manipulate the manacles until they pop free of her hands. She drops lithely down on to the ground and raises her arms like she’s waiting for her final scores.

‘Bravo,’ I croak, and she gives a smile.

‘You’re not a fashion designer are you?’ I say as she helps me out of my chains.

‘Of course I am.’ She pats my cheek. ‘I just happen to have another job as well.’

I grab my earpiece and mike and call Ronin.

‘Bloody hell, sparky,’ he says. ‘Where are you? Shit has kicked off here.’ I can hear gunfire in the background.

‘I’m OK. We’re somewhere in the hotel, not sure where.’

‘Goblins,’ Ronin says. ‘The whole upstairs is swarming with them. Something big is going down here, Bax. The Witch got back the lab report on that pill I took from the Obayifo.’

‘Ecstasy?’ I ask.

‘About as far from it as is possible.’

I hear the popping of more gunfire in the background and Ronin breathing hard as he runs.

‘Turns out it’s an alchemical substance that makes you more susceptible to the egregore. I think he’s been dosing people here with it. Are you feeling OK? Anything weird happening in your brain?’

‘No more than usual,’ I say. I can feel the egregore thudding against my head. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, I’m OK. Think I ate too much at the buffet, though.’

‘Tell him to meet us at Room 454 in the hotel,’ Mermi whispers into my ear. ‘That’s my suite.’

I relay the message.

‘Perfect,’ Ronin says. ‘I can get there in about ten minutes. Be careful, sparky.’

Mermi puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘You mind if I borrow one of your weapons, boy wonder?’

‘Uh, OK,’ I say.

Mermi grabs the short sword from its sheath and slashes the air with it. ‘Interesting blade,’ she says. She nods to Legba. ‘How are your combat skills?’

I drag the gun from its holster. ‘Just shoot something until it stops moving, right?’

‘Quite, darling, I’m glad they’re teaching you something at Hexpoort.’

‘How’d you …’

‘Wait until we get to my room. I’ll tell you everything I know, I promise.’

We make our way to the foyer of the hotel, where all semblance of order and respectability has been abandoned. Fashion Week has been unexpectedly cancelled in favour of a vicious bout of supernatural terrorism. Heavily armed goblins in balaclavas stalk the hotel. Terrified people huddle together in groups, some of them nursing bloody wounds, and try to figure out exactly how their glamorous night of high fashion turned into this. A thick sense of rage and terror hangs over the area like a giant swirling storm cloud.

‘It’s growing,’ Mermi says with a grim look.

‘You can feel it?’

‘Of course. THAT is what this whole thing is about.’

We huddle against a wall and Mermi puts an arm around me as if she’s comforting me.

‘Shit,’ I whisper. ‘How are we going to get to your room?’

‘Subterfuge and then a little stabbing,’ Mermi says. ‘Hold still.’ She wraps her arm around my neck and puts the sword against my throat.

‘Whoa,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure if this is the best …’

She pulls me to my feet, the blade very close to the important veins in my neck, and marches me across to a goblin at the end of the corridor.

‘I’ve got one of them,’ she says. ‘The boss is going to want to see him.’

The goblin looks confused, which is a particularly ugly expression for a goblin. ‘One of …?’ he grunts.

‘One of them.’ Mermi gives an exasperated sigh. ‘THEM.’

The goblin understands that he’s supposed to know who THEM refers to. But although he’s racking his brain, he clearly can’t quite get to a suitable answer. He reaches for a two-way radio at his belt. ‘Let me call the boss.’

Mermi throws up her hands. ‘Give it to me. I’ll speak to the boss.’

The goblin passes her the radio and Mermi flashes him a winning smile. And then jabs the short sword through his eye. He drops to his knees with a stunned gurgle and looks up at her, suddenly understanding what this was all about. Mermi nods and drives the sword further into his head with the palm of her hand. As the goblin slumps, she grabs his assault rifle, slings it over her shoulder and then retrieves the sword from the goblin’s skull, kicks open the door, and drags me through it.

Glass explodes around us. The other goblins clearly didn’t miss the whole stabbing-in-the-face of one of their comrades. Mermi turns as she runs and strafes the auditorium with a line of automatic gunfire. I cover my head with my hands as we hurtle towards the elevators. A goblin up ahead brings his gun to bear on me and Legba jolts in my hands as I put a bullet through his shoulder.

The goblin roars, crosses the distance between us in one giant leap, grabs me around the waist and slams me into the hotel’s soft carpet. The impact knocks the wind from me and Legba skitters out of my hand.

The Boer’s training kicks in like a generator sputtering to life in a blackout. I wrap my legs around the goblin’s waist to stop him from getting up, and jam my fingers into his eyes. His eyeballs are all gooey, like putty, and I have to force myself not to recoil from the sheer ewww factor. I drive my thumbs in deep and dig around as if I’m searching for lint in a navel. Fuck, this is disgusting.

Unfortunately, even blinded the motherfucker doesn’t know when to quit. I’m right underneath him so he doesn’t need to see much in order to pound the living snot out of me, which he proceeds to do.

I cover up with my elbows and weather the barrage of goblin fists as best I can before twisting him around so that we’re both on our sides. I scramble away from him and stand up, which kinda foils his whole killing-me schtick, because now he has absolutely no idea where I am. I snap the baton out of the harness around my chest, flick it open with a click and sweep the legs out from under him. He lands on his knees. I spin the baton around in my hands and take a running baseball swing at his head. That does the job.

Mermi is busy firing up at goblins on the first floor of the conference centre. Bullets whine around us and she jerks her head to the elevator. ‘Let’s get inside.’

She lays down a line of cover fire and we scuttle backwards through the foyer. The concierge has been decapitated and is lying in a pool of blood on the marble floor. The foyer has more chandeliers than is practical, and I can’t tell if several of the paintings have been splattered with blood or whether they’re just that ugly.

Mermi hands me a gun she stripped from the corpse of a goblin and we wait for the elevator. It pings and we step inside. One. Two. It stops at three, the doors open, and we empty our clips into a couple of goblins, who look surprised as they are aerated by bullets.

We reload. Four. Mermi pokes her head around the corner and gestures for me to follow her. We lope down the hallway and reach Room 454. She slides her card through the lock and barrels inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

The hotel room is chic – lots of glass and steel. The bed is all taut white linen and there are enough paintings of abstract shapes on the walls to teach a primary school geometry class. I slump down on the bed and Mermi throws me a water from the minibar.

‘So what the hell is going on?’ I say, lying back and prodding at my body to see if anything is broken. ‘Who are you?’

She turns to me. ‘Agent Mermi of the Bone Kraal. Pleasure to meet you, Apprentice Zevcenko.’

‘You’re part of the Bone Kraal?’ I say, sitting up.

She smiles and holds up a hand. ‘Guilty.’

My hand is on the handle of my gun. Mermi looks at me and gives me an angelic smile, the assault rifle hanging in her hand. ‘You think you could draw before I could, apprentice?’