Sighing, Alex turned to watch Harry’s office. Minutes hobbled past. He pulled out his phone. He’d had it switched off, a lesson learned during his last trip to Paris. Two messages were waiting, but he typed a note to his mum first:

In Paris safe and sound. Helping Grandad get stuff ready for Harry’s surprise birthday. Loads to do! Be in touch soon. Love you. Say hi to Carl.

He sent it, scanned the street in both directions for the hundredth time, then checked his messages. Something from David that morning:

You OK after the weird biz? Meant to show you how to do that math stuff. Do it Monday. Guess who asked me for your new number? Sort of had to give him it. Ouch.

Then one from Kenzie. Alex frowned. Kenzie used to send him regular greetings along the lines of you’re going to get your face smashed in, but that had all stopped. He read the message:

Don’t.

Just that. Sent only six minutes ago. Alex stared at the solitary word. Kenzie must have sent it before he’d finished typing. Alex dismissed it, put the phone away, and sat trying to mentally pace out each step of his grandfather’s journey. Around the building. Up the wall. Open the window. He must be up there by now.

Alex looked back to Harry’s office. Nothing. The dark windows seemed charged with menace. A surge of dread washed over him at the thought of his grandfather up there alone. They already had Harry.

It had been too long. He had to go up. He tried to compose a plan, but his mind felt stuffy and thick. He decided cool air might help and, after checking the street again, stepped out of the car, lifting his face to the rain. A metallic creak chilled his blood.

One of Harry’s windows had been pushed completely open.

Alex dropped into a crouch beside the car.

Something was crawling out. Someone, in fact, Alex saw, as with stiff, awkward movements, the shadowy shape straightened to stand on the ledge along the building.

A tall man in a long black coat, collar pulled high, black hat tugged low.

Alex stared, frozen, helplessly fascinated. The figure up there seemed taller than he remembered, even larger than the ghost that jumped through his dreams.

Dad.

The word swelled violently in his chest without warning. Conflicting impulses were suddenly pulling him in opposite directions. With a wild lurch of resolve, Alex decided to stand and call out, make his presence known and let whatever would happen just happen.

Then came a noise that killed that notion and rooted him where he knelt. It started low, a bubbling staccato, like treacle coming to the boil, then built to a high, keening howl. The crazed, curdling sound curled horribly around Alex’s spine.

The tall man was laughing.