I rolled under a table, feeling a rush of air as Lil swept past. Too close. I grabbed the table legs and pulled, yanking the table over sideways and putting a barrier between me and the ghost.
Could ghosts pass through solid things, like walls and tables? How the hell should I know? Ten minutes ago, I’d have sworn they didn’t exist.
But Lil didn’t charge at me. She flew up to the ceiling, hovering between two beams. Energy glowed around her clawed hands. She cupped her hands and made circular motions, shaping the energy into a ball. When it was the size of a softball, she hurled it at me.
I ducked under another table just in time. The fireball exploded against the tabletop, sending flames and a scalding wind blasting past me. Hot air singed my throat and lungs, and I scrunched up as small as I could to avoid the flames.
This wasn’t souring beer and tossing pots and pans around. Lil was serious.
Above me, the ghost made another fireball. She swooped toward the floor and rolled it under the table. I lifted my legs, and the fireball passed under them. It hit the back wall and erupted into heat and flames. Pain hit my back, and I smelled burning flesh. My sweater was on fire. I shot out from under the table, rolling to extinguish the flames. It felt like passing over red-hot coals as the burning fabric pressed into my back. Burns hurt like hell, and hurting makes me angry.
Another fireball streaked toward me. I changed direction and grabbed a chair by its legs, flinging it between me and the fireball. The chair shielded me, taking the brunt of the flames, so this time I didn’t catch fire.
But I was still angry.
I scrambled to my feet, then grabbed another chair and held it like a lion tamer would. When the next fireball streaked toward me, I threw the chair to meet it. Sparks shot out in every direction as the chair burst into flame.
The pub was an inferno, fires burning everywhere like a sneak preview of Hell. If I didn’t get proactive, I’d go up in flames with it.
I don’t know what ghosts are made of, but flames are flames. I dodged another fireball and ran toward the bar. In one leap, I vaulted the counter and got behind it as fire exploded across its surface. I counted to three—the time it took Lil to create a new fireball—then popped up holding the spray nozzle. A stream of seltzer intercepted the fireball that blazed toward me, hitting it dead-on. The fireball sputtered and sizzled into a clump of ashes and fell to the floor.
Lil hovered over the bar, molding energy into another ball. I squirted seltzer at it. The fireball fizzled in her hands. Some of the water sprayed Lil, sending puffs of steam from her body. The ghost screamed and batted at the wet spots. Her ectoplasm—or whatever it was—ran like blood where the seltzer hit her, and I remembered hearing somewhere that ghosts can’t cross water. Now I knew why.
The water trapped Lil against the ceiling. I gave her a good soaking, moving the stream from her head downward, across her shoulders, along her arms and torso, and down both legs all the way to her toes. Stinking steam filled the room as Lil dissolved in midair, falling like rain into a puddle on the floor. I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. The pub reeked with a gag-inducing bouquet of rotting flesh, wet ashes, and sulfur.
Seltzer might take care of ghosts, but it wasn’t going to put out a burning pub. I had to get out of here.
I grabbed a bar towel and held it over my nose and mouth. Keeping low, I felt my way out from behind the bar. As I crawled cautiously into the room, the steam was rapidly thinning. In a moment I could see that the flames had extinguished. All of them. Only the usual fire in the big fireplace still burned. The energy from Lil’s fireballs had died with her.
Mr. Cadogan would be unhappy that I’d obliterated his prize tourist attraction. Maybe it’d be some consolation that I’d stopped her from burning down the pub.
Where was Mr. Cadogan? And what about Jenkins and the farmer? I waved the towel, trying to clear the steam faster. The room didn’t feel right—still no colors. I stood in a black-and-white photo, that stuffed-with-cotton feeling pressing my ears. I was caught in Lil’s world, with no clue how to return to mine.
I inspected the puddle of melted ghost. Getting rid of Lil had extinguished the fires—would getting rid of her remains put everything back to normal? Short of finding a bucket and scrub brush, I had no idea how to clean up ghost goop. I’d just about decided to start looking for a bucket when a bubble formed in the puddle. It grew, then burst. Glub. Another bubble followed, then two more—glub, glub. Soon the puddle was boiling. A beam of light shot upward and the goo rose up in a column, higher and higher until it touched the ceiling.
I ran back behind the bar and got the sprayer ready. If Lil could rematerialize, I’d keep knocking her out with water until I’d knocked her out of existence for good.
The column took shape. It didn’t look like Lil. It didn’t look like anything that had ever been human. Not even in the eighteenth century.
The creature was over seven feet tall, with scales and a flat, horned head. Its neck was like a tree trunk, and muscles bulged in its arms, legs, and massive chest. Black bat wings sprouted and stretched out to an eight-foot span. The creature’s spiked tail thumped the floor, shuddering the room. This was no ghost. This was a demon.
Suddenly, the nozzle in my hand didn’t seem like such a great weapon.
The demon shook itself, then looked at me and roared. Fire flared behind its eyes and in its open mouth. Moving way too fast for something that big, it leapt at me.
I went for Mab’s bronze knife. It wasn’t in its sheath. Shit. I’d drawn the knife when the room went weird, then lost it when I was dodging fireballs. It could be anywhere.
The demon landed on the bar with a bone-jarring thud. Its long, forked tongue flicked out, shimmering with flames. It drew back a taloned foot and kicked me in the chest.
I flew backward, smashing into a row of bottles and landing on a heap of broken glass. Shards stabbed into my back. More glass and rivers of liquor rained down on me. The demon jumped from the bar and lifted its foot to stomp me. I grabbed its ankle and yanked, making the demon pitch forward onto its knees. I scooted past it and got to my feet. I needed to find the bronze knife. I didn’t go more than two steps before something heavy hit me in the back. I went down, twisting as I fell, so the object the demon had thrown—the cash register—didn’t land on me. Pound coins and pennies rolled around my head like planets in a crazy orbit. I managed to get to my hands and knees and scurried around the bar before the thing could try again to stomp me.
I was halfway to my feet when the demon backhanded me across the room. My head cracked against the fireplace mantel and I fell awkwardly, inches from the flames, knocking over one of the heavy andirons. I groaned and pulled the andiron out from under me. It was bronze. A blunt instrument wouldn’t kill the demon, but a bronze blunt instrument might slow it down long enough for me to find my knife.
The floor shook as the demon landed behind me. I sat up and smashed the andiron into its shin. Smoke erupted where the bronze made contact with the demon’s scales, and the creature howled and clutched its leg. I brought down the andiron as hard as I could on its other foot. The demon toppled over.
Before it hit the floor, I was on my feet, racing through the room, knocking over tables and chairs as I searched for my knife. I’d hurt the demon, but it wouldn’t be down for long. The bronze had to pierce its hide to do any real damage.
I spotted the dagger six feet away, under a table. I ran over and grabbed for it, but the demon got there first, swiping with its tail and knocking the knife out of my reach. At the touch of bronze, smoke puffed from the tail and the demon screeched. The knife skittered across the room and landed in the fire. I ran to the fireplace and tried to snatch it, burning my hand in the attempt. I couldn’t hold the hot metal. And the demon was right behind me.