Ghost-grabber? Was he saying Necro Neil was gone? Why? Warily, I opened one eye and squinted up at Scarface. ‘What?’ I whispered.
His lipless mouth opened wide, the scar on his cheek splitting like a second pair of lips to reveal the glistening bone.
‘Up.’
Was he telling me to get up? ‘Can’t,’ I croaked, ‘you’re sitting on me.’
One dried eyeball rolled in its socket. ‘Sor ... ry,’ he rasped, and shuffled off me.
Relieved, I lifted my arm and rubbed my throat; being strangled had hurt at the time, but it didn’t appear to have left any lasting injuries to my ghostly form.
‘Up ... help.’ Scarface was crouched beside me now. A bony finger poked urgently at my shoulder. ‘Grab ... back ... soon.’
Mystified at being let go, but not enough to question it, I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. The knife was still there. I picked it up. The handle felt warm and solid, almost comforting, even if it only worked against other ghosts. I scrambled to my feet and looked around. Scarface was shuffling away into the distance, just the same way he had when I’d watched him during the ghost survey ...
And it was in the same arched tunnel—the same tunnel where all the ghosts had been gathered ... Only the place was brightly lit now, and the ghosts were gone; all that remained was the Fabergé egg, which sat in solitary splendour in the middle of a large circle marked out in red sand. Curled up next to the egg was the florist’s lad, still tied hand and foot, a fresh black eye decorating his tear-stained face.
It looked like the demon welcome mat was laid out, all ready to go.
I headed over to the circle and stopped at its edge. The boy’s chest rose and fell; he was either unconscious or asleep. I was betting on the former. I stuck out my hand, but my palm flexed against an invisible wall and when I looked down, there were flecks of green and chunks of grey dotted with rusty stains mixed in with the red sand: yew, to stop the dead from passing, and consecrated bone splashed with sanctified blood to contain the demon.
Not a circle I could pass in my ghostly form. I’d have to find some way to come back for the boy before midnight.
Who was the guest? Maybe whoever it was could help, or at least provide a distraction. I headed for the breeze-block wall at the end of the tunnel, keeping close to the side and carefully skirting round the pile of cordoned-off old bones, I eased through the open doorway and peered into the room beyond. It was the one with the wall painting of the barren landscape, where Hannah had performed her kamikaze ritual and taken over my body. There were people inside, live ones, and I ducked back, then mentally snorted at my stupidity. I was a ghost, and Necro Neil was the only one who could see me—and without his ghostly minions he couldn’t touch me, not until midnight. I crept inside, then stopped, keeping my eye out for him.
Hannah was walking towards me, sweeping the long train of a ballgown in burnt-orange and black—her Hallowe’en fetish was still showing—with her hair piled up in some sort of beehive style that sported a coronet-thing sparkling with amber and diamonds. For a second I almost didn’t recognise my body under the dress, new hairdo and make-up. At least she hadn’t managed to give me a boob job in the last few hours. When I finally dragged my eyes away from my own body, I realised who was walking with her.
Malik al-Khan.
My ghostly heart thudded: why was he looking at her with his usual impassive expression on his perfect, pretty face? Didn’t he realise that it wasn’t me in my body but Hannah? And why wasn’t he killing her? I clenched my fists. I wanted to shout at him to get on with it, but knew he couldn’t hear me. Then my heart thudded for a different reason. What if Moth-girl hadn’t woken up? What if she hadn’t managed to find him, or pass on my messages?
Damn. Plan A wasn’t working; time to find another one.
I scanned the room, but I couldn’t see Necro Neil anywhere. I looked back at Hannah, wearing my body. She had her hand tucked into Malik’s arm. They made a striking couple, her in her ballgown, him in what had to be a hand-tailored evening suit and shirt, both black, the only relief the triangle of smooth, pale skin at his throat where he’d dispensed with the bowtie.
‘Here she is.’ Hannah stopped in front of an alcove—Rosa’s alcove.
I moved forward until I was standing near enough to watch both them and the vampire lying in soulless state on her altar of stone. Candles lit the interior of the alcove, casting wavering shadows over the white shroud that covered Rosa’s body.
Malik drew back the sheet with the hand not claimed by Hannah and stared down at the grimacing, fangs-drawn vampire, his eyes as unemotional and opaque as black glass. ‘You are certain you will be able to restore her soul to her body?’ he asked.
Hannah smiled and patted his arm. ‘Of course, Malik. I told you, with the soul-bonder knife you gave me, all I need is a small spell. It takes a matter of seconds.’
Malik had givenher the knife? She hadn’t stolen it? And he knew‘I’ wasn’t me! What the hell was going on here?
‘And Joseph is correct? She has not been harmed?’ he asked, still with no change of expression.
‘There is no wound other than where her flesh was taken for the original spell.’ Hannah lifted the sheet to show the bloody circle on Rosa’s hip. ‘But that will heal once she is herself again.’ She let the fabric fall.
‘Once her soul is returned, her body will become her own again, will it not?’ He turned to her. ‘There will be no tie between her and this body you now wear.’
Anger warred with confusion and I felt the sharp edge of betrayal slice inside me.
‘None at all,’ Hannah assured him.
‘Good.’ Satisfaction flickered so quickly across his face that I though I might have imagined it. He stroked a finger along her jaw. ‘What of the sidhe’s soul? What has become of that?’
‘There’s no need to worry.’ She took his hand and cupped his palm to her cheek. ‘After tonight, her soul will be gone. Then this body and the power in its blood will be fully mine.’ She lifted her chin and pressed his palm to her throat. ‘And it will be my pleasure to share it with you, in any and every way that you desire.’
He smiled, wide enough to show a glimpse of fang. ‘Then I fear you are wearing too many clothes,’ he said softly, trailing a line down to her cleavage. ‘Shall I tear this from you, or would you prefer to remove it yourself?’
A hopeful suspicion started to edge out the anger and confusion inside me.
She laughed, a low, husky sound. ‘Soon, Malik.’ She stilled his hand. ‘Have patience; it will be better if we wait until after midnight. We will have more time then.’
‘No, I have waited long enough for this body.’ His eyes gleamed, predatory. ‘And now the prize is within my grasp, I do not wish to play second fiddle to your demon.’ He threaded his hand into her hair, tugged her head back and melded his lips to hers. She made a low moan of appreciation, her hands rising to grasp his shoulders, her body visibly shuddering. His hand tightened on the silk dress, then he ripped it down to her waist, the sound violent in the quiet alcove. He placed his palm between her breasts, over her heart, and she trembled, her fingers clutching desperately at his arms, and whimpered.
An answering shudder rippled through him.
I watched, gripping the ghost knife, as a long-ago memory surfaced and cut away the last of my confusion.
The forgotten memory told me he was killing my body, his cold kiss searing like fast-freezing ice through my veins, stealing my breath, stopping my blood from flowing and my heart from beating.
It was how he’d killed me when I was fourteen, how he’d managed to give my lifeless body back to the Autarch all those years ago ...
... while his bond with my soul had kept me from fading.
I took a breath, releasing the tension in my gut.
He wasdoing what I wanted him to.
Hannah’s body stilled. Her hands dropped away and her knees sagged until Malik’s mouth on hers and his hand on the nape of her neck and over her heart were the only things keeping her from falling. A shimmer moved under her skin, her head turned—only it wasn’t her head, but a transparent shade—and pulled away from his kiss, pushing at his shoulders, trying to break his hold.