‘No.’
‘Well then, I shall take them all.’
‘W—ait a b—leedin’ minute ’ere,’ stuttered Moth-girl, stumbling to her feet, her dress fluttering like frightened wings. ‘If she ain’t gonna choose, then I get to. You c’n take me.’
‘Shut up, Moth—Sharon,’ I snapped.
‘No, I knows ’ow this works,’ she hissed. ‘If I’m willin’ to sacrifice, then he don’t get t’take any of ’em ovvers. Only fing is—’ Her voice cracked and she stopped for a moment, then went on, ‘You’ve gotta promise to look after my Daryl—’e’s smart enuff, but ’e’s a bit soft, see.’
‘All terribly commendable, I must say.’ The Earl gave her an amused, patronising smile. He leaned down to her and whispered, ‘So you’re willing to spend eternity suffering in the fiery pits of Hell to save your friends, are you?’
She gulped. ‘It ain’t a real pit, is it?’ she whispered back. ‘Me Gran allays said as ’ow it’s jus’ the vicar’s make-believe so’s we’d be good.’
‘Hell is what you make it,’ he said solemnly, then as he straightened, he chuckled. ‘Or maybe Hell is what Imake it. But unfortunately, my dear’—he touched her forehead with his finger—‘your basic information is wrong. You see, the willing sacrifice only works when you are dealing with gods, and I, luckily, am not a god, but a demon, and that whole righteous, holier-than-thou martyrdom that the willing have just takes all the profit out of the job. And thus that particular rule does not apply to me.’
‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ Moth-girl cried, ‘so what’s the point in ’er choosin’?’
‘Trick or treat, Sharon,’ I murmured, bending down to pick up the ghost knife, then walking slowly to stand next to my body, still going over the flimsy plan in my head. Nerves twisted in my stomach; I kept expecting him to stop me—then I decided he was probably arrogant enough to let me try whatever it was I was going to do, since I couldn’t possibly win against him.
I really hoped he was wrong.
‘He wants me to think that I can save the rest by choosing just one,’ I carried on. ‘That’s the treat—but the trick is: it’s actually the other way round. Only the one I choose will live, so long as I do what he wants, of course. Isn’t that right, demon?’
‘It appears the joke is against me, my dear,’ the Earl sighed. ‘I was so looking forward to that part of the proceedings. So now I believe I will rescind my offer of a boon.’
‘’E can’t do that, can ’e?’ Moth-girl cried, frantic.
I lookedat the wall behind Rosa and Bobby. The spells caught there glowed like pinholes of light against the dark stone, their magics small and insubstantial. Was it going to be enough? Not that it made much difference; it was the only option I had. It either worked or it didn’t.
‘I’m a demon, my dear.’ He shot his cuffs and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. ‘There is no blessed blood and bone to curtail me, it is All Hallows’ Eve, and so, I am delighted to say, I can take any soul not already claimed by another.’
‘Wot, even them’s not dead yet?’
I focusedon the heart of all those tiny spells, concentrating my will.
‘Well, perhaps not technically,’ he said, smiling, flashing fang, ‘but life—human life particularly—is such a transient part of our existence.’ He stood in front of Grace and brushed his knuckles gently down her cheek, then hooked his finger into her scrubs. ‘This one is the only soul here barred to me.’ He pulled out a gold chain; a small pentacle glinted on the end of it. ‘But then again,’ he smiled cheerfully, ‘I can still have fun dismembering her along with all the rest of you.’
I crackedthe magic.
The wall exploded inwards, throwing brick and rubble across the room, and a torrent of murky water gushed through a hole the size of a drain cover, sweeping all before it.
The Thames had come to join us.
Tavish and the vamps would be okay; they could survive under water, and so could the souls and shades, since they were already dead. It was the three humans I feared for most; I prayed Grace, Moth-girl and the florist’s lad could all swim better than me.
Within seconds the water was swirling around my knees, then it was up to my thighs. I turned to face the Earl, my heart pounding with fear and hope.
He stood in the gushing torrent, the faintly amused smile still on his face, as if the water was nothing more than a childish trick I’d played on him.
Fuck, this sohad to work.
‘Demon,’ I shouted over the thundering waves, ‘under River Lore, all souls here belong to the kelpie, and so I claim.’
His face shifted, his eyes blazing into burning red holes, his mouth stretching into the blackness of the abyss, the water bubbling and boiling into steam around him as he advanced towards me. I grabbed the soul-bonder knife in my other hand and, praying to whatever gods might be listening, waited until he was close enough, then stabbed both blades up and into his chest.
The River Thames closed over my head.
Epilogue
Iwoke to a sky that glittered and twinkled with rainbow-coloured lights, only this time it wasn’t an angel that peered down at me out of the mist, but something else, something oddly smooth and unformed, as though it had yet to be sculpted into something finished. I blinked, and the face above me resolved itself into something more normal; the rainbow lights reflected wetly in the highly polished skin, the mouth split in a wide smile revealing worn stumps of brown-coloured teeth, and I recognised Mr Travers, my landlord.
‘Hello, Genny,’ he rumbled loudly above the bangs and shrieks of the fireworks. A drop of water collected on the end of his shiny nose and fell to splatter on my chin. ‘Good to see you back in the land of the living.’ More fireworks exploded into a cacophony of multi-coloured stars above his head.
My stomach rebelled and I rolled over, retching and coughing, the rank taste of sulphur and the river souring my mouth.
‘That’s it, better out than in.’ A large hand thumped my back. ‘Your insides will thank you for it ...’
Now I stand in the gardens of St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden. It’s quiet here, the traffic a muted rumble as if far away. The sun is shining, but the November wind is cold, a harbinger of the winter to come. The grass is crisp with frost beneath my feet and my breath steams into the air. A memory of water boiling and bubbling around me tries to intrude and I push it back, shut it in the box in my mind and turn the key. The demon is gone. For now. The snakes lie quiet beneath my skin and Mr Travers smiles, a sad, careful smile, as he offers me a pink paper candle holder on a stem. I wrap my numb fingers around it and hold it up in front of me like a torch of hope.
All Soul’s Day.
We are here to pray for the dead.
Mr Travers holds a taper to the small tea-light I clutch, and I watch as the wick flares with a tiny bright flame. My hand trembles and his face creases into deep, concerned lines. Anxious dust puffs above his head ridge and he glances around as if seeking help. But then his soft beige eyes come back to mine and he smiles his slow, careful smile and pats my shoulder.
The service starts, the words rising and falling around me like the ebb and flow of a distant sea.
The trolls came to our rescue that night, jumping from their Hallowe’en party on the bridge, straight down into the murky river. Mr Travers has refused to leave my side since he pulled me out from under the bridge’s foundations. He tells me that we fae are all heroes now, you only have to look at the papers. One tabloid shouted: ALL HALLOWS’ FRIGHT NIGHT: SIDHE v. DEMON. Another ran with NAIADS AID WITCHES IN THEIR MIDNIGHT HOUR OF NEED... working together to cast a circle through earth and water and air to prevent the demon escaping to terrorise London. Of course, not all the reports were as positive: LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN ... AGAIN— Bridge closed for foreseeable future while structural repairs are carried out. The cost to the taxpayer ...