The Cold Kiss of Death

The rumble came again; this time dust and bits of brick fell from the ceiling and muted explosions like a hundred-gun salute reverberated through the tunnel.

‘What the bleedin’ ’ell is that?’ Moth-girl squealed.

‘Fireworks,’ Bobby shouted, looking warily up at the arched roof. ‘The trolls are having one of their Hallowe’en parties up on London Bridge.’

‘Run,’ I shouted again. ‘It’s midnight.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Midnight.

All Hallow’s Eve.

It’s the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead dissipates ...

... and demons come trick-or-treating.

This particular demon had dressed up for the occasion in a navy lounge suit, his pale blue shirt open at the throat and fastened at the cuffs with links of heart-shaped sapphires the size of thumbnails. His top pocket sported a silk handkerchief the same colour as his shirt. He exuded ‘relaxed man-about-town’ charisma, but as he surveyed the room, the azure of his eyes shone colder and sharper than the sapphires at his wrists. The demon had dressed up as the Earl, London’s ex-head big-cheese vamp, the vamp I’d killed, and the star of my nightmare after the bakery explosion.

I tried to see the irony in that, except my mind was still short-circuiting with fear.

‘Genevieve, my dear, how nice to see you again.’ The demon gave me the Earl’s charming smile. Centuries of practice meant he showed no hint of his fangs. ‘Well now, this is all terribly interesting.’

Interesting wasn’t quite the word I’d have chosen. Everyone apart from Moth-girl and me was frozen in place; she hovered next to Darius, scared, but with a defiant expression on her white-painted face. I frowned as my mind finally came up with a question. Demons aren’t usually the chatty sort, more the fast-food type. He was loose, there was no circle to contain him, and we were in an unconsecrated graveyard. Why hadn’t the demon just gobbled us all up?

Or maybe he really was the Earl, and all this demon stuff was new to him.

‘So did you turn into a demon when you died, or what?’ I asked, surprised my voice came out steady.

‘Oh no, my dear, this is just a guise—I found his soul wondering unclaimed in the pit and decided I liked the look of it.’ He adjusted his handkerchief. ‘I thought you might appreciate its appearance, as you are somewhat acquainted with each other.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘Although I have found his personality is a bit ingrained after all his time in the mortal world—I do keep getting this urge to talk at length about certain things, like the ongoing rights of vampires. It is mildly irritating.’

‘Feel free to go back to hell and change,’ I said offhandedly, keeping the ghost knife close to my thigh. A vague plan started to form in my mind; the tunnels were on the south side of the Thames, so the river had to be to the north. ‘Don’t let us keep you,’ I added.

‘Ah, but our time is so short, a mere hour, so it appears I will need to continue with him for now. So, onto our evening’s purpose.’ He rubbed his hands briskly. ‘I see there is a good collection of souls, spirits and shades on offer next door. Some are a little the worse for wear, but nonetheless acceptable.’ He walked over to study the florist’s lad. ‘And I do approve of the virgin.’ He sniffed at the boy’s neck. ‘It’s been a few years since I’ve been presented with one. They appear to be rather hard to find nowadays.’

‘To be honest, virgin sacrifices rather went out with the Dark Ages,’ I said flatly, cautiously unhooking Grace’s backpack from her unresisting arm. The painting of the barren landscape at the end of the tunnel room showed the sun setting. Whatever the painting’s use was, no sorcerer would have anything that depicted the world incorrectly; it would screw with their magic. I looked along past the painting, so north had to be ... there.

‘Actually it was after the Dark Ages,’ the Earl said pedantically. ‘But that is a discussion for another time. What are you doing, my dear?’

I carefully tucked the ghost knife under my arm, then unzipped the bag and stuck my hand in. ‘Seeing if my friend bought any Holy or Blessed Water with her.’

‘She didn’t,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘Most remiss of her.’

I rummaged around. He was right, she hadn’t; but I was looking for other things too. My fingers closed round a paper bag of small lumps of a putty-like substance and what felt like a large squishy pack of cotton-wool balls— the spells Grace had brought with her. Other than a bottle of water and some medical stuff, there was nothing else, so they would have to do.

The Earl prodded Malik’s tranqed body with his navy loafer and nodded to himself, then strolled up to Darius. He looked him up and down as if contemplating buying, then reached a hand out to the zipper on his black leather coat.

‘Oy, leave ’im alone,’ Moth-girl snarled at him.

The Earl snarled back, his mouth yawning wide, plunging us into a deep, dark abyss, so deep you knew there was no end, that you’d be forever falling, forever screaming, forever terrified, forever burning, with the darkness and the flames eating you up, over and over again—

Then we were back in the tunnel room, the candles flickering over the roof, sweat beading my forehead and the hot trickle of piss wetting my jeans, and Grace’s floral perfume chasing away the reek of brimstone and sulphur.

Moth-girl had collapsed to her hands and knees and was retching violently.

For a moment I thought I would join her as my fingers convulsed around the squishy cotton-wool spells and I swallowed painfully, my throat as raw as if I really had been screaming for aeons ...

The Earl went back to unzipping Darius’ coat. He took a long look, then walked towards Bobby, who was still standing next to Rosa’s body. He ran his hand over Bobby’s head, taking the French braid and weighing it in one hand. He leaned down to place a kiss on Rosa’s slightly parted lips and as he straightened, he reached out and tapped a fingernail almost thoughtfully against the gold locket that lay between her breasts.

I grabbed the mass of cotton-wool balls—Security Stingers ~ the Ultimate Intruder Deterrent—and threw them at him, willing them through the air. Please let this work, I prayed, as the spells zoomed towards him like a swarm of bees. The majority crashed or stuck to the wall behind him, but some whizzed and buzzed around his head, trailing streams of fine sticky threads that drifted like fibre-glass in the air. He gave a casual wave of his hand, as if batting them away, and they crashed with all the others against the wall.

He turned to give me an amused, slightly puzzled look.

My heart sped in my chest as my hand closed round the lumps of putty: Sticky-Sleep spells. I pulled them out, dropping the backpack and the knife, and started lobbing them at him. A couple hit the stone altar, splattering like chewing gum; one caught Bobby on the cheek and burst into a blaze of white powder. I winced; that was going to knock him out for a good eight hours—if he was still around to be knocked out, of course—but the rest slammed harmlessly to the wall behind the Earl.

‘Genevieve, did you really think those paltry little magics would affect me?’ He gave a long-suffering sigh and looked behind him at the wall. ‘And to be honest, my dear, your aim is not what it might be.’

I dropped my shoulders in defeat.

He was right; they were cheap little spells, nothing more than anyone could buy at the witches’ market. But I couldn’t think of anything else. And at least if my plan worked, it might save some of them. It was better than just giving in.

Moth-girl sat back on her heels and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. She gave me a scared, tremulous smile, then cautiously sneered at the Earl.

He walked over to my body, laid out on the waist-high stone altar. He took careful hold of the soul-bonder knife with his thumb and forefinger and pulled it out, then placed it next to my body’s hip. I clenched my fists as an even more desperate idea came to me. If I could get to the knife ...

Then he shoved his hand inside my body’s chest and yanked out a struggling Cosette and held her up, dangling her by her neck.