A glancing blow almost took his head from his shoulders. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it trickling down his back and into his eyes. The Fomor was tiring of its sport, growing faster, more vicious.
Thackeray jumped out of the way as a fist smashed down at him, raising a cloud of concrete dust from the floor. But in his rush to escape, he slammed his head against the wall, and slid down, dazed. His time was up.
Light flooded into the room. In his stunned state, it took him a second to realise that the door had been thrown open. Someone was standing there, silhouetted against the torchlight beyond, and as the figure shifted he saw that it was some hideous apparition, stained with blood from head to toe, white eyes staring furiously from the scarlet. It was armed with a machete, but Thackeray only had a second to take that in before the figure launched into action.
It threw itself at the Fomor, the blade a whirl, sparks flying in golden showers where it crashed off the armour. The beast made an inhuman howling noise that set Thackeray's teeth on edge, and then it became a whirlwind of mutating activity. It was impossible for Thackeray to get a handle on what was happening, so furious was the movement. All he could capture were brief snapshots of a struggle that was apocalyptic in its intensity.
Somehow the darting figure always managed to stay a fraction of an inch beneath the claws, spikes and fangs, thrusting with the machete in search of some chink in the creature's defences. Thackeray couldn't believe there was one — it was too much of a killing machine — but then a gout of black liquid burst across the room and splattered next to him, sizzling as it burned through the floor. The bass rumbles of the beast became a deafening high-pitched whine that made Thackeray want to vomit.
The black liquid spouted from somewhere beneath its head. It stumbled back, but the scarlet figure didn't relent, hacking and chopping and thrusting in a crazed blood- lust, taking advantage of the Fomor's increasing inability to armour itself. Chunks of quivering black flesh fell to the floor, followed by wriggling digits and then limbs.
Even when the beast lay trembling on the floor, the figure continued to chop, and finally there was nothing left but unidentifiable lumps. Thackeray had to look away.
A moment later he realised the figure was standing over him, and he wondered if it was now his turn. With surprise, he saw a woman behind the bloodstained exterior. Gradually recognition dawned. It was too much of a shock, leaving him grasping for comprehension.
Finally she reached out a sticky hand and helped him to his feet. 'My name's Caitlin,' she said.
Despite everything he had seen, hearing her voice sent a shiver through him. 'What are you?' he asked.
She tossed the machete to one side and for a second he thought he saw tears in her eyes. Then she threw herself at him with the same passion with which she had attacked the Fomor, forcing her lips on to his, kissing so hard he saw stars, giving every fibre of her being.
The force of the kiss, and the crackling energy that lay behind it, drove him back down. He was too weak to resist, nor did he want to. She continued to kiss, and then bite at his face and neck, her hands feverishly running over his body, before she broke off and started to tear first at his clothes then her own. Her breasts and belly were white against the crimson stain of her face and hands. Her hair lashed the air as she ground her groin against his, showering droplets of blood on to his face, his chest. Her nails raked his skin, but she was oblivious to the occasional bursts of pain that she caused him, so lost was she to her sexual frenzy.
Thackeray was dragged along by her fire, gave himself up to her fully. She was like a drug; his blood thundered, his head spinning with hallucinogenic desire, transformative, sacramental. Connections blazed with energy, blue, blue fire that lay beyond the physical. She was all he could ever have wanted.
When she'd dragged his trousers down, she used her hands and her mouth to ensure he was fully erect, and then she raised herself to slide him inside her. She rode him furiously, ducking to kiss and bite, and there was blood everywhere, on his skin, in his vision.
When he came in a blazing burst of euphoria she refused to let him withdraw, her own orgasm coming a second or so later. Only then did she collapse on his chest, breathing hard, her heart pounding. It felt as if she had given him everything within her.
'I think I love you,' he said, stroking her sticky hair; and he meant it.
They dressed and ventured out into Buckland's office. The thug lay in one corner, moaning gently to himself. Both his kneecaps were shattered. He began to curse loudly when he saw Caitlin and Thackeray.
Harvey loitered in the doorway, both scared and overjoyed. 'Thought you were a dead dog,' he said to Thackeray obliquely.
'Nearly… a couple more minutes.'
'Glad you pulled through.'
'Yep. Looks like you're stuck with me for a bit longer.' They shuffled round for a moment, unable to face their emotions, and then Thackeray nodded at Caitlin. 'What about her, then?'
'Yeah. Who'da thought it?' Harvey eyed her warily. 'Like somebody out of The Matrix.'
'Red Sonja, more like. You remember Conan? The She-Devil with a Sword. Or in this case a machete.'
'They're all dead, you know.' Harvey jerked a thumb in the direction of the corridor leading to the concourse. 'All that bastard's men.'
Thackeray looked Caitlin in the eye; he couldn't quite understand what he was glimpsing there, though it certainly wasn't the blankness he had seen in the woman with whom he had first fallen in love. 'I'm not going to be able to take you back to mother, am I?'
'But why didn't you kill him?' Harvey nodded towards Buckland, who was increasingly delirious with the pain.
'He's facing his own punishment.' The new vision Caitlin had gained since the Morrigan had come to the fore was proving a revelation. As Caitlin watched Buckland, she could see the devils dancing over his form, teasing the plague along the meridians of his body where the chi flowed. She knew what it was now: a spirit-plague, a corruption of the soul that attacked the life-giving essence of reality. It wasn't just designed to kill people; it was there to destroy everything. The Blue Fire would be attacked first, and then physical matter would follow.
And while it could be a natural infestation, the presence of the devils and the malignant and modulated way in which they went about their terrible business made Caitlin sure there was an intelligence behind it. Something had loosed such an awful thing; something wanted Existence destroyed. And that made her think that it was all connected — the plague, the Lament-Brood, the attempt to eradicate her. But who or what could possibly want to wipe out everything that ever was?
'So, we getting out of here?' Thackeray said. 'Buckland's not going to be much of a threat any more. In a world with the flimsiest of health services, what you've done to him is pretty much a death sentence.'
'For what it's worth,' Caitlin said.
'Maybe we could take over from him,' Harvey mused. 'With an enforcer like her, nobody would mess with us.'
'Nah,' Thackeray said. 'Too much responsibility. I'd rather go on holiday.'
He looked at Caitlin hopefully, but her face told him all he needed to know. They stood on one of the station platforms, the intense darkness thrown back in one small arc by a lone torch held by Harvey.
Thackeray had his arms around Caitlin's waist, pulling her close so he could feel her tenderness. 'You've really got to go?'
'Yes. People are counting on me.'
His sigh was supposed to be theatrical, but it carried the full weight of his feeling. 'It's understandable. You're getting out of Birmingham. Who wouldn't?'
'You could leave, too.'
'You'd think, wouldn't you?' He looked deep into her eyes, tried to appear blase. 'I'd go with you.'
She shook her head. 'I don't think I'll be coming back, Thackeray. What I've got to do… well… my instinct tells me the price is going to be my life. These things always end badly.'
'Yeah. You see, responsibility… I don't really get that word.'
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. It was subtle but as potent as the passion he had experienced from her earlier. A shiver ran down his spine. He knew in his heart that he would never find another who meant as much to him. Their time together could be counted in days, yet the connection he felt with her was as deep and abiding as the ocean. He wanted to tell her how much he needed her, how he could see, even though she hadn't examined it herself, that she loved him, too. But he could also tell it was pointless. She couldn't stay;
