‘Right,’ said Paris slowly. ‘And do you know anyone who can do that?’
Cassandra shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘However,’ said Tergil, ‘if you believed that had happened, then you would have to believe in magic.’
The two of them smiled innocent smiles as Paris’s brain churned. He’d always known Cassandra could do witchcraft, although he’d never actually seen her do any. She’d appeared in the station without Grarf perceiving her, but there were loads of reasons for that. Probably. And now she was owning up. Sort of. He frowned. It felt good. Welcome back, Mr Frown, he thought. Tergil might be his new friend, but this was the return of a lifelong companion.
‘Perhaps I imagined it,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it was the booze talking. Anyhow, it worked. Zalgot bit the dust and the Vanethria cleared off. Don’t see why there’s such a big party going on here, though. They’ve only gone back to their camp in the next valley.’
‘For now,’ said Tergil. ‘You see, the townsfolk appreciate what this means. Zalgot did not simply lead the demons, he also united their various warring factions. With him gone their alliance will fall apart, back into the petty squabbling that normally occupies their race. The war is not yet over, but this is the beginning of the end.’
‘You sure?’ asked Paris. ‘They won’t rally round their fallen king like some sort of martyr?’
The elf shook his head. ‘That will not happen. We have taken him away from them, in every possible sense. We have used their own methods.’
Paris’s frown grew deeper. ‘What do you mean?’
Tergil leant closer. ‘Do you remember when I told you what demons do, in order to assimilate the abilities of their foes?’
‘Oh no,’ said Paris.
‘Oh yes. How is your beef?’
Paris stared down at his plate. He had been enjoying the subtle alcoholic flavouring. Not any more. He would never, ever understand magical creatures.
Tergil stood up straight, patting Paris on the shoulder as he did so. ‘I must go. Things to do. I will see you later.’
He set off into the crowd. As he went, cheering noises rose up once more from around the statue. Paris lifted his slightly aghast face and looked over towards the noise.
‘Thank you again,’ shouted Malbus. ‘I would tell you to buy the CD, only you ain’t got nowhere to play it. So instead I’d like to do a little number that I wrote myself. It’s about a giant gorilla playing table tennis off the coast of China, and I want you all to join in. It’s called “The Hong Kong King Kong Ping Pong Sing Song”.’
Paris turned towards Cassandra.
‘Maybe it’s his singing,’ he said, ‘but all of a sudden I don’t feel very hungry.’
‘Ditto,’ replied the witch, pushing her plate away. ‘Still, look on the bright side. The first meal you’ve taken me out to was definitely memorable.’
Paris raised an eyebrow. ‘The first? So there will be more?’
Cassandra grinned mischievously. ‘I certainly hope so. I’ve never really been interested in getting to know policemen. But for you, I might make an exception.’
Paris smiled back. Sometimes, he thought, being a cop could be the worst job in the world. And sometimes it was bloody amazing.
Many thanks to:
my son, Christopher, who provided a sounding board for every chapter’s first draft (and told me when they weren’t right!)
my wife, Karen, for putting up with me while I wrote them.
the members of South Manchester Writers’ Workshop for their support, advice, friendship and alcohol. Especially those who beta read and critiqued some or all of the book: Boz Masters, John Keane, David Beckler, Peter Barnes, Ros Davis, Tricia Cunningham.
everyone else who read and provided feedback: Wendy Swann, Liz Evans, Guy Adshead, Jenny Hesketh, Alex Syrichas, Alison Aspinall, Warren Brierley, Rob Beaver, Brian Smith (who also set up my website and did and a great job!)
Mike Morris and the team at Writing On the Wall for their support. Special thanks to Jenny Newman, who helped knock the initial chapters into shape for the ‘Pulp Idol’ competition.
Jill Marsh and the team at Words With Jam for their support. Special mention to Alison Morton who judged the ‘First Page’ competition.
everyone at Canelo, especially Laura McCallen for, well, everything. Wouldn’t be here without you.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Andy Redsmith, 2019
The moral right of Andy Redsmith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788633079
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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