‘The body at Highgate Cemetery?’
‘That’s right. You’re the one who gave me the idea to lay some bait.’
She grabbed me by the head again and I felt another deluge of pictures.
I saw the ghost of Ingrid Vallens at the cemetery.
I saw the elder with the weak chin—Glass Jaw—furtively picking his way through the tombstones.
I saw the two of them talking. Saw the elder tell Vallens that she’d deserved her fate. That she’d paid the price for meddling with demons.
I saw the knife in Vallens’ hand. Saw it lash out and cut Glass Jaw from balls to sternum.
I saw the look on his face as he watched his innards slop onto the dirty ground.
The kaleidoscope calmed and my thoughts became my own again as she released her grip on my skull. I shook my head, trying to shake the images away, but they were seared into my psyche like a cattle brand.
Now I knew. While I was busy at The Beehive, laying bait for the mysterious rogue magician, Ingrid had taken inspiration from me and laid a trap of her own.
‘You’re good,’ I told her. ‘It took me years of being a ghost to handle objects like you did that knife.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, performing a smug little curtsy.
I managed to put together the rest. Vallens must have been lying in wait at the cemetery when the demon came sniffing around, eager to feed, hungry for a two course meal of heart and soul. When the off-brand Beelzebub went for the bait and tripped Vallens’ weakening magic, she’d struck out, capitalising on the soul feaster’s vulnerability and making its body her own. For once it hadn’t been the demon that possessed the human. This time the person was on the inside.
That was certainly a turn-up for the books. I had no idea a reversal of that sort was even possible. The ghost of a dead magician possessing a demon dressed in the magician's original skin? We had a real Russian nesting doll situation going on here.
‘So that wasn’t the demon eating the heart out of the old man’s chest,’ I said, piecing the last of together, ‘that was you inside the demon?’
‘Got it in one,’ she replied. ‘I have to feed to stay in control of the soul feaster, and since those daft old codgers had already made my shit list, I thought why not kill two birds with one stone?’
I laughed. What else could I do, given the circumstances? ‘You must be chuffed to bits,’ I told her. ‘You got your looks back and immortality to boot, and all it cost was four dead men.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not the way I planned it, but it’ll do. C’est la vie, or Telle est la vie éternelle if you want to get technical about it.’
She really had played me for a mug. I’d only taken the Vallens gig for the karma, but the whole time I thought I’d been wiping red from my account, I’d actually been helping out a psychopath. Something told me I wouldn’t be earning any Brownie points for that little stunt.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ I asked. ‘I don’t suppose you want to be a good sport and follow me to the cop shop, do you?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ she said, her face cut with a devil’s smirk. ‘See, I need one more soul to bond fully with my new body... and yours looks absolutely delectable.’
I could almost have taken it for a compliment if it wasn’t for the fact that she was eying me up like a full English breakfast.
A forked black tongue emerged from her mouth and whisked around her lips. ‘Goodbye, Jake.’
20
Vallens came at me fast, but I wasn’t defenceless. Yes, she could hurt me, but then I could always hurt her back… or at least my host could. DI Maddox might not be too sharp up top, but he had a club on him and a meaty set of arms to swing it with.
I whipped out Maddox’s police issue baton, grabbed it in both hands and battered Vallens in the neck as hard as I could muster.
Crunch.
The weapon broke in half like a piece of dry kindling.
The impact sent a shock coursing through my arm and into my shoulder, where it exploded like dynamite. I might as well have been hitting a marble statue for all the damage I did. It was as though Vallens’ skin was draped over a tank.
I didn’t stand a chance going against her toe-to-toe, so I made a tactical withdrawal that definitely wasn’t a desperate, cowardly scramble for freedom.
I pushed through the STAFF ONLY door to the lobby and surveyed the area in search of something to defend myself with. Unfortunately, the best I could find was an old umbrella hanging in the lost and found section of the cloak room.
A thought struck me, a memory from the last time I’d paid this place a visit.
I remembered the elders talking about their previous skirmish with a soul feaster. Mustachio had sent it back to the Nether that time, and he’d done it using something called the seraphim sword, which I suspected, or really, really hoped, the Order kept in-house. The locked door the last magician had just died trying to open—that must be where they kept it—and now I was cut off from the bastard thing. Not that it mattered. The vault was sealed tight with magic, and by the time I was done cracking that, Vallens would have sucked down my soul like a pup on a tit.
She arrived in the lobby with all the hurry of a murderer from a slasher movie. Meanwhile, I was left panting and wheezing from all the running around – one of the unfortunate side effects of having to haul about a living body. Another is not being able to phase through solid objects—at least not without leaving one’s host for dead—which meant I couldn’t evade my pursuer by scarpering through the nearest wall.
I had to get out of there though, so, aiming for the only exit available, I threw Maddox’s body towards the front door and went to give Vallens the Irish goodbye. I already knew the combination to that lock, so I could bust through it in no time.
Unfortunately, Vallens had other ideas.
Springing into action, she dived into my path and cut me off, escape-proofing the place. I felt a gulp travel up Maddox’s throat and back down again.
‘Relax, Mister Fletcher,’ said Vallens. ‘No more being cursed to walk the Earth for all eternity. You’re finally going to meet your maker.’
That’s what I was afraid of. I had a lot of work to do before I was back in His good graces. A lot of wrongs to right before I returned to the mothership. A premature trip would undo five years of good deeds and leave a big, fat, aided and abetted a demonic entity shaped full stop at the end of an otherwise glittering career.
Vallens closed in on me, ready to twist the head off my meat suit and drink me down—
When the door behind her swung open.
Filling the frame was DCI Stronge, looking suitably confused. ‘What’s the bloody hell is going on here?’ she asked, seeing her partner cowering before the bloody and surprisingly animate Ingrid Vallens.
‘Shoot her!’ I yelled, doing my best Maddox impression. ‘Shoot the demonic cow!’
Ever the pro, Stronge whipped out her Taser and planted a couple of high voltage darts in my attacker’s chest. Vallens convulsed, her legs locking as she keeled over backwards like a trust building exercise gone horribly wrong.
Stronge took her finger off the Taser’s trigger and turned to me. ‘One more time... what the hell is going on here?’
I changed the subject with a question of my own. ‘How did you find me?’
‘You sounded weird before, so I used your phone to track you.’
And thank God she had.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘She won’t stay down for long.’
Vallens was already beginning to stir.
I was about to grab Stronge by the wrist and steer her outside when something dawned on me. If Stronge had been able to breeze in here unhindered, that must mean the magic cage surrounding the building was down.
Of course it was.
The protection magic was the combined product of the four elders, and since they were all dead now, the spell was broken. That meant the vault must be open too, which meant the sera
phim sword was ripe for the plucking. If I could get to that, I could put an end to Vallens and the winged monkey she was shacked up in. Two birds, one stone.
Speaking of the devil—pun most definitely intended—Vallens had recovered from the effects of the Taser and was hobbling to her feet already, her spine unfurling from a question mark to a very pointed exclamation mark.
‘Isn’t that our murder vic?’ asked Stronge, her brain finally catching up with her eyeballs.
The sight of Vallens stood before her had understandably thrown Stronge’s tidy mind into a degree of disarray.
‘No,’ I replied, weakly, ‘it’s her… um, evil twin.’
But Stronge’s attention was already fixed on the threat, which was coming her way and seeking a swift retribution.
‘Down on the ground, now!’ Stronge ordered.
Vallens failed to comply, leaving Stronge no option but to pull out her baton and extend it with a deft flick of her wrist.
‘I wouldn’t do that…’ I started to say, but Stronge was not to be deterred.
She pulled back her arm and clouted Vallens across the side of the knee with the intention of immobilising her. The effect was altogether familiar. Stronge cursed as her cosh snapped in two, then cried out in pain as the shock of the impact exploded in her arm.
By way of a thank you, Vallens grabbed Stronge by the face, lifted her off her feet and flung her across the lobby. Plaster rained down as Stronge struck the wall and rolled to the ground. I rushed in and dived on her attacker, but was backhanded flat for my trouble. When I came round, I saw that Stronge had somehow managed to find her feet and was facing off against Vallens for a second time.
She’s a tough old bird, I’ll give her that.
Shrieking like a Valkyrie, Stronge swung at Vallens, raking her claws down her face and peeling away a big, red flap of skin. It hung there, revealing what lay beneath: a demonic skull studded with one incongruous blue eye. The eye’s partner had been punctured by Stronge’s nails and was dribbling like a split grape.
‘I’m going to make you pay for that,’ Vallens snarled, plucking the ruined eye from its orbit and flicking it to the ground with a squelch.
The hollow socket flared orange and the jaw of her skull mouth chattered as she paced towards her attacker. Stronge wasn’t even given a chance to freak out before her assailant pimp-slapped her to the ground.
DCI Stronge was out cold.
Vallens took a step backwards and cocked her head to one side to admire her handiwork. Satisfied, she pressed the heel of a Jimmy Choo boot onto Stronge’s throat and went to crush her windpipe.
‘Oi!’ I shouted, getting Vallens’ attention. ‘What am I, chopped liver?’
She removed her foot from Stronge’s neck and turned to me, face flap swinging. Her eyes burned like a pair of hot coals.
I took off up the lobby’s spiral staircase, running faster than a gambler from a bookie. With Vallens on my tail, I pegged it down a corridor I was already intimate with and pushed through the door marked PRIVATE.
I arrived in the Order’s clubhouse. The room was lit by the familiar, flickering flame of witchfire that burned eternally in its hammered iron brazier.
Once again, I went looking for a weapon to defend myself with, but came up empty. I was hoping to find something of use in one of the room’s musty old display cabinets, but all I found there were trinkets: crystal balls, a clutch of sinister-looking ventriloquist’s dummies, and an Edison cylinder containing a scratchy sound recording of Harry Houdini.
Vallens appeared in the doorway looking like a supermodel that had stepped into a Brundle Pod with Skeletor’s ugly cousin.
She had me cornered.
Nothing I could do now but plant my feet and fight.
‘Get ready to die for the second time,’ Vallens gloated.
‘You know, I’m really starting to think twice about you and me having any sort of romantic future.’
She came at me whipcrack fast and landed a punch in my gut so hard I’m surprised Maddox didn’t spew me up.
I managed to dodge the next blow, only for her fist to quest past me and through one of the display cabinets. I made an umbrella of my arms as glass rained down and all around. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a fan of circus throwing knives inside the busted cabinet. Seeing they were up for grabs, I reached in and plucked one out.
Vallens came at me again and I slashed her, sawing a wet flap of skin off her arm.
‘Bastard!’ she shrieked.
Beast mode activated, her fingertips split open and ten huge talons emerged from the ragged ends, absolutely devastating Vallens’ manicure.
I took a couple of steps to the side, continuing to ward her off with the throwing blade as I attempted to skirt her to the exit. Vallens was smart though, and circled around to block me.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ she seethed.
Vallens tore the place apart, picking up whole cabinets and hurling them at me, smothering the place in glass and debris. At one point she managed to upset the Order’s brazier, which tipped over and spread a pool of witchfire across the floor.
I ducked and weaved, stabbing and hacking whenever Vallens made it within arm’s reach. I was quick, but compared to her souped-up demon body, I moved slower than a sundial’s shadow. The fact is, all I was doing was buying myself a little time. There was no way I was going to come out of this one on top.
After a spirited bout of evasion, I found myself all out of puff, which gave Vallens all the excuse she needed to swoop in for the kill.
She lashed out, but I managed to throw an arm up just in time to defend myself from the blow. I heard a noise I mistook for a gunshot then realised she’d snapped one of Maddox’s arms like a twig. His agony was mine to bear though, and I collapsed to the ground, clutching onto the broken limb.
Witchfire licked at the walls and smoke-choked the air, lending the room a distinct Hades vibe. As I lay on the floor, writhing in pain, Vallens leapt into the air like something from The Matrix and came down on me with one knee. I don’t know how I managed it, but I succeeded in rolling onto my front just as she landed and put a crater in the ground beside me.
Undaunted, Vallens grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and clawed me across the back with her talons. The only reason Maddox didn’t end up with ventilated kidneys was because of the stab vest he was wearing.
I squirmed and tried to roll over to face Vallens, but she had me pinned. I was about to give up the ghost—again, the pun is deliberate—when I saw the peephole Vallens’ knee had put through the floor.
That’s when I got an idea.
It was a risk, but at this point Maddox was dead anyway if I didn’t at least try.
Leaving Maddox at the mercy of my attacker, I exited his body and phased through the floor to the room below.
Up above, I heard Vallens cackle. ‘You really are a wretched coward, Fletcher.’
‘Are you coming to get me or what?’ I yelled back, as I scanned the room I now found myself in, desperately searching for the object I’d gone down there in search of.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘As soon as I’m done gutting this pig.’
I was afraid of that. I needed to rile her up some to get her off Maddox’s case and onto mine. Luckily for Inspector Fuckwit, when it comes to pissing off the fairer sex, I am no slouch.
‘Pretty good of the Order to take on a lady,’ I said. ‘Shame you had to go and kill them all – that’s going to set the women’s movement back a few years.’ I could hear Vallens upstairs, growling like the devil's hungry belly. The heckling was working. ‘Maybe you should have stuck with what you know,’ I went on, ‘keeping your mouth shut and looking pretty. You’d make a great magician’s assistant, I reckon. I know I’d want to saw you in half!’
Vallens punched through the ceiling and came diving down at me, shrieking like a three a.m. car alarm—
Only to find herself skewered on the business end of an enchanted sword.
Face contorted like a gargoyle, Vallens slid slowly down the length of the blade until the sword’s crossguard met her sternum.
Vallens’ nose met mine and I grinned back at her.
‘You… bastard...’ she hissed.
‘Sorry, Ingrid, no end-of-date kiss for you.’
It was only thanks to her cracking a hole between floors that I’d realised the Order’s clubhouse was situated directly above the vault, and with no magical protection to stop me getting in there, I’d been able to slip right through. Leaving Maddox behind was a calculated risk, something I had to do so I could get to the sword and goad Vallens into coming at me.
‘I’ll kill you!’ she screeched, and it was no idle threat.
Vallens’ skull face ripped free of her skin and chomped at my throat.
Her teeth snapped down next to my jugular with nothing to spare. And I do mean absolutely nothing. If ghosts were able to collect dirt, she would have cleaned my neck. She gnashed at me again and again, eyes blazing, flecks of grey spittle flying from her skull mouth. If I didn’t act fast, she’d bite my head off like I was a gingerbread man.
I widened my stance and white-knuckled the sword’s hilt, straining to hold her at bay.
‘...Kill you!’ she said, as if it needed repeating.
I grunted and twisted the blade. Her mouth shot wide open – wide enough to swallow a baby whole. She let loose an ear-piercing scream that shattered the glass cases pressed against the room’s walls, then the sulphurous fire burning in her empty eye socket guttered and died.
‘Goodnight, Ingrid.’
Vallens went slack and fell to the ground, where she lay splayed and still. As I watched, her body began to flake and disintegrate, crumbling away like autumn leaves. Vallens was gone, and the soul feaster too, off on a tandem ride to Hell.
21
The thing about witchfire is that it acts differently to regular fire. The stuff the blokes with the yellow hats and hoses put out isn’t known for being predictable, but compared to witchfire, it operates right out of a textbook. Magic fire spreads according to its own laws, unbeholden by such trifling matters as physics, least of all gravity.
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