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Ash Mistry and the City of Death
Sarwat Chadda


Rick Riordan did it for Greece. Now Sarwat Chadda does it for India… Book two in the incredible action-adventure trilogy about Ash Mistry, reluctant hero and living weapon of the death goddess Kali.Ash Mistry is leading a pretty complicated life. There’s school, his unrequited crush on girl-next-door Gemma… and then there’s the fact that he’s the reincarnation of the great Indian hero Ashoka, not to mention the small detail that he died last year, and came back as an agent of the goddess of death.So when the demon servants of the evil Lord Savage come after Gemma in order to get to Ash, you’d think he’d be ready to take them on.But Lord Savage still has some tricks up his sleeve. And with Gemma out of the picture, the English villain is closer than ever to finding a magical aastra of his own, and the power to rule the world. It’s time for Ash to go up against his enemy once again. Luckily, as the human embodiment of the kali-aastra, Ash can find the weak points in any living thing and kill it. But the key word there is ‘living’. And little does Ash know that Lord Savage has mastered another branch of magic – one which allows him to create whole armies out of un-living stone…













For my parents


When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

“The Tyger” by William Blake


Contents

Dedication (#ub11089a9-f5fe-589e-8cb0-afd5ab0b53f9)

Epigraph (#u3e2267c8-8df8-5912-86ec-7a2bbcdcb25e)



Chapter One (#ulink_6c88c0f2-7f60-5390-ba54-ea10af068336)

Chapter Two (#ulink_ce596dd3-8a32-5fd6-85d4-c842e88d3b59)

Chapter Three (#ulink_11af5889-75fe-52bf-99e4-5ebd8f0aafec)

Chapter Four (#ulink_aafd6a79-974a-50ba-8e60-4a2afff501da)

Chapter Five (#ulink_bd4fd960-4df1-584e-9b21-94a7ef7b8a96)

Chapter Six (#ulink_8c3c93d7-285c-5b47-8433-a9dec2e59b1f)

Chapter Seven (#ulink_48e68044-1753-5f89-b01f-14dbb91994f0)

Chapter Eight (#ulink_63943dda-b374-5b16-ac9c-021e4983f5e2)

Chapter Nine (#ulink_4907677d-911f-5e99-9441-72596d7cf383)

Chapter Ten (#ulink_3f5faa5a-55a5-51cb-950c-d573fbdc8d4b)

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_df3e3896-5255-50a4-b6c1-8d03c5242bdb)

Chapter Twelve (#ulink_f60e21de-4003-5be2-9ca3-85b2c0fc280e)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-one (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-one (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-one (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-one (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)



Also in the ASH MISTRY series (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)





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“


can’t do it,” said Ash. He’d beaten a demon king. He’d faced down an immortal sorcerer. He’d saved the world. He shouldn’t be scared of anything. But now fear grabbed at his chest with icy fingers. “It’s suicide.”

“C’mon, Ash,” said Akbar. “It’s now or never.”

Josh murmured in agreement.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” That’s if he didn’t die of heart failure first. “How do I look?”

Akbar grimaced. “Honestly? A bit sick.”

“Yeah,” added Josh. “Sweaty.”

“That’s so helpful,” Ash snapped back. His friends should be backing him up, not digging his grave. He swallowed and waited for his legs to stop shaking. “I’m going to do it. Now.”

Akbar swept his long, straggly black hair away from his face and peered past Ash. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Josh did his tongue-wagging grin. Along with Sean, who was somewhere in the science block earning extra credit, the four of them were the Nerd Herd. The smartest, hardest-working, most socially inept and physically clumsy students to grace the hallowed halls of West Dulwich High.

Josh slapped Ash’s shoulder. “Just go.”

“Right. Now,” said Ash. “I’m off.”

He looked across the vast space of the crowded school canteen.

What’s the longest distance in the world?

That between you and your heart’s desire.

Gemma sat with her friends. She was laughing at something Anne was saying, and Ash watched as she brushed her golden hair from her face. Was it his imagination, or was it especially shiny today?

“Stop that, Ash,” said Josh. “You’re sighing again.”

“I’m not actually asking her out. You know that, don’t you?” Ash took another sip of water. How could his throat be so dry? “I’m just asking if she’s got plans for tonight.”

“Nope. Not asking her out at all,” said Josh.

“Though I hear she and Jack are no longer together. Jamie’s best friend, Debbie, heard it from her sister’s boyfriend,” added Akbar.

“Then it must be true. The golden couple have split.” Josh leaned closer, eyes darting across the canteen. “So, if you were asking her out, which you are not, now would be the time. Or wouldn’t, if you weren’t.”

“Whatever.” Ash stood up. The chair’s metal legs screeched as they scraped across the floor. It was strange how something as automatic as, like, walking, could suddenly become so difficult. Left, right, don’t trip over anything or crash into a table. Why were there so many tables in here? And chairs? And people? He’d never make it over there!

Oh God, she’s seen me.

Be cool. Remember who you are.

Ash Mistry. Eternal Warrior. The demons of hell wet their pants when they hear your name.

Gemma was still talking to Anne, but her head was half turned and her eyes were on him. She gave a little laugh. Why was she laughing? Was it something Anne had said, or because of him? Even from here Ash saw the light sparkle in her hazel eyes. She had amazing eyes, sometimes grey, sometimes green, sometimes brown. Amazing eyes.

But why is she looking at me like that?

Oh no, have I got snot hanging from my nostril? Is my fly open?

He should have checked. Surely one of his mates would have told him?

No, the scumbags. He bet they were laughing their heads off, watching him stroll over with a bogey dangling down his face. Or worse: with his Doctor Who boxers on full exposure. Maybe he could detour to the corridor and do a full body check.

“Hi, Ash,” said Gemma.

“Er, hi, Gemma.”

The table fell totally silent. All ten of Gemma’s friends stopped eating, chatting and texting, and turned their attention to him.

Why oh why hadn’t he waited ’til after school? Caught her on the way home or something? Or in maths? She sat next to him in maths. Maths would have been perfect.

“You OK?” she asked. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

Ash stared at her mouth. Her teeth were a row of perfect little pearls and her lips red and glossy. Two dimples appeared as her smile grew. He smelled the soft, flowery scent of her perfume, making him think of springtime and bright sunlight. Jeez, she smelled of springtime and sunlight? He needed to slap himself hard before he felt the overwhelming desire to write poetry. Again.

“I’m fine. Totally fine,” he said. “How are you? Fine?”

Did I just say that? Beyond lame.

Gemma arched her eyebrows, waiting. “Was there something you wanted?”

Ask her out. Just ask her out.

“I was wondering,” he began, pausing to lick his oh-so-dry lips. “Wondering about Bonfire Night. Y’know, it’s Bonfire Night. Tonight.”

Aaargh. So totally smooth.

“Yes?” She shifted around on her chair, her blonde curls bouncing as she looked up at him.

Oh my God. Was that a hair flick? It was some sort of code. Hair flicks meant something; he’d read about it in one of his sister’s magazines. But what? He was deep in unknown territory: the world of girls.

“If you’re going?” he said. “To the big bonfire in Dulwich Park. Tonight.”

Like she couldn’t work that out herself. That was so special needs.

“Why? Are you going?”

She’s asking me? What does that mean?

“I was thinking—”

“Clear the way, loser.”

Jack Owen dropped his bag on the floor and himself on an empty chair. He leaned the chair back on its two legs and flipped his mobile – the latest iPhone – from his Prada leather jacket. He glanced over his shoulder as he texted. “You still here?”

Jack Owen. Ash’s arch-enemy. The arch-enemy of the entire Nerd Herd. Tanned, ridiculously handsome in that obvious ‘big muscles, perfect features, straight nose and floppy hair’ sort of way. Oh yeah, and captain of the football, rugby and cricket teams too. A company-director dad and all the toys money could buy.

I am Ash Mistry. I’ve done things that would melt Jack’s brain. I’ve fought Ravana, the greatest evil the world has ever known. I’ve defeated the demon nations.

Then why do I want to puke?

Ash moved half a step back. That was the old Ash, who would back down and hide. Then the new Ash rose like a black snake up through his belly, driving a sharp, flint-hard anger into his throat. “I was talking to Gemma.”

“And now you’re not.” Slowly, Jack got to his feet and faced Ash.

Gemma put her hand on Jack’s wrist. “C’mon, Jack, this is stupid.”

Jack looked Ash up and down.

“I see you’ve lost some weight. Turned some of that lard into muscle.” Jack leaned so close that he was whispering in Ash’s ear. “Think you can take me? Is that it? You a tough guy now?”

Jack had no idea.

So many ways to kill you.

Two bright golden lights settled on Jack’s neck – one just below his bulging Adam’s apple, the other near the jaw.

Easy ways.

Ash closed his eyes. But he could see the bright points shining through his eyelids. He covered his face with his hands, but it did no good.

Jack laughed. “Look at him. He’s going to cry.” He prodded Ash in the chest. “Boo hoo.”

“Leave him alone, Jack. It’s not nice.”

“Jesus, Gemma, I’m just trying to toughen the boy up.” There was a laugh from one of the others round the table. “Everyone knows he’s madly in luurve with you. Isn’t that true, Ash?”

“Jack, I’m warning you.”

Jack ignored her. “C’mon, Ash. We all know you fancy her. Be a man, just say it.” He put his fingers on either side of Ash’s chin, wiggling it up and down. “Say it. ‘Gemma, I love you so much.’” He squeezed harder, burying his nails into Ash’s skin. “Say it.”

Ash opened his eyes and gazed at the brilliant lights that lay like a galaxy of stars over Jack. They glistened along his arteries. They shone upon his heart, his lungs. Joints sparkled. His eyes were golden bright.

The Chinese called it Dim Mak, the Death Touch. But to Ash it was Marma Adi, the 108 kill points. He knew them all – the points of weakness all living things possessed – and he could exploit these points to injure, disable, or kill. They moved and varied in intensity depending on the person. The old, infirm and very young had many more than the 108. Jack had fewer – he was young and strong and fit – but he had enough.

There was a spot glowing on the side of Jack’s head. Ash just needed to touch it, not very hard. Enough to create a blood clot in the brain. Death would come in five seconds, maybe six.

It would look like an accident.

“I’d let go, Jack,” said Ash. A warning. That was fair.

“Or what?”

Ash shivered. It wasn’t fear that made his heart quicken; it was excitement. He slowly raised his right hand. He could just tap the spot with his finger…

“That’s it.” Gemma got up and grabbed her bag. “C’mon, Anne.”

“Whatever,” said Jack, letting go of Ash. He grinned at the audience and got a smattering of embarrassed giggles for his performance.

Gemma gave Jack a withering look as she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and strode off, almost knocking down some small kid. Jack turned to Ash and winked.

“Way out of your league.” He picked up his own bag, making sure he tensed his biceps as he did so. “Leave the hot ones to guys like me. You stick to the farmyard animals.” Then he left. The others round the table, the entertainment over, quickly gathered their own gear and began to break up. Anne gave Ash a half-shrug before scurrying off after Gemma.

Ash stood by the now-empty table. What was he thinking? He stared at his hand like it wasn’t his. He’d almost killed Jack. Over what?

Josh joined Ash. “Well, that went down like the Titanic.”

Ash looked at him. Lungs, heart… There were nodes of energy shining on Josh’s throat, and on either side of his eyes too. So many… Ash retreated a step, afraid an accidental touch might kill his best friend.

“You all right?” Josh asked.

Ash braced himself against a table. “Just… catching my breath.” The sensation passed. It felt like a cloud fading from his soul. The Marma Adi visions were happening more and more often. He needed to be careful.

“That was banging,” said Josh.

“Banging?”

“Where were you over the summer, Ash? Oh yeah, out in India, bored out of your brain. Everyone’s using it. ‘Banging.’ Impressive. Of an epic nature.”

“What? Really? That was impressive?” Ash blinked, more than a little surprised by the assessment. “I thought I looked like a moron.”

“You did,” said Josh. “I was talking about Jack. That was a great line, don’t you think? The one about the farmyard animals. Couldn’t have thought it up himself, but he’s got the delivery.”

“I just wish I’d had something smart and devastating to say back,” said Ash.

Josh nodded. “Like ‘In your fat face, Jack’? That’s pretty cool.”

“If you’re seven.” Ash gazed towards the canteen doors, half hoping Gemma might turn round and come back. No such luck. “Why is it so hard to talk to girls?”

Josh slapped Ash’s head. “Because we’re nerds. Acting awkwardly around girls is our superpower. Anyway, forget about Gemma. You coming around next Tuesday?”

“Tuesday?” asked Ash.

“Dungeons and Dragons, old-school style. We’re on the last level of the ‘The Catacombs of Doom’ and we need you, Ash.”

Oh yeah, Dungeons and Dragons. Josh’s dad had banned him from any sort of computer gaming – any sort of computer access at all. Josh hadn’t explained why, but Akbar reckoned he’d been caught visiting a few sites way inappropriate for his age. So they’d dusted off their old role-playing games and miniature figures, and Tuesday nights were D&D.

Josh put his arm over Ash’s shoulder. “It will bang to the utmost. You’ll be fighting the demon lord of hell.”

“Done that already.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Ash wriggled out from under Josh’s heavy arm. “Remind me again why I hang out with you?”

Josh gave a mocking sob. “What? After all I’ve done for you? If it hadn’t been for me, remember, Gemma wouldn’t know you even exist. That poem you wrote her was banging.”

“Uploading it on to the school blog wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Then you should have a better password than ‘TARDIS’, shouldn’t you?”





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sh kicked a full rubbish bin on his way home. It must have weighed more than fifteen kilograms, but it lofted into the air and spun in a high arc over a long line of oak trees, a block of houses and the A205 road. He heard it splash down in a pond somewhere in Dulwich Park, half a mile away.

He could do that, but he couldn’t ask a girl out. Anger surged within him, and Ash struggled to cool down.

But maybe he didn’t want to cool down. Maybe he could show Jack and everyone what he was capable of. They’d look at him differently then.

Yeah, they’d look at him with horror.

Some days, it was as if nothing had ever happened, and Ash was just a normal fourteen-year-old boy trying to keep on the straight and narrow. Not exceptionally bright like Akbar, nor as cool as Jack, just kind of in the middle, not making any ripples.

But then the dreams came. Dreams of blood and death.

Then Ash remembered exactly what he was.

The Kali-aastra, the living weapon of the death goddess Kali. He’d slain the demon king Ravana and absorbed his preternatural energies. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound and do five impossible things before breakfast. Six at the weekend.

Had it only been last summer? It felt like a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago. Ash touched the scar on his abdomen that he’d got when his old life had, literally, ended. Three months had passed since his rebirth, and the powers had lessened somewhat, but that was like saying K2 was smaller than Mount Everest. It was still a huge mountain and Ash was still somewhere high above normal.

He remembered going running one night in September, just after coming back from India. Ravana’s strength surged through every atom of his body, and it was threatening to explode out of him, so he’d needed to burn it off. He ran. And ran and ran. He’d stopped when he got to Edinburgh. He’d climbed the old castle, then run all the way back. He’d still been home before dawn.

But raw power wasn’t everything. There was no point in having the strength to knock out an elephant if you didn’t have the skill to hit it where it hurt most. So every morning before the sun came up, Ash crept out to the park or the nearby Sydenham Woods and trained. He’d been taught the basics of Kalari-payit, the ancient Indian martial art, and once he’d caught a glimpse of Kali herself and watched her fight. Somewhere in his DNA lay all the arts of combat. Kicks, high and low, sweeping arcs, punches, spear-strikes, blocks and grapples. He shifted from one move to another with instinctive grace. That rhythm, the dance of Kali, came to him more and more easily.

Would he ever be truly ‘normal’? No. The death energies he’d absorbed from Ravana would fade away over time, but when? It could be decades. Centuries. There were no scales that could measure the strength of the demon king. And when – if – Ravana’s energies did fade, Ash would for ever absorb more. Death was the one certainty, and death strengthened him.

Death was everywhere.

Now, in winter, the trees lining the road had lost their summer coats, and the gutters were filled with damp, golden leaves steadily rotting, steadily dying. A small trickle of power entered his fingertips as he passed along the decaying piles. At night Ash gazed at stars and wondered whether somewhere out in the universe there was a supernova happening, a star’s life ending. A solar system becoming extinct, waves of energy radiating out across the cosmos. Were the heavens making him stronger too?

It felt too big sometimes, what he was and what it meant. So he liked to be normal at school. That was why he hid his powers. It was nice to pretend, to escape, even if it was just for a few hours a day.

He registered that it was cold, but it didn’t bother him. He wore the sweater merely for show nowadays. It had just turned half past four, and the long, late autumn shadows led him home.

Ash stopped by his garden gate and looked up and down the road. For what? Gemma following him home? Not bloody likely, given his pathetic performance in the lunch hall.

You blew it.

So much about him had changed and not changed. He still didn’t understand maths and he certainly couldn’t get a date.

He turned into Croxted Road and saw a battered white van parked outside their drive. Must be to do with Number 43; they were having their house repainted. He’d ask them to move it before Dad got home. If they didn’t, he could do it himself. It looked about three tons. No problem.

Lucky opened the door before Ash even knocked. His sister was still in her school uniform, green sweater and grey skirt, grey socks that came up to her knees. Her long black ponytail flicked across her face as she turned back and forth. “Ash—”

“Before you ask, the answer is no.” Ash went in and threw his rucksack into the corner. “I did not ask Gemma out.”

“Ash—”

“Just give it a rest, will you? Who says I’m interested in her anyway?” He passed through the hall to the kitchen. He really needed some comfort food right now, and that packet of doughnuts up on the sweets shelf would do nicely. Lucky grabbed his sleeve as he turned the door handle.

“Ash!”

“What?”

Lucky was the only one who knew what he’d been through in India, but she didn’t treat him any differently, which was why, even though she was eleven and way too smart for her own good, he would die for her.

Had died for her.

You would think that would count for something, wouldn’t you? But right now she was being a typical younger sister. Which was irritating.

Lucky stared hard at him, as if she was trying to project her thoughts directly into his head. Alas, while he could kill with a touch, Ash couldn’t read minds. Maybe that would come later.

“What is it?” he said. Then he paused and sniffed the air. “Is Dad smoking again? Mum will go mental if he’s doing it in the house.”

“This is nothing to do with Dad.” Lucky frowned and crossed her arms. Not good. “You’ve got visitors.” Then she spun on her heels and stomped upstairs to her room. The whole house shook as she slammed the door.

Gemma? Had she come over to see him? She did live just down the road. It had to be. He checked that his fly was up and quickly wiped his nose. Then he opened the kitchen door.

So not Gemma. A gaunt old woman leaned against the sink, blowing cigarette smoke out of the half-open window. Her hair would have suited a witch: wild, thick as a bush and grey as slate. She dropped her stub into Ash’s Yoda mug, where it died with a hiss.

The old woman smiled at Ash, her thin lips parting to reveal a row of yellow teeth. It wasn’t pretty. She searched her baggy woollen cardigan and took out a packet of Marlboro Lights. She flicked her Zippo and within two puffs the fresh cigarette was glowing.

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here,” Ash said. He’d been brought up to respect his elders – it was the Indian way – but there was something thoroughly disrespectful about this woman.

“So you’re Ash Mistry,” she said. “The Kali-aastra.”

Ash tensed. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Elaine.”

“I don’t know any Elaines.”

“She’s a friend of mine.”

Ash spun round at the new voice, one he recognised.

An Indian girl stepped out from behind the fridge. That was why he hadn’t seen her, but then she was very good at being invisible. She played with a silver locket as she gazed at him through her big black sunglasses. She wore a pair of dark green trousers and a black cotton shirt, its collar and cuffs embroidered with entwined serpents. Looking at her, a stranger would guess she was about fifteen. They’d only be off by about four thousand years.

She took off her glasses, and her pupils, vertical slits, dilated with sly amusement. The green irises filled out the rest of her eyes, leaving no whites at all. Her lips parted into a smile, and Ash glimpsed a pair of half-extended venomous fangs where her canines should have been.

She looked like a vampire, cold and with a terrible beauty. But no vampire could compare to her. She was the daughter of the demon king and born to end men’s lives.

“Namaste,” said Parvati.





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hey looked at each other, neither moving. Then Ash came forward and somewhat awkwardly hugged Parvati.

She stepped back and looked at him.

“You’ve changed,” she said.

“For the better, right?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Oh, nice to see you again too, Parvati.

“How have you been?” he asked. “It’s been ages and I haven’t heard anything.”

“You missed me? How nice.”

“I didn’t say that. But I thought you might have dropped me an e-mail at least.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Blimey, Parvati.” He’d forgotten she didn’t do sensitive. “I’m just saying, it’s good to see you.”

“So who’s this Gemma?” she asked. “Found true love, have we?”

“What?” How did she know about Gemma? Ah yes. Because he’d been shouting her name in the hallway. “Er, she’s just a friend.”

“Is she the one you wrote the poem about?”

Despite the cold air coming through the open window, Ash suddenly became very hot. And bothered. “You know about that?”

“I’ve been keeping up to date. Checking the blogs and boards. We do have the Internet in India, in case you didn’t know.”

“What did you think?” He had to ask. “Of the poem?”

Parvati tapped her chin, brow furrowed in contemplation. “Deeply disturbing. On many levels.”

“Thanks, Parvati. A lot.” She obviously knew nothing about poetry. “I assume you’re not here to discuss my literary endeavours, so why are you here?”

Parvati didn’t answer. Her attention was on a photo on the wall. Ash knew exactly which one.

An Indian couple, in black and white, sat stiffly looking at the camera. The man’s hair was glossy ebony with oil. If he’d used any more, it would have been declared an environmental disaster. His black plastic-framed glasses sat firm on his thin nose.

The woman wore a traditional sari and had a puja mark on her forehead. She had a large gold nose ring, and thick kohl circled her deep black eyes.

Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita.

The photo had been taken years and years ago, when they were newlyweds. Had they imagined how their lives would go? How their lives would end?

It had happened in Varanasi, the holiest city in India. Uncle Vik had been an archaeologist, teaching at the university. But there they’d met Lord Alexander Savage. The English aristocrat had asked Uncle Vik to translate some ancient Harappan scrolls, translations that were crucial to Savage’s plans to resurrect Ravana. When Vik ultimately refused, Savage had killed Ash’s uncle and aunt.

Savage was over three hundred years old, and when Ash had first met him, he’d looked it. A living skeleton with skin flaking off his withered flesh, the man was only kept going by his magic, and even that was beginning to fail. His plan had been to resurrect Ravana, the master of all ten sorceries, in the hope that the demon king would give him immortal youth in exchange for bringing him back from the dead. And it had all been going well for him until Ash had turned up and put his fist through Ravana’s chest, ending him once and for ever.

Ash could still picture the young, rejuvenated Savage, fleeing through the chaos that had followed Ravana’s destruction. He had wanted to go after the English sorcerer, but in the end, he knew where his priorities lay. He had a sister, parents and a home. This was where he belonged. It was Parvati’s job to hunt down Savage – she had her own grudge against him. But Ash’s anger was still there. He missed his aunt and uncle, and Savage needed to pay for what he’d done.

“Have you found him?” asked Ash.

“No. But I’m still looking.” Parvati put her hand on Ash’s shoulder. “I will find him. I promise you.” She looked him up and down. “How are you, Ash?”

“Great. Better than great.” That was true. He was in perfect health. Beyond perfect.

“You certainly look good.”

Ash nodded. “Don’t need to sleep, eat, anything like that. I can run a hundred miles a day without feeling tired. Never get ill, not even a cold. There was a super-flu going around a month ago and half the school was off.”

“I heard about that,” said Parvati. “Made the news back in India.”

Ash slapped his chest. “Not even a sniffle.” He sat down and picked up an apple.

“It will fade, over time,” said Parvati. “You’ll return to being… more human. But never quite all the way.”

“It’s kinda cool being a superhero.”

Parvati arched her eyebrow. “Just don’t start wearing your underpants outside your trousers. It’s not a good look for you.”

“Thanks for the fashion tip.”

“So you’re managing?” She toyed with her sunglasses. “Restraining yourself? Not letting people see exactly who you are? What you are, I should say.”

“Is that why you’re here? To make sure I haven’t fallen to the Dark Side of the Force?”

“Probably too late for that.” Parvati laughed, and Ash’s heart quickened. He’d forgotten how her laughter was like the chiming of silver bells. “But no, that’s not why I’m here. I need your help.” She looked towards Elaine. “My friend had best explain.”

Elaine rummaged around in her pocket and put a postcard on the table. The card was a cheap one that you could get in any tourist shop in London. It showed two bejewelled crowns, a sceptre and a golden orb, each one sitting regally on a red cushion.

“The Crown Jewels?” said Ash. He’d visited the Tower of London loads of times on school trips. Every school kid in Britain recognised them.

“You’ve heard of the Koh-i-noor?” asked Parvati.

“Of course I have.” He looked at the humongous diamond sparkling in the centre of one of the crowns. “The Mountain of Light.”

“Stolen by the British in the mid-nineteenth century from the maharajah of Lahore,” Parvati said. “It was given to Queen Victoria. The original stone was much bigger than what it is now. The British cut it in half and put the largest piece in here.” She tapped the central image. “The Queen Mother’s Crown.”

“Not any more,” said Elaine. “It was stolen five days ago.”

“Impossible. It would have been in the news,” said Ash.

Elaine shook her head. “No. This sort of news is kept very quiet. Why would the government want to admit a national heirloom has been stolen? You can count on the prime minister’s office to cover this sort of thing up to avoid a scandal.”

Ash sat down. “Why was it nicked? To sell it?”

“It is up for sale, that’s for certain,” said Elaine. “It’s the buyer we’re interested in.”

“It is an aastra, Ash,” Parvati replied.

“Ah,” said Ash.

An aastra was anything made by a god – usually weapons. Ash had found one, a golden arrowhead, in an underground chamber in Varanasi, where a splinter of the aastra had entered his thumb. That minute piece of god-forged metal was the source of all his power and all the trouble that had followed: the death of his uncle and aunt, Lucky’s kidnapping and his own demise and return.

“Will it work? The British cut it in half, didn’t they?” he asked.

“You only have a fraction of the Kali-aastra, far less than a half, and it’s served you well,” replied Parvati.

She had a point. Ash peered at his thumb, at the scar marking where the splinter had entered. The sliver of metal was long gone, bound to every atom of his body.

“Whose aastra is it?” he asked. Each aastra was different, depending on which god had forged it. The aastra of Agni, the fire god, gained power from heat and fire. Could the Koh-i-noor be another Kali-aastra like his? That didn’t bear thinking about.

Elaine looked down at her boots as she lit another cigarette and gave a slight shrug. “That we don’t know.”

Ash frowned. “Parvati? Any idea?”

“No,” she declared. “The Koh-i-noor is exceedingly ancient, but I’ve never known anyone to successfully awaken it.”

“Awakened or not, we can’t risk letting it fall into the wrong hands,” said Elaine.

“And by the wrong hands, you mean Savage, don’t you?”

Elaine nodded. “Savage has been a thorn in our side for a few hundred years.”

“What do you mean, ‘our side’?”

Elaine smiled. “I represent certain… interested parties. It’s our job to know what’s going on.”

Ash leaned back in his chair. The Koh-i-noor was perhaps the most famous diamond in the world, and the most cursed. Every Indian knew the story of how it had been passed down through the ages, how many of its owners had come to hideous deaths.

“How did it get nicked?” asked Ash. The security around the Crown Jewels would be intense.

“Swapped, somehow, while the jewels were being given their monthly polish.” Parvati inspected the fruit bowl and picked out an apple. Ash couldn’t help but notice how her canines, slightly longer than normal, sank into the flesh and two thin beads of juice ran off the punctures. “The jeweller turned round for a moment, and when he turned back, the Koh-i-noor was gone and a piece of glass was there instead.”

“No one else came in, was hiding behind the cupboard? Under the sink?”

“No.”

“So we’re not talking about a normal thief, are we?” said Ash. The stakes were getting higher every passing second.

“No, we’re not.”

“Any ideas who?”

“Name of Monty. He specialises in stealing such esoteric items. Word has got around that he’s putting it on the market.”

“We going to make him an offer?” said Ash.

Parvati smiled. It wasn’t nice. “One he can’t refuse.”

Elaine picked up the card and tucked it away. “I’ve got feelers out and should have his address any time now.”

Parvati spoke. “Such artefacts don’t turn up every day. Savage will be after it.”

“You think he might know how to use it?” asked Ash. Aastras were the Englishman’s speciality. He’d spent years searching for the Kali-aastra before Ash found it accidentally, so it made sense that he’d be looking for others too.

“I really don’t want to give him the opportunity. This is our chance to end this once and for all.”

A tremor of excitement ran through him. “How?”

“With your help. If you’re not too busy?”

“Can it wait until after Doctor Who?”

“Ash—”

“Joke.”

Elaine buttoned up her cardigan. “We’d offer our services, but we’ve got some of our own business to take care of.”

“What sort of business?” asked Ash.

“None of yours,” interrupted Parvati. She put on her sunglasses. “Elaine will text us the address. We’ll meet up later and visit this Monty.”

Ash showed them to the door, where Elaine suddenly checked her pockets. “My cigarettes. I think I left them in the kitchen. You go and wait in the van, Parvati, I’ll only be a minute.”

Parvati nodded, then, with a small bow and smile for Ash, left.

Elaine and Ash returned to the kitchen. She made a show of searching the table, the worktop.

“Try your left pocket,” said Ash. He’d seen her put them away and knew she knew that too. This was a ruse to have a quiet moment without Parvati listening.

“Ah.” Out came the packet. Elaine tapped it idly, her attention on Ash. “Rishi told me a lot about you.”

“You knew him?” Rishi had been the first person to realise that Ash was the Eternal Warrior, the latest reincarnation of some of the greatest heroes the world had ever known. The old holy man had started Ash on his training, but had been killed by Savage’s henchman before he could teach Ash more about his new nature, what he had become.

“Getting any urges? Beyond those normal for a hormonal teen boy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Rishi suspected you’d found the Kali-aastra and asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to him. He wanted you to continue your training.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ash said, “but you really don’t look like the sort of teacher I need.” She was breathing heavily just unwrapping the cigarette packet.

Elaine drew out a business card and pushed it across the table. “Rishi gave me a list of contacts. Most are out in India. You call me if you need any help.”

“I’ve got Parvati.”

“There are things Parvati can’t teach you. And her agenda may not be the same as yours.”

“Meaning?” Ash didn’t like what she was implying.

Elaine glanced towards the door, checking that Parvati was out of hearing. “As much as I respect Parvati, I don’t trust her, and neither should you. While Rishi was around, he was able to keep her in check, but she’s a demon princess, and Ravana was her father.”

“She hated Ravana. She helped me kill him.”

“And now the throne of the demon nations sits empty.” Elaine shrugged. “Parvati is ambitious. It’s in her nature.”

Ash reluctantly picked up the card. “‘Elaine’s Bazaar’?”

“It’s a junk shop near Finsbury Park. Open all hours.”

He looked at her a moment longer. He didn’t need Marma Adi to see Elaine’s weaknesses; her smoking habit was enough for anyone to have a guess at what was killing her. The lungs glowed brightest, but her veins and arteries were clogged and thin, the blood circulation poor. Death covered her, a ready shroud. She didn’t have long.

She went pale. “What do you see, lad?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I see nothing.”

She looked at the half-empty packet. “I suppose I should cut down. Maybe quit.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference.”

Elaine cleared her throat and put the packet back in her pocket. “Just watch yourself. You read these stories about kids who get hold of their parents’ guns and… bang, someone ends up very sorry and someone ends up very dead.”

“Are you saying I’m a kid with my dad’s revolver?”

“No, I’m saying you’re a kid with a thermonuclear device, with a big red button saying PRESS ME.” She tapped Ash’s hand. “Keep out of trouble, lad.”





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nd just like that, Parvati was back in his life. Ash stood in the hallway, bewildered, well after the van had disappeared.

What should he do now?

He’d spent months wondering if he’d ever see her again, waiting every day for some message, getting none. First he’d been angry, then he’d tried to have a ‘quiet’ life. And just when he thought it was all back to normal, there she was, having tea in his kitchen! His guts felt like they were on spin in a washing machine.

A pair of bright headlights lit up the driveway. His parents were home. Ash opened the door just as his mum was unbuttoning her coat.

“Hi, Ash,” she said, ruffling his hair as she entered. Briefcase went alongside the small table beside the door as her raincoat went over the banister, and she brushed imaginary dust from her smart navy-blue suit jacket. She gave a weary sigh and took off her shoes, wiggling her toes for a moment. She tucked her glasses in their case as she glanced at the answering machine for any messages. Then she turned slowly. “Anything wrong?” she asked. Ash was still by the door.

“Girl trouble, I bet,” said Sanjay, Ash’s father, as he followed his wife inside, his gaze on his BlackBerry. “That right, son?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Ash.

Ash’s mum lifted the BlackBerry from her husband’s hands. “That’s enough, Sanjay.”

“See what I mean?” Dad shrugged. “Girl trouble.” Ash’s mum was about to protest, but Sanjay took her hand and twirled her, clomping about in his boots. His own suit wasn’t quite as neat or as smart as his wife’s, but Sanjay worked as an engineer and spent half the week on building sites, making sure the walls stayed up and the roofs stayed on. He was at least half a metre taller and quite a bit wider than his wife, so when he pulled her towards him, Ash’s mum was pressed against the globe of his belly.

“Is it Gemma?” asked Mum.

“The girl in the poem?” said Dad, and there was an irritating smirk across his face, the sort of smirk all parents get when they are about to mortally embarrass their children.

“Hold on. You know about that?” Ash said.

“I think it’s very romantic,” said Mum. “I would have been flattered if some boy had written me a poem.”

Ash wanted to die, right there and then. Was there anyone in the Greater London area who didn’t know about his stupid poem? It was meant to be private, and it had gone viral on the Internet. One day Josh was going to pay.

“How did it go, Bina?” Ash’s dad dropped to one knee while still holding his wife’s hand, cleared his throat, and began to recite. “‘If I may be so bold, to say your hair is like fallen gold, and that when I see you smile, my heart flutters for a while…’”

“Dad, just shut up. It’s got nothing to do with Gemma.”

Both looked at him with more than mild surprise. Dad lightly punched Ash’s arm. “Another girl? That’s my boy. Come on, do it.” He held up his fist. Ash groaned as he gave his father a fist bump. Parents trying to be cool. Seriously, had he been swapped at birth or what? “Just make sure it doesn’t affect your school work.”

Ash left his dad in the hallway undoing his boots and went back into the kitchen with his mum. The tap went on and soon the kettle was bubbling. She paused by the open window and sniffed suspiciously. “Someone been smoking?”

“Smoking? Of course not.” Ash grabbed the Yoda mug with the cigarette stubs. He really didn’t want to explain what had just happened. Frankly, it would sound quite mental. “Let me help wash up.”

“This girl, she’s someone important, isn’t she?”

Weird, wasn’t it? Normal girls like Gemma left him sweating and tongue-tied, but Parvati, a half-demon assassin? No problem.

There had been a moment when, well, if not exactly a girlfriend and boyfriend sort of set-up – there was a significant age gap between them – they had been something a bit more than just ‘friends’. She had kissed him, twice. Didn’t that count for something? But once he’d left India there hadn’t been a word. She’d completely forgotten him. And now, just when Ash himself was moving on, here she was, and it felt like not a minute had passed since they’d last seen one another.

“Mum, I just don’t know.”

The doorbell rang. Must be Josh. He’d planned to come over early so the two of them could head out to Dulwich Park together for Bonfire Night. Ash would have to tell him his plans had changed and he couldn’t come. Not that he’d want to go to the park anyway if it meant bumping into Gemma and having to relive the humiliation of what had happened in the canteen.

“Ash,” his dad called from the hallway. “It’s your friend.”

Ash went to the hall, and his dad winked at him as he passed. What was that about? Jeez, maybe it was Elaine again. What had she forgotten now – her walker?

Ash opened the door. “Look—”

“Hi, Ash.”

Oh my God. Gemma.

“Er, hi. Er, Gemma.” He looked around, wondering if she’d got lost or something. “Er, yes?”

He so wanted to punch his own face. Why oh why couldn’t he just talk to her like a normal person rather than a cretin?

“Can I come in?”

“Here?” Yes, he should punch his own face repeatedly. “Of course.”

Gemma stood in the hall. “Hi, Lucks.”

Lucky sat at the top of the stairs, chin on her knees, watching. She waved back. “Hey, Gemma, my brother was—”

“Go away, Lucks,” Ash said.

Lucky didn’t move. She was totally immune to his threats.

“Please, Lucks?”

Lucky blinked. She didn’t know how to respond to politeness. She blinked again, then left.

So. Gemma. Him. Standing in the hall. Well.

She’d tied back her hair, but a few curls had slipped free, framing her face. She looked uneasy. “Listen, Ash. I just came to say I’m sorry about Jack. He’s not usually—”

“Such a git?”

She smiled. Ash felt another poem coming on. “Git. Just the word I was going to use.”

“Is that why you’re here? To apologise for him?”

“No. I never answered your question.”

“Question?”

“About Bonfire Night.” She smiled at him. “I am going. What about you?”

“No. Plans have changed.”

“Oh. All right then.” She gave a shrug. “Well, I’ll see you later. At school.” She adjusted her rucksack in an ‘I’m about to leave now and you’ve totally blown it’ sort of motion.

Hold on. He rewound the last few seconds, trying to understand the complex subtext of that last conversation. Somewhere he’d gone wrong.

“What I meant to say was I… yes, I am going. Totally. I am.”

“Great. What time?”

She was asking him. She was asking him. That hair flick in the canteen had meant something!

Time to play it cool. For once in your life.

Ash glanced at his watch. “I dunno, about eight?”

“Shall I pop over?” Then she laughed. “D’you remember when we were at primary school? I was here almost every day. Playing that board game.” Gemma frowned. “What was it called?”

“The Orpheus Quest.”

She snapped her fingers. “Down into the underworld to rescue the princess, right? You still have it?”

Ash shrugged. “Went to the charity shop years ago, sorry.”

“What happened? We used to hang all the time. I only live round the corner.”

“I stayed in the Nerd Herd and you didn’t, I suppose.” Ash put his hands in his pockets. “We ended up in different crowds. High school’s a big place.”

“Do you think I’ve changed that much?” she asked.

“We all change, Gemma.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Ash’s mobile phone buzzed. It was Parvati, with an address. She wanted to meet at six-thirty.

Typical. Of all the days since time began, why today?

Gemma glanced down at the glowing screen. “Problem?”

“No. There’s just something I need to do, but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll meet you there. In case I’m late or something.”

“Oh, OK.” Gemma paused by the door. “Bye, Ash.”

“Bye, Gemma.” He closed the front door behind her.

Ash’s parents both fell silent as he entered the kitchen. They were each staring intently at their mugs.

Ash’s mum turned to his dad. “That Gemma, I know her family well. Very respectable.”

“Yes, her father is a dentist. Perfect teeth, both Gemma and her sister. Have you ever seen more beautiful smiles?” said his dad. “There is the dowry, him having two daughters. But no rush. We will wait until Ash has finished university, then the wedding.”

“But can she cook curries?” asked his mum. “It is simple to fix. I will teach her once they are married.”

“Just…” Ash backed out of the kitchen. “Oh, just shut up.”





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he plan was simple. Ash would meet Parvati in Soho at six-thirty, get the Koh-i-noor off this Monty fella, then head off to Dulwich Park and the fireworks at eight. And hang out with Gemma. Sorted.

This was turning out to be more fun than he’d thought.

Lucky shoved his clothes off the bed and threw herself on it. Resting her chin on a pillow, she surveyed the wardrobe scattered across the carpet. “How many T-shirts can one person need?” she asked. “And Mum told you to tidy up.”

“This is tidy,” Ash said. There were no clothes on the floor that didn’t belong there, most of his books were up on the shelves, and the bed was made, sort of. You could even see some of the carpet. Disney wallpaper for a fourteen-year-old was social death, so it had to be covered up with posters, though poster selection was a minefield. The posters told any visitors who you were, what you were, your religious beliefs. Ash was going through a major superhero phase. Batman. The X-Men. Even a vintage Bond from the 1960s. It informed the casual observer that Ash was either a dangerous outsider with superpowers, or a total geek. It just so happened he was both.

Ash sniffed his deodorant. According to the ads, this particular brand would attract a whole planeload of European supermodels. He’d better use just a small amount.

He checked his hair in the mirror as he slid his gel-coated fingers through his thick black locks. He’d grown them out over the last few months and they were getting perilously long; the gel barely held his hair under any sort of control. “Pass us the Levi’s T-shirt,” he said. “The black one.”

“They’re all black.” She picked up a random T-shirt. “What happened to all your other clothes?”

“Thought it was time for a new look. Anyway, a lot of my old stuff didn’t fit any more.” After his time in India, he’d come back a different shape. The old Ash had been ‘cuddly’; this new Ash was as sharp as a razor.

“So you’ve decided to go all skintight and superhero-ish?”

“Something like that.”

As Ash took off his shirt, he saw the scar – a pale white line locked in the dark skin, wedged between hard muscle at the top of his stomach. He drew his fingernail along it. That was where Savage had pushed the arrowhead in. Another Ash had died that night in the ancient capital of the demon king. Another boy had bled to death on the sand-covered flagstones before the Iron Gates. Now Ash was a dead man walking, brought back to life by Kali to be her weapon.

“Do you miss him?” he asked Lucky. “The old Ash?”

“You’re still here. Same as you ever were.”

Ash slid the T-shirt on. “We know that’s not true.”

“Where it matters, it is.” She glanced at the mirror. Ash stood there, the T-shirt taut across his chest, clinging to the contours of his torso. He double-knotted his Converse All Stars. It wouldn’t do to go tripping over a loose shoelace.

Ash pulled out his shirt drawer and dropped it on the floor. He stretched his arm to the back of the dresser and felt around. His fingers touched bare steel. The object was taped to the back panel of the cabinet. He ripped the tape off.

Hands tightening round the hilt, Ash pulled out his katar.

The Indian punch dagger was thirty centimetres long, the blade almost half the length. Its handle was shaped like an H, gripped along the short, horizontal bar, with the wide triangular blade jutting forward, so the attack was delivered via a straight punch. The tip was diamond-hard and designed for penetrating steel armour. It was like no other weapon in the world, unique to India.

Lucky drew in her breath. “I didn’t know you still had it.”

Ash checked the edges. Still razor-sharp. “You approve?”

“No.” She sat up. “I don’t want you getting involved with Parvati.”

Ash took out a folded piece of leather. He’d made the scabbard himself one evening at the school workshop, doing some after-hours work to earn more credits. He slipped his belt through the straps and then put it on. The katar went into the leather sheath, nestling in his lower back.

“Ash…”

“I’m just doing her a favour, that’s all.” Ash put his Victorian Army greatcoat on over the katar, a knee-length number, his ‘Sherlock Special’. He checked himself in the mirror. The coat hid the katar perfectly, but with a flick he could instantly grab it. Lucky peered over his shoulder.

“You’ll knock ’em dead,” she said before grimacing. “But not in the literal sense. OK?”

“OK.”

“And Gemma will be there.” Lucky sniffed the deodorant and wrinkled her nose. “Who knows, you might get your first real kiss tonight.”

“I’ve kissed a girl before.”

“Really? Who?”

There was a long pause. “Parvati.”

“Parvati? As in daughter of Ravana? As in half-demon assassin?” Lucky leaned forward. “What was it like?”

“All I remember was the abject fear and the sense that I was about to suffer a slow and hideous death.”

“I’m sure it’ll be better next time round,” she replied.





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n hour later, Ash got off the bus at Piccadilly Circus. Despite the cold, London was buzzing. Tonight was the fifth of November, Guy Fawkes Night. Fireworks flared into the night sky, but a dingy fog was sinking over the city, steadily smothering all light and colour.

Ash checked his mobile phone. Parvati wanted to meet at the Royal Bengal Restaurant. He went along Shaftesbury Avenue, with its theatres showing musicals and Shakespearean plays. The Lyric had a revival of Faustus, and a glaring red devil loomed over the passers-by, his face split by a bloody grin. Ash turned down Great Windmill Street and away from the bright lights and bustling streets into a very different part of Soho.

Soho still had an edgy, forbidden atmosphere, especially for a boy with parental locks on his computer. His parents would go mental if they knew he was wandering around here at night. In spite of the gleaming towers and flash shops, most of London still lay upon ancient streets and winding lanes, which made Soho a labyrinth of seedy, dark alleys where dimly seen figures lurked in the doorways and the encroaching fog seemed to choke all colour, fading it to grey. Ash kept his eyes down.

“Nice coat,” said Parvati as Ash entered the restaurant. The place was packed with diners and smelled of spices – fried onions, cardamom and garlic. A waiter slipped past holding a sizzling balti tray. Molten butter shone on the fresh naan bread. Ash’s mouth watered. “Dinner first?”

“Just tea.” Parvati pointed out of the window. “Monty’s flat is round the corner.”

The neon lights from the bar opposite filled the front window with garish colour, and it took Ash a second to realise there was someone waiting at the table for them.

“This is Khan,” said Parvati, taking a seat.

Khan stood up and reached across to greet Ash. “Namaste.” His voice was a deep, rumbling growl – the sort of sound that wouldn’t be out of place in a jungle. Over six feet tall, the guy had bronze skin with cropped light brown hair, and the stitches on his dark purple shirt strained against the pressure of his muscles. He met Ash’s gaze with confident, amber eyes. Despite his size, he moved with feline grace.

Ash felt Khan’s nails prick his skin as they shook hands. He sat down, acutely aware that everyone in the restaurant was watching him. No, they were watching Khan. The phrase ‘animal magnetism’ sprang to mind.

Dark stripes marked Khan’s arm. Ash didn’t need any more clues to know what sort of rakshasa this guy was. “Tiger,” Ash said. “Yes?”

Khan nodded. Once, and not that long ago, Ash hadn’t believed in rakshasas. They were the bad guys in Indian mythology, immortal shape-changers that had fought humanity thousands of years ago over rulership of the world. The Ramayana was the story of that long-ago war, recounting how Prince Rama had defeated Ravana, the biggest and baddest of the rakshasas, and led humanity to victory.

Rakshasas were legends. Now here Ash was having tea with two of them.

Parvati put her hand on Khan’s arm. Ash’s blood boiled at the way she smiled at the tiger demon. “Khan and I go way back. He’s here to help.”

Khan grinned. “Sikander, wasn’t it? You were leading the maharajah’s infantry to the left, I was with the royal bodyguard.” He stretched out his arms and the grin grew even wider. “Now that was a fight. Nothing gets the blood going like an elephant charge. I don’t care what the historians say – Sikander crapped his pants.”

Sikander? Ash frowned. Wasn’t that the Indian name for…

“You fought Alexander the Great? Seriously? What was he like?”

Khan put out his hand, holding it around shoulder height. “Shorter than you’d imagine and, on that day, in need of a change of underwear.”

Ash stared at the two of them. Khan was showing off, name-dropping Alexander like that, but Ash had to admit the story was still pretty awesome. He was into history, thanks to Uncle Vik. What his uncle would have given to be here, sitting with a pair who had been part of all the history he could only read and guess about. But the two of them treated it so casually, barely acknowledging the legends they’d met. Maybe if you were a legend yourself things like fighting Alexander the Great didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Parvati laid her mobile phone on the table and pointed at the map on the screen. “There’s an easy way into Monty’s place from the side alleyway. It’s blocked off so no one goes down there.”

“Any visitors we should know about?” asked Ash.

“Like Savage?” replied Parvati. “Let’s ask Monty. Nicely.”

“Nicely?” Ash grinned. “You’re terror made flesh, Parvati.”

Parvati stopped and looked at him in a particularly meaningful way. “That’s an interesting phrase, Ash,” she said. “Where did you hear it?”

“Dunno. Just made it up, I suppose.” Ash couldn’t miss the way she was looking at him now. Worried. “Why?”

Parvati shrugged. “I thought I’d heard it before. Some time ago.”

A minute later they were climbing over a large rubbish bin that hid the alleyway from view. A greasy kitchen exhaust duct rattled and spat above their heads, and black plastic bin liners, stinking with rotten vegetables, lay scattered under foot. A mangy dog tore at one of the bags and sniffed at the spilled rubbish. Khan gave a throaty growl. The dog whimpered and fled.

“I don’t like dogs,” said Khan.

“It’s high up,” said Parvati, ignoring him.

She was right. There was a single window facing into the alley, but it was about four metres up and semi-opaque.

Khan shrugged. “Will that be a problem?”

“No,” said Ash. He stepped back and focused on the small window. Closing his eyes, he drew down within himself, feeling his mind, his senses, descending into a dark swirling maelstrom somewhere where his soul might be.

Ash shuddered and enjoyed the electric thrill as preternatural energy swelled within him. It was the rush of riding a tidal wave. No, like riding a tsunami.

Ash opened his eyes and gazed about him.

Every sense buzzed on overload. He could see the very grains of the brickwork, each stroke of the brush on the paint that covered the walls. He smelled and separated every odour, however faint: the pungent, moist cabbage leaves that covered the floor, the gurgling drains with old, sooty rainwater, the sharp, sweet stink of petrol.

He looked up at the window and merely reached for it. It wasn’t much of a jump; he barely flexed his muscles, and then he flew upward. A moment later he touched down on the narrow window ledge, balancing on his toes four metres above the ground. He perched there for a moment, ear pressed against the window. Nothing.

Ash curled his fingers and drove his fist through the glass. He peered into the darkness beyond; to him it was as bright as day. A small, simple, smelly old bathroom. He climbed in.

There was a snarl from behind him and suddenly Khan was there. His nails were a few centimetres longer than before, and Ash saw the faint ripple of black-striped fur across his arms.

Parvati slipped in behind Khan, and suddenly the bathroom was awfully cramped.

“This is cosy,” she said. “Shall we wait here for Monty to join us?”

Ash opened the bathroom door and entered Monty’s flat.

Aged, yellowed wallpaper hung off the walls and patches of snot-green mould stained the ceiling. They went into the living room and found it covered with discarded books and tottering piles of newspapers that went back years, decades even. The furniture looked like it had been collected from skips. The table was missing one leg and rested on a pile of bricks. More books filled the shelves, stuffed in with no sense of order. Ash registered the number of titles specialising in Indian jewellery. Flies buzzed around an unfinished meal. Green mould covered the cups, and the plates were encrusted with who knew what. And his mum complained about his room being untidy. She would have a heart attack if she saw this place.

“There’s no one at home,” said Ash. He picked up an old bowler hat. Strange, it was the only clean thing here. A set of clothes sat, neatly folded, beneath it.

“Thanks for stating the blindingly obvious,” said Parvati.

“Disgusting,” said Ash. “There are mouse droppings everywhere.”

Parvati turned to him, finger to her lips.

Ash listened, not sure what for – something that didn’t fit, something that was wrong.

There, behind the pile of magazines. He could hear a scratching. Too steady to be an accident. The noise stopped, as though something was aware it had been heard. There was even the delicate huff of a breath being held.

Parvati’s hand shot out and a second later she had a rat dangling from her grip.

A rat. Great.

Parvati took off her glasses and held the rodent tightly. It squealed as it stared into her cobra eyes. She flexed her jaw, widening it far beyond normal dimensions.

“For heaven’s sake, Parvati, you need to eat it right now?” said Ash.

“Hear that?” asked Parvati. She was addressing the rat. “Looks like you’re dinner.” Her jaws widened and her fangs sprang out, each slick with deadly poison. Her tongue, forked, flickered out across its whiskers.

The rat scrabbled desperately but vainly. It twisted, head straining, and the tiny black eyes looked straight at Ash, imploring him for help.

“Please!” it squeaked in a tiny voice. “Don’t let her eat me!”





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arvati held the rat upside down by its tail, swinging it slowly back and forth. “I’m going to let you go. Don’t even think about fleeing, or the only hole you’ll be running down will be my gullet. Understand?”

It looked like the rat was trying to nod. Not easy, being upside down.

“I’m sorry, but can we have a reality check?” said Ash. “That rat. It talked.”

The rat fell, and in a second it was on its feet, nose and whiskers twitching. It rubbed its eyes and Ash swore it stamped its foot. Then it shook itself like a dog coming out of a pond. But instead of water, minute hairs tumbled off its body. The pink, oily skin pulsed and bubbled as the rat spasmed. Its squeak rose to a high, sharp violin screech as it blew up like some distorted balloon. Arms stuck out of the pink, swelling flesh and irregular patches of black hair spiralled out from its deformed head. The arms lengthened and the claws twisted into hands. Within seconds the rat was gone, and a pale, naked man stood before them.

The man grinned as he covered his privates with his hands and stood at an awkward, gawky angle. A stumpy pink tail still flicked back and forth. He glanced around. “You couldn’t pass me my clothes, could you?” he said. “It’s just a bit draughty.”

Parvati tossed him his bowler hat.

“Who are you?” asked Ash.

“The name’s Monty.”

Parvati’s own nose wrinkled up in a look of disgust. “A common rat demon.”

“Now, there’s no reason to be rude, your highness.” Monty shifted his shoulders, trying to strike a more proud stance, not easy while holding a bowler over his private parts. “Common. Of all the cheek.”

“Let’s play with it,” said Khan. His nails were five-centimetre claws. He tapped them on the table, dragging little grooves through the wood.

“Easy, tiger,” said Parvati. But there was a malicious edge to her voice.

Monty registered the deadly looks. He backed away, but just bumped against Ash. He sank to his knees, grabbing his hands and dropping his bowler hat. “Sir, you look like a reasonable man. Surely we can come to some arrangement?”

Khan spoke. “Whatever he says, it’ll be lies. The rats are the lowest caste of rakshasa. Hardly rakshasas at all.”

Ash slowly slid his hand out and wiped it on his trousers. “An arrangement?”

“Your protection, sir. In exchange for information.”

“Your information had better be top quality,” said Parvati. She’d revealed more of her own demon form, with green scales clustered round her throat and her cobra eyes acutely slanted, large and hypnotic. Her tongue flicked the air, tasting Monty’s fear.

Monty looked around at all three of them. “What do you want to know?”

“We’re looking for the Koh-i-noor. We understand you’ve just stolen it,” said Ash.

“The Koh-i-noor? You think I’d have something like that?” He shook his head. “Way out of my league. Try Sotheby’s. They’ve got a special department for that sort of stuff.”

Khan’s roar shook the windowpanes as he pounced, crossing the room in an instant. He lifted Monty up by the throat, pushing the rat demon high into the air until his head was touching the ceiling. Khan’s canines were long and much thicker than Parvati’s. What they lacked in venom, they made up for in sharpness. They could tear Monty open with minimal effort.

“Wrong answer,” Khan snarled.

“Oh, the Koh-i-noor!” cried Monty. “I must have misheard. It’s my ears; full of fur.”

Khan dropped him. The rat demon lay on the floor, coughing.

Ash helped him up. “So you steal. Is that what rat demons do?”

“We’ve all got to earn a living, put some cheese on the table, as it were,” said Monty. “I do a bit of this and a bit of that. It’s not like the old days, when we were top dogs.”

“The Plague Years,” said Parvati.

Monty sighed. “Golden days. I miss them. Demons nowadays got no sense of pride, no sense of history.”

“There still a lot of them around in London?” asked Ash.

Monty snorted. “Working for those big banks in Canary Wharf.”

Ash laughed. “There’s profit in misery.” It was the Savage family motto.

Monty put on a pair of trousers and a jacket. Then he scooped up his bowler hat and tapped it into place and sighed with satisfaction. “Now, to business.”

Ash looked at the demon. This guy had stolen probably the most heavily guarded items in the entire country? He looked more like the kind of bloke you’d find on a street corner selling knock-off perfume. “How did you do it?”

“Ah, sir, we have our professional secrets.”

Khan growled. Monty gulped. “Well, if you really want to know. The sewers.”

“Sewers? The drainpipes? Wouldn’t they have grilles and bars to prevent that sort of thing?”

“You’re a very clever lad, if I may say so. That’s what I’ve always said, brains always triumph over brawn.” Monty gave Khan a look of superior disdain. “The sewer defences are designed to prevent human-sized infiltration. Why, half my family lives down there. It was just a matter of time before we worked out which set of pipes led where.”

Parvati smiled, maybe with just a touch of admiration. “So you just crawled into the room?”

“I won’t say it was that simple, but fundamentally, yes, that’s exactly what I did. The guard went out for a minute to answer a call of nature. I clamped the diamond in my teeth, which is harder than it sounds, then dived back down the drain. Four hours it took me to get back. Almost drowned in a sea of—”

“Yes, we’ve heard enough,” said Khan. He uncurled his claws, holding out his palm. “Give us the Koh-i-noor.”

Monty looked from Khan, to Parvati, and finally to Ash. “Now let’s not be hasty. Surely we can come to some arrangement?”

Parvati’s eyes narrowed and a soft, dangerous hiss slipped from between her lips. She sat on the edge of the table, quite still – but in the stillness was a lethal pause. Beside her stood Khan, his predatory eyes on the rat. His claws clicked and clicked with anticipation, about to take feline-rodent relations to their usual bloody conclusion. This was a glimpse into the demon heart of Parvati, and Ash wasn’t sure he liked it. His friends were dangerous people.

And what does that make me?

Monty put his hand to his throat and backed away. “A teeny-tiny arrangement?” He swallowed and sweat dripped off his long nose. “Fine. Have it your way.” He went to an old cathode ray-style TV in the corner. He unscrewed the back with his nail. “You have the diamond and we’re even, right?”

“We’ll see,” said Parvati.

The back cover fell off and Monty searched inside, coming out with a small brown cardboard box. Parvati took it off him and opened it up.

The diamond caught every speck of light and amplified it within the countless facets on its surface. According to Indian legend all diamonds had their own sort of life, and seeing the Koh-i-noor glowing within the dingy room, Ash believed it. There was power, ancient and even malevolent, within its flawless heart. Rumoured to be cursed, it was said that he who possessed it would hold all the treasures of the world, and all its miseries.

Ash turned to Monty. “Has anyone else made an offer for this?”

Monty’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

Ash’s voice dropped with cold anger. “Did Savage want it?”

“Easy, Ash, I’ll deal with this,” said Parvati.

“Oh my God.” Monty backed away. “You’re Ash Mistry, aren’t you? The Kali-aastra?” There was true, deep fear in Monty’s voice. He cringed in the corner, eyes wide and breath coming in desperate pants.

Rakshasas died, like everyone else. But unlike humans, the demons were reincarnated with their memories and powers intact. It might take a few years for them to remember everything, but they didn’t fear death the way mortals did.

Yet they feared Kali, the goddess of death and destruction. She was true annihilation. The end of existence. If a demon was killed by Kali or her weapon, there was no coming back. Ever.

And Ash was exactly that, the weapon of Kali.

Monty seemed to shrink. “Yes. He did. Savage wanted it.”

“We’ve got company,” interrupted Khan. He was peering through the curtains at the main street. Ash joined him.

A large white Humvee had rolled up on to the kerb, and Ash watched as a tawny-haired woman in white stepped out. Jackie, Savage’s right-hand woman. She was a jackal rakshasa and one of the two directly responsible for killing his uncle and aunt. Three men also got out of the big car, rakshasas for sure, but no one he recognised. With his enhanced senses, he knew Savage wasn’t in the car.

Ash gripped the curtain. He wanted to tear it off and leap down and fight them. Kill them. The power inside of him stirred and swelled, urging him on.

“Not now, Ash,” warned Parvati. “We don’t want to give Savage any warning.”

Ash spun round and grabbed Monty. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, honestly!”

Three points of light along Monty’s neck, two on the left, one at the base of his throat. A couple on either side of his head. Activating his knowledge of the kill points, of Marma Adi, was getting easier and easier. Ash tightened his right fist. Glowering at the petrified rat, he whispered. “I am going to count to three. Then, if the answer isn’t the one I want, I will put my knuckles through what little brain you have. One…”

“Kolkata! He’s in Kolkata!” Monty’s gaze widened and his tail twitched in panic. “I only spoke to him today – check the area code on the mobile phone if you don’t believe me. He told me he was sending his servants over with the cash. It’s true!”

“Where in Kolkata?” asked Parvati.

“Two…”

“Somewhere out of the Savage Foundation. That’s all I know, I swear!”

The doorbell below rang.

“Well?” asked Khan. “Let’s kill him and be gone.”

“No, you promised,” muttered Monty. “Please, I won’t tell them anything.”

Parvati sighed. “Sorry, but we know that’s not true, don’t we?” She looked at Ash. “Do you want to do it or shall I?”

Kali destroyed rakshasas. It was her holy duty. It was Ash’s duty to serve her. Killing this rat demon was holy work. Ash would be cleansing the world. The desire to kill was like a fever, filling his head and heart. The black, swirling darkness urged him to do it: it struggled to take control of his body, to take over and then destroy.

But what would he become if he let that happen?

“No,” Ash said. He wasn’t going to kill anyone, even a demon, just because it was convenient. “Leave him.” It was hard to make his fingers release their grip, but he did it. Suddenly he felt exhausted, soul-weary. It had taken all his willpower to hold the darkness back, and the effort had drained him down to almost nothing. His senses dulled and he could feel the superhuman strength fading. The Kali-aastra was withdrawing its power. He turned and tapped Monty’s nose to get the rat’s attention. “But see those other rakshasas outside, the ones Savage sent? Well, I’ve met Jackie before, and she’ll be disappointed you don’t have the Koh-i-noor waiting for her. If I were you, I’d find a hole and bury myself deep down inside it for a year or two.”

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was followed by banging. Monty chewed his lip, glancing at the door and then at them. Then he threw off his hat and wriggled. Limbs shrank and hair burst out over his skin in random patches. His nose stretched and whiskers sprouted on either side of the pink flesh. A moment later a rat stood on the dirty carpet. It stuck out its tongue and blew a faint, squeaking raspberry, then darted through a gap in the baseboard.

Khan leaped out of the bathroom window and hit the ground easily and silently. Jackie and Savage’s other demons had disappeared into the building. Parvati somersaulted through the air, bouncing on the opposite wall before landing without stirring even the discarded paper. Ash slid down the drainpipe and joined them, and a few minutes later they were out on Charing Cross Road.

Parvati took Khan’s arm. “We’ll double back now. See if we can follow Jackie and her cronies back to wherever they’re based.”

“I’ll come,” said Ash. Seeing the jackal rakshasa in the flesh had brought it all back, all the rage and pain of what had happened in India and how she’d killed his uncle and aunt and threatened Lucky. He wanted to deal with her.

Parvati shook her head. “No. She doesn’t know you’re here, Ash; let’s keep it that way. She could lead us to Savage, and starting a fight will accomplish nothing. This isn’t just about you.”

Ash understood. There was Lucks, his parents. He didn’t want them getting involved. Keeping them safe was what mattered.

Khan backed away, leaving them alone. Parvati patted the lump of diamond in her pocket. “We did good, Ash.”

“You’re going already?”

“The sooner I get the Koh-i-noor away, the better.” She kissed him on the cheek lightly. It was barely a touch and over almost immediately.

It didn’t feel like enough.

“Parvati…”

She smiled. “It was good seeing you again, Ash. You look after yourself.”

She crossed the road to where Khan waited, and then the two of them disappeared into the London fog.





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“


here on earth have you been?” asked Josh as Ash came through the park gates. “It’s almost nine.”

“You’re lucky I’m here at all.” Ash waved over his shoulder. “Errands to run.” He’d planned to catch the bus back, but some accident due to the fog had the traffic at a standstill. He’d ended up walking all the way.

“Well, it’s been an epic waste of time so far,” muttered Akbar through the scarf that covered half his face. He stood, cold, shivering and miserable in his duffel coat. “We’re only here because of you, you know that?”

An impenetrable fog now covered London, hiding everything beyond three metres away. It was like being lost in a world of ghosts.

Despite the weather, the fireworks display was going ahead. There was a whoosh in the darkness and some muffled burst from somewhere, but all you could see was dense mist, no colours and certainly no firework explosions.

“Is anyone else here?” Ash asked.

Josh shrugged. “This is the most unbanging Guy Fawkes Night ever.”

Small groups of spectators drifted in and out of the mists. Most were families with small kids waving their sparklers, but Ash recognised a few people from school.

“What’s that?” He could hear something, a distant, dull roar.

“Up ahead.” Josh pointed.

Through the haze of mist and smoke moved a blurry orange glow. As Ash came towards it, flickers of raw heat cut through the icy night air. Gloomy silhouettes began to solidify around them, ghosts emerging from the mist.

Ash stopped at the rope barrier.

The bonfire raged against the smothering fog. A tower of wooden debris blazed, over fifteen metres tall, the flames intense and rising twice as high. Even at the perimeter ring, a good eleven or twelve metres from the bonfire, the heat made Ash’s skin flushed and sweaty. Monstrous clouds of smoke rose into the sky and millions of tiny, glowing embers swirled and danced like hellish imps in the fire-born draughts.

But the light the bonfire cast out did not extend much further than the rope ring. Beyond, the darkness ruled, crowding around the living fire, waiting for the flames to go out so it could claim everything for itself. Oblivion.

“Did you… did you see Gemma around?” Ash said.

Josh slapped his forehead. “I knew there was something else. Yeah, she’s been looking for you all evening.”

“Where is she?”

“No idea. Could have gone home by now.”

Great. He didn’t have her mobile phone number.

There was another pointless, invisible explosion as some fireworks went off. The crowd gave an ironic, half-hearted cheer.

A cold wind rippled through and the flames swayed. The radiant heat warmed only what faced the flames; Ash’s back felt the chill.

“I’m getting a burger – want one?” asked Josh.

“I’ll come with you,” said Ash.

Dulwich Park had a small food hall attached to it, and tonight there would be burgers, baked potatoes and drinks sold to the shivering crowd. As they made their way closer to the hall, the number of people increased. It seemed everyone was more interested in the food and drink than the fireworks display.

Ash smelled the crisp odour of burning meat and heard the sizzle of onions, his mouth watering. He weaved his way through the crowd, checking his pockets for cash.

“Hiya, Ash.”

Gemma grinned at him, stamping her feet to keep some circulation going. Her hands were stuffed deep into her jeans pockets and she had pulled her bobble hat low over her eyebrows.

She was here. Ash smiled back. The world seemed a brighter, happier place.

“Hi,” he said. “You look frozen.”

“It’s not too bad by the bonfire, but this jumper’s about as thick as tissue.” She gestured to the hall. “Jack’s gone off to get some food.”

“So, Jack’s still around.” Now the world seemed much darker and colder.

“We’re not going out or anything,” said Gemma. “But, y’know how it is…”

“No, not really.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Gemma. She seemed genuinely concerned. Why couldn’t he have more friends like her? Instead he was hanging out with immortal assassins and demons. Maybe he needed to re-evaluate his New Year’s resolutions.

Less demons.

More Gemma.

He blushed. “Er, I’ve been thinking I’ve got the wrong sort of friends.”

“Tell me about it.” Gemma smiled, but her teeth chattered.

Ash whipped off his coat, adjusting his T-shirt to hide the punch dagger sheathed across his back. “Put this on.”

“No. You’re only wearing a T-shirt. You need it more than me.”

“Trust me. I don’t feel the cold much.”

She laughed, but accepted the coat.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, Ash. I remember seeing you slogging around the sports fields on cross-country runs, looking as miserable as a human being could. Muddy up to your knees, soaking wet, in last place.”

“Always last. Yes, I remember those runs.” Him last – Jack, as ever, first.

“But you kept on going. That was either incredibly stubborn or incredibly stupid.”

“Probably equal amounts of both.”

“But you stuck at it. I always thought that was great. Things never came that easy to you.”

“Still don’t.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “That still true? You’ve changed a lot, Ash.”

The way she said it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Gemma spoke quietly, and her tone was edged with… what? Interest.

She put her hands in his. “You’re right, you don’t feel cold.”

Gemma tightened her fingers round his. He looked into her eyes, and she didn’t look away.

“Oh, Ash, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Parvati was standing right next to him.

Ash couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing here?”

Gemma dropped Ash’s hand. “Who’s this?”

Parvati ignored her. “We’ve got trouble.”

Khan joined them. He looked Gemma up and down. “Namaste.”

Parvati pulled Ash aside, but Gemma followed. Parvati spun round. “Will you go away?”

Gemma glared, but Ash spoke up. “It’s OK, Gemma. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Parvati arched her eyebrow. It was sharp and elegant and designed to be arched. “This is Gemma? The female you want to mate with?”

“What?” said Ash.

“What?” said Gemma.

Parvati continued. “You’re not familiar with the term? Procreate? Make babies with?”

Why did the gods have it in for him? Ash turned to Gemma. “I won’t be long.”

“Fine. Take as long as you want,” snapped Gemma before storming off.

“So that was Gemma?” asked Khan, grinning like a tiger having just spotted a limp deer. “Tasty.”

“Leave her alone,” said Ash. “I mean it.”

Khan gave a melodramatic tremble. “I’m so scared.”

How could tonight get any worse?

A high-pitched cackle rose out of the fog. It was brittle and cruel, and it descended into a hysterical laugh, echoing across the park. Children began to cry, and grown-ups stared around, bewildered and not a little frightened themselves.

That’s how.

“Jackie,” said Parvati. “I’m such a fool. She’s tracked you.”

Jackie’s mad, demonic cry had haunted Ash’s nights many months after returning from India. Now, hearing it again, he remembered the depth of fear he’d felt the first time he’d heard it.

“How?” Ash asked.

“Scent. She must have picked it up at Monty’s.” Then she looked at Ash again, frowning. “Where’s your coat?”

Oh my God. My coat.

Jackie was following Ash’s scent.

Which was all over his favourite Sherlock Holmes coat.

Which Gemma was wearing.





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“


’ve got to find Gemma,” said Ash.

People screamed as savage snarls and howls erupted all around them. A black shadow raced through the fog, hideously large with a massive head and shoulders, charging in and out of the mist on four legs.

Ash looked at Parvati, and the old understanding was there. She nodded and disappeared into the fog. He looked around. Where was Gemma? Then he saw someone who might know.

“Jack!” He ran up to the boy, who was balancing a tray of burgers and Cokes. “Where’s Gemma?”

“You’ve got some nerve,” he snarled. “Gemma’s mine and she’s not interested in a freak like you.” He dropped the tray and put up his fists. “Time I taught you a lesson.”

“I so don’t have time for this,” said Ash.

The howl broke in. A giant dark shape raced towards them, its heavy paws slamming on the hard earth. Jack screamed and Ash pushed him behind him.

Kali’s dark storm exploded within his soul, flooding him with supernatural energy. Ash roared and leaped.

He slammed into the beast. For a second he saw burning yellow eyes and long, crooked canines, a slavering tongue. The jaws widened.

Ash instinctively thrust his hand down the creature’s throat. His fingers, locked into a spear-point, tore through the soft tissue, sliced open the lungs, and then tightened round the pulsing heart. He ripped it out before the jaws could close round his arm.

The monster was dead before it hit the ground. It crashed, rolled and came to a halt at the feet of the terrified Jack.

It was a huge hyena, more the size of a lion, with massive hunched shoulders and a misshapen head, snout fatter and shorter than a natural animal. Its pelt was bristling black and spotted and the claws long and curled. Blood spewed from its twitching jaws, washing the frozen earth.

Ash turned the pulsing sac of the monster’s heart in his hand. It gave a feeble splutter as it discharged the last of its blood, then it stilled. He tossed it away.

“You were about to say something, Jack?”

Jack’s legs shook as tears smeared his face. There was a wet stain running down his Levi’s. “No… no… nothing.”

“Good.”

How many demons had Jackie brought with her? Ash remembered three others in the car, but here, lost in the fog, the sounds and cries and screams were all jumbled up and coming from everywhere. A rocket whizzed horizontally across the park, trailing bright multicoloured sparks and smoke. It vanished into the swirling grey fog and exploded somewhere among the trees.

Ash ran along the wreckage of the display frames. The large scaffolds holding hundreds of fireworks had been toppled over. The timers tripped, and dozens of Catherine wheels spun like fiery Frisbees across the ground. Missiles shot off in random directions or just exploded on their frames, setting the surrounding grass and nearby trees alight with rainbow-coloured flames.

A small kid wandered alone, separated from his parents. He still held his sparkler, waving it dumbly while tears rolled down his fat cheeks. Then the fog rolled over him and he was gone. How could it have gone so wrong so quickly?

Where was Gemma?

Ash stared at the horrified faces of the people screaming and running in blind panic. Vaporous smog lay over the chaos. Then a bellowing roar shook the fog, making it tremble and ripple outward.

Ash ran towards the source of the ripples.

A tiger was fighting a huge dire hyena. A grotesque hunchbacked jackal stalked the outer ring of the battle, and behind them the towering bonfire tottered. The wooden struts cracked and the structure swayed from side to side.

And behind the tiger stood Gemma.

She was staring around madly for an escape route, but finding none. Behind her was the inferno, and before her were the rakshasas.

Dozens of wounds covered the tiger – Khan – some deep and oozing thick dark blood.

Khan saw Ash.

And so did Jackie.

The tiger charged the hyena, tearing into it. Khan forced the demon back, trying to open up a path between Ash and Gemma.

But Jackie was quicker.

She sprang a dozen metres in an instant, even as Ash sprinted towards Gemma. Gemma screamed and stumbled back, ignoring the bonfire right behind her, more terrified of the slavering jaws of the demon than the unbearable heat.

“Gemma!” Ash screamed as a barrage of rockets shot over his head.

Like a thunderstorm, the fireworks smashed into the heart of the bonfire. Ash flung his arm over his eyes as the gunpowder exploded with a blinding white flash. He staggered back, dazed, as more and more firecrackers followed the smoky trail into the giant, blazing tower.

Jackie threw Gemma to the ground and stood over the cowering girl, her face a grotesque, unnatural blend of human and beast, long slavering jaws with human lips and eyes.

Parvati ran up to Ash. Ash stepped forward, but Jackie brought her fangs close to Gemma’s throat. Gemma lay still and petrified.

“The Koh-i-noor, and the girl lives,” Jackie growled. Spittle dripped off her canines on to Gemma’s face.

They were maybe ten metres apart, though it was hard to tell with the fog and smoke. Jackie’s fangs were a centimetre from Gemma’s bare neck. There was no way he’d make it.

Jackie’s eyes blazed and her fur shivered across her shoulders. “The diamond, boy.”

They had no choice. “Give it to her, Parvati.”

“No.”

“Give it to her!”

Parvati stepped back. “No.” Her cold gaze didn’t shift from the jackal rakshasa.

Ash reached to the back of his T-shirt, moving his hand ever so slowly. It was dark, the distance long, and the katar wasn’t designed for throwing, but it was the only chance he had.

“Parvati, for God’s sake…”

“No!”

Jackie howled and—

Ash grabbed the katar and hurled it at the rakshasa.

Gemma screamed as Jackie sank her fangs into her neck. She beat the demon with her fists, struggling under the massive, hairy monster. The katar punched into Jackie’s shoulder, and Jackie released her to howl again. She stumbled back, and Ash charged.

The rakshasa shook herself, trying to dislodge the katar wedged just below her lower neck. The blade refused to shift, so finally Jackie leaped into the fog, fangs and fur soaked with blood, her mad, howling laughter echoing in her wake, Parvati sprinted after her.

Ash fell to his knees beside Gemma.

“Gemma?”

Oh God, her neck was covered in blood. He put his hands on the wound, feeling the muscles quivering and the breath hissing from her ruined throat, raising red bubbles that spluttered and popped.

“Someone get an ambulance!” he screamed. “Please!”

Gemma grabbed hold of his arm. She dug her fingers into his skin, hanging on to him as if she was sinking into a dark sea, focusing on him with frightening intensity. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

The lights of death were spreading over her, multiplying second by second. She looked radiant, covered in gold, bright as an angel.

“Gemma, Gemma…”

Ash trembled as he began to absorb Gemma’s death energies.

“No. No.”

He wanted to say more, to tell her it was OK, that she had to be brave and she would come back, but the words were bitter and dead on his tongue. This was Gemma and they’d played together since nursery school. Her sister was Lucky’s best friend. He’d seen her almost every day of his life, and this was about to be her last.

Each bead of sweat on her shone brighter than any diamond, her skin pale as the most perfect marble. Each breath smelled sweeter than any rose. Gemma’s grip weakened. Her eyes, ever changing in colour, were wide and staring, her pupils swelling until they almost consumed her irises.

Ash heard sirens in the distance.

“Just hang on, Gemma. Hang on.”

Heat burst within him, straight into his heart and flooding every atom of his being. The world shook around him as waves of energy pounded him, filling him with more and more power.

This was a Great Death.





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sh replayed the last moments of Gemma’s life a thousand times, a hundred thousand times over the next few days. From the moment he woke, it haunted him. A fraction quicker, a centimetre truer with his aim, and it would have all been different.

He walked down the dark, lamplit street, head down and lost in memory.

The ambulance came, too late, and then the police found Ash covered in blood with a dead girl in his arms. Jack had been hysterical, shouting about him, and there were witnesses saying Ash had been with Gemma and then there’d been some argument with another girl. All these small, random details. A punch dagger had been found, smeared with blood, and the sheath strapped to his belt fitted the blade perfectly. So the police and half the school added two and two and got five.

It had been a dark, lonely night in the police station before the fog had cleared in the morning and the police found a dead hyena. The wounds on Gemma proved to be from an animal bite – an escaped animal from some zoo, the police thought – and Ash finally went home with his parents.

Their silence had been awful. Lucky had looked at him with such cold hatred and disgust that though she had not said a word, he knew exactly what she was thinking. Gemma was dead because of him.

And she was right.

If only he'd stayed on the bus instead of walking back, Jackie wouldn't have been able to follow him. If only he hadn't given Gemma his coat. If only he'd been closer he would have put the blade in Jackie's skull instead of her shoulder. If only he'd been quicker. If only he'd been faster, stronger, better.

If only…

Did Jackie bite Gemma before he'd thrown the katar, or after?

Why had Parvati said “No” when Jackie had demanded the diamond?

Why?

He stared at his left hand, at the small scar on his thumb. If it would do any good, he’d cut it off right now. But the Kali-aastra was all of him, and he was it. There was nothing heroic about what he’d become. Quite the opposite. He was a curse. Elaine had predicted this would happen. Someone had ended up dead, and he was so very sorry.

But what gripped his heart with fear was the certainty that this would never end. Who would be next? His parents? His other friends? Lucky?

Gemma’s death had made him more powerful, and he hated himself for it. Parvati had explained, ages ago it seemed, that the more significant the death, the more power Ash gained. He hadn’t realised what she meant until Gemma’s energies had filled him: a Great Death. His strength, speed, agility and senses had crept further up the scale, leaving ‘human’ further behind. The shock of it left him dazed, far more than he’d expected.

Had his presence accelerated Gemma’s death, even? Kali was a greedy, blood-drinking goddess. Had the aastra, sensing death, drawn it out? He felt sick to his guts whenever he heard his parents talking downstairs and Lucky crying. He picked up the looks and the fear from the other kids in class. His supernaturally acute hearing gathered the whispers and the quiet mutterings as he passed. The rumours about that awful night infected all of West Dulwich High.

He missed seeing her in class. Her chair remained empty as if she’d just got up, still warm with her presence so he could fool himself, even just for a second, Gemma was still there. Instead the shadows of the trees outside passed over it as the sun, winter low, crossed the sky east to west. How he wished he could make the shadows reverse their path.

Ash stared at his shadow now as it rose up against Josh’s front door. He stood there, outside his best friend’s house, and raised his fist. He could hear the others inside. There was Akbar’s snorting laugh, and he could smell Sean’s aftershave, and that they had salt and vinegar crisps out, that there was hot chocolate brewing and their takeaway pizza had cheese, olives and anchovies on it, plus some curry powder. Josh burped after a mouthful of Sprite. Sean, Josh and Akbar. His closest, oldest friends who’d known him for years and years. Ash had been just like them, and right now that was all he wanted. To be like them again. Normal, and none of this supernatural, superhuman crap.

Dice fell on the kitchen table and pencils scratched on notepaper. Akbar said something about the sorcerer casting a firestorm spell at the manticore. The game of Dungeons and Dragons was in full swing. Ash knocked.

Josh’s laugh carried all the way to the door until he opened it and saw Ash. Then it froze on his face as he stood there, staring at him. He opened his mouth, but it took a few attempts before words came out. “Ash?”

He’s scared.

Josh’s heartbeat accelerated, the rapid thumping as loud to Ash as a circus drum. Sweat formed across his forehead and upper lip, and the colour faded from his face. His breath was short, shallow and panicky; even his hand trembled on the door handle.

He’s not scared, he’s terrified. Of me.

Ash forced a smile, even though inside his heart was tearing in two. “It’s Tuesday. ‘The Catacombs of Doom’, remember?”

Josh’s gaze shifted down to his feet. “Oh, right. It’s just… we didn’t think you’d come.”

“I’m here now.”

There was no move to let Ash in. But Josh’s heart rate was over a hundred beats per minute. He looked up at Ash, biting his lower lip. He was struggling to speak, to say something, but couldn’t.

Ash’s gaze darkened. Josh shouldn’t be treating him like this. “You going to let me in or what?”

“Or what, Ash? What are you going to do if I don’t?”

“What?”

“What are you going to do?”

For a second, just a second, Ash let his anger, his rejection, show. He wanted to push past. He could do it so easily. Josh couldn’t stop him, he was just a human. How dare Josh judge him, what right did he have? Didn’t he know what Ash had done? Josh was pathetic. Ash raised his hand and—

Stepped back.

The look on Josh’s face said it all. The fear practically dripped off him. He trembled. Ash lowered his hand, wishing he could take that last moment back. He smiled at Josh, but the smile was too harsh, too much like a grinning dead man.

“Look, Josh, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You know me.”

“Do I? Really?”

He couldn’t believe it. Did Josh think he’d killed Gemma? How could he? “I’ve done nothing wrong, Josh. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Christ, Josh, this is me.”

“I saw you, Ash. I saw you.” Josh winced and put his hand over his face. “I’m still not sure I believe it, but I saw what you did at the park the night Gemma died.”

“And what was that?” asked Ash coldly. “You saw what, exactly?”

“I saw you push Jack out of the way and shove your arm down the throat of some insane monster. I saw you rip its heart out like you were picking apples from a tree. You moved so fast that you practically blurred. No one can move that fast. Not Usain Bolt pumped with rocket fuel. Nobody. It was mad, but I went over to the monster and saw it was real. Jack was screaming and crying and I didn’t know what was going on, but there was some giant dead dog in the grass and beside it was its torn-out heart.”

“It wasn’t like—”

“I am not an idiot, Ash.” Josh looked back at him, sad and lost. “Then I saw you with Gemma. With that thing with a human face and jackal’s body. With a girl with scales and a forked tongue. I watched you throw the knife and watched you as Gemma died. I called the ambulance, did you know that?”

“Thanks.” What else could he say? Deny it? Make his friend think he was insane to believe in monsters?

No, Josh believed. He had one standing right here in front of him.

“What are you, Ash?”

“I really don’t know any more.”

“I think you’d better go.”

Ash looked up at his mate. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not to you or the other guys.”

“Is that what you told Gemma?”

And Josh closed the door.





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shoka gazes down the hill. A few fires still burn within the village, edging out the cold desert night. Somewhere in the darkness a bullock grunts and a baby cries.

A dozen or so squat mud-brick dwellings. A fenced-off corral for the cattle. Chickens squawking within the sheds. Fields with dried-out gullies and meagre crops. To the north squat the domed grain stores. How many such villages has he visited? How many fires has he lit? How many cries has he silenced?

Not enough. Not yet.

His band swells with each passing victory. Soon it will be an army. For Ashoka has dreams beyond village raids. This is how kingdoms begin.

He thinks about his father, a king, and his older brothers. They have grand palaces and dine off gold plates while he haunts the desert, eating with his band of brigands. His father laughed when Ashoka demanded his crown. How often was he laughed at, dismissed? Now they laugh no longer. They scream. If he cannot have their respect and love, he will have their fear.

Soon, the old palace will echo with wailing women, he thinks. That crown, and others, will be mine. He wonders how the old man sleeps, knowing his son is out here, carving out a kingdom of his own.

His men wait impatiently, like dogs eager for the hunt. They check their weapons, adjust their armour, ensuring helmets are fixed and there are no loose straps. But Ashoka expects little resistance. This will not be a battle – not against unarmed, unsuspecting villagers. This will be a slaughter.

His horse whinnies and stomps its hoof; it senses the coming bloodletting. Ashoka pats its thick neck. He himself wears a mail coat over his silk tunic and heavy cotton pantaloons. His boots, stiff leather, creak in the stirrups. A bright red sash lies across his waist, a jewelled dagger tucked into the cloth. Hanging from his saddle is his sword, a single-edged talwar with a gold-bound hilt. Which chieftain, which prince, did he slay to possess it? He cannot remember; there have been so many.

The jangle of reins and the snort of another steed snaps his attention back to his men.

A sleek mare with a high arching neck and white mane bound with silver and silk trots up beside him. The rider is clad in scales, and the sabre on her hip is sheathed in green crocodile skin. She doffs her helmet, and her emerald eyes shine in the moonlight.

“The men are ready,” she says.

Ashoka observes her. She leans over the pommel, waiting in anticipation, her forked tongue flicking along her fangs. Her cobra’s eyes do not lower; she defies where others would bow and kneel. Perhaps that is why she has risen so rapidly in his command. And why should she bow? Is she not royalty herself? Was not her father a great king?

“You have done well,” he says.

“My lord.” She bows, almost. “I am but your servant.”

“Ha! Servant? I doubt anyone could command you. You are terror made flesh, Parvati.”

She smiles, a rare thing, then looks down the slope. “Why this particular village?”

“Their landlord defies me. He refuses to pay tribute and so must be punished.”

“Shall I send a detachment to raid the stores?” She points towards the row of round huts some distance away. “They will be full of grain this time of year.”

“No. Burn them. The message will be clear. Defy me and you will be annihilated.”

“And the captives?”

“What captives?” Ashoka draws his own sword. “I want no survivors.”

“Slaves could be sold, my lord.”

Ashoka stands up in his stirrups and turns to his warriors. “Listen to me,” he shouts. He sweeps the blade down towards the village. “You are my jackals. We feed on blood and the dead. No survivors. Kill them all!”

Howls fill the night. Then the line of horsemen descends the slope, drawing their weapons, and suddenly the night is filled with the thunder of hooves and battle cries. The moon shines on swords and spears and axes, each one sharp and notched with heavy use. Chariots – light wicker contraptions drawn by pairs of steeds – rattle and bounce over the uneven, rocky terrain. A driver weaves his team through a gap between two sandstone boulders as his passenger nocks an arrow. The cavalry formation fragments as each man races his companion, eager to be the first to kill. Ashoka whips his horse and it froths at the bit, neighing with savage delight. He grins and his heart soars, a passion too primitive for words, so he merely howls as the wind rushes in his ears.

The village stirs. Men stumble from their doors, bewildered and still half asleep. A dog races up to him, but is crushed under the hooves of his horse. The steed vaults over the low defensive wall and Ashoka catches the open-mouthed shock of a villager’s face before he drives the tip of his sword into it. He twists his wrist and the sword tears free. He does not even turn to look back.

Women run out, clutching screaming children and babies in their arms. They flee into the darkness. They will not escape. With a nod, three of his horsemen break off in pursuit.

He sees Parvati leap from her steed as it takes a spear in its chest. She turns in the air and her sword flashes. A head leaps off a pair of shoulders, trailing a ribbon of blood. She has not yet touched the ground. Her eyes burn with demonic light. Men fall beneath her blade like wheat beneath a reaper’s scythe. She does what she does best: end men’s lives.

Ashoka drops from his horse and sweeps his weapon across a man’s throat without pause. He rams his shield into the face of another as he charges into the melee.

A hammer slams into his wrist knocking his sword away. He spins and sees a huge, oak-chested man wielding a heavy wooden mattock. The man is covered in minor cuts, but swings the hammer with bone-shattering power. A soldier runs to Ashoka’s defence, then collapses as a single blow flattens his skull.

Ashoka discards his shield and leaps at the villager. Both fall and scrabble in the blood-soaked dust. He digs his fingers into the man’s neck, squeezing—

“Ash!”

Ash squeezes the throat of his enemy as other soldiers grab his arms to try and haul him back. The big, fat villager’s face turns red and his eyes bulge.

“Ash!” a girl screamed as she hung on to his arm. She wept and screamed again. Is she the man’s daughter? She is nothing. She is—

“Lucky?”

Ash dropped his grip and his dad gasped. There was a bruise over his cheek and he lay there, coughing and clutching his ribs. Had Ash punched him?

“Oh God, Dad, I’m so sorry.”

His mum switched on the light. Ash’s bedroom was wrecked. His books had been thrown everywhere, the chair legs were snapped, and there was a fist-sized hole in the cupboard door.

Had he done that in his sleep? Ash stumbled back on to his bed. “I’m so sorry.”

But no one listened. Mum was kneeling with Lucky beside Dad as his father struggled to breathe. Purple finger marks surrounded his neck.

Ash stared at his family and met Lucky’s gaze. She stared back at him with horror and disgust. Her eyes were red with tears, but her face was hard and pale. All she could do was shake her head.

He couldn’t bear to look. Instead he covered his face with his hands and sank down with a groan. What was happening to him?





(#ulink_413d3ba7-dacc-5b38-8048-c0adeacf5c43)

“


sh?” His mum tapped his door. “There’s a friend to see you.”

“I don’t want to see anyone.”

“Ash, I think—”

“I said I don’t want to see anyone!”

The door opened. He didn’t need to turn to know exactly who it was. Ash remained where he was, looking at the wall, in the dark, his back to the door. “I especially don’t want to see you, Parvati.”

The light came on. Ash slowly swivelled round.

Parvati closed the door, sat down on the corner of his unmade bed and, taking off her glasses, looked around.

“Is that dent meant to be in the door?” she asked.

The worst of the damage had been fixed or tidied away. Ash had straightened up the shelves and, with his dad, repaired the broken table and replaced the chair. He’d talked to his parents about it and they’d put it down to the trauma of Gemma’s death. His dad now wore a cravat to hide the bruises.

“What do you want?” Ash snapped.

“To see how you’re doing. We’ve not spoken since that night your friend died.”

“Since you let her die, you mean.”

When Parvati didn’t respond, Ash peered at her. She’d changed. Her hair was a mess – dried out, brittle and knotted – and her skin, usually smooth and clear, bore lines and a sickly yellow tinge.

“You’re ill,” Ash said. “I didn’t know demons got ill.”

She smiled weakly. “Everyone gets ill.”

“And what’s happened to your eyes? The whites have completely gone.” The green filled her entire socket, utterly serpentine. The pupils dilated in the semi-darkness to huge black discs.

“My demon heritage grows stronger as I age. The eyes are just the beginning. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m human at all.”

“I’m sure I don’t care.” Ash stood up and walked to the door. “Well, you’ve seen me. You can go.”

“Ash…”

“She’s dead because of you,” he said ever so quietly. It had to be quiet because if he let out what was really inside, he’d tear down the house. “You could have saved her.”

“You think Jackie would have let her go?” Parvati looked up at him. “She would have killed her whatever we did.”

“Why? Because rakshasas have no honour? Because they can’t be trusted?” He opened the door for her. “You should know.”

Parvati stood up. “What’s the point? You’re just a foolish boy. You have no idea what’s at stake. You think some mortal girl’s important in this? Grow up, Ash.”

Ash grabbed Parvati round her throat and slammed her against the wall. His fist went back, tightened so his knuckles were white and shaking with rage.

Parvati gazed back at him without emotion. But her fangs were fully extended, each one coated with her fatal venom. This close, her large, serpentine eyes dominated her face and the curving green scales shimmered. “You want to kill me, Ash? Is that it?”

Kill the rakshasa. Wasn’t that his duty? Wasn’t that his reason for existing?

“You are a monster,” he said, looking at her as if for the first time. “How could I have been so blind?”

“You want me to say I’m sorry?” Parvati hissed. “Beg for forgiveness? Sit in the dark and feel sorry for myself? Do you know who I am?” She shoved Ash back. “I am the daughter of Ravana. I do not beg.”

She looked at him, the defiance fading with a sigh. “I'm not sorry for what I did, though I am sorry your friend is dead.” Parvati reached out to touch him, then stopped herself. “But do you think you’re the only one who’s suffered? I’ve lost friends, people more than friends, so many that I can’t even begin to remember them all. But each one, Ash, each one left a hole here.” She pointed at her heart. “That’s the true curse of immortality. Each success is so fleeting you wonder why you bother, yet each failure weighs down your soul with lead. That’s why rakshasas are such monsters. We must cut out that part that feels. Better to be cold, hard, become immune to pain.”

Ash lowered his fist. What was he doing? In spite of Gemma, Parvati was the closest friend he had. He owed her his life. “I just wish there was something I could do,” said Ash. “Gemma didn’t deserve to die.”

“Ash—”

Of course. It was so obvious. “I came back from the dead. Why not Gemma? There has to be a way.”

Parvati’s gaze darkened. “Kali brought you back. She reawakened your heart.” Her words came out cold and hard. “What you’re talking about is something only gods can do. And it is a decision best left to them. Who is worthy, who is not.”

“Are you saying Gemma’s not worthy?”

“What I’m saying is who are we to choose?”

“Gemma is worthy. She was a good person.”

Parvati’s response, a bitter laugh, stabbed him deep. “Oh, I did not realise you could see into people’s souls and know whether they are good or evil. You have become powerful.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Please, Ash…” It was almost a plea. “The girl you knew is gone.”

Now the thought was in his head he couldn’t let it go. Was there some way to fix the mistakes of the past? Rishi would have known what was possible and what was not. Get Gemma back. A vain delusion or a real hope? His head told him one thing, his heart another. Ash looked at Parvati as she inspected his bookshelves. Why wouldn’t she want Gemma to return? Was Elaine right? Did Parvati have her own agenda?




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