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Wolf Island
Darren Shan


Grubbs Grady treads new ground in this, the eighth dramatic title in the Demonata. But beware – Trespassers will be eaten!“We spot the werewolves as we skim the treetops. Mutated, vicious, hairy monstrosities, all fangs, claws and muscles. The beast within me tries to force its way to the surface, howling silently at its warped brethren. I've never rid myself of the wolf…”As the mysterious Shadow builds an army of demons, Grubbs and his team search desperately for answers. But when they follow up a new lead, it takes them to an old, unexpected foe - the Lambs.The curse of the Gradys has returned with a vengeance. Werewolves are on the loose. And they're hungry…
























Wolf Island — a ripping place to visit.

Check it out at www.darrenshan.com (http://www.darrenshan.com)


For:

Bas – managing director of Shan Island

OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Csilla and Gabor – Budapest’s best!

Head Lab Technician:

Stella Paskins

Board of Governors:

the Christopher Little lambs




Contents


Shadow Play

Inner Silence

To the Rescue

New Mission

Getting Started

The Filthy Twelve

Meera’s Way

All the King’s Wolves

Timas on the Job

Prey

Open Season

Running the Gauntlet

Cavemen

The Final Push

The Beast Within

The Turned Worm

The Shape of Things to Come

The Devil’s in the Details

Last Man Standing

Toodle-Pips

This is the End, Beautiful Friend

Other Books by Darren Shan

Copyright

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




SHADOW PLAY


→ A five-headed demon with the body of a giant earwig bears down on me. I leap high into the air and unleash a paralysing spell. The demon stiffens, quivers wildly, then collapses. Its brittle legs shatter beneath the weight of its oversized body. Beranabus and Kernel move in on the helpless bug. I follow halfheartedly, stifling a yawn. Just another dull day at the office.

One of the demon’s heads looks like a crow, another a vulture, while the rest look like nothing on Earth. It opens its bird-like beak and squirts a thick, green liquid. Beranabus ducks swiftly, but the spit catches Kernel’s right arm. His flesh bubbles away to the bone. Cursing with more irritation than pain, he uses magic to cleanse his flesh and repair the damage.

“We could do with a bit of help here,” Kernel growls as I stroll after them.

“I doubt it,” I grunt, but break into a jog, just in case the demon’s tougher than we anticipated. Wouldn’t want to let the team down.

The earwig unleashes another ball of spit at Beranabus. The elderly magician flicks a hand at the liquid, which rebounds over the demon’s heads. It screams with shock and then agony. Kernel, back to full health, freezes the acidic spit before it fries the creature’s brains. We want this ugly baby alive.

I leap on to the demon’s back. Its shell is slimy beneath my bare feet. Stinks worse than a thousand sweaty armpits. But in this universe that doesn’t even begin to approach the boundaries of disgusting. I confronted a demon made of vomit a few months ago. The only way to subdue it was to suck on the strands of puke and sap it of its strength. Yum!

This wasn’t a career move. I didn’t read a prospectus and go, “Hmm, drinking demon puke… I could do that!” Life just led me here. I’m a magician, and if you’re born with a power like mine, you tend to get drawn into the war with the Demonata hordes. I fought my destiny for a long time, but now I grudgingly accept it and get on with the job at hand.

The earwig shudders, overcoming my paralysing spell. It tries to buck me off, but I dig my toes in and drive a fist through the shell. I let magical warmth flood from my fingers. An electric shock crackles through the demon. It squeals, then collapses limply beneath me.

Beranabus and Kernel face the demon’s vulture-like head and interrogate it. I stay perched on its back, hand immersed in its gooey flesh, green blood staining my forearm, nose crinkled against the stench.

“What is it?” Beranabus shouts, punching the twisted head, then grabbing the beak. “What’s its real name? Where’s it from? How powerful is it? What are its plans?” He releases his hold and waits for an answer.

The demon only moans in response. There are thousands of demon languages. I can’t speak any, but there are spells you can cast to understand them. I generally don’t bother. I’m sure this demon knows no more about the mysterious Shadow than any of the hundreds we’ve tormented over the last however many months that we’ve been on this wild goose chase.

The Shadow is the name we’ve given to a demon of immense power. It’s a massive, pitch-black beast, seemingly stitched together out of patches of shadow, with hundreds of snake-like tentacles. Beranabus thinks it’s the greatest threat we’ve ever faced. Lord Loss – an old foe of mine – said the Shadow was going to destroy the world. When a demon master makes a prediction like that, only a fool doesn’t take note.

We’ve been searching for the monster ever since we first encountered it in a cave, on a night when I lost my brother, but saved the world. We’ve been trying to find out more about it by torturing creatures like this giant earwig. We know the Shadow has assembled an army of demons, promising them the destruction of mankind and even the end of death itself. But we don’t know who it is, where it comes from, exactly how powerful it is.

“This is your last chance,” Beranabus growls, taking a step back from the earwig. “Tell us what you know or we’ll kill you.”

The demon makes a series of spluttering noises. Beranabus and Kernel listen attentively while I scratch my neck and yawn again.

“The same old rubbish,” Kernel murmurs when the demon finishes.

“Unless it’s lying,” Beranabus says without any real hope.

The earwig babbles rapidly, panicked.

“Spare you?” Beranabus muses, as if it’s a novel idea. “Why should we?”

More squeaks and splutters.

“Very well,” Beranabus says after a short pause. “But if you discover something and don’t tell us…” There’s no need for him to finish. The magician is feared in this universe of horrors. The earwig knows the many kinds of hell we could put it through.

I withdraw my hand from the hole in the earwig’s shell and jump to the ground. We’re in a gloomy realm, no sun in the dark purple sky. The land around us is like a desert. I make my hand hard and jab it into the dry earth, over and over, cleaning the green blood from my skin. Kernel opens a window while I’m doing that. When I’m ready, we step through into the next zone, in search of more demons to pump for information about the elusive, ominous Shadow.




INNER SILENCE


→ Six demons later, we rest for a while on a deserted asteroid in the blackest depths of demonic space, each of us sheltered by a magical force field which provides oxygen and warmth. Beranabus creates a few balls of light, directing the rays down, shielding us from any passers-by. In this universe you’re never safe, even in areas usually devoid of life.

You don’t have to sleep, eat or drink much here, but it helps to rest every so often and recharge your batteries. I haven’t been to this spot before, so I go on a stroll in case there’s anything worth seeing. We’ve cut a wild, meandering route through demon territories since I linked up with Beranabus. He’s worried that Lord Loss or others of the Shadow’s forces are tracking us, so we’ve kept on the move, hopefully several steps ahead of any pursuers.

The asteroid’s as uninteresting as I thought it would be, just pitted rock, not even any unusual formations. I thought this universe was amazing when I first came. The physical laws vary from zone to zone. I’ve seen mountains floating overhead. A world made of glass. I’ve been inside the bowels of giant demons. Squashed miniature worlds, killing billions of bacterial demons with a well-placed foot.

I’m not so easily impressed now. It wears you down, the constant weirdness, torturing, killing. Days and demons blur. You can’t stop and marvel at wonders all the time. You start to take them for granted. I see a demon the size of a city, with the face of the Mona Lisa. Big deal. All I care about is how to kill it.

I’m not scared any more either. I was, the first few demons we fought. The old Grubbs Grady yellow streak shone through and I had to battle hard to stand my ground and not flee like a spineless loser. But fear fades over time. I no longer worry about dying. It’s going to happen sooner rather than later — I’ve accepted that. I don’t even give thanks any more when we scrape through a fierce battle.

But close fights are rare. Most of the demons we target are weak and craven. We don’t tackle the stronger beasts, focusing instead on the dregs of the universe. I could defeat most of them single-handed. We always work as a unit, but don’t often need to. I’ve fought thousands of demons, but I could count the number of times my life has been in danger on the fingers of one hand.

Fighting demons and saving the world might sound awesome, but in fact it’s a bore. I used to have more excitement on a Friday night at home, watching a juicy horror flick with Bill-E or wrestling with my friend Loch.



→ Kernel’s playing with invisible lights when I return. His eyes were stabbed out in Carcery Vale. I thought he’d be blind for life, but you can work all sorts of miracles in this universe. Using magic, he eventually pieced together a new pair. They look a lot like his original set, only the blue’s a shade brighter and tiny flickers of different colours play across them all the time.

The flickers are shadows of hidden patches of light. Apparently, the universes are full of them. When a mage or demon opens a window between realms, the mysterious lights cluster together to create the fissure. But only Kernel can see the patches. He can also manipulate them with his hands, allowing him to open windows faster than any other human or demon.

Beranabus was worried that Kernel might not be able to see the lights when he rebuilt his eyes, but actually his vision has improved. He can see patches he never saw before, small, shimmering lights which constantly change shape. He can’t control the newly revealed patches. He’s spent a lot of time fiddling with them, without any success.

I sit and watch Kernel’s hands making shapes in the air. His eyes are focused, his expression intense, like he’s under hypnosis. There are goose bumps on his chocolate-coloured skin. Beads of sweat roll down his bald head, but turn to steam as they trickle close to his eyes. He freaks me out when he’s like this. He doesn’t look human.

Of course he’s not entirely human. Nor am I. We’re hosts to an ancient weapon known as the Kah-Gash, which sets us apart from others of our species. Together with Bec – a girl from the past, but returned to life in the present – we have the power to reverse time and, if the legends are to be believed, destroy an entire universe. Coolio!

I’m constantly aware of the Kah-Gash within me. It’s a separate part of myself, forever swirling beneath the surface of my skin and thoughts. It used to speak to me but it hasn’t said anything since that night in the cave. I often try to question it, to find out more about the weapon’s powers and intentions. But the Kah-Gash is keeping quiet. No matter what I say, it doesn’t respond.

Maybe if Kernel, Bec and I experimented as a team, we could unearth its secrets. But Beranabus is wary of uniting us. We couldn’t control the Kah-Gash when we first got together. It took a direction of its own. It worked in our favour on that occasion, but he’s afraid it might just as easily work against us next time. The old magician has spent more than a thousand years searching for the scattered pieces of the Kah-Gash, but now that he’s reassembled them, he’s afraid to test the all-destructive weapon.

I miss the voice of the Kah-Gash. I was never truly alone when it was there, and loneliness is something I’m feeling a lot of now. I miss my half-brother, Bill-E, taken from me forever that night in the cave. I miss school, my friends, Loch’s sister Reni. I miss the world, the life I knew, TV, music — even the weather!

But most of all I miss Dervish. My uncle was like a father to me since my real dad died. In an odd way I love him more than I loved my parents. I took them for granted and assumed they’d always be around. I knew they’d die at some point, but I thought it would be years ahead, when they were old. Having learnt my lesson the hard way, I made the most of every day with Dervish, going to bed thankful every night that he was still alive and with me.

I could tell Dervish about the demons, the dullness, the loneliness. He’d listen politely, then make some dry, cutting comment that would make it all seem fine. Time wouldn’t drag if I had Dervish to chat with between battles.

I wonder what he’s doing, how he’s coping without me, how much time has passed in my world. Time operates differently in this universe. Depending on where you are, it can pass slower or quicker than on Earth. Kernel told me that when he first came here with Beranabus, he thought he’d only spent a few weeks, but he returned home to find that seven years had passed.

We’ve been trying to stick to zones where time passes at the same rate as on Earth, so that we can respond swiftly if there’s a large-scale assault or if Bec gets into trouble. But Beranabus is elderly and fuzzy-headed. If not for the emergence of the Shadow, I think he’d have shuffled off after the fight in the cave to see out his last few years in peace and quiet. Kernel has absolute faith in him but I wouldn’t be shocked if we returned to Earth only to find that a hundred years have passed and everyone we knew is pushing up daisies.

As if reacting to my thoughts, Beranabus groans and rolls on to his back. He blinks at the darkness, then lets his eyelids flutter shut, drifting into sleep. His long, shaggy hair is almost fully grey. His old suit is torn in many places, stained with different shades of demon blood. The flower in the top buttonhole of his jacket, which he wears in memory of Bec, is drooping and has shed most of its petals. His skin is wrinkled and splotchy, caked with filth. His toenails are like dirty, jagged claws. Only his hands are clean and carefully kept, as always.

Kernel mutters a frustrated curse.

“No joy?” I ask.

“I can’t get near them,” he snaps. “They dart away from my touch. I wish I knew what they were. They’re bugging the hell out of me.”

“Maybe they’re illusions,” I suggest. “Imaginary blobs of light. The result of a misconnection between your new eyes and your brain.”

“No,” Kernel growls. “They’re real, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what…”

He starts fiddling again. He needs to lighten up. It can’t be healthy, wasting his time on a load of lights that might not even be real. Not that I’ve done a lot more than him in my quieter moments. I wish I had a computer, a TV, a CD player. Hell, I’d even read a book — that’s how low I’ve sunk!

I’m thinking of asking Kernel to open a window back to Earth, so I can nip through and pick up something to distract me, when Beranabus stirs again.

“Was I asleep for long?” he asks.

“A few minutes,” I tell him.

He scowls. “I thought I’d been out for hours. That’s the trouble with this damn universe — you can’t get any decent sleep.”

Beranabus stands and stretches. He looks around with his small, blue-grey eyes and yawns. This is about the only time you can see his mouth properly. Mostly it’s hidden behind a thick, bushy beard. All our hair was burnt away when we travelled through time, but it’s grown back. I think he looked better without the beard, but he likes it. I grew my ginger hair the same way as before too. I guess you always go with what you’re used to.

“I suppose we’d better–” Beranabus begins.

“Quiet!” Kernel hisses, cocking his head. This is a new tic of his. Several times recently he’s shushed us. He says he can hear muted whispers, hints of sounds which seem to come from the patches of light.

A few minutes pass. Kernel listens intently while Beranabus and I keep our peace. Finally he relaxes and shakes his head.

“Could you make out anything?” Beranabus asks.

“No,” Kernel sighs. “I’m not even sure it’s speech. Maybe it’s just white noise.”

“Or maybe you’re going crazy,” I throw in.

“Maybe,” Kernel agrees.

“I was joking,” I tell him.

“I wasn’t,” he replies.

“Well, whatever it is, it can wait,” Beranabus says. “We’ve had enough rest. Open another window and we’ll go find a few more demons.”

Kernel sighs, then concentrates. Roll on the next round of inquisitions and torture.




TO THE RESCUE


→ We’re chasing a flock of terrified sheep demons. Each one is covered with hundreds of small, woolly heads. No eyes or ears, just big mouths full of sharp demon teeth. All the better to eat you with, my dear.

Beranabus thinks the sheep might know something about the Shadow. Stronger demons prey on these weak creatures. He’s hoping they might have heard something useful if any of the Shadow’s army struck their flock recently. It’s a long shot, but Beranabus has devoted his life to long shots.

As we close in on the frantic demons, Kernel stops and stares at a spot close by.

“Come on!” Beranabus shouts. “Don’t stop now. We–”

“A window’s opening,” Kernel says, and Beranabus instantly loses interest in everything else.

“Start opening one of your own,” the magician barks, moving ahead of Kernel to protect him from whatever might come through. I step up beside the ancient magician, heart pounding hard for the first time in ages.

“Wait,” Kernel says as Beranabus drains magic from the air. “It’s not a demon.” He studies the invisible lights, then smiles. “We have company.”

A few seconds later, a window of dull orange light forms and the Disciple known as Shark emerges, quickly followed by Dervish’s old friend, Meera Flame.

“Shark!” Kernel shouts happily.

“Meera!” I yell, even happier than Kernel.

Beranabus glares suspiciously at the pair.

Meera wraps her arms around me and I whirl her off her feet. We’re both laughing. She kisses my cheeks. “You’ve grown,” she hoots. “You must be two and a half metres tall by now!”

“Not quite,” I chuckle, setting her down and beaming. Meera used to stay with us a lot and helped me look after Dervish when he was incapacitated a few years back. I had a big crush on Meera when I was younger. Hell, looking at her in her tight leather trousers and jacket, I realise I still do. She’s a bit on the old side but doesn’t show it. If only she had a thing for younger guys!

Kernel and Shark are shaking hands, both talking at the same time. I’ve never seen Kernel this animated. Shark’s wearing army fatigues, looking much the same as ever.

“Hi, Shark,” I greet the ex-soldier.

He frowns at me. “Do I know you?”

“Grubbs Grady. We…” I stop. I’ve met Shark twice before, but the first time was in a dream, and the second was in a future which we diverted. As far as he’s concerned, I’m a stranger. It’s simpler not to explain our previous encounters, especially as I saw him ripped to bits by demons the second time.

“Dervish told me about you,” I lie. “I’m Grubbs, his nephew.”

Shark nods. “I can see a bit of him in you. But you’ve got more hair. You’re a lot taller too — what’s Beranabus been feeding you?”

“Enough of the prattle,” Beranabus snaps. “What’s wrong?”

As soon as he says that, the mood switches. Shark and Meera’s grins disappear.

“We were attacked,” Meera says. “I was at Dervish’s. We–”

“Was it Lord Loss?” Beranabus barks. “Is Bec all right?”

“She’s fine,” Shark says.

“But Dervish…” Meera adds, shooting me a worried glance.

My heart freezes. Not Dervish! Losing my parents, Gret and Bill-E was horrific. Dervish is all I have left. If he’s gone too, I don’t know if I can continue.

“He was alive when we left,” Shark says.

“But in bad shape,” Meera sighs. “He had a heart attack.”

“We have to go back,” I gasp, turning for the window.

Shark puts out a hand to stop me. My eyes flash on the letters S H A R K tattooed across his knuckles, and the picture of a shark’s head set between his thumb and index finger. “Hold on,” he says. “We didn’t come here directly. That leads to another demon world.”

“Besides,” Kernel adds, “if the demons are still at the house…”

“We weren’t attacked by demons,” Meera says. “They were…” She locks gazes with me and frowns uncertainly. “Werewolves.”

We gawp at her. Then, without discussing it, Kernel turns away and his hands become a blur as he sets about opening a window back to the human universe.



→ Beranabus crosses first. I’m not far behind. I find myself in a hospital corridor. It looks like the ward where they keep newborn babies. Bec is on the floor close to us. There are two demons. One has the features of an anteater, but sports several snouts. The other is some sort of lizard. Beranabus is addressing them with savage politeness — he’s ultra protective of his little Bec.

“What do the pickings look like now?” he asks as Kernel, Shark and Meera step through after us. In response, the demons bolt for safety. Kernel and the Disciples race after them.

“Dervish?” I snap at Bec, not giving a damn about demons, babies or anything else except my uncle.

“Back there,” Bec pants, pointing back down the corridor. “Hurry. He was fighting a demon. I don’t know–”

I run as fast as I can, long strides, readying myself for the worst. I glance into each room that I pass. Signs of struggle and death in some of them, but no Dervish. I pause at the door of what looks to be an empty room. I’m about to push on when something grunts.

Entering, I spot Dervish to my left, half-obscured by an overturned bed. There’s a demon on top of him, shaped like a giant insect with a golden shell. It’s snapping at Dervish’s face, mandibles grinding open and shut. I’m on it in an instant. I make a fist and smash through its protective shell. It shrieks and turns to deal with me, but I fill its guts with fire and it dies screaming. When I’m sure it’s dead, I toss it aside and bend over my startled, bleary-eyed uncle. He slaps at me feebly. Doesn’t recognise me. He’s finding it hard to focus.

“Hey, baldy,” I chuckle. “Things must be bad when you can’t squish a damn cockroach.”

Dervish relaxes and his eyes settle on me. The smile which lights his face is almost enough to bring me to tears.

“Grubbs!” he cries, throwing his arms around me.

“Don’t go all blubbery on me,” I mutter into his shoulder, fighting back sobs.

Dervish pushes himself away, touches my face with wonder, then says in that wry tone I recall so well, “You could have sent me a card while you were away.”

“No post offices,” I grunt, and we beam at each other.



→ Waiting while the Disciples cleanse the hospital of demons. I should help them, but this will probably be the only private time I get with Dervish. Things have a habit of moving swiftly when Beranabus gets involved. Once they finish off the last demon, talk will turn to the werewolf attack and there might not be any time to sit with my uncle and chat. I’ve devoted a huge chunk of my life to Beranabus’s cause. I’m due a few minutes of down time.

“I told you healthy eating wasn’t worthwhile,” I say, nudging Dervish in the ribs (but gently — he looks like blood mixed in with lumpy porridge). “You told me I should watch my diet. But who had a heart attack first?”

“As illogical as ever,” Dervish scowls. “I thought you might have matured while you were away, but obviously you haven’t.”

“Seriously, how have you been?” I ask.

“Apart from the heart attack?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs, looking older than I’d have thought possible. “I’m about ready to follow Billy into the wide blue yonder.”

My face stiffens. “Don’t say that, not even joking.”

“No joke,” he sighs. “I was given a single task by Beranabus – guard the entrance to the cave – and I screwed it up. I told Billy’s mum I’d look after him — some job I did of that. I took you in and promised you’d be safe with me, then…”

“I was safe with you.”

“Yeah, I really protected you. Lord Loss and his familiars didn’t get anywhere near you on my watch, did they?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” I tell him heavily. “You did the best you could. For me and Bill-E.”

“Then why is he dead and why are you lost to me?” Dervish moans.

“Because we live in a world under siege,” I say. “Life sucks for mages and magicians — you taught me that. Bad things happen to those of us who get involved, but if we didn’t fight, we’d be in an even worse state. None of it’s your fault, any more than it’s the fault of the moon or the stars.”

Dervish nods slowly, then arches an eyebrow. “The moon or the stars?”

“I always get poetical when I’m dealing with self-pitying simpletons.”

We laugh. This is what I love best about my relationship with Dervish — the more we insult each other, the happier we are. I’m trying to think of something disgusting and hair-curling to say when Beranabus appears. He’s using baby-wipes to clean his hands.

“Still alive?” he asks Dervish.

“Just about.”

“We’re finished here. Time to go.”

It’s not fair. We’ve only had a few minutes together. I want to ask Dervish about Bec and how they’re coping. How he explained Bill-E’s disappearance to our neighbours. What’s happening with my friends. I want to complain about my life with Beranabus and boast about all the action I’ve seen.

But those are childish, selfish wishes. We’re in the middle of a maternity ward. I’ve seen several dead and dismembered bodies already — nurses, mothers, babies. There are probably dozens more scattered throughout the hospital. I’d be the shallowest person in the universe if, in the face of all that tragedy, I moaned of not having enough time to spend with my uncle.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“The roof,” Beranabus says. “We need to discuss the situation before moving on. It’s more complicated than we thought. Bec says the demons who struck were led by Juni Swan.” I stare at him incredulously, then start to shout questions. “Not now!” Beranabus stops me. “We’ll talk about it on the roof.”

“I don’t think I can make it that far,” Dervish says.

Beranabus mutters something beneath his breath – it sounds like, “I hate the damn Gradys!” – then picks up Dervish.

“I can carry him,” I say quickly.

“No,” Beranabus grunts. “Keep watch for any demons we might have missed.”

Settling Dervish on his back, the magician heads for the stairs. I follow a metre behind, eyes peeled for monsters all the way up the blood-drenched steps to the roof.




NEW MISSION


→ The voice of the Kah-Gash whispers to me as we’re climbing the stairs, stunning me by abruptly breaking its months-long silence. You can join with the others.

I pause, startled by its sudden and unexpected reappearance. Then, not wanting to let Beranabus know – he might toss Dervish aside in his eagerness to make enquiries of the Kah-Gash – I carry on as normal, addressing it internally. “What do you mean?”

Can’t you feel the magic inside Bec and Kernel calling to you?

I have been feeling a strange tickling sensation since I stepped through the window. I put it down to chemical irritants in the air — one thing you can’t say about the demon universe is that it’s polluted. I’ve become accustomed to fume-free atmospheres. But now that the Kah-Gash has clued me in, I realise the tickling is the force within myself straining to unite with Bec and Kernel.

“What would happen if we joined?” I ask.

Wonders.

“Care to be a bit more specific?”

No, it answers smugly. I’m not sure if the Kah-Gash is a parasite feeding off me, or if it’s woven into my flesh, a part of me like my heart or brain. But its voice bears echoes of mine. I’ve used that smart-alec tone more times than I can remember.

I’m worried about letting my piece of the Kah-Gash link with the other parts again. What would it do if I gave it free rein? Could we trust it?

You are the control mechanism, the voice says, the first time it’s ever told me anything about the nature of itself. With my help, you can unify the pieces and unleash your full power.

“But could we control it,” I press, “and make the weapon do our bidding?”

To an extent, the voice answers cagily.

“What does that mean?” I grumble, but there’s no reply. “Hello? Are you still there?”

Unite us, it says impatiently. Unleash me. Become the Kah-Gash.

“Without knowing what I’m letting myself in for? No bloody way!” I snort.

Coward, the Kah-Gash sneers, then falls silent. I feel the tickling sensation fade. I continue up the stairs, brooding on what the voice said and wondering what would have happened if I’d given in to it.



→ On the roof. Another Disciple, Sharmila Mukherji, was seriously wounded by Juni. Her legs are missing from the thighs down. Beranabus is working on the stumps, using magic to stop the bleeding and patch her up. She’s unconscious. It doesn’t look to me like she’ll ever recover.

Dervish is resting on a hospital trolley. Meera’s sitting beside him. Shark’s guarding the door to the roof, to turn back any curious humans. The rest of us are gathered around Bec, listening to her story.

She tells us about Juni Swan, who’s somehow come back to life in a cancerous mockery of a body. Bec says Juni is insane, but more powerful than before. Dervish blasted her from the roof, catching her by surprise when he recovered from the coma he’d been in since his heart attack. I want to go after her, to finish her off, but Bec is adept at sensing where people and demons are, and she says Juni has already fled. Revenge will have to wait for another night.

I thought it would be awkward being around Bec, that she’d remind me of Bill-E, that I’d feel resentful. When he died, she took over his corpse, came back to life, then remoulded the flesh in her original image. In effect, she stole his body. But there’s nothing of my half-brother apart from the occasional word or gesture. I have no trouble thinking of her as a separate person with the same right to exist as any other.

Bec speaks quickly, detailing how werewolves attacked our home in Carcery Vale, backed up by humans with guns. She tells us she can absorb people’s memories when she touches them. When grappling with a werewolf, she learnt it was a Grady boy who’d been handed to the Lambs to be executed. But the Lambs – executioners set up to dispose of teens with the lycanthropic family curse – didn’t kill him. Instead they kept him alive, and found a way to use him and other werewolves as trained killers.

“You’re sure the Lambs masterminded the attack in Carcery Vale?” I ask.

“I can’t be certain,” Bec says. “We didn’t see any humans. Sharmila wanted to go after the Lambs once Dervish was safe, but we decided to wait until we’d discussed it with you. The werewolves might have been the work of some other group…”

“But they were definitely teenagers who’d been given to the Lambs?” I press. If she’s right about this, we have a known enemy to target. If she’s wrong, I don’t want to waste time chasing an irritating but harmless gang of humans.

“Yes,” Bec says. “At least the one I touched was. I don’t know about the others.”

“They must have been,” I mutter. “I’ve never heard of anyone outside our family being inflicted with the wolfen curse. But why?” I glance at Dervish. “Have you been rubbing Prae Athim up the wrong way?” She’s the head honcho of the Lambs. Her and Dervish don’t see eye to eye on a number of issues.

“I haven’t seen her since she paid us that visit before Slawter,” Dervish answers, looking bewildered. “I’ve got to say, I don’t have much time for Prae, but this isn’t her style. I could understand it if they were after something – you, for instance, to dissect you and try to find a cure for lycanthropy – but there was nothing in this for them. Those who set the werewolves loose wanted us dead. The Lambs don’t go in for mindless, wholesale slaughter.”

“But if not the Lambs, who?” Kernel asks.

“I think Lord Loss was behind the attacks,” Bec says. “Maybe he realised I was part of the Kah-Gash and wanted to eliminate the threat I pose, or perhaps he just wanted to kill Dervish and me for revenge. The attack tonight by Juni Swan makes me surer than ever that he sent the werewolves. It can’t be coincidence.”

“Juni Swan,” Beranabus echoes, with the guilty look that crosses his face whenever talk turns to his ex-assistant. “I’d never have thought poor Nadia could turn into such a hideous creature. I don’t know how she survived.” He looks at Bec. “Your spirit flourished after death, but you’re part of the Kah-Gash. Juni isn’t. Lord Loss must have separated her soul from her body some way, just before her death. That’s why he took her corpse when he fled. But I don’t understand how he did it.”

He mulls it over, then curses. “It doesn’t matter. We can worry about her later. You’re right — Lord Loss sent the werewolves. I cast spells on Carcery Vale to prevent crossings, except for in the secret cellar, where any demon who did cross would be confined. Even if he found a way around those spells, he would have been afraid to risk a direct confrontation. If he opened a window, the air would have been saturated with magic. You and Dervish could have tapped into that. You were powerful in the cave, stronger than Lord Loss in some ways. He probably thought humans and werewolves stood a better chance of killing you. But that doesn’t explain why the Lambs agreed to help him. Or, if they weren’t Lambs, how they got their hands on the werewolves.”

“Maybe he struck a deal with them,” Dervish says. “Promised them the cure for lycanthropy if they helped him murder Bec and me.”

“Would they agree to such a deal?” Beranabus asks.

“Possibly.”

“Prae Athim’s daughter turned into a werewolf,” I say softly, recalling my previous meeting with the icy-eyed Lambs leader. “She’s still alive. A person will go to all manner of crazy lengths when family’s involved.” I shoot Dervish a wink.

“An intriguing mystery,” Beranabus snorts. “But we can’t waste any more time on it. We have more important matters to deal with, not least the good health of Dervish and Miss Mukherji — they’ll both be dead soon if we don’t take them to the demon universe. Open a window, Kernel.”

Kernel eagerly sets to work on a window. His eyes have held up so far, but they won’t last indefinitely. The problem with building body parts in the demon universe is they don’t work on this world. If he stays too long, Kernel will end up blind as a bat again, with a pair of gooey sockets instead of eyes.

“I’m not going,” Dervish says.

“You can’t stay here,” Beranabus replies quickly, angrily.

“I have to. They attacked me… my home… my friends. I can’t let that pass. I have to pursue them. Find out why. Extract revenge.”

“Later,” Beranabus sniffs.

“No,” Dervish growls. “Now.” He gets off the trolley and almost collapses. Meera grabs him and holds him up. He smiles at her, then glares at Beranabus. He might be within a whisker of death, but that hasn’t affected my uncle’s fighting spirit.

“It would help if we knew,” Meera says quietly in defence of Dervish. “The attack on Dervish and Bec might have been a trial run. The werewolves could be set loose on other Disciples.”

“That’s not my problem,” Beranabus says callously. He’s never been overly bothered about his supporters, and always stresses the fact that they sought him out and chose to follow him — he didn’t recruit them.

“There’s been a huge increase in crossings,” Meera says, which is troubling news to me. “We’ve seen five or six times the usual activity in recent months. The Disciples are stretched thinly, struggling to cope. If several were picked off by werewolves and assassins, thousands of innocents would die.”

“It might be related,” Kernel says, pausing and looking back.

“Related to what?” Bec asks, but Beranabus waves her question away. He’s frowning, waiting for Kernel to continue.

“This could be part of the Shadow’s plan,” Kernel elaborates. “It could be trying to create scores of windows so that its army of demons can break through at once. We’ll need the Disciples if that’s the case — we can’t be everywhere at the same time to stop them all.”

“Maybe,” Beranabus hums. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Dervish will last about five minutes if we leave him here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dervish snarls.

“No,” Beranabus says. “Your heart is finished. You’ll die within days. That’s not a guess,” he adds when Dervish starts to argue. “And you wouldn’t be able to do much during that time, apart from wheeze and clutch your chest a lot.”

Dervish stares at the magician, badly shaken. I’m appalled too. “It’s really that bad?” Dervish croaks.

Beranabus nods, and I can see that he’s enjoying bringing Dervish down a peg. He doesn’t like people who challenge his authority. “In the universe of magic, you might survive. Here, you’re a dead man walking.”

“Then get him there quick,” I say instantly. “I’ll stay.”

“Not you too,” Beranabus groans. “What did I do to deserve as stubborn and reckless a pair as you?”

“It makes sense,” I insist calmly. “If the attacks were Lord Loss trying to get even, they’re irrelevant. But if they’re related to the Shadow, we need to know. I can confront the Lambs, find out if they’re mixed up with the demon master, stop them if they are.”

“Is the Shadow the creature we saw in the cave?” Bec asks.

“Aye,” Beranabus says. “We haven’t learnt much about it, except that it’s put together an army of demons and is working hard to launch them across to our world.” He stares at me, frowning. He doesn’t want to admit that I might have a valid point, but I can tell by his scowl that he knows I do.

“You’d operate alone?” he asks sceptically.

“I’d need help.” I glance around. Shark’s an obvious choice. I can channel a lot of magic here, but there are times when it pays to have a thickly built thug on your side. But I’ll need someone sharp too — I don’t have the biggest of brainboxes. “Shark and Meera,” I say, with what I hope sounds like authority. Shark can’t hear me, but to my surprise Meera responds negatively.

“I want to stay with Dervish,” she says.

“He’ll be fine,” I tell her, trying to sound confident, not wanting them to know how nervous I feel — I’ve never taken on a mission like this before. “He has Beranabus and Bec to look after him. Unless you want to leave Bec with me?” I ask the magician.

“No,” he mumbles, as I guessed he would. “If you’re staying, I’ll take her to replace you.”

“Then go,” I say. “Chase the truth on your side. I’ll do the same here. If I discover no link between Lord Loss and the Lambs, I’ll return. If they are working for him, I’ll cull the whole bloody lot.”

Kernel grunts and a green window opens. “Time to decide,” he tells Beranabus. I look from the magician to Meera. She’s not happy, but she doesn’t raise any further objections.

“Very well,” Beranabus snaps. “But listen to Shark and Meera, heed their advice and contact me before you go running up against the likes of Lord Loss or the Shadow.” He picks up the unconscious Sharmila. “Follow me, Bec,” he says curtly and steps through the window.

Bec stares at us, confused. I flash her a quick grin of support, which she misses. Meera steps up to her and asks if she’s OK. Before I can hear her reply, Dervish is hugging me, squeezing me tight.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says, and I can tell he’s struggling not to cry. I have a lump in my throat too.

“You have to go,” I tell him. “You’ll die if you stay here.”

“Maybe that would be the easiest thing,” he sighs.

I squeeze his ribs until he gasps. “Don’t you dare give up,” I snarl. “Mum and Dad… Gret and Bill-E… they’d give anything to be where you are now — alive. It doesn’t matter how much pain you’re in or how sorry you feel for yourself. Alive is better than dead. Always.”

“When did you become the sensible one?” Dervish scowls.

“When you became a pathetic mess,” I tell him lightly.

“Oh,” he grins. “Thanks for clearing that up.” He clasps the back of my neck and glares into my eyes. “Be careful, Grubbs. If you die before me, I’ll be mad as hell.”

“Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I’ll outlive you by decades. I’ll be dancing on your grave fifty years from now, just wait and see.”

Dervish smiles shakily, then releases me and staggers through the window, massaging his chest with one hand, just about managing not to weep. I hate watching him go. I wish he could stay or that I could leave with him. But wishes don’t mean a damn when you’ve been selected by the universe to spend your life fighting demons.

“Sorry we couldn’t have more of a chat,” I say to Bec, and I genuinely mean it. I’d like to sit down with her and listen to her full story, learn what life was like sixteen hundred years ago, what she makes of the world now, if Riverdance is anything like the real deal.

“Next time,” she smiles.

“Yeah,” I grunt, not believing for a second that our paths will cross again. In this game you soon learn not to take anything good for granted. The chances are that Bec or I – probably both – will perish at the hands of demons long before the universes can throw us back together.

I think about bidding Kernel farewell, but he doesn’t look interested in saying goodbye, so I simply wave at him. He half-waves back, already focusing on Bec. She’s his companion now. I mean nothing to him if I’m not by his side, so he won’t waste time worrying about me. I know how he feels because I feel the same way about him.

“Come on,” I say to a slightly befuddled-looking Meera. “Let’s go and break the news to Shark. Do you think he’ll mind us volunteering him for a life or death mission?”

“No,” Meera sighs as we cross the roof to the doorway. “That dumb goon would be offended if we left him out.”




GETTING STARTED


→ It’s chaos downstairs. Juni Swan forced down a helicopter during the duel on the roof. The flames are still flickering, though the teams of firefighters who were quick on the scene have the worst of the blaze under control. Shattered glass from the hospital windows lines the surrounding streets like crystal confetti. The dead and wounded are everywhere, covered in blankets or being nursed by bloodied, shaken medics. Police buzz around like angry bees.

Shark has no problem talking his way through. A few words with the commanding officer and we’re being escorted past the teams of baying news reporters to a spot in the city where we’re free to go our own way. The Disciples have contacts in some pretty high places.

First things first — we’re exhausted and need to sleep. We find the nearest hotel and book three connecting rooms. The receptionist regards us warily and almost refuses us entry, but when Shark produces a platinum credit card and says he’ll pay up front, and that he wants their best rooms, the man behind the desk undergoes a swift transformation.

I’d like to talk through events with Shark and Meera, but both disappear to their beds as soon as we’ve tipped the bellboy and shut the doors, so I’ve no choice but to follow their lead.

The room’s large, but it feels cramped after a year spent sleeping wild – if not often – beneath vast demonic skies. I open the windows and stick my head out, breathing in fresh air as I replay the scenes from the hospital. Why the hell did I volunteer to stay behind? I could be with Dervish now, catching up, taking care of him. Instead I’ve promised to track down Prae Athim and put a stop to whatever’s going on between Lord Loss and the Lambs. Just how I’m going to do that is a mystery. I spoke before I thought, like an over-eager hero. I’ve been hanging around Beranabus too long!

Withdrawing, I decide the plans can wait. I go to the toilet, then undress and slide beneath the soft bedcovers. I’m worried I won’t be able to sleep, that I’ll lie awake all night. But within a minute my eyelids go heavy and seconds later it’s lights out.



→ Breakfast in bed is heavenly. I eat like a ravenous savage, bolting down sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms. And toast! How can a few burnt bits of bread smeared with churned-up cow’s milk taste so delicious?

There’s a knock on one of the connecting doors while I’m mopping up the juice from my baked beans. “C’m’ in,” I grunt.

Meera appears like an angel, in an ivory-white nightdress. Washed, manicured, the works. You’d never guess that twelve hours earlier she’d been elbow-deep in demon blood.

“Wow!” I exclaim, dropping the toast and clapping.

She beams and gives me a twirl, then perches on the edge of my bed and picks up the toast. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” I grin, though I’d have bitten the hand off anybody else who tried to take my last piece.

“I’ve been up for hours,” she says.

“You should have woken me.”

“Why? Did you want a manicure too?”

“Very funny. But I could have done with a haircut.”

“That’s for sure,” she sniffs. “I ordered some clothes for you. I can’t wait to see you in them. I love dressing up boys, especially fashion-challenged teens.”

“Me? Fashion-challenged? I never used to be.”

“Well, you are now.” She takes my tray and tugs at the bedsheets. “Come on. Chop-chop!”

“Whoah!” I yelp, only just managing to grab on to the sheets in time. “I’m naked under here!”

“That’s OK,” she says. “You sleepwalked into my room last night and did a dance on my rug. I saw it all then.”

I stare at her, more horrified than I’ve been in the face of any demon. Then she winks wickedly and races out of the room before I batter her to death with a pillow.



→ Shark’s the last to rise. We hold a conference in his room while he tucks into lunch, wearing a robe which just about covers his privates.

“So,” he mumbles through a half full mouth. “What’s the plan?”

I scratch my head and smile sheepishly. “I kind of hoped you guys would have one…”

Shark and Meera share a wry glance.

“I thought you were our leader,” Meera says.

“You set the ball rolling,” Shark agrees. “We just came along for the ride.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I grumble. “It was easy in the demon universe. We cornered demons, beat them up and sometimes killed them. It’s different here. I don’t know where to start. How will we find Prae Athim? It seemed like the simplest thing in the world last night, but now…”

“Not such a big shot in the cold light of day, is he?” Shark jeers.

“Don’t tease him,” Meera tuts. “It was brave of him to volunteer.”

“But stupid.” Shark points a thick finger at me. “What use are you to us? Why shouldn’t we leave you here and pick you up when it’s all over?”

Stung, I focus on the bed. The mattress quivers and comes alive. It throws off the startled Shark, then bucks from the bed and lands on his back, driving him down. He lashes out, bellowing with alarm, but the mattress smashes him flat and pounds at him relentlessly.

“Enough,” Meera says softly, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I scowl at her, then ease up. I’m sweating slightly.

A bruised Shark gets to his feet, smoothes his robe and studies me calmly. “OK, I’m impressed. You’re a magician?”

“Yes.”

“How powerful are you?”

I shrug. “I never really tested myself on this world. That trick with the mattress tired me, but I could do a lot more.”

“How much more?” Shark presses. “No idea,” I answer honestly. “But in the absence of any windows between universes, I’m stronger than any mage we’ll face.”

“I suppose we might as well bring him along,” Shark says grudgingly to Meera.

“Where do we start?” Meera asks. “Do you know where Prae Athim’s based?”

“I never even heard of her before last night,” Shark says. “I knew about the Grady werewolves and the Lambs, but they were never my problem. Still, this won’t be the first time I’ve gone looking for someone. We’ll find her.”

“We could do with some help,” Meera notes. “They have armed troops, as we saw in Carcery Vale.”

“The Disciples?” Shark asks.

“The Disciples,” Meera agrees.

The pair produce mobile phones and start dialling.



→ The mages aren’t interested in our mission. This is a bad time for humanity. Demons are attempting to cross faster, and in greater numbers, than ever before. The Disciples are rushed off their feet, dashing from one crisis to another. There have been six successful crossings this year and more than a dozen foiled attempts. And those are only the recorded attacks — more probably went unnoticed. Over five hundred people that we know of have died, not including those at the hospital last night. That’s an average decade’s worth of action.

The Disciples that Shark and Meera chat with over the course of the day don’t care about werewolves or the Lambs. They don’t even respond when told that Beranabus is involved. Most times, the mere mention of his name is enough to whip them into action. But not now. We can fight our own battles as far as they’re concerned.

Shark and Meera turn to their other allies when the Disciples fall through. They have a network of contacts — soldiers, politicians, police officers, doctors, etc. They call on them for support when demons cross and create merry hell. The operatives move in to clear up the mess, bury the dead, comfort the survivors, kill the story before it spreads.

Meera’s contacts are mostly media types and corporate directors. She rings around, asking about the Lambs, but the Grady executioners keep a low profile. She learns that they have several worldwide bases, but Prae Athim could be at any of them.

Shark takes a different approach. He phones a guy called Timas Brauss and tells him to come as swiftly as possible. He then contacts people in armies or who were once soldiers. He sets about assembling a small unit of men and women with a variety of skills — explosives experts, mechanics, pilots, scuba divers and more. He won’t need them all, but he puts in place a large force to draw from. They’re more cooperative than the Disciples. Shark seems to command a lot of respect in military circles.

The calls continue into the night. It’s the most frustrating day I’ve spent in a long time. There’s nothing I can do except sit, listen and run errands for Shark or Meera, fetching them food and drink.

I try to watch TV, but I can’t get comfortable. I’m worried that Shark and Meera will think I’m slacking. Eventually I crawl into bed, tired and grumpy, thinking I should have stayed in the demon universe. At least I served some bloody good over there!




THE FILTHY TWELVE


→ My phone rings unexpectedly. Jolted awake, I check the time on the bedside clock — 07.49. Picking up the phone, I yawn, “Yes?”

“It’s me,” someone says in a strange accent.

“Who?”

A pause. “You’re not Shark.”

“No, I’m Grubbs. Shark’s in the next room. Do you want me to–”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “I’m Timas Brauss. Tell the receptionist to let me up.”

A couple of minutes later there’s a knock on my door. I open it to find an incredibly tall, thin man in the corridor. He must be seven or eight centimetres taller than me. Skinny as a stick insect, with long, bony fingers. Floppy red hair, an even darker shade than mine. A startled pair of blue eyes, as if he’s in a constant state of shock.

He pushes past me without a word. Looks around the room and up at the ceiling. He’s carrying a couple of laptops and a briefcase. He sets them down, then drags the desk by the wall out into the middle of the floor and lays his gear on top of it. Fires up the laptops, takes a few plug-ins out of the briefcase and connects them up.

“Wi-Fi is a blessing from the gods,” he mutters as I stare at him. “It was hell on Earth when I had to hook these up to ordinary phone lines. Who are we looking for?”

“A woman called…” I hesitate. “Do you want me to wake Shark?”

Timas shakes his head. “I can work without him. Who are you after?”

“Prae Athim.”

“Spell it.”

When I’ve done that, I tell him she works for an organisation called the Lambs. I start to describe the attacks and why we want to find her, but he holds up a hand. “That is enough information for me to be getting on with,” he says curtly and bends over his laptops like a pianist. He’s soon tapping away at a fierce speed, oblivious to all else, working on both computers at the same time.



→ Meera wakes before Shark. She’s surprised to find the odd-looking stranger in my room, but says nothing once I’ve told her in whispers of his approach to business. We eat breakfast, then return to watch Timas Brauss. At one stage I ask if he’d like anything to eat or drink. He shushes me without looking up.

Shark finally rises close to midday. When he steps in to find Timas hard at work, he doesn’t look surprised. Stretching, he nods at Meera and me, then grunts at the man hunched over the laptops. “What do you have?”

Timas spins neatly to face Shark, letting his fingers rest on his knees. He looks like an overgrown schoolboy. “I have a full profile of the woman, Prae Argietta Athim. Do you want to know her background?”

“Couldn’t care less,” Shark sniffs. “Where is she?”

Timas clicks his tongue. “I would need more time to answer definitively. But I can tell you where she should be if she’s adhering to her regular schedule.”

“That’ll do,” Shark says.

Timas reads out a long address, down to the postal code, finishing off with her floor and office number.

“It’s a regular building?” Shark asks.

“Yes. The Lambs own the complex. A mix of offices, laboratories and miscellaneous divisions. I’ve downloaded a schematic plan of the structure and environs.”

“Let’s see.” Shark pushes Timas aside and studies the right-hand screen. Meera and I edge over to look at it with him. The blueprints mean nothing to me – my eyes go blurry from looking at all the lines – but Shark nods happily as he scrolls down. “Should be easy enough to crack. Security systems?”

“Downloading,” Timas says, tapping the other laptop.

“How much longer?”

“Maybe an hour. They are very cleverly protected. An invigorating challenge.”

Shark stretches again. He looks pleased. “Unless they’ve packed the corridors with troops, this should be a piece of cake. We’ll put a small team together, waltz in, grab Prae Athim, shake her up… be home in time for supper.”

“You really think it’ll be that easy?” Meera asks sceptically.

“Like hell,” Shark grins. “But you know me — ever the optimist.”



→ While Timas continues to play his keyboards, Shark gets back on the phone to those on his shortlist. Meera also makes a few calls, in case any of her contacts have discovered anything about the Lambs. I sit around as impatiently as the day before, twiddling my thumbs.

The first of Shark’s team arrives at five, a chunky woman called Pip LeMat, an explosives expert. She’s followed by three men over the course of the evening — James Farrier, Leo DeSalle and Spenser Holm. They’re all soldiers but I don’t learn much more about them. They retire with Pip and Shark to his room shortly after they arrive, making it clear they don’t want to be disturbed. Apart from the clinking of bottles and glasses, and the occasional cheer or bellow, we don’t hear from them for the rest of the night.

Shortly before eleven, Timas steps away from his laptops, takes a blue satin handkerchief from a pocket and dabs at his forehead, then folds it neatly and puts it away again. “Could I have some milk and a selection of whatever pastries the hotel has in stock?” he asks.

“Pastries?” Meera frowns. “This late?”

“Yes please,” Timas says calmly. “I would like an ice pack also, for my frontal cranium, and could you please make up a cot for me beside the desk?”

“I’m sure we can find a room for you,” Meera says.

“No thank you,” Timas replies. “I would prefer a cot.”

“I’ll see what I can rustle up,” Meera says, then whispers to me. “I’m going back to my room when I’m finished. This guy gives me the creeps.”

I hide a smile, wait until she’s gone, then ask Timas how he knows Shark.

“He killed my father,” Timas says in a neutral tone, studying the back of the TV and frowning with disapproval.

Timas’s English is excellent, but it’s clearly not his first language. I think he must have made a mistake. “Do you mean he worked with your father?” I ask.

“No. He killed him. My father was trying to summon a demon. He meant to sacrifice me and my sister as part of the ritual. Shark saved me.”

“And your sister?”

“He was not in time to help her.” Timas walks around the rest of the room, making a survey of the remote controls, light fixtures, telephones… everything electronic.

“Shark felt he was to blame for my sister’s death,” Timas says. “He should have saved her. He didn’t react quickly enough. Guilt-ridden, he developed an interest in my future. I was already heavily involved with computers, so he put me in touch with people who knew more than I did. I worked with them for a time, then with some others. When Shark realised I was the best in my field and could be of use to him, he reestablished contact.

“I relished the challenge I was set and indicated my desire to work with him on subsequent projects. He summons me every so often. I drop everything to assist him. The people I work for understand. They know how important Shark’s work is. Do you work for Shark too?”

“Not exactly. We’re… associates.” The word doesn’t sound right, but I don’t want Timas thinking I’m Shark’s lackey.

Timas thinks about that for a moment, then sighs. “I hope they have pain au chocolat. That’s my favourite.” Then he falls silent and stares at his laptops, not moving a muscle, barely even blinking.



→ Four more soldiers arrive the next morning, three men and one woman. Shark introduces them only by their first names — Terry, Liam, Stephen and Marian. They don’t show any interest in Meera or me, so we don’t bother with them either. Probably better that way. If we have to fight, some of us might die, and it’s easier to cope with the death of someone you’re not friendly with.

“Has it clicked yet?” Shark asks as we gather in my room around Timas, who’s beavering away at his laptops after a short night’s sleep.

“Huh?” I frown.

“Do a head count. Twelve of us. The Dirty Dozen. I love that film.”

“I hope that’s not your only reason for deciding on that number,” I growl.

“It’s as good a reason as any,” he chuckles. “But that wasn’t the key factor. I have access to a helicopter and it holds twelve. I could have commissioned a larger craft but I’m familiar with this model. I can fly it if I have to, though James will be doing most of the flying — he’s the best pilot I know. Handy with a rifle too. If we need a sniper, James Farrier’s our man.”

“What’s Timas like with a gun?” I ask.

“Not bad,” Shark says. “But it needs to be a high-tech weapon with some kind of computer chip. He doesn’t like ordinary guns, but if you hand him something complicated that he can play with, he’s in his element.”

“Timas isn’t altogether there, is he?” I mutter.

Shark smiles. “You think he’s a loon. Most people do. But he’s passed every test he’s ever been set. He’s been probed by experts and they’ve all come away saying he’s weird, but nothing more. In theory, he’s as sane as you and me.”

Shark moves into the middle of the room, takes up position beside Timas and claps loudly. We cluster round him in a semi-circle. Timas looks up, but keeps an eye on his laptops.

“No long speeches,” Shark says. “You know I don’t call for help unless things are bad. We need to find a woman. She might be mixed up with some seriously dangerous demons. If not, it’ll be a walk in the park.

“But if we’ve guessed right, it’ll get nasty. We’re talking direct contact with powerful members of the Demonata. We don’t want to fight. We only want to establish a link between the woman and the demons. But things could swing out of control and we might find ourselves in over our heads. If we do, you’re all dead. You should know that now, before we begin, so you have the chance to back out.”

Shark waits. Nobody says anything.

“Figured as much,” he barks. “Timas — you got everything we need?” Timas removes USB sticks from both laptops, slips them into his shirt pocket and nods. “Then let’s go,” Shark says, and the hunt begins.




MEERA’S WAY


→ We take a commercial flight. One of Shark’s contacts meets us at the airport before we fly out, with tickets and fake passports for those who need them. The photo of me is a few years old. I don’t recognise it.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask.

“I found it on the web,” Timas answers. “You were photographed when committed to an institute for the mentally unbalanced. After your parents were killed?” he adds, as if I might have forgotten.

“No wonder I look like a zombie,” I mutter, running my thumb over the face in the passport, remembering those dark days of madness. I used to think life couldn’t possibly get any worse. How little I knew.

We sit in pairs on the plane, splitting up so as not to attract attention. I’m with Timas. I’d rather have sat with Meera, but James moved quickly to snag the seat next to her. He’s chatting her up. I try keeping an eye on them, but as soon as the engines start, my stomach clenches and I grip the armrests tight, flashing back on my most recent experience in a plane.

“Do you want to know the statistics for global aeronautical accidents for the last decade?” Timas asks as we taxi out on to the runway.

“No,” I growl.

“I only ask because you look uneasy. Many aeroplanes crash every year, but they are usually personal craft. Statistically we are safer in the air than on the ground. I thought familiarity with the facts might help.”

“The last time I was on a plane, demons attacked, slaughtered everyone aboard and forced it down,” I snarl.

“Oh.” Timas looks thoughtful. “To the best of my knowledge, there are no statistics on demon-related accidents in the air. I must investigate this further when time permits. There are blanks to be filled in.”

He leans back and stares up at the reading light, lips pursed. After a minute he switches the light on, then off again. On. Off. On. Off. The engines roar. We hurtle down the runway and up into the sky. Timas’s eyes close after a while and he snores softly. But his finger continues to operate the light switch, turning it on and off every five seconds, irritating the hell out of me.




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