Vicious Circle

If some part of Asmodeus was with them as they fled—was attached to Abbie, or flying behind her through the London night like an invisible kite with no ribbons and no string—then when they shaved that corner the demon would have turned, too. Turned a little more slowly, maybe: and a little more widely. That would have taken him right across the southwestern corner of St. Michael’s Church.

Peace dragged Asmodeus over hallowed ground at the exact moment that a religious service was taking place. I will sing a new song unto the lord my God. For a demon, it must have been like being hauled through a barbed wire entanglement. No wonder Rafi screamed. No wonder he lashed out and hurt people: he was going through what you could fairly call hell on earth.

And finally Asmodeus got wedged solid—trapped in the stones of the church and in the nets of prayer that were rising up all around him. His link to Abbie was severed, and Peace drove on through the night, picking up speed, leaving an invisible, formless monster from hell embedded in the fabric of St. Michael’s like a fossilized mosquito in a lump of amber.

Except that Asmodeus was still far from defunct. His insidious will fell down on the congregation of St. Michael’s like black rain, and their souls took the taint.

More innocents in the crossfire. Just like Abbie. Just like Rafi.

I pulled my mind back to the present, tried to recall what Peace had just said.

“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you come here, particularly? What makes this place so special?”

“The ramparts,” said Peace, sounding just a little smug even through his pain. “Earth and air you saw, right? Outside? But it’s the water that’s really clever. That brickwork is double-skin, and there’s a hollow space in between the two layers that’s lined with lead. It’s meant to be filled with water from the mains supply, with a pump to keep it circulating, but there are all sorts of holes in it now so it kept draining away again. Whenever I felt you fishing for Abbie, I turned the pumps on and put up a wall of running water between you and her. And one time I gave you a bit of salt on your tail, too, just by the way.”

“I remember,” I said, a touch grimly.

Peace managed a weak laugh. “ ‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’ yeah? Only it doesn’t work unless you get hold of a better thief than the one you’re looking for.”

“And yet,” I reminded him, “here I am.”

“Only because someone ratted me out. You didn’t find me by looking.”

I let that pass. If Peace wanted to have a pissing contest, he could play both sides. In any case, I thought I’d heard a car door slam somewhere out on the road—far enough away that it was on the limit of hearing. Peace didn’t seem to have noticed it, though, so maybe I was mistaken.

“I’m going to wake Abbie up,” he said. “Unless there’s anything else you want to ask me about?”

“No,” I said. “I’m good. My bedtime story needs are met.”

I turned my back on him, walked to the door, and looked out. Nothing moved in the baleful moonlight. Behind me, there were only the small sounds of Peace dealing out a hand of cards on the bare concrete floor. When I glanced his way again Abbie was back, standing at his side as if she’d never left. I had to admit, grudgingly, that he was as good as he thought he was. They were talking in low murmurs, and I felt a definite reluctance to disturb their privacy.

I stepped out into the dark instead. If I smoked, I’d have lit a cigarette. If I’d had any booze left, I’d have had a drink. As it was there was nothing I could do but wait. I must have been wrong about the car door, because nothing was stirring.

Dr. Feelgood ought to be here by now. Edgy and irritable, I fished out the phone again to call Pen and ask her to hurry him along. This time I noticed what I hadn’t before: there were four missed call alerts, all from the same number: Nicky Heath’s.

The first and second times, he hadn’t left a message. The third time he had. I played it back.

“There’s something wrong here, Castor.” Nicky’s voice, stiff with tension; a prolonged scraping sound in the background as he moved something heavy across the floor. “There’s a whole bunch of people outside. They turned up in four cars, and now they’re standing around like they’re waiting for someone. I do not fucking like this. If it’s anything to do with the shit you’re involved with, why don’t you come over here and deal with it your fucking self, okay? Call me. Fucking call me, okay? Like, now.”

My throat suddenly dry, I flicked to the last message.

“This is a siege here, Castor!” Nicky’s voice was a yell now, which meant he would have had to work hard to inflate his nonfunctional lungs. “They shot the cameras out. The fucking cameras! I’m blind, you understand me? They could be right outside my door, and I wouldn’t—oh shit!”