I lean back to give her as much space as possible. The cuffs rattle as she forces the pin inside and starts fiddling. It’s an awkward position for her and beads of sweat appear across her upper lip. Her arms are straining and I can tell it’s a struggle. Rather than interrupt her, however, I let her work. It takes some time but finally there’s a click and I fall forward, almost knocking her over.
‘Is that all the thanks I’m going to get?’ Corinne’s voice is weak.
I look up at her. Her face is pale and she’s starting to wobble. Ignoring the numbness in my own legs, I leap up and catch her as she passes out. I lay her limp body down carefully and quickly massage my arms to get some feeling back into them. Then I turn my attention back to Corinne and re-bind her dressings. There’s a lot more blood seeping from them now; her efforts to free me have made it flow freely from the ragged wounds. Given that I just fed off her, she can’t afford to lose any more blood. Concerned that the bandages are too grubby, I rip my t-shirt and use the material to bind her hands as tightly as I can then wrap the rest of the bandages round too. The result is hardly neat but it’s the best I can manage. I’m going to have to get her to a doctor.
She moans slightly as she comes round and tries to sit up. I hush her, gently pushing her back down. ‘You did it, Corinne,’ I whisper. ‘You got me free. Now I’m going to return the favour.’
Her eyes are starting to look glassy and I curse. Picking the lock took more out of her than I realised. I do what I can to make her comfortable and turn to the door. Despite its age and the fact that it’s made out of wood, it’s remarkably sturdy. I put my ear to it and listen, on the off-chance that Troy is nearby. I can’t hear a thing, so I tug at the doorknob and rattle the lock. I could kick through it but I can’t risk the noise. I don’t want to give Troy any time to prepare a counter-attack, not with Corinne as vulnerable as she is.
I take a couple of steps back and try to decide the optimum route to take. That’s when I hear the scuffling again. I glance to my side and spot a long-tailed, mange-ridden rat run to the corner. Forcing down the shudder that ripples down my spine, I realise it’s disappeared. There’s a gap in the stonework. I cast my eyes up to the ceiling in gratitude. Thank you, Mr Rat.
Crouching down, I pull away the surrounding moss. Several of the blocks are crumbling where the stone meets the floor. I curve my fingers round the gap and tug and a chunk falls into my hands. I keep scrabbling, digging out the earth around the damp floor and yanking away as much of the stone as I can. As soon as I’ve widened the hole enough, I push myself through. It’s a tight squeeze and my hips get stuck for a moment but I make it. I stand up and dust off my jeans.
The dungeon door is bolted and there’s a set of narrow steps leading upwards. There’s another door at the far end but it’s an odd size, more suited to a child than an adult. Even though I’m small I would have to double over to get through it. I’m puzzled by its purpose. Still, before I go back for Corinne, I need to make sure the coast is clear. I feel the blood coursing through my system as my adrenalin kicks in.
‘Come on, Troy,’ I whisper to myself. ‘Enjoy your last few moments on this planet because you’re not going to know what’s hit you.’
Staying light on my feet, I move forward, pausing at the foot of the stairs. I look at the small door; Troy is too large to get through such a tiny space. I can’t hear anything so I take a step up, then another and another. There’s another door at the top but, thankfully, it’s unlocked. I hold my breath and twist the doorknob. A chink of dull light appears and there’s a gust of fresh air. I suck it in deeply. I can see worn flagstones and another wall, although this time it’s made of wood rather than stone. I open the door further and peer out.
It’s a small structure – and completely empty. Something doesn’t feel right. I chew my lip and think, then I realise what it is. I can hear running water outside but there’s nothing else. London, like all big urban dwellings, never truly sleeps; there is always noise, even if it’s a distant hum of sound. Water aside, I can’t hear a damned thing. It’s completely unnatural. Even if Troy had taken us out of the city, there would still be the sounds of nocturnal creatures. I tiptoe across and open the door to the outside world. Where the hell are we?
I’d know the River Thames anywhere. On the far bank, the glittering spires of London rise up towards the heavens. I feel a surge of relief at the familiar sight – until I glance to the other side and freeze. This doesn’t make any sense.
It’s an island, just scant feet away from the tiny castle-like building. From source to mouth, the Thames is full of such little land masses and this one, if I’m not mistaken, is one of the more famous. It definitely looks like Oliver’s Island but there are no structures there like the one I just exited, not these days. As far as I’m aware, the only building on Oliver’s Island was torn down decades ago.
I turn back and stare at it, then touch the wood. It does feel old. The wheels of my brain click round. I stretch out to the other side, my fingers reaching across the water. It’s there: it may be barely tangible but there’s definitely some kind of membrane. It’s as if we’re in a bizarre bubble. That’s why there’s no sound other than the flowing river: we’re in a time capsule, not the sort you bury in the ground but the kind that is frozen away from the rest of the world. Just like Connor and those other people who think they can preserve their ailing bodies through magic so they can be resurrected at a later date.
I look up to the sky, fixing on one cloud to be sure. The ripple of the leaves on the small island next to me indicates that there is definitely a wind but I can’t hear the rustle and the cloud isn’t drifting. Unbelievable. Despite the severity of the situation, I can’t help grinning. What a discovery. And how in sodding hell does Troy know about it?
I try to remember what I know about the history of Oliver’s Island. It’s named after Oliver Cromwell because of the legend that he once took refuge there. There are stories about a secret tunnel, leading from the island to The Bull’s Head, a public house close to the shore. It was supposedly used to hide Catholics from their bloodthirsty Protestant counterparts but no one has ever found evidence of it. I think about the tiny door downstairs. Bingo.
I run back inside and down, flinging open the dwarf door. Inside it’s dark and smelly but it’s definitely a tunnel. There’s no sign of Troy, which is irritating.
‘I’m still going to find you and make you pay,’ I say, not bothering to whisper. Then I slide back the bolt to get Corinne. Priorities. She needs a hospital.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Flood
The tunnel seems endless. If I was on my own it wouldn’t be an issue but trying to drag Corinne’s comatose body along while I’m doubled over is incredibly difficult. I’m tempted to leave her and come back when I can muster up reinforcements but I can’t risk our abductor returning while I’m away.
When we finally reach the end and a rickety wooden ladder, my back is screaming in agony. I stare doubtfully upwards. The ladder is at least twenty feet high and ends at a small trapdoor. I don’t think I ever had cause to venture through trapdoors in the past; now I seem to do it all the time.
I rearrange Corinne’s limbs, ensuring her head is upright so she doesn’t choke, then heave myself upwards. When I get to the top, I push the trapdoor but it doesn’t budge. I curse aloud. Troy must have covered it when he left in order to hide it. I thump against it and start calling. It may not be a good idea to alert anyone on the other side to our presence but I don’t have any other options.
‘Hey!’ I yell. ‘Is anyone there?’
Silence comes back at me. I increase my efforts. ‘Hello?’ I punch against the wood. ‘We’re trapped!’ I hammer out a staccato beat. Come on, I pray, someone be there. I keep pounding and yelling. My voice echoes back down the tunnel, growing hoarser and hoarser. Desperation seeps out my pores. This can’t be where our escape ends.
Hope starts to drain away – and that’s when I hear a shuffle from above.
I freeze. Is Troy returning? Or is it someone else? I knock hard on the wood, my knuckles bruised and bleeding. ‘Help!’
There’s a loud clatter, followed by a thick voice muttering, ‘Yes?’
It doesn’t sound like Troy. ‘Down here!’ I shout.
‘Down where?’ The voice is puzzled.
I grit my teeth. ‘Here!’ I thump louder.
I hear more shuffling and the clink of metal. ‘Hey, there’s a door!’
‘So sodding well open it,’ I grind out.
There’s some banging and creaking, then what sounds like a bolt being slid back. The trapdoor flips open to reveal a baffled, slack face peering down. The face beams and a hand waves. ‘Hi! Are you here for the party, too?’
I pull myself out and look at my saviour. He’s a burly guy who’s clearly three sheets to the wind. He sways slightly and grins then gives me a closer look and frowns, rubbing his eyes and peering again. ‘You’re the Red Angel.’
I ignore his comment and point downwards. ‘My friend is there. I need some help getting her up.’
‘I thought the Families bumped you off,’ he slurs.
I stare at him. ‘What?’
He shrugs amiably and claps me on the back. ‘That’s what they’re saying.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘Everyone.’
Dread filters through me. ‘What day is it?’
‘Saturday.’ He taps his head. ‘Sunday?’
I start to relax when another suspicion occurs to me. ‘What date?’
He checks his watch. ‘Fifteenth.’
My shoulders sag. A week, I’ve been gone a whole week. I couldn’t have been unconscious all that time – it has to be something to do with the damned time bubble. Anything could have happened in a week. I swallow hard and get over it. I don’t have time to worry about that now – I need to get Corinne out. I look at the man; he reeks of booze and is clearly going to be no help in pulling her out.
‘Where are we?’ I ask.
‘Pub.’ He leans towards me and I get a whiff of stale whisky. ‘I came down here for a sneaky fag. Damn smoking ban.’ He pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and waves it in my direction. ‘Want one?’
I admit I’m tempted. Instead, I wave him away and look around the small space. It’s a cellar filled with kegs and boxes. We must be underneath the pub itself.
‘I need a rope,’ I mutter. I start looking for one. I push kegs around, ignoring their clatter as they roll and bounce off each other. The man pulls out a phone. ‘I have a friend who has one,’ he says cheerfully.
I snatch the phone from him and jab in a number. Ambulance and fire brigade, then Foxworthy, I think. My finger hovers over the green send button. No. Troy will come back here if he thinks Corinne and I are still imprisoned. I can’t risk it getting out that we’ve escaped. I gnaw on my lip. I need someone else, someone who’s not likely to be followed. With the Renfrew daemons out of the way for now, I know just who it should be.
The man blinks at me. ‘You okay?’
I smile tightly. ‘Yes.’ Then I call O’Shea and tell him what I need.
*
It takes the daemon an achingly long time to arrive. When he finally opens the cellar door and gazes at me with wide eyes, the pallor of his skin worries me. I think he must still be recovering from the events at the Agathos court when suddenly he rushes in my direction, almost bowling me over. His arms wrap tightly round my body and he squeezes hard.
‘I thought you were dead,’ he whispers.
I blink back tears at the emotion in his voice. ‘Nope. You’re not that lucky.’
‘I should have known you’d make it,’ he sniffs. ‘Was it Montserrat? Did he do this?’
I pull away and stare at him. My drunk friend in the corner nods to himself. ‘Told you it was the Families.’
I keep my attention on O’Shea. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘It’s what everyone’s saying. He got pissed off with you leaving his Family and becoming a hero, so he bumped you off.’
‘And you believed that?’ I’m incredulous.
O’Shea shrugs awkwardly and looks away. ‘Hey, I like the guy but…’
I shake my head. ‘That’s idiotic. If he supposedly killed me, then who took Corinne?’
‘The hooker?’ I scowl at him. ‘She was just collateral damage,’ he continues. ‘You’re the Red Angel. You’re the one the media is focusing on.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I mutter. But I have far more important things to worry about than my stupid celebrity status. Hopefully my fifteen minutes will be over soon. ‘Did you bring a rope?’
He nods, reaching in his bag then tossing a heavy coil of hemp in my direction.
‘And Foxworthy?’
‘Seemed remarkably relieved that you were in one piece.’ O’Shea arches an eyebrow. ‘Is there something you should be telling me?’ I gaze at him, exasperated. He grins back. ‘Yes, your pet policeman is checking the nearby buildings.’ I open my mouth to speak but he forestalls me. ‘And he’s doing it discreetly. Don’t worry.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ve also arranged for a runner to deliver a message about your welfare to New Order. They’ve all but shut down business, you know. I’m not sure whether it’s down to your disappearance or the media glare. Still, granddaddy will be happy.’
‘Thank you.’
His expression sobers. ‘An alert has gone out to all female daemons. I can’t guarantee they’ll take it seriously, though.’
‘We need to make it hard for Troy, that’s all,’ I say absently. ‘And give him enough reason to come back here before he starts looking for a daemon victim.’
‘Troy? If you know who he is, why don’t you just go after him?’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ I say grimly, ‘not yet. Troy is the name I’ve given him.’
O’Shea is confused and I don’t bother explaining. I hook the rope round my shoulder and start descending again.
‘What about him?’ he calls down. ‘The drunk guy?’
‘Keep him there!’ I shout back. ‘I need him!’
I clamber down to the bottom of the tunnel and check on Corinne. Her breathing is steady but I’m concerned about her newly opened wounds. The blood flow has stopped but infection is still a worry. I crouch down beside her and lift up her one good eyelid. ‘Corinne?’
She moans slightly; at least she’s semi-conscious now.
‘I’m going to tie a rope round you and pull you up to the surface,’ I tell her. ‘It’s going to be painful but it’s necessary.’ I have no idea whether my words are sinking in or not, but it makes me feel better saying them aloud. When I’m sure the rope is secure around her waist, I take the other end, climb back up and pass it O’Shea. ‘Don’t pull it until I say so,’ I warn.
‘Okay.’
I rejoin Corinne, moving behind her so I can balance her body and stop it from bumping against the tunnel walls. When she’s in position, I call up. With a slight grunt, O’Shea starts to heave her upwards. I straddle my legs round Corinne’s body, one arm holding onto the ladder and the other supporting her head. It’s slow going and I’m dripping with sweat after only a few rungs but, inch by inch, we make it to the top.
O’Shea bends down, reaching under her armpits to hoist her up the last part. Panting, he checks her pulse. ‘Strong.’
I nod. ‘She’s a tough lady.’ I give him a hard look. ‘She’s had to be.’
He spots the puncture wounds on her neck but doesn’t mention them. ‘How are we going to get her out of here?’
I point at the guy in the corner. He’s smoking a cigarette, his eyes unfocused. ‘The two of you are go
ing to sing your way out with Corinne in between you.’
‘Ah. The old pretend-to-be-legless trick.’ O’Shea looks doubtful. ‘Are you sure he’ll manage it?’
‘He’s a big bloke, he’ll be fine. Just don’t let him fall on her. Which hospital are you using?’
‘Not a hospital. Foxworthy’s found a small clinic near here. It’s out of the public eye so it’ll be easier to hide her. I’ll stay with her myself.’
I relax slightly. ‘Thank you. I mean it. As soon as she’s safe, you need to get out a story about flooding. Make sure it’s broadcast all over the city and this area is mentioned as a potential danger zone. It’s the only way we can be sure Troy will come back.’
‘It’s not rained for a couple of weeks, Bo.’
‘Which is why you need to be convincing.’
‘What are you going to do?’
I smile grimly. ‘I’m going back to wait for him. Even if it takes him days to return, it’ll seem like no time at all for me.’
O’Shea knows better than to argue. He scoops Corinne up and beckons to the big man, who grins and lurches towards them.