by Paula Weston
My stomach twists.
Children are bought and sold here. Hurt here. These empty beds are bad enough. I don’t want to pull back one of these curtains and see—
Too late.
Mya has found a pale middle-aged man sitting on the edge of a bed holding a stuffed white rabbit. He flinches when he sees us. He mouths something but we can’t hear him. The throbbing bass is too loud. My heart hammers in time with it.
Mya is on him, quick and silent. She slams him back on the bed, one hand around his throat and the other covering his mouth. He thrashes with surprising strength. She lets go long enough to drive a fist into his stomach. I force myself to look around. There’s nobody in here with him. I’m so relieved I almost weep.
Mya rolls the man onto his stomach and puts him in a headlock, cuts off his air supply. The others move on. I stay. He goes limp and the white rabbit finally escapes his clutches. Mya drops his head onto the bed and looks up at me, wipes the guy’s spit off her arm with disgust. She reaches under the bed and pulls out a length of rope. I help her tie him up. Under the bed again, she finds duct tape, which I roughly plaster over his mouth. Mya uses the tip of her katana to make a small hole for him to breathe through.
I taste bile. We move on.
Rafa and Jones have found two more men. One in his twenties, the other older. Both freshly worked over. The younger one’s right eye is already closing up. Rafa’s knuckles are red. Jones wipes blood from his hand on the curtain and takes the duct tape I offer.
In the next cubicle, Ez is sitting on her heels in front of a young boy. He can’t be more than seven or eight, all bony limbs and pale skin. He’s wearing shorts and a Spider-Man t-shirt, both two sizes too big. Thick black hair hangs down over his face; his huge brown eyes are vacant.
Something hot and violent rips through me. Blood pulses in my temples, faster now than the drums pounding in the music.
Ez is trying to get the boy’s attention, but he’s too far away. Drugged, or catatonic with fear. She smooths his hair and brushes the back of her fingers against his cheek. The boy closes his eyes, slowly. When she looks up at me I recognise what I see in her face: outrage.
Rafa slips between the curtains, glances at the boy. The muscle in his jaw twitches. Twice.
Mya points to the stairwell where Jess is waiting and Ez scoops up the boy, heads in that direction. The plan is to get the kids upstairs to the portico and wait for our signal. We keep going, checking each cubicle until we reach Zak and Jones. They’ve found a door behind a curtain of beads. There’s no camera in sight: nobody wants to be filmed in this cesspit.
Rafa takes up a position on one side of the door and locks eyes with me. I take the other side and we part the beads. I steady my breathing, brace for whatever might be in the next room. Zak slams the sole of his boot into the door and it flies inwards, smashed off its hinges. Rafa follows its trajectory. I’m right behind him.
Three men scramble backwards, reaching for handguns. The door hits the table they were just sitting at, smashing glasses and sending the whole thing skittering across the tiled floor. A thin girl in a floral dress cringes in the corner, her hands covering her head.
I charge in, register the men are human. Am I capable of killing them? The guy closest to me has chambered a bullet and is about to fire. I need to decide. Now.
He points the gun at my face.
I duck as he fires. It’s deafening. I change my grip on the sword and slam the hilt into the side of his head before he can recover from the recoil. A sickening sound. He crumples to the floor. I kick the gun back towards the door where Mya scoops it up.
Rafa took down the other two before either could get off a shot. One of them has lost a hand: no doubt the one pointing a gun at him. There’s a lot of blood and screaming.
I lead the way down a narrow hallway, tracking other terrified voices. There’s a door halfway along, locked. I kick it once, twice. It flies open and the screams intensify. It’s a bathroom. There must be twenty children huddled on the tiles, crying. Boys and girls. Pale. Underfed.
I block the doorway protectively, forcing Rafa to look over my shoulder
‘Get them out,’ he says in my ear.
Thumping music comes from above us now as well. I hope it’s loud enough to drown out the screams. And the gunshot.
Mya is covering the door we came through. The girl in the floral dress leans against her now, her face pressed into Mya’s shirt.
‘Come on.’ I gesture wildly for the kids in the bathroom to leave.
Nobody moves. Twenty pairs of eyes are locked on my sword.
‘Now!’
They flinch. I hate yelling at them but this is taking too long. I move my sword behind me. ‘Come ON!’
A girl with a tear-stained face jumps up. I step out of the way so she can get through. She runs to Mya. One, then another run past me. And then the rest bolt as a group, jostling and crying.
I take a shaky breath, move on to the next door, yank it open. No kids this time—a staircase and a wall of pounding music. The club’s up there. Zak joins me, filling the doorway. His size is reassuring.
Rafa checks the other rooms while Jones fleeces the injured guards. He stomps mobile phones and strips ammunition clips from their guns. The four of us gather at the foot of the steps. Mya materialises a few metres away. Ez must be with Jess and the kids now, upstairs, waiting for the all-clear. As soon as they step outside the portico cage onto the street, they’ll be on camera, and we need the place empty of Immundi by the time that happens—before Jess calls for back-up.
‘What?’ Mya has to shout to be heard over the music.
‘No Immundi down here,’ Rafa says.
She points to the room above us.
She can’t be serious.
The camera outside the basement door has been down for at least five minutes. Where’s the security? This isn’t right. Even I can tell this is a trap and I’ve never done this before. We should go. Get the kids to safety.
Mya watches me, waiting for a reaction. Of course she knows it’s a trap; they all do. She just wants me to be complicit in the decision to go upstairs. I check Rafa. He’s ready. This is what the Outcasts do, right? Hunt demons? I tighten my grip on my sword. What did Rafa tell me before we went for Maggie? When it’s happening, don’t think. Just go with your instincts. Right now, my instincts are telling me to get the hell out of here. But I can’t back out—I won’t give Mya the satisfaction. So I nod, and she messages the others.
We climb the stairs two at a time, swords pressed flat against our legs; Rafa in the lead, me right behind him. I can do this. I’ve killed a hellion, fought a Gatekeeper, been in a brawl at the Imperial…
But that was then. This is different: this is me looking for trouble.
The music up here is deafening. It’s too loud—like someone’s trying to hide the noise of the riot up the street. The carpet comes into view along with a forest of chairs and table legs. The place stinks of booze and nicotine. Rafa holds up a hand and we wait for his signal. A yellow light flashes over his face. I have another wave of déjà vu. I grab the handrail to steady myself.
Rafa clears the stairs first, nods for us to follow. We’re at the back of the club. A dozen men sit around the dance platform, ties loose and shirts untucked, watching a redhead in stilettos and lacy underwear. She’s wearing a police hat and has fake police badges placed strategically on her breasts. Right now she’s hanging upside down on the pole, her free leg stretched back over her head until it almost touches the platform.
The man behind the bar whistles sharply over his shoulder when he sees us.
We spread out to cover the room. Two guys in expensive suits emerge from a door at the far end of the bar and take up positions near the stripper. They’re short and wiry. Their heads are too big for their bodies. They remind me of monkeys…except there’s nothing playful about them.
‘Get those idiots out of here,’ Rafa shouts at me over the noise.
&nb
sp; I think he means the new arrivals, but then one of them sneers and I realise my mistake. It’s not just that his eyes are black: his teeth are pointed and, when he gestures at me, his black lacquered nails are way too long.
Immundi.
How could anyone mistake them for anything other than demons? I know there are some freaky people up the road at Venice Beach. But still.
The Immundi are the same height and build as each other, with the same round face. One has jet-black hair, the other platinum. Their forearms flick out in an oddly synchronised movement. Straight blades, about half the length of a katana, slide out from their shirtsleeves as they move towards me.
Someone kills the seedy soundtrack. The silence is louder than the music. The demons stop sharply; the dancer—about to take off one of her fake badges—turns herself the right way up and peers at the back of the room. ‘Turn that back on!’
Jones is behind a bank of equipment, power lead in one hand. ‘There’s a riot outside.’ His voice comes out too loud in the quiet room. ‘You might want to get out of here.’
The lights keep flashing and spinning.
‘That’s bullshit.’ One of the punters stands up, clutching the notes he’s been saving for the redhead. His suit is crushed, eyes cloudy. He takes three steps and freezes when there’s a burst of gunfire outside. He stumbles back to his seat, downs the dregs in his glass and snatches up the rest of his cash.
An explosion rocks the building.
The two Immundi charge.
Rafa takes them both on. More appear from the doorway, all armed with blades or knives. The dancer screams.
Don’t think.
I forget about getting the men out and run at the new arrivals, striking at the first demon I reach. He blocks and I spin away before he can counterattack. More Immundi in black suits stream past. I lunge at the first one again, and again the bobble-headed demon blocks me, crossing the short blades in front of his face. He grins, his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. I kick him hard between his legs. He grunts, drops to his knees. Good to know that works on demons too. His neck is exposed.
I draw back the katana, tighten my grip. I hesitate. These things almost look human.
But those teeth and claws. And those kids…
I bring the sword down. Hard.
Zak, Jones and Mya are all busy with Immundi now. We’re outnumbered three to one. And then a dozen more Outcasts are there, leaping into the fray.
The patrons are on their feet, knocking over stools and crashing into tables.
‘The back door!’ the barman shouts and runs in that direction himself.
The back door. Where Jess and Ez are waiting with the kids. They’ll get trampled. Another round of gunfire outside.
‘Rafa!’ I race to get ahead of the scrambling men. ‘Jess and Ez are out there.’
Mya kicks an Immundi in the chest and runs towards me. ‘Go! Go!’ She shifts before she finishes yelling.
The fleeing men are panicked, fighting each other as they run. I race ahead down a hall. Slam a door shut behind me and shove boxes in the way. Not enough of an obstacle to trap them—I need to slow them down until we can get the kids out of the portico.
I burst out of the back door and Ez immediately shuts it behind me. It’s complete chaos out here: kids crying and banging on the bars; Jess trying to calm them, carrying the boy we found in the cubicle. His legs are wrapped around her hips, head on her shoulder. Mya is trying to get the gate open. She’s ripped the cover from the electronic pad and is pulling out wires, her eyes constantly flicking from Jess to the back door. More gunshots up the road—closer now—followed by shouts and distant sirens. A building is on fire half a block down. The street is choked with smoke. My nostrils burn with it. A neon sign buzzes, then disappears as the smoke drifts closer.
I find a path through the kids, hold my katana over my head out of harm’s way. I grip the gate, ready to push it open as soon as Mya gets it unlocked. How far away are the rioters? I press my face against the metal bars. A movement on the street catches my eye. Neon and flames swim in my eyes.
‘Well, this is an added bonus.’ The voice is deep and smoky, and I have to hang on to the gate to stop my legs giving out from beneath me.
NASTY SURPRISE
Oh shit, oh shit.
Bel.
Blood and all the noise of the street and the kids roars in my ears.
The pale demon is standing in the middle of the road, a broadsword at his waist. I vaguely register that he’s recovered from the blade Nathaniel buried in his shoulder earlier in the week. He looks taller in daylight, his fine features and white hair more startling. His irises are still on fire. My fingers tighten on the bars.
Behind me, the men from the club hit the back door. I hear it open, then sounds of fighting.
More screaming. The kids have seen Bel. He stands there on the street, soaking up the fear and panic roiling behind the gates.
I risk a look over my shoulder. Ez is holding off the men, kicking and punching them back into the hallway, using everything but her sword to slow them down; they’re a problem we don’t need, but they’re still human. She doesn’t know we’ve got a bigger problem outside the gates.
The kids are swarming, frantic, caught between the fighting men and the monster outside the gate. I catch a glimpse of a floral dress and then it’s gone, lost in the crush.
Something clicks in the metal under my hands. I freeze.
‘Open it!’ Mya shouts.
‘We’ve got company.’
Mya straightens, sees Bel. ‘Jess, call for back-up.’
Jess’s eyes skitter to the white-haired demon. ‘I can’t! You’re not done inside yet!’
‘I don’t care. We’re getting these kids out.’
‘But—’
‘DO IT!’
Jess pulls a slim-line phone from inside her nurse’s uniform, taps in the number one-handed. Bel strolls back and forth in front of us, his eyes flitting from Mya to me and back again. The children cower back from the bars now, crying.
‘I knew you would not be able to stay away from here,’ Bel says to Mya. ‘All that guilt. All that regret. But you, Gabriella, you are a most delicious surprise. Are you still trying to work out which side you want to die on? Let me give you a tip: Nathaniel will not be turning up to save you this time. Not at this place of the damned.’
Scuffling continues behind us. ‘Hey!’ Ez shouts. ‘Either open that gate or give me a—’ She doesn’t finish the sentence and I’m not game to take my eyes off Bel again to find out why.
‘Bring the bus,’ Jess shouts into her phone. ‘And bring back-up—uugh!’ She slams into me as the men from the club crash into her. Ez isn’t holding them back any more. Mya and I lock eyes. We have to open the gates. It’s not as if they’re keeping Bel out.
‘Go on, let the little ones run,’ Bel says. ‘More Immundi are coming. It will give them something to do when they see their pets fleeing.’
Bodies press against me. I react without thinking. I punch two men and use my knee to push a third away. They stink of bourbon. Mya lays a hand on the gate, looks at me. She’s waiting for me to make the call.
Is this more complicity or is she unsure? Right now it doesn’t matter—there’s no choice.
‘Open it.’
Mya turns the handle. As soon as the latch gives, we’re pushed out onto the street by the crush of men. I clear a path for the kids. They stream out from the portico, all of them instinctively veering away from Bel, which means they run towards the riot. Jess goes with them, her red stilettos the only colour in the grey street. Ez has gone back inside.
Mya glances from Jess and the kids to Bel and me.
Oh shit, don’t leave me here with him. Surely nothing I’ve done to her warrants being thrown to a demon.
She reaches for something behind her, moving backwards. Bel draws the heavy sword from his belt. I grip my katana, my fingers numb.
Two loud pops echo in the street. I fli
nch with each one.
Mya has fired two rounds into Bel’s forehead. He staggers back, surprise registering on his angular face. Blood dribbles down from the two neat holes. She fires twice more, one in each bicep. He flinches and drops his sword.
‘Might slow him down till the cavalry arrives,’ Mya says, and then takes off into the smoke.
It’s the only break I’m going to get.
I run at Bel, swinging at his long neck. He ducks, then I see a flash of metal coming for my face. I only just manage to block him. He grunts at the impact of steel on steel, his face covered in bright red blood. There’s more seeping through his coat sleeves.
He swings again. Quick, brutal—I deflect it. He’s driving me towards the fence, backwards. There’s a gutter here somewhere. I step carefully, block another strike at my neck. The next step is shorter. I’m over the gutter—more luck than skill. There’s a burst of noise behind me in the portico. It sounds like a stampede out of the club. I can’t risk looking but Bel is grinning with bloodstained teeth. It’s not good news.
I back into the fence. There’s nowhere left to go.
Bel takes his sword in both hands, rains down blow after blow until the katana jars from my hand and clatters to the ground. Before I can duck, his bony body is pressed against mine, pinning me against the metal bars. The flat side of his heavy blade is pressed against my throat. It’s strangely warm.
He has to lean down to keep his weight against me. There’s so much blood on him. How much can he have left? But his irises are still blazing.
‘I suspected you could no longer shift.’ Bel’s breath is hot on my face. I smell sulphur and decay. ‘I am so pleased to find it is true. It will make hurting you so much more satisfying. You will tell us the truth about what you and your brother did, no matter how long it takes.’ He strokes the blade against my throat. ‘And this time when I end you, you will not come back.’
The road blurs. I bite the inside of my lip. I need to stay conscious, buy myself some time. He can’t force me to shift with him unless he knocks me out.