"It's good manners not to answer back," said that warped voice, "but you two display it to a fault."
Amy forced the fluids from her throat and tried to speak, to yell. An incoherent sound came out.
The Lamplighter was setting the base of its pole on the floor and reaching for the lantern, its movements stiff and stilted. It was smiling at them both. It couldn't help but smile.
Cordelia had always been stronger than Amy. She finally found her feet, stepped stumbling forward with the knife in front of her and it was then that Amy regained her voice. "No, don't," she whispered.
The long nose came back up and sniffed the air. "Iron," said the Lamplighter, hands running spiderlike across each other.
"I – I conjure and command thee." Cordelia's voice was shaking, but the knife held steady.
The ragged figure straightened up, lantern dangling from one hand. The glass panels were dark, but even in the gloom Amy could see the patterns on the lantern metalwork. It was moulded into screaming faces, each window a mouth.
"Patience," said the Lamplighter. It opened the front panel of the lantern and reached inside with its fingertip, making little clicking noises as if it were talking to a pet.
"No, I c-command thee – you." Cordelia stepped in front of Amy."By athame and fire and by–”
The lantern spluttered and sparked, and a new flame began to form. The Lamplighter's face lit up, and Amy could see mottled skin stretched to breaking-point. The mouth was lipless, the nose hollowed and hooked. Cordelia lost her words at the sight of it, and the knife trembled in her fingers.
"The only fire here is mine."
With those words it sprang forward onto Cordelia and knocked her to the floor. Cordelia's arms flew wild, lodging the knife in the side of the sofa, and her other hand caught between Amy's legs and tripped Amy up.
Amy fell badly. Her head collided with the carpet, and gongs and bells went off inside her skull.
She could see the spidery figure perched on top of Cordelia, pinning her with those long thin legs. Cordelia was wheezing and choking, trying to breathe, and the Lamplighter bent down and put its face close to hers.
"You, however," it hissed, "will make little more than kindling."
Cordelia struggled, and the Lamplighter hopped up and down on top of her, driving its pointed toes into her stomach. She cried out, and the look on her face burnt its way into Amy's mind – teeth gritted, eyes wide in pain.
"Get–” Amy struggled to sit up, found the knife-handle within reach. "Get off her!" She snatched the knife out of the sofa and hurled herself forward, slashing wildly at the air.
The Lamplighter leapt into the air, nimble as a flea, and landed back beside its pole. Air sputtered through those narrow teeth, and Amy realised it was laughing.
"Claws of kittens," it said. "Teeth of mice." The pole was back in its hand, the lantern hooked on the end, and the Lamplighter swung it lightning-fast.
Amy tried to duck but she was slow too slow and metal collided with the side of her head. The room exploded –
– there was metal in her mouth had it gone through her head –
– she was on her back like a turtle –
– the knife was gone.
Cordelia was beside her. Amy looked into her friend's face and saw dullness in her eyes, glanced down and saw the dark patch spreading across Cordelia's shirt.
"Time's a-wasting." The voice was like crushed beetles and broken bones. Hearing it made the pain worse.
Amy looked up. The ragged figure towered above them, but even from this angle its eyes were hidden by that hat.
"Don't–” she tried to say, but the word turned into a little fire in her throat and she howled rather than speaking.
"I have matters elsewhere –" the Lamplighter shouldered its pole as it spoke "– but this insolence cannot pass unpunished."
Amy tried to move but her head felt like it was glued to the floor. Pain throbbed in her temple, driving her thoughts away.
A step and a hop and the Lamplighter was back by the doorway. It paused, and spun around on the points of its toes like a clockwork toy.
"You wanted to conjure fire? Fire you shall have."
It waved a hand at Amy's still-burning lamp and the little blaze jumped and crackled. Flames spread over the embroidered lampshade and the lamp rocked, toppled, and fell across the sofa.
The doorway was empty now. Smoke came from the sofa cushions and the room stank of burning plastic. Amy fought to move, managing to force one hand underneath herself and levering her body a few inches off the floor. Weakness ran through her system and she sank back down, unable to think of anything except –
– how very heavy everything was –
– her legs, her arms, her eyelids –
– the pressure of being alive –
– Cordelia was staring, eyes blank fingers twitching belly red, and her back arched against the floor like a violin –
The weight of it felt like it would kill Amy just from thinking. She longed to let go, slip into the foggy blankness and never wake up. Better that way. Everything she did alive got people killed, first Jessica now Cordelia, Cordelia struggling for air and drawing down smoke –
– the smoke was thickening. It cast elegant shadows across the ceiling, lit by the red glow of the flames.
Amy took a deep breath and coughed so hard she expected to see blood. The cough blew away the cobwebs, dragged her unwilling brain back to the room and the moment.
Fire. Fire had spread across the sofa and was lapping at the wall, snatching at the curtains. The smoke was clustered like storm clouds, and the only reason she'd escaped was by lying this low.
Out. She had to get out. Her and Cordelia.
Throat burning, head swelling, Amy rolled onto her side and wriggled her legs until they seemed to be working. The side of her head stung, felt sticky. She needed to get it looked at.
Cordelia was just in front of her, so Amy reached out a hand and squeezed the other woman's, whispered "Hang on, it'll be okay." Her own voice sounded strange and hoarse, and she couldn't tell if Cordelia heard her.
The flames caught the curtains and began to roar.
Amy lurched onto her front, got her legs underneath and started to crawl. Cordelia couldn't be carried with that smoke bearing down and Amy would have to drag her somehow, which would only make her injury worse. Amy looked at Cordelia's bloody middle then back to her friend's face, and kenw Cordelia was half-gone already. She couldn't leave her here.
Her eyes stung. Tears were running down her face and the air was turning foul, fumes coming off the sofa cushions and the blackening wallpaper.
Those cushions … why had she left those cushions? Their sofas were meant to be fireproof –
No time. Blame later. Amy squeezed the pain and the coughing down into a little ball and buried it inside her. She reached for Cordelia's wrists and locked her fingers around them. Teeth locked together, Amy began to pull.
Cordelia slid roughly across the carpet, inch by inch. Her back shook, and whimpering escaped her lips. Amy tried not to listen, to focus on pulling her towards the door.
The book – that book the one that caused all this – banged against her elbow, pages fluttering in the heated air. Amy's concentration was in pieces, and printed words drifted past her without making sense.
"– Firebringer – both god and gateway – summons fire and shadow–”
It hadn't made sense it hadn't been right. The grinning spectre they'd conjured up had made those footprints and lit those lights but it couldn't be what took Jessica and the others away. Amy told herself this as she hauled Cordelia backwards – she was on her own back again, bracing her feet against the carpet to kick both of them to safety – and everything hurt, every nerve seared as fiercely as the room around her.
Light and shadow didn't call or control the Lamplighter. They were tools to it. It hadn't taken Jessica away all it had done was provide the spark, the flame that summoned –
/>
– the shadows.
Even as her lungs filled with smoke and her arms threatened to tear from their sockets, Amy understood. She was through the doorway now and wrenching both of them down the hall and still the air was hotter. They were going to die in here and it was –
Not now. Blame later.
The Lamplighter was a conduit. That was the story Amy told herself as she fought for every scrap of distance. The Lamplighter was a conduit that let the shadows in. The shadows only existed when the lights were on. The shadows took, and the Lamplighter sanctioned. She knew too little too late but that was the shape of it, and the knowledge would burn with her.
Cold wood against her back. Front door. Amy let one of Cordelia's wrists drop, reached up and scrapped for the latch. She tried to stand but her legs crumpled under her and the catch was high, too high.
Amy screamed. The scream blew her upwards, launching her off the floor just enough to catch hold of the metal and –
– finally –
– get the door open. Night air blew cold on her back and she tucked her arms under Cordelia's shoulders and bundled the both of them onto the garden path.
It was so much quieter out here. So restful, even with the sirens.
She'd realised something important, but it kept getting away.
Jenny would know. Jenny was quick and smart and made sense of things. She'd ask Jenny before anyone arrived to disturb them.
Letting go of Cordelia, Amy rummaged for her phone and used the last of her strength to type a handful of letters.
"Its NOT HIM hejust calls them be careful"
Jenny had realised her mistake as soon as she got outside. Town was calling to her, bright lights and voices and quick motions, but between her and it lay the street and the street was empty.
She briefly considered going back inside, but the comfortable facade of the house made Jenny's palms itch, and the idea of admitting she'd been wrong was even worse. That woman was so smug, so full up with her own cleverness, and she and Amy had been bandying secrets around like Jenny wasn't even there.
They could boil together. She needed to move.
Jenny started to walk, then to run.
Five minutes before she got to town. Five minutes of dark roads and lonely streetlights. Something could happen to her any time.
Tom still hadn't texted back. Maybe they'd got to him already – Jenny didn't know but she needed to reach out to whoever was left, to stay connected. Texting as she ran, she messaged:
"hey u idiot if ur alive answer ur phone"
Still no answer. She was almost clear of Bellman's Crescent and her legs were already sore. Jenny slowed for breath, clutched her sides. She couldn't keep running even if it killed her.
Bell was a couple of streets away. There'd be people on the bridge even this late and then she'd be safe.
Jenny held her breath each time she passed a light. Nothing happened. The shadows remained ordinary, the night calm.
She could hear traffic somewhere close by, and footsteps underlying it. Bell rolled by beneath her feet, and then she was out onto Hopscotch with the Lamber gurgling below her. Odd couples walked past, chattering and laughing, and solitary cars drove by. Everything looked normal.
Pulling her coat in around her shoulders, Jenny headed for Highburn Place.
The lights in the square seemed duller than the night before, and the people further apart, as if the town itself were still nursing a hangover. Even Kairos looked half-empty, though the bass came from it strong as ever. Jenny was shivering by now and hurried across the square, passing under the watchful eye of that same robed statue.
She paused by it, despite the cold, looking up into the weathered stone face. It was as old as the bones of this town, old as the narrow-cobbled streets in the back quarter or the stone farmhouses out in the hills. Old as those stories Amy had been going on about.
Who knew what those lifeless eyes had seen? The face was too worn for any expression to remain in it, the pipes weathered beyond playing, but Jenny had always thought the stance of the statue a judgemental one and now she knew why.
Backing away, she headed for the club. Too much going on tonight. She needed to blaze the dark hours away, clear her head and keep herself safe.
The beat embraced her like an old friend.
Jenny stopped walking and started to move to the music, let it carry her past the crowd at the entrance and all the way to the edge of the dance floor. The place was half empty and the floor was bare but she didn't mind – still enough people to keep the dark at bay, enough to keep her alive till morning.
She needed a drink before she could dance alone. Jenny headed to the bar, beat still driving her – scratch scratch scratch – and ordered without even looking at the barman. He only mattered as cover, not in himself – none of them did. They were the backdrop and she the story, her faceless chorus.
Drink down. Bubbles rising. Ah.
Her phone chirped. Had Tom finally stopped sulking? Jenny was sure now that's all it had been, that Amy had got her overexcited and she'd been jumping at shadows. It was clear now, a few creepy tramps and a couple of dark rooms and you started imagining everything was out to get you.
It wasn't Tom at all but Amy. Amy trying to scare her again.
Jenny ordered another drink as she texted: "hey enough of that ur just being paranoid"
The words got to her though. Amy had to be frightened to be messing up her typing like that and now Jenny was thinking back to Hazel's flat again, to the dark bedroom and her hand on the light switch. She hadn't just imagined it she knew that really, but so what?
If it was real, she was in the safest place to be. If it wasn't, she might as well enjoy herself. Either way Amy had made her mind up and could look after herself.
Drink down again. Time to dance.
Harry wasn't here tonight. Harry could wait until tomorrow, if she still felt like calling. Tonight she deserved a solo spot.
Jenny strode out. The beat was under her, lifting her off the ground. Lights flashed. Floor shook. She moved without thinking, feeling the music in her spine like an implant.
She needed – hah she needed – to literally dance the night away. Feet down, feet up, step sway step. Punch the air.
No-one else was dancing. People milled around the edges of the club, hiding behind the lights and talked and shuffled and drank. No-one was dancing and they all must be staring at Jenny, but she couldn't see their faces only silhouettes.
Didn't matter. Wasn't as good without the backing of the crowd but it didn't matter. She didn't need a chorus to be the star.
Jenny stamped and swayed and flung herself, willing oblivion, but it never came. Something wasn't right. She clung to the beat drub drub drub and it kept getting away from her. The floor was sticky and her feet didn't come up properly. The room was hot and sweat was trickling down between her shoulder blades. She might not be able to see the stares but she could feel them, tickling at her skin like invisible ants.
She powered on and the beat got away from her. The rhythm went to pieces and she looked ridiculous. Her head swam and her legs wobbled and those lights wouldn't stop flashing, on and off, strobing the club with silver. It hurt her head, jabbed at her eyes.
Jenny staggered to the edge of the floor. Her stomach rebelled at all the movements she'd put it through, and she could feel acid coming up the back of her throat. The bubbles and the rush of the drink had evaporated already and she clearly needed another.
There was still empty space around her. Jenny could see people moving, but always on the other side of the lights. Were they avoiding her after she'd gone and made a spectacle of herself? Screw them. They wished they were her, any day.
Her headache wouldn't go and she hadn't even made it to the bar yet. Jenny coughed and couldn't stop coughing. It was those lights, flash flash flash driving her mad.
The music was too loud too. Her ear stung. She put fingers to it and felt something sticky. Pulled them away and
saw blood –
– what was this why was she falling to pieces –
– her legs wouldn't listen to her she could barely stand –
Jenny leaned heavily on the bar, and the barman ignored her. She could see him down the far end, a mute shadow cleaning glasses.
No-one paid attention to her here. She was alone in a crowd, cut off.
Isolated.
Jenny looked at the ring of lights again and finally saw past them, at the dim-lit walls of the club.
Saw the shadows.
They were all around her, circling the room. They flickered and swooped and writhed, and none of the people in the club matched them in the slightest. They were squat or stooped or spindly and no two were alike.
Jenny's head swam and her throat burned and her ear felt like something was boring into it.
Out. She had to get out.
Get out now.
She tried to move and the floor hit her in the face. Jenny struggled to her hands and knees, looked around her and couldn't even see the people any more, just the flashing lights and the closing circle –
Fourteen
Amy's back hurt. She tried to roll onto her side but something was stopping her. There was cloth pulled tight across her chest, pinning her flat on her back and making it hard to breathe. Her eyes were stuck shut and her arms were trapped by her sides.
She started to struggle and the pain returned. Red spikes deep inside her lungs.
She couldn't hear the noises she'd expected – there was no crackle of fire or rush of wind, only a stillness. Something was beeping, electronic, too regular to be an alarm.
Amy understood and calmed herself down. Her breathing slowed, and her eyes came easily open.
She saw a plain white ceiling, dusted and cleaned and spotless. There was soft linen tucked tightly over her and a mattress under her back. The lights were soft, and there was no sign or sound of anyone with her. Something was stuck to her arm, and the regular beep came from beside her head.
Her head still ached, but there was something stuck to that too – Amy could feel the pressure of bandages, the pads underneath them.
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