Copyright

First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2016

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF

Visit us on the web at www.harpercollins.co.uk

Derek Landy blogs under duress at www.dereklandy.blogspot.com

Copyright © Derek Landy 2016

Jacket photography © Larry Rostant 2016

Jacket design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008157104

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008157074

Version: 2016-08-10

This book is dedicated to Morgan.

You’ve changed, man …

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Also by Derek Landy

About the Publisher

THE DEMON WAS TALL and strong, red-skinned and beautiful, and she had two black horns that curled up from her forehead. She sneered, and even her sneer was beautiful. “You really think you’re getting out of this alive?”

Amber ignored the whisper, ignored her demon-self, ignored everything that wasn’t real, and stepped through the darkness of the department store.

A creature stood on the glass counter ahead, trying on sunglasses and gazing at itself in the mirror on the display spinner. This was real. As bizarre as it was, this wasn’t a hallucination. Amber could tell the difference now. The critter was maybe two feet tall, its body and head covered in light brown fur. It stood on spindly legs and its arms were thin. It turned this way and that, admiring itself, gurgling happily. It had a wide, wide mouth, and a small snout. When it took off the sunglasses, its eyes were big and blinking.

Amber had never seen a bogle before. Hadn’t even seen a drawing of one. It was, she supposed as she got closer, kind of cute, like an adorable Disney animal. It certainly wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. She’d broken into this Walmart expecting to be greeted by a horde of vicious monsters – not a solitary, cute and furry creature trying on sunglasses at night.

But, even so, she shifted. Just in case. Her body transformed, and now she was the red-skinned beauty; she had the strength, and the height, and the horns. She passed a mannequin wearing the same outfit as her – yoga pants and tank top – but while the mannequin’s outfit was flashy orange on grey, Amber’s was black, and she wore it better. She didn’t want to spook the bogle, though, so she gave a low, soft whistle before emerging.

“Hey there,” she whispered, moving even closer. “Hey, little guy.”

The bogle looked at her. It cocked its head, made an inquisitive gurgling sound.

“Who’s the best little bogle?” Amber continued, smiling, showing it her empty hands. “Who’s the cutest little imp? Is it you? Is it?”

The bogle figured it might well be, because it grinned happily, its long tongue flopping out of its mouth.

Amber couldn’t help but return its smile. She hoped her fangs wouldn’t scare it off. “I’m looking for your master,” she said quietly. “Could you take me to him? Could you do that?”

The bogle waddled to the edge of the countertop and held its arms out for a hug.

“You are a cutie,” Amber said. “Maybe when I’m finished with your master I could take you with me. Would you like that? How does a life on the road sound to you? Sound good?”

The bogle chittered, and Amber chuckled. She doubted that Milo would approve of her keeping a pet in the back of the Charger, but he was in some other part of the store, and so his opinion was rendered invalid.

“Then it’s a deal,” she said. “You take me to Paul Axton and I’ll adopt you.”

It looked at her with its huge eyes and she almost scooped it up there and then, but something stopped her. Maybe it was how eager the bogle was for her to get closer, maybe it was that wide, wide mouth with all those teeth, or maybe it was the fact that the bigger its eyes got, the more red veins Amber could see in all that white.

Whatever the reason, she hesitated before picking it up, and the bogle didn’t like that. It didn’t like that one bit.

Its little hands grew little claws and it swiped at her and Amber jerked back. A trail of blood ran from the narrow cut on her cheek.

She stared at the bogle. “You little dipshit,” she said.

It leaped at her, a frenzied ball of fur and teeth. Amber batted it away and stumbled as the bogle hit the ground and immediately resumed its attack. She evaded it as much as she could, throwing things in its path, jumping to avoid its swipes, but it was closing in and suddenly she had nowhere left to go. She kicked at it and missed and it leaped at her leg, tried to dig its claws into her flesh, but beneath the yoga pants her skin grew black scales, and the bogle bounced off. Right before it hit the ground, Amber managed to land a solid kick that sent it hurtling into the shadows.

She ran for the DIY section, listening for the telltale patter of tiny, evil feet. She heard a noise and turned, saw nothing but gloom and darkness. She backed up, her foot nudging something heavy. A man, lying there, and covered inexpertly in hockey jerseys. She crouched, clearing them away, revealing first the security-guard uniform and then the face. His mouth was open in a silent scream, and his eyes were missing.

Amber straightened, and a bogle landed on her shoulder – a different one, with darker fur – and she cursed and swiped it off. More of them were on the shelves above her, flinging themselves down with delighted yips of sadistic pleasure. One landed on her head, its claws getting tangled in her hair. She yanked it off, held it by its leg as it twisted and snapped, but another one came down right on her horns, impaling itself and squealing as it writhed.

Amber drop-kicked the one in her hand, tore the other one off even as she felt its blood trickle down to her scalp, and stomped on it till it shut the hell up.

She stared down at the mess she’d made, couldn’t help but feel like she was beating up teddy bears.

There was a high-pitched whine and a bogle came at her with a goddamn electric saw. She jumped back, tried to kick it, but it was too fast. Her scales would probably protect her against the saw, but she didn’t want to test that theory. She jumped on to a display table that proved as wobbly as a rickety boat, and the bogle circled her like a shark with a whirring, serrated disc for a fin. Around and around it went, cackling madly, going faster and faster, but then it must have tripped, because suddenly the disc vanished and the cackling stopped, and chunks of fur and flesh flew up and the saw cut off.

She stayed where she was, making sure it wasn’t a trick, but then another bogle rammed into the table legs and Amber found herself leaping off, getting a foot on to something in the dark and springing off that, before crashing into the sports section. She got a foot tangled up and fell, bringing down a rack of sportswear around her.

She stayed on the ground for a moment, groaning. There was movement around her, stifled cackling, and when she looked up she saw a bogle holding a golf club.

“Bwuuh!” it squealed, and swung the club right into her face.

Black scales formed before the impact, but it still hurt like hell, and Amber rolled sideways, grabbed a shelf and pulled herself up, turning just in time to take a baseball bat right to the jaw. She whirled, tripped over her own feet and went stumbling, overturning a display of tennis racquets.

The bogle with the baseball bat chortled, leaped off a display of catcher’s mitts and scuttled away. Amber let it go, focusing instead on remaining upright.

When her vision stopped spinning, two small figures came into view, standing on the overturned display and brandishing racquets. These bogles were wearing toddler tennis clothes – the one on the left wore white shorts with its T-shirt, while the one on the right wore a white pleated skirt. They even had headbands.

The first bogle threw a ball high into the air – only it wasn’t a ball: it was one of the security guard’s eyes – and when the bogle swung the racquet the eye exploded on contact. The bogle howled in dismay, and now the one in the skirt threw its eyeball into the air, swung the racquet and connected beautifully. The eye hit Amber in the face with a wet smack, and she charged after them. The bogles jumped down and ran away, screaming.

She frowned when she heard a strange sort of gurgling behind her. Recognising a distorted version of the Rocky theme tune, she turned to watch a bogle wearing boxing gloves emerge from the darkness.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

The bogle shuffled forward, threw out a series of jabs, moving its head from side to side as it got closer.

“This is insane,” Amber said loudly. “Who’s dressing you? Are you dressing yourselves? How do you even know that movie?”

The little boxer-bogle paid her no heed as it closed in.

Shaking her head in frayed disbelief, Amber took a step and kicked it and watched it sail away over the racks of clothes.

Then she heard a warbling voice from the other side of the partition.

“Plahby-pluh!”

Amber frowned, moving forward slowly.

She peered round the side of the partition, seeing nothing but gloom and display stands. She carried on.

“Tooty-plahb!”

Then she saw them, maybe eight or nine, lined up in formation on the floor ahead, all of them wearing football helmets that covered most of their bodies.

“Bloe! Blah! Blee!”

The bogles charged forward and the quarterback stepped back and Amber just had time to catch the glint of the pistol in its hands before it opened fire. She dived out of the way even as the recoil flipped the quarterback head over heels, and then the helmets were flung off and the rest of the bogles came at her with the butcher knives they had been concealing underneath.

She cursed, rolled away from them, her scales deflecting some early slashes, but they were too fast. In an instant, they were all over her, knives stabbing downwards. She turned over and over, but they kept their balance like they were goddamn log rollers or something. Amber’s clothes were being hacked to shreds, but her scales covered her, head to foot. Some of the little bastards were attempting to force the tips of their knives in between her scales to get at the skin beneath. The ones on her head were trying to stick their knives in her eyes, her ears, her mouth.

Amber thrashed, knocked a few off, struggled to sit up and then a tsunami of bogles descended on her. She managed to turn over on to her belly, tried to crawl, but they flattened her to the floor again.

Then their master walked into view.

“Aw crap,” she muttered.

MIDDLE-AGED AND SAD-LOOKING, PAUL Axton dragged a cheap plastic chair behind him. He sat on it, and looked down at Amber.

“So you’re the Shining Demon’s new representative,” he said. “Prettier than the last one, and that’s no lie. Astaroth’s demons tend to be the best looking – have you noticed that? I could have been one of you, you know. I could have asked to be a demon, to be tall, and strong, and handsome. Red, too, and horned, but you can’t have everything. Of course, I didn’t ask to be any of those things. I just asked for the ability to communicate with these fascinating creatures.”

Amber wanted to respond, but the fascinating creatures kept trying to stick knives in her mouth.

“Naturally, I’ve heard about you,” he continued. “You discovered your demonic heritage only a few months ago, didn’t you? Which means you’re sixteen years old. That’s the age when all this happens. When you go through your … changes. But, instead of a heart-warming family moment, your parents proceeded to hunt you clear across the country. Bill and Betty Lamont. Quite a notorious couple, in certain circles.

“Interestingly, though, they are not the only parents who like to eat their young. Lions, polar bears, certain types of prairie dogs … they all indulge in infanticide when the mood takes them. Lots of others, too. And that’s just the mammals. But only demons like your parents have absorbed the strength of their offspring in such a blatant fashion.

“How long has it been going on? A hundred years? More? You had a brother and sister, didn’t you, that your parents and their friends consumed? I can barely imagine what that must have felt like. That rush of power. That taste of immortality. And then it was you on the dinner platter.

“Only you turned the tables, did you not? Now that you’re Astaroth’s representative, the hunters are the hunted, and the hunted is the hunter. Although, obviously, in view of your current situation, the hunter is back to being the hunted again. The circle of life is rarely kind.”

Axton chuckled thinly. “Once upon a time, I was something of an anthropologist – now I am so much more. I have devoted my life to the study of creatures like these bogles – creatures too vicious to survive in today’s world. Take you, for example. Those scales are wonderful. Not reliable, though, are they? I’ve found, in my studies, that they are tied to your unconscious instincts. Yes, you can control them to a degree, but I bet they’ve let you down before, haven’t they? When you needed them most? Have you ever asked yourself why?”

Amber just stayed where she was. The bogles started going after her eyes again so she squeezed them shut, kept her head down. Some of them, on the lower half of her body, were still trying to stick their knives in between her scales. She struggled to control her temper.

“It’s all subconscious,” Axton was saying. “If you think you ought to be punished in some way for sins you have committed, or are about to commit, your scales will let a little damage in. It’s really quite interesting, linked as it is to one’s own self-loathing. How about you, young lady? You must have done some rather dubious things to have been made the Shining Demon’s representative. How much do these sins affect you? How much do they eat away at you?”

Amber tried to block out his words, but he was right. Her scales should have protected her from Elias Mauk the day before they reached Desolation Hill, should have protected her fingers from his hammer. In the battles she’d been in since, sometimes the scales shielded her from the punch, the slash, and sometimes they didn’t. They’d failed her before. If they failed her now, she’d be little more than a pincushion to these creatures.

“It’s all about doubt,” Axton said. He had a miserable voice. Everything about him – his voice, his slumped shoulders, his sad little belly – screamed loser. More than that, they screamed lost. Defeated. “That’s the killer, isn’t it?” he said. “The moment a little bit of doubt creeps in, it all starts to go wrong.”

Panic flared as Amber felt the scales on her stomach start to slowly retract. She tried to command them, to regrow them, but more retracted in an instant. She pressed her belly to the floor, did her best to pretend to be calm, but more scales were disappearing. A knife scraped her red skin and drew blood.

This guy. Axton. This asshole. Talking about doubt. Talking about her scales failing her. He did this. He put these thoughts in her head and now they were there, they had taken root, and the more she tried not to think of it, the more she thought of it and the more her scales retracted.

“Whumba de na poebee,” Axton said, and the bogles grumbled, but paused in their stabbing.

Amber raised her head, looked up at him. “You control them.”

“Me?” said Axton. “No, not at all. But I communicate, and they listen. Aren’t they wondrous? Terrific mimics. Although I think they may have picked up some bad habits from watching all that TV.”

“You know why I’m here,” she said.

Axton nodded. “Because I made a deal with the Shining Demon, and I welched.”

“He sent me to bring you back.”

“And you’re surprised I’m resisting?”

“Nope,” she said. “Not surprised at all. Expected it, to be honest. Was surprised by the freaky little monsters you’ve got running around, though.”

Axton smiled. “Didn’t see them coming, did you?”

“I did not,” Amber said, feeling the air on her skin as more scales retracted. The small of her back was now bare, and she expected to feel a knife plunge into her flesh at any moment. “You’re a clever man,” she said.

“I am?”

“Got me doubting myself.”

He chuckled. “It’s all true, though. Astaroth can’t have you too unstoppable, you see. You demons need chinks in your armour, both figuratively and literally.”

Her arms. Her arms were bare. Amber could feel the bogles’ claws digging into her skin now. She could feel the cold steel of their knives pressing between her shoulder blades.

“He didn’t just grant you the ability to talk to these little bastards, did he?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

Axton shrugged. “I can talk to anything and anyone.”

“Including me. You’re getting me to calm down. The more I calm down, the less scales I have.”

“We’re just having a conversation.”

“While you’re getting ready to kill me,” said Amber.

“That’s by the by, is it not? I’m not a violent man.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“There are plenty more people to go around, young lady. There are only a few of these bogles. Although, admittedly, they do breed incredibly fast.” Axton nodded to a bogle that sauntered towards him, holding its bloated belly. “They need very specific nesting conditions in order to lay their eggs, however. A very particular environment that provides both a viable temperature for birth and food for the offspring.”

“Yeah?” said Amber. “And where’s that?”

Axton blinked. “Why, on you, of course.”

AMBER GLARED. “DON’T YOU dare.”

“It’s actually a very beautiful process,” said Axton.

“I swear to Christ,” she responded, gritting her teeth, “if it lays its eggs on me I’m gonna break every goddamn bone in your body.”

Axton smiled with reassuring banality. “It’s not going to hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, it will, but it’ll be over before you know it. They are rather fast eaters.”

“It’s not about the pain, Paul. I just have a rule that forbids anything from ever laying its eggs on me, that’s all. It’s a personal thing.”

“It’s nature, young lady,” Axton told her. “It’s the circle of life.”

“If it were the circle of life, it would keep happening to me. But this, this right here? This’d be the first time a little furry freak laid their eggs on my body, so it’s not the circle of life, it’s just gross.”

“It won’t take long.”

Amber watched the pregnant bogle get closer. “Which part?” she asked.

“Any of it,” said Axton. “They have an accelerated hatching rate.”

Amber took a deep, calming breath. “Paul, you pay attention to what it is I’m saying to you.”

The pregnant bogle moaned.

“Too late, I’m afraid,” Axton said. “Fahl-ahey booshop.”

Amber felt dozens of little hands grabbing her, and before she could lash out she was flipped on to her back. The bogles swarmed over her once more, their knives tearing through the lower half of her tank top, poised to pierce her red skin as her scales continued to slowly retract.

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” said Axton. “Their eggs can be laid on a freshly killed corpse, but it’s certainly not the ideal way to do it.”

Some of the other bogles lay down, forming steps to allow the pregnant one to waddle up on to Amber’s bare belly. The bogle poked and prodded and Amber growled, and got a couple of blades nicking her throat for her efforts.

Finally, the pregnant bogle squatted down, right over Amber’s navel, and closed its eyes and started straining.

The scales on Amber’s face were now fully gone, and the knives had more places to threaten. It was Axton’s voice that was doing it, even more than his words. His voice was getting into her head, lulling her defences to sleep.

“Someday I want their eggs to be laid on me,” Axton said. “To be a part of this, to be such an integral part … that would be the ultimate honour.”

“Take my place, then,” Amber said quickly. “Come on, time’s a-wasting.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Axton. “They were going to use the body of the security guard, but now they have you. I can only hope that someday soon I prove myself worthy of being a nest.”

The pregnant bogle grunted, dumping a reddish-tinged liquid on to Amber like someone had upturned a bucket. The smell hit her and Amber clamped her mouth shut and stopped breathing as she turned her head away.

Axton was weeping. “Nature’s miracle,” he said.

Amber looked back at the bogle as its straining got more intense. Its belly bulged, and as the egg protruded Amber tried to go to her happy place. But she didn’t have a happy place. All she had was the floor of a department store at night, and the furry monster that was laying its eggs on her belly.

The first egg plopped out. It was grey and mottled, covered in a thick, mucus-like liquid. It settled on her belly.

The bogle strained again, and a second egg began to appear.

“How many?” she muttered between clenched teeth.

Axton raised an eyebrow. “Sorry? What was that?”

“How many eggs?”

“Ah,” he said. “Typically six, though I have seen some bogles lay nine.”

Amber lay there and tried not to breathe through her nose as more eggs plopped out, joining the sticky mess on her belly. A group of bogles stood close by, their eyes on the eggs. They all wore ties around their necks, and stood like expectant fathers. They were short, furry and they all looked the same.

The pregnant bogle was done and it collapsed, but there were others to catch it before it hit the ground. They held the bogle overhead, like it was solemnly crowd-surfing, before dumping it behind a display. Amber counted the eggs. Seven of them.

“How long?” she asked Axton.

“Mere moments,” he answered, jotting something in a little notebook. “Try not to move. They’ll emerge feeling nauseous if you move too much.” He checked his watch.

One of the eggs cracked, and Axton scribbled furiously.

A clawed fist punctured the shell from the inside, and the baby bogle squeezed its mucus-coated, furry head through the gap. It looked around with huge, crazy eyes, drawing a chorus of ooooohs from the assembled crowd. A fist burst through another egg, and another, and suddenly it was a race to see who’d be the first one out.

Amber didn’t bother keeping track, but one by one the baby bogles emerged, already scratching Amber’s belly with their sharp claws. When the last baby hatched, there was a cheer from the tie-wearing bogles, and Amber watched as one of them handed out cigars. Another of the little bastards had a lighter, and soon they were all puffing away like proud fathers, chattering in that nonsensical language of theirs.

Amber watched them puff those cigars, watched the cloud of smoke slowly rising …

An alarm went off and the sprinklers activated and the bogles, every one of them, looked up to see where all the water was coming from. Amber turned over, brushing the chittering babies to the floor, and scrambled up. Axton saw her coming and shrieked. He ran and she followed, knives flashing at her heels. He slipped on the wet floor and she grabbed him, swung him round, used him as a shield as the bogles closed in.

“Tell them to back off,” she ordered, and gave him a violent shake. “Tell them to back off!”

“Ah ween oh shah!” Axton cried over the sound of the alarm. “Ah ween oh shah, kah plemby!”

The bogles kept coming.

“What did you tell them?” Amber snarled into his ear as she dragged him backwards.

“I did what you asked,” Axton said. “They’re just not obeying.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know,” said Axton, listening to the bogles babble. “I … I don’t think they like me.”

“Seriously?” said Amber, spitting water.

“Also, they don’t like getting wet. That’s one of the rules. It puts them in a most disagreeable mood. So this …” He looked up at the sprinklers, still spraying water. “This is bad.”

As one, the bogles screeched in homicidal rage, and swarmed in. Amber spun, Axton right behind her.

They ran and slipped and scrambled and fled, and the bogles screeched and snapped and swiped and pursued. The water shorted out something over in the home-entertainment aisle, throwing sparks into the air like fireworks. The bogles stopped running and stared in wonder, and Amber and Axton ran on, deep into the grocery section.

Amber threw Axton behind a freezer in the middle of an aisle and fell to her knees beside him.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and twisted. “How do we stop them?”

“We run,” said Axton, still panting. “We get in a car and we drive away. They won’t be able to follow. They can operate machinery, but not very well. It’s their short attention spans – they’re always crashing.”

“We’re not going to just leave them here,” Amber said. “They’ll kill people. They’ll spread.”

The water cut off, but the alarm kept wailing, and Axton blinked at her. “So?”

“So I don’t want innocent people to die,” she told him.

“What do you care? You’re Astaroth’s representative. Saving innocent people isn’t exactly your job.”

“Yeah, well, I’m changing the terms of my employment. How do we stop them?”

“We can’t,” Axton said. “There are too many.”

Amber resisted the urge to throttle him. “Can we draw them all into one place? Is there something they can’t resist? Catnip for bogles?”

“Not … not really.”

She leaned in. “You hesitated. There is something.”

“I … well, I’ve always worked hard to keep them away from alcohol. They have an … unhealthy reaction to it.”

“Unhealthy how?”

Axton looked conflicted, and Amber punched him.

“Ow! Why did you do that?”

“Because you have a face I like to punch, and you’re holding something back.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “I introduced five bogles to alcohol in a controlled environment in order to study the effects it might have on them. None survived.”

She frowned. “Alcohol kills them?”

“No, alcohol gets them drunk. Really fast. Once they’re drunk, they argue and kill each other. At first, I thought it merely heightened their violent tendencies. Then I realised it just made them bigger jerks than they already were.”

“They get drunk, they annoy each other, and they fight until they’re all dead,” said Amber. “Okay, that’s a definite weakness. So how do we get them to drink?”

“Well … that shouldn’t be a problem. You just need to show them booze, and they’ll do the rest.”

Amber jumped to her feet, took Axton with her.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked as she dragged him after her. “You’re going to lead them to the drinks? Where will I wait? I can wait over there, if you want.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Is that strictly wise? As you have seen, I’m not very good at physical confrontation.”

“Is it my fault you sold your soul in order to be a bigger nerd than you already were?”

“I – I guess not.”

“Hey!” Amber shouted over the wail of the alarm. “Hey, bogles! Here we are! Come get us!”

Wet bogle heads popped up and out from around corners, and suddenly the aisles were swarming with them, their little feet splashing in water as they came.

Amber pulled Axton backwards and they ran, past the frozen meats and the chips and the sauces, and plunging down into the wine, spirits and beer section. They got to the very end before stopping and turning, just in time to see the bogles come round the corner like a wave, rolling towards them.

Then the little bastards noticed where they were, saw the bottles of booze all around them, and the wave slackened, and became smaller, and eventually stopped. The alarm cut off. A happy, gurgling cheer rose from the bogle ranks, and Amber and Axton stepped backwards, forgotten about.

It took fifteen minutes of revelry, arguments and carnage before the last bogle slumped to the ground, impaling itself on a broken beer bottle.

“So sad,” Axton said, wiping away a tear. “Such a tragic waste.”

“They wanted to kill you,” Amber reminded him.

“True,” said Axton, “but you can hardly blame—”

Amber slugged him across the jaw and he dropped, unconscious.

“No,” she said. “I guess you can’t.”

She returned to the sports section, found the activewear and picked out a dry pair of yoga pants and a tank top to replace her own ripped, wet clothes, then slipped her feet into a new pair of sneakers. By the time she was dressed, her scales were once again under her control. She took hold of Axton’s shirt collar and dragged him towards the exit.

She was halfway there when she stopped, hauled Axton back a few steps, then let him drop. She wandered over to where Milo Sebastian was tied to a large display table.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” said Milo. Like the rest of him, his dark hair, shot through with grey, was wet. That, combined with the stubble on his square jaw, made him look like a mature aftershave model who’d just emerged from the pool.

“Sorry about the sprinklers,” Amber said.

“That was you?”

“Kinda.”

“And all that singing and screeching?”

“I got them drunk,” she told him. “The bogles. Got them drunk and let them kill each other. Vicious little bastards.”

Milo grunted. “Yeah. Axton?”

She turned one of her fingers into a claw, and cut the ropes. “He’s over there. He was studying them, can you believe it? I get the feeling he knew way too much about their mating habits. Do you know they lay eggs?”

“I do,” said Milo, standing and wiping the slime off his chest. “I do know that.”

“They laid eggs on you, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Milo. “You?”

“Nope,” she said. “They didn’t. They tried, but I got free.”

“You’re lucky. It was … disgusting.”

“I can only imagine,” said Amber. “The clothes section is behind me. You can get yourself a dry shirt. Maybe one that isn’t ripped. I’m going to deliver Axton.”

Milo nodded. “Meet you back at the car,” he said, and walked away.

She dragged Axton out into the parking lot, heard the sirens approaching. The Kingston Valley Fire Department was not the fastest to respond to possible emergencies, it had to be said. Amber dumped Axton behind a wall and used her claw to open a cut on her palm. Blood flowed freely and she turned on the spot, forming a circle of blood around both Axton and herself. When the circle was complete, the blood caught fire, and they weren’t in California anymore.

THEY WERE IN A castle with high stone walls that vanished into the darkness overhead, walls that were decorated with tapestries and punctured by stained glass. A cold wind blew through the castle, and carried with it the screams and sobbing of the damned. Amber threw Axton from the circle of fire, and he woke as he landed.

It took him a moment to realise where he was, and then he spun, eyes wide.

“No,” he said. “Please.”

Footsteps approached, from one of the five arched doorways ahead of them. Axton tried to scramble back into the circle, but Amber stepped out, pushing him away, as Bigmouth led Fool into the chamber.

The meat beneath Bigmouth’s peeled-back skin glistened like a freshly made wound, and blood still trickled from the hooks that held those layers of skin in place. His lower jaw, reattached to his skull with thread and wire, swung with every step he took. Behind him came Fool, a thing without gender dressed in a patchwork robe, blinded by the lengths of glass that still pierced its closed eyes. Its bald head was covered in ash and its mouth was smeared with lipstick. It bared its glass-shard teeth as it sniffed the air.

“Amber Lamont,” it said. “And … Ooooooh. Axton, Axton, Paul Axton. I remember you, Paul Axton. You tried to cheat my Master. You tried to run.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Axton said. “I swear that’s all this is, a simple misunderstanding.”

“Then why run?”

“I panicked. I got scared. There’s really no need to—”

Amber smacked him to shut him up. “I need to see Astaroth,” she said. “Just a word. That’s all I want.”

Fool frowned. “Pertaining to what matter?”

“Pertaining to me, Fool.”

“I will tell Lord Astaroth you are here,” said Fool, and tugged on Bigmouth’s chain. Bigmouth scrambled ahead and Fool followed, disappearing through a wide crack in the wall. Amber didn’t know the shortcuts the way Fool did – she barely knew how to take the long way round – so she shoved Axton ahead of her and started walking.

When they got to the giant doors, Fool and Bigmouth were waiting for them.

“Lord Astaroth is ready to receive you,” said Fool.

The doors swung open, and Amber dragged Axton into a large hall with mirrored walls, in the centre of which were ten steps that led up to the throne of the Shining Demon. And there he sat, Astaroth, gazing down at them, orange light swirling like lava beneath his skin.

Axton dropped to his knees. “My Lord Astaroth. Forgive my stupidity.”

Astaroth ignored him, looked instead to Amber. “You grow impatient, it seems.”

Her eyes flickered to Fool, who kept its head down. “Not impatient, Lord Astaroth, just … eager. You sent me to track down my parents, but every time I get close I have to go after people like this.”

“And that upsets you?”

“I just … I feel like if I could focus on my parents, I’d be able to get them to you a lot quicker.”

“And you want your vengeance, naturally.”

She saw no point in lying. “Yes,” she said.

“You are impatient,” said Astaroth, “yet, to me, not even a moment has passed since your parents were born. You place far too much importance on the passage of time, as if time has any bearing on this place, or those who dwell here. Your parents will not escape me. That is all you need to know.”

Amber bowed. “Yes, Lord.”

“There is something else you wish to say.”

She looked up. “My Lord?”

“Speak, girl.”

A hesitation. “I’ve been carrying out my duties, my Lord, but on occasion I’ve had to call on the extra strength you provided in order to do so.”

“You have been consuming the vials of my blood.”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Two, my Lord.”

“And you want more.”

“No, my Lord, actually, I … I don’t. Your blood makes me stronger and it’s … intoxicating, but I’ve been, uh, I’ve been seeing things. And hearing things. Hallucinations. I was—”

“You worry that you may be losing your mind,” said Astaroth.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Astaroth smiled. “You are my representative. As such, you must be open to different ways of thinking, to new ways of processing information. My blood is helping to expand that capacity.”

“So I’m not going crazy?”

“Oh no, you most definitely are. But, as long as you stay useful to me, you will remain alive.”

“But … but Lord Astaroth …”

“Begone, little creature,” said the Shining Demon, turning to Axton. “I have other matters to attend to.”

Amber hesitated, but left before Axton started screaming. She didn’t like the screaming.

AMBER RETURNED TO THE wall behind Walmart, and the circle of fire around her died and she stayed where she was, her hands curled into fists. Bright light raked the air in rhythmic sweeps, announcing the presence of the Kingston Valley Fire Department. Right about now, perhaps, they were discovering the eyeless remains of the security guard inside, or maybe they were gazing in puzzlement at the dozens of little furry bodies lying in pools of water and whiskey.

Amber left them to it. She didn’t know what happened when the civilian world encountered the horrors of the Demon Road. She didn’t know who they called or what they did. She didn’t care.

She hopped the wall, made for the Dodge Charger parked by the kerb. The trunk popped as she neared and she reverted. Gone was the six-foot, red-skinned goddess, and here was her shorter counterpart, the girl with her brown hair in tangles and her belly stretching her tank top. Her face lost the high cheekbones and the perfect nose and the plump lips as it settled into its normal, less beautiful shape. Months ago, this reversion would have depressed her, but these days there was someone out there, a girl with tattoo sleeves and a smile as wicked as her sense of humour, who found this version of Amber quite beautiful indeed.

The thought of Kelly made Amber smile. But then she remembered their last conversation, when Kelly had found out that Amber had agreed to become the Shining Demon’s representative, and the smile faded and died.

She opened one of her bags, took out sweatpants and a T-shirt, pulled them on over her activewear. Then she rooted around for her phone, finding it right at the bottom. She’d had it for three weeks and already the screen was cracked. She stuffed it in her pocket, closed the trunk and got in the Charger.

“All done?” Milo asked as he turned the key. The Charger started with a roar.

“Of course,” she said.

They headed away from the flashing lights. “He say anything of note?”

Amber shook her head. “Not really.”

“Did you tell him what’s bothering you?”

“He’s not my therapist.”

“Did you mention the hallucinations?”

“I did. He said it’s to be expected.”

“So it’s a side effect he didn’t bother to tell you about?”

“We didn’t really have time to go into specifics, Milo. The blood makes me stronger, but it also does other things. He says it opens me up to a new way of processing information.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Milo didn’t say anything for a bit. “The blood is dangerous. You’ve had, how many, two vials so far, since we left Desolation Hill? So that’s two in four weeks.”

“The situation called for it each time.”

“I’m not disagreeing. You last drank a vial four days ago. Have you had any hallucinations since then?”

Amber looked out of the window. “No,” she said.

“You haven’t even been hearing things?”

“I told you, Milo, don’t worry about me. We don’t need to worry about the blood, all right? Astaroth said so. He said no more hallucinations. He said I’m fine. So now the only thing we have to focus on is hunting down my parents.”

“And breaking your contract with Astaroth,” Milo said.

She sighed. “Yes. That too. Could you stop lecturing me now? You’re not my actual uncle, you know. We just say that so people won’t look at us weird. I don’t need a lecture, I don’t need to be mollycoddled, and I certainly don’t need to be reminded of how much trouble I’m in.”

“Okay.”

“Can we get off that topic now?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

“So how is the boss?”

Amber’s temper flared, but she kept it down. “Can we please not call him that?”

Milo glanced at her. “What are we supposed to call him?”

“Astaroth. The Shining Demon. A Duke of Hell. The Great Burning Asshole. I don’t care, just not the boss. Why are you giving me a hard time about this? It’s your fault that I’m working for him in the first place. If you hadn’t got yourself caught, I’d never have had to trade my servitude for your life. I saved you, and all I get from you is grief. Jesus Christ, I do not need this.”

They drove on in silence for a bit. It was nice, the silence, but then Milo had to go and ruin it.

“Ever think that maybe you shouldn’t have saved me?” he asked. “Ever think that maybe I deserved to be in Hell after all the innocent people I killed?”

“No, Milo,” she said, feeling stupid for losing her temper, “I didn’t. You lost your way. You sold your soul to the Whispering Demon, whatever his name is—”

“Demoriel.”

“Whatever. You sold your soul to him – you must have had your reasons – and he made you a demon. The people you killed when you were the Ghost of the Highway, they … they …”

“Are you going to tell me they don’t count, just because I can’t remember them?”

Amber sighed. “No, I’m not going to say that. Obviously, they count. Obviously what you did was … was evil. But that was twelve years ago. You’ve changed. And I’m sorry if you think I should have let Astaroth hand you over to Demoriel for ten thousand years of torture while Astaroth tortures me, but I don’t, and, while I’m paying your salary, you will do what I—”

“You haven’t paid me in over four weeks.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m not sticking around because of the money. I’m sticking around because I promised Imelda that I’d keep you safe, and because I’m not going to just abandon you when you need backup.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. I’m not going to abandon you, either.”

“Right.”

“So it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So can we stop talking about this now? It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m cranky, and I’ve still got bogle juice on my belly.”

“I thought you said they didn’t lay their eggs on you.”

“Yeah, well,” she replied. “I was just trying to make you feel special.”

They drove to the very outskirts of Kingston Valley, and pulled in at the Catching Z’s motel, an L-shaped building with a diner out front. The Charger rumbled as they passed a massive old truck cab occupying two disabled parking spots, and they parked up near the manager’s office.

They each grabbed their overnight bags and headed inside, found the manager reading a battered paperback behind the counter. He had large ears. The rest of him failed to register with Amber because of the largeness of his ears. They were very large ears.

“Two rooms, please,” Milo said. Amber dropped her bag at her feet and put the money on the counter.

A girl came in – pretty, blonde, around Amber’s age. She stood beside them at the counter, picked up a brochure and flicked through it.

“You have room service?” she asked the manager when he came back with the keys.

“Sorry?” the manager said.

“Room service,” the blonde repeated. “Do you have that here?”

“Uh no.”

“So I’d have to leave my room in order to get food? I don’t know, man. Seems like a lotta work. Why don’t you do room service?”

“We, um, we don’t have a kitchen.”

“All I’d be looking for would be a sandwich or something. You can make a sandwich, can’t you? You don’t need a kitchen to make a sandwich.” The girl sighed. “I don’t know. I like the look of the place. It’s nice. It’s got a nice ambience. I like what it’s called. Catching Z’s. But the room service thing … that might be a deal-breaker.” She drummed her fingers on the counter as she made up her mind. “Listen, I’ll check with some of the other motels in the area, and if they don’t do room service, either, I’ll come back here. How about that?”

The manager nodded dumbly, and the blonde picked up her bag and walked out.

“Takes all kinds,” Amber said to the manager, but barely got a grunt in return.

Milo leaned a little closer. “You realise she took your bag, right?”

Amber looked down at the space her bag had been occupying. “Ah balls.”

AMBER HURRIED OUT OF the motel office, caught a glimpse of the blonde disappearing round the corner. There was no one else around so she shifted. She ran to the Charger, jumped and got a foot on the edge of the hood, then sprang, reaching the roof of the motel. She kept low as she jogged across the rooftop, anticipating the blonde’s path. She dropped down the other side, reverted to normal, and waited a few seconds, until she heard running footsteps. Then she stepped out and the blonde shrieked and leaped backwards, lost her footing and fell.

“I think you have my bag,” said Amber, looking down at her.

“Holy crap!” the blonde said, not even trying to get up. “How did you do that? You nearly gave me a heart attack! How did you do that?”

Amber picked up her bag. “This is mine.”

The blonde lay back, flattening herself out on the ground. “My nerves are shot. Gimme a second.”

Amber couldn’t help but smile. “You okay?”

“No. I’m really not.”

“Sorry for scaring you.”

“You should be.”

“But you did steal my bag.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to scare me.”

“Kinda does, though.”

The blonde sighed, then sat up. “You’re lucky I didn’t pee myself.”

“I think you’re the lucky one in that regard.”

“These are my only pants. You’d have had to buy me a new pair.”

“I don’t think I would have, but okay. Do you need a hand?”

“I don’t accept charity.”

“I meant, do you need a hand up?”

“Oh. No, but I’ll take some charity if you have any.” She got up, rubbed her butt. “That hurt. You’re faster than you look.”

“I’d have to be.”

“So what are you gonna do? Turn me in?”

Amber frowned. “Turn you into what?”

“Turn me in to the cops, dummy.”

“Oh,” said Amber. “No, not really.”

“Right,” the blonde said, and looked around. “Then do you want to buy me dinner?”

“Uh … is this how you treat everyone you steal from?”

“Just the ones who look like they might say yes.” The blonde grinned. “Go on, say yes. I haven’t eaten all day. Just buy me a burger. A cheeseburger. And fries with ketchup. And a Sprite. And maybe some pie for dessert. And a sandwich to go. You owe me at least that.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Shush now.”

“Listen, I’ve had a long day, and I’m really tired.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I … well, yeah, but—”

“Then it’s settled,” the blonde said, clapping her hands. “I won’t steal your bag and, in return, you buy me food. What a wonderful bargain we’ve struck.”

Amber said goodnight to Milo, dropped her bag in her room, and joined the blonde girl in a badly upholstered booth in the diner. They ordered, and looked at each other.

“Name’s Clarissa,” the blonde girl said.

“Amber.”

“I like your name.”

“I like yours, too.”

“Thanks,” Clarissa said. “It’s not my real name, but I picked it because I always liked it. There was a show I used to watch on reruns, and her name was called Clarissa and she had a happy family and friends and everything, so when I left I said I know, I’m gonna be like her. She always seemed to have her life in order, in a Clarissa Explains It All kinda way.”

“You ran away from home?”

“Home is a bit of a stretch. House with abusive stepdad is more accurate. What’s your story?”

“I guess I ran away, too.”

“That guy you’re with,” said Clarissa. “Boyfriend?”

Amber laughed. “No. Friend.”

Clarissa shrugged. “That’s cool. Must be nice to have someone watching your back.”

“It is. How long have you been, y’know …?”

Clarissa widened her eyes, like it was a scandalous notion. “Homeless? A year. Well, just under. It’s really everything you’d expect. You get to sleep under the stars, the world is your bathroom and the people are … peachy. Non-stop fun is what it is.”

Amber searched for the right words. “I guess you’ve met all kinds on the road.”

“That I have, Amber,” said Clarissa.

“Same here. Some of the people I’ve met have been scarier than others.”

Clarissa nodded. “I can relate.”

“You meet some real monsters out there.”

“Yep,” said Clarissa. “Some complete jerks.”

The drinks came, and Amber watched Clarissa pull the straw out of her glass and gulp the Sprite down. It had been so long since she’d spoken with someone who hadn’t been, as Glen would have put it, touched by darkness, that it now seemed weird to conduct a normal conversation.

Weird but nice.

Clarissa drained her Sprite and Amber pushed hers over. “Here. I’m not thirsty.”

Clarissa didn’t argue, but this time she kept the straw in and sucked at a more civilised pace. “Where you from?”

“Florida,” Amber said. “Orlando.”

“Disney World.”

“Yep.”

“Always wanted to go,” said Clarissa, “and my dad always said he was gonna take me. But then he got cancer, the kind they don’t cure. And, when he was gone, no one wanted to take me anywhere.”

“My parents are evil,” said Amber.

“That must suck.”

“So must losing a dad you actually love.”

“Yeah. Anyway, toilet break.”

Clarissa slid out of the booth. The moment she was gone, Amber’s demon-self slid in. Amber immediately looked at her hands.

“Think you’ve found a new friend, do you?” her demon-self asked. “I wouldn’t bother getting to know her. She’s going to abandon you. Like Kelly abandoned you, and Imelda abandoned you …”

“Milo’s still here,” Amber muttered, not raising her eyes.

Her demon-self grinned. “Did you really buy that bullshit? He’s waiting for payday. The moment he gets his money, he’s gone. Just like all the rest. But then they’re the lucky ones, aren’t they?”

“Shut up,” Amber mumbled.

“Unlike Glen,” her demon-self continued. “You meet this poor Irish boy in the woods, he thinks you’re going to help him, and what happens? He dies anyway, and comes back as a bloodthirsty corpse. You feel that gnawing sensation, in your belly? That’s what guilt feels like. Honestly, with a friend like you, does anyone really need enemies?”

Amber looked up to argue, but her demon-self was already gone.

Clarissa got back just in time for the burgers, and Amber ordered more Sprites.

“Something happen?” Clarissa asked.

“Sorry?”

“It feels like something happened while I was gone. You okay?”

Amber forced all thoughts of Glen to the back of her mind, and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “Just thinking about stuff, that’s all. So do you have plans?”

“For world domination?” Clarissa responded with a mouth full of cheeseburger.

Amber smiled – genuinely, this time. “Or just in general.”

“Dunno.” Clarissa thought as she chewed. “Wouldn’t call them plans, I guess. More like hopes. Such as, I hope I don’t spend the rest of my life homeless. I hope I don’t die on the streets. I hope I get rich somehow. The usual hopes and dreams and idle fantasies, y’know?”

“Totally.”

Clarissa’s burger started to slide out of its bun. She frowned, tried to poke it back in with a French fry, then resorted to using a finger. “What about you?” she asked. “You ran away from home, you’re with a friend who watches your back, you’re staying in motels … You seem to be keeping it together more than most. What’s your plan?”

Amber looked puzzled for a few moments before she answered. “I … guess I want my freedom back. I agreed to do a job I didn’t want to do, and now I have to figure out how to trick my way out of it.”

“And how do you manage that?” Clarissa asked.

“I don’t have a clue. It’s a whole lot of trouble.”

Clarissa peered at her. “You’re, what, sixteen?”

“Seventeen tomorrow, actually.”

“Well, happy birthday for tomorrow, then. And you’re young – you’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. You’ll be fine.”

“And how old are you?”

“Turned seventeen three months ago,” Clarissa said, grinning. “There’s no hope for me.”

They ate, and chatted, and Clarissa used the bathroom twice because of all the Sprite. Then Amber paid and they left the diner, emerged into the night air. They looked around, a little awkwardly, before Clarissa wiggled her eyebrows.

“Hey,” she said, “thanks for the food.”

Amber gave her a thumbs up, then felt stupid. “Sure,” she replied.

Clarissa nodded to the Charger. “Don’t suppose there’d be any room in that car for one more, would there? It gets pretty lonely out here and … Naw, forget it. The look on your face says it all.”

“I’m sorry,” said Amber.

“It’s fine,” Clarissa said, waving her hand dismissively. “It was a crappy thing to ask.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Amber, “and I wish I could say yes. But the last person to hitch a ride with us … it didn’t end too great for him. We have a habit of getting into trouble.”

“I’m used to trouble.”

“Not like this you’re not.”

Clarissa shrugged. “Hey, forget it. Thanks for the food, and I’m sorry I tried to steal your bag.” She started walking.

Amber called after her. “Where you going?”

“Moving on,” Clarissa said, turning and walking backwards. “I’m that little doggy, y’know the one? Wherever I go, I make a new friend? That’s me.”

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

Clarissa spread her arms wide. “The world is my bedroom.”

“I thought the world was your bathroom.”

“It can get messy, I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’ll get you a room here.”

Clarissa laughed. “No, Amber, really, it’s fine.”

“Why not?” Amber said. “They’re cheap rooms, Clarissa, and I have the cash. What, you’ll take food off me, but not a bed for the night?”

Clarissa stopped walking, but shook her head. “I have principles.”

“Do your principles hate pillows?” Amber asked. “One night where you can sleep in a bed, behind a locked door? One night when you’re safe? Are you really going to turn that down?”

“Safety does sound nice …”

“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll even get you a room with a shower.”

“A shower?” Clarissa said, skipping back to Amber. “For realsies?”

“For realsies.”

“Golly!”

They stepped into the manager’s office and Amber got Clarissa a room key.

“Meet you for breakfast in the morning?” Clarissa asked, swinging the keychain around her finger.

“We’ll probably be gone by then,” Amber said. “We tend to leave early.”

“Oh,” said Clarissa. “Well, okay then, so I guess this is goodbye.”

“Guess it is.”

They looked at each other.

“You’re a really nice person, Amber.”

“And you’re pretty cool.”

They hugged, and Clarissa went to her room and Amber strolled back to hers. But, right before she slid the key into the lock, she heard the fluttering of clothes from somewhere above.

Glen.

AMBER SHIFTED AND CLIMBED on to the Catching Z’s roof. She saw him watching her, pale in the saturated night. Thin. Had he always been this thin? She couldn’t be sure. The weak breeze didn’t stir so much as a strand of his brown hair. His face, frozen now in his eighteenth year, was mournful.

She moved towards him and he turned.

“Stop,” she commanded.

He hesitated, one foot over the edge of the building.

She bit her lip, and reverted. All horned up, she had a tendency to shoot her mouth off, but something like this required a little more empathy. “Why are you doing this?” she asked gently. “You’ve been following us since Cascade Falls. You followed us to Alaska and back. I’ve checked online. I’ve seen the reports in the towns we’ve passed through. I know you’ve been killing people.”

Glen didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Didn’t answer.

“Milo thinks you’re following us because Varga’s dead, and you don’t have a – a vampire family. Is that true? Is that why?”

She moved a little closer. “Glen, you helped me in Desolation Hill. You took care of Kirsty. Thank you for that. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep killing and you can’t keep following us. You helped me, but I can’t trust you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re going to do – if you’re going to help me or attack me. Maybe if you’d talk to me, you could make me understand.”

Glen offered no response.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be where you are right now,” Amber said, softening her voice. “Milo says … he says vampires don’t have a soul. Glen, if he’s right, I have no idea what you’re going through.”

A whisper passed on the breeze. She couldn’t be sure where it came from.

“I want to help you,” she said, “but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’m able. Glen, I don’t even know if this is still you. I want to believe it is, but I’ve got no way of telling if you’re here because you feel you belong with us, or if you’re just obeying some vampire instinct. Help me. Talk to me.”

A moment passed, and Glen stepped off the edge and vanished.

Amber waited to see if he’d return, but after a few minutes she started to feel silly, and she went to her room and locked the door.

She showered, finally washing away the last of the bogle juice, and put on shorts and a T-shirt. She sat with her back against the headboard, iPad on her lap, and logged into the Dark Places forum.

TempestROCKS said …

Anyway, I gotta go to bed. Peace y’all!

Sith0Dude said …

Night, Temp!

Mad Hatter99 said …

Bye!

Ima gonna go 2.

The Dark Princess said …

Hiya

Sith0Dude said …

Don’t go, Hatter, there’s no one else chatting. I’ll be all alone.

Mad Hatter99 said …

Princess! Welcome back! Haven’t seen you in AGES!

The Dark Princess said …

Been busy! How you doing?

Sith0Dude said …

Hi, Dark Princess.

Mad Hatter99 said …

I’m good! Will I be seeing you at the con? It’s only 2 weeks away!

The Dark Princess said …

Don’t think so. I’d love to but might be on the other side of the country by then!

Hi, Sithy.

Mad Hatter99 said …

That SUCKS!

You spoken to BAC? I keep missing her.

The Dark Princess said …

Not surprised. Australia’s a day ahead of us or something.

Sith0Dude said …

BAC is from Australia? I thought she was from Austria.

Mad Hatter99 said …

Stupid timezones.

Sith0Dude said …

I keep talking German to her. No wonder she never replies.

Mad Hatter99 said …

You know German, Sith?

Sith0Dude said …

Sort of. Not very well. My uncle works part time as a Hitler impersonator.

Mad Hatter99 said …

Is there much demand for that?

Sith0Dude said …

Not really. It’s why he only works part time.

The Dark Princess said …

It’s late, guys, so I’m gonna go. Just popped in to say hi! Night now!

Amber powered off the iPad and raised her eyes to the TV. The son of a New York police chief had gone missing. Reporters feared the worst.

She switched off the TV, climbed into bed, turned off the light, and let her eyes close. Her thoughts drifted in the oasis of quiet in which she now found herself. So very quiet. So very incredibly, impossibly quiet.

Amber opened her eyes and looked at the window. Headlights swooped by. She couldn’t hear any engines, though. It must have been one thick window to block out that noise. Thick door, too. Hell, thick walls. In every cheap motel she’d been in, the walls were so thin the only thing keeping the ceiling from collapsing was the mould.

She turned over, closed her eyes again. Sleep caught her like a hand around the ankle, and dragged her down.

And, as she slept, she dreamed and, in her dream, Amber had a birthday party. They were in her house, back in Orlando. It was hot, and everyone was sweating.

Her parents were there, and a boy and girl around her own age that she didn’t recognise.

Her demon-self was also sitting at the table, looking bored. “Why do I have to be here?” she asked. “Your dreams are as dull as you are.”

Nobody paid her any attention. This was Amber’s special day, and Amber was beaming.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” said Betty. She started cutting the cake. Blood spilled out but nobody cared.

“Our little girl has grown up,” said Bill. “This is a big day. A momentous day. An important day. A succulent day. A mouth-watering day. A big, juicy day.”

He talked on, and Amber’s smile failed and she turned to her demon-self. “Who are they?” she asked, indicating the boy and girl.

Her demon-self sighed. “Don’t you know anything?” she said. “It’s James and Carolyn. Your brother and sister.”

“Oh,” said Amber.

James sat at the table with his head down. He had a collar around his neck, with a chain attached to it that Bill held like a leash. “I live in the attic,” he said.

Carolyn sat with a faltering smile on her face. She was wearing a light summer dress, and white gloves. “I live in my head,” she said.

“Where’s Molly?” asked James.

“What did they do with Molly?” asked Carolyn.

Betty pushed a plate across to Amber, spilling blood on the tablecloth. The slice of cake had a heartbeat, and, with every beat, more blood pumped out.

“Are you ready for your present?” Betty asked. “I know you wanted a pony.”

Amber frowned. “I never wanted a pony.”

“So we got you a pony,” said Betty.

“I don’t want one.”

“Bill, go fetch the pony, would you?”

Amber’s father, who had shifted into his demon form without Amber noticing, let go of the chain and went into the kitchen to fetch the pony.

With their father gone, James tore off the collar and bolted for a door that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Amber got up, went to the door, glanced into the kitchen to see her father eating a dead pony. She stepped through. She wasn’t in Orlando anymore. She was outside. The sun was shining and it was pleasant, and Amber wasn’t sweating.

She found James sitting beneath a tree with a blonde girl wearing an old-fashioned dress. She was teaching him to read.

Amber’s demon-self stood beside her. “They found each other,” she said. “He escaped and hopped on a train and off he went, exploring the outside world, and they found each other. Do you think it’s love? I think it’s love.”

A voice drifted by on the wind, someone calling for Molly.

The girl got up quickly. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, please,” said James, and held out the book for her to take.

“You keep it,” said the girl. “Practise.”

She smiled, then she ran off, and James smiled and looked at Amber.

“Her name’s Molly,” he said. “She likes me and I like her.”

“So I see,” said Amber.

“Tomorrow someone is going to snatch her,” said Amber’s demon-self.

James’s smile faded. “I know,” he said. “A tall man in black clothes. He drives a carriage for funerals.”

“A hearse?” Amber prompted.

“Yes,” said James. “A hearse. I’m going to help her. She’s the first person ever to be kind to me, and I like her so I’m going to help her.”

Amber nodded, and it was night and they were outside a wooden building with a sign that said STROMQUIST’S UNDERTAKERS & COFFIN MAKERS, and the undertaker, a tall man in black clothes, was walking towards them, his face twisted in anger.

Amber woke.

She thought about the dream, but her thoughts started to rebound in this quiet room. This unnaturally quiet room.

She got up, went to the window. Tapped it. Double-paned? Triple-paned? Something more? She went to each of the walls, rapped her knuckles against them. The sound was dull. Heavy. She stood in the middle of the room. So what? It was a motel beside a diner. Of course noise pollution would be a problem. Of course they’d have had to tackle it.

She clicked on the light and sat on the end of the bed, caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look convinced. She looked like there was something nudging at her thoughts.

Amber went over to the mirror. It was screwed to the wall. Okay. Made sense. Some people might want to steal a mirror. It could happen. It could even be a thing. Mirror-thieves, for example – that ever-growing threat to motel owners everywhere. Screwing the mirror in place was a perfectly acceptable thing to do and she accepted this. Although, by doing so, the motel owner did make it impossible to check behind the mirror. Not that there would be anything behind it. Nothing except more wall. Not a hole, that’s for sure. Definitely not a camera. Nope. This was just an ordinary mirror. Nothing two-way about it.

Amber sat back on the bed and looked at the mirror for another minute.

There was an ashtray on the nightstand, even though the motel was one big no-smoking area. It was heavy in her hand. Glass. Nice and thick. She threw it at the mirror and the mirror smashed.

“Yep,” she said softly to herself.

Behind the mirror was a hole in the wall. It was covered with more glass, and Amber had a pretty strong suspicion that it was glass as thick as the window. No camera, though, and no pervert standing there. She walked over and peered through. Beyond the hole was an unlit corridor.

She straightened. So the Catching Z’s manager liked to peep. Gross, an invasion of privacy, but okay. Probably liked to take pictures, too. Gross, gross, gross, but whatever. But there was still something more. Something extra.

Chasing a half-formed thought, she pulled back the sheets on the bed, exposing the mattress to the light. All the stains she would have expected, plus a whole bunch more. Darker too.

Dried blood. And lots of it.

AMBER COULDN’T SAY SHE was surprised. This was a motel on the Demon Road, after all. It was bound to have had the odd murder or two. Or three. Or whatever.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and sneakers and walked to the manager’s office. He wasn’t around. No one was. She went into the room at the back. A cluttered desk, an old computer, a broom closet and plenty of filing cabinets. Inside the broom closet were mops and buckets and a shelf full of bulbs and various bits and pieces one might need as the manager of a dirt-cheap motel such as this. But all of this stuff, every last thing, was on the left side of the closet. The right side was bare. Amber pressed her hand to the wooden wall and it rattled. She pushed, and the wall swung open.

She stepped through.

The corridor smelled of stale sweat and men. She passed the holes, peeking through each one she came to. She saw Milo, already asleep. He looked agitated. She knocked on the window, but he didn’t wake.

She heard someone cry out, and hurried round the next corner to a window as the lights came on. It was Clarissa’s room. Clarissa herself was curled up on the bed, clutching her hand.

There was a switch on the wall and Amber pressed it, and a door clicked open beside her. She pushed it wide – it was heavy – and Clarissa looked up, saw Amber come in, and jumped off the bed, wobbling slightly.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

Amber tried to get her to calm down, but the door swung shut behind her. There was no handle. There was barely a seam.

“What’s going on?” Clarissa shouted again.

Amber turned back to her. “We may be in trouble,” she said.

“Where did you come from?”

“It’s the manager,” Amber said, “the guy from the front desk. He’s got a tunnel behind the rooms. He spies on people.”

“But why are you here?” Clarissa asked, panic edging her voice.

“Clarissa, listen to me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I found the tunnel, I followed it, I heard you scream and I pushed the door open.”

“That’s the wall!”

“It’s also a door. I’m on your side, okay? Why did you scream?”

Clarissa hesitated, deciding whether or not to trust Amber. Then she picked up her jeans and pulled them on. “I went to turn on the bedside lamp and it gave me a shock,” she said. “Faulty wiring or something. I could have been killed. I’m definitely gonna sue. Why were you back there?”

“I went investigating,” Amber said.

“Investigating the manager?”

Amber picked up the glass ashtray and hurled it at the mirror. Clarissa jumped back, then saw the window, and the man behind it who wore a surgical mask with a snarling mouth drawn upon it. Even Amber jumped at the sight of him.

The man scuttled off, and Clarissa marched forward.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey, asshole! What the hell is your deal?”

“Come on,” Amber said, heading for the door. “We’ll catch him when he runs.”

She took the chain off the door and turned the handle and the floor gave way beneath her. Clarissa grabbed her, held her, and Amber dangled for a moment before Clarissa pulled her back.

“What the hell?” yelled Amber, once she had her feet under her once again. They peered down into the hole. It was a four-foot drop on to metal spikes.

“Are you kidding me?” Clarissa whispered. “Are you kidding? What the hell kinda place is this? That could’ve killed you!”

“I think that was the point,” Amber said.

“But why? What does he have against you? Or me? He doesn’t even know us! Why would he want to kill us? Oh Jesus, we’re gonna be killed. We’re gonna be killed.”

“Stay calm, Clarissa.”

“That’s not my real name.”

“Yes, it is,” said Amber. “Clarissa Keeps Her Cool, okay? All right? That’s what’s happening right now.”

“Okay,” Clarissa said. “Okay.”

Amber looked around. “Move carefully,” she said. “If he had a trapdoor there, he could have one anywhere.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened, and she jumped on to the bed. “Quick!” she cried.

Amber held up a hand to calm her. “That’s okay,” she said. “You stay there. I’ll find a way out.”

“What about your friend?” Clarissa asked. “Call him!”

“My phone’s in my room,” Amber said. “But don’t worry – I’ll get us out of this.”

Stepping carefully, Amber went back to the hidden door. Now that she was this close, she could see the join.

“Can you open it?” Clarissa asked.

“Don’t know yet.”

“There must be some way to open it.”

“Not necessarily,” Amber said. She pressed her hands against the wall beside the door, fingertips probing the wallpaper. “Ah,” she said.

“What?” Clarissa asked. “What is it?”

Amber jabbed at the wallpaper with rigid fingers, poking a hole through it. She tore it back, revealing a section cut out of the wall. She peered through.

“What’s in there?” Clarissa asked. “What can you see?”

“Metal,” Amber said. “Springs. Hinges.”

“Is there a button?”

“I think so. At the very back.”

Amber put her arm through. There was plenty of space to move within the wall – the entire section seemed to be pretty much hollow. She stretched her arm out straight, her shoulder jammed into the hole and her face pressed up against the wall.

“Almost got it,” she said, her fingers brushing something metal. She grabbed it. It moved. “There,” she said, and pulled.

There was a sound like heavy swords clashing, and pain seized hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go, and Amber screamed.

Clarissa was at her side in an instant, but Amber barely recognised her, such was the agony and the panic that stabbed through her mind. Clarissa was shouting and trying to pull Amber’s arm free, but whatever had her held her tight and wouldn’t let go.

Clarissa ran back, out of view, and Amber’s demon-self whispered in her ear.

“This is it,” she said. “The day you die. Squealing like a pig, bleeding to death. Has your arm been chopped off? Feels like it has.”

“Get away from me!” Amber roared, and her demon-self was gone and Clarissa was there, holding a lamp. She tore off the shade, smashed the bulb, and rammed it, again and again, into the wall next to Amber’s arm. The cheap wood started to give way.

Amber stopped screaming. Her bottom lip trembled violently. She wanted to puke and pass out.

Clarissa kept ramming the lamp into the wall, widening the hole that Amber had put her arm through. Clarissa dropped the lamp.

“We’re gonna pull your arm out,” she said. “You hear me?”

“No,” said Amber, “no, no, no …”

Clarissa reached through, took hold of something, easing the pressure off Amber’s arm.

“Jesus,” Clarissa said. “I think it’s a bear trap.”

The bear trap, or whatever it was, jarred against the opening and Amber cried out again, but Clarissa didn’t stop, and together they pulled the trap from the wall. Amber sank to her knees and Clarissa laid the trap on the floor, its metal teeth holding Amber’s arm tight. There was blood. A lot of it.

“You’re gonna be okay,” said Clarissa. “You’re gonna be … Christ … you’re gonna be okay.”

“You’re going to die like a pig,” said Amber’s demon-self, standing behind Clarissa. “And you’re going to leak all over this fine carpet while you’re at it. I hope you’re happy, young lady.” She laughed. “When your parents hear that this is how you died, they are going to be so unimpressed.”

Amber snarled.

“Clarissa,” she said. “Towels.”

“What?”

“Towels. Soak them. Hot water. Go. Now.”

Clarissa nodded, leaped up and ran to the bathroom, and Amber shifted.

Still snarling, she brought her knee in to brace the bottom of the bear trap, and she gripped the upper teeth with her good hand. Growling at the pain, she pulled the jaws apart, and withdrew her arm. She let the jaws snap closed again, and reverted before Clarissa came out of the bathroom.

“Oh my God!” Clarissa said. “You did it! How did you do it? Jesus!”

Amber sat back against the wall, sweating profusely and clutching her arm.

“Can you stand?” Clarissa asked. “Can you make it to the bed?”

Amber nodded, and Clarissa helped her up. They were halfway to the bed when the hidden door opened behind them, and two men came through.

The first one wore the surgical mask with the snarling mouth drawn on it. He’d cut a hole between the teeth, though, and from this his tongue darted like a pink, slippery rodent that Amber immediately wanted to pound, whack-a-mole style. He held a chainsaw. Behind him came the Catching Z’s manager. He was grinning.

“Let us go!” Clarissa shouted to them. “You nearly killed her! Let us go!”

The nutcase in the mask tittered, and yanked on the cord. The chainsaw’s sudden roar made Clarissa scream, but instead of jumping back she ran at them, flailing.

The nutcase stumbled backwards, cursing under his mask, but the manager swung a punch that sent Clarissa tumbling over the bed. They turned their attentions to Amber, and Amber shifted.

The pain subsided and she could move her hand again. She snarled at the nutcase, watching his eyes widen over his mask. The manager looked like he might cry.

“You picked the wrong girls tonight,” Amber said, and lunged.

The nutcase in the surgical mask tried to use the chainsaw to keep her away, but she punched him with her good fist, square in the chest. He flew backwards, swinging the chainsaw wide. Amber ducked. The manager wasn’t so fast. The chainsaw bar hardly grazed his neck, but it was enough to cut through to the meat. Blood splattered and the chainsaw fell and sputtered out and the manager stumbled against the wall, hands at his neck, his eyes open wide in shock. His legs gave out and he slid down to the floor and died with a last spurt of blood and a gurgle.

The nutcase in the surgical mask bolted out of the door. She stopped herself from going after him, turning instead to Clarissa, who was getting to her feet. Amber reverted, gritting her teeth against the oncoming pain.

Clarissa’s eyes widened when she saw the manager and all that blood. “You did that?”

“No, not me,” Amber said. “The other guy, the one in the mask, he tripped, and this one kinda … fell into him. We got lucky.”

“That’s more than luck,” said Clarissa. “That’s a goddamn miracle. You okay? How’s your arm?”

“It’ll be fine,” Amber said. “My friend, he’s a medic. He can stitch me up.”

“You mean you don’t wanna go to the cops,” Clarissa said. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m not gonna tell.”

“Thank you. Seriously. Now come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

AMBER WENT BACK TO her room. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t sleep that night.

She covered the broken mirror, shifted into demon form and took a sip, merely a taste, of Astaroth’s blood. The warmth flooded her body and the pain went away, and she lay on the bed.

Her thoughts wouldn’t slow down. They careened through her synapses, pinging off the walls of her brain like overexcited children. She thought about the guy in the surgical mask, thought about catching him in a bear trap just to see how long he’d last. She’d quite enjoy seeing those metal teeth spring shut on his head.

Morning came without incident, the room gradually becoming brighter. A half-hour before she was due to get up, she fell asleep, which was just typical. The alarm on her phone went off and she muted it, grumbling. She reverted and examined her arm. The wounds had reduced to the lightest of scars, and most of the pain was gone.

She dressed in jeans and a loose top. She didn’t bother with the activewear today. It was too warm, and she wasn’t in the mood. She stood by the door and took a selfie, then checked the room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Reassured, she picked up her bag and walked to the diner. Milo was finishing up his breakfast at the table at the back. She joined him, and the first thing she said was, “Where the hell were you last night?”

Milo took a sip of coffee. “In my room,” he said. “Sleeping. Where the hell were you?”

“You didn’t notice how quiet the rooms are here? You didn’t realise how everything is soundproofed?”

“I didn’t notice much of anything. I was, as I said, sleeping.”

“So you didn’t notice the mirror that was screwed to the wall, or you didn’t notice the mattress that was—”

“I’m just going to save us both some time here,” Milo said. “I didn’t notice anything. I got to my room and I fell on the bed and I went to sleep, pretty much immediately. So are you going to tell me what has you so angry, or are you going to let me drink my coffee?”

“I was stuck in a booby-trapped room last night.” Amber pulled up her sleeve, showing him her scars. “The manager and his nutcase friend like to watch people falling into their traps, apparently.”

Milo looked at her, his expression calm apart from the clenched jaw. “They did that to you?”

“Bear traps, trapdoors, lamps that give electric shocks … probably a lot more sick stuff that we never even got to experience.”

“We?”

“Clarissa was there. The girl from last night.”

“Did she make it?”

“She’s fine. And, before you ask, she had no interest in going to the cops. They’d probably just send her home, and that’s the last place she wants to be. I put her in a cab, gave her some money and a bonus as, I don’t know, hazard pay for meeting me. I’ll call the cops once we’re on the road, tell them what’s been happening here.”

“Where are they now?” Milo asked, signalling the waitress for the cheque.”

“The cops?”

“The manager and his nutcase friend.”

“Oh. The nutcase ran off.” She paused a moment. “The manager’s dead.”

Milo nodded. “How?”

Amber didn’t like the look on his face. She didn’t like the suspicion that she’d gone too far.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “They came at me with a chainsaw. The nutcase caught the manager in the neck. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Did you shift?”

She hesitated.

“Amber?”

She sat forward, angry but keeping her voice down. “What did you expect me to do? They had a chainsaw.”

“They both saw you shift, and one of them got away.”

“Now you’re telling me I should have killed them?”

“No. You’ve got to be more careful about who sees this stuff. What about the girl?”

“She didn’t see anything.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. My secret identity is secure.”

The waitress came over and Milo paid, gave her a smile that sent her away happy.

“That,” Milo said, once they were alone again, “was a hell of a night you had.”

“Thank you,” said Amber. “Yes, it was.”

“We should probably get going.”

She folded her arms. “I’d hate to make you rush your coffee.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not very good.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t. It’s really not very good.”

They left the diner and got in the Charger. As usual, despite the heat of the day, the inside of the car was cool, and it welcomed Amber as much as Amber welcomed it. They pulled out on to the street, drove towards the highway. When they neared it, Milo glanced at her. “Which way?”

Amber closed her eyes, focused on her parents. Bill and Betty Lamont swam into her thoughts in all their glorious perfection, with their bright smiles and trim frames and casual attitude to murdering their kids. It didn’t take long for the compass that had grown in Amber’s gut to start tugging her in their direction. She pointed.

“East,” said Milo.

She opened her eyes, sat back in her seat. “Apparently.”

“No actual address?”

“That’s not how it works.”

He shrugged. “Just thought this time might be different.”

“Why would it be?”

“I’m an optimist, Amber,” he said, taking one of the on-ramps. “I think every time will be different.”

They took the I-10 out of California. It was nice being able to use the highways and interstates again. They weren’t the ones being chased – not this time. Amber wondered if her parents were feeling the same kind of desperation she’d felt when they’d been the ones in pursuit. She hoped they were.

It took a little under six hours to get to Phoenix. They arrived in the early afternoon and had lunch at the House of Tricks, right on the patio. Amber had the cheesecake for dessert. It was astonishing. Milo stuck a candle in it while she ate, and lit it.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

“Do I get to make a wish?” she asked.

“So long as you don’t expect it to come true.”

She smiled, and blew the candle out. She didn’t bother making a wish.

Milo had a non-alcoholic beer and they sat there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and the trees, until Amber’s gut pulled them back to the car and on to the road.

While they drove, she slept, and dreamed, and in her dream she was back at Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers. She found her brother sitting with his head down. “I went to the police,” he said. “I told them. I thought they could help.”

Amber heard gunshots, and she ran to the corner of the building, saw a police officer in an old-fashioned uniform stumbling back, trying to reload his revolver. The tall man in the undertaker clothes stalked after him, tossing away the lifeless body of the cop’s partner.

The cop managed to fire once more, straight into the undertaker’s chest, before the undertaker smacked the gun out of his grip. Then the undertaker held up his hand, and his palm opened, revealing teeth, and he clamped his hand round the cop’s throat, and the cop cried out, tried to pull away, but the taller man was too strong. Blood ran down the cop’s neck, staining his uniform, and the undertaker stood there, eyes closed.

James walked up behind Amber. “He’s a monster,” he said. “Sucks the life out of people.”

“A vampire,” she said. “He’s called a vampire.”

James shrugged. “Don’t know the word. If you say so. He still has Molly, somewhere in there. I’ve been trying to get in. Yesterday I grew claws. I might be a monster, too.”

“Our parents are the monsters,” Amber said. “Not us.”

He shrugged again, and, while the undertaker was busy feeding on the cop, the door to the funeral home opened behind him. Amber’s demon-self beckoned James through, and he ran over and slipped in.

Her demon-self walked over to Amber.

“Is this real?” Amber asked her. “It feels … real. But not.”

“It’s a dream,” said her demon-self. “The Shining Demon’s blood is letting you latch on to the memories of your dead brother from 1914. Pretty freaky, if you ask me.”

“So that was him?” Amber asked. “That was really James?”

“No. It’s a dream of James. God, you’re stupid.”

“So why am I dreaming this?”

“Because you always dream of your dead siblings before you die,” said her demon-self. “Didn’t you know that?”

Amber woke suddenly. She was still in the Charger. They were still travelling.

“You okay?” Milo asked, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Fine,” she said, straightening up. “Just a dream.”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“What’d I say?”

“Don’t know. Couldn’t make it out.” He glanced at her. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

She frowned, and wiped tears from her cheek.

“Huh,” she said.

THEY DROVE FOR THREE days, closing in on her parents with every mile they covered, before something new twisted in Amber’s gut.

“No,” she muttered.

Milo glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, and immediately the pain started.

She whacked her closed fist against the dash. Milo didn’t say anything, but he looked displeased.

“Got another one,” she said through clenched teeth. “That way.”

“South.”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re letting your folks get away again?”

“It’s not my choice, Milo. Like you said, Astaroth’s the boss, and when the boss tells you to do a job you do the job, or you’re put through a hell of a lot of pain.”

Milo nodded, and when they came to the next off-ramp they left the highway. Immediately, the pain went away.

“Who is it?” Milo asked.

She closed her eyes, pushed her irritation to one side, and focused. A face and a name swam into her thoughts.

“Your old buddy,” she said. “Elias Mauk. I have to collect his offering.”

Milo grunted. “This ought to be fun.”

It was torture, to deviate from their mission when her parents were so close, but they got to where they were going by nightfall, and Amber fired up the iPad to find out where exactly that was. Apparently, they were just outside of Senoia, Georgia. From what she could see, their immediate surroundings consisted mostly of trees.

They got out. The air was sweet with the scent of pine. Amber shifted and the smell got even sharper.

“Now where?” Milo asked.

“Not sure,” she said. “When I’m miles away, I know exactly which direction to go in, but when I’m this close it all goes kinda vague. What do you say we follow the path?”

It was little more than a trail through the trees, and Amber led the way. They heard shouts in the distance and knew they were going in the right direction.

They came to a clearing. Elias Mauk stood with his back to them. He wore a faded boiler suit and a grubby baseball cap, and he was looking up the hill at a cabin surrounded by moaning, groaning, shuffling dead people. Amber waited for Milo to get in position, and then she shifted and stepped out.

“Hello, Elias.”

Mauk whirled, eyes widening. His hand went to the claw hammer in his belt, but Milo was suddenly behind him, gun pressed to his head.

Mauk froze.

“So good to see you again,” Amber said, smiling brightly. “The last time we spoke was, like, ages ago. Remember that? Remember when you broke all my fingers? You remember?”

Wary of the gun to his head, Mauk sneered. “Yeah,” he said, in that hoarse voice of his. “I remember.”

Amber took the hammer from his belt. “This is it, isn’t it? This is the one you used? It definitely looks like the one you used to break my fingers, but what do I know? I’m no hammer expert. I barely know how to use one.” She held it up. “This is the end you hammer with, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, she ducked down and swung the hammer into his right knee. Mauk howled, clutching his leg even as he collapsed. His cap fell off and he rolled over it.

“Yep,” said Amber, “that’s the end you hammer with.”

“You little bitch!” Mauk yelled. “I’ll beat your head in! I’ll crack your skull like an egg!”

“Like this?” she asked, and tapped the hammer off his forehead, right on the band of burnt skin that ran around his skull. He rolled back, hands alternating between his head and knee, like he couldn’t decide which hurt more. Eventually, he settled on his head.

“I don’t like being called names, Elias. Don’t do it again, you understand me?”

He glared up at her.

“You can’t kill me,” he said. “You tried shooting me and I got right back up again, didn’t I?”

“Technically, it was Milo who shot you,” Amber said.

Mauk switched his gaze to Milo. “Traitor. We used to be partners.”

“I don’t remember anything about that,” said Milo, “but I doubt it’s true. Even when I was a bad guy, you would have annoyed me.”

Mauk barked a laugh. “And what are you now – a hero? That’s laughable! Laughable!”

Amber nodded. “Laughable, he says.”

“Repeated it, too,” said Milo.

“So you just know he meant it.”

Mauk glared at them both, but the hammer and the gun kept his retorts unspoken. He got up slowly, and they didn’t move to stop him. “So that’s why you’re here, is it?” he asked, straightening. “You want a little revenge? What are you gonna do – you gonna break my fingers now? Maybe my toes, too?”

Amber made a face. “I do not want to see your feet, Elias. That’s gross. Feet are the worst part of the human body. We’re not here to get revenge on you. This isn’t personal. It’s business. I see you looking around as I’m talking. First of all, that’s very rude. Second, are you expecting someone?”

Mauk smiled. “You could say that.”

“And you think the arrival of this person will, what, save you? So obviously it’s someone pretty scary, am I right?”

Mauk’s smile grew wider.

Amber’s matched it. “You’re not waiting for the Shining Demon’s representative, are you?”

Mauk’s smile faltered. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s why we’re here. You’re talking to Astaroth’s new representative.”

“Bullshit.”

“Afraid not.”

Mauk turned to Milo. “Bullshit.”

When Milo didn’t bother to respond, Mauk looked back at Amber. “How?”

“I proved myself,” said Amber. “Now I speak with Astaroth’s voice. You get that? I’m like a red, sexy pope with horns, so you’d better not tick me off, bearing in mind that I already don’t like you.”

“You think I’m gonna cower?” said Mauk. “You think I’m gonna bow and scrape to you, you little tramp? You screwed up my plans and it’s because of you, it is because of you, that I am back here in this Podunk little nowhere town!”

Amber took a step forward. “I’m sorry,” she said, “did you just call me a tramp?”

Mauk faltered. “What?”

“Did you just call me a tramp?” she repeated. “After I just told you not to call me any more names, you actually stood there and called me that?”

“It’s just a word—”

“No,” said Amber. “It is a word targeted at women. It’s meant to demean and belittle. Are you trying to belittle me, Elias?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Because it looks like you’re trying to belittle me, Astaroth’s representative here on this mortal plane,” she interrupted. “It looks like you’re trying to insult me, even though to insult me is to insult the Shining Demon.”

“No, it isn’t,” Mauk said quickly.

“Yes, it is,” said Amber. “Even though his fury is my fury and his wrath is my wrath, you still insulted me.”

“I’m … I’m not gonna bow or—”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“What, uh, what do you—?”

“What do I want?” she interrupted. “Is that what you were going to say? What do I want? What do you mean, what do I want? I’m Astaroth’s representative. What do you think I want?”

He swallowed. “The, uh, the offering?”

“Yes, Elias. Exactly. I’m here to collect the offering.”

“Well, I have it,” said Mauk. “I have it ready for you.”

“You think,” said Amber.

Mauk looked puzzled. “What?”

“You think you have the offering,” Amber said. “You think you’ve done enough to satisfy the Shining Demon for another year. It’s my decision as to whether or not that’s true.”

“Oh,” said Mauk.

“You’d better hope it’s a good offering, Elias. I am not in a forgiving mood right now.”

He nodded, and took a leather pouch from his boiler suit. Amber snatched it from his hand, opened it and peered in. She didn’t wrinkle her nose in disgust, even though she wanted to. She pulled the strings, closing the pouch.

“It’ll do,” she said.

“What’s going on up there?” Milo asked, nodding towards the cabin.

“Just, uh, just a little bit of fun I’m having,” Mauk said.

Amber showed him her fangs. “What kind of fun?”

Mauk cleared his throat. “Uh, just a bunch of college kids. They think they’re surrounded by zombies who want to eat their flesh. Those dead bodies up there don’t want to eat anything. They’re just doing what I tell ’em.”

“And what’s the point of this display?”

“The point? I don’t know what you …” Mauk suddenly chuckled. “One of the boyfriends, he got bit, and you know what the others did? They smashed his skull in. Even his girlfriend.” Mauk laughed. “Goddamn morons.”

Amber watched the corpses as they pounded on the boarded-up windows. “You’re going to kill everyone in that cabin?”

“It’s what I do,” said Mauk. “Although this is the first time I’ve done it like this. I thought it’d be a nice change from bashing their brains in with a hammer, and it is, but I don’t think I’ll be doing it again. Takes a lot of effort to keep the dead bodies going, especially when I’m having a conversation.”

“So sorry for distracting you,” said Amber. “Any particular reason you’re going after the people in that cabin?”

“Do I need reasons?” he asked. “Hell, no, I don’t, and you can’t say that I do. Astaroth made it very clear when we agreed to this deal that I can kill whoever the hell I want to. You ask him, you go ahead and ask him.”

“I don’t have to,” said Amber. “I know the terms of your contract better than you. I’m just curious as to who would deserve this kind of death.”

“Deserve’s got nothing to do with it,” said Mauk. “They were there. That’s all the reason I need.” He frowned. “What, you got a bleeding heart for these morons? How can you be Astaroth’s representative if you’ve got a bleeding heart for the innocent?”

“Better a bleeding heart than a bleeding nose,” Amber said, and banged the hammer into his face.

Mauk stumbled back, blood pumping, and she dropped the hammer and took the trail back to the Charger. Once she was there, she cleared a space in the grass around her.

“What do you reckon?” she asked Milo as he walked up.

“About what?”

“The kids in the cabin.”

He frowned. “Your parents are close, and we’ve already spent enough time on this little detour.”

“But we can’t just leave, can we? Come on. Kelly was right – being Astaroth’s representative is, like …”

“Morally reprehensible,” said Milo.

“Jesus,” she said. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“That’s what she said.”

“She didn’t use those exact words, though. But anyway, yeah … It is kind of, y’know, reprehensible, in a way. Even if I was forced into it – which I most definitely was – and even if I am searching for a way to stab him in the back and get out of it – which I most definitely am. But just because I’m working for the bad guy does not mean I can’t do good things when I see the opportunity. In fact, I kinda have to, to make up for it.”

Milo narrowed his eyes. “You’re talking about being a hero.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” said Milo. “Doing good deeds. That’s what heroes do. That’s what Kelly and Ronnie and Linda and Warrick do.”

“And the dog.”

“We’re not heroes, Amber. We don’t have that luxury.”

“But … but, if we don’t at least try to be, then I’m going to be a villain,” she said. “I don’t want to be a villain, Milo.”

He glared at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

“Be right back,” she said, drawing a talon across her palm. She let the blood drip, forming a circle around her. The circle flashed into flame and Milo was gone and the Charger was gone and she was back in the Shining Demon’s castle.

“Fool?” she called. “Fool, come on, I haven’t got all day.”

When she got no answer, she left the chamber, picked the corridor with the windows to hurry down. She was halfway along when Bigmouth came shuffling out of the shadows.

“Where’s Fool?” she asked. “Hello? Edgar? Listen, it doesn’t matter. Can you take this to it?”

Bigmouth shook his head.

“Just hand it over – it’ll be fine.”

He scribbled on the slate around his neck, and showed her.

Can’t. Not allowed.

“Then where is Fool?” Amber said angrily. “I’m in a hurry, Edgar. Bring it here, now.”

Bigmouth scribbled again.

Not Edgar. Bigmouth. I am only Bigmouth now.

She sighed. “Fine. Bigmouth. Could you get Fool, please? Could you do that?”

Bigmouth nodded, and shuffled away.

Amber looked out of the window, over the forest of twisted trees, across the river, to the palace of the Blood-dimmed King that stood high and proud in the vast city, with steeples like daggers slicing into the dark sky. A cold wind came from that palace, and it brought the screams with it. She could only imagine the suffering going on behind those walls.

Footsteps made her turn, as Bigmouth guided Fool towards her.

“Finally,” she said. “Where were you? Never mind, I don’t even want to know. Here, I have an offering for you.”

“Not for me,” said Fool. “For the Master.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant, for you to give to him.” She held out the pouch. “This is from Elias Mauk.”

Fool bared its glass-shard teeth. “Don’t like Elias Mauk. He shouted at me and kicked me.”

“He is a bit of a tool, all right. You’ll take this to Lord Astaroth?”

“Of course,” said Fool, accepting the pouch with both hands.

Amber didn’t bother to thank him; she just turned and hurried back to the chamber. She stepped into the circle of fire, stomped her foot on the flames and the fire went out and the castle vanished and she was back beside the Charger.

She walked back up the trail, past the point where they’d met Mauk, and carried on. She found Milo standing at the treeline, looking at the corpses shuffling around the cabin. Even from here, she could hear the raised, panicked voices of the kids inside.

“Where’s Mauk?” she asked.

“Got bored and went home,” said Milo, and looked at her. “Everything go well in Hell?”

“Fine. What’s the plan here? How do we stop them? Destroy the brain?”

“That won’t work.”

“How do you know?”

He jerked his thumb to the left, where a headless corpse was walking into a tree. “It’s not the brain that Mauk controls,” he said. “It’s everything.”

“Well, okay,” Amber said, her hands growing to talons. “I guess it’s lucky I’m in the mood to slice and dice.”

She strode over to the nearest corpse. “Hey there,” she said, and it turned, and she slashed at it until every muscle was severed, and it lay on the ground in a moaning, trembling heap.

One down.

THEY HEADED NORTH-WEST, PASSING through Nashville, St Louis and then on through Kansas City. With every roadside marker and town sign they left in their rear-view, they drew closer to Amber’s parents. She could feel it in her gut. She could feel them, their presence, a heavy sensation that kept on building. She hoped they were running. She hoped they were hiding. She hoped they knew someone was tracking them down. She couldn’t wait to see their faces when they realised it was their own daughter.

Somewhere outside of Topeka, they stopped off for food. Amber had no intention of confronting her parents on an empty stomach. As she ate, she focused her mind.

“They’re a few hours away, that’s all.”

“And you’re sure you’re ready?” Milo asked.

“Of course I am. What kinda question is that?”

He shrugged. “It’s just there’s a difference between chasing them down and actually catching them.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Catching them will be a lot more satisfying.”

“Okay.”

Amber sighed. “You obviously don’t agree.”

“I neither agree nor disagree.”

“Which is so helpful, by the way.”

“I’m just saying, while you’re chasing them, you can be all gung-ho about it, but when you catch them … it suddenly becomes real.”

“I’m ready for real.”

“Just checking.”

“You think it’ll be too much for me? I confronted them in Desolation Hill and I was good. I’m not going to choke now, right when I can end it.”

“Can you, though?”

“Can I what?”

“End it?”

“Of course. You don’t think I’m going to have the biggest smile on my face when I deliver them to Astaroth?”

“Maybe you will,” said Milo, “but what happens after?”

She finished her lunch and pushed her plate to one side. “What happens, happens. That’s what happens. You ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Amber paid for lunch and they left. She spotted a convenience store across the street. “Be right back,” she said. “Just getting water.”

Milo gave her a half-wave and walked to the Charger as she crossed the road. As usual, he’d parked it out of sight – down a side alley this time, behind a dumpster. Always careful, that Milo.

The store’s small parking lot had one car in it – a rusty death trap with an I Brake For No One bumper sticker on the rear window. A bell tinkled above the door when Amber entered, but the middle-aged slob in the grubby T-shirt barely looked up from behind the counter. Amber went to the back of the store, grabbed two bottles of spring water and a Coke.

The bell tinkled again and a man and woman entered, both in their forties, both in suits. The woman was small and tidy, and carried herself with the air of someone who was used to people doing what she told them. The man was tall and languid, but Amber spotted a holstered gun beneath his jacket. She stayed where she was, hidden by the shelves.

“Hello, sir,” said the woman.

Amber peeked out as the slob behind the counter scratched his belly. “Don’t like cops,” he said.

“We’re not cops,” the woman replied.

“You look like cops.”

“But we’re not. We’re Federal Agents. I’m Agent Byrd. This is my partner, Agent Sutton.”

They showed him their IDs.

The slob was unimpressed. “Hate Feds more than I hate cops.”

“Do you like fire fighters?” the taller one, Sutton, said. “I have a friend who’s a fire fighter, maybe you’d like him.”

The slob shrugged. “Got no beef with fire fighters. They fight fires.”

“They do,” said Sutton. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But I don’t like cops, and I certainly don’t like Feds.”

“This is fascinating,” said Byrd, “but we’re not actually here to talk about which branch of the Emergency or Law Enforcement Services are your least favourite. We’re looking for some people.”

“Don’t mind ambulance drivers, neither,” said the slob. “Paramedics and such. My brother was a paramedic.”

“Is that so?” Byrd asked, sounding bored.

“No,” said the slob. “He was a meth addict. I just tell people he was a paramedic because that’s an actual job and it’s a good one. Being a meth addict isn’t really a job.”

Sutton nodded. “More of a vocation.” He showed the slob a photograph. “We’re looking for two people, this girl and a man, driving a black 1970 Dodge Charger.”

Amber’s eyes widened.

“Yep,” said the slob.

“Have you seen them?” Byrd asked.

Amber got ready to bolt for the Fire Exit door behind her.

“Nope,” said the slob.

Byrd folded her arms. “Would you tell us if you had?”

“Well,” said the slob, “that depends now, doesn’t it?”

“It does?” Byrd said.

“On what?” Sutton asked.

“On what you can do for me,” the slob answered.

The agents looked at each other, then back at the slob.

“I’m sorry,” Byrd said. “What?”

“I know how these things work,” the slob informed them. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Amber watched Sutton frown. “But yours is probably really hairy.”

“Sir,” Byrd said, “that’s actually not how things work. We are Federal Agents in pursuit of two suspects in a string of murders. If we ask you for information, you are obligated to tell us what you know. That’s how things work.”

The slob looked at her. “But I don’t know anything.”

She sighed. “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”

“But if I did …”

Byrd pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes?”

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