Slawter

FILM FOLK

“I’ve always wanted to eat human flesh. I mean, it’s not an obsession or anything. I wouldn’t go out of my way to kill, skin and cook somebody. But I’ve always been curious, wondered what it would taste like. So, when the opportunity dropped into my lap, yeah, I took it. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. At least, not much badder than—”

“Worse than,” Bill-E interrupts.

“Worse!” Emmet winces. “I keep tripping on that. ‘Not much worse than, not much worse than, not much worse than…’ ”

I feel sorry for Emmet, watching him struggle to learn his lines. It’s not easy to keep a load of words that aren’t yours straight inside your head, then trot them out in a seemingly natural fashion. I used to think actors had a great life. Not any more. Not after a week on the set of Slawter.

Slawter, as Davida told us when she visited Carcery Vale, is the title of the movie and the name of the fictional town which features in it. It’s also what they’ve called the huge set which Davida’s crew has constructed. It’s an amazing place. They found a deserted town in the middle of nowhere. Rented the entire area and set to work restoring the buildings, clearing the streets of rubble, putting in fake lamps, telephone wires, signs for restaurants, hotels, bars, etc. They also erected a lot of fake buildings which look real from the front but are entirely empty on the other side. Walking down the streets, it’s hard to tell the real buildings from the fake ones—until you open a door.

There are trailers on the outskirts of Slawter—the movie veterans refer to them as the circus— where many of the cast and crew sleep, but a lot of us are staying in the old, real buildings. Since we’re so far from any other town, Davida decided to turn some of the buildings into makeshift hotels, so everyone could stay in one place, in comfort. The “hotel” where Dervish, Bill-E and I are staying looks like a butcher’s shop out front, but it’s cosy inside.

I’ve been told this isn’t the way films are normally made. Usually the crew does a bit of location work, then heads back to the studio to shoot the interior scenes. But Slawter is the studio. There are huge warehouses, built beyond one end of town, where the interiors can be shot. And since all the outdoor action in the film is set in the town, everything can be done on site. They even do the editing here, and the special effects. Often, on a big budget film, there might be several teams around the world working on effects at the same time. But Davida wants to keep total control over this project. She refuses to farm out any of the work, even though it makes life much harder for her. This is her baby, the jewel in her movie crown, and she’s doing it exactly the way she wants—damn the inconvenience!

She even insists on keeping the cast together for the duration of the shoot. Emmet’s worked on a couple of films before and explained how, if you have a small part in the movie, you only turn up for a few days, shoot your scenes, then head off. Even the big stars don’t hang around the set the whole time.

Well, here they do. All the actors, cameramen, artists, carpenters, caterers—everyone—had to agree to stay here until filming is finished. Davida kept everything secret in the build-up to shooting. Now that we’re all on set and the cameras are rolling, most of the secrets have been revealed. Copies of the full script have been circulated and we’ve seen some of the demon costumes. To make sure none of the secrets leak to the outside world, Davida arranged for everyone to remain in Slawter until the entire film has been shot.

It costs a fortune to keep us here—food and drinks are free, games have to be organised to keep people amused in their spare time, two swimming pools have been built, tennis courts, a football pitch and so on—but Davida doesn’t care. Her other movies made a load of money and she’s managed to convince her backers that this one is going to be a mega blockbuster, so she’s free to spend whatever she likes.

Not having any jobs to do, Bill-E and I have been enjoying the filming. We wander through Slawter, watch scenes being shot, check out the old buildings and fakes, hang out with some of the other kids and generally just have fun. It’s great. Reminds me of when I first moved to Carcery Vale, when Bill-E and I spent pretty much all our free time together. We’re best buddies again, breezing along in a little world of our own, no Loch Gossel or other friends of mine to complicate the situation.

You can divide the children of Slawter into three groups. There are the actors, twenty or so. Most haven’t much experience, or have only been in a few films, like Emmet Eijit, who’s our best friend here.

Then there are the actors’ relatives. It’s a big deal being a child actor. There are all sorts of rules and regulations. They can only work so many hours a day. They have to be schooled on set. At least one of their guardians—normally a parent—has to be with them all the time. And there have to be other children for them to play with. Juni’s in charge of that side of things. She makes sure the kids are being looked after, having fun, not feeling the stress of being part of such a costly, risky venture.

Finally there’s the likes of Bill-E and me, children of people working on the film. Because everyone involved had to move to Slawter for the duration of the shoot—at least three months— they were allowed to bring their families. Davida likes the relaxed family atmosphere.

We don’t have much personal contact with Davida Haym. Or with Dervish. He’s been working closely with Davida since we arrived, advising, censoring, subtly guiding her away from the workings of real demons wherever possible. He’s one of the few people to have seen inside the D workshops. That’s where the demon costumes are being created. The demons are to be a mix of actors in costumes and mechanised puppets. There will be some CGI effects, but Davida’s trying to keep the computer trickery to a minimum.

The costumes and puppets are housed in a giant warehouse, the biggest in Slawter, and access is granted only to a chosen few. Some of the costumes have been given a public airing, but most are still locked up within the D. Dervish said it’s a maze of corridors and sub-sections in there. He’s only been allowed into a couple of rooms so far, but he’s trying hard to gain access to the rest, to check out all the demonic details.

“I’ve always wanted to eat human flesh,” Emmet says again, running through his big lines for the fiftieth time today. He plays a minor villain in the film, a kid who becomes a cannibal and works for the demons. He dies about a third of the way through, having been discovered by one of the heroes while eating the corpse of their headmaster.

Davida is shooting the film in sequence as much as possible, although as on any movie, certain scenes from later in the script have to be shot early. Which means Emmet is getting to “die” a couple of weeks earlier than he should have. He’s super excited about it.

“This is my first death scene!” he raved yesterday. “Most kids don’t get to die on screen—how many films have you seen where a child bites the big one? And it’s the first visible killing of the movie!”

Later, excitement gave way to nerves. He’s been fussing ever since, worried he’ll blow his lines or not be able to scream convincingly when the demon turns on him and rips him to pieces.

“At least, not much badder than—Hellfire! I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Afraid so,” I laugh.

“Take it cool,” Bill-E advises, mimicking Davida’s on-set mannerisms. He’s been even more impressed by the whole movie-shooting experience than me. He now wants to be a director when he grows up.

“Cool!” Emmet snorts. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one up there on display.”

“You know the lines,” Bill-E murmurs, then laughs like Davida when she’s trying to calm a nervous actor. “You probably know your lines better than anyone on the set, even Davida. You’re a professional. They’ll come when you’re filming. And if not, who cares? Nobody gets it right the first time. And even if they do, Davida reshoots it anyway. You’ll nail it the fifth or sixth time.”

Bill-E’s not exaggerating about the reshoots. Every scene is played out at least six or seven times, from various angles, the actors trying out different expressions and tones. Repetition is part and parcel of the film-maker’s life. I don’t know how they stand it. I’d go cuckoo if I had to do the same thing over and over, day after day.

“He’s quite the expert, isn’t he?” Emmet remarks cuttingly.

“Hey, man, I’m just trying to help,” Bill-E says, unruffled.

“For someone with no real experience, you certainly know a lot about it.”

Bill-E laughs Emmet’s criticism away. “I’m just calling it like I see it. If you’d rather I removed myself, no problem. Come on, Grubbs, let’s go and—”

“No!” Emmet pleads. “I’m sorry. I’m just all wound up. One last time, please. If I don’t get it right, we’ll quit and all go play foosball. OK?”

“OK,” Bill-E says. “But don’t forget—coooooolllllllll.”

Emmet shoots him an exasperated glance, then shares a grin with me. Focusing, he repeats his lines silently to himself, then tries them out loud and all too predictably blows them again. As soon as he breaks down, we drag him off to the foosball table and keep him there, though we can’t stop him muttering the lines as he plays.

Dinner with Dervish, Juni and some others, in the ginormous catering tent at the heart of Slawter. Everybody talking at once, a nice buzz in the air. A mime artist signals to me that he’d like the salt and pepper. His name is Chai and he’s a bit of a nutcase. He never speaks, although he’s not mute. Apparently he’s perfectly chatty when he’s not working. But throughout the duration of a shoot, he keeps his lips sealed. It doesn’t matter that he has a tiny part in the movie and will only be filming for a few days. Chai considers himself a method actor.

“How are you two faring?” Juni asks Bill-E and me. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Totally!” Bill-E gushes. “It’s great. Incredibly invigorating and inspiring. I think I’ve found my calling in life.”

“Not getting into any trouble, are you?” Dervish grunts.

“As if!” Bill-E smirks.

“I was discussing your situation with Dervish earlier,” Juni says hesitantly.

Uh-oh! It’s never good when an adult says something like that.

“I’m worried that you’ll fall behind in your schoolwork,” Juni goes on. “Things have been a rush lately—Dervish accepting our offer, bringing you two with him, a crazy first week of shooting. Schooling arrangements have been made for the other children, but we overlooked you and Bill-E. I think it would be a mistake to let things continue as they are and Dervish agrees, so…”

“No!” Bill-E cries dramatically. “You’re going to stick us in a class? Say it ain’t so, Derv!”

“It’s so,” Dervish laughs. “Juni’s right. We’re going to be here three months, maybe longer. If you go that length of time without lessons, it’ll mean repeating a year when we get back to Carcery Vale.”

“You won’t have to do full days,” Juni promises. “We keep classes flexible, to fit in around shooting, so it’ll be a few hours here, a few hours there, just keeping you in line with what your friends are doing back home. That doesn’t sound so awful, does it?”

“Too bad if it does,” Dervish interjects before we can reply, “because you don’t have a choice.”

“Slave-driver,” Bill-E mutters, but he’s only pretending to be grumpy. We both knew this was coming. The freedom couldn’t last forever.

Juni and Dervish start talking to each other again. Juni’s been with my uncle most times that I’ve seen him recently, which is strange since they can’t have a lot of business together. Dervish is part of the inner technical circle, whereas Juni’s job revolves around the children. There must be another reason why he’s sticking to her like superglue and I think I know what it is—good old-fashioned physical attraction!

It seems incredible. If asked a week ago, I’d have laughed and said the bald old grump didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. But something’s stirring in the hidden depths of Dervish Grady. There’s a gleam in his smile which was never there before. He’s switched to a pungent new aftershave. His clothes are freshly ironed. He’s even started combing the wisps of hair dotted around the sides of his head into place. There’s no doubt about it—he’s trying to impress the cute albino!

Juni knows that Bill-E and I are friends with Emmet, so she places us in his class. Most of the other students are actors. There’s the Kane twins, Kuk and Kik, a boy and girl, small and slender, very alike in looks. They don’t speak much to anyone, going off by themselves whenever there’s a free period. They have big roles in the film as eerie, psychic twins.

Salit Smit is the main child star of Slawter. He’s a bit older than the rest of us. A nice guy but not the brightest spark. He just smiles and nods a lot in class, not bothering to apply himself, convinced he’s going to be the biggest movie draw since Tom Cruise.

I absolutely despise the other three. A clique of snobs presided over by the dreadful Bo Kooniart, a girl who was born solely to annoy. She’s been in a few commercials and thinks she’s God’s gift. Always dresses stylishly, like a model. Sucks up to Davida and anyone else with power and influence. Ignores the rest of us, treating us like simpletons or servants.

Her brother, Abe, is almost as bad. A scrawny, miserable excuse for a child. He’s not an actor but his father—the loud, obnoxious Tump Kooniart, a movie agent—insisted he be cast if they wanted to hire Bo. From the rumours, Davida resisted, but finally caved in and gave him a small part as a kid who raises the alarm when the demons are about to break through en masse. I don’t think Davida gives way too often so Tump must be good at his job. Which is just as well, because from what I’ve seen of Bo and Abe, they’re awful at theirs!

The third mini-tyrant is Vanalee Metcalf. Her parents are multimillionaires. Too busy to waste time with their daughter on set, so she came equipped with her own bodyguard-cum-servant, who glares at anyone who doesn’t grovel at her feet.

Bo, Abe and Vanalee took one look at Bill-E and me when we were introduced to them this morning, smirked at each other in a snide, superior way and turned their noses up to let us know we weren’t worthy of direct notice.

Our tutor’s a sweet but nervous woman called Supatra Jaun. I can tell within ten minutes that she can’t handle Bo and her posse. She lets them talk to each other while she’s teaching and doesn’t ever try to assert her authority. Sometimes she’ll murmur, “Now, now, Bo, please pay attention,” but without any real hope that the blonde, pony-tailed, stick-thin brat will obey.

Miss Jaun seems genuinely pleased that Bill-E and I have been added to her class, probably because we’re polite and show some interest. She chats to us warmly, finds out what we’ve been studying, takes a few notes, promises to haul us up to scratch in next to no time.

“I bet those scruffbags know a lot about scratching,” Bo sniffs.

“Meaning?” I growl at her.

“Lice, you moron!” she screeches, and Abe and Vanalee burst out laughing.

“We’ve found our nemesis,” Bill-E mutters in my ear, pegging it dead-on. “Hate her, Grubbs. Hate her good and proper.”

“Does her character die in the script?” I ask Emmet.

“No,” he says. “She ends up saving the town, along with Salit.”

“A pity,” I sigh.

“But she does fall into a pit full of demon manure at one stage,” Emmet says, and my day lights right up.

Our first session lasts two hours, a mix of history, biology and math. Miss Jaun seems to be confident in all subjects—a smart cookie. Then an assistant director pops in and says they need Bo and Salit. Miss Jaun checks her watch, says we might as well all take a break and asks those of us not involved in filming to return in an hour. It’s certainly a lot more laid back than our school in Carcery Vale.

Emmet wants to practise his lines on Bill-E and me again, but we don’t have the patience, so we leave him with his mum in his trailer. We grab sandwiches from one of the many mobile canteens, then go see if anything exciting is happening. There’s not much to keep us amused today.

Davida and her crew are setting up a tracking shot on a street, trying to get lots of actors in place and working in sync with each other. Fairly boring to watch. A lot of filming is.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” Bill-E says as we go for a wander. “Maybe this will become Dervish’s full-time job and we’ll travel around the world on film shoots with him.”

“I doubt it,” I laugh. “Your gran and grandad wouldn’t allow it. I’m surprised they agreed to let Dervish have you for this long. Did he work some magic spells on them?”

“Nope,” Bill-E says. “They were happy to let me come. Gran loves movies, especially old flicks starring the likes of David Niven and Ingrid Bergman. She thought this was a great opportunity for me. I think she’s hoping I’ll fall in love with a beautiful blind cellist or some such guff. She believes a lot of those old films were based on true stories, that the world’s really like that.”

“Mind you, a girl would have to be blind to fall in love with you,” I comment.

“Your face,” Bill-E snorts. “My flabby nether regions. Spot the similarity?”

I get Bill-E in a headlock and rub my knuckles into his skull, but it’s all in fun. He has no idea of the real reason why he’s here. He thinks Dervish is his father, that he didn’t want to spend a few months parted from his darling son. He doesn’t know about Dervish wanting to make sure Davida doesn’t raise hell, or about Prae Athim’s interest in experimenting on him.

“I can’t wait to see the demon tomorrow—or it might even be tonight,” Bill-E enthuses once I’ve released him. “Emmet says it depends on how shooting goes today. If they finish that shot on the street in time, they’ll do his scene later. It’ll be coolio!”

“Hmmm,” I say neutrally.

“What are you moaning about, Goliath?” Bill-E frowns. Then, studying me carefully, his expression clears. “Oh. I’d forgotten. Your parents and sister…” He trails off into silence. Although Bill-E doesn’t know about his lycanthropic genes, or the battle Dervish and I fought with Lord Loss, he knows demons killed my family.

“Are you going to be OK with all this?” Bill-E asks awkwardly. Sympathy isn’t something that he does well.

“Sure,” I grunt.

“Really?” he presses. “Because they can’t keep us here. I know Dervish signed those contracts saying we’d stay until the end, but we didn’t. If you want to leave, I’m sure there’s nothing they can do about it. I’ve watched lots of courtroom movies. I know what I’m talking about.”

“No,” I smile. “I’ll be OK. I mean, we’re talking movie demons here—rubber, wire and paint. How scary can they be?”

Emmet’s nervous all afternoon, practising his lines even in class. Davida popped in to see him during lunch and told him they’d definitely be shooting his death scene tonight. The way he’s behaving—pale, shivering, mumbling to himself—I think it might take quite a few attempts to get it right!

Near the end of class, Emmet’s summoned to the makeup trailer. He won’t be required on set for a few hours yet, but they want to run some tests. It’s going to be a gory scene—Davida wants blood spurting every which way—so they need to make sure everything’s set up smoothly before they stick him in front of the cameras.

Salit and Bo return as Emmet’s leaving. “I can’t believe they’re letting you go through with this farce,” Bo says, blocking the doorway. “You’ll choke, Eijit. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. So why don’t you just—”

“Leave him alone!” Bill-E shouts. “Meddling cow!”

“Now, Bill-E, that’s not—” Miss Jaun begins.

“Shut up, pipsqueak!” Bo defends herself, spitting venom at Bill-E. “If I want advice from a fat geek with a dodgy eye, I’ll let you know. Otherwise…”

I stand up, flexing my muscles, stretching aggressively. “You’re going to apologise,” I tell Bo flatly.

“Says who?” she retorts, but I’ve unnerved her. It’s not often that I threaten anyone, but when I do, I can make quite an impression.

I step out from behind my desk and crack my knuckles, staring at Bo levelly. “Now,” I say firmly.

Bo glares at me, then sneers and says mockingly, “I’m so sorry, Billy One-eye. I won’t point the truth out to you again.” Her gaze flicks back at Emmet. “But you’re still going to mess up. Let me know when you do. It’s not too late for Abe to step in and do the job properly.”

“Ignore her,” Bill-E says, his left eyelid fluttering furiously. “You’ll be great. Davida wouldn’t have picked you if she didn’t believe you could do it.”

“Thanks,” Emmet says hollowly, then pushes past Bo, visibly upset. Bo smirks and takes her seat.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Miss Jaun says disapprovingly.

Bo looks up at our teacher as though just noticing she’s there. “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t—” Miss Jaun begins.

“What was that?” Bo asks loudly, cutting Miss Jaun off. She tilts her head and pushes her lower lip out with her tongue, daring Miss Jaun to challenge her. For a moment it looks as though she will and I ready myself to cheer the timid teacher on. But then her shoulders sag and she looks away.

“Let’s get on with our lessons,” she says meekly. “I’ll finish up with the others, then take you and Salit for a couple of hours. Now, where were we…?”

“Someone should sort her out,” Bill-E storms when class has finished. “Bo bloody Kooniart! Davida should put that little monster over her knee and spank her till her hand turns blue!”

“I agree,” I say grimly, “but it’s not going to happen. She’s a star. She can get away with crap like that. To be honest, I thought they’d all be like her. I’m surprised how normal most of the others are.”

“A pity the demons aren’t real,” Bill-E grumbles. “We could feed Bo to them, and her horrible little brother. Vanalee too.”

“It would certainly make life easier,” I agree. “But they’re not real. There’s nothing we can do except ignore her. Come on.” I slap his back. “Let’s go see what Emmet looks like in his make-up.”

Emmet’s covered in fake blood. He’s spitting it out and wiping it from his eyes. “The bag exploded early,” he moans.

“You squeezed too hard,” a props person says, sliding a hand up inside Emmet’s jumper, removing an empty plastic bag which had been filled with the red, sticky liquid. “You have to be more gentle. Don’t worry—you’ll get the hang of it soon.”

Emmet goes off to be cleaned, before trying on a fresh costume and having his make-up applied again. Rather him than me. Sometimes an actor can spend most of the day sitting in a chair, having make-up dabbed on, cleaned off, dabbed on, cleaned off, dabbed…

Bill-E and I go for a swim, then head for dinner. We spot Dervish dining with Davida and Juni, but they’re talking shop so we don’t disturb them. After that we check on Emmet again. This time he’s managed not to burst the bag of blood and is ready to face the cameras.

“She’s been trying to unsettle me all week,” he says about Bo. “She thinks Abe should have had this part. Her dad does too. He told my mum I was an amateur and shouldn’t be here.”

“Charming!” Bill-E huffs.

“Mum hit the roof,” Emmet chuckles. “Told Tump Kooniart what she thought of him and to keep out of our way for the rest of the shoot. She complained to Davida, but he’s an agent for several of the actors so there’s not much Davida can do. In an argument, if it’s us or him, she has to take his side. I could be replaced easily, but if Tump walked off and told his gang to follow…”

“Never mind,” Bill-E says encouragingly. “There’s nothing they can do about it now. This is your scene. Go out there, strut your funky stuff, and leave Tump Kooniart and his brats to stew.”

Emmet laughs, then asks if he can run through his lines with us. This time we let him, and say nothing as he makes his customary mistake and grinds to a miserable halt. Then, before he can practise again, his call comes and we have to leave.

Showtime!

This is the first big action shot of the movie, so a large crowd of curious bystanders has gathered. Thanks to modern technology, scenes with monsters aren’t normally interesting to watch being filmed. More often than not, an actor will play out their part against a blue-screen background. The monster effects are added later, using computers.

But Davida wants the demons to look as lifelike as possible, for the action to play realistically. That means taking a less flashy approach than in her other movies, keeping it gritty and believable, using almost no computer effects.

Bill-E and I find a good place to watch, next to Dervish and Juni. The scene’s being filmed on one of the smaller, darker alleys of Slawter. There’s a manhole on the left side of the street, from which the cover has been removed. The demon will spring out of the manhole, grab Emmet and drag him underground.

“This is going to be fun,” Dervish says warmly. “Hardly anyone here has seen the demon costume. I think people will be really scared.”

“Nonsense,” Bill-E says. “How can you be scared of a guy in a monster suit?”

“Trust me,” Dervish grins. “This doesn’t look like a guy in a suit. There are engines and wires within the costume, so it can pull expressions, ooze slime like you wouldn’t believe, even…” He lowers his voice. “It smells.”

“Come again?” Bill-E blinks.

“Emmet doesn’t know this, so don’t say anything, but Davida wants to wring as much genuine terror out of him as she can. So she created a demon-type stench, to throw him off guard. She has a few other tricks up her sleeve too. I feel sorry for the kid—he doesn’t know what’s going to hit him!”

“I don’t think that’s fair,” I mutter. “He’s nervous enough as it is.”

“Don’t worry,” Juni smiles. “We talked it over with his mother. She gave us the all-clear. He’ll enjoy the joke when he recovers. It will make the scene more believable, which will make his acting seem all the more professional. That will stand him in good stead when he’s looking for his next big role.”

I’m a bit worried about Emmet despite Juni’s reassurances. I’d hate if he got so freaked out that he couldn’t finish filming the scene and had to hand the part over to Abe. I can see the moody Master Kooniart standing across from us, with Bo and their fat, leering father, Tump. I wonder if the stench idea was theirs to begin with.

I’d like to warn Emmet, but Davida is talking with him and Salit, explaining the dynamics of the scene. This is where Salit finds Emmet eating their headmaster and realises he’s working for a demon. Emmet starts to give a long speech about how the demons are going to take over the town and why he’s working for them. In the middle of it, his demonic ally pops out of the manhole and makes off with him.

“It’s important you don’t look like you know what’s going to happen,” Davida tells Emmet. “As far as you know, this demon is your best buddy and Salit’s the one in trouble. You’ll hear some rumblings, feel a few tremors. Ignore them and concentrate on your lines.”

“About that,” Emmet cuts in. “I’ve been having a few problems.”

“Oh?” Davida smiles and waits for him to continue.

“It’s the line, ‘At least not much worse than a guy who gives in to temptation and steals a bar of chocolate.’ I know the line, but I keep coming out with ‘badder’ instead of ‘worse’. If it happens, can we do it again straightaway? I’ll try to get it right, but I might…”

Davida holds up a hand. “Emmet, as far as I’m concerned, there’s not one line in the script that isn’t open to negotiation. I should have made that clear earlier. It’s your voice I want to hear, not mine. If ‘badder’ is what comes naturally to you, then ‘badder’ it is.”

“I can change the line?” Emmet gawps.

“Absolutely.”

A big smile works its way across Emmet’s face. Across from us, Abe and the other Kooniarts are glowering. They couldn’t hear the conversation, but they can see the fear fade from Emmet. They’ve lost their chance to bump Abe up the pecking order. I want to thumb my nose at them and stick out my tongue. But that would be childish, so I settle for a smug wink when I catch Bo’s furious eye.

They shoot the early exchanges several times, from a variety of angles. A fake corpse is placed in the alley, close to the manhole cover. Emmet starts the scene crouched over it, pulling bits off and stuffing them in his mouth. He’s so convincing it’s hilarious, and Salit keeps laughing when he comes upon him.

“ ‘Matt!’ ” he cries, calling Emmet by his screen name. “ ‘What are you doing with Mr. Litherland’s nose in your…’ Sorry!” he shouts, doubling over. “I can’t help it! He looks so crazy!”

“Don’t worry,” Davida says, smiling patiently. “We have all night. Keep trying. The joke will wear thin eventually.” She grimaces at a cameraman. “I hope!”

Salit finally gets through his lines without laughing and they move on to the next scene. The cameras and lights are redirected, the make-up artists make sure Salit and Emmet are looking the way they should, Davida has a last few words with Emmet, then they’re ready to go.

“OK, people,” an assistant director yells. “We’re going to try and get this right first time, so we want absolute quiet!”

When everyone settles down, the technicians do their final checks, Davida looks around slowly from one member of the crew to another, then nods. A man calls out the title, scene and take, and snaps the traditional clapperboard shut.

“And… action!” Davida roars.

“ ‘How could you do it?’ ” Salit cries, in his role as Bobby Mint, boy-hero.

“ ‘What?’ ” Emmet protests. “ ‘It’s not as if anyone liked Mr. Litherland.’ ”

“ ‘But he’s human!’ ” Salit cries.

“ ‘He was,’ ” Emmet corrects him. “ ‘He’s yummy for my tummy now!’ ” Emmet rubs his stomach with a sick laugh. “ ‘I’ve always wanted to eat human flesh. I mean, it’s not an obsession or anything. I wouldn’t go out of my way to kill, skin and cook somebody. But I’ve always been curious, wondered what it would taste like. So, when the opportunity dropped into my lap, yeah, I took it. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. At least, not much badder than a guy who gives in to temptation and steals a bar of chocolate. It’s not like I killed him myself.’ ”

“ ‘But you let it happen!’ ” Salit cries. “ ‘You knew about the demon!’ ”

Emmet shrugs. “ ‘What’s done is done. No point crying over spilt milk—or a butchered headmaster.’ ” He holds out a severed, bloodied arm to Salit. “ ‘You should try some, Bobby. You might like it. It…’ ” The ground begins to rumble. A foul stench fills the air. For a second, Emmet falters and his gaze flicks to the open manhole. Then he recovers and continues like a true professional. “ ‘It goes down super sweet, especially if you add a dollop of ketchup. Tastes a bit like—’ ”

That’s when the demon bursts out of the manhole and grabs him.

It happens in a blur and is so fast, so violent, so shocking, that several people in the crowd gasp aloud.

The demon is green, slimy, with fierce yellow eyes, four long arms with claws at the ends, a mouth full of fangs. There’s something wolfish about its face, long and lean, with patches of hair here and there.

The demon whips Emmet off the ground. He screams, not having to fake it, caught off-guard. Salit falls backwards, yelling with genuine horror.

My world goes red with fear. I’m thrown back in time… that night in the cellar… earlier… my old home… walking into my parents’ bedroom to find Lord Loss, Vein and Artery at work. Feeling the exact same thing in my gut now as I did then.

The demon screeches and vanishes back underground, carrying Emmet with it. There’s a moment of hush. Then Emmet’s face appears, sheer terror in his expression. “Help!” he cries. “For the love of—”

Blood erupts around him, shooting up through the hole like a geyser. The howl of the demon drowns out his final words. His eyes go wide, then dead. As his head slumps, the demon pulls and Emmet disappears again, this time forever.

It all happened so swiftly, I’m in a state of shock. So’s everybody else. Stunned silence. People with hands over their mouths and disbelief in their eyes. I sense screams building in a dozen throats, ready to erupt at once, a chorus of terror.

“Now that’s what I call a death scene!” Davida Haym roars triumphantly, shattering the spell of fear. “Cut! Did you get that? You’d better have! We’ll never top that take!”

And suddenly everybody’s laughing, relief flooding through them. They thought for a few seconds that the demon was real, that Emmet was really being attacked. Now the moment has passed and they’ve remembered—this is make-believe, horrific fun, a movie. They’re embarrassed at having been caught out, but since so many of the others reacted the same way, they’re not left feeling too red-faced.

“I told you!” Dervish laughs, clapping loudly. “Wasn’t that the most vicious, coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“My heart!” Juni gasps, fanning her face with one hand. “I didn’t expect it all to happen so fast!”

“That was amazing!” Bill-E exclaims. “Did you see it, Grubbs? That spray of blood—like it was coming from a fireman’s hose! It was… Grubbs? Are you OK? Hey, Dervish, I think there’s something wrong with Grubbs. He looks like…”

I block out Bill-E’s words and the other sounds. I experienced the same sense of terror that many of the people around me felt. The same jolt of fear. The same moment of belief that this was real. But whereas they’ve got over that moment, I can’t.

Because I’m remembering the look of the demon. Its movements. The hate in its eyes. The effect it had on me.

And I’m staring at the open manhole, all the blood around it, no sign of Emmet or the monster.

And I’m thinking… every part of me is insisting…

That was no damn guy in a suit.

That demon was real!

THE LAUGHING STOCK

“It was just a movie monster,” Dervish says.

“No. It was real. It killed Emmet.”

We’re still in the alley. The blood’s being washed away and people are chattering about the big scene with the demon. I grabbed Dervish as soon as I could move. Told him what I thought. He thinks differently.

“Grubbs, come on, I said it was going to be realistic. You’re—”

“I know what I saw!” I retort, voice rising. “That was a demon, like Lord Loss! It killed Emmet!”

Juni looks at me oddly. Bill-E is gawping openly. Dervish smiles crookedly at them, takes hold of my elbow and marches me out of earshot. “Are you insane?” he hisses as we turn a corner. “We’re on a film set. That was a guy in a costume. A very convincing costume, but just—”

“Don’t tell me you thought that wasn’t real,” I moan. “Didn’t you feel it in your gut, the same thing you felt when we faced Lord Loss? The magic in the air?”

Dervish glares at me. Starts to say something. Stops, his expression softening. “I’ve been a fool. I thought you’d got over the Lord Loss incident, but I guess you haven’t.”

“Of course I haven’t ‘got over’ it!” I snort. “You don’t ‘get over’ demons murdering your parents and sister! But I’ve dealt with it. Moved on. This isn’t delayed shock. I know what I saw and that was a real bloody demon.”

“You’re hysterical,” Dervish says.

“No,” I snarl. “Look at me. Look into my eyes. I’m not being a big kid. That. Was. A. Demon. Nobody can mimic the look and movements—the aura—of a real demon. I don’t care how many special-effects artists work on it. Some things can’t be replicated, by anybody, ever.”

“Grubbs…” Dervish can’t think of anything else to add.

“Where’s Emmet?” I challenge him. “If he was acting, why didn’t he come out when Davida yelled ‘cut’?”

“They took him away to wash the blood off,” Dervish says.

I shake my head. “I bet you’re wrong. I bet we can’t find him.”

Dervish sighs impatiently. “OK. Let’s go look for Emmet. But!” He raises a finger. “When we find him and you see that he’s unharmed, I want you to accept it. I don’t want you saying it’s not really Emmet, it’s a changeling, or any nonsense like that. OK?”

“Fine,” I smile bitterly.

Grumbling sourly, Dervish leads me away in search of Emmet Eijit, even though I know in my heart that the only place we’ll find him now is amidst the bones and scattered shreds of skin in some dirty demon’s den.

Emmet’s not in any of the trailers. Nobody’s seen him. I shoot Dervish a meaningful look, but he waves it away and goes looking for Davida. She’s still in the alley, talking with a technician. We wait for her to finish, then Dervish nudges forward and asks if she knows where Emmet is. Says we want to congratulate him on his performance.

“Of course!” Davida cries. “Hell, I want to too. I plain forgot about him. That was amazing. I loved the final touch—the scream for help. It worked perfectly. No need for a second take. He’ll be getting the blood cleaned off, so—”

“No,” I interrupt. “We checked. He isn’t in make-up.”

“Oh. Then I guess… Hey, Chuda! Where’d Emmet get to?”

A tall, thin man without eyebrows steps forward. Chuda Sool, the first assistant director and Davida’s closest confidant. They’ve worked together on her last four films. He’s a quiet sort, keeps to the background, makes sure everything’s running smoothly, tries to head off problems before they bother Davida.

“There’s been a flare-up,” Chuda says softly. “Perhaps we should speak about it in private.”

“What are you talking about?” Davida growls. “What happened?”

“Nora—Emmet’s mother—ran into Tump Kooniart after shooting,” Chuda says. “They had a huge argument. Tump said some very nasty things. He upset her. Nora grabbed Emmet, demanded a car, collected their belongings and…” Chuda shrugs.

“They left?” Davida barks. “Are you mad? Nobody leaves until shooting finishes. It’s in their contract. Get them back!”

“I can’t,” Chuda says. “When Nora calms down, maybe we can convince her to return, but—”

“She has no choice!” Davida insists. “She signed the contract. They have to stay on set for the duration.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” Chuda says patiently. “But she went anyway. You can withhold Emmet’s payment and maybe force them back that way, but for the time being…” He shrugs.

“Told you,” I mutter, glancing up at Dervish. Then I turn and walk off, not wanting to waste my time on more ridiculous excuses. Emmet’s dead, slaughtered by a demon. And if his mum’s missing, that means she was probably killed too. Time for Grubbs Grady to make an ultra-quick exit from Slawter!

“You can’t just walk off,” Dervish argues as I pack my bag.

“Watch me.” I turn to Bill-E, who’s standing by his bed, blinking like a startled owl. “You’re coming too. I’m not leaving you to end up like Emmet.”

“It looks bad, especially as there’s no sign of Emmet,” Dervish says. “But we need to make sure. Chuda could have been telling the truth. Emmet’s mother—”

“Bull!” I snort. “There was no argument with Tump Kooniart. Chuda made that story up. Emmet was killed by a demon. His mum’s dead too, I guess. Chuda must be working for the demon, since he lied to cover up the truth. And I doubt if he’s the only one.”

“Wait a minute,” Bill-E splutters. “You believe that was a real demon? You think Emmet was really killed? Are you mad?”

“Maybe,” I laugh shortly. “But if I am, I’m going to be mad far, far away from Slawter. And you’re coming with me. I won’t leave you behind.” I look hard at Dervish. “I won’t.”

“OK,” Dervish sighs. “I won’t keep you here against your will. But you’re overreacting. Until we know for sure, we should—”

There’s a knock at the door. Juni Swan. “Can I come in?”

I go stiff. Is Juni working with Chuda Sool and the demon? Has she been sent to convince me that my imagination has run wild? I like Juni. I’d hate to think that she’s evil. But if she backs up Chuda’s story…

“I wanted to check that everything’s all right,” Juni says, eyeing the bag which I’m in the middle of packing.

“Did Chuda send you?” I ask tightly.

“No. I came because I heard you telling Dervish that Emmet had been killed by a real demon. I wanted to know what you meant.”

“I’d have thought that was obvious.”

“You can’t truly believe that was a real demon,” Juni says. “Demons don’t exist, do they, Dervish?”

Dervish clears his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“But… we’re making a film about demons. That was just an act. Emmet—”

“—has mysteriously disappeared,” I cut in.

Juni frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Nora had a fight with Tump Kooniart,” Dervish explains. “The way we heard it, she lost her temper, grabbed Emmet, demanded a car and took off.”

“But she can’t have,” Juni says. “Their contract…”

“They tore it up,” Dervish says softly. “Allegedly.”

Juni’s frown deepens. Then she looks at me, expression clearing. “That explains the bag. You think this confirms what you suspected. You’re getting out before the demons kill you too.”

“Damn straight.”

Juni nods slowly. “And if I try to convince you that Emmet hasn’t been killed… that demons aren’t real… would you think I was part of a conspiracy?”

I hesitate, not wanting to offend her if she’s innocent.

“I don’t know anything about a fight between Nora and Tump, or why Nora would have been allowed to leave,” Juni says steadily. “And it’s strange that it happened so quickly, without them saying goodbye to anyone. You might be right. The demon could have been real. Maybe it did kill Emmet.”

Juni reaches inside the light jacket that she’s wearing and pulls a pink mobile phone out of a pocket. She holds it towards me. As I take it, suspicious, she says, “I have contact numbers for everyone connected to the children working on this film. Nora’s number is in there. I’d like you to call her.”

I glance up sharply. “No tricks,” Juni says. “I don’t know what will happen when you dial that number. I’m making no promises. I think Nora will answer, or if she doesn’t, you can leave a message and she’ll phone back shortly. But short of us getting a car and tearing after them in hot pursuit, I think this is the only way to determine the truth.”

I stare at the buttons. I don’t want to do this. I want to pass the phone back to Juni, finish packing and get the hell out.

But I can’t. Because maybe—just maybe—I called this wrong. Maybe the fear dates back to my fight with Lord Loss and my mind’s playing tricks on me. I’m pretty sure it isn’t. But if I refuse to dial, I’ll look like a crackpot.

I unlock the phone. Thumb up the list of names. “Is it under E or N?” I ask.

“N for Nora,” Juni says.

I search for the Ns. There’s a lot of them. I scroll down. There it is—Nora Eijit. I hit the dial button. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Fi—

“I don’t want to talk about it!” a woman’s voice snaps. “Kooniart can fry in the fires of hell! You tell him—”

“Mrs. Eijit?” I interrupt.

A pause. “Who’s this?”

“Grubbs Grady. Emmet’s friend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I saw Juni’s name come up, so I assumed…”

“I’m ringing from her phone.”

“I see. Do you want to speak to Emmet?”

“Yes please.” Speaking mechanically, figuring this could be any woman—I don’t know Mrs. Eijit’s voice well enough to make a definite identification. Waiting for the kicker, for her to say he’s asleep, or he doesn’t want to talk to me, or—

“I’ll pass you over.”

The sound of her phone being handed across. The noise of a car engine in the background. Then—Emmet. “Hi, Grubbs,” he says quietly, miserably.

“Hi,” I reply weakly.

“I can’t talk now. I’m sorry I split without saying goodbye. I’m hoping we can come back later, when—”

“No way!” Emmet’s mum shrieks. “Not unless that fat fool Kooniart gets down on his knees and—”

“I’ll have to call you back,” Emmet says quickly and disconnects.

I look at the little red button on Juni’s phone. Slowly, reluctantly, I press it. Hand the phone back to Juni. Raise my eyes. And smile like a fool, silently admitting to Juni and the others that I was wrong—even though, inside, part of me still insists the demon was real.

“I can’t believe you thought Emmet had been killed,” Bill-E chuckles. It’s the morning after. We’re on our way to class.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter.

“I just don’t see how you could—”

“Enough!” I snap. Then, softly, “Remember what I told you about my parents? How they died?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Bill-E’s face drops. “Grubbs, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s OK. Just don’t say anything about it. Please? To the others?”

“Of course not,” Bill-E smiles. “This stays between us. I’ll never breathe a word of it to anyone, especially not Bo Kooniart and her mob. They’d have to torture it out of me.”

“Thanks. Because if they knew…”

“Like I said, your secret’s safe with me,” Bill-E promises. “Dervish won’t say anything either, or Juni. Nobody will ever find out. It’ll be coolio.”

“Look out!” Bo screams as we walk into class. “It’s a demon!”

Bo, Abe, Vanalee, Salit—even Kuk and Kik—howl theatrically, then burst out laughing. Miss Jaun blinks at them, astonished. I groan and raise my eyebrows at Bill-E, who can only shrug, bewildered.

“My dad was in the corridor outside your room,” Bo says smugly. “He heard you talking. He heard everything.” She laughs again and I know I’m in for a long few months.

MISSING

The joke doesn’t wear thin for Bo. Every day she drags it out, mocking and ridiculing me, keeping the story of my hysterics alive. She tells anyone who’ll listen, the other actors, the crew, Davida. Most smile and dismiss it, too busy to bother about such trivial matters. But knowing they know causes me to blush fiercely every time somebody even glances at me.

Emmet never rang back and I’m too shamefaced to call him. I doubt if he’ll have heard about my panic attack, but there’s no telling how far Bo might have decided to spread the joke.

The person I’m angriest with—apart from myself, for being such an idiot—is Tump Kooniart. I can’t blame Bo for wringing such wicked pleasure out of my embarrassment—it would be hard for any kid to ignore such a juicy bit of bait if it fell into their lap. But why was her father sneaking around outside our room? And why didn’t he keep his big mouth shut? If Dervish had heard something like this about Bo, he wouldn’t have told me.

Tump Kooniart should have kept quiet. He didn’t. So now it’s payback time!

I spend a lot of hours thinking about ways to get even with Bo’s father. Itching powder in his clothes? Rat droppings in his soup? Human droppings in his stew or chocolate ice cream?!? Shave him bald or glue his lips together while he sleeps?

All good stuff, but basic. I want something that’ll give him a fright, that I can use to humiliate him. Like, if he’s scared of rats, borrow one of the trained rats which are being used in the film, drop it down the back of his shirt when there’s a crowd around, laugh my head off as he writhes and screams. But to do that, I’ll have to find out more about him and what he’s scared of.

So I start shadowing him. I do it when I’m not in class. I don’t tell Bill-E. He’d happily join in if he knew what I was up to, but I don’t want him getting into trouble if this backfires. Tump Kooniart’s a powerful player. If I humble him in public, I might end up being booted off the set. I don’t mind that, but there’s no need for Bill-E to suffer too.

Tump’s easy to follow. Tall and wide, always dressed in a drab brown suit. He walks with a slow waddle, mopping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief which rarely leaves his hand. He usually talks loudly as he strolls, to himself if no one’s with him. He doesn’t seem to be able to keep silent, except when a scene is being filmed. I bet he even talks in his sleep. If I was blind, I could probably follow him by sound alone.

I don’t learn much about Tump, except he loves to talk and eat. He has a trailer on the western edge of Slawter, separate trailers beside it for Bo and Abe. Three of the biggest trailers on the set. When he’s not on the prowl, making sure his actors are happy or pigging out in one of the canteens, he spends most of his time in the trailer. He makes lots of phone calls. There are no personal computers allowed in Slawter—no video mobiles either—so he has to work from a huge Filofax in which he keeps all his contact details and other info. I think about stealing the Filofax and burning it, but that’s hardly going to leave him a trembling wreck!

Close to Tump’s trailer, nearly a week after I began shadowing him. Waiting for him to emerge, sitting in the shade of another trailer, reading a movie magazine—always plenty of those around. Starting to tire of the detective work. Bo’s still annoying me, but her insults have grown stale. Nobody really laughs at her jokes any more. Maybe I should quit this game and forget about vengeance.

Someone knocks on Tump’s door. I look up and spot Chuda Sool entering the trailer. I haven’t spoken to Chuda since the day of the “demon” attack. I’m sure Bo told him about my hysterics. He must think I’m a right nutter. He might even feel insulted that I didn’t believe him when he told me about Nora and Tump.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” someone says behind me. I jump, but it’s only Bo, on her way back from filming. “Discover any demons today, Grady?”

“No. Discover any new jokes?”

“Don’t need them. Not when the old ones are still funny.” She flashes her teeth and growls demonically. I yawn and focus on my magazine until she loses interest and goes away. I wait for the sound of her trailer door locking, then get up, angry, sick of hanging around. I could be playing foosball with Bill-E, not sitting here like a third-rate substitute, wasting my—

Tump steps out of his trailer, followed by Chuda Sool. Tump’s talking loudly, mopping away busily at his forehead. Chuda never seems to sweat, which is handy—without eyebrows, sweat would flow straight into his eyes. The pair set off in a northerly direction, looking a bit like Laurel and Hardy from the rear. Since I’m here, I decide to follow. But this is the last time. I’ve had enough.

Tump and Chuda head for the D workshops. The huge warehouse dominates the northern part of Slawter. I haven’t spent much time up here—no point, since access to the workshops is strictly prohibited. As Tump and Chuda show their passes to a security guard on the western door—one of four doors leading into the warehouse—I hang back and take a long look at the building.

Three storeys high, 70 or 80 metres wide, maybe 120 metres long. Large, unplastered block walls. A flat roof. No windows. Grey and featureless, apart from a big red D painted on the wall above the door. A small guard’s hut to the right of the entrance.

I’d love to have a look inside, at the monster costumes and puppets. A small part of me still believes the demon was real. If I could check out the costumes perhaps it would help convince me of the truth. But hardly anyone is allowed to enter the hallowed halls of the D workshops. Even Dervish has only seen a small section of the complex.

I wait impatiently for Tump and Chuda to come out. Then I figure, stuff them! I’m through with this crap. I decide to find Bill-E and hang out with him for the rest of the afternoon. But before departing, I wander around the warehouse on the off chance that one of the doors is open, its guard asleep in his hut. That won’t happen, of course, but I might as well give it a shot while I’m here.

The guard on the southern door studies me suspiciously as I approach. Though he doesn’t openly carry any weapons, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a gun hidden on him somewhere. I smile politely and don’t stray any closer. Walk to the eastern end and turn left. The door on this side is shut too and although the guard’s in his hut, he isn’t asleep—I spot him through the window as I walk past, leafing through a magazine with pictures of tanks on the cover.

I reach the northern end and turn left again. The guard here is standing next to the door, leaning against the wall. He smiles as I go past. I think about stopping to chat, maybe try to blag my way inside, but his smile isn’t that inviting.

Back to the western end. Heading south, thinking about where Bill-E might be. As I come up to the guard’s hut, the door to the workshops opens. I hear Tump’s voice and stop behind the hut, where he and Chuda can’t see me, to wait until they pass.

“…not going to like it,” Tump is booming.

“They’re not meant to like it,” Chuda replies in a much softer voice.

“But the boy will be hard to keep quiet. They’re so close to each other. Maybe we should take them both.”

“One will be enough,” Chuda says. “Now all we have to…”

Their voices fade. I remain where I am, frowning, wondering who and what they were talking about.

The next day, Kik goes missing.

Kuk turns up for class by himself, looking lost. “Have any of you seen Kik?” he asks, eyes darting around the room as if his twin sister might be hiding behind a desk. “I can’t find her. I don’t know where she is. Kik? Are you here?”

Miss Jaun sits the agitated Kuk down, tries to soothe his nerves and coaxes the story out of him. It’s not complicated. He woke this morning and Kik’s bed was empty. He couldn’t find her. Their dad wasn’t too concerned—said she’d probably gone for a walk—but Kuk smelt a rat immediately.

“We don’t go anywhere without telling each other. She wouldn’t have slipped out without saying anything.”

“Maybe she just needed to be alone for a while,” Miss Jaun suggests.

“We don’t like being alone,” Kuk says, shaking his head vigorously. “Alone is bad. Alone is scary.”

When Miss Jaun fails to calm Kuk’s nerves, she calls security and asks a guard if he can put the word out to look for Kik. “It’s no big deal,” she tells him. “We’d just like to know where she is.”

Class proceeds as normal, except for Kuk, who fidgets behind his desk, eyes wide and searching, staring out the window. He unnerves the rest of us. Even Bo is discomfited by him and remains quiet, no jokes or digs.

Towards the end of class, Miss Jaun summons the guard again. He says nobody has seen Kik but they’re still looking.

I raise a hand. “Have you tried the D workshops?” I ask innocently.

The guard frowns. “She wouldn’t be there.”

“She might have snuck in.”

The guard grins. “Into the D? I don’t think so. Even I haven’t been inside—I don’t have clearance.”

“But she might be there,” I insist. I’m holding a steel ballpoint pen, gripping it tight, remembering the conversation I overheard yesterday, Tump saying “the boy will be hard to keep quiet”.

“I’ll check with the guys who were on duty this morning,” the guard says, rolling his eyes slightly. “If they’ve seen her, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

The guard leaves. Class ends. Kuk hurries out to search for his sister.

“What was that about the D warehouse?” Bill-E asks, hanging back.

“Nothing. I just thought they might not have looked there.”

Bill-E squints suspiciously. “I know you too well, Grubbs Grady,” he says in a bad Bela Lugosi accent. “You wouldn’t have said something like that without a reason. What are you hiding from me?”

I consider telling him what I heard Tump Kooniart say. But I’m still smarting from my previous humiliation. I don’t want to reveal my fears, only for Kik to turn up, leaving me looking like a paranoid maniac.

“It’s nothing,” I say, unclenching my fist to lay my pen down. “Let’s…”

Grey liquid drips from my hands on to the table. Bill-E pulls a face. “What’s that?” he asks. “It looks like mercury.”

I don’t reply. I’m staring at the liquid, the last few drops dripping from my fingers, black ink bubbling on my palms. It’s the remains of the pen. The steel ballpoint which I was holding.

I melted it.

Night falls. Kik hasn’t been seen all day. Kuk’s not the only one worried about her now. Her father’s frantic. The search has intensified. The security forces have been deployed in earnest. Davida even suspended shooting so everyone could join the search parties and help.

I’m with a group exploring the eastern end of town, going through all the real buildings, checking behind the facades of the fakes. Trying to focus on the search. Trying not to think about the pen and how I melted it. But I can’t not think about it. There could be a scientific explanation. But I’m certain the melting had nothing to do with science. It was magic.

I’m not a natural magician. Dervish told me that only one or two real magicians are born every century. There are others like Dervish and Meera Flame—mages—with the potential to perform acts of magic, usually with the aid of spells. I could maybe do that. But I never have. I’m not keen on magic. Plus, there hasn’t been time. Dervish was a zombie for more than a year and he’s not been up for teaching duties since he recovered.

So how did I melt the pen?

There’s only one answer I can think of. When demons enter our universe, they affect the area where they cross. They’re creatures of magic and that magic infects the world around them. When my parents were killed, I was able to tap into the magical, demonic energy and use it to escape. I did it again later in the secret cellar, when I fought Artery and Vein.

I think that’s happening now. There’s magic in the air—the magic of demons.

We don’t find Kik. The search concludes after midnight. Everybody turns in. Most people reckon she ran away. The guards say they’ll search for her beyond Slawter tomorrow, take Kuk and his father with them.

I haven’t told anyone about my fears. No point—I’d only be laughed at. But I can’t sit back and do nothing. I have to try to help Kik, assuming she can still be helped. So I track down Dervish. He’s been searching with Juni and a few others. Him and Juni aren’t an item yet, but they’ve been spending more and more time together, and she’s with him now. He says she’s helping him cope with his nightmares, that she’s taught him how to control his dreams, to keep the monsters of his subconscious at bay. But I think he’s more lustful than grateful—he’s practically bathing in that new aftershave now!

I get my story straight before I hit Dervish with it. I say I saw Kik yesterday, near the D workshops. Tell him I think she found a way in, that she’s hiding inside, possibly trapped. “Maybe something fell on her. She could be pinned to the floor, crying out for help, nobody around to hear.”

Dervish doesn’t think she could get in—security’s too tight. But Juni says they should check it out. “It’s the one place we haven’t explored. If she did somehow sneak in and had an accident…”

Neither Juni nor Dervish has the authority to enter the D workshops, so we go to Davida. We find her in her office, discussing the next day’s shoot with Chuda Sool. Davida’s tired and irritable—the delay has put the company behind schedule. She hears us out, then shakes her head. “We already checked. Grubbs mentioned the D earlier, so the guards who were on duty this morning—and last night—were questioned. They all said they hadn’t seen her.”

“But they wouldn’t have if she snuck in,” Dervish presses.

“Impossible,” Chuda says and I catch him shooting a glare at me. “There’s no way into the D warehouse other than through the doors. We constructed it to be impenetrable.”

“But—” Dervish begins.

“No!” Chuda snaps, staring at Dervish directly.

Dervish stares back at Chuda, his pupils widening. Then he smiles and shrugs. “Guess we were wrong.”

Chuda nods, his eyes still fixed on Dervish. “I guess you were.”

My stomach tenses. It’s not like Dervish to back down so easily. Is Chuda controlling Dervish’s thoughts? Was I right about the browless assistant director? Is he in league with demonic forces?

Before I can challenge Chuda, Juni speaks up. “We need to search there,” she tells Davida. “Or, if you won’t allow us in, send in a team of guards and tell them to fine-comb the place. Because if Kik is in there—and a determined child can always find a way in, no matter how tight the security— she might be in trouble. If we ignore that and something bad happens to her…”

Davida sighs. “Chuda, assemble a team of guards and—”

“I think you should oversee this personally, Davida,” Juni interrupts. She smiles sweetly at the glowering Chuda. “No offence, Mr. Sool, but you’re too convinced the girl isn’t there. You might just take a cursory glance around, then quit.”

Chuda bristles angrily and squares up to Juni. Before he can start an argument, Davida says, “We’ll have no infighting, thank you. Chuda, please assemble a team for me. I’ll go with them into the D workshops and make sure every room and cupboard is scoured methodically. Is that acceptable, Miss Swan?”

“Perfect,” Juni smiles and we file out. I walk just behind Dervish, studying him carefully, worried about what might be going on inside his head.

We wait outside the warehouse while Davida and the guards search for Kik. Juni is concerned about Dervish. She asks if he feels all right, if he has a headache. She saw it too, the exchange between him and Chuda. I doubt if she understood it the way I did, but she knows—or senses— something isn’t right.

It’s after 2:30 in the morning when a yawning Davida and her guards emerge. She shakes her head, exasperated. “No sign. We checked everywhere.”

“You’re sure?” I ask.

Davida doesn’t answer. “We’ll search the surrounding countryside tomorrow,” she tells Juni. “The girl probably had an argument with one of the other children and took off in a huff. Maybe she’ll turn up by herself.”

I smother a snort. “I doubt it!”

I set the alarm back an hour and sleep in late. Stare at the ceiling when I wake, tired and grumpy, finding it hard to get out of bed. Wondering what to do about Kik. Ideally I’d like to tell Dervish what I heard Tump Kooniart and Chuda Sool saying. Insist that Emmet was butchered by a demon, and Kik…

But I spoke to Emmet. He wasn’t killed. Unless…

You can do just about anything with movie technology or magic. Maybe Chuda Sool was also eavesdropping with Tump Kooniart when I told Dervish and Juni my fears. Perhaps he intercepted the call and faked Emmet’s voice, using either a mechanical or magical vocal distorter. Difficult—but not impossible.

I grab my trousers from the chair at the foot of my bed, dig my mobile out of the pocket and dial Emmet’s number. There’s no dial tone at his end. His phone’s turned off or he’s somewhere without a signal.

I get up, dress and head for class. I think about asking Juni for alternate phone numbers for Emmet and his mum, but she’d probably want to know why I was looking for them now. I don’t want to reveal my suspicions to anyone in case I end up a laughing stock again. So, at the end of lessons, I casually ask Miss Jaun if she has Mrs. Eijit’s number. I say I’ve been trying to contact Emmet on his mobile but haven’t been able to get through. Miss Jaun searches her list of names, then calls the number out to me. I thank her and dial it as I head for lunch. Dead, like Emmet’s. I try his number again—the same as earlier.

It might not mean anything. Then again, it might.

I try the two numbers several times over the course of the day. Not a peep out of either. I dial directory enquiries and get their home number. Ring it, only to find that the line has been disconnected.

One last try. I remember Emmet telling us about his local school. Again I use directory enquiries, then call and ask if I can speak with Emmet Eijit. I say I found his mobile phone and want to return it. The secretary says Emmet’s not at school, he’s making a film. I say I thought he’d finished and returned. No, she says, he hasn’t. I ask if she’s sure, if maybe he’s back home, just not at school. She says definitely not, she knows his mother.

I stare at my phone a long time after that, certain I’ve been tricked. Emmet and his mum are still here, along with Kik—but not necessarily alive.

Night. Kik hasn’t been found. The search teams return at seven. Kuk and his father aren’t with them. The searchers say Mr. Kane and his son have gone home, in case Kik heads there. I groan when I hear that. I hope it’s true. I pray that it is. Not just because I don’t want Kuk and his dad to be dead—but because if it’s a lie, it means the guards who were with them are part of a cover-up. It means it isn’t just Chuda Sool and one or two others I have to be wary of. I might not be able to trust anybody in the entire cast and crew.

Filming resumes in the morning. Davida’s still worried about the missing Kik (or claims to be—who can I trust?), but life must go on. A film costs a fortune to make. Every day is vital. She can’t afford to have her team sitting around idle. So, while a selection of guards took off to search the land around Slawter as the sun rose, the cameras rolled as normal.

They’re filming the second big demon scene tonight. No carnage or loss of life this time. It’s a scene from the third act, in which a demon appears to Bobby Mint and his friends. It predicts doom, warns them of the destruction to come, then tells them they can’t leave, it’s too late, they’re destined to die, along with everyone they care about and love.

I’ve lost interest in filming but I have to go watch tonight’s shoot, to check out the demon. I’ve heard it’s different to the one that killed Emmet. I wonder if this creature will be real or a model? I know what I’d put my money on!

A large crowd gathers for the shoot, but not as many as at the first demon show. This scene’s being shot outside a church, one of the fake buildings in Slawter. In the script, the heroes have gathered inside to discuss the demons and what they can do to alert others to the danger. Those scenes have been filmed—or will be—on an interior set. This scene is set at the end of their debate. They’ve just come out. As they’re heading down the steps, the demon appears out of the church behind them, laughing, saying it’s overheard their entire plan.

Davida sets the scene, runs the actors through their paces, makes sure all the cameras and lights are correctly positioned, then takes her seat. Action!

I watch nervously, holding my breath, as Salit Smit and the others spill out of the church, faces bright and determined. There are eight steps down from the doors. As they hit the second from bottom step, laughter echoes from within.

“Poor, foolish humans,” the demon crows. Salit and his crew whirl, gasping. “You think you know so much. But, like all mortals, your knowledge of the world is pitiful. It would be amusing, were it not so sad.”

I start to shiver at the first syllable. There’s no mistaking that voice, the low, mournful tone. I know what’s coming next. I’d give anything to be wrong but I know I’m not.

The demon appears, gliding out of the shadows. He’s lit perfectly. I hear murmurs of approval from the people around me. They were caught by surprise with Emmet, but they’re ready this time, in control of their emotions. Besides, although this demon is more horrific in appearance than the first, he moves so fluidly and gracefully that they have time to appreciate his design, the months of hard work which must have gone into creating him.

“You cannot defeat me or my kind,” the demon says, looking from one so-called hero to another, then beyond, to the crowd watching the filming. “We can go anywhere you can and to places where you can’t. We see all, hear all, know all. And we will kill all.”

A tall demon, pale red skin with lots of cracks in it, from which blood continually oozes. Dark red eyes. No hair or nose. Grey teeth and tongue. A hole where his heart should be, filled with dozens of tiny snakes. Mangled hands at the ends of eight arms. No feet, just fleshy strips dangling from his waist, giving the appearance of thin, misshapen legs. He doesn’t touch the floor, but hovers a few centimetres above the ground all the time.

“This is our town now, or soon will be,” the demon says. “There is nothing you can do to stop us.” His eyes fall on me and he smiles widely. “There is nothing any of you can do—except be slaughtered.”

Then he laughs and drifts back into the church. The doors slam shut. A boy in the group of heroes screams. Davida yells, “Cut!”

Everyone pours forward, cheering, congratulating the actors, remarking on how realistic and creepy the demon was, questioning how the effects team got it to hover so believably, what mechanics were involved.

But there were no strings or engines. It wasn’t a model or costume. The few doubts I had up to this point vanish. We’re in seriously deep trouble. The demon wasn’t speaking from a script. His words weren’t meant for the fictional characters—but for those of us watching.

There are real demons here. Emmet has been killed, and probably Kik and her relatives too. And it’s going to get worse. Because the monster who wowed the crowd a minute ago is the one who killed my parents and sister, who vowed to kill Dervish, Bill-E and me… the majestic, terrible demon master himself… lowly Lord Loss.

D

Incredibly, impossibly, Dervish doesn’t believe me.

“It was just another guy in a costume,” he says. “You have to stop seeing demons everywhere you look. I know—”

“Don’t!” I snap. I’ve got him by himself, out of earshot of everybody. “That piece of scum killed my Mum and Dad. He slaughtered Gret. Don’t tell me I could ever confuse a movie prop for the real thing. Don’t you dare.”

“Grubbs, I know this is hard, but you’ve got to believe—”

“That was Lord Loss!” I cry.

“It looked like him,” Dervish says soothingly, “but that’s because Davida did a lot of research. She knows what real demons look like. Actually, I helped her out on this one. She had some of the details wrong. She didn’t know about the cracks in his skin, the colour of his eyes or that he didn’t have real feet.”

“Really?” I sneer. “And you filled her in on the facts?”

“Yes,” Dervish says, trying to sound modest.

“And her technicians were able to make the changes—” I click my fingers—“like that? They were able to take elaborate, mechanised costumes they’d been working on for months and alter them within the space of a few days?”

“Yes,” Dervish says evenly.

I stare into my uncle’s eyes but I don’t find him there. The Dervish I know wouldn’t smile at me glibly like this and dismiss my fears so carelessly. Chuda Sool has brainwashed him, I’m sure of it. I’ll have to look elsewhere for allies.

“Where are you going?” Dervish asks as I turn my back on him and march off.

“To find someone who’ll believe.”

I ask Juni to visit Bill-E and me in our room. I say it’s about Bo Kooniart, that I’m having problems with her and would like Juni’s advice. Naturally Juni’s only too happy to help. Promises to drop by within the next half hour.

Bill-E knows something big is up. He doesn’t know what it is, but he’s delighted to be involved, proud that I’m including him. He wasn’t happy when I skulked around the set without him, not saying why, but now I’m bringing him in on the secret, all is forgiven.

I say nothing until Juni arrives, getting things clear in my head, deciding how much to tell them, what to say and what to keep to myself. When she’s finally here, sitting on a chair, hands clasped on her knees, I begin by confessing that I lied. “I didn’t really bring you here to talk about Bo.”

“I guessed,” she smiles. “You’re not a good liar. Which is a positive thing—don’t think I’m criticising you!”

“Before I get down to the crazy stuff, have either of you noticed anything strange about Dervish?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Bill-E frowns.

“I’ll take that as a no. Juni?”

She pauses. “I don’t know your uncle very well, but he’s seemed a little… unfocused recently.”

“You saw it when he was talking with Chuda about the search for Kik, didn’t you?”

“I saw… something,” Juni says cagily. “Dervish has been through a lot these last two years. The responsibility of having to look after you, the temporary loss of his mind, trying to readjust to normal life, the nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Bill-E asks. We never told him about Dervish’s bad dreams.

“He’s had trouble sleeping recently,” Juni explains.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Bill-E grumbles.

“He finds it easy to share his secrets and fears with me,” Juni says. “He’s able to tell me things he finds hard to discuss with others. I’ve been trying to help him sort through his problems. We were making good progress but now he seems to have regressed.”

“Chuda’s messing with his mind,” I tell her. “Controlling his thoughts.”

“You can’t be serious,” Juni laughs. But her laughter dies away when she sees that I am.

“I’m going to tell you something that will sound insane,” I begin. “Bill-E knows some of it but not all. I need you to hear me out and at least try to believe me.”

“Of course,” Juni says, leaning forward, intrigued.

I take a deep breath. Glance at Bill-E, knowing what I say is going to hurt him, then launch straight in. “Demons killed my parents and sister…”

I fill them in on most of the details. My early encounter with Lord Loss. Escape. Madness. Recovery. Moving to Carcery Vale. The curse of the Gradys. Then the big one—Bill-E turning into a werewolf.

“So that’s it!” Bill-E cries. He’s trembling, his lazy eyelid quivering wildly. “I never bought your story that Dervish locked me up to protect me. I knew there was something you weren’t telling.” He glares at me accusingly. “You lied to me.”

“We didn’t want to hurt you,” I sigh.

“I can take hurt. Not lies. You should have told me.”

“Maybe,” I mutter miserably.

“So, am I cured?” Bill-E snarls.

“Yes.”

“For real? Forever?”

I nod glumly, then outline the deal which certain members of our family had going with Lord Loss, the chess matches, the battles with his familiars. I tell them how Dervish and I challenged Lord Loss on Bill-E’s behalf. The only part I leave out is the truth about Bill-E’s father. I don’t tell him we had the same dad. This isn’t the time to open that can of worms.

Bill-E’s rage dwindles as he hears what Dervish and I risked to save him. He’s staring at me with awe now, tears trickling down his cheeks. I find that more unsettling than his anger. He’s gawping at me as if I’m some kind of hero. But I’m not. I only did it because he’s my brother, but I can’t tell him that, not now. He thinks Dervish is his dad. If I told him the truth, I’d be hitting him with the news that his real father’s dead.

I finish quickly with the last few months, Dervish defeating Lord Loss in his demonic realm and regaining his senses, the nightmares, coming here to try and sort himself out, the demon which killed Emmet, overhearing Tump Kooniart and Chuda Sool talking, the appearance of Lord Loss.

“It was definitely him,” I tell them. “I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure before, but now I am. There are real demons in Slawter. Chuda and Tump are working for them, along with some of the crew. Davida might be one of their allies too. Lord Loss swore revenge on me, Dervish and Bill-E. So the three of us are for the chop, no doubt about it. Probably the rest of you as well.”

Silence. Bill-E is staring at me, torn between hero-worship, terror and doubt. Juni doesn’t know what to think or say. She’s probably heard all sorts in her time, but nothing like this. She’s trying to think of a gentle way of denying what I’m saying, without insulting or enraging me.

“It’s OK,” I smile. “You can say I’m crazy. I won’t mind.”

“People roll out that word too swiftly,” Juni objects. “It’s an easy fall-back. I try never to make such gross generalisations. But…”

“…in this case you’ll make an exception,” I finish for her.

She grins shakily. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you were thinking it, right?”

She tilts her head uncertainly. “We have a lot to discuss. This goes back a long way. You have deep-rooted issues which we’ll have to work through, one at a time. To begin with—”

“Do you believe in magic?” I interrupt.

“No,” Juni says plainly.

“What if I could convince you?”

“How?”

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I knew words alone wouldn’t be enough. I haven’t done anything magical since melting the pen, but I’m sure magic is still in the air, surrounding me, waiting to be channelled. It had better be or else I really will look like a loon!

“Is that worth a lot?” I ask, pointing at the watch on her wrist.

“No,” she frowns.

“Does it matter to you? Would you miss it if you lost it?”

“Not really. Where is this going, Grubbs?”

“You’ll see.” I fix my gaze on the watch, willing it to melt. I’m anticipating a struggle, but almost as soon as I focus, the watch liquidises and drips off Juni’s hand.

“Ow!” Juni yelps, leaping to her feet and rubbing her wrist. “It’s hot!”

“Sorry!” I jump up too. “Are you OK? Do you want me to get some ice or—”

“I’m fine,” Juni snaps, then quits rubbing, stares at the red mark left behind by the melted metal, then at the puddle on the floor, then at me. “Grubbs… what the hell?” she croaks.

“That was just for openers,” I beam, confidence bubbling up. “Have you ever wanted to fly?”

In the end we don’t fly. Juni isn’t ready to open the window and soar over the buildings of Slawter. I’m not either, really. But we levitate a bit, to prove that the melting watch wasn’t a hoax, that this is real magic, not some stage trick.

“This is incredible!” Juni laughs as I make the light switch on and off just by looking at it, while juggling six pairs of balled-up socks without touching them.

“Bloody amazing is what it is!” Bill-E gasps. “Could I do that too?”

“Maybe,” I say, flicking the light on and off a few more times, then letting the socks drop. “Dervish said lots of people have magical potential. They just don’t know it. The magic’s thick in the air around us here, but you and the others aren’t aware of it. I am, because I fought demons and part of my mind—the part that’s magic—opened up. If you could open that part of your mind, I bet you could do everything I can.”

“I need to get me a demon to whup,” Bill-E mutters.

“Of course, it could all be in my head,” Juni says. “You could have slipped me hallucinogenic substances. I might be imagining the watch, floating, the socks.”

Bill-E wrinkles his nose. “You couldn’t hallucinate the smell of Grubbs’ socks!” he says and we all laugh.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” I ask Juni.

“No,” she sighs. “But I want to keep an open mind, like you advised. That means not accepting your story about demons even if the magic is real.” She looks at me earnestly. “One doesn’t verify the other. I haven’t seen any evidence of demons yet.”

“You don’t need to!” I groan. “If demons aren’t real, where am I getting my power from?”

“I have no idea,” Juni says. “You might be generating it naturally, subconsciously. The demons might simply be your way of rationalising your powers.” She holds up a hand as I start to argue. “I’m not saying that is the case—just that it might be.”

Juni sits back, a troubled look on her face. “Actually I can’t tell you how much I hope that the demons are a product of your imagination. For Emmet’s sake, Kik’s and the others.”

“I know,” I mutter. “I wish they weren’t real too. But they are.”

She licks her lips, frowning deeply, trying to get her head around what I’m telling her. “I need proof,” she finally says. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, but I can’t do anything until I’ve seen direct evidence.”

“I want you to help Dervish,” I tell her. “Chuda Sool has some sort of mind lock on him. I want you to help me break it. You can do that without believing in demons, can’t you?”

“Perhaps,” she says. “But I don’t want to go anywhere near your uncle’s mind until I know for sure what I’m dealing with.”

“I think I can prove it,” I say softly, lowering my gaze. “But it could be dangerous. The sort of dangerous where we all die horribly if things go wrong.”

“I’m prepared to take that risk,” Juni says evenly.

“Me too,” Bill-E pipes up bravely, though the squeak in his voice betrays his fear.

I nod reluctantly. “Demons don’t appear out of thin air. They have to be summoned. Their universe has to merge with ours. A window or tunnel between worlds has to be opened. If Lord Loss and the other demon were real, there has to be a place where they crossed. A secret place. A place where nobody but their human partners can get into.”

“The D workshops,” Bill-E and Juni say at the exact same time.

“Got it in one,” I chuckle bleakly.

Juni keeps saying she must be crazy for going along with this, it’s a mad plan, she should have her head examined. But the magic unnerved her. She’s confused, not in complete control. I should give her a day to think things over and clear her head. But she might not play ball if I did. She might start rationalising and analysing, and decide nobody in her position should break into a building. Worse—she might tell Davida what I believe and tip our enemies off. So I rush her along, allowing her no time to think.

It’s impossible to sneak up on the D warehouse, no matter what time you come. Large, powerful lamps are trained on all sides of the building at night. You can’t approach it without your shadow preceding you, growing like a giant’s the closer you get.

But I’ve got magic on my side. I could have performed any number of miracles in our room to convince Juni of my power. I didn’t randomly choose to experiment on the light bulb.

Studying the lamps from the shelter of the closest building to the warehouse. Juni and Bill-E are quiet behind me. I can’t see all the lights from here, but I can imagine them.

Not sure if I have the strength to do this. Just have to try and hope for the best. Focusing, I close my eyes, keeping the picture of the lamps vivid in my thoughts. I visualise the lamps flaring and going out, all at once, like a flashbulb on a camera. Call on the magic. Try to extend it to the lights.

Doubting if I can really—

“Bloody hell!” Bill-E gasps. Then a chuckle. “Coolio!”

I open my eyes to darkness. “Let’s go,” I hiss, starting forward, not sure how much time we’ll have.

“Oh my,” Juni says breathlessly. But she runs after me with Bill-E, along for the ride even if she doesn’t truly want to be.

The guards come out of their hut with strong torches. We drop to our stomachs as their beams sweep the surrounding area. I think about quenching the torches but that would really stir up their suspicions.

Lying on the cool ground, head down. I hear one of the guards on his walkie-talkie, checking if the lamps are out all over. He doesn’t sound worried. The guards sweep the area a few more times with their torches, then return to the hut. One keeps his torch beam trained on the door of the D. There’s no way we could get in through it without being seen. So it’s just as well I didn’t plan on entering that way.

Rising, I hurry forward, trying not to make any noise, heading for a point about three-quarters of the way along the side of the warehouse, where it’s nice and dark, where we can’t be easily seen by the guards.

I rest when I get to the wall, panting heavily, more from fear than the run. Juni and Bill-E arrive moments later. Bill-E’s puffing hard—he’s not as fit as me. I can see their faces in the light of the moon and stars. Bill-E looks scared but excited. Juni’s just scared. Funny, but I feel like the adult here.

“What now?” Bill-E asks when he gets his breath back.

“The Indian rope trick,” I grin, then try to make a length of rope appear, dangling from the roof. Nothing happens. I try again, this time demanding the rope to simply appear on the ground. Nothing.

I frown, wondering if I used up all my magic quenching the lights. But then I recall my fight with Artery and Vein. Dervish supplied the weapons, laid them on the floor of the secret cellar, axes, swords, etc. He wouldn’t have gone to all that effort if we could have simply made weapons appear. Maybe magic doesn’t work that way and objects can’t be created out of thin air.

So the roof’s out. Fine. Time for Plan B.

I focus on the wall. Bare blocks, cemented tightly together. No chinks. Can’t tell how thick they are, but I imagine the wall’s more than a single block deep. I place my left hand on the nearest block and concentrate. Not sure if I can melt stone like metal, but I give it a go.

The block doesn’t melt. I try again but still it holds. I sigh—looks like I’ve run out of ideas. But as I lean forward, trying to think of some other way in, my fingers gouge into the stone. It’s like putting my hand in mud. I make a half-fist and scoop out a handful of mushy material. I smile at the muck, then at Juni and Bill-E. “You two clear the mess away,” I tell them. “I’ll get to work on the rest of the blocks.”

“Be careful,” Bill-E whispers. “We don’t want the wall collapsing.”

“No worries,” I snort. “Grubbs Grady’s on top of the situation!”

“This is madness,” Juni mutters, but digs her fingers into the semi-melted block and begins scooping it out.

It takes fifteen minutes to gouge a hole big enough for us to fit through. It feels like hours. All the time I’m aware of the threat of the lamps snapping back on, the guards sighting us, everything coming undone.

But the darkness holds and at last I melt through the third and final layer of blocks. I poke my head through the gap and switch on the torch I brought with me. This looks like an ordinary props room—puppets and moulds lying around, tools, mannequins, bits of material, tubes of glue. I switch off the torch and slide forward. Juni follows, then Bill-E.

Bill-E’s frowning when he steps in. He looks back at the hole. “What are we going to do about that?” he asks. “If they see it when the lamps come on…”

“We just have to hope they don’t.”

“And when we leave?” he persists. “They’ll know we’ve been here.”

“I’ll try to make the stones solid again and put them back,” I tell him. “But if I can’t, don’t worry. If I’m right and we’re dealing with demons, we’re not going to hang around like horror-movie victims, waiting for them to get wise to us.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Juni asks. “If there aren’t any demons?”

“Then we’ll wind up in a heap load of trouble,” I chuckle. “But it’ll be trouble of the ass-kicking, job-losing kind, and trouble like that I don’t mind so much.”

“So what now?” Bill-E asks, glancing around.

“We wander. Explore as much of the building as we can. Keep going until we find something strange or run out of rooms.”

“Perhaps one of us should remain here, to alert the others if the guards find the hole,” Bill-E suggests.

“How?” I grunt.

“Phone.” He roots out his mobile, flicks it on, frowns, shakes it, then scowls. “No signal. Damn.”

“It’s probably better if we stay together anyway,” Juni says, then lets out an uneasy breath. “I’ve never done anything like this. I never even stole sweets from shops when I was a child. I’ve always respected the law.”

“Welcome to the underworld, baby!” Bill-E chortles, trying to sound like a 1930s gangster.

“No more talking,” I whisper.

We advance.

FRESH MEAT

We don’t spot any security cameras. I guess Chuda Sool or his superiors thought the armed guards outside would provide enough protection. Or there are hidden cameras which we can’t see. Or they didn’t think anyone who found their way in would be able to get out.

Winding through the building, one ordinary room giving way to another. Lots of weird, demon-shaped puppets on display, but the work of human hands. Cleverly constructed, but hardly hewn in the fires of hell. Plastic, metal, rubber—not flesh, bone, blood.

I try not to lose confidence as we push further into the warehouse. It’s logical that they’d have an outer ring of genuine workshops. While this place is off-limits, some of the crew—like Dervish—have been allowed into parts of it. This is camouflage. Things will be different further in.

I hope.

I fear.

We come to a massive steel door unlike any of the others we’ve encountered. The full height of the ceiling and three metres wide. There’s a small digital screen on the right-hand side, the outline of a hand printed on it.

“Fingerprint controlled,” Bill-E notes, rapping the door with his knuckles. He reaches out to press his hand on the screen.

“Wait,” I stop him. “It might sound an alarm if an intruder touches it.”

Bill-E lowers his hand. “We gonna melt our way through the wall, boss?”

“Reckon so, kemosabe.”

I lay my fingers on the blocks to the right of the door. Focus my magic and tell the stone to melt. Push forward to scoop out the first handful of molten rock.

It’s solid.

I try again—no joy. Rubbing my fingers together, trying to figure it out. It can’t be that I’m running low on juice—there’s more magic in the air here than outside. I can feel it practically crackling around me. Just to be sure, I make myself rise half a metre off the ground. No problem.

“Something wrong?” Juni asks, eyeing me nervously as I float in the air.

“The wall’s protected,” I tell her, smoothly descending. “It’s been charged with magic, or there’s magic pushing out from within. I can’t melt it.”

“We could try somewhere else,” Bill-E says. “There might be another door or a part of the wall that isn’t…”

I shake my head. “It’s going to be like this all the way round. I can sense it—literally. There’s an inner structure, a building within the warehouse. If there are other doors, they’ll be like this. The wall will be the same everywhere too. And the roof.”

“Then we can’t go on,” Juni notes with relief. “Let’s get out, plug up the hole we made, and discuss a new—”

“No,” I cut her short. “I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve convinced you.”

“But if we can’t get through…” she protests gently.

“I didn’t say that. We just have to be a bit smarter.”

I move back to the screen and study the outline of the hand. My magic’s not strong enough to combat the magic of the wall, but maybe I can outfox the technology of the door.

I place my right hand on the screen, tensing in case alarms sound. But there’s no klaxon squeal. Lights don’t flash. Breathing softly, thinking hard, trying to direct magic into the screen. It’s set up to recognise certain fingerprints. I want to tell it that my prints are among those it accepts. But how do you talk to a computer which only understands binary code?

I ignore the complications. Send a simple message, over and over, letting magic flow all the time. “You know me. My prints are in your database. Open.”

Nothing happens. Bill-E and Juni keep quiet, but I sense their lack of belief. Ignoring them, I keep talking to the computer, trying to trick it. I don’t acknowledge the possibility of failure. Change tack. Start telling it I’m Chuda Sool. “You will open—I’m Chuda Sool. You must open— I’m Chuda Sool.” Picturing his long, thin face, his browless eyes and cold gaze.

There’s a click. Another. A whole series of clickings and whirrings.

The door opens inwards, silent as you please.

I remove my hand and glance back smugly at the astonished faces of Juni and Bill-E. “Oh ye of little faith,” I murmur.

We enter.

Darkness. The other rooms were dark too, but I was able to light them with my torch. This room’s too big. The beam is like a pin, showing us almost nothing of the space around us. We can tell that it’s huge, but no more than that.

“This feels wrong,” Juni says as we stand a few metres from the open doorway, reluctant to press ahead any further.

“It’s like we’re surrounded,” Bill-E agrees, squinting into the darkness.

I flash the torch left, then right. We can’t see anyone. But that doesn’t mean that people—or other creatures—aren’t there. Or that they can’t see us.

“Maybe we should come back with stronger torches,” Juni says.

“If we quit now, we’ll never return,” I mutter.

“But we can’t see anything.”

“Give me a minute. Let me think.”

I can’t make objects appear out of nothing. But magic is a form of energy. Maybe I can convert that energy into a different form.

Concentrating. Speaking to the magic within me. In a weird way it feels like I’m two people, the one I’ve always been, and Grubbs Grady—magician.

“I want to make light,” I tell my magical half. “I’d like a big ball of light to appear just above my head. Is that possible?”

In response, I feel energy stream from my hands. It gathers overhead, pulses a couple of times, then transforms into a ball of blinding white light. I gasp with pain, covering my eyes with an arm. “Not so bright!” I hiss, then squint with one eye over the top of my arm. The light has dulled slightly, but is still painful to look at. “Keep dimming. More… more… Stop.”

I remove my arm. Bill-E and Juni have both covered their eyes. “It’s OK,” I tell them. “You can look now.”

Their eyes are watering when they lower their hands. Juni looks like she’s going to be sick. “How did you do that?” she whispers.

“Easy-peasy,” I grin.

“You’re a freak,” Bill-E says. “But a useful one to have around.”

“Thanks. Now let’s see what we’ve walked into…”

I send the ball of light forward, letting it brighten the further away from us it moves, until it lights up the entire room. Only it’s not really a room. It’s a huge, single, cavernous chamber. A bare earth floor. Brick walls which rise up the full height of the building, all three storeys of it. No props, furniture, nothing… except a tall stone in the centre… and lots of shapes around it.

Bodies.

“This isn’t good,” Bill-E says nervously.

“Those look like…” Juni croaks, then starts forward.

“Wait!” I cry.

Juni shakes her head. “I have to be sure. They could be old bags or mannequins. I must check.”

“We don’t know what’s in here with us,” I say, losing my nerve slightly.

Juni pauses, looks around, then shrugs. “There’s nothing. We’re alone. Except for them.”

She carries on. Bill-E and I glance at each other. We can’t be outdone by a woman. The shame would be too much to bear. So we set off after her, away from the door and the possibility of a quick retreat.

Juni sinks to her knees a few metres from the bodies, staring hopelessly, jaw slack, disbelief in her pinkish eyes. There are twenty or twenty-five of them encircling the stone, the head of one body lying on or under the feet of the next. Emmet’s one of the dead. His mother. Kik and Kuk Kane. Their father. Others I don’t recognise.

Some of the bodies have chunks ripped out of them or limbs torn loose. Others have cut throats. A few look like they’re asleep, but I’m sure if we turned them over we’d discover fatal wounds.

Bill-E reels away and vomits, groaning over the mess, shaking his head, trying to deny the reality of this dreadful scene. This is the first time my brother’s seen anything like this. It’s hard. Not like what you see in the movies. On the silver screen, corpses mean nothing. You know they’re not real, just models or actors faking death. You can admire the staging, the special effects, the pools of blood. The grosser it is, the cooler.

But in real life it’s sickening. The most distressing sight in the world. Death’s always hard to take, but murder… slaughter… people killed in the name of some disgusting demonic cause… spread out like sacks of meat and bone…

Juni’s taking deep breaths. I’m sure she wants to vomit too, but she’s keeping the bile down. Just.

Me, I’m a veteran of atrocity. As bad as this is, as much as it hurts seeing Emmet lying there with his throat and stomach slit open, it’s nowhere near as bad as when I walked in on my parents and sister and found them torn to shreds. I’m not saying I’m cool with this, or it’s water off a duck’s back. I’m just better prepared to deal with it than Bill-E or Juni.

I turn my attention away from the bodies, not wanting to dwell on the pain they must have suffered, the tragedy of dying in this callous manner. I study the stone, the focal point of the room. It looks like a Stonehenge monolith. A big chunk of rock jutting out of the ground, mostly smooth, but with a few jagged knobs poking out of it in various places. No writing, at least not on this side. But several gouges run across the middle and near the top, different lengths and depths.

“Some of the bodies have been here a long time,” Juni says. She points to a couple of corpses in an especially bad state. Flesh rotting, inner organs dried up, bones jutting through the dry and brittle skin. “This hasn’t all happened in the last few weeks.”

“No,” I agree. “I think this goes back months, maybe longer.

Juni looks around at me. “What the hell’s happening?” she sobs. “Why?”

Before I can think of an answer, there’s a scratching noise behind the rock. Then a sniffing sound, followed by raspy chuckling. Something sticks its head out. Studies us. Then steps into view.

It’s a demon. Five long, spindly legs. The body of a giant ant. A long neck and the head of some sort of rabid monkey. No arms, but several small mouths in addition to its main one, sticking out of its body, set on mushroom-like stalks. The mouths are filled with blood-red, dagger-sharp teeth.

The demon gurgles at us. I can read its thoughts—“Fresh meat!”

Juni and Bill-E scream. I scream too, but there’s magic in my cry. It hits the demon like a cannon ball, knocks it backwards, clear of the stone and bodies. Sends it tumbling across the floor.

“Run!” I roar.

Bill-E and Juni don’t need to be told twice. They race for the door, howling, terror overriding their other senses. I want to run too. I try to. But the magic stops me. Not yet, a voice within me whispers. You can’t let it attack from behind. You’ll die if you turn your back on it.

The demon finds its feet and snarls. It has several bright green eyes, set above and under its main mouth. Some look at the light overhead. The others stay pinned on me. The demon’s lips move fast. Inhuman mutterings. I sense magic and prepare myself for an assault, teeth chattering, inching away from the monster, keeping it in sight the whole time.

The ball of light dims, then is quenched, plunging us into blackness.

Bill-E and Juni’s screams get louder. The demon shrieks triumphantly. The sound of scampering feet. My first instinct—turn and run for dear life. But my magic half holds me in place. Makes me listen. The scampering sounds come closer. Closer. Any second now, those teeth will be ripping into my flesh and tearing off chunks of…

Sudden silence.

Down! the voice barks.

I drop instinctively and, in response to a second command, stick my legs up in the air. I force magic down to my feet, transforming them, directed by the voice.

The demon hits. A wet stabbing sound. My knees buckle, but I hold them straight. There’s weight pressing down on me, more than I could naturally bear. I use magic to steady my legs and support the heavy load. The demon’s struggling, screeching. Something splashes over my face and neck—blood or bile, maybe both. I scream with fear and hate, then force my feet up higher. The demon chokes, writhes a few more times, then goes still.

I hold my position, wary, in case the demon’s faking. But when, after several long seconds, there’s no movement, I allow myself to relax a bit and summon a fresh ball of light.

My legs are rigid above me. The demon’s impaled on them. I can see two grey, metallic prongs sticking out of the monster’s back. My feet, transformed into blades. How cool is that!

“Grubbs!” Bill-E yells.

I tilt my head and look behind me. Bill-E and Juni are standing in the doorway. I see panic in Bill-E’s face. He can’t see the blades from there. He thinks the demon’s feasting on me.

“It’s OK,” I call, lowering my legs, using my hands to try and push the demon off. When that fails, I use magic to propel it clear, then turn my legs back to their normal form. I stand.

“Grubbs?” Bill-E says, softly this time, uncertain.

I smile at him and Juni. She looks suspicious too. “I killed it.”

Bill-E takes a step forward. I increase the brightness of the light so he and Juni can see me clearly, as well as the motionless demon.

“You killed it?” Bill-E echoes, walking cautiously towards me, staring at the dead monster. “How?”

“Magic.” I feel weird. I’ve never killed anything before, apart from flies and other insects. I know this is a demon and it was trying to kill me, but it’s still a strange sensation. I don’t feel guilty—I’m glad as hell that I’m not the one lying dead!—but I’m not thrilled either.

Juni steps up beside Bill-E. She’s trembling. Brushes strands of white hair out of her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” she mumbles. Takes a step towards it. Stops. “Are you certain it’s dead?”

“Yes. But others might come. We can’t afford to hang around.”

“I have to examine it,” she says.

“This isn’t the time for an autopsy!” I snap.

“I have to make sure there are no wires or engines inside.”

“You think that thing’s a fake?” Bill-E exclaims. “Are you insane?”

“No,” Juni says. “To both questions. But I have to be sure. If this is real, it changes the entire way I think about the world. Before I accept that, I have to be certain this isn’t a clever movie prop that got out of control.”

Juni crouches next to the demon. Studies it closely, hands raised defensively in case it leaps back to life and attacks. I move up behind her, also worried about the demon, no longer positive that I killed it. Remembering when I fought Vein and Artery. I could cut them up into bits, but I wasn’t able to kill them. This might be a lesser demon, or I might be more powerful than I was before. Or it might only be wounded, faking death to lure us closer.

Juni kicks one of the demon’s legs—no response. She kicks a mouth stalk. It wobbles from side to side, but only from the force of her blow. Slowly, carefully, she prises its main mouth open and peers down its throat. I tense. If the demon’s faking, this is the perfect moment to strike. I see the teeth start to come together and prepare a ball of energy to hurl.

But I’m stressing for nothing. The mouth’s only moving because Juni is fiddling with the demon’s neck.

“I need a knife,” Juni mutters, running her hands over the demon’s ant-like shell. She looks up. “Either of you?”

Bill-E fishes in a pocket and passes her a small Swiss army knife. Juni pauses, grimacing, then cuts into the demon’s flesh. It’s softer than it looks, or else Juni is stronger then she appears, because the blade plunges in up to her hand. She shudders, then carves downwards along the length of the demon’s side. Worm-like guts ooze out as she slices, as well as a greyish substance which might be blood. Remembering the spray I caught earlier, I wipe a hand across my face and it comes away wet and sticky with the same grey liquid.

“I’d kill for a shower,” I mutter, chuckling darkly at the sick joke.

Juni cuts a long, jagged line through the creature’s flesh, ignoring the grey blood and guts, then hands Bill-E his knife. He grimaces and tries to wipe the muck off on his trousers. Juni looks at me and grins shakily. “I wanted to be a vet when I was younger,” she says—then drives her right hand deep into the demon’s stomach.

“This is so gross,” Bill-E moans.

“It hasn’t put you in the mood for liver and kidneys for breakfast?” I ask.

Bill-E’s face goes green and he almost throws up again.

Juni searches with her fingers for a minute, then draws her hand out. All sorts of horrible bits and pieces come with it—fleshy and slimy, no wires or mechanisms. Juni stares at her fingers, rubs them together, then tries to clean them by digging her hand into the earth.

“Convinced?” I ask.

“It’s impossible,” she sighs. “Demons are creatures of myth, the phantasmagorical creations of primitive superstition.”

“They’re the Demonata,” I correct her. “Mankind’s greatest enemies. They’ve existed since before the dawn of our species. They hate us and love to kill. Sometimes they break through into our universe and the bloodshed starts. That’s what happened here.” I lock gazes with her. “They’ve already killed some of us. If we don’t warn the others, they’ll slaughter us all.”

Juni nods slowly. “I thought I was so clever,” she whispers. “I knew so much about the mind, people, behaviour. Now…”

Her eyes clear and she gets up, businesslike. “Who can we trust?” she asks.

“Dervish,” I answer promptly. “But he won’t believe us.”

“He’ll believe me,” Juni growls and her face is beautifully stern.

KIDNAP

I keep expecting the worst as we reel back through the warehouse, anxiously retracing our steps, making mistakes and having to backtrack. I’m sure the lamps will come on outside, the hole will be discovered, guards will pour into the building to block our escape. Chuda Sool will appear and summon an army of demons. We’ll die miserably and be added to the pile of corpses around the stone.

But none of that happens. Apart from the wrong turns, our journey back to the hole in the external wall passes unremarkably. And when we get there, the lights are still dead outside, the guards in their huts, nobody aware of our presence.

“Will we try and fill in the hole?” Bill-E asks.

“That would take too much time,” Juni says. “We should just—”

I point at the mud-like mess on the ground. Draw upon the magic. Snap my fingers. “Ubsacagrubbsa!” I quip. And the molten rocks flow upwards, defying gravity. They fill the gap, solidifying within seconds. It’s not perfect—there are no individual bricks now, just one large patch of unbroken block—but it should only be noticeable if one of the guards passes up close.

“Nice work,” Bill-E says.

“You’re growing more powerful by the minute,” Juni notes.

“Let’s not waste time on compliments,” I grunt, then lead the way through the welcome, nighttime darkness of Slawter in search of my uncle.

Even though I’m soaked from head to toe in demon blood, Dervish doesn’t believe us. Rather, he doesn’t want to believe.

“This is a movie set,” he insists. “The D workshops are full of amazing demon facsimiles. It wasn’t real, just a—”

Juni curses crudely, surprising us all, then points a finger at the startled Dervish. “Don’t give me that rot!” she snarls. “You weren’t there—I was. You didn’t see it—I did. It was no piece of movie magic. It was a demon. It would have killed us all if not for Grubbs.”

I feel pride welling up inside. Bill-E gives me a dig in the ribs and sticks his tongue out, making sure my head doesn’t get too big.

Dervish stares uncertainly at Juni, finding it harder to dismiss her protests than mine. That’s a positive sign. Chuda Sool hasn’t fried Dervish’s brain completely.

“It was a real demon,” Juni says slowly, keeping her eyes on Dervish’s. “I don’t know how these things can be real but they are. It killed Emmet, Kuk and Kik, a lot of others. It—”

“No,” I cut in. “That demon wasn’t the killer. I think it was just a guard, set there to protect the stone in case anybody got through the rest of the building. There are worse demons than that around—Lord Loss, for one.”

“I told you that wasn’t—” Dervish begins.

“Shut it!” Juni stops him. “If Grubbs says he saw the demon master, he did. I believe him now. Totally.”

Dervish sighs, confused. “What do you want me to do?” he grumbles. “If you’ve already killed the demon…”

“There are more!” I hiss. “The one that killed Emmet. Lord Loss.” I glance at Juni and Bill-E. “That was an awfully large room. Why make a room that big for just a few demons? I think more are planning to cross. A lot more.” I face Dervish again. “You have to stop them. Call the Disciples. Destroy that stone and get all the actors and crew out of here.”

“Who are the Disciples?” Juni asks, but I wave the question away, glaring at my bemused-looking uncle.

“I still think it was only…” Dervish mutters, then pulls a face. “But I’m not going to argue with all three of you. Let’s go back to the warehouse. Show me the demon. If you’re right, we’ll—”

“If you think we’re going back inside that place, you’re certifiable,” Juni says, beating Bill-E and me to the punch. “Run the risk again? Give them another chance to discover what we’re up to, so they can trap and murder us? No way!”

She points at the door. “We’re out of here. We’ll get to safety, call in help—soldiers, police, whoever the Disciples are—then have this place evacuated. I’m not happy leaving the others behind, but it will be safer to help them from the outside.”

“That’s the sort of plan I like,” Bill-E beams. “Run for the hills, tails between our legs— excellent!”

“You’re asking me to believe this and flee with you—breaking our contracts, by the way— without any proof, purely on the strength of your word?” Dervish asks sullenly.

Juni stares at him straight. “Precisely.”

“That’s crazy and insulting,” Dervish says coolly. Then winks, looking like my real uncle for the first time in weeks. “Last one to civilisation’s a rotten egg!”

We take Juni’s car. She and Dervish sit up front, me and Bill-E in the back. We drive through the heart of Slawter, heading for the connecting road to the motorway. Everybody’s silent, staring out the windows. We’ve seen enough movies to know that this is the part where the bad guys are supposed to rumble us, block off the road, stop us from leaving.

But we see nobody except a few technicians working on the sets and they pay no attention to us. Moments later we pass the last building—an old hat store that’s been designed to look like it did a hundred years ago—and are on the road to freedom.

“I bet they’ll come after us,” Bill-E whispers, gazing out the back window.

“No,” I say. “By the time they realise we’re gone it’ll be morning and we’ll be too far away for them to catch up.”

“A pity,” Bill-E sighs. “I always wanted to be part of a high-speed car chase.”

Juni accelerates once we’re in sight of the motorway… then slows to a stop, though she leaves the engine running. She and Dervish are staring hard ahead.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, peering over Dervish’s shoulder.

“There’s something in the middle of the road,” Juni says. “It might be rubbish sacks.”

“Or a body,” Dervish murmurs.

I squint but I can’t see anything. “Are you sure?”

Dervish nods slowly, then looks at Juni. “Can we circle around?”

“Yes.” She licks her lips. “But if it’s a person in trouble…”

“No way!” Bill-E gasps. “You can’t even be thinking about getting out!”

“It doesn’t sound like the best of moves,” Dervish agrees.

“I know,” Juni says. “It feels like a trap. But I can’t see anybody else. And if there are demons lurking, why wait for us to get out of the car? If they meant to attack, they’d have hit us as soon as we slowed.”

Dervish stares out the windows, then checks the rear-view mirrors. “I’ll go,” he decides. “Keep the engine running. If anything happens—anything—slam your foot down on the accelerator and forget about me. Do not play the hero. Grubbs?” He glances at me, trusting me to know about life and death situations, and how to deal with them.

“We’ll do what we have to,” I tell him.

“Wish me luck,” Dervish mutters and opens his door. Just as he’s stepping out, the car shakes wildly. Dervish falls. The rest of us shriek. The engine cuts out. Juni fumbles for the key. The lights go dead. Something hits the car. A cloud of gas. Coughing, I reach for the door handle. Before my fingers find it, gas fills my mouth and nostrils. My eyes close. I groan softly. Then slump over, senses shutting down, figuring the next thing I see when—if—I awake will be the jaws of a ravenous demon.

I was wrong about the demon. Instead I wake to Juni slapping my cheeks and calling my name. A far more pleasant sight than one of the Demonata!

“What happened?” I moan, sitting up, shaking my head, ears ringing, the taste of the gas still thick on my tongue.

“We were knocked out,” Juni says, going to check on Dervish. I’m lying outside the car, on the road. Dervish is close by, sitting upright, massaging the back of his neck, looking around woozily. No sign of Bill-E.

“Where’s Bill-E?” I ask.

“We’ve been unconscious for forty minutes,” Juni says. “I’m not sure what they used on us. It might have been—”

“Where’s Bill-E?” I ask again, sharply this time.

Juni looks at me steadily. “I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I regained consciousness.”

I try to stand. Dizziness hits me hard. I stagger and sit down again.

“That happened to me too,” Dervish says sluggishly.

“Why are we alive?” I ask. “Why did they spare us and only take Bill-E?”

“I don’t know,” Dervish says. “It doesn’t make sense. This is… confusing.”

“They might be playing with us,” Juni says. “They could have taken Bill-E to use as bait, to lure us back to town, so they could torment us.”

“If they did,” Dervish says, standing slowly, groaning, “they’re smart as hell. I’m not leaving him behind.”

“It would be madness to return,” Juni says. “We can help him more by—”

“No,” I say, standing up like Dervish, fighting the dizziness. “We aren’t going without Bill-E.”

“But you can leave,” Dervish tells Juni. “In fact it would be better that way. Us on the inside, you on the outside. You could spread the alarm and fetch help—if not for us, then for the rest of the people here.”

“But…” Juni starts to argue, then stops. “No. I can see your minds are made up. I’m not going to waste time trying to talk you out of it. I’ll leave, like you suggest. You can give me the names and numbers of anyone you think I should contact. I’ll return as quickly as I can and just pray that’s quick enough.”

“I like your style,” Dervish smiles, reaching out, gently touching her right cheek.

Juni smiles back. Then blinks. “Oh, here, I don’t think this has anything to do with Bill-E, but…” She picks a small object off the front passenger seat and hands it to Dervish. “I found it when I came to.”

Dervish stares at the object. I see his mouth tighten at the corners. A new cloud of anger rises in his eyes. His fingers clench, then relax. He holds his hand out to me. There’s a silver ring nestled in his palm. A flat, circular piece on top, with a gold “L” inscribed on it.

My eyes shoot up. Dervish and I stare at each other, more astonished than furious. If this ring is what I think it is, demons didn’t kidnap Bill-E. He was taken by the Lambs!