Constable & Toop (31 page)

Except, how could he tell her the truth about Emily? How could he admit that she had died because of him? Sam had judged his father for his part in a murder. It was only right that he turn that judgement on himself. Sam wasn't just related to the Kitchen Killer. He was responsible for him.

The sound of an ear-piercing scream from within the house jolted Sam out of his paralysed state. He rushed up the stairs and pushed the door.

In front of him the ghost of Emily hung in midair, slowly revolving. A priest stood before her muttering, with one arm outstretched. ‘Wretched spirit, you are lingering in a world that is not yours.'

‘Who are you? What do you want with me?' begged Emily.

‘My name is Reverend Fallowfield, and you are a trespasser here,' replied the priest.

‘Please don't. It hurts!' The girl threw back her head in distress, but appeared unable to move any other part of her body. He had her completely in his power.

‘Leave her be!' yelled Clara. Her voice came from behind a closed door.

‘What is this?' demanded Sam.

The priest turned to him and snarled, ‘Get out.'

‘Sam? Is that you?' cried Clara.

‘Clara?' shouted Sam.

‘Help me,' said Emily.

Sam tried to step through the ghost to the door but, to his surprise, felt her ice-cold hands on his face, blocking his way. Whatever spell Reverend Fallowfield had cast on her, it had made her as solid and as impassible as though she were alive again. Sam stepped back in shock.

‘I'm sorry,' said Emily. ‘I have no control.'

‘You have no business here, boy,' said Reverend Fallowfield. He raised a finger and caused the girl to lift her arm, manipulating her like a puppet, in order to keep Sam from the door.

‘What are you doing in this house?' demanded Sam.

‘I am here to perform God's work,' he replied.

‘God's work is locking a girl in a room with a dead child as her guard?' replied Sam.

‘Whatever it takes.' Reverend Fallowfield's eyes twitched in their deep sockets and it seemed to Sam that the three-pointed birthmark on his head turned a deeper shade of red.

‘
Très bon
, Father.' The voice came from another ghost that materialised in the hallway. This one was a smartly dressed man with a thin moustache. He spoke with a thick French accent.

‘The angel,' gasped Reverend Fallowfield, bowing his head.

‘
Oui
,' replied the ghost. ‘It is I, Monsieur Vidocq, your guardian angel.'

Clara was banging on the other side of the drawing room door to no avail.

Monsieur Vidocq turned to Sam. ‘I see we have a Talker in our midst. What brings you here?'

‘My name is Sam Toop. I am a friend of this family's. This man has locked a girl in that room.'

‘You are caught up in something far beyond your understanding,' said Monsieur Vidocq dismissively. ‘But if you wish to see the wailing girl behind this door you may simply follow me. Reverend Fallowfield, let him pass.'

The French ghost slipped through the door and Reverend Fallowfield moved Emily out of Sam's way. From the other side of the door Clara let out a pained scream.

‘What are you doing?' demanded Sam.

Sam hurriedly unlocked the door and entered. To his horror, he saw Clara hanging in the air while Monsieur Vidocq floated above, holding her by the hair. She screamed in agony. Sam charged in and grabbed her around the waist, taking the strain from her hair.

‘Ah, her knight in shining armour,' said Monsieur Vidocq. He released her and flew back into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him, locking them inside the room.

Clara fell into Sam's arms, her face soaked with tears of pain from the torture she had endured. ‘What's happening?' she asked.

‘I don't know,' he replied. It was all he could think to say. He had no idea what any of it meant. But it didn't matter. Clara was in his arms. She was safe.

Lapsewood had grown increasingly frustrated looking for Tanner. On and on, through street and alleyway, Lapsewood searched, his body turned to Ether Dust so he could cover more ground. Eventually above a steeple in Aldwych he spotted a cloud of black smoke hanging in the air. He watched it as it suddenly swooped down to the street. The hell hound. To get close would be to risk it picking up on his scent, so Lapsewood kept his distance. He followed it to a house in a courtyard off Fleet Street. Lapsewood materialised and looked up at the building. He remembered it from the list. It had been the first infected house he and Tanner had found.

Lapsewood thought of the Marquis and wondered what words of encouragement he would have conjured up for this moment. Faced with the possibility of stepping into an infected house he would deliver a speech about freedom and sacrifice. He thought of poor old Grunt, lying in the gutter, wallowing in self-pity, drunk on spirit ale. He thought of Alice and Nell and Tanner. He thought about all the trusting spirit dogs they had sent into houses. He took a deep breath and entered Aysgarth House.

Stepping through the solid bricks into the hallway he found, not the hell hound, but Monsieur Vidocq and the ghost of a young ragged girl, suspended in the air, looking utterly petrified. In front of her stood a priest, who turned as he entered and sniffed. ‘I smell you,' he muttered. ‘I can smell your presence.'

‘Your senses do not betray you, Reverend Fallowfield,' said Monsieur Vidocq. ‘A second demon is amongst us.'

With the girl held by one of his straining hands, the priest moved his other towards Lapsewood, who felt his arms pressed down against the side of his body as though they were bound by unwielding rope. Reverend Fallowfield squeezed his hands and Lapsewood felt as if they were crushing his windpipe.

‘Don't . . . do . . . this,' he gasped.

From another room he could hear two voices crying to be freed. One was male, the other female.

Monsieur Vidocq laughed. ‘You think you can tell me, Monsieur Eugène Vidocq, the world's greatest detective, what I should or should not do?'

‘Colonel Penhaligan is using you,' Lapsewood said.

‘But of course,' replied the French ghost. ‘He is employing my talents. Who else but Monsieur Vidocq would have found this priest? Who else could have persuaded him to do this necessary work, then provided him with the list with which he could do so? None but I.'

‘What you're doing is illegal,' said Lapsewood.

‘What poisonous lies does this demon spit?' demanded Reverend Fallowfield. ‘The only law I follow is that of God himself.'

‘That is right,' said Monsieur Vidocq. ‘We are doing what is right.'

‘Allowing the hell hound to kill Rogue ghosts?' exclaimed Lapsewood. ‘You can't call that right.'

Monsieur Vidocq shrugged. ‘It was you and your friend Tanner who created the beast,' he said. ‘Fitting, then, is it not, that it has already devoured your friend's soul.'

‘Tanner's gone?'

‘The hound eats the scraps left over from life,' said Monsieur Vidocq. ‘The hound services the city and keeps it free from unwanted pests like you.'

Monsieur Vidocq turned to Ether Dust and swept across the room, rematerialising behind Lapsewood.

‘Behold, the hell hound,' he whispered in his ear.

From the opposite wall appeared a huge dark head, with a long pointed nose. It was as silent as the night and its black eyes were fixed on Lapsewood.

‘What new devil approaches?' asked Reverend Fallowfield, the fear visible in his eyes and audible in his quavering voice.

‘This foul creature will help you destroy every wretched unwanted soul in this city,' said Monsieur Vidocq.

Held by Reverend Fallowfield, Lapsewood was unable to move. Slowly the hound approached until it wrapped its smoke-like limbs around him and loomed over him. He struggled hopelessly. The hound raised its head and let out a strange howl. Lapsewood heard the sound of a hundred splintered souls screaming in eternal agony. He shut his eyes, knowing that soon he would join these fragments. The demon hound edged forward, tightening around him. Squeezing. Crushing. Its long tongue protruded from its black jaws in anticipation.

Lapsewood shut his eyes.

Then, out of the darkness, he heard a voice speaking three words.

‘Lil' Mags, no,' it said.

‘Tanner?' said Lapsewood, believing the voice to have come from within the creature itself.

‘Not him, Lil' Mags. Not him,' said Tanner.

Lapsewood felt the hell hound release him. The blackness subsided, and he slumped to the ground. When he stood again he could see the creature cowering in the corner with Tanner standing in front of him. ‘Good girl, Lil' Mags,' he said. ‘Good girl.'

‘You?' exclaimed Monsieur Vidocq angrily.

‘Thank you, Tanner,' said Lapsewood.

‘You're welcome, Words,' said Tanner.

‘But how?'

Tanner grinned. ‘When this thing took hold of Lil' Mags' body it also took some of her soul,' he said. ‘And Lil' Mags, like all dogs, has a good soul. I've been hunting her since this Frenchie tried to turn me into dogfood in the park. I've tried to stop her killing but she grows wilder with every soul she devours. She can't help it, poor girl.'

‘Ridiculous,' responded Vidocq. ‘Spirit hounds and anomalies. They do not have souls. Reverend Fallowfield, dispense with these evil spirits in our midst.'

‘I can only exorcise one at a time,' said the priest.

‘Then get on with it,' snapped Monsieur Vidocq.

Reverend Fallowfield raised his arms and lifted the weeping girl higher into the air. ‘Forces of the afterworld,' he cried. ‘Draw near, push open the doors that lie between us and devour this demon.'

‘I'll now wish you adieu,' said Monsieur Vidocq, beginning to turn to Ether Dust.

‘Oh no, you don't,' said Tanner. ‘Lil' Mags. Dinner time.'

The hell hound pounced on Monsieur Vidocq and pinned him down. ‘Get off me, you mutt,' he cried. ‘I am no Rogue ghost. I am Monsieur Eugène François Vidocq,
the
great . . .'

The rest of his words were lost in a terrible scream that grew like an orchestral crescendo of agony and rose up from between the demon hound's black jaws.

The hell hound devoured Monsieur Vidocq in a single bite.

‘Draw near and dispense this lingering spirit,' cried Reverend Fallowfield, who was too focused on the torture of Emily to notice anything else.

‘Help me!' yelled Emily.

‘We have to stop him,' said Lapsewood.

‘Leave it to me,' said Tanner. Channelling all of his energy, he picked up a vase and hurled it at Reverend Fallowfield. It collided with his shoulder and smashed on the ground, but the reverend barely flinched.

‘Throw something else,' urged Lapsewood.

‘There is nothing else,' said Tanner.

From the other side of the door, two voices shouted, ‘Let us out.'

‘The Talker,' said Tanner. He flew to the door and concentrated on turning the key. However, without Tanner to hold him back, the hell hound was on the move again. It sniffed at Emily's revolving feet.

‘Get away,' she screamed.

But the hound opened its mouth and clasped its jaws around her ankles.

‘Do not resist me, foul spirit,' cried Reverend Fallowfield, feeling the spirit being tugged away from him.

‘No, Lil' Mags,' yelled Lapsewood.

The hound's breath was tinged with the stench of tortured souls.

‘Please,' screamed Emily.

‘Open the gates that lie between this world and the next and take this demon from us,' cried Reverend Fallowfield.

Lapsewood looked up at the magnificent chandelier and realised what he had to do. He turned to Ether Dust and flew up.

Tanner finally managed to turn the key all the way. The door was flung open in time for Sam and Clara to witness Reverend Fallowfield laughing insanely. Sam saw with his right eye black cracks appear all around, as though he was tearing holes in the air itself.

‘Be gone, foul spirit. Be gone,' cried Reverend Fallowfield.

Emily screamed, caught between the jaws of the hell hound and the grip of Reverend Fallowfield. Above them, the huge chandelier rattled. Reverend Fallowfield's hands shook violently as he yelled, ‘Let this spirit be vanquished forever more.'

An ear-shattering cacophony of agony filled the air as Emily and the hell hound were both torn apart and vanquished into the Void. It was the sound of every half-digested soul inside the hound's belly being exploded into nothingness.

Silence followed.

Reverend Fallowfield lowered his hands, exhausted. ‘And now for the rest of you,' he muttered darkly.

The chandelier above his head rattled. There was a creak. He looked up in time to see it come crashing down on his head.

In the doorway, Sam shielded Clara from the shattering glass. When he turned to look again, the reverend was lying flat, underneath a pile of broken glass. Unmoving. He was dead.

With his left eye, Sam could see Reverend Fallowfield's bloody body under the chandelier. With his right, he saw the reverend's ghost standing next to him, his transparent skin decorated like a pin cushion with the thousands of glass shards that had crushed him to death. The reverend raised his hand and looked straight through it.

‘I'm a . . . a . . .' he began.

But it didn't need to be said.

There came a Knocking.

‘The Unseen Door,' whispered Reverend Fallowfield, his ghostly eyes full of fear. ‘What lies on the other side?'

‘Hopefully what you want to,' said Lapsewood, re­­­materialising next to him.

‘I'm scared,' said Reverend Fallowfield, turning to face him.

‘The unknown is a scary place,' replied Lapsewood. ‘But look at your choices.'