May Contain Traces of Magic (45 page)

‘Demon 8845223,' Angela said hoarsely, ‘I'm arresting you on seventeen counts of disruptive, deviant and antisocial behaviour. You have the right to remain silent—'

‘This is silly, I'm not a demon,' Chris yelled; and, as the words left his mouth, he knew that he was lying. Maybe it had been asleep and she'd woken it up, or maybe it had been watching all the time and realised that this time it was going to have to make a fight of it. He felt it grow inside him, like one of those foldaway umbrellas where you press a button and suddenly it erupts to fill all the available space. He could feel his skin turning into scale armour, his teeth and nails evolving into weapons; like the Incredible Hulk, he guessed, only not so hard on the wardrobe. He tried to say, ‘Now let's be reasonable about this,' but it came out as a long, rattling hiss. He felt his ears go back, which was extremely disconcerting. Oh well, he thought, so I really am one after all, in spite of everything. Shucks. If you can't beat 'em, eat 'em.

He was grinning. Fun, he thought. Haven't had a good scrap in such a long time. Angela had changed too; just a little bit. Her eyes were round red saucers staring out of a crazy-paved grey face, her small, thin fingers were meat hooks and her open mouth was full of needles. Curiously, she was far less scary now than she'd been an hour ago. No bother, Chris told himself, I can take her as easy as pie, even if I am a bit out of practice. He crouched, digging his toe-claws into the carpet for better purchase, waiting for her to spring.

When it came, he sidestepped easily, letting her sail past him into the wall. There was a crunch and a brief flurry of plaster dust (Karen would be so pissed off, he thought), but Angela recovered quickly and lunged again, and once again Chris took an easy couple of paces, left and back, and let her pass him, only this time he reached out his right arm and raked her neck with his claws. She squealed as the blood spurted, and slashed at him backhand, so fast he barely had time to get clear. She missed, and demolished a small table that Karen had bought in Homebase. Where her blood flecked the carpet, it sizzled.

Chris was thinking, it's good to be back, good to be normal again; and when my teeth meet in her neck, will there be enough human in her still to taste of anything? Also, he couldn't help thinking, this is so much better than love: that pale, watery substitute, nouvelle cuisine to a hamburger, all served up fancy with a scalloped carrot but nothing you can get your teeth into. So much for love, then. As Crocodile Dundee so memorably said: you can live on it, but it tastes like shit.

He was almost minded to attack, but he remembered that he was still quite rusty after his long hibernation. Better to let her come to him. He took a step back and opened his guard invitingly. Angela accepted the invitation, and sprang. This time, as Chris twitched his feet out of the way, he hammered the side of her head with his balled fist. She hadn't been expecting that. The blow dropped her to her knees, but she just about managed to recover into a semblance of a guard. Not to worry, plenty of time; though his mother wouldn't have approved, he knew. Don't play with your food, she used to say. Oh, but this was so much better than being human; he was alive again, for the first time in sixteen years, so why the hell shouldn't he indulge himself, just a bit?

‘You realise you're resisting arrest,' Angela panted, through a mouthful of loosened fangs. ‘That's a
crime
. You're going to be in so much trouble.'

Chris reached in and punched her again; she was so slow she hardly moved at all before the punch went home and knocked her down. Enough of this, he thought, it's getting boring. He shot out a hand, grabbed her by one ear, dragged her to her feet and started to strangle her—

He paused. There was a human in the room.

Several humans, in fact. They must've come in while his attention was elsewhere. Most of them he didn't know, but the face of the one nearest to him was familiar. In that horrible other life of his, he'd borrowed this human's polo shirt—

‘Derek,' he said. ‘You're Derek, from Jill's work. Piss off, I'm busy.'

The human didn't answer - of course not, because Chris had spoken in Pandemonian, the language of his own people, which humans couldn't understand. Like it mattered. He knew without needing to ask what the humans were doing here: they were Delendi Sunt, the demon-hunters, the enemy of his kind. That changed things. He let go of Angela's neck and muttered, ‘You know who this lot are?'

She nodded. ‘You're still under arrest, though.'

‘Fine,' he replied. ‘Later.' She grinned.

The humans were trying to surround them, which wasn't good; they might be mere mortals, but they weren't stupid. ‘Back to back,' Chris grunted, and thankfully Angela had the sense to do as she was told. He tried roaring, but although they were plainly scared - yum! - they kept their positions. He tried a couple of trial swipes, but collected nothing more than a few nailfuls of scalp.

‘Cover the female,' Derek was saying, ‘I'll take the male.' Courage - a rich, slightly salty taste; not sweet, like terror. Odd, though. What did a stupid human have to feel courageous about?

Then he saw something in Derek's hand: a square yellow box, from which the human drew a long, thin steel tape. Oh, Chris thought. One of those.

But so what? He was a demon, faster, stronger, infinitely better motivated, and still starving hungry. His eyes fixed on the yellow tape, Chris took a step forward, balanced his weight and went for the lunge—

The pantacopt blade caught him on the neck, just above the collarbone, and carried on going until it came out through the thigh bone on the opposite side. He had just enough time to taste his opponent's joyous relief and to mutter ‘Shit' under his breath, and then he died.

 

 

C
hris's life flashed in front of his eyes.

The process can't have taken more than a millionth of a second in real time, because that's roughly how long it takes for the neural energy to drain out of the synapses as the brain starves of oxygen and dies, but it seemed ever so much longer. The first ten years were mostly embarrassing, like looking at photographs of yourself in your pram with chocolate all round your mouth. School was just dull, and by the time he hit puberty he was starting to fidget. Maths with Miss Whitworth was about as enthralling as it had been the first time round; ditto hanging round the Co-op car park with Danny and Neil. There were a couple of incidents, like his maiden hangover and the first time he got a ride home in a police car, that he'd much rather have fast-forwarded through, but no such luck. He was being treated to the director's cut, with all the bits that should've been edited out pasted lovingly back in. Come to think of it, his life was little more than a bloopers compilation in any case. All that was missing was Denis Norden to do the commentary.Year ten. Danny bets him he wouldn't sneak into the girls' toilets, he accepts. Suddenly, he had his own undivided attention.

I'm sitting in the cubicle. Someone's written KH4CP on the wall in biro, just above the toilet-roll holder. I can hear voices. I can hear someone moving about in the adjoining cubicle. What do I do now?

SatNav?
he thought.

‘What?'

Her voice in his head.
I'm lost, SatNav. Which way do I turn?

‘Well,' she said, ‘that depends. Oh, sod it, stop time.' Time obligingly stopped; he checked his watch, and the second hand was frozen. ‘You do pick your moments, don't you?'

Thanks, SatNav
. He stared at the door in front of him, the bolt he'd have to pull back in order to leave the cubicle.
Well, here we are again.

‘You're going to have to stop doing this before it becomes a habit,' SatNav said. ‘Right, what's the matter?'

‘Yes,' SatNav replied. ‘You have, to coin a phrase, arrived at your destination.'

‘Yes.'

He frowned.
That's because I changed history
, he thought.
I came back here - you brought me back here - I stopped Jill from killing you, I killed Jill, you survived, so did Angela, but not me. Is that it, more or less?

‘Basically. You took the road less travelled by, and it has made all the difference. That's a quotation,' she pointed out. ‘Wasted on you, presumably.'

If you say so,
he thought.
But, SatNav, if I don't interfere, if I let Jill kill you—

‘Too late,' SatNav interrupted. ‘It's already happened. This is just your life flashing in front of your eyes. Well-attested neurobiological phenomenon. It's not real, you can't change anything.'

You're lying
.

‘When have I ever lied to you?'

He shifted a little and sat firmly on his hands.
Thanks, you can start time again now.

‘You wouldn't.' Just a hint of panic, maybe? ‘You wouldn't just sit there and let me die.'

‘You couldn't. You're not capable of it. Your inherent decency and sense of fair play—'

‘Oh come on,' SatNav said nervously, ‘be reasonable. I mean, what the hell have you possibly got to live for?'

He smiled.
About fifty years
, he replied,
assuming I lay off the carbohydrates and always look twice before crossing the road. That's enough. You've got to be in the game if you want to stand a chance of winning.

‘Someone's been reading the
Reader's Digest
again,' SatNav said. ‘Face it, your life's a mess. You'll be better off without it, trust me.'

No
.
And besides, there's stuff I've got to do.

‘Too late for that now,' SatNav said. ‘Besides, wouldn't you rather leave it to someone else, let it be their problem? Think of all the aggravation.'

‘I don't think you quite grasp the dynamics of the situation,' SatNav said desperately. ‘All right, you can change things back, but it won't solve anything. You'll still be dead. You got cut in two, remember. Sorry, but that's not negotiable.'

The second hand of Chris's watch jerked forward one division. He heard the door of the neighbouring cubicle open. I hope I'm right about this, he thought. He stayed where he was.

 

‘Bastard,' said Honest John.

Chris opened his eyes. ‘Hello,' he said.

‘Selfish, inconsiderate bastard,' John said, reaching out a hand to pull him out of the toilet. ‘You chickened out, then.'

‘Yes.' He frowned. ‘How did you—?'

‘That was the deal,' John's head said. It was propped up in the sink. ‘You'd go back and change history, and in the altered timeline you wouldn't cut my head off.'

‘You knew, didn't you? You knew if I changed history, I'd die.'

John's body hauled him out, and Chris stood on the bathroom floor, shaking a little. ‘Not noticeably dead, though, are you?'

So, he'd been right after all. ‘That's because it wasn't me that got cut in two,' he said. ‘It was the demon.'

John's head grunted. ‘You figured it out,' he said, with grudging respect. ‘Pity. I never thought you'd be smart enough.'

Chris put the toilet seat down and sat on it. ‘The demon got killed,' he said, ‘not me. I got set free. I'm alive and I'm human again, and I'm back where I belong. That wasn't just my life flashing in front of my eyes, that was me getting my life back again.'

‘Quite,' said John's head. ‘You get to survive, and the hell with everybody else.' His body picked up his head. ‘You got any parcel tape, anything like that?'

Chris thought. ‘Sorry,' he said. ‘We used to have some, but I think Karen used it all.'

‘Bugger. All right,' John said wearily. ‘In that case, I'll get you to cut two holes in a carrier bag for me. To see through,' he explained.

Once John had left the flat, Chris made himself a nice cup of tea, then got the superglue out and glued the toilet seat firmly shut, just in case. Then he flumped down on the bed and started to shake all over.

 

Music, if you could call it that. ‘Shake It Loose', by the Lizard Headed Women.

‘You fell asleep,' the nice Fey explained. ‘Hardly surprising, after the day you've had.'

Chris sat up, looked down at the body lying on the bed. ‘I'm still alive, aren't I?' he said anxiously. ‘I mean, I'm not—'

The nice Fey laughed. ‘Calm down,' she said, ‘it's all right. You're alive, this is just a perfectly ordinary dream. And yes, you're back. It worked. It was the demon who got killed, not you.'

He sighed with relief. ‘That's all right, then,' he said.

‘Quite,' the nice Fey said. She looked at Chris for a moment or so, then said, ‘Did you really figure it all out by yourself? I'm impressed.'

At any other time he'd have relished the flattery. ‘Depends,' he said cautiously. ‘Exactly what did I figure out?'

‘That once the demon surfaced and took you over, it'd be killed and not you. Because that's A-level-grade demonology - not bad if you worked it out from first principles.'

‘It was luck,' Chris admitted. ‘And intuition as well, I suppose. '

She nodded. ‘I suppose so,' she said. ‘After all, it was pure chance that the demon-hunters happened to raid your flat at exactly the right moment.'