Black London 05 - Soul Trade

records say they all picked up and moved within a month of each other. Hell, the Dumbershalls and the Leroys live in the two halves of a semi-detached. If you can call it living, poor souls.”
    “Anything else?” Pete asked. Memories of white eyes and mouths open to scream but producing no sound flooded up at her, and she dugher fingers into her own palm.
    “Just a string of backpackers and dog walkers disappeared about three months ago. Locals think it’s some kind of Russian mafia deal, sex slaves or whatnot, which gives you an idea of exactly what kind of brain trust you’re dealing with out there.” Ollie gave a snort. “Probably nothing. It’s rough country—people do stupid things or they wander off.”
    Or they gotcaught up in the supposed demon summoning Jeremy Crotherton had investigated, before he’d gone missing. “Thanks,” Pete said. “Call me if you run across anything else, Ollie.”
    “You take care,” Ollie said, more concern roughening his voice that was usual for his unflappable soul. “You’ve got a little one now.” He rang off and Pete swiped a hand over her face. She wasn’t going to cry. Or scream.She was going to hold it together and do her bloody job, because that was what she did. She was cool under pressure. She wasn’t some fragile, birdlike thing that fell apart at the slightest hint of trouble.
    Jack was staring at her, and when she blinked he spread his hands. “Come on, spit it out. The Met know where this Crotherton bloke fucked off to?”
    “Ollie hasn’t found anything,” Pete said.“All I know is that all of Treadwell’s survivors are living down there, and sooner or later I’m going to have to talk to them.”
    “Well, you don’t have to,” Jack said. “You don’t owe those people anything. You saved their kids.”
    “Not soon enough,” Pete whispered. If she’d just believed Jack when he popped back into her life, if she’d just listened from moment one, she could have put Treadwellout of comission before three lives had been ruined and Margaret Smythe’s had nearly been snuffed out.
    “You did every fucking thing you could for them,” Jack said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And now we’ll go down there, find out what soggy pub Crotherton is holed up in, put the demon back where it belongs, and go home. Spend a few days in the country in the bargain. Won’t that be lovely?”

    Pete felt the weight of the soul cage in her pocket, saw the memory of the children’s blank white eyes after Treadwell had taken away everything that made them human. “Yeah,” she agreed, feeling the knot of fear twist tighter than ever in her gut. “It’ll be fucking wonderful.”

 
    12.
    The last train to Hereford arrived a few minutes after midnight, and a silent, empty station greeted them. Pete traded a look with Jack. “Got to love God’s country,” he said. “Everyone rolls up the streets at eight p.m. sharp.”
    The front of the station was absent of vehicles, either buses or cabs. The street itself was quiet and empty, a light fog spinning under the streetlights likesand suspended in water.
    “Shit,” she said. “You’d think if Morwenna wanted us here so bad, she could at least have sent us a bloody car.”
    Jack pointed across the street, where a skinny kid slumped against the fender of an ancient Puegeot. “Our chariot awaits,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Oi,” he called to the kid. “How much for a ride?”
    He appraised them, sucking on gums high and whitefrom some kind of speed. “For you, pervo? Not enough in the world. For the lady there? Could be free if she’s into the kinky stuff.”
    “I’m into beating the shit out of smart little tossers with my bare hands,” Pete said sweetly, giving him a wide smile. She half hoped the kid would push the issue. She was wound so tightly violence would feel like a relief.
    Then she got hold of herself and wonderedwhat the fuck was wrong with her. She didn’t lose her mind and beat people up for no good reason. Being here, thinking about the Treadwell case, missing Lily—it was pushing her too far. She pressed her thumbs into the center of her forehead, feeling the whisper of her talent. Just let me go and we could burn him alive on the spot.
    Sometimes it was like having a serial killer rooming in her head.Once she’d started to really understand her talent, she never questioned why Jack’s had turned him into a junkie and nearly driven him to suicide.
    The kid