Black London 05 - Soul Trade

Pete said, wriggling free. “Just doing myjob and all that.”
    “My Margaret was so much better when she came back,” Norma said. “And the other parents were so lovely about what had happened. When we found all four of these poor children could do the same … sort of things, well. We’ve attracted quite a local following, and tomorrow’s our biggest ever. Someday we’ll be larger than Glastonbury, Philip reckons.”
    “You should come,” Philipbroke in. “See for yourself, then you can call the care workers off our arse. It ain’t like we’re auctioning off our kids to the highest bidder.”
    “I’d love to see what you’ve been up to,” Pete said. “Tomorrow, you said?”
    “Eight a.m. sharp,” Norma said. “But people are already camped on the green to get a good viewing spot.”
    “Oh, for the great detective inspector, I’ll see we get her a front-rowseat,” Philip said. Something slithered across his face that was malicious and unpleasant, the anticipation of seeing someone he hated in pain.
    Pete looked to Jack, who grimaced at the magic that even now ran all over Pete like thorns against her bare skin. “Make it two spots,” she said. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

 
    13.
    Pete passed the night next to Jack on the Smythe’s spring-infested rollaway bed, pressed into him out of necessity as much as need. It lacked a lot of the glamour it had held when Pete was sixteen, and when she managed to fall asleep, she opened her eyes to find herself standing on a hillside, wearing only her underwear and one of Jack’s shirts. Dew coated the soles of her feet, and mistcurled low amid lichen-crusted stone walls and a single tree that bent over a cairn of black stones.
    She looked behind her and saw her footprints in the long grass, a silvery trail leading back over the hills, presumably toward the village. She didn’t know how far she’d come, just that she was here now.
    She was only half-surprised to see the raven from her other dream. It lighted on a tree branchand croaked at her. Pete heaved a sigh. “Your mistress can creep around my mind all she likes. Doesn’t change my answer.”
    She took a few steps forward, wet grass brushing her calves. Cold found her through the thin material of her shirt, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. She wasn’t usually cold in dreams.
    “That’s because this isn’t a dream.”
    She stared at the raven. She’d never heardan agent of the Morrigan speak to her so directly, not inside her mind. “It isn’t?”
    The raven ruffled its pinion feathers and adjusted its grip on the branch. “You’re awake. Does this really feel like a dream?”
    Talking bird and all, it was substantially less horrible than most of Pete’s prophetic dreams. “I don’t know.”
    “You need to leave,” said the bird. “Right now.”
    “Let me guess,” Petesaid. “You and the Morrigan have your own plans for this place.” It would explain the magic wound through this place tightly as the rock met the earth, tightly as the roots of the tree in front of her.
    “This place? No. This is not our place,” said the raven. “Nor the place of any living thing. Not of gods, or of men. It is a place of death, a place that will lead only to your destruction, Weir.”

    The raven rotated its head to her, stared into her eyes. “Stop looking for Jeremy Crotherton and stop trying to appease the Prometheans. In the long run, it’s not going to matter anyway. Run,” it said. “Run and don’t look back.”
    “Says the talking bird,” Pete grumbled. “Perched up there in his fancy little tree.”
    “I can only talk to you in this place,” said the raven. “Only here, where it’s strongest.”

    “I fucking hate you types and your talking in circles,” Pete said. “Do you know that?”
    “It’s spreading,” said the raven. “And you need to get away from the heart of it before it infects you like…”
    “Pete!”
    The scream cut through the mist, and Pete turned, all at once feeling frozen, damp, and footsore. “Jack? What the fuck is going on?”
    He came running, blond hair bobbing through the mist untilhe was fully in view. “The fuck are you doing?” he gasped, leaning over and bracing on his thighs. He fumbled a cigarette and lit it with the tip of his finger.
    Pete looked to the raven, but it had flown. She was alone. “Sleepwalking, I guess,” she said.
    “You scared me,” Jack said, regaining his breath. “I woke up and the window