Black London 05 - Soul Trade

friend?”
    “Not sure,” Pete said. Please don’t be dead, Margaret. “Carrie?” she called softly, not wanting to risk waking anyone who might be less than friendly. She’d been chased by enough creepy crawlers for one day.
    A snore emanated from the sofa. Mr. Dumbershall lay on the cushions,half on and half off. Vomit crusted his face, and the smell of ale was thicker than air. Pete pressed a hand against her nose to avoid retching. She needn’t have worried, though, because Donovan gagged, staggering back.
    “Fuck me, is he dead?”
    “No,” Pete said. She forgot that not everyone, mage or no, regarded dead bodies as ditchwater dull. Donovan’s wobbly expression did give her a tiny thrillof superiority, though—if he tossed his guts like a first-year rookie, she’d be delighted.
    Dumbershall shifted in his sleep and groaned, eyelids twitching. “Just drunk,” she told Donovan. Pete wouldn’t blame any of them for turning to drink, or worse, when they saw what was happening to their children.
    “Suburban bacchanal,” said Donovan, surveying the ruins of the gathering, the stained carpet,the mildewed wallpaper. “How sadly typical.”
    “I’m sure you’re used to a better class of bacchanal,” said Pete. “So sorry to disappoint.” The stairs were narrow, and she kept her foot near the wall to avoid creaks or snaps that would alert anyone conscious to their entry.
    “Never was really a Dionysian,” said Donovan. “Did attend an orgy once, in Blackpool, and met these twins who…”
    Pete heldup her hand at a small exhalation of air very near her ear, over the squalling music from downstairs. “Did you hear that?”
    At the crest of the stairs was a narrow closet, probably a dumbwaiter at one point, now closed off with a cheap folding door. Pete pushed it aside, and found Margaret and Carrie crouched on the floor, half-covered by hanging duvets and linens. Carrie gave a small cry, butMargaret just rocketed forward and grabbed Pete around the waist. “Get me the fuck out of here,” she mumbled into Pete’s shirt.
    Pete nodded, gesturing for Carrie. “Donovan, help her up,” she said.
    “Gladly,” he said, extending a hand and a smile to Carrie. She took his hand and climbed shakily to her feet.
    Pete almost thought they’d gotten away, when she saw a shadow at the foot of the stairs,soon joined by a second, standing and waiting, perfectly immobile. In the sitting room, the record player screeched, needle skidding across the vinyl. Next to Pete, Margaret jumped, clinging to her even harder.
    “Donovan,” Pete whispered. He came to her shoulder, Carrie clinging to him like a burr.
    “Yeah, I see ’em,” he said. He moved around Pete and called down the stairs. “Hello, gents. Noneed to get upset. Why don’t we all just gather ’round and have a drink and a laugh.” His voice was slow and soothing, far from the scratchy rasp Pete had gotten used to. She felt gentle waves of power roll over her, and a sense of well-being stole into her mind. Beside her, Margaret whimpered and shivered.
    “What’s he doing?”
    “Magic, luv,” Pete said, as Donovan jerked his head at them. She starteddown the stairs with Margaret and Carrie. “Don’t worry about it,” Pete said. “We’re getting out of here.”
    When she pulled abreast of Donovan, he touched her on the shoulder. “I think they’ll be in dreamland for a few minutes more,” he said. “But let’s not hang around to find out, yeah?”
    The men, including Mr. Leroy and Mr. Dumbershall, stared into the distance, nodding their heads and smilingas if listening to music only they could hear. Pete herself felt wonderful—of course they’d make it back to the graveyard. Of course things would be all right. Donovan was here, and he had everything taken care of. She couldn’t believe, in that moment, that she’d ever doubted him. He was Jack’s blood, after all, and she trusted Jack implicitly.
    The feeling of bliss and the lightness in her headlasted precisely until the end of the Leroys’ walk. Outside, a crowd had gathered, villagers and travelers, including the hippies who’d been asking questions and the big brute who Bridget had chased off.
    Everything came crashing down, and a wave of nausea rolled over Pete. Margaret made a small, strangled sound. Carrie gasped and stopped short.
    Pete looked back at Donovan, whose face went slack.“Shit,” he said softly.
    “Took the word out of my mouth,” Pete