Black London 05 - Soul Trade

halfway. The villagers, on the other hand, had only gained speed, and they were moaning and crying now, their voices echoing off the surrounding hills, creating a drone of hunger and pain that was all Pete could hear besides her own thudding heart.
    When Donovan stumbled and fell, Pete fought the urge to shout at him andinstead let go of Margaret’s hand. “Keep running,” she said. “Straight into the graveyard, and into the biggest tomb. Jack’s there. He’ll take care of you.”
    Margaret hesitated, and Pete gave her a none too gentle shove. The time for coddling was long past. “Go!” she shouted. “Fast as you can!”
    She ran back to Donovan, giving the lead villager a shove backward and causing him to tumble whileshe pulled Jack’s father up with her other arm. “Move,” she snarled at him. “If you die out here before Jack gets to kick you in the teeth for all those miserable years you weren’t around, I’ll find a necromancer to raise you up and kick your arse myself.”
    Donovan ran, panting, his face a dangerous shade of cardiac-arrest crimson. “Bossy little bitch on top of it all. Hate to tell you this, luv,but you’re a tailor-made Prospero.”
    Pete felt hands snatch at her hair and the back of her jacket, but then they were through the graveyard fence and the crowd clustered outside, moaning and pawing at one another as they fought not to get pushed through the iron. One of the wraiths drifted over, its mouth opening into a fathomless maw, and quicker than a hawk strike, it snatched one of the puntersfrom the front of the crowed, wrapping him in silvery tendrils. The rest of the crowd drew back.
    The punter thrashed and screamed until he went still, skin taking on a blue cast and frost growing on his eyebrows and in his hair. A black shape writhed inside the wraith’s silvery body, then disspated like ink in water.
    Pete looked next to her, to where Donovan stood, eyes intent and lips moving.“Power of persuasion, luv,” he said, and turned to head for the mausoleum.
    Pete watched the figures fade into the mist until a wraith brushed by her, and she hurried after Donovan.

 
    20.
    Inside the mausoleum, Margaret crouched next to Jack, brushing hair back from his forehead. “I think he’s sick,” she told Pete when she came in.
    “He’ll live.” Donovan slumped, sucking in a deep breath. “And so will you, thanks to us. Hope you’re grateful.”
    “Will you shut your gob for ten seconds?” Pete said, crouching beside Margaret. “You all right, luv?”
    Margaret nodded. Her facewas streaked with dirt, the river tracks of tears cutting through, but she took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m all right. I feel bad for poor Miss Carrie, though. She only ever tried to help me, ever since my da brought us to this stupid place.”
    “I do, too,” Pete said, stroking Margaret’s hair. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, luv.”
    Margaret shrugged. “It’s all right.I’m with you lot now.”
    Pete wondered what exactly the Smythes had done to their daughter in the intervening years to make her this flat and closed off. She’d want to murder them a lot more if she didn’t think the mob outside would take care of the pair soon enough. Not that mindless living zombie would be a great leap for either Philip or Norma Smythe.
    Pete stripped off her jacket and wrappedit around Margaret, who sank into it with a sigh. “Thanks. It’s so cold here. Never gets any warmer.”
    “Stay put, luv, all right?” Pete said, guiding her to the small prayer bench under the stained glass window. “Don’t go outside, whatever you do.”
    “You kidding?” Margaret said. “I’m not going anywhere with those things about.”
    “Smart girl,” Pete said, patting her leg. She looked back at Jack,still prone on the ground. Donovan was bent from the waist, looking him over.
    “So far, I can’t say I’m very impressed,” he said. “Your reputation is a lot worse than your reality, son.”
    “Up yours,” Jack grumbled, and Donovan chuckled, the round low sound echoing in the tomb.
    “That’s more like it,” he said. “That’s the Jack Winter I was expecting to meet.” He poked at Jack with his toe. “Youcould stand to have a little more spine, Jackie. Maybe that’s my fault, leaving you to be raised by your mum.”
    Jack’s cheeks colored, and he started to lever himself up, but fell back with a groan, pressing his hands over his eyes.
    “I never