Street Magic

forcing him to look at her as he wheezed. "Ever shot a brain aneurysm in one of your little faux-death films? I wonder, will you be a twitcher? I think you're too fat. You'll probably just gurgle, shit yourself, and die."
    "In the lockbox!" Towne shouted. "For fuck's sake! The key's in my pocket."
    Pete tugged at the Snare, and it uncoiled, folding back into her hand. She smiled at her feet, unaccountably pleased. To Towne she said, "Good man." To Jack, "
You are
getting the key."
    Back on the street, Pete snatched the brown-wrapped parcel out of Jack's hands and tore it open. "Oi!" he shouted. "That's me personal property, I'll have you know."
    The parcel contained a plastic box, sealed with packing tape. The box was clear and inside… Pete nearly dropped the box on the pavement. "Jack, this is a human hand. A
mummified
human hand."
    "Towne's wife," he agreed. "Caught her cheating about fifteen or twenty years ago and chopped off bits and pieces until she was sorry. Filmed it all. Was his first big hit, as I recall."
    Pete stopped walking and thrust the box back into Jack's hands. "Is this your way of telling me you
enjoy
the company of people like Towne?"
    "I'm not that oblique, luv." He grinned. "Saw the video, noticed with my sight Towne had an Egregor, a demon of rage, hanging around him. I bargained the Egregor back into the Black and compelled Towne to give me this as payment."
    "But it's a
hand
," Pete reminded him.
    "It's desire," said Jack. "Desire for pain and desire for revenge and desire for love so powerful that it destroyed what it touched. This is a powerful temptation for any demon, Pete. They trade in desire—breathe it. I'm sure every infernal thing in the greater London area has got a hard-on already."
    "How reassuring," Pete muttered. Jack turned into the Fulham Broadway tube station.
    "We can go home now. We've got everything we need."

----
Chapter Thirty-one

    At home in the sitting room, Pete watched Jack lay copper wire out in a circle and nail it down at the four corners with the iron nails. He chalked symbols at the four points, punctuating the northernmost with a black candle. He drew another, seemingly random set of symbols inside the wire and then said to Pete, "Be a love and get me the table salt."
    Pete handed him the carton they'd bought at Tesco and Jack scattered a liberal handful inside the copper. "Earth," he said, and then took out his flick-knife and cut the tip of his finger. He squeezed a few fat blood droplets into the circle, as well. "And spirit."
    Jack opened Grinchley's lacquer box and took out the Trifold Focus, holding it in the palm of his hand as if it were a dead, dried butterfly. "The best thing for you would be to go in the other room, Pete," he said without taking his eyes off it. "This probably isn't going to be pretty."
    "If I wanted pretty I would have become a bloody decorator," said Pete, crossing her arms. "I'm staying."
    Jack wanted to object, she could tell, but he pressed his lips together and then said, "Fine. But you stand against that wall. No talking. No matter what happens, no flying off the handle and threatening to rip someone's bollocks off. Got that?"
    "Towne deserved to have them ripped off," Pete muttered.
    "That he did," Jack agreed. "I've never seen you so fiery, Pete. I rather enjoyed it." His grin suggested exactly how much.
    "Shut up and get on with this," Pete snapped. "This thing has had Margaret Smythe for nearly three days, and your reputation in the Black isn't getting any better."
    "Your wish is my command, or some rot," said Jack. He placed the box containing the late Mrs. Towne's hand near his feet and stood at the bottom edge of the circle. He gripped the Focus and Pete heard the slide of metal on flesh as twin spikes flashed out from the bottom of the flat metal disc and drove into Jack's palms.
    He didn't make a sound. Milky pale rolled across his eyes and they slowly went back in his head, exposing tiny crimson veins like spiderwebs inside his skull.
    "Jack?" Pete said, alarmed. She started to go toward him but a shriek cut the air and went straight through her, all the way to the bone, and Pete stumbled back, crying out. "Fuck!"
    The shriek crested and stabilized into a low whine and then with a strained
pop
Pete felt a
give
in the air, the shifting of something from one world to another.
    "Jack Winter," said the demon. "Why do you call upon me?"
    After a heartbeat Jack's eyes flicked back to blue faster than Pete could