Pandemonium
William crouched in a recessed doorway facing Fortbridge Road, which was empty of all humans since the sun had set,
leaving everything bitterly cold and coated with a glaze of glittering ice. Across from him, Rita knelt on the stone front
fence of a three-storey flat with a faded redbrick façade, one of about a hundred like it anywhere in these parts of London.
Behind her, twinkle lights from a Christmas tree glimmered in the flat’s front window.
Rita’s group, which consisted of three other Slayerettes, all of them hardcore in matching gray fatigues and knit sweaters,
had fanned out along a pre-designated perimeter. His group was performing the same sweep on his side of the street.
Thus far, it had been quiet. William breathed in the frosty air, and smelled snow. He smiled. It felt good to be out in the night
again. Even if he was out to battle monsters, the crisp wintry scent always recalled fond memories of his boyhood when he
would sit up at night by a dwindling fire, drinking mulled cider while his mum told him stories of princesses and pirates and far
away lands.
A sound recalled him to present day. He turned to find one of his team, a girl named Serina, slipping through a side-yard
behind him, her small feet leaving black prints in the frozen grass. In a silent graceful movement, she vaulted a chain-link
fence and came up the walk to stand with him.
“Anything?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Serina said, not concealing her disappointment. “Neighborhood’s dead.”
“Understatement, pet,” he muttered. He glanced across the street. Rita remained perched like a sprinter ready to take the
track, and he suddenly felt a swell of frustration. Rita was good, but too straight-laced and by-the-sodding-books for his
tastes.
“Look, we are miles from the mark,” he said quietly. “I say we head north, toward central London where the tourists hang.
Any demon worth his brimstone would be where the humans are.”
Serina gave him a hard look. “That is not our order,” she said. “Besides, Lori and MK will have their units patrolling that
area.”
Lori, William recalled, was the briskly efficient girl with short-cropped black hair and lesbian vibe, though he was sure Dawn
would call him a pig for noticing.
William pulled up his shoulders and exhaled sharply. “So… I’m out,” he said, without troubling over the volume of his voice. He
struck off across the road toward Rita.
Midway into the street, a brilliant green burst of light brightened the sky to the north. He froze while the ground shook
with the delayed rumble of an explosion. Simultaneously, the cacophony of car alarms and breaking glass filled the brittle
silence.
Rita was beside him in a flash. The other Slayers gathered in a loose formation behind them. Along the horizon to the north a
tremendous fire blazed, backlighting rows of quiet suburban houses, turning the low banks of snow clouds a sickening shade
of chartreuse. Up the street and down, scattered people tumbled out of their houses, angling their awed faces to the sky.
Rita drew herself up straighter. “This is it, girls,” she said. “This is what we’ve been training for.”
William knew – deeply knew – that no amount of training could prepare them for what they were about to face.
The building they climbed abutted a second, much taller building, which, unfortunately, blocked most of the southeastern
vantage Dawn needed to establish their bearings. Add to that the unbearable cold, her sore ankle, his near-frostbitten toes,
the almost stifling fear of pursuit by the Shedim, and not to mention hunger: yeah, they were miserable.
Dawn craned her neck to study the slick black windows of the building adjacent, trying to figure a way to scale it, when
Andrew lightly tugged at her sleeve.
She ignored him. It was an office building, she was sure of that because all of the rooms were dark. There was a wide wrap-
around balcony fifteen feet above them. Standing back, she could pick out a scattering of café-style tables, their striped
umbrellas all buttoned up for the winter. If they could manage to climb onto that balcony…
Andrew touched her arm again. She turned to him. “If we can get up there,” she said, pointing, “I’m pretty sure I can
locate Clapham Common.”
“Do you have a pen?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Right here with my chapstick, cash card and Ruby Slippers,” she said.
His brow darkened. “I guess you don’t have paper either?” he asked.
“Uh, no.”
Dawn turned away, annoyance gurgling in her stomach. She scrutinized the wall of the office building again, looking for drain
pipes or gutters or anything climbable. She saw nothing but several rows of louvered windows with iced ledges each only a
few inches deep.
With a sigh, she gave up. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll have to lean out over the edge of this building to get a fair look. You’ll have
to hang onto me, okay?”
Andrew looked at her doubtfully.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I trust you.”
“I need to write it down,” he said, distractedly. “I’m kinda already forgetting it.”
“Forgetting… what, exactly?”
He blinked and went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I bet we can break this window. Offices are full of pens and letterhead.
Sometimes leftover crullers.”
“Andrew,” she said, aiming for patient but coming off stern. “We’re trying to not draw attention to ourselves. Setting off
the alarms of some minor corporate hub, probably not the way to stay low-key.”
“Right,” he said with a faraway nod.
Dawn dragged him toward the edge of their rooftop. “Focus, please,” she said through her teeth. “Now’s not the time to go
all Lieutenant Barclay.”
Andrew gave her a pained smile, as if to say he appreciated the Trekkie reference, but wasn’t going to let it drop. “I need
to tell you what happened, at the Temple,” he said.
Dawn gripped both of his forearms. “You can tell the whole gang when we get back home,” she said. “First, we have to find
where that is. Here, hold my hand.”
He did, and to his horror, she shimmied onto the narrow rim of the roof’s ledge to lean out over the street. He grappled her
arm with both hands and held tight, his eyes clamped shut. After a long, agonizing moment, he felt her fingers on his
shoulder.
“Well,” she said, with faux confidence. “I think I got it.”
He opened is eyes slowly and fixed her with a questioning stare. “You do?”
“The river’s that way,” she said, gesturing left toward the office building. “Which means that is Latchmere Road. Most
likely,” she said, indicating the opposite direction. Speaking it out loud gave her confidence. “If I’m correct, once we find
Latchmere, we head south toward Clapham and we’re home free. Anyway, we should be safe if we keep heading south.”
“I need something to write with,” Andrew said.
“Andrew!” Dawn snapped. “Risking life and limb here to find a homewardly direction; the least you could do is offer some
gratitude.”
“Thanks,” he said weakly. “But I’m, like, bad at remembering and I’m supposed to remember.”
Dawn huffed in frustration. “Okay, we passed an ATM vestibule about a block up. They have deposit slips…”
“But we have no money,” Andrew said.
“Blank deposit slips, Andrew,” Dawn said. “Little pens on chains so people can’t walk off with them. I’m certain you’re
familiar with the setup.”
Andrew swallowed hard. Dawn noted for the first time the waxy pall to his skin. She realized that he was on the verge of
totally unraveling. She felt a guilty for being so abrupt with him.
“Blank slips,” he said with a wan smile. “You’re a regular Velma Dinkley.”
“Andrew–?” she began. She was interrupted then by a shockingly bright burst of light, followed by a deep, monstrous grumble
that rattled the building beneath them. They stumbled together, into each other’s arms, as the night awoke with the wails
of alarms and sirens.
Then the constant light from the blaze brought another thing to their attention: they were not alone on the rooftop. Six of
the Shedim had crowded onto the fire escape and were crawling over each other and the building’s ledge toward them, their
milky eyes burning in the eerie light.
As if that wasn’t enough, the Shedim had been joined by another demon, smaller and far more grotesque. The new guys
looked a lot like frogs with elongated arms and torsos, their back legs shorter but banded with ropy muscles under skin that
resembled alligator hide. A trio of the froggish demons, each a meter tall, leapt ahead of the Shedim. The one in the lead held
out its knobby fingers, seemingly pointing at them, but in a quick jolting motion, a bony protrusion jutted from its palm.
“Get down!” Andrew shouted, pulling Dawn backward. She felt something zip through the air near her cheek, and a lock of
her hair fell to the frosted rooftop. She stared at it for what felt like forever – a limp black curl like a question mark against
the sparkling gray tile – before Andrew tugged her backward again.
Dawn skinned her palms, but Andrew kept dragging her toward the far corner of the roof where at least they could guard
their backs.
They slammed against the wall of the taller office building. Dawn felt Andrew’s warmth against her back, his breath on her
neck. It was a small comfort, considering the battalion of demons crowding onto the roof before them.
“What are they?” she panted.
“Kosztchie demons, found traditionally in Siberian grottos, not English rooftops!” he shouted accusingly.
“Breaking the window doesn’t seem like such a wild idea now,” Dawn said.
“It’s Plexiglas,” Andrew muttered. “I’m sorry, Dawn.”
They had nothing. No weapons. No defense. Not even a pen. In the darkness, Dawn found Andrew’s hand.
In the moments following the explosion, pandemonium erupted in the street. Several dozen demons rained down on them
from the sky, attacking in a brutal blur. Once the initial panic subsided, William felt a surge of relief (or perhaps adrenaline)
at having something to pound on. The demons made for fairly worthy adversaries, too. They were toadish in appearance,
with long, sinewy arms and the ability to produce bone-like darts from their bulbous fingertips. He’d seen this brand of
demon before, while working for Wolfram & Hart: Kostzchie demons.
William had pulped five of them, leaving cartilaginous lumps steaming on the frozen pavement, when Rita shouted for a
retreat.
Appalled, he turned to yell at the bint for pulling out when things were getting good, but saw that one of her girls had been
bitten by a Kostzchie and lay dead. So they were venomous, William thought, his lips curling into a sneer. Ah, this was going
to be fun.
The Slayers followed Rita’s orders, and the demons followed the Slayers. A pair of them leapt onto Serina, pinning her down.
William dived, rolled, and came up beside her, round-housing the nearest Kostzchie into the grill of a parked Subaru. He
hauled the second up by its squishy shoulders and flung it into the window of the nearby flat, where it crashed through the
glass and into the Christmas tree, which sputtered and sparked as the demon sizzled to death.
Before Serina could thank him, the Kostzchie swarmed the street again. They emitted a low, warbling whine, more like
locusts than amphibians, and William saw that three of the girls became disoriented. They simply stood there while the
demons overcame them.
“Get the girls!” Rita yelled to William as she and two other Slayers held off a half-dozen of the demons. “Everyone else, fall
back.”
He whipped his triangular dagger from his belt. All around him, the Kostzchie warbled and screeched as he slashed the blade
through their papery hides. They were remarkably easy to kill; problem was there were so damn many. He cut his way
through a hip deep crowd of writhing Kostzchie, managed to save one of Rita’s unit. Regrettably it was lights-out for the
other. William watched helpless as the girl tumbled backward against the curb. The frogs latched onto her, pink fangs
dripping, as they sucked her dry.
William hefted his rescuee onto his back. A demon scrambled up his thigh, its broad open mouth exposing rows of tiny pink
teeth. William sunk his dagger between the frog’s protuberant eyes and booted it into the gutter before joining the others
in retreat.
The remaining five from both units gathered in a side-street to regroup. The human crowd had long vacated, and good for
them. Rita knelt with Serina, helping pull a seven-inch barbed bone knife from Serina’s upper thigh.
“We lost three: Ana, Alexa, Jess,” Rita told them needlessly, but William knew she had to talk it out to get her head around a
plan. “We gotta get back to the school and re-arm.”
Serina gritted her teeth as Rita struggled with the bone blade, but it was stuck too deep and wouldn’t budge.
“I’m thinking flame throwers,” said another Slayer as she kept lookout. “Grenades. Distance weapons.”
A tear rolled down Serina’s cheek. “Just pull it out,” she groaned.
Rita shut her eyes as she yanked the bone blade from Serina with a horrible ripping sound. Serina cried out, involuntarily,
and the Kostzchie rose collectively to their tiptoes, their viscid pink tongues flicking out to scent the air like lizards. In a
moment, they caught scent of what William knew they would find: the perfume of Serina’s blood. Always blood...
“Get the hell out of here,” he said. “I’ll dust these chaps.”
Rita whipped her eyes to his with a look of incredulity. “You can’t…”
He gave her a grim grin and said, “Bloody well can. Now go.”
Rita and the Slayer on lookout got Serina to her feet. The five of them fled, leaving William alone in a murky London side-
street, the scent of fresh blood stinging his nose, bringing all of his senses to life.
It was just like old times.
Connor whipped along the city’s rooftops in the wake of the explosion, the Scythe singing in the wind as he ran. He saw the
demons’ shapes glowing like phosphorescence in a night tide. He could see them, spreading like a cancerous malignancy into
the suburban street.
At the point of their greatest concentration Connor swung down, dropping the three stories to street level like a gymnast
dismounting the parallel bars. Effortlessly, he landed on the icy pavement, bringing the Scythe around in a clean arc, slicing
through the first wave of the demons and sending the second wave scattering. They sent up a chirruping cry of alarm; he
ignored them. He spun, lunged, swept through the demons until every last one lay slain on the cold concrete.
Angel was beside him, his eyes like twin green stars. He said, “Good work, m’boy. But there’s more. So many more.”
Connor brought the Scythe up to his forehead and bent over it in prayer. “I will kill them, Father. To the very last.”
Angel smiled. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
Connor tore away from the scene, cold air coaxing tears from his eyes. He took the nearest building at a running leap and
continued his flight along the peaks and gables of south-London skyline.
William stepped out to survey the slimy green carnage. He watched the shadowy form of Connor darting along the rooftops,
pursued at a distance by another figure who matched him leap for sinuous leap.
“Bollocks,” William muttered. Sucking his teeth, he sheathed his weapon and joined the chase.
The Kostzchie had herded Andrew and Dawn like sheep to the furthest reach of the roof. Now that they were cornered,
Dawn noticed the demons had stalled their attack, drawing the snare tighter with excruciating slowness, as if to prolong
the game. The Kostzchie had begun to chitter excitedly to each other as they circled. Behind the frog demons, the Shedim
murmured in tones too close to human for Dawn’s liking.
Andrew, his eyes squeezed shut, muttered a mantra of his own, equally unintelligible. Dawn glanced over the roof’s edge,
which made her dizzy, but gave her an idea.
“Let’s jump,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, closed them again. “It’s certain death.”
“Better that than frog food,” she decided.
She leaned over again and her throat constricted. It was a long way down.
“In the end the angels sing,” Andrew muttered to himself, his fist pressed to his lips. “In the end the angels sing.”
“Andrew. Jump. Now!”
Dawn leapt onto the ledge, her eyes stinging but her mind clear. She pulled Andrew with her, and the demons surged
forward, their urgent screeches piercing the air. Dawn closed her eyes. She felt Andrew’s warm hand squeeze hers, and
they let go.
Instead of falling forward, she felt a strong tug that sprawled them backward. She scrambled, tangling with Andrew, and sat
up in time to see their rescuer land with such force the entire rooftop quaked. He squared his shoulders, throwing his hair
back in a way that appeared savage and not quite human. In his hands he held – but her mind reeled in disbelief, because he
couldn’t wield that weapon.
Only her sister could use it.
Only a Slayer…
Yet he brought the Scythe to bear and Dawn heard its characteristic wail as Connor used it to slice the first four Kostzchie
into frog-kebabs. The Shedim rushed forward, arms grasping for something to mutilate. Connor decapitated two, plunged
the stake into the chest of a third. He dropped to one knee, cut the legs out from the next Shedim and toppled it into the
writhing, groping crowd that still clawed forward in blind attack. Dawn spotted a clear path between them and the fire
escape, and knew what they had to do.
Without thinking, she wrenched Andrew to his feet and they fled, vaulting over the lip of the roof and onto the ice-glazed
metal platform. Bone darts showered down, glancing off the handrails, taking chunks of pitted iron with them. Andrew
screamed, but they didn’t slow down.
At the base of the fire escape, Dawn and Andrew leapt down to the sidewalk, sliding on patches of black ice as they darted
around the corner.
Amazingly, people crowded the street. Non-Shedim people gathered together in front of darkened shop windows and on
corners, dressed warmly and conversing in worried tones. When they saw Andrew and Dawn burst into the street, crossing
full speed against traffic, none of them seemed at all surprised. Everything changed, however when a brigade of meter-high
frogs raced around the corner, bounding over the cars, showering bystanders with bristling darts of solid bone.
Not surprisingly, Andrew had taken the lead. He clung to Dawn’s hand with a lobster-like vise, weaving them beneath
awnings and over bus-stop benches, until he dived around another corner, crossing the street oblivious to oncoming cars
whose blaring horns and squealing brakes were all that let Dawn know how close they’d come to being road-kill.
At the next block, Dawn ventured a backward glance; the Kostzchie still pursued, but at a greater distance. She watched as
two of them pounced onto the top deck of a tour bus, their bulging fingers splayed over the front window as the driver
slammed the bus into a light pole, sending both demons soaring.
“This way,” Andrew shouted, slipping suddenly sideways into Clapham Junction.
They plowed down the wrong side of the stairwell, bowling several stunned tourists aside. Dawn shouted an apology, but
Andrew kept his head and continued to run. They jumped the turnstiles and dashed into the gleaming white tube station,
where they stumbled to a breathless halt.
“Which way?” Dawn panted. “Do we… wait for… a train?”
An echoing yowl from street level answered her question. Andrew planted his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward the
tracks, and they continued to run.
Dawn saw Problem One right away. A train had just departed, leaving thirty or so people on the platform, all of them ambling
in a way to suggest they had heard about the explosion but had no clue about anything else. Dawn glanced about wildly, but
the demons had yet to descend.
“Run!” she shouted to the townsfolk. About half of them turned to gawk at her; the rest pointedly ignored her. She tried
again. “Run! The monsters are coming!”
At which point they all ignored her.
Andrew dropped down from the platform and onto the tracks just as the Kostzchie swarmed into the tube station. Which
called to Dawn’s attention Problem Two. Another train was arriving, its halogen blue headlamps glaring in the black tunnel on
an in-bound set of tracks. This time her choices were death by frog demon, or death by train. Andrew held up his arms to
catch her. She slid quickly from the platform, into Andrew’s arms.
They were running before her feet had time to touch the ground. Dawn heard pedestrians screaming behind them. She
heard the triumphant wailing screech of the demons and the high-pitched screech of the approaching train. The pungent
scent of diesel assailed her, made her knees weak and her head swimmy, but Andrew plunged ahead, pulling her with him.
They jumped the first set of tracks, then another, then the third. The oncoming train showed no sign of slowing. She felt the
shriek of the brakes rattle in her molars, the pebbles beneath her feet skitter and dance. When they crossed the fourth,
Dawn felt a snag at her sleeve and knew with certain horror that a bone dart had grazed her shoulder. The frogs gained on
them, bounding from one track to the next with inhuman grace.
The train hurtled from the tunnel and into the station. Dawn and Andrew leapt the final track, found what they sought: a
thin metal service ladder. They scaled it. The demons, having no prior knowledge of subway trains, neglected to dodge when
the train slammed into them at 75 miles per hour.
But as Andrew heaved Dawn up once he reached the top, a fine mist of blood sprayed across Dawn’s throat and shirt.
“Dawn! Dawn!” he yelled, panicking, patting her arms and her shoulders and her chest, in search of the wound.
“I’m fine,” she said, her eyes wild. “Andrew, I’m fine. It’s not… me.”
She froze, her arms forming a circle with his, as simultaneously, they looked down. A bone dagger sunk deep into the space
beneath his ribs – so deep that only a half-inch remained exposed in the folds of his Miskatonic sweatshirt.
Andrew made an annoyed sound. And then he crumpled to the floor.
William crouched in a recessed doorway facing Fortbridge Road, which was empty of all humans since the sun had set,
leaving everything bitterly cold and coated with a glaze of glittering ice. Across from him, Rita knelt on the stone front
fence of a three-storey flat with a faded redbrick façade, one of about a hundred like it anywhere in these parts of London.
Behind her, twinkle lights from a Christmas tree glimmered in the flat’s front window.
Rita’s group, which consisted of three other Slayerettes, all of them hardcore in matching gray fatigues and knit sweaters,
had fanned out along a pre-designated perimeter. His group was performing the same sweep on his side of the street.
Thus far, it had been quiet. William breathed in the frosty air, and smelled snow. He smiled. It felt good to be out in the night
again. Even if he was out to battle monsters, the crisp wintry scent always recalled fond memories of his boyhood when he
would sit up at night by a dwindling fire, drinking mulled cider while his mum told him stories of princesses and pirates and far
away lands.
A sound recalled him to present day. He turned to find one of his team, a girl named Serina, slipping through a side-yard
behind him, her small feet leaving black prints in the frozen grass. In a silent graceful movement, she vaulted a chain-link
fence and came up the walk to stand with him.
“Anything?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Serina said, not concealing her disappointment. “Neighborhood’s dead.”
“Understatement, pet,” he muttered. He glanced across the street. Rita remained perched like a sprinter ready to take the
track, and he suddenly felt a swell of frustration. Rita was good, but too straight-laced and by-the-sodding-books for his
tastes.
“Look, we are miles from the mark,” he said quietly. “I say we head north, toward central London where the tourists hang.
Any demon worth his brimstone would be where the humans are.”
Serina gave him a hard look. “That is not our order,” she said. “Besides, Lori and MK will have their units patrolling that
area.”
Lori, William recalled, was the briskly efficient girl with short-cropped black hair and lesbian vibe, though he was sure Dawn
would call him a pig for noticing.
William pulled up his shoulders and exhaled sharply. “So… I’m out,” he said, without troubling over the volume of his voice. He
struck off across the road toward Rita.
Midway into the street, a brilliant green burst of light brightened the sky to the north. He froze while the ground shook
with the delayed rumble of an explosion. Simultaneously, the cacophony of car alarms and breaking glass filled the brittle
silence.
Rita was beside him in a flash. The other Slayers gathered in a loose formation behind them. Along the horizon to the north a
tremendous fire blazed, backlighting rows of quiet suburban houses, turning the low banks of snow clouds a sickening shade
of chartreuse. Up the street and down, scattered people tumbled out of their houses, angling their awed faces to the sky.
Rita drew herself up straighter. “This is it, girls,” she said. “This is what we’ve been training for.”
William knew – deeply knew – that no amount of training could prepare them for what they were about to face.
The building they climbed abutted a second, much taller building, which, unfortunately, blocked most of the southeastern
vantage Dawn needed to establish their bearings. Add to that the unbearable cold, her sore ankle, his near-frostbitten toes,
the almost stifling fear of pursuit by the Shedim, and not to mention hunger: yeah, they were miserable.
Dawn craned her neck to study the slick black windows of the building adjacent, trying to figure a way to scale it, when
Andrew lightly tugged at her sleeve.
She ignored him. It was an office building, she was sure of that because all of the rooms were dark. There was a wide wrap-
around balcony fifteen feet above them. Standing back, she could pick out a scattering of café-style tables, their striped
umbrellas all buttoned up for the winter. If they could manage to climb onto that balcony…
Andrew touched her arm again. She turned to him. “If we can get up there,” she said, pointing, “I’m pretty sure I can
locate Clapham Common.”
“Do you have a pen?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Right here with my chapstick, cash card and Ruby Slippers,” she said.
His brow darkened. “I guess you don’t have paper either?” he asked.
“Uh, no.”
Dawn turned away, annoyance gurgling in her stomach. She scrutinized the wall of the office building again, looking for drain
pipes or gutters or anything climbable. She saw nothing but several rows of louvered windows with iced ledges each only a
few inches deep.
With a sigh, she gave up. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll have to lean out over the edge of this building to get a fair look. You’ll have
to hang onto me, okay?”
Andrew looked at her doubtfully.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I trust you.”
“I need to write it down,” he said, distractedly. “I’m kinda already forgetting it.”
“Forgetting… what, exactly?”
He blinked and went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I bet we can break this window. Offices are full of pens and letterhead.
Sometimes leftover crullers.”
“Andrew,” she said, aiming for patient but coming off stern. “We’re trying to not draw attention to ourselves. Setting off
the alarms of some minor corporate hub, probably not the way to stay low-key.”
“Right,” he said with a faraway nod.
Dawn dragged him toward the edge of their rooftop. “Focus, please,” she said through her teeth. “Now’s not the time to go
all Lieutenant Barclay.”
Andrew gave her a pained smile, as if to say he appreciated the Trekkie reference, but wasn’t going to let it drop. “I need
to tell you what happened, at the Temple,” he said.
Dawn gripped both of his forearms. “You can tell the whole gang when we get back home,” she said. “First, we have to find
where that is. Here, hold my hand.”
He did, and to his horror, she shimmied onto the narrow rim of the roof’s ledge to lean out over the street. He grappled her
arm with both hands and held tight, his eyes clamped shut. After a long, agonizing moment, he felt her fingers on his
shoulder.
“Well,” she said, with faux confidence. “I think I got it.”
He opened is eyes slowly and fixed her with a questioning stare. “You do?”
“The river’s that way,” she said, gesturing left toward the office building. “Which means that is Latchmere Road. Most
likely,” she said, indicating the opposite direction. Speaking it out loud gave her confidence. “If I’m correct, once we find
Latchmere, we head south toward Clapham and we’re home free. Anyway, we should be safe if we keep heading south.”
“I need something to write with,” Andrew said.
“Andrew!” Dawn snapped. “Risking life and limb here to find a homewardly direction; the least you could do is offer some
gratitude.”
“Thanks,” he said weakly. “But I’m, like, bad at remembering and I’m supposed to remember.”
Dawn huffed in frustration. “Okay, we passed an ATM vestibule about a block up. They have deposit slips…”
“But we have no money,” Andrew said.
“Blank deposit slips, Andrew,” Dawn said. “Little pens on chains so people can’t walk off with them. I’m certain you’re
familiar with the setup.”
Andrew swallowed hard. Dawn noted for the first time the waxy pall to his skin. She realized that he was on the verge of
totally unraveling. She felt a guilty for being so abrupt with him.
“Blank slips,” he said with a wan smile. “You’re a regular Velma Dinkley.”
“Andrew–?” she began. She was interrupted then by a shockingly bright burst of light, followed by a deep, monstrous grumble
that rattled the building beneath them. They stumbled together, into each other’s arms, as the night awoke with the wails
of alarms and sirens.
Then the constant light from the blaze brought another thing to their attention: they were not alone on the rooftop. Six of
the Shedim had crowded onto the fire escape and were crawling over each other and the building’s ledge toward them, their
milky eyes burning in the eerie light.
As if that wasn’t enough, the Shedim had been joined by another demon, smaller and far more grotesque. The new guys
looked a lot like frogs with elongated arms and torsos, their back legs shorter but banded with ropy muscles under skin that
resembled alligator hide. A trio of the froggish demons, each a meter tall, leapt ahead of the Shedim. The one in the lead held
out its knobby fingers, seemingly pointing at them, but in a quick jolting motion, a bony protrusion jutted from its palm.
“Get down!” Andrew shouted, pulling Dawn backward. She felt something zip through the air near her cheek, and a lock of
her hair fell to the frosted rooftop. She stared at it for what felt like forever – a limp black curl like a question mark against
the sparkling gray tile – before Andrew tugged her backward again.
Dawn skinned her palms, but Andrew kept dragging her toward the far corner of the roof where at least they could guard
their backs.
They slammed against the wall of the taller office building. Dawn felt Andrew’s warmth against her back, his breath on her
neck. It was a small comfort, considering the battalion of demons crowding onto the roof before them.
“What are they?” she panted.
“Kosztchie demons, found traditionally in Siberian grottos, not English rooftops!” he shouted accusingly.
“Breaking the window doesn’t seem like such a wild idea now,” Dawn said.
“It’s Plexiglas,” Andrew muttered. “I’m sorry, Dawn.”
They had nothing. No weapons. No defense. Not even a pen. In the darkness, Dawn found Andrew’s hand.
In the moments following the explosion, pandemonium erupted in the street. Several dozen demons rained down on them
from the sky, attacking in a brutal blur. Once the initial panic subsided, William felt a surge of relief (or perhaps adrenaline)
at having something to pound on. The demons made for fairly worthy adversaries, too. They were toadish in appearance,
with long, sinewy arms and the ability to produce bone-like darts from their bulbous fingertips. He’d seen this brand of
demon before, while working for Wolfram & Hart: Kostzchie demons.
William had pulped five of them, leaving cartilaginous lumps steaming on the frozen pavement, when Rita shouted for a
retreat.
Appalled, he turned to yell at the bint for pulling out when things were getting good, but saw that one of her girls had been
bitten by a Kostzchie and lay dead. So they were venomous, William thought, his lips curling into a sneer. Ah, this was going
to be fun.
The Slayers followed Rita’s orders, and the demons followed the Slayers. A pair of them leapt onto Serina, pinning her down.
William dived, rolled, and came up beside her, round-housing the nearest Kostzchie into the grill of a parked Subaru. He
hauled the second up by its squishy shoulders and flung it into the window of the nearby flat, where it crashed through the
glass and into the Christmas tree, which sputtered and sparked as the demon sizzled to death.
Before Serina could thank him, the Kostzchie swarmed the street again. They emitted a low, warbling whine, more like
locusts than amphibians, and William saw that three of the girls became disoriented. They simply stood there while the
demons overcame them.
“Get the girls!” Rita yelled to William as she and two other Slayers held off a half-dozen of the demons. “Everyone else, fall
back.”
He whipped his triangular dagger from his belt. All around him, the Kostzchie warbled and screeched as he slashed the blade
through their papery hides. They were remarkably easy to kill; problem was there were so damn many. He cut his way
through a hip deep crowd of writhing Kostzchie, managed to save one of Rita’s unit. Regrettably it was lights-out for the
other. William watched helpless as the girl tumbled backward against the curb. The frogs latched onto her, pink fangs
dripping, as they sucked her dry.
William hefted his rescuee onto his back. A demon scrambled up his thigh, its broad open mouth exposing rows of tiny pink
teeth. William sunk his dagger between the frog’s protuberant eyes and booted it into the gutter before joining the others
in retreat.
The remaining five from both units gathered in a side-street to regroup. The human crowd had long vacated, and good for
them. Rita knelt with Serina, helping pull a seven-inch barbed bone knife from Serina’s upper thigh.
“We lost three: Ana, Alexa, Jess,” Rita told them needlessly, but William knew she had to talk it out to get her head around a
plan. “We gotta get back to the school and re-arm.”
Serina gritted her teeth as Rita struggled with the bone blade, but it was stuck too deep and wouldn’t budge.
“I’m thinking flame throwers,” said another Slayer as she kept lookout. “Grenades. Distance weapons.”
A tear rolled down Serina’s cheek. “Just pull it out,” she groaned.
Rita shut her eyes as she yanked the bone blade from Serina with a horrible ripping sound. Serina cried out, involuntarily,
and the Kostzchie rose collectively to their tiptoes, their viscid pink tongues flicking out to scent the air like lizards. In a
moment, they caught scent of what William knew they would find: the perfume of Serina’s blood. Always blood...
“Get the hell out of here,” he said. “I’ll dust these chaps.”
Rita whipped her eyes to his with a look of incredulity. “You can’t…”
He gave her a grim grin and said, “Bloody well can. Now go.”
Rita and the Slayer on lookout got Serina to her feet. The five of them fled, leaving William alone in a murky London side-
street, the scent of fresh blood stinging his nose, bringing all of his senses to life.
It was just like old times.
Connor whipped along the city’s rooftops in the wake of the explosion, the Scythe singing in the wind as he ran. He saw the
demons’ shapes glowing like phosphorescence in a night tide. He could see them, spreading like a cancerous malignancy into
the suburban street.
At the point of their greatest concentration Connor swung down, dropping the three stories to street level like a gymnast
dismounting the parallel bars. Effortlessly, he landed on the icy pavement, bringing the Scythe around in a clean arc, slicing
through the first wave of the demons and sending the second wave scattering. They sent up a chirruping cry of alarm; he
ignored them. He spun, lunged, swept through the demons until every last one lay slain on the cold concrete.
Angel was beside him, his eyes like twin green stars. He said, “Good work, m’boy. But there’s more. So many more.”
Connor brought the Scythe up to his forehead and bent over it in prayer. “I will kill them, Father. To the very last.”
Angel smiled. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
Connor tore away from the scene, cold air coaxing tears from his eyes. He took the nearest building at a running leap and
continued his flight along the peaks and gables of south-London skyline.
William stepped out to survey the slimy green carnage. He watched the shadowy form of Connor darting along the rooftops,
pursued at a distance by another figure who matched him leap for sinuous leap.
“Bollocks,” William muttered. Sucking his teeth, he sheathed his weapon and joined the chase.
The Kostzchie had herded Andrew and Dawn like sheep to the furthest reach of the roof. Now that they were cornered,
Dawn noticed the demons had stalled their attack, drawing the snare tighter with excruciating slowness, as if to prolong
the game. The Kostzchie had begun to chitter excitedly to each other as they circled. Behind the frog demons, the Shedim
murmured in tones too close to human for Dawn’s liking.
Andrew, his eyes squeezed shut, muttered a mantra of his own, equally unintelligible. Dawn glanced over the roof’s edge,
which made her dizzy, but gave her an idea.
“Let’s jump,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, closed them again. “It’s certain death.”
“Better that than frog food,” she decided.
She leaned over again and her throat constricted. It was a long way down.
“In the end the angels sing,” Andrew muttered to himself, his fist pressed to his lips. “In the end the angels sing.”
“Andrew. Jump. Now!”
Dawn leapt onto the ledge, her eyes stinging but her mind clear. She pulled Andrew with her, and the demons surged
forward, their urgent screeches piercing the air. Dawn closed her eyes. She felt Andrew’s warm hand squeeze hers, and
they let go.
Instead of falling forward, she felt a strong tug that sprawled them backward. She scrambled, tangling with Andrew, and sat
up in time to see their rescuer land with such force the entire rooftop quaked. He squared his shoulders, throwing his hair
back in a way that appeared savage and not quite human. In his hands he held – but her mind reeled in disbelief, because he
couldn’t wield that weapon.
Only her sister could use it.
Only a Slayer…
Yet he brought the Scythe to bear and Dawn heard its characteristic wail as Connor used it to slice the first four Kostzchie
into frog-kebabs. The Shedim rushed forward, arms grasping for something to mutilate. Connor decapitated two, plunged
the stake into the chest of a third. He dropped to one knee, cut the legs out from the next Shedim and toppled it into the
writhing, groping crowd that still clawed forward in blind attack. Dawn spotted a clear path between them and the fire
escape, and knew what they had to do.
Without thinking, she wrenched Andrew to his feet and they fled, vaulting over the lip of the roof and onto the ice-glazed
metal platform. Bone darts showered down, glancing off the handrails, taking chunks of pitted iron with them. Andrew
screamed, but they didn’t slow down.
At the base of the fire escape, Dawn and Andrew leapt down to the sidewalk, sliding on patches of black ice as they darted
around the corner.
Amazingly, people crowded the street. Non-Shedim people gathered together in front of darkened shop windows and on
corners, dressed warmly and conversing in worried tones. When they saw Andrew and Dawn burst into the street, crossing
full speed against traffic, none of them seemed at all surprised. Everything changed, however when a brigade of meter-high
frogs raced around the corner, bounding over the cars, showering bystanders with bristling darts of solid bone.
Not surprisingly, Andrew had taken the lead. He clung to Dawn’s hand with a lobster-like vise, weaving them beneath
awnings and over bus-stop benches, until he dived around another corner, crossing the street oblivious to oncoming cars
whose blaring horns and squealing brakes were all that let Dawn know how close they’d come to being road-kill.
At the next block, Dawn ventured a backward glance; the Kostzchie still pursued, but at a greater distance. She watched as
two of them pounced onto the top deck of a tour bus, their bulging fingers splayed over the front window as the driver
slammed the bus into a light pole, sending both demons soaring.
“This way,” Andrew shouted, slipping suddenly sideways into Clapham Junction.
They plowed down the wrong side of the stairwell, bowling several stunned tourists aside. Dawn shouted an apology, but
Andrew kept his head and continued to run. They jumped the turnstiles and dashed into the gleaming white tube station,
where they stumbled to a breathless halt.
“Which way?” Dawn panted. “Do we… wait for… a train?”
An echoing yowl from street level answered her question. Andrew planted his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward the
tracks, and they continued to run.
Dawn saw Problem One right away. A train had just departed, leaving thirty or so people on the platform, all of them ambling
in a way to suggest they had heard about the explosion but had no clue about anything else. Dawn glanced about wildly, but
the demons had yet to descend.
“Run!” she shouted to the townsfolk. About half of them turned to gawk at her; the rest pointedly ignored her. She tried
again. “Run! The monsters are coming!”
At which point they all ignored her.
Andrew dropped down from the platform and onto the tracks just as the Kostzchie swarmed into the tube station. Which
called to Dawn’s attention Problem Two. Another train was arriving, its halogen blue headlamps glaring in the black tunnel on
an in-bound set of tracks. This time her choices were death by frog demon, or death by train. Andrew held up his arms to
catch her. She slid quickly from the platform, into Andrew’s arms.
They were running before her feet had time to touch the ground. Dawn heard pedestrians screaming behind them. She
heard the triumphant wailing screech of the demons and the high-pitched screech of the approaching train. The pungent
scent of diesel assailed her, made her knees weak and her head swimmy, but Andrew plunged ahead, pulling her with him.
They jumped the first set of tracks, then another, then the third. The oncoming train showed no sign of slowing. She felt the
shriek of the brakes rattle in her molars, the pebbles beneath her feet skitter and dance. When they crossed the fourth,
Dawn felt a snag at her sleeve and knew with certain horror that a bone dart had grazed her shoulder. The frogs gained on
them, bounding from one track to the next with inhuman grace.
The train hurtled from the tunnel and into the station. Dawn and Andrew leapt the final track, found what they sought: a
thin metal service ladder. They scaled it. The demons, having no prior knowledge of subway trains, neglected to dodge when
the train slammed into them at 75 miles per hour.
But as Andrew heaved Dawn up once he reached the top, a fine mist of blood sprayed across Dawn’s throat and shirt.
“Dawn! Dawn!” he yelled, panicking, patting her arms and her shoulders and her chest, in search of the wound.
“I’m fine,” she said, her eyes wild. “Andrew, I’m fine. It’s not… me.”
She froze, her arms forming a circle with his, as simultaneously, they looked down. A bone dagger sunk deep into the space
beneath his ribs – so deep that only a half-inch remained exposed in the folds of his Miskatonic sweatshirt.
Andrew made an annoyed sound. And then he crumpled to the floor.
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Author's Note:
Once again, my knowledge of
London fails me. This is my
fantasy version of the fine city,
and please forgive me. Research
has only taken me so far. The
rest I have to make up as I go.
Once again, my knowledge of
London fails me. This is my
fantasy version of the fine city,
and please forgive me. Research
has only taken me so far. The
rest I have to make up as I go.
.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal