Part 31 (1/2)
”Got a new warding hex on,” said Jack, opening the door. He was wearing torn denim and a black b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt stained with some kind of white phosph.o.r.escent powder, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. ”Lot cheaper than an alarm, and I think that ruddy son of Mrs. Ramamurthy's has begun cooking speed in his dear departed mum's kitchen. f.u.c.king criminal element's everywhere these days.”
He took in her suitcases, and the sheepish expression Pete knew she was wearing. ”Going on holiday? Need me to water your plants and feed the cat?”
”You know I don't have a cat.” Pete couldn't look anywhere except the toes of her shoes.
”I do,” said Jack, ”but I'm at a loss as to why you're on my doorstep, so I figured small talk would be the route to take.”
”How are you holding up?” Pete blurted. Jack shrugged.
”Can't complain. Those tattoos are b.l.o.o.d.y effective, except for the one incident with the cursed monkey doll. Who would have thought it?” He smiled at her, the full force of the devil-grin. ”We both know you didn't come here to check on me, Pete, so why don't you just spit out the real reason.”
Pete started to turn around, to leave without another word, but Jack caught her arm. ”Pete. Tell me.”
”The flat's been sold, and with everything going on-work, being back to field duty, this idiotic dedication ceremony I had to go to so they could open my da's memorial auxiliary parking structureI haven't been able to let another place,” Pete rushed out. ”It's not that I don't have a little savingsI do, but it can't be just anyplace and I know this is terrible and last-minute and that the worst thing for you would be to have some pushy woman intruding and me especially, seeing as how I can't really hold any kind of control over my talents, and well, I guess I just thought I'd ask you if I could stay. Just for a few weeks.”
Jack blinked, and then took the cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth. The ember glowed. ”I keep odd hours,” he said.
”Police inspector,” Pete reminded him. ”Not a nine-to-five job, either.”
”I've been on a kick for the Anti-Nowhere League and I play them loudly.”
”Love them,” Pete shot back. Jack grimaced.
”You're b.l.o.o.d.y mad to pick me out of all the possible sofas you could sleep on, Caldecott. I mean”
”I've accepted that, Jack. Nowhere I'd rather be.”
He sighed and stepped away from the door, pulling it wide. ”Then you're welcome, is what I was going to say if you'd let me finish.”
Pete grinned at him, and he finally grinned back, shaking his head. ”You mean it?” she asked. Jack nodded once.
”I mean it. Come in.”
Read on for a preview of Demon Bound
By Caitlin Kittredge
Coming from St. Martin's Paperbacks in December 2009
Jack Winter has a problem. Thirteen years ago, as he lay dying on the floor of a tomb in Highgate Cemetery, Jack called up a demon and bartered his soul for his life. Now the debt has come due, and the demon has appeared to take Jack to h.e.l.l. Trouble is, Jack has finally found a reason to live. Her name is Pete Caldecott.
Pete saved Jack from himselfshe got him clean, helped him control his psychic sight, and with her help, he's making a living cleansing ghosts and minor supernatural annoyances in the greater London area. Pete doesn't know about Jack's bargain, but she knows that something is wrong. Something vast and terrible is moving out of the supernatural realm of the Black. A magical cataclysm, and she won't be able to stop it without Jack's help&
Part One
Clockwork
Listen to the army march across my coffin lid Fire in the east and sunrise in the west I'm just a dead man, walking with the rest.
The Poor Dead b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, ”Dead Man Marching” ”Dead Man Marching”
A crow sat on the dead branch of the dead tree that watched over two gravestones in the corner of Brompton Cemetery. It watched Jack Winter with its black eyes like beads, and he watched the crow in turn, with eyes that most people called ice, but that he simply called blue.
Jack drew a Parliament out of the air and touched his finger to the tip. He sucked a lungful of smoke and blew it at the crow, which flapped its wings and snapped its beak in irritation. ”f.u.c.k off, then,” Jack told it. ”Not like I want you hanging about.”
”Leave that beast alone,” said his companion. ”If the map I got from Tourist Information is right, the graves should be around here, very close.” Her circular ramble through the graves came to a stop next to Jack. ”Oh.”
”Mary and Stuart Poole,” Jack said, flicking the end of his f.a.g at Mary's headstone. ”Who says the G.o.ds don't have the occasional bout of humor?”
Pete Caldecott gave Jack what he'd describe as a dirty look, and not in the manner that led to being naked and sweaty. She strode over and picked up his litter, shoving it into her coat pocket. ”You're a b.l.o.o.d.y child, you know that? Emotionally twelve.”
”I've been accused of worse,” Jack said. He felt in the inside pocket of his motorbike jacket for another Parliament, but thought better of it when Pete put a hand on her hip.
”We've a job to do, and if we don't do it, we don't get paid, so are you going to stand there all day with your thumb in your a.r.s.e or are you going to get to work?”