Prologue
Shadows of London
I can tell you why people go insane,
I can show you how you could do the same,
I can tell you why the end will never come,
I can tell you I'm a shadow on the sun -Audioslave
Sleet staggered through the back door of O’Mara’s and aimed himself towards the two chairs that he saw before him. He reached for the nonexistent one which sent him crashing forwards into the real one, leaving it obliterated and him a bloody mess on Helen’s clean quarry tile floor. After what could have been either one or ten minutes he made the effort to force himself into a slumped position against a base unit and there he remained until she arrived.
It was the smashing crockery that started him into an abrupt wakefulness but his aching muscles refused to come to his aid in preparation against any attack. Instead he strained his eyes into some kind of useful focus and there was her anxious face before him, her hands now clutching his shoulders, trying to shake him.
“It’s okay…” he managed, “I’m alright, I’m alright Helen.”
“Alright!” she exclaimed, “Sleet James, will you look at the state you’re in? Why do you put yourself through it? Why?”
He stifled his laughter before it caused his shattered ribs to send another explosion of pain through his body, feeling instead a bubbling of blood on his lips. “Believe it or not, I didn’t do this to myself!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she scolded.
Her rising pitch rang through his skull, causing him to clutch at his temple. “Shhhhh……please Helen, I’ve taken enough of a battering for one night.”
“You go looking for trouble, to be sure, and more oft than not find it to, you know you do,” she said, reverting to an urgent whisper that served only to accentuate her Celtic origins.
Memory started to flood back into his brain as it returned from an involuntary temporary shutdown and a glimmer came into his eyes as he recalled the earlier events of the evening. “But I almost had him tonight Helen!” he said, “I was this close you know!” he forced his arm to raise his hand before his face, his thumb and finger a fraction apart, “so bloody close. He was lucky alright, really lucky.” He brought his hands together into an encircling shape, “I’ve had these around his scrawny neck you know, had him in my grasp.” He banged his head back against the cupboard door in frustration, “Shit, I mightn’t have another chance like that, not ever!"
“Quiet now, quiet. Worry about it later. Do you think you can get up?”
“No, but I will, if you help me.” He coughed, spitting blood onto her clean white apron.
“Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up,” she stood and leaned down to try and lever him off the floor. Even in his current condition the smell of her was intoxicating, as it always had been. Another time, another life, and maybe there could have been something between them. “And then you can tell me all about it.”
Three hours earlier…….
Sleet waited, crouched in a confined position between the cold church wall and the rusty waste skip in a back street of Highgate. His muscles, although well enough developed, were unaccustomed to this prolonged compression and were on the verge of cramping up in rebellion.
He knew this to be one of their major haunts, had tracked them around the environs of London for years now in ever decreasing circles that centred upon no more than half a dozen locations, one of which this was.
Shadows, is what they were, no more than that. They slipped in and out of existence as they glided along in their purposeful fashion. Ghosts, he knew, they were not. Not spirits, wandering amongst the reminders of their lost lives. No, these things, these Shadows, were something else, something otherworldly.
Where they had come from he did not know. When they had arrived in his life he knew well, very well, for they had taken the life of his brother. And not simply killed him, murdered him, no. They had drained him, the eyes of the largest one, whom appeared to be master to the others, glowing a devilish crimson as his brother’s body turned into a greying husk, literally into a shell.
And then they had turned upon him as he cowered unbelievingly into the corner of the living room where only moments before the confrontation had been between the two of them only, two angry young men on the brink of coming to blows, his brother’s fiancé the bone of contention.
The intervention of the Shadows had been startling, numbing. Not fear alone paralysed the pair of them, there was something else, something in the air that arrested their muscles and also their minds. And then the demons had fallen upon Sky, his brother.
When their attentions had turned upon Sleet, his unlikely saviour had been the headlamps and chugging engine of a night bus as it turned into the road outside. The ill creatures had fled, except for the larger one that had remained a moment longer to glower at him, opening its jaws to cackle horrifically before it turned to follow its brethren, winking out of existence before it reached the opposite wall of the room.
Since then he had traced their movements, plotting the locations of their foul acts upon an old OS map pinned to the bedroom wall. On numerous occasions he had gotten too close, but by luck more than judgment he had found several methods of fending them off. Shadows was his name for them, he did not care to think up anything more creative, did not feel them deserving of the effort. For the most part they appeared as no more than shadows and so let them be known.
He was startled from his reverie by a young woman who walked silently into the street before him. Silently, he realised, because she was barefoot. Even from some distance he could see the terror upon her face, the unvoiced scream, but he could sense that her movement was impelled, her choices no longer her own. He had seen it before.
And they came. Gliding down amongst the streetlights to circle their chosen prey like an ethereal wolf pack. One by one they snapped forwards, the temptation to accost this girl obviously proving too great, but upon each occasion they restrained themselves and returned to their circling motion.
Sleet felt that he could wait no longer and was mentally preparing himself for the effort he would require to propel himself forward against the wishes of his aching muscles, but at the last moment something happened that stalled him, stopped him dead. Another figure was sweeping down from the dark night sky, a larger figure.
He waited, disbelieving, but as the Shadow came closer he felt that there could be no doubt. Only once before had he seen a creature of this size, only once, and that event was burned into his memory. This was that one, he was certain of it! He reached for his nearby rucksack and retrieved the items that formed his unlikely arsenal, assembled as a result of several experimental Shadow encounters.
One, two, three……he counted slowly to twenty, time enough for the Shadow Master to enter the circle, and then rose, ignoring the protests of his cramped body, and stepped out into what little light was afforded by the streetlamp above. No attention was paid to him, their focus appeared to be centred solely upon their selected victim. The Master was now approaching the girl and Sleet could see the blood red glow beginning to emanate from the pits of its eyeless sockets.
“Stop!” Sleet shouted with as much command as he could muster. It had the desired effect, the creatures halted their circling motion and, as one, their hellish faces turned in his direction, an evil cacophony arising from their throats tauntingly. But they did not move towards him and Sleet was surprised by this unexpected behaviour.
The Master meanwhile remained focused upon the young woman, as if needing to ensure that the spell cast over her remained effective. Once it was certain of this, however, it also turned to face Sleet’s challenge.
Christ, he thought, this is it!
He reached up and pulled the ski mask down over his eyes, nervously fingered the dog whistle held in his left hand whilst his right hand squeezed the handle of the hefty ultraviolet torch, his thumb caressing its on-switch.
The next moment was a blur. The Shadow Master was instantly gone. For a split second Sleet thought that it had simply vanished but he soon realised his error as the creature came plummeting out of the sky to make a perfect catlike landing on the pavement not six feet in front of him, then hollered at him, it’s jaw dropping inhumanly far down it’s muscular chest.
Sleet knew that he could not risk being entranced at this point and prayed to God that his numerous encounters with these devils had built some kind of resistance within him. Without further thought he launched himself into action, flicking the torch’s switch whilst simultaneously raising the whistle to his lips and blew with all his might. The creature lurched back suddenly, stumbling to one bony knee. Sleet, not wanting to miss the opportunity, fell upon the Shadow, pummelling it with his one free fist whilst forcing the head of the torch into the creatures gut. It screamed and this alone would have been enough to paralyse, but in this moment there was a pure clarity within Sleet’s mind. He dare not waver, he could not. It would mean his death and worst still it would leave Sky un-revenged (or rather would leave his own guilt un-cleansed).
The Shadow’s eyes fixed upon him now, their boiling rage seeming to reach a frenzy. Even through the mask Sleet could feel them burning into him. He dropped the torch and reached both hands for the creature’s throat, gouging his fingers into its leathery gullet. The response was instantaneous, razor-like claws slashed at his face and body followed by a fierce kick into his chest which Sleet felt must have fractured more than a single rib, but still he clung onto the Master’s neck.
It was at this point that the girl screamed out, a shrill piercing terror filled shriek that must have sent the other beasts scattering. The Master flinched at the sound, yet still continued its assault. Sleet fell back, gasping, and looked up at the creature that was about to descend upon him, about to finish him. His fingers searched frantically across the flagstones and then fastened upon the torch.
The Shadow leapt at him and in the same instant Sleet brought the substantial bulk of the torch up in a swinging arc which terminated against the side of the monster’s head with a satisfying crack. It fell to the side, hissing in what Sleet hoped was agony. It rolled, then turned to face him once more, but the burning fire of its eyes was gone. It uttered its awful cackle and then launched itself into the air and was away.
Sleet watched it vanish into the night sky, half grateful, half saddened.
His breaths came in jagged gasps as the pain in his chest finally registered. He spat blood and turned to face the street but there was nothing to see. The Shadows had gone. The girl had gone. I don’t blame her either! He thought.
Eventually he crawled to the wall of the church which he used to gain his feet before stumbling off in the direction of O’Mara’s place, where he knew succour could be found.
“Next time!” he shouted into the sky, each word paining him greatly, “I’ll have you next time, you bastard!”