When I was eight years old, my mother, Maggie Brogan, gave me a gift.

I found out later that it had actually belonged to Claire and she'd left it behind when her Dad had gained custody of her, but to me, it didn't matter that it was a second-hand gift. My Mum had given me a present. An actual present. It was the only one she ever gave to me.

It was a small, cream-coloured hardback book called Tropical Birds by Clive Roots. It was an ex-library book, the official stamp of Hackney Central Library just inside the front cover and a SOLD stamp underneath it in faded red. A clearly unloved book from the very few date stamps on the borrowing record, it had been sold for just twenty pence, whether to Claire or to someone else who then gifted it to her, I never knew. All I knew is that I loved it for two reasons.

The first reason was because when Mum had given it to me, she'd been sober. One brief, totally coherent conversation where she'd awarded me a ghost of a smile and touched my hair gently with one hand, the other one shaking as she held a half-smoked cigarette, the butt smudged with her trademark maraschino-red lipstick. She'd pushed the book across the kitchen table at me and I'd stared at it like it was the Holy Grail, maybe even like one those artefacts Ethan had said some people would wipe out a whole city just to get their hands on. It was blotted with dirty finger prints and a few of the pages were dog-eared, but I didn't care. She'd given it to me and for years afterwards, every time I looked at that book, I thought of that moment.

That one moment when she'd been my Mum and nothing else.

The other reason was because, after the monsters left, I would curl up on the pile of crumpled clothes at the bottom of my wardrobe, close the door, switch on the torch and look at the pictures of all the birds. From the bright blue and yellow macaw, to the sunburst orange crown of the cockatoo, from the rainbow-billed toucan, to the striking red of the scarlet ibis, I learnt everything I could about them. I drank in every single word until I could recite it off by heart. Memorised every picture like it was a photograph I had taken myself. Looking at the birds in all their wondrous colour calmed me, helped me forget.

No. Wait. Not forget. Push away. Push out.

I'd retreat into the wardrobe and push the other pictures outside, into the bedroom where they belonged. The snapshots of sweat-slick faces. Of hands much larger than my own. Of smiles and rage. Of monsters. Of Maggie.

No one knew about that book but her, and I think even she had forgotten about it.

I don't know how Ethan had known about the birds, I wasn't sure I even wanted to think about it, because if he knew about them, then the chances were that he knew about other shit too. The fact he had put the birds there, onto the wall of the room he had transformed for me, while the rest of the apartment still drowned in morose grey, made the tears stream down my face in a way they hadn't since I was little. I'd learned a long time ago that tears were pointless. They never changed a thing. They never helped. They never stopped the monsters. In fact, if anything, some monsters liked the tears. They wanted them. Lapped them up with forked tongues like they were a magical elixir.

But this was different.

Sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, I stared at the birds in flight, marvelling at their beauty, captivated by their bright, vibrant hues, by the strength of their wings and I cried. No wailing. No sobbing. Just endless silent tears falling down my face and dampening the skirt of my dress as they fell into my lap.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there like that. All I know is that I felt calmed again and my night of pacing the floor with withdrawal anxiety and gnawing on the skin around my fingernails – and yeah, I did pace and gnaw a bit – wasn't anywhere there as Hellish as I expected it to be.

*

I wondered if this was how it usually felt on the day of your execution.

Moments of utter normality – taking a shower, washing off the dirt and nightmares, changing into fresh clothes, watching the birds in flight, having a cup of coffee – mixed with moments of gut-churning clarity, because you know that today is the day. Today is the day you finally meet your fate. The day that you are finally going to get what's been coming to you, what you've been rushing, tumbling, staggering headlong towards for most of your pathetic, worthless existence. The day that you've thought about often, but never quite like this.

I'd imagined a heart attack. A stroke. Choking on my own vomit. With a random stranger's hands wrapped tightly around my throat as my coke-addled veins screamed not for life, but for just one more hit, just a bump of powder, just a little one, anything, please fuck, I'll do anything, please.

I never imagined I'd be standing in the living room of an apartment that existed in an underworld dimension, created by a demon, who was about to hand me over to another demon to honour a centuries-old debt. I mean, because what the actual fuck, right?

Yet here I was, wearing not my usual street-armour, but jeans, hoodie, boots – all pretty much close to my size, again, how did he know? – with freshly-washed hair, that admittedly felt a bit glorious, a tremble in my legs that I didn't want and the seeds of a plan in my head that I did want.

We were going to Seventh Heaven, the irony of the name now not lost on me when it seemed like I was about to be thrown into Hell, but as soon as Ethan told me that's where Oscar had asked to meet, I felt a tiny jolt of hope.

It was a lion's den, yes, of course it was, but there's always a way in and a way out of a lion's den and, as luck would have it, I knew Oscar's club like I knew the high of a buzz and the beat of a tune. I knew all the rooms, public and private. I knew where the girls got dressed and undressed, I knew the bathrooms (even had an on-off relationship with the top of the cistern in one of the girls' loos, which I'm pretty sure has been caked in more coke than Kate Moss' nose), I knew the booze cellar, the storeroom, Oscar's office and more importantly, I knew all the entrances and exits.

Being in the supply trade and being Oscar's favourite girl, I'd been given all the lessons in how to get in and out of that place if anything kicked off. The filth, rival gangs, whatever. I'd been taught how to evade them as quickly as possible and that, was the key.

Of course, it also hadn't escaped my attention that Oscar's club wasn't quite the dirty, gaudy, sweat and semen joint I'd always thought it to be, and that those inside weren't all human. Plus, I had the added complication of being in the clutches of a demon who had the power to push my face into a wall and make me become part of the fixtures and fittings if he wanted to.

I knew all that and I knew my chances were slim as fuck, but I hadn't gotten through life so far without dancing across the line, offering a challenge to whatever lay waiting on the other side, then dragging myself back to just do it all over again and live to tell the tale.

'So, you're just going to do your thing,' I said, standing in living room, with Ethan in front of me. 'And we're going to just pop up in Oscar's club?'

He shot me a withering look. 'Again, with the whole popping up thing. It's called dimensional teleportation, Casey.'

'Okay, dimensional teleportation if that makes you happier, Mr Spock,' I said, rolling my eyes. 'If moving around like that is going to attract the Angels, how are we meant to get into Oscar's club without alerting them to the fact that we're there? Do we have to go the long way around?'

'He has a wormhole...'

'Oh, I bet he does.'

'Casey...' The half-smile rose, almost reluctantly and he rubbed his hand across his mouth as if that small gesture could banish it.

'Sorry,' I replied, although I wasn't in the slightest. 'A wormhole? And what does that do exactly?'

'It acts like a tunnel, that will take us from one place to one of Oscar's. Not inside the club, mind you, but underneath it.'

'Underneath as in, like this place is underneath?' I gestured around the apartment.

He nodded. 'Yeah, kinda like this place, only a bit more like the 80's chewed it up and spat it out.'

I ignored his quip. I was too gripped with the dark panic that if we were going into one of Oscar's dimensions and not the actual club, then my chances of finding a way out were even slimmer than I'd imagined. 'But won't he have a shield up? How are we meant to get in?'

Ethan stepped closer and grabbed my hands, his gaze locked with mine.

'We knock, of course.'

*

The journey was no less horrible than before.

Pulling me against him and instructing me to hold on, Ethan opened up the floor, revealing a rippling black maw waiting to swallow us whole and we fell, my stomach flipping over and over on a furious spin cycle that seemed never-ending. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, unwittingly pressing my face into his chest, my hands desperately clutching at his back as the coldness of the fall sucked at my own, a thousand icy kisses slathering my skin.

A rush of noise – people, traffic – made me open my eyes momentarily to catch a flash of an alleyway and the dome of St. Paul's dominating the skyline as Ethan took us into what must have been the entrance to the wormhole and then London was gone. We spiralled into another fall that felt worse, a bumpy rollercoaster ride into oil-slick blackness. I held onto him tighter, hearing his heart beat loud under my ear and the warmth of his hand on my waist a welcome contrast to the chill.

When everything finally stopped spinning and the ground hit hard and firm beneath my feet, I remained where I was, eyes closed, inhaling deeply, until Ethan unhooked my arms from around him.

As I opened my eyes, he took a hasty step back as if he thought I might claw at him again and I stood, flexing my fingers to get some feeling back into my hands as I glanced about.

The room was small and boxy, illuminated only by a red exit sign above the door, which seemed faintly mocking in its presence, seeing as there was no other entrance or exit to this room that I could see, other than the one in front of me, which led straight into a narrow stairwell. Slowly turning around, I studied every inch of the walls, floor and ceiling, looking for a tear, a rip, some small gap in the seam that I knew must be here somewhere. The only way out was obvious, but where we had gotten in, was a mystery.

Ethan was already out the door before I'd turned back to face him, and I hesitated to follow, loitering in the doorway as I watched him take the stairs, two steps at a time. Halfway up, he stopped and glanced back.

'Are you coming with me or did you want to do this down there?' he called out. 'I can fetch Berith if you like, but I reckon a few more people and that room is going to feel pretty bloody crowded.'

'Fine,' I said sullenly, glaring at him. 'I'm coming.'

I followed him up the narrow staircase, the light transforming into a muted, clinical green as the stairwell angled to the left and continued upwards. As we turned the corner, the scarlet room below was swallowed up by darkness, the staircase disappearing into a black hole and I quickened my step, not wanting to be left behind and gobbled up by the dark void behind us.

At the top of the staircase, a fire door stood in our path and Ethan pushed confidently on the bar to open it, his lack of hesitation telling me he'd clearly done this before, or that maybe he was just looking forward to getting me off his hands and palming me off onto Oscar.

I stopped dead just inside the door.

The corridor stretched out ahead of me. From the end of the hallway, another door awaited, music drifting through the cracks. The white-washed walls were covered in a variety of framed prints some of which were similar to those in Oscar's office, faded centre-fold posters from old porno mags and flyers advertising long-gone club-nights. Girl-on-girl shows, lap-dancing specials, Halloween parties, even a Christmas extravaganza complete with girls wearing Santa costumes promising to give punters a very special gift in their stocking. I didn't even have to examine the flyers to know what they were promoting, because I'd seen them all before.

I whirled back, gawping at the door behind me.

It was the fire exit, the same one I used to get in and out when picking up the gear. The one that led to the alley behind the club. The bar was on this side, yet when we'd come in, the bar had been on the other side. It had. I'd seen it. I'd seen Ethan use it to get in.

With a frown, I pushed on the bar, just like I had so many times before, except this time, I didn't step out into the damp, rubbish-strewn alley, but back into the narrow stairwell once again.

'You're going the wrong way.'

Ethan's voice drifted along the corridor. He was standing close to the dancers' dressing room, his stance very casual, but my eyes were drawn to where his hands were clenched by his sides.

He'd thought I was going to run. Of course, he did. And I was. The first opportunity I got, or at least, the first opportunity where I had a fighting chance of escaping, I was going to run, but this wasn't it. This hadn't even been close to it.

The silence was glass-shatteringly tense in the corridor as we looked at each other.

I had to break it. I had to do something. If I didn't put him at ease in some way, he was going to watch me like a hawk that hadn't fed on anything for weeks and had just captured a small tasty-looking rodent in its sights.

'This is the fire exit out back of the club.' I gestured into the stairwell. 'I've been in and out of here loads of times. How can it also be the wormhole?'

Ethan's expression didn't crack. Not one hint of a smile broke through his shield. 'It's only open to those who Berith allows to use it. The wormhole doesn't exist in your world. Only ours.'

I pulled the door closed, running my fingers along the edges as if I expected it to exude some kind of magical energy. 'So, who else does he allow to use it?'

'Rosier. A couple of others. Me.' His shoulders dropped slightly, his hands unclenched. 'Come on.'

He turned, walking towards the main door to the club room and I followed him, unease prickling the hair on my neck.

'I thought you were going to knock,' I said, as Ethan went to open the door.

'Trust me, I did,' he replied. 'He knows we're here.'

The music ballooned outwards as he opened the door, Britney Spears' I'm A Slave 4 U, and I walked into the club to see a routine I'd seen the girls do many times before, a tacky dance involving fake rubbery pythons that spent more time being rubbed between slick thighs than they did being hung over shoulders as per the Britney video. The décor was the same tasteless gaudy style it had always been – lots of red velvet, leopard print and satin, pock-marked with stains I didn't even want to think about. The whole place still stank of booze, baby oil and cigar smoke, because Oscar never gave a shit about the smoking ban and smoked wherever the fuck he wanted in his own gaff.

I even recognised a couple of the girls, who had perfected the art of looking like they were getting off on the thrill of showing their tits while dancing with a rubber snake, partly because I knew most of them took a little bump of powder before their show to keep them going, and partly because to them, this was just life. To them this was rent, gas, electricity, water, groceries, child-care. This was whatever it took to just get by.

I knew them. I knew this place. I'd been here so many times before, walked this club in heels and in dresses so short they bordered on obscene, and yet now I realised that I didn't know it at all. I never had. Just as I had never really known the man I'd worn the heels and dresses for.

That same man was now sitting on one of the curved velvet sofas at the back of the club, directly opposite the stage, his arms outstretched along the back of the couch, one leg crossed over the other.

Smoke drifted up from the cigar in Oscar's right hand, his other hand tapping along to Britney.

The light from the shimmering disco ball reflected off the thick gold chain at his neck, his lemon shirt unbuttoned and open in a V, exposing a smattering of dark hair on his chest. The sleeves were neatly folded up to the elbows, another trademark-Oscar thing, as were the gold sovereign rings he wore on both hands.

If, as Ethan had said, Oscar knew we were there, he didn't look our way as we entered, despite the light from the corridor flooding the corner of the room and disturbing the ambience of the club. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the girls, eyes roving over flesh and sequins. You could say what you wanted about Oscar, but even after all the years he'd been in the strip club industry, he never got bored of seeing nipples and arse. He nodded in appreciation a couple of times when the dancers did something with the snake he particularly approved of, watching the show like it was the first time he'd ever seen it, despite the fact I knew he'd seen it countless times.

I stood just behind Ethan, a hot, unwanted flare of tension igniting in my stomach when I saw his gaze drift lazily towards the stage where the girls were faking a kiss, all over-dramatic tonguing and plenty of supposedly lust-filled looks at their audience.

Typical. My freedom, and possibly my life, was about to be flushed down the drain with all the other shit, and the two blokes doing deals on me seemed to care more about a bit of girl-on-girl action than getting on with business. I probably should have been grateful they were both distracted, but I was a bit pissed that both of them could be so nonchalant about the whole thing, while suspecting that neither of them were quite as distracted as they appeared to be, not if what Ethan had said was anything to go by.

As if reading my thoughts, Oscar glanced in our direction and, resting his cigar on the side of the ashtray on the table in front of him, he clapped his hands, the sound cracking through the music and it abruptly stopped, plunging the club into an unsettling silence.

'That'll do, girls. Go on, fuck off,' he called out, picking up the cigar again and sucking on the end, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

In heels higher than even I would have dared to wear, the dancers expertly managed to descend the stairs at the side of the stage, snake and all. I was ready to smile and acknowledge them as they passed me by, but they stared at me in confusion as if they weren't quite sure where they knew me from, and instead quickly offered their smiles to Ethan, who returned the attention with a wide grin of his own.

'Ladies.' He nodded at them in greeting, leaving me to stare after them, bewildered as to why they hadn't recognised me.

Oscar beckoned for us to approach and Ethan sauntered over, threading in and out between the tables. I trailed behind, every step feeling like I was walking farther and farther away from everything I knew, and closer and closer towards the terrifying unknown.

It wasn't until I drew closer - managing to somehow drag my eyes away from Oscar, who looked just like the Oscar I knew, despite being anything but – when I noticed he wasn't alone in the audience.

A man sat at the bar, his huge pudgy frame perched precariously on a high bar-stool. The bar itself was lit only by a few lights behind and was mostly cloaked in gloom, but I had no idea how I could have missed the repellent creature sitting there, as he filled the corner with his imposing bulk. He was completely bald, his smooth head glistening with perspiration. His Hawaiian-print shirt pulled taut over his mammoth belly, revealing an expanse of hairy, fake-tanned flesh hanging over his waistband.

He stared at me as I walked over, his full lips curled into a smirk, and despite being clothed head to toe, I felt as exposed as the girls had been, as his gaze raked over every inch of me. On the bar in front of him was a large bottle of vodka, and he raised a glass to Ethan in greeting as we reached Oscar's table, the clear liquid sloshing over the sides and running down his fingers.

'Ethan.' His voice was like razor-blades, sharp and cold.

Ethan inclined his head slightly, but I saw less welcome in his stare than I had when he'd greeted the dancing girls and there was a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to pull on the air around him. Standing next to him, I caught the unmistakable vibrations as they zinged over my skin.

'Rosier,' he replied.

Rosier. I cringed inwardly, wondering why I was even surprised that anyone who impregnated maledicti women with his vile seed looked so utterly repulsive. Just as Oscar looked every-inch the clichéd East-End gangster, Rosier was clearly perfect for the part of black-market rogue demon with a craving for human flesh.

I was even more determined now to make sure I didn't end up as part of his abhorrent little harem.

'Casey, sweetheart.' Oscar's voice dragged my gaze back. 'What the blue-fucking-blazes are you wearing, girl?'

He was half-standing, leaning forward to take in the outfit Ethan had gifted me, his eyes wide and full of repulsion as if I'd walked in wearing a copper's uniform and not a plain hoodie and jeans. All at once, I was glad for the clothes Ethan had given me, glad because it was almost like saying a silent fuck you to Oscar and to all those times I'd had to parade myself in front of him, just to illicit a smile from the dirty old fucker and walk out of here with a holdall full of pills and coke.

I shrugged. 'Sorry, Mr. Turnbull. I had to leave in a hurry. Didn't have time to pack my slut-case.'

I knew Ethan was staring at me. Knew it. But I didn't turn to face him or acknowledge it, instead choosing to stay looking straight at Oscar, who emitted a low throaty chuckle, the smoke dancing erratically in the air in front of his face, which he waved away, only to take another drag on the cigar.

'Always did have a smart mouth,' he said, shaking his head. 'The number of times I could have slapped you for it, you wouldn't believe. Anyone else would have got a slap, you know that, don't you, darling?' He sniffed. 'Course you do. In fact, anyone else would have earned more than a slap, but not you, eh? Why is that, do you think?'

'Because I have better legs than most of the people you do business with?'

At the bar, Rosier snorted, half-choking on his drink.

Oscar jabbed his cigar in the demon's direction. 'Better fucking legs than him, that's for sure. What did I tell you, Ros? Got a mouth on her, eh?'

'She certainly has, my friend,' Rosier wheezed out the words. 'Quite a mouth indeed.' He took another swig of drink, his beady eyes not leaving mine as they peered at me from over the edge of the glass.

'You responsible for this get-up?' Oscar said to Ethan, gesturing at my clothes, and when the man at my side just smiled, Oscar sneered in disgust. 'Fucking Hell, Drake,' he hissed.

'What can I say? I didn't have time to be inventive.'

'Like fuck you didn't,' Oscar snapped. 'You've had all the time in the bloody world. Too much time as far as I'm concerned. You should have brought her to me as soon as you picked her up.'

It was my turn to glance at Ethan now, who seemed to be playing the same game as I was, refusing to return my stare.

Taking me back to his place clearly hadn't been part of their deal at all.

'Come on, Berith,' Ethan said. 'You and I both know that I couldn't have brought her straight here. The risk of leading the Cherubim back to you would have been too great. I was doing you a favour.'

'Don't talk to me about fucking favours, boy,' Oscar barked, his face darkening. 'I've been doing you fucking favours since the day your mother spit your miserable life from her body. You wanna talk about things we both know? Well, we both know you don't do nothing for no one unless you have to. You wouldn't know what it was to do somebody a real favour unless they smacked you across your bloody smug face with it.'

'A tad harsh.'

'A tad... you fucking what?' Oscar's eyes blazed with fury.

I'd seen his anger before. He could be restrained, controlled – you didn't get to be Oscar without that control - but his anger was powerful, brutal, and could hit like a hurricane when unleashed, but I saw something else there now, something I hadn't seen before. It was almost like he wanted to explode but there was something stopping him, pulling him back from the brink, something dark and pained beneath the surface.

Anyone else would have flinched. Hell, anyone else would have run. But Ethan just stood there, his thumbs hooked into his jean pockets, totally unflustered by it, like it was nothing. I'd never seen anyone stand up to Oscar before, not to his face anyway. I mean, plenty of rival gangs had shot their mouths off about him, calling him a has-been, a dinosaur, and far, far worse, but they'd always paid the price in the end. Everyone paid a price to Oscar.

A few seconds passed, and he settled back into his seat, sucking on the cigar again one final time and blowing smoke rings in the air to mark the occasion, before stubbing it out in the ashtray, his aggression evident as he stabbed at the glass bowl.

'Never mind,' he said, his scowl quickly transforming into a wide, flashy grin which was as fake as Rosier's tan. 'She's here now. You met your end of the bargain. Consider your debt paid, until next time, and the time after that, because we know there'll be many seeing as you can't seem to keep yourself out of fucking trouble.'

'On the contrary, I think I've been doing pretty well recently,' Ethan replied.

'Oh, you do, do ya?' Oscar narrowed his eyes. 'So, it wasn't you getting into a tussle with that Dominion over in Bethnal Green?'

Ethan craned his neck back and exhaled an irritated sigh. 'Hardly my fault. How was I supposed to know pretty boy would turn up and cause a scene? Anyway, I dealt with it.'

'Yeah, and it's the way you dealt with it that's a problem,' Oscar said. 'You can't just show up and start demolishing parts of London and expect the Council not to notice. They're not happy, Ethan. They're not fucking happy at all and they're making my life a living Hell because of it. Don't you think I have enough on my plate with them sniffing around for this one?'

He stabbed an accusatory finger towards me.

'As if things aren't a fucking mess enough. Not only have I got to get the Council off my back, but I've now got to start from bloody scratch again, because that disgusting monstrosity of a Cherubim took down my whole gang of boys. Do you know what that's going to take? Years I spent building that team. Years of sheer fucking graft. But nah, they don't think of that when they wipe out an entire existence, just like that. I've got a business to run.'

I glared at him, feeling the anger and hurt burn deep. 'Is that all you're worried about? Your bloody business? They died, Oscar. I was there. They were people I cared about, and that thing slaughtered them.'

Oscar cocked his head to one side, his lips pursed thin. 'Whose fucking fault was that, Casey darling? Because that thing wasn't there for them, was it? It was there for you. And don't talk to me about them boys dying, 'cause that hurts, I'm telling you it hurts.'

He slapped a palm down over his chest in a gesture and almost did look hurt.

'Davey was practically family to me, I spent years moulding that boy and what's more those geezers were the best around by a fucking mile. They knew what they were doing. It's going to be hard to find new boys, but I've got to do it. Now that might sound harsh to you, but it's business, Casey. My business. Davey would understand that. What he wouldn't understand is that, why, after reaping the benefits of that business these past few years, after reaping the benefits of my good nature, you would be standing there looking at me like I'm the one who snuffed him out.'

He stood up, shuffling along the gap between the sofa and the table, and I couldn't help but take a step back as he approached, bending slightly so his face was in line with mine.

I didn't want to back away and hated myself for showing him any sign of weakness. I'd always tried to front it with Oscar, I'd always tried to show him I could take care of myself and for the most part, I think it had worked, which is why I was granted access despite not technically being one of his dealers. Backing away had never really seemed like an option, but knowing what I knew now, I just couldn't help it.

I kept my gaze locked with his, my final stand, and as I looked at him, I knew I was searching for something else, some small, tell-tale sign of his true demon self, but from the broken capillaries around his nose, to the receding grey hairline, he was still just Oscar.

He slicked a tongue across his dry lips as he studied me.

'It had to be you, didn't it?' he rasped, with a small smile. 'I mean, when Ethan here told me it was you, I thought of all the fucking luck, eh? I don't believe in coincidences, Casey, never have, but I've got to admit, even I was knocked bandy when I found out you were the one the Council were looking for. You, of all people. Maggie Brogan's youngest. Davey's girl. All that time and there you were, a maledicti waiting to happen. Rising from the depths of oblivion and turning up right under my bloody nose. I told you I liked you, and I do, I honestly, genuinely do. You've got guts and fire and that goes a long way with me and you're a pretty girl too.' His eyes swept over me, his face turning sour with a grimace. 'That is when you're not dressed to go on a fucking orienteering course with the local scout group, of course.'

He sniffed, turning on his heels and walking over to behind the bar, where he fetched himself a glass and poured a large measure from the same bottle that Rosier was drinking from.

'It's a shame really,' he said with a shrug that told me it wasn't quite the shame he said it was. 'But I'm not really left with any choice. If I had a choice, I'd keep you around, not in that get-up, mind you, but I'd keep you with me, really I would.'

'Which means what exactly?'

'It means, Casey sweetheart, that I've got to get you off my patch. Remember what I told you about being a liability? Well, turns out you're a bigger liability than I thought. I can't so much as turn around without bumping into one of those bastard Angels and I need them gone, which means I need you gone.'

Oscar put the glass down and leant on the bar.

'What do you reckon, Ros?'

Rosier, who had been sizing me up like I was a prize cattle at the market the whole time Oscar had been talking, shrugged, his interested leer suddenly turning into a nonchalant whatever.

'Well, I can see why you'd want to keep her, Berith, but she's trouble, alright, there's no bloody doubt about that, my friend.'

Oscar's face crinkled with annoyance. 'So, what you saying, Ros? You want her or not?'

'You said it yourself, the girl's a liability.' Rosier looked back at me, taking another swig of vodka. 'I mean, I could take her, she'd be popular, that's for sure, nice looking girl like that, but I can't have her causing me any bother. And I'd expect to be compensated for my troubles. This is a big ask, Berith, you know that as well as I do. It's going to take a lot to shield her from the Council.'

I gaped at them both, my mouth open and I wanted to say no, fuck you, I'm not yours, no, no, no, I wanted to scream and shout at them and start hurling chairs at them across the bar, but my mind was reeling, my body feeling like Ethan had opened up the ground beneath me and I was falling, plummeting, being sucked into an icy void where the ghosts grabbed at me with hands that were always so much larger than mine, so much stronger.

Oscar and Rosier continued to debate between themselves, their voices melding into one horrible cacophony of noise that made me want to clap my hands over my ears and curl into a ball. They talked about debts and payments and compensation like I was some meaningless transaction, a commodity to be bought and sold and loaned out like I was nothing.

And I was nothing. Nothing then. Nothing now. No matter how hard I tried to escape from it, no matter how far I ran, I was going in circles, always veering back to the same point. Endless, exhausting circles that always led me back to this.

'I'll take her.'

The voice was like the sound of bird wings on the air. Strong. Powerful. I heard them. Heard him.

Both Rosier and Oscar stopped talking, and all three of us turned to look at Ethan.

'You're right,' he said, stepping forward, his tone serious. Business-like. 'Keeping her from the Angels is a risk, and, seeing as the both of you have so much to lose, and I really don't, it makes more sense that I take her off your hands.'

Silence greeted his words. A few seconds of gut-churning silence ticked by as I saw the demons' minds working overtime, both trying to decide whether Ethan's proposal was legitimate or just a joke, although I saw Oscar's face pinch tighter as he studied the child of his long-dead friends, the boy that he'd saved time and time again. Was it concern there? Or mistrust? I wasn't sure which, but I could see from the way Rosier was smiling that he'd decide Ethan's offer was clearly just a joke.

'And what, can I ask, do you want with a maledicti?' he chuckled, hoarsely.

Ethan shrugged, his cold dark eyes finding mine.

'Well, I'm sure I'll think of something.'     

******

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

Okay, so this chapter turned out WAY longer than I expected and yeah, I know, some readers really don't like the longer chapters, but I'm hoping it'll make up for neglecting Hedoschism last week and updating Savage Wings instead ;-) 

I had planned to split it into two after realising the word count was topping 6k, but in all honesty, I couldn't have imagined ending it anywhere other than on those ominous last words of Ethan's. What is our favourite demon up to? 

I hope you enjoyed! Please do leave a comment and hit that vote button if you did! 

Linz xx