"Can you not feel it?"
The moment the words were uttered, he could. Against the background of rising anxiety like a deep bass rumble, something unpleasant was stirring. The roar of the Redcaps bouncing off the buildings disturbed Shavi before he had time to analyse the sensation, and then the feral creatures surged into view with renewed vigour.
Baccharus, Shavi and Laura spurred their horses, with the other Tuatha De Danann following a split second later. Shavi, who had his perception fixed on the flow of the Blue Fire, took the lead.
The unbearable speed of the Redcaps was the least of their worries. They had barely broken into the once-serene environment of St. James's Park when Shavi realised what it was he had sensed. When the smoke and icy mist cleared to present a view of the sprawling city, he had the unnerving impression that it was altering its shape like a Night Walker. The edges of the stately buildings along Whitehall, of the sedate and cultured pale stone blocks of The Mall, of those further away in the West End, were continually moving, like some bad, speeded-up animation. When he realised what it was, his blood, already chilled by where he was and what he had seen, became even colder.
Thousand upon thousand of Fomorii were emerging from their hiding places, moving out into the city, across rooftops, down walls; all the sickening, alien activity of a disturbed anthill. The speed of their waking suggested some call must have gone out on a level only those hideous creatures could understand.
"They're coming for us." Laura's voice was drained of all life.
Behind them, the ferocious roaring of the Redcaps drew nearer. "No way back." Shavi spurred the horse on faster. "Only forward."
"This is what they wanted," Laura said dismally, her words almost drowned out by the thunder of the hooves. "To separate us. To get us into a place where there wasn't the slightest chance we could fight back." She gulped in a mouthful of air to stifle the rising emotion. Then: "Do you think they've got the others?"
Shavi wasn't listening. The sea of black, roiling bodies moved in rapidly on either side; soon they would be submerged in the deluge. Dread formed a lump in his throat. Always hope, he told himself, a calming mantra repeated over and over. Focus on the source of the hope, not the source of the fear. Gradually the black, oppressive world faded away into the background until all he could see were the streams of brilliant blue. And the deepest, fastest and most brilliant of them blazed a channel between the enclosing darkness. Shavi guided his horse on to it and prayed.
The scorched grass, blackened trees and thick layer of grey ash that blanketed St. James's Park passed in a blur. The jolt of hooves on hard road. Great George Street. Then the wide open space of Parliament Square, the statue of the great war leader Churchill reduced to a broken stump. Westminster Bridge shattered, ending after only a few yards in broken concrete and twisted iron girders. The Houses of Parliament seething, across the roof, through the smashed windows, bubbling out towards them. The Fomorii that had the ability to fly on leathery bat wings swarmed across the Thames like angry wasps.
"All around!" Laura yelled. "This is it!"
The Fomorii surged down Whitehall and Millbank into Parliament Square, black, gleaming bodies as far as the eye could see. Shavi guided his horse round until the dark, majestic bulk of Westminster Abbey rose up in front of them.
"There," he said.
They raced their horses to the western entrance, where Shavi saw the Blue Fire swirling into a coruscating pillar of energy, lighting up the ornate columned front with its imposing twin towers. Three of the Tuatha De Danann jumped down to try the handles before putting their shoulders to the heavy oaken doors without budging them in the slightest.
"Locked," one of the guards said. Panic bloomed in his face. The Square was completely obscured now; the relentless torrent was almost upon them.
"Who's there?" The voice was timorous, broken.
Shavi leapt from his horse and threw himself at the door. "Let us in! We need sanctuary!"
There was one hanging moment when they feared whoever was within had left them to die, but then came the sound of heavy bolts being drawn.
The Redcaps were ahead of the driving wall of Fomorii, jumping and leaping like crazed tigers. One of the Tuatha De Danann guards attempted to fend them off to give the others more time. They fell on him in a frenzy.
The door swung open and a voice shouted, "Quick!"
Shavi led them in, horses and all, and then the doors slammed shut with a sound like the tolling of a bell.
Within the Abbey there was an abiding stillness. The thick stone walls muffled the noise of the terrible force without, but all Shavi was aware of was the thunder of the blood in his brain. The entire building was filled with the iron tang of the Blue Fire, too potent, he was sure, for the Fomorii to attempt to enter. Yet as he came to terms with the amazing fact that they were safe, he gradually took in his surroundings and was overcome with surprise.
The vast body of the Abbey was filled as far as he could see with pale, silent faces. Men and women, old, middle-aged and young, babies and children, all looking up with expressions riven by fear. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, turned towards the new arrivals, or slumped on pews or on the stone floor, at first glance barely human; sheep, he thought, even less than that.
But there was humanity behind the fear, although it was of a pathetic kind, of people desperately trying to cope with a paralysing disbelief that everything they understood had crumbled in an instant.
"Who are you?" It was the voice of the man who had spoken to them through the door. He was in his early fifties, stylishly dressed, with a sallow face, cropped grey hair and designer glasses. He appeared to notice the Tuatha De Danann for the first time. "Who are they? Are they-?"
"Friends." Shavi rested a calming hand on the man's shoulder. He glanced once more at the expectant mass. Around the edges of the nave were empty cans and boxes, the remains of whatever food supplies they had brought with them, but many of the faces looked hungry. "How long have you been in here?"
"From the moment it all blew up. It took everyone by surprise. We scrambled in here with what we could grab, a few provisions, not enough… How in heaven's name did you manage to get here? We thought everyone else must be dead by now." His voice died; there were tears in his eyes. "We can't go outside. A few tried it, to get more food." He shook his head, looked at his shoes.
Laura pulled Shavi over to one side. "This is a nightmare. They're either going to starve or go outside and get slaughtered."
"We are in the same predicament."
"Yes, but they're not like us. They're normal people. That shit is part of our job description, not theirs."
Shavi still couldn't comprehend how much she had altered. Not so long ago she would have been advocating self-preservation at all costs, and now she was urging them to accept their responsibility. Could someone really change that much? "You are right," he said, smiling. "We owe them what little hope we have, at the very least." He turned to the sallow-faced man. "Are you in charge here?"
He shook his head. "You want Professor Michell, I suppose. He's not really in charge. But he makes decisions. Any decisions that need making."
"Then," Shavi prompted, "could you take us to him?"
The nave was beautiful and awe-inspiring, with fabulous monuments on either side. An air of solemnity hung over it. As they passed through, brief hope flared in the eyes of the refugees. Some held out their hands like the Victorian poor, silently begging for food. A Nigerian woman, overweight in a too-tight coat, offered a tentative smile, her eyes flooded with tears. Children stared blankly into the shadows. A girl in a blue dress, Sunday-best smart, as if she'd been on her way to a special function when her life had been arrested, said, "Have you seen my mummy? I'm waiting for her." Babies shuddered with sobs drained of tears. Shavi and Laura tried to offer reassuring smiles to the first few, but the emotional cost was too great and they averted their eyes for the remainder of the long walk.