Prologue
Spitalfields, East London, 1887
She was dying. He
could feel her life slipping away between his fingers. He had tried
to ignore the signs, tried to pretend it was just the night cold
making her face so white, but now as they paused in the pool of
gaslight he could see the grey circles under her eyes and the dark
blood on her lips. He was no physician, but he still knew what it
meant, he had seen it too many times before. Her flesh was hot to
the touch and there were bruises flowering on her slender neck.
Death had marked her; it was only a matter of time before he
collected.
‘I’m sorry,’ she
panted. ‘Just a little rest and then I’ll be fine.’
‘Of course,’ he said,
setting her down in a doorway. ‘As long as you need.’
The young man’s
handsome face was pinched, pained. She looks
so beautiful, even now, he thought. How
can God take her away from me? Suddenly he looked up,
searching the dark alleyway behind them anxiously, his blue eyes
scanning the thick, swirling fog, his nose flaring reflexively even
though he could smell nothing above the rancid stench of
London.
‘They’re coming,’ he
whispered to himself. ‘We can’t stay here.’
She moaned softly as
he lifted her into his arms. Glancing around, he increased his
pace, his cloak billowing behind them. He skidded and almost fell
on the cobbles as he turned from the narrow side street into the
main thoroughfare. It was still busy despite the late hour and he
felt a little hope steal into his heart as he saw the tall grey
spire stretching up towards the moon. If he could just reach the
church, then, perhaps, there was still a chance. God could not fail
him. Veering across the street, dodging a carriage and ignoring the
cursing driver, he charged up the steps.
‘Open the door!’ he
shouted, his fist hammering on the heavy oak. ‘For pity’s sake, let
us in!’
Still holding the
girl tightly, he allowed himself to look back across the road. He
could see nothing in the darkness, but he knew they would be here
soon, their claws and teeth bared. Nothing would stop them from
claiming their prize.
‘Help us!’ he yelled
again, slamming his palm against the wood. ‘In Christ’s
name!’
‘And what do you know
of Christ?’ said a voice. The door creaked open a fraction and the
black barrel of a pistol poked through the gap. ‘Get away from
here, you devil. I know what you are.’
The young man looked
towards the door, his eyes blazing. ‘I don’t ask for sanctuary for
myself,’ he said. ‘I ask for her.’ He lifted the girl, the small
silver crucifix around her neck glinting dully.
There was a long
pause and then the pistol was withdrawn.
‘Bring her in.
Quickly.’
The cleric looked
young, or as young as anyone could look in his line of work. His
back was bent and his face creased, but his hair was not yet
completely grey. He had the same smell of death about him as the
girl did, he noted as he watched the priest bolt the
door.
‘This way,’ said the
priest, holding his lamp as high as he could. He opened the door to
a small but cosy room lit by candles, a meagre fire burning in the
grate. ‘Here, put her on the cot.’
Once the girl was
settled, the cleric turned his lamp up and held it close to her
face. Her skin was sallow in the harsh light, her lips blue-tinged,
sweat beading on her forehead. He shook his head. ‘There’s nothing
we can do.’
The young man grasped
the priest’s arm, squeezing hard. ‘There must be something - some
prayer or incantation? Please,’ he asked desperately.
The cleric spread his
hands helplessly. ‘She’s too far gone. Only God can help her
now.’
The young man turned
to him, his gaze intense and unwavering. ‘Then it’s up to
me.’
The cleric’s eyes
widened. ‘No, no, I beg you!’
‘What else can I do?’
growled the man. ‘I tried to save her, I tried to get her away from
those demons, but she’s dying. Dying!’
‘Damn you!’ cried the
priest. ‘This is a house of God.’
The man pushed the
priest from the room. ‘Then go and pray for us,’ he
hissed.
Locking the door
behind the priest, he slowly knelt by the cot and gently brushed
the girl’s damp hair back from her face. The blood was bubbling in
her throat now and her eyes were flickering open and
shut.
‘It’s time, Lily.
It’s time,’ he murmured, stroking her pale neck tenderly. ‘Now
we’ll be together.’
He lowered his head,
his lips parting as if for a kiss. Painfully yet determinedly, the
girl turned her head.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘I can’t. I won’t.’ A tear slid slowly
down her face.
‘But this is the only
way,’ he insisted, panic in his voice. ‘Join me and you’ll be
cured. I can’t bear to lose you.’
She gave a weak
smile, her teeth stained pink with blood. ‘What we have is special,
my love,’ she replied, her eyes clear and sure. ‘Don’t ruin it like
this, with this evil.’
‘What I did was for
us,’ he said softly, stroking her cold cheek.
‘But if you do this,
if you kill another human being, God will never forgive you and you
will be lost for ever.’ She saw his stricken face and tried to
smile. ‘We’ll be together again, I promise you,’ she
said.
A crash echoed from
the front of the church.
‘They’re
here.’
‘Don’t,’ she said,
gripping his wrist fiercely. ‘You’re not like them. Promise me
you’ll stay strong.’
He nodded sadly. ‘I
promise. Only the one who made me like this - he will
pay.’
‘Then you will be
free?’
‘Yes, darling. And
then we can be together.’
Suddenly she was
wracked with a terrible coughing fit.
‘Don’t worry, our
love will endure,’ she gasped into his ear. ‘I will be with you
again.’
Her chest jerked
upwards, once, twice, and then her limbs went rigid. Her eyelids
trembled and her lips parted.
‘I love you,’ she
whispered. And she was gone.
‘NOOO!’ he roared,
pulling her body to him, clutching at her hair. ‘NO!’
He lay like that for
a few moments, his tears falling on her pale cheek, then he slowly
rose. Outside, he could hear thuds and splintering wood. With one
last look towards the bed, he threw off his cloak and opened the
door.