I rubbed my eyes, irritated that we were so close, yet so far. We knew where the Balan was, but an old woman fond of riddles and manipulation stood in our way. I couldn’t tell if she was on our side or not, but I suspected the only person she gave a shite about was herself.

  “Then give me something so I know you’re telling the truth,” I said to her. “I don’t trust that you’ll turn around and trick us again.”

  Clearly annoyed, the druidess let out a humph. “To break the barrier, you need one thing.”

  “What?”

  “The demon’s name.”

  Wilder swore under his breath.

  “What?” I asked, my scowl deepening.

  “Names hold great power with demons as well as the Druids,” he replied. “If you know a greater demon’s true name—”

  “You can control its power,” the druidess said matter-of-factly.

  “Great.” I threw my hands into the air. Clearly, we weren’t going to be back at the Sanctum with a greater demon’s head by dinner time.

  “He won’t come out until his power is restored,” Wilder said. “We need his name, otherwise we don’t stand a chance on our own. We barely got him last time.” And even then, it was only temporary.

  I turned to the druidess and looked her over. Taking a deep breath, I pushed away my exhaustion and anger. “What do you want?”

  She patted Jackson on the knee and smiled brightly. “Demon boy.”

  “Me?” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in panic.

  “As you can tell,” Wilder began, flipping his cold iron dagger over in his hand, “the purple girl is fond of that one. I also know what you’re like. I get you seeds and tea bags for help hunting down the worst of the worst in the demon world, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Darkness-infused runes, your knowledge of Human Convergence, your tricks and riddles…” He snorted and knelt in front of her. “He was your price all along, wasn’t he?”

  She smiled, clearly not intimidated by the hulking six-foot-three Natural in front of her. Wilder’s lip curled, and he slammed down the dagger into the couch beside her.

  The druidess jerked and let out a wail. “My final price!”

  “Not if you’re going to harm him,” Wilder seethed.

  “Really?” Jackson asked, glancing at me. “He likes me now?”

  “What are you up to?” Wilder demanded. “You Druids and your schemes. You might be the last, but you’re still like them despite your differences.”

  She leaned forwards and the room began to shake. “Name for boy.”

  I covered my head as dirt rained down from the ceiling, wondering if I should get under a doorway. Jackson yelped and leapt behind the couch.

  “I’ll stay!” he cried. “I can handle whatever it is she wants with me.”

  “No,” I snarled, “you’re coming with us.”

  He peeked over the top of the couch and shook his head. “He’s the guy who murdered your parents, Scarlett, and he tried to turn me into a demon. If this is your only chance to kill him, then I’ll stay. It can’t be that bad.” Looking at the druidess, he declared, “We accept your price.”

  “Jackson!” I shrieked. “No!”

  The room immediately stopped shaking as if it was the signature and full stop on some mystical contract.

  The druidess grinned and clapped her hands together. “It is done!” She glanced between me and Wilder a few times before gesturing to me. “You will need…”

  “Me?”

  “Just you, purple girl.”

  I hesitated.

  “Just let her tell you the name, Purples,” Wilder said as he rose to his feet. “The deal has been done.”

  I made a face and knelt beside the old woman. “Just when I started to like you, you go all sphinx on me with your riddles.” I glanced at Jackson. “Are you going to hurt him? Because if you trick us again—”

  The druidess sighed and grabbed my jacket. Pulling me towards her, she whispered in my ear, “Markzoth.”

  It lodged into my mind like a bullet and my eyes widened. Now I understood why creatures protected their true identities from people like us. Names had power.

  Standing, I looked at Wilder.

  He nodded and moved towards the door.

  “Scarlett?” Jackson emerged from behind the couch and embraced me.

  “It’ll be okay,” I murmured. “We’ll get him, I promise.” And I wasn’t letting him stay here forever—the prisoner of some ancient Druid—just like we weren’t going to let him rot in the vaults. I’d come back and take him and the runes…by force if I had to.

  The old woman smirked at me, then gathered up the box, cradling it against her chest.

  If there was one thing I’d learned about Druids so far, it was the fact you shouldn’t trust them as far as you could throw their gnarled, sweet, little grandmother bodies.

  I slipped my arms around his waist. “I’ll come back for you,” I whispered into his ear, “I promise.”

  17

  London was waking up as we ventured towards Waterloo, the encounter with the druidess still heavy on my mind.

  Just you, purple girl.

  I couldn’t help wondering if the druidess’s cryptic dishing out of greater demon names meant I’d be facing Markzoth on my own. Without Wilder. A green trainee with a penchant for reckless risk taking. Touched by Arondight or not, I didn’t know a thing about vanquishing anything other than Infernals and lesser demons.

  “Is this what it’s like?” I asked, shivering as the wind picked up.

  “What?”

  “Being a Natural.”

  Wilder grunted, the sound reverberating down to my very soul. He didn’t have a reply, because I already had my answer. Sacrifice, loss, and constant struggle—that was the reality of being a Natural.

  We decided—meaning Wilder ordered me—to go on foot. I was beginning to tire after our night of adventures—vanquishing demons on the tube and blowing up a secret underground laboratory would do that to a person—and I yawned.

  The Thames was running swiftly as we crossed the Waterloo Bridge—the tidal river was already bustling with water taxis, tourist boats, and other vessels. Street lights were slowly switching off as we passed, and traffic—foot and motorised—was picking up as the morning commute intensified.

  Wilder told me more about the Druids as we walked. It left me wondering if this was another one of his teaching moments, or if he was trying to keep my mind off the fact that the most dangerous grandma I’d ever had the pleasure of tangling with was holding Jackson prisoner.

  He told me that the Druids were born out of the ancient Celtic tribes. For thousands of years, they were held in high esteem as soothsayers, priests, and magicians. They lived long lives—at least a thousand years going by the druidess’ high score—and had long memories, though they seemed to become more fond of riddles and lessons the older they grew. They had their own kind of power, neither Light nor Dark, but it came with a terrible price. What it was, Wilder didn’t know, but it made them loathe to use their magic, except in the most dire of circumstances.

  When the Naturals rose to power—by fighting the supernatural beings that threatened humankind—they forged an alliance with the Druids. The most famous allegiance being between Merlin and the Naturals of Camelot. His presence had been recorded in stories told over and over by humanity, but the true version of events were a little more…extreme.

  By the time Camelot was destroyed in the cataclysm—the part in the story where demons were finally able to walk on the Earth in vast numbers—the Druids had dwindled, and in the ashes of ruin, the demons had hunted them down to the last of their kind. The rest of that tale was still unfolding a thousand years later.

  Though, where the Druids came from and where they went after death, was a mystery. Like the Naturals, their origins had been lost to time and destruction.

  It was food for thought as we approached the next stage of our hunt.

  Waterloo Station was teeming with activity when we finally arrived. Wilder allowed our cloak to dissipate as we moved through an alcove, subtly returning us to visibility without alerting anyone.

  People walked in all directions, rushing for trains, going to work, and wherever else they had to go in such a hurry. There had to be thousands pouring in and out of the tube and overland rail station, not to mention from busses and the street.

  Bodies ripe for possession.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling we were walking into a trap.

  “Stay alert,” Wilder said, bristling with the same apprehension. “There might be Naturals around.”

  He didn’t have to remind me twice.

  We moved farther into the station, searching for a shop that sold cheap pay-as-you-go phones. Digital boards listed all the incoming and departing trains in garish orange text, the ticket machines were bumper to bumper, barriers squealed as they opened and closed, and the loud speakers blared announcements over the already noisy station.

  I spotted a WHSmith convenience store ahead and nudged Wilder. While he was inside, I leaned against the wall, keeping a close eye on the crowd around us. I could sense something askew, but it was so faint that it was hard to tell if I was imagining things. Looking at the tiled floor beneath my feet, I wondered if the tunnel the druidess pointed us to ran right under the station.

  Wilder appeared beside me, box in hand, and tore into the packaging. I waited as he put the SIM card into the back and switched the phone on. The screen lit up and prompted him to set up the language, then a passcode.

  “It’s got two percent battery,” he said just as it switched it off. “Piece of shite.”

  “There.” I nodded towards the Caffè Nero across the concourse. “I’m hungry and in need of a sugar hit. We’ll be out of sight in there while it charges.”

  Wilder grunted and dumped everything but the phone and charger into the bin. I considered throwing up another cloak for a moment but decided against it. There were too many people hanging around and tables were in high demand. If someone tried to sit on Wilder’s invisible lap, there’d be chaos.

  We found temporary refuge at the back of the café. Wilder plugged the charger into an outlet and all we had to do was wait until the phone had enough juice for it to turn on.

  Pilfering a ten-pound note from my mentor, I ordered some drinks, looking totally conspicuous in my black clothes, purple hair, and leather jacket. A middle-aged lady gave me some serious disapproving side-eye and I stared back, making sure she wasn’t carrying an unwanted visitor. Thankfully, she was just allergic to alternative fashion. Man, if only she knew.

  Returning to the back of the store with our order, I slipped into a chair beside Wilder and slid him his takeout cup of black tar, AKA what he thought passed for coffee. I happily sipped on my raspberry and Belgian white chocolate frappé and intermittently dipped my finger into the whipped cream heaped on top.

  Wilder watched me with a strange fascination.

  “What?” I asked. “Haven’t you ever had a frappé before?”

  “Not when they cost more than a fiver,” he replied, frowning at the twenty-three pence I handed back to him. “I prefer black coffee.”

  I feigned throwing up, then resumed creatively ingesting my cream and chocolate frappé, otherwise known as heaven.

  “This isn’t how I expected our hunt for a greater demon in a tunnel of death to go,” I murmured keeping my voice to a bare minimum.

  “What did you expect?”

  “Swords, blood, and explosions…maybe a dash of magical bad-arsery thrown in for good measure.” I shrugged. “Wait. How did you get ten pounds?”

  “We get an allowance from the Sanctum,” he replied.

  “Seriously? I haven’t seen evidence of any money of any kind coming in my direction.” I pouted, wondering if I could lodge a claim.

  “I just gave you a tenner, Purples.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Trainees don’t get wages. Consider it an unpaid internship.”

  I scoffed and checked the phone, but Wilder had already brought up some search items while we were arguing.

  “Thank goodness for the internet,” I proclaimed. “Praise the… Wait. What do Naturals say? Praise the Lady?”

  Wilder rolled his eyes. “We don’t say anything.”

  “That’s anticlimactic.” I said with an eyeroll.

  “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense for witty comebacks.”

  “It’s borderline,” I warned. “It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster over the last few days. I can’t remember the last time I slept.”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  I groaned and sucked on the straw in my drink, making a loud, obnoxious, slurping sound.

  Wilder didn’t make a peep. He was a master of ignoring all my attempts at riling him up, which was super annoying. I mean, we were literally looking to arrange a prize fight with the big bad wolf—a little laughter wouldn’t go astray.

  Knowing time was short, we huddled over the phone, scanning the search results. We’d already made a big bang and stirred up the hornets’ nest.

  “London Necropolis,” I said, jabbing my finger at the screen. “She said something about a Necropolis.”

  “There’s an old rail line that went from here to Brookwood cemetery in the southwest part of the city. They built it because of overcrowding.”

  I shuddered. “Too many bodies to bury?”

  “You imagine living in a town with overflowing graveyards. The stench would’ve been terrible.”

  Clucking my tongue, I turned my attention back to the phone.

  “It used to be an air raid shelter in the forties,” I said. “It says the main station buildings were destroyed in the war, but the underground sections were untouched.”

  A lot of the underground stations had been used for the locals around the city during the Blitz in World War II. I imagined scared men, women, and children huddling in the darkness, listening to the sounds of bomb after bomb exploding somewhere above, wondering what they’d find when they returned to the surface. It must’ve been terrifying.

  “The other terminus has been completely demolished above ground,” Wilder added. “And the overland rail and tunnels were filled in and built over—office blocks.” He snorted. “Humans tear down beauty wherever they go.”

  “That’s a depressing conclusion,” I drawled. “We aren’t so different. I used to think I was one until recently, you know.”

  “There’s every chance that the tunnels are still accessible,” he went on, ignoring me. “We just need to find a way in.”

  “Are you sure? The rail was overland.”

  “Not everything is as it seems, Purples. There were some underground sections, but who knows how far they go, or how much humans remember.”

  He was right. There was every chance what was left of the stations and the supposed tunnels were hidden by powers beyond humanities’ knowledge. Thinking about the body parts and the swirling mass of inky darkness that made up the Balan demon, it was for the best. A Frankenstein-ed corpse was the stuff nightmares were made of.

  “Of course they’re still down there,” I declared. “You know, we should’ve been more specific when we asked the druidess for a location.”

  Wilder grunted. “The original entrance to the Necropolis is just down the street. We’ll start there.”

  By the time we’d returned to the footpath outside Waterloo, our cloak had returned. We moved towards the spot on the map, invisible to human eyes.

  London Necropolis. It sounded like a really cool name for a goth club if you asked me. Wainthrope would fit right in with all the posers in their flashy PVC corsets. I snorted, wondering what we were going to do about him.

  The map marker wasn’t far from the main station, so we found it rather quickly. We stared up at the building and compared it to the picture on the phone.

  “This is it,” Wilder said.

  “It doesn’t look like much…”

  “All of the original buildings were destroyed, remember? This is all that survived.”

  My brow creased as I studied what was left of the hub that transported London’s dead to the outer reaches of the city. On the ground floor was an old office or ticket booth, then a large wrought iron gate barred the entrance to a courtyard beyond. Over the archway, the structure rose another three stories.

  The druidess said knowing the Balan’s name would help us get past the barrier that was protecting this place. I wondered how I was supposed to use it…

  Markzoth. Seriously, who named their kid Markzoth? Poor guy.

  As if I’d willed it, the façade shimmered, revealing what was hidden from human eyes. A sign from the original building concealed underneath the supposed modern restoration—Necropolis Station.

  “Wilder.” I pulled at his sleeve, my gaze fixed on the signage.

  “Shite,” he said. “No wonder all those scouting teams never found where the Balan was hiding.”

  I could sense more within the courtyard. “Not all of it’s gone.” It was hidden by Darkness, which was why humans thought it was all boarded up and filled in. “That illusion was thick—”

  “You know his name. That’s why you can unveil it.”

  “It can’t be that easy,” I said with a shake of my head, “can it?”

  “No, it’s not. This is just the surface. The real fight is below.”

  I tensed. “I like to think I have an edge being a little purple and everything, but we can’t take on a whole horde of demons on our own.”

  “We can’t wait for back up, Scarlett,” Wilder said. “The longer we wait, the more powerful he gets.” He began typing a message on the burner phone. “I’ll put the call in, but like I said, we can’t hang around.”

  “What if they don’t get the message in time?”

  “They’ll be here,” he reassured me. “They’ll hold the rear, while we go for the prize. We do have these protocols for a reason.”

  “Wainthrope knows them.”

  “Erm…” Wilder shifted from foot to foot and coughed.