walk between the world of Earth and the dark kingdom.”
James stared into the demon’s blood-red eyes. “Do you mean the kingdom of Belphegor?”
The Mandikhor made an awful noise; after a moment, James realized it was chuckling. “So like a human,” it said, “to know so much, and yet know so little.”
James opened his mouth to speak, just as an arcing golden light seared the air. “Leave him alone!” Cordelia shouted, as Cortana divided the darkness.
James jerked free, rolling away from the demon and up onto his feet as Cordelia threw herself at the Mandikhor. The gold of the sword was the only color in the black-and-white world—the gold and the flame-red of her hair. Cortana whipped back and forth—its blade slashed across the demon’s chest, opening a long black wound—the demon howled and struck out, its massive paw slamming into Cordelia and sending her flying. Cortana tumbled from her hand, skidding across the bridge as she hurtled over the railing with a scream.
James heard Lucie scream, “Daisy!” and the sound of a distant splash. The world seemed to go silent as he bent to seize up Cortana. He strode toward the Mandikhor, his blood burning.
The demon had sunk to its forelegs. It was bleeding from the wound Cordelia had dealt it, ichor spreading around it like a shadow. “You cannot slay me here,” it snarled as James came near. “My roots are deep within another realm. As I feed there, I grow stronger. I am a legion who cannot be touched.” With a final hiss, it vanished.
Color sprang back into the world. James spun, Cortana in hand: he could see the bridge as it had always been, dull gold and white in the moonlight, and his friends running toward him. He did not see Lucie. He remembered her calling out Cordelia’s name. He remembered the sound of the water. Cordelia. Cordelia.
“Where is she?” Matthew gasped as he neared James. “Where’s Cordelia?”
“She’s in the river,” James said, and began to run.
* * *
Lucie stared frantically at the river. She could see steps leading down to it from what looked like a passage through a building beside the bridge. She hurtled down the stairs to ground level and found herself in a dimly lit, narrow street lined with tall warehouses, blackened with soot and grime. There was the passage, a dark hole in the nearest building. She ran to it and saw stone stairs descending to a faint gleam at the bottom: the river. She raced to where an old cobbled ramp led into the water, an empty barge moored beside it. The river flowed by, black and silent, under the clouded sky; mist rose from the water.
There was no sign of Cordelia. Panic mounted in Lucie’s stomach as she stared out into the black water. She didn’t know if Cordelia could swim, and even a strong swimmer could drown in the currents of the Thames. And what if Cordelia had hit her head, or had been knocked out by the long fall from the bridge?
A sob caught in her throat. She dropped her seraph blade, which sputtered against the muddy pebbles of the bank, and began to fumble with the buttons of her gear jacket. The water didn’t look very deep. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she could try.
In the distance, she could see the fog-enshrouded shape of a barge arrowing slowly down the center of the river. “Help!” she shouted. “Help! Someone has fallen in the river!” She raced along the bank, waving frantically at the barge, which was disappearing into the mist. “Bring her out, please!” Lucie screamed. “Help me!”
But the barge had vanished. She could see figures on the bridge above her, the eerie light of seraph blades. The boys were still fighting. She could never reach Magnus in time, nor could he put aside what he was doing: he had to remain utterly focused on the illusion of the false bridge. She would have to go into the river, even if she might drown herself.
She took a step forward, her boot coming down in the shallow, dark water. She shivered as the icy liquid seeped through the leather. She took another step in, and froze.
The river was moving, surging, about ten feet from the bridge. The water had begun to churn, yellowish-gray foam sliding along its dark surface. A bitter smell wafted across the water: rotten fish and old blood and the age-old mud of the riverbed.
Lucie’s foot slipped on a loose pebble. She went to