her colleague. Marge touched her little crucifix. At the contact of her dirty fingers the voice came again, a little stronger. “Hey,” it said.
The silver Jesus whispered. Marge looked away into the violent night streets, into what she had gathered might be the end of the world. And here came this messenger.
“Hey,” she whispered herself, and raised the crucifix. Paul watched her. She focused on the tiny bearded face.
“Hey,” it said again.
“So,” she said. “What’s the word from heaven?”
“Wha?” the metal Christ said. “Oh right. Funny.” It coughed. “Put me to your ear,” it said. “Can’t talk loud.”
“Who are you?” she said. Collingswood was watching her in the mirror, now.
“It’s Wati again,” he said. “I got a message, so listen.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“So did I. Don’t wash your hands. Billy needs you to do something.”
“What’s up back there?” Collingswood said. “Who you chatting to?”
Marge held up her finger so peremptorily Collingswood actually obeyed. The tiny chained Messiah whispered to her, for a long time. Marge nodded, nodded, swallowed, said “yeah” as if at a telephone call. “Tell him yeah.” Finally she let the crucifix dangle back below her neck.
She sighed and closed her eyes, then looked at Collingswood. “We have to go somewhere. We have to pick someone up.” Paul sat up. The other officer looked backward nervously.
“Yeah …” Collingswood said thoughtfully. “Not very clear on the whole police prisoner thing, are you?”
“Listen,” Marge said slowly. “You want to take us in? Take us in. But look around and listen to me.” There was a helpful scream of fighting from some nearby street. Marge gave it a moment. “I’ve just been given a job to do, by Billy. You know Billy? And by this little guy on my necklace who I just saw killed by the most evil, terrifying bastard. Who was out for me.
“Now, I’ve been given this job on the grounds that it might be the one thing that stops the end of the world. So. Do you think your arrest report can wait a couple of hours? Where do you want to go on this?”
Collingswood kept staring at her. “Goss and Subby,” Collingswood said.
“You know them, then.”
“I’ve had my tangles,” Collingswood said.
“There you go then.”
“Wati just had his own little barney with them?”
“He’s told me where to go, and what to do.”
“How about you tell me what he said, and we can have a chat about it?” Collingswood said.
“How about you fuck off?” Marge said without rancour. She sounded as tired as she was. “Look around and tell me if you think we’ve got time to waste. How about—look, I’m just throwing this out there. How about we save the world first, and then you arrest us?”
There was silence within the car. Above them was the excited mourning of the siren. “I tell you what, boss,” the other officer, the young man driving, said suddenly. “I like her plan. I’m for that.”
Collingswood laughed. Looked away and up into the sky over London where clouds wriggled. “Yeah,” Collingswood said. “Might be nice to see tomorrow. You never know. But then,” she said, and wagged her finger at Marge and Paul, “we are definitely taking you in. So what’s the plan?”
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” SAID MO OUTSIDE HER HOUSE, HER broom held up like a weapon. Trees shuddered. Marge held the crucifix out at her. “I’m not a vampire,” the woman said.