Page 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

OF TEETH AND TOENAILS

P ercy turned the needle-nose pliers over in his hand, glanced (with his most malevolent smile) in Joe’s direction, then threw them down and took up a larger pair, contemplating them in the most obtrusive manner possible.

A tooth extraction hurts. It’s not only the pain of having bone ripped from flesh and nerve, but the psychological horror of it all. If you do it just right, the victim can hear the thing crack, and they know there’s no going back then. They wonder how many more you’ll pull. They wonder about infection. They wonder if they’ll ever eat solids again. And it’s invasive. You’re inside their body. They can’t see what you’re doing—they’re trapped in their mind with the imagery and the agony.

But the fact was, he’d only take one. One from the back. And they could get Joe a nice white replacement. They’d go see the best Harley Street doctor and have it fixed by the same time tomorrow.

Percy turned to his victim—his fiancé—and his eyes fell on Joe’s beautiful lips. On Joe’s beautiful smile. And he thought of Joe remembering him plucking a tooth from his mouth every time he ate for the rest of his life.

He threw the pliers down.

Back to the needle-nose pliers.

He could pull a toenail off. He wouldn’t even have to look at Joe’s face when he did it. And Joe would barely see the damage. He could simply put some socks on afterwards. Percy would buy him a nice pair. Cashmere. The nail would grow back within six months to a year. But today, at the very peak of suffering, he’d tell the beast the lot were coming off…

Percy dropped to the floor and unlaced Joe’s leather shoe. The feel of Joe’s heel in the palm of his hand as he slid the shoe off tapped at his resolve, but he stayed firm this time. He looped a fingertip over the elastic of Joe’s sock and pulled it downwards, trying to disregard every precious hair, trying not to think about the graceful curves and dips of Joe’s ankle, where Percy had pressed his lips so many times. Trying not to think about the length of his beautiful foot, as exquisite as any Michelangelo. Trying not to think about his toes.

Percy grabbed hold of the other shoe, then repeated the process.

Those toes.

Those toes drenched in sunlight, hot Sicilian sand clinging to them. Those toes poking up out of a steaming bath. Resting against his chest.

He took the pliers up, and he felt the creature’s gaze on him. There wasn’t the slightest flinch or attempt to pull the limb from his strong fingers. It was almost as though it was willing him to do it.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

Percy clenched Joe’s calf beneath his arm, brought the pliers to Joe’s big toe, opened them millimetres wide, touched the steel against Joe’s skin, and in his most gruff and threatening voice, said, “Leave him, or you’ll regret it.”

“He’ll heal. Probably.”

“I mean it. This hurts more than you can imagine. The intensity of pain, once I start, cannot be overestimated. If I were you, I’d definitely?—”

“Are you going to do it or not?”

“Fuck!” The pliers went flying across the room, where the sharp tip stuck in a crumbling wall. Percy stalked over to the bed, lit a cigarette, and began another furious pace of the small enclosure.

Weak.

Too weak to be of any use, and not at all the man Joe needed. A disaster since the day they met. Never strong enough, never kind enough, never once what Joe needed. And now was he going to let this thing have Joe’s body?

‘Take my head or something…’

“Leo!” he shouted. He stalked to the hall, slamming the door behind him. “Leo, up here now!”

Two stairs at a time, the quick footsteps pounded up to him. “You won’t believe what we got, Percy. You’re going to be so impressed. Cleo never did any of that stuff to Althea.”

Althea, one step behind him, nodded, adding breathlessly, “She’s been trapped in this skull by a witch called Molly Tulloch, born fifteen-eighty-six. It’s her skull, from when she was burned and beheaded in sixteen-sixteen, accused of witchcraft.”

Leo shot her an excited smile and took over. “Molly did some kind of body swap with Cleo at the Witch’s Head Inn. She’s been in Cleo’s body for years. She killed all those girls—Cleo didn’t even know that happened.”

“That’s right!” Althea jumped in. “Because Molly Tulloch is the former owner of Barmiston Hall!”

The two fell silent, awaiting Percy’s approval, but all he said was, “And?”

“An-and,” Leo stuttered. “And that’s about it. Which is a lot, for ten minutes of yes or no?—”

“Jesus Christ, I know all that,” Percy spat. “Isn’t it obvious? Haven’t you been paying attention at all?”

“If she’s been stuck in a pub the whole time,” Althea protested, “what did you think she’d know?”

Percy’s eyes were like two pools of molten iron when he ground out, “I want to know why she opened her stupid basement when I told her not to, and why she’s terrified of whatever’s inside Joe.”

“Well, you might have asked us to ask that, then,” Althea snapped.

“It’s not my job to ask, it’s your job to anticipate,” Percy shot.

Althea opened her mouth and took a very deep breath, but Leo hurriedly cut her off. “I don’t know why Cleo opened up her weird basement, but obviously she did, and when she went down there, this thing, whatever’s got Joe, took over her. It marched her over to the pub, and swapped Molly into Cleo’s body on the spot. It—it and Molly—were waiting that whole time for someone to open that wall. It willingly returned to the basement once it got Molly out of the skull. It’s in league with her. That’s why Cleo’s scared of it.”

Percy grasped his face with both hands and smacked a kiss against his cheek. “You beautiful boy!” Leo coloured to the tips of his ears, his boyish smile spreading clear across his face, while Percy went on excitedly, “I can work with this. Where’s my gun?”

“Right here.” Leo, Althea saw, had been keeping the firearm in his pocket for some time. At the library? On the tube?

He handed it over to Percy, who checked it was loaded in an easy, familiar movement, before saying, “I want you both out on the street with me. Keep a watch and let me know if you see anyone coming.”

It was around two o’clock in the afternoon, and with another hour or so before children would start trickling home from school, the dangerous street was deserted. All except for the lookout at the house next door, leaning back on a crumbling stone balustrade, who noticed the three spill out, and who mostly kept his leering gaze stuck to Althea. “Slut.”

Percy raised his weapon with the kind of steady arm that let the watchman know he’d used a gun before. “Make a sound and you’re dead.” He tilted his head towards their own door. “I want you to shift something for me. I’ll tell you all the details once we’re inside.”

“Nah, man?—”

“Did he just say something?” Percy asked. “Because that’s the kind of thing that gets you shot.”

Leo chuckled. “Pretty sure he did.”

Althea, who hadn’t been expecting to kidnap anyone, asshole or not, stayed quiet, wondering what would happen next.

“In,” Percy directed.

With his best swagger, and another one-over of Althea, the man trod down the stairs and into the building.

“Upstairs.” Percy kept a sensible distance, jogging a little closer at the top to stop him getting the jump when they rounded the corner. “Open that door.”

For most people, discovering a bound man in a derelict building is an unnerving vision. For the red-haired criminal, it was a relief, plain and simple. He changed from wary prey to salesman on sight. “Alive like this? I’ll do it for a hundred quid. If you want me to work him over first, throw in another fifty.”

“Sit down,” said Percy, kicking the bedroom door closed in Leo’s and Althea’s faces.

The man pulled the chair back, threw himself into it, and assessed Joe. “If it’s just the body, same price. If you want me to kill him for you, that’s gonna cost you five hundred.”

“Five hundred for a hit?” Percy asked, shock mingling with exasperation in his tone.

The watchman offered a displeased wrinkle of his scabbed lips. “I could do four hundred. But I’m not going any lower than that. Not unless you’ve got a pair.”

Percy tsked his beautiful tongue. “Is it any wonder the rest of us can’t make a decent living with you lot undercutting the competition?”

“The fuck?”

Percy aimed his gun at the man’s head, and he said to the beast, “I know you’re working with Molly Tulloch. And do you know what? I don’t care. You go to her, you kill people with her, you do what you like, but you do it without Joe. This here,” he shoved his gun towards the silenced and bewildered man, “is your golden ticket. He won’t be missed. Walk him out of here and I’ll give you money to get you where you want to go. I’ll give you directions. I’ll buy you a fucking flight. This is it. Out of Joe.”

Joe’s body gave one slight shrug of the chained shoulders, and a bored, “No.”

A strangled gasp of frustration ground out of Percy as he pressed the cold length of the gun’s barrel to his own temple, shouting, “What do you want? You want a body? A host? Here’s a body! It can be any body, surely. Why do you need Joe’s body?”

“He’s nice,” the thing responded.

“Of course he’s fucking nice,” Percy yelled. “That’s why I’m marrying him! Get the fuck out of him now. Right now, or I blow this fucker’s brains out! And this is the only body I’m bringing you!” Taking one fist full of the greasy, wiry hair, Percy glued the watchman’s head to the muzzle of his gun and directed, “Tell him you let him in.”

“What?” The watchman’s legs shook as he descended into panic, eyes closed tight and wet with tears. “I don’t even know what you want. What the fuck is going on?”

Percy wrenched his head back by the hair, yelling, “Look him in the eyes and tell him he can have your body. Do it now!”

“I don’t?—”

“Three…”

“Stop, dude. Please. I?—”

“Two…”

“Please—I—you…” Terrified eyes searched for Joe’s, and he yelled, “You can have me!”

“Your body,” Percy shouted. “Tell him you let him in.”

“Okay! Okay!” He raised shaking hands in the air, begging Joe with desperate eyes. “I let you in. You can have my body. Okay?”

Percy stared into Joe’s face for a reaction that never came.

“One…”

Joe said, “Do it.”

A deafening shot shook the ceiling. Blood and brains painted the bed, the aquamarine carpet, the blue walls, the browning ivy, the shards of glass clinging to the window panes, as the deafening sound echoed around the courtyard. The ringing stayed in his ears and the sickness escalated, the panic and the hopelessness and the anger, and Percy wrenched the bedroom door open, took five fast steps across the landing to a broken-down bathroom, and vomited in the sink. He retched out his nausea, his bile, the three sips he’d taken of the coffee Leo brought him, and it felt good. The pain in his lurching insides, the constriction in his chest and neck, the tears that were only physical, hot on his eyes and his cheeks as he purged it all, gripping the cracked and blackened porcelain until he was even emptier than he had been. He staggered back against the wall, gasping in shaky air, then kicked off the tiles, crashing into Leo’s arms. “I think you need to sit down.”

“I need to kill him,” Percy said.

“What the fuck?” Althea shouted, stealing her eyes away from the splattered remains all over the bedroom. “No. I won’t let you.” She fronted up to Percy, despite the hot gun swinging on his index finger, despite the sweaty slick of hair and the deranged, bloodshot eyes.

“I’ll do it for you,” said Leo. He reached for the firearm, which Percy pulled back sharply.

“You won’t touch him.” Percy’s mind was slower now, ticking through a thick fog of disparate ideas, crushing illness, the need for sleep, a nightmare that seemed to be rising up out of his darkest thoughts and all around him. “I need to almost kill him,” he corrected. “I need to make him uninhabitable. A friend of mine did that once, and it worked.”

“Not Anna again,” Leo whined, long and wearied.

“That was a demon,” Percy continued, “but it’s the same principle, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Leo conceded. “That sounds right.”

“Leo!” Althea snapped. “We’re not killing Joe.”

“He said, almost , Al.”

Percy glared towards the bedroom door. “It’s not giving that body up. And I can’t… Fuck, Leo, I can’t even torture him.”

“What?” Leo stared back at Percy, for the first time in his life, as though Percy was actually mad. “I’ll torture him then. Easy.”

“No one touches Joe except me,” Percy said. “I want something that leaves no trace, something with an antidote. Now think, the pair of you. Think poisons.”

“This is ridiculous,” Althea blustered. “Do you think you’re James Bond or something?”

“Ian Fleming’s a hack. Think Agatha Christie. Poisons. Quickly.”

Althea threw a panicked look at Leo, but he was already deep in thought.

“Uh… Arsenic?” she tried.

“With an antidote, I said,” Percy muttered.

“Um… Mercury?”

“Mercury? Why the fuck would I give him mercury?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she shouted. “Cyanide, death cap mushrooms, puffer fish?”

“You’re terrible at this,” he shouted back. “Why did I hire you?”

“Sorry, am I hired? Is this me being hired?”

“Not with that attitude.”

Leo, all the while quietly withdrawn, said, “Heroin.” Eyes on the floor, voice thin, “You can start slow, and just add more until he starts showing signs of an overdose, then we hit him with the Narcan. That’ll fix him. And it’s a one-time thing. It won’t leave a trace.”

Althea searched their serious faces for any sign of jest. “You’re mad. You can’t give him heroin.”

Percy addressed only Leo. “Will he know he’s dying?”

“Yeah,” Leo mumbled. “He’ll know.”

“Right. Heroin and Narcan. Have it to me within the hour.” Percy moved for the bedroom door, but felt his arm caught in Leo’s hand.

Leo retracted it the moment he turned, asking softly, “Could you? I don’t think it’s good… for me…”

Percy touched a hand to his shoulder, keeping him both physically and emotionally at arm’s length. “If the neighbours come looking for their man, I need to be here. You understand that?”

“Yeah, it’s just?—”

“One hour and it’s done.” Percy tilted his head towards the stairs. “Go. Quickly.”

Leo didn’t speak to or glance at Percy again. He hunched his shoulders against the cold, pulled his collar up around his cheeks, and left.

Althea wasn’t so withdrawn. She brought her face to within an inch of Percy’s, cutting into him with unflinching eyes. “You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Percy watched her bolt after Leo, heard the door slam, and muttered, “So everyone keeps telling me.”

He staggered down the stairs behind them, carpet seeming to shift beneath his feet, walls swaying with sickness, keeping a safe distance. When he got outside, Althea was disappearing around the corner at the bottom of the street.

He turned his back on her and made for the vacant lot next door.