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CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

MURDER IN MONTMARTRE

P ercy raised his dagger to point at the Spear of Destiny, which Molly held between her fingers. “You’d better not have touched my Caravaggio when you took that.”

With a smile, she replied, “I’m not in the habit of destroying beautiful things, Percy.”

The comment set Joe’s blood to boil, hating the way she could tune in to all Cleo’s knowledge of Percy. But Percy replied, as though it was in any measure similar to the Caravaggio, “You almost burned my fiancé.”

Molly’s eyes ran over Joe, disdainful.

Percy added, “And you almost killed me.”

“Oh, Percy,” she cooed. “You wouldn’t have stayed dead for long. I would have brought you back, just like these boys.” She looked him over, with nothing but hunger in her gaze. “But unlike them, you would have had a special position. As my own very personal assistant.”

Althea made a choking, vomiting sort of sound, Joe, a huff like a jealous fiancé might, but Percy’s face softened into a slightly bashful smile. “You would have brought me back? To be your slave?”

Her nod was expressly enthusiastic. “Yes.”

“Forever?”

“Of course.”

Grin now spreading from ear to ear, Percy turned to Joe as though he’d just won top prize on a scratch-it card and expected Joe to celebrate with him.

Seeing Joe’s expression dimmed his own somewhat.

Gruffly, Percy replied to her, “That would have been horrible. So disrespectful, to expect a man like me to spend his afterlife… like that. Awful. Horrible.” He added, for Joe’s benefit, “She’s a true villain.”

“Back to the point,” Joe spat.

“Yes,” said Percy, trying very hard to remember where he was going with any of it. “Molly, I like you a lot?—”

Joe actually stomped his foot.

“Which I’m only saying,” Percy enunciated at Joe pointedly, “to make it known that I don’t want to kill you. You’re clearly very smart, very tasteful?—”

Joe let out a long and loud and perfectly involuntary groan.

“—and I hate the Church too?—”

“Is this really how you’re going to deal with it?” Joe whisper-snapped.

Percy shrugged it off with a small eye roll, finishing, “And people. A lot of them. But not all of them. And there are good people here, tonight, and in this city, who don’t deserve whatever you think you’re about to do to them.”

She twisted the rusted shard of metal in her fingers. “With this blade?” She smiled to herself. “Do you remember when you told me how useless the sheath is? Asked me what Christ’s blood had ever done for me? Shall we find out?” Her eyes cut a path to her right. “Althea? Is that your name?”

Eyes just as black and dark as the ground she stood upon, Althea snarled, “ Is that my name ? You fucking bitch.”

Molly gave a goading shrug. “I’m not the one who convinced all those little girls to come away with a murderess.”

Althea started straight forward with her knife, only to be wrenched back by Leo’s ready hand. “Al, no. Percy, why the fuck are we talking? Why haven’t you killed her yet?”

Rather than admitting to the group, especially Molly, that he had indeed tried to but actually had no idea how to kill her, Percy meandered over his words, until Molly explained instead, “Because one must run distraction. Skeletons are slow and stupid, and it takes a while for them to dig themselves out of their graves.”

“What?” asked Giordano, suddenly, unnervingly aware of the echo of a clicking and a clacking behind the trees.

Percy stepped forward, moving into the centre of the small clearing, looking up at his once-friend. “Stop them. Put them back where they belong. We’ll talk this out. I’ll even let you keep the spear.”

“How kind, Percy,” she trilled. “I think I will keep it. And just for that, I’ll keep you, too.” Flinging her arms out long, the seal on every grave in sight lifted. The crunch and snap of breaking concrete filled the air with dust and dirt as dozens of coffins cracked wide open. With a white flash of bones, the lot clattered to the ground.

“Everyone here,” Percy shouted, and in the next second, all four were in the centre of the ring, back-to-back with Percy, weapons at the ready. “You three need to head south. She hasn’t opened the graves there. Be quick, take the sheath, get on a train?—”

With a clap of Molly’s hands, a rumble of noise came from the south side of the cemetery, this accompanied by a “Fuck!” from Percy.

The bones that lay among the freshly disturbed earth and splintered coffin shards began twitching, as though each piece had been given its own sentience and drive to form itself back into one whole. They slid and rolled, and with no sinew or muscle to help them, began to build one upon the other, toe after toe, feet, ankles, piece by piece. Some had flakes of skin attached here and there. Some took with them the ancient remnants of once-best dresses and suits. All quickly and clearly shared the same goal.

Giordano was still ‘keeper of the sheath’, being taller and stronger than Althea and Leo, and while he kept it tucked safely under one arm, this left him one hand only to hold and aim his gun. He’d already discharged it several times earlier in the evening, getting Althea and Leo safely past one or two pale crawlers (not that he knew what they were called), which left him now with only a few bullets and far too many targets.

Althea had desperately wanted to bring a crossbow she’d discovered amongst Percy’s belongings, but having insufficient arrows, she, like Leo, had settled for knives. And like Leo, she had no real idea what to do with them other than slash at hard bone, its own special armour.

And Leo, while he unerringly believed Percy would fix everything, did not at all like the way Althea’s eyes remained almost always on Molly, as though she were assessing the distance with every step, waiting for her chance to attack a woman who seemed as though she’d rip her in half as easily as look at her.

Both Joe and Percy were aware of the hopelessness of the situation from the second the group arrived on the scene. The two of them, they could fight it out alone, but their meagre resources were stretched protecting their friends.

“We’ll all go,” Joe decided. “Let’s stick together, fight our way to the closest wall, and get you over it.”

“East then,” said Percy. “Let’s move.”

Percy and Joe advanced on the unsteady, still-reanimating skeletons. Percy was first with a strike that took the head off one of the newly raised creatures. Joe, improvising, picked up a long and sharp shard of a coffin, just the right size to wrap a fist around. He slipped it between two ribs, then forced his end down, prying the ribcage apart in one blow. Althea fell back against them as a skeleton lunged for her, but this was soon knocked back by Giordano, thrown down by Leo, and had its arms and legs broken by Althea as payback for the affront.

“Do you remember—” Percy started, only to be cut off by Joe’s laugh.

“How could I forget?” He tripped up a skeleton and smashed its pelvis into so many pieces with his boot that it would never stand again. “I thought we were about to break up.”

“After a first night like that?” Percy replied, slapping a skull to the left and then slicing down on its neck. “I was never going to let you go.”

“Percy…” Joe blushed hotly as he knocked the legs from under another skeleton.

And in just such a manner, they battled on, Percy never letting his doubts show behind a facade of fond quips and occasional vulgarity, Joe confident in the steadfastness of Percy’s words and actions. But they made it only a very small way, constantly pushed back by a multitude of white coming through the trees, crawling out of more and more graves, and the whole group woefully underpowered from the get-go. And that’s when they heard the growls, low and mean, and all around, from beyond the skeletons.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Percy.

“Pale crawlers,” Joe replied. “Easy to gut, but they’re fast and they have big teeth.”

“This is useless,” Althea said breathlessly, punching and stabbing at the encroaching horror closing with every second. “There isn’t a way through.”

“If she’s the lead villain, we need to take her out, right, Percy?” called Leo.

“They’re not vampires,” said Joe. “She’s a witch and I’m pretty sure her spell will hold whether we kill her or not.”

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” shouted Giordano, having resigned himself to one fist to fight off the onslaught.

Molly hadn’t moved from her spot, nor had her hot and average zombies, watching on impassively, waiting for the skeletons to do her work.

One made a grab for the sheath, a move that took them all by surprise. Evidently, they had purpose beyond the destruction of their little group. And this made Leo snap, “Just give it to her. You don’t believe that bullshit, Percy. It’s just junk.”

“It’s two thousand years old. It was worn by a Roman soldier, who?—”

“Saint Longinus,” Joe offered.

“That’s apocryphal,” Percy spat.

“You’re apocryphal,” Joe threw back.

“It doesn’t matter who he was. It’s my only Roman sheath and she can’t have it. Now on the off-chance it did hold those powers?—”

“Then you’ll be wanting that spear back.” Althea stated the words coolly before breaking rank with startling efficiency. Small, she weaved beneath arms, cracked a tibia or two on her way past, shoved at ribcages, and made her way through the conglomeration of death, full pelt, in the straightest line possible towards Molly.

Leo was after her like a shot, ducking and criss-crossing, leaving the three hulking men little alternative but to turn back and start smashing their way through the pile in the other direction to get to them.

“Althea, don’t!” Leo screamed after her, but she was already at the foot of the monument Molly stood upon. Waleed and Tareq slammed skeletons to dust in an attempt to stop her. She was nimble, athletic, a born survivor, and she fronted up to Molly with all the nous of a Surabaya girl from the wrong side of the tracks. She got in one punch that was so hard, so well-aimed, that even Percy and Joe flinched at the sound it made when she cracked Cleo’s cheekbone.

“Ah, fuck!” Althea yelled, trying to shake the pain out of her hand.

“She’s got super-strength,” Joe shouted.

“She’s got what?” Althea ducked the punch that came back for her.

“You’re just mentioning this now?” Percy rounded.

“There are skeletons!” Joe screamed.

“Doesn’t—” Althea doubled Molly over with a sharp elbow to the ribs “—seem that—” she smacked Molly’s face down with two fists, directly into the knee she raised hard and fast bringing a gush of blood from her nose “—that tough—” she wrenched her up by the hair “—to me!” This final phrase she punctuated with a punch to the throat, at which instigation Molly dropped the spear to the concrete below, where it bounced twice, then slipped into darkness down the side of the grave.

“You’re getting a raise!” Percy called.

“Don’t encourage her!” Joe yelled.

Althea was wrenched off the plinth, not by Molly, but by Waleed, who finally got an arm around her waist. She grabbed for Molly to take her down with her, but he was too fast. Even so, she got a solid touch to the concrete beneath her feet and pushed back as hard as she could. Waleed stumbled but would have held, had Leo not tackled him, forcing all three back with a crash that caved Waleed’s head in on a decorative spike, just as effectively as it cushioned the fall of the other two, except Leo’s hip, which came down on the flat side of the Spear of Destiny.

Leo snatched it, reached for Althea, and scrambled to his feet as he pulled her up with him. On solid ground, he took both her hands, searching her over for wounds. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped up, straight back to her target. “I’m gonna kill her.” She lunged for Molly, and was out of Leo’s reach, halfway back up the plinth, when she felt the crack of Molly’s fist. Althea was knocked into a full spin, Leo jumped and missed, and it was Giordano’s arm that came out just in time to stop her being impaled on the broken bones of the skeleton he’d most recently dispatched.

Giordano couldn’t offer her a second more help than that, and she tripped back into a mass of snapping skulls when Tareq threw all his weight against Giordano. The sheath was knocked into the ever-growing pile of bones at their feet.

Using the full and considerable power of his enviable physique, Giordano rolled, taking Tareq with him, until he was on top. He locked his fine thighs over Tareq’s and reached for the sheath, straining. Tareq’s fist closed around his shirt, and he tried to pull him down, but Giordano had already braced against such an attack and all it did was rip the shirt clean open, exposing his sweaty, muscular chest. Tareq tried again, firm abdominal muscles firming even more as he fought his way upright, wrapping an arm around behind Giordano’s neck. He pumped his pelvis up, forcing Giordano to grab him by the shoulder with one hand to steady himself, bringing the back of the other across his face with a resounding slap. Tareq only wrenched him closer, until their two naked chests were pressed together, Tareq attempting to force Giordano onto his back while Giordano struggled against his grip.

The snapped and sharp arm of a skeleton would have pierced Percy’s head straight through, had it not been thwarted by Joe giving Percy a good shove. “Stop watching them!”

“I’m not!” Percy spared him a glance, then lost it back to Giordano and Tareq. “Can’t you see he’s… he’s struggling? Wrestling him? Like that?”

Joe dodged a plank of coffin-wood that came at his chest. “Are you going to help, then?

With a vague shake of his head, eyes on the hot man and the hot zombie, “No, I don’t think so.” This time, a curled fist of bone got him square in the jaw. “Fuck! When did they learn to punch?”

“Serves you right!”

Joe made for the pair and soon had his fingers sunk into Tareq’s hair. He raised his enormous fist, and was about to break his jaw, or worse, when Percy yelled, “Maybe not the face!”

“You slit his throat!” Joe yelled back, fist frozen in readiness.

“You did what?” Giordano shouted.

“I’ve had more time to think things through now,” Percy called as he threw down a skeleton that had launched its entire body at him from a high gravestone. “Just break an arm or something.”

Joe was only too happy to grab the arm that clamped down on Giordano’s throat that very second and wrench it backward with such volition the shoulder made a loud crack, then hung loose. He was no more sympathetic with the other, soon leaving Giordano relatively unencumbered, whispering, “But his nice shoulders…”

Joe slammed a foot down on a skeletal wrist that guided bony fingers towards the sheath, snapped it upwards, and broke the hand off. He took up the sheath, muttering, “I’ve had enough of this.”

He wrenched his knife free from its holster and began to cut a clear line for Leo, hoping he still had the spear. Percy, anticipating his move, made for the same place.

Leo, having found an enormous rock in a garden bed, had smashed his way to Althea. She was back on her feet with nothing but malice in her eyes and heart, but the revival of Waleed, pieces of brain crawling up his shoulder and back into his broken head, made Leo throw himself in her way before she could launch her next attack, pinning her behind him. And just as well, as that very movement was the only thing that stopped a swath of pale crawlers slamming down on top of her as they poured through a gap in the graves and set upon them both.

Waleed clocked Joe, slicing fast and vicious through the crowd. He waited, as though still capable of thought and strategy, until Joe was within striking range. He raised his fist high, gathered all his strength and brought it down hard and fierce. Joe reacted instinctively. He wielded Percy’s expensive and ritually sharpened kitchen knife with precision, defending himself from the dark shape that he barely caught from the corner of his eye. The blade moved swiftly, cleanly, through Waleed’s wrist, as smoothly as if it were a hock of well-cooked ham.

Percy watched on in abject horror as that hand flew, spinning, flinging drops of blood as it went, around and around, to where it flopped down right by his foot.

He stumbled back so fast he tripped and fell. He was prepared for a dozen skeletons to clamber on top of him. Prepared for the hand to be back at his throat. But not remotely prepared for the timid “Mew” that sounded at his shoulder.

“Moxie!” He scooped her up, took her to his cheek, and kissed her furry face. “All right. Kill them. Use your powers and destroy the lot.”

Joe fought on, making fast progress towards Leo, where Molly continued to wait, watching him with a worrying smile. Then he halted, wrenched a step backwards. Percy saw first the look of fright on Joe’s face, then the glistening spectacle of Waleed’s slithering entrails slipping over Joe’s chest, alive, terrifying, and utterly repulsive.

“Now, Moxie!” Percy shouted, but the kitten did nothing but put her little feet on his cheek.

Giordano was busy with Tareq, who evidently had the use of his arms again; Leo and Althea were all but lost in flashes of pale skin amongst the dust, fighting desperately; and Percy was too far away from Joe to help, his hands desperately pulling at the entrails that tightened around his neck, a sea of writhing bones between them.

More and more skeletons clambered from their broken graves, more and more shapes, luminescent in the distance, closed in, the growling only got louder amidst the cacophony of groans and gasps and scratches and punches, and above it all, Molly stood, lip and cheek bleeding, watching, waiting, looking like someone who had no doubt that her enemies were about to be brutally crushed.

And why not? She had the entire graveyard. Her unable-to-be-killed zombies. Her own immortality. And then who knew? How many other people would she kill and reanimate? The whole city might be at her beck and call.

It was a completely unwinnable situation from where Percy stood, fighting on only to spare those around him a little longer, because if they also realised they were beat, not one of them showed it. But Percy knew. It rarely, very rarely, happened, but he knew when someone had got the better of him.

And he knew he had only one weapon that might work.

Not his dagger.

Not the powers Moxie suddenly seemed reluctant to use.

He had only Moxie herself.

Percy closed his eyes. He took Moxie from his shoulder by the scruff of her tiny neck. He tried to go to his dark and isolated place, the place he could always go before Joe. But Joe was a life so rich and so beautiful. Joe was the light that shone on everything, bathed everything and made it so gorgeous that his place of refuge, of dissociation, would not come. And his hand shook as he raised that dagger. His fingers barely held the fur. He knew and felt what he was going to do and it was a depth of depravity even he had never thought himself capable of.

He raised Moxie higher and higher into the air and shouted, “Molly! Stop it now or the kitten gets it!”

Her head turned sharply with the expression of one deeply perplexed at the unexpected interruption. She focused on the kitten, hard.

“Don’t do it!” Joe yelled, straining at the intestines strangling him.

Percy pressed the sharp end of the dagger to the kitten’s round and fluffy belly. His eyes burned into Molly’s and she, in response, brought up a finger of command that saw everything stop dead. Skeletons clattered to the ground in piles of bones, Waleed’s intestines turned loose and flopped in a foul heap at Joe’s feet, Tareq sat as lifeless and unresponsive as ever. All was silence, every living eye on Percy and his beloved kitten, and the only sound that broke it was Moxie’s purr, so happy was she to be held again by her master.

Molly was the first to speak. “Why do you think I’d care if you kill that kitten?”

“Because…” Percy glanced at Joe, who had absolutely assured him that Molly’s familiar’s presence in the kitten’s body could turn any tide with her. “Because. Look at her. Don’t you recognise her?”

Molly’s head tilted to the side with the effort of her investigation. “It’s a cat.”

“It’s not just any cat. Look at her! Look into her beautiful, big,” his voice began to shake, “loyal, loving eyes.”

Molly did, but she made no sign of recognition. Only seemed to be enjoying the novelty of the drama.

“I’ll gut her,” Percy threatened. “Little kitten entrails spilling out everywhere. I’ll slit her wide open.”

“Go ahead,” she replied with a shrug.

Percy looked at Joe, Joe looked at Percy, and Percy hissed, “You said this would work.”

“She’s bluffing!” Joe declared loudly. “Spill some blood and see how she feels about it.”

“Yeah,” said Percy. He nodded. Firmed his grip on the dagger. “All right. Um…” He loosened his grip. Tightened it. Shifted the dagger around a bit. Then, on a cough, “Joe?”

Joe glanced at the tense and horrified crowd, then back to Percy. “What?”

Percy tilted his head sharply away from Joe. “Could you, uh, come here? Just for a moment.”

“But—”

“Please. Could you?”

Joe took a moment to get moving, then picked his way awkwardly across the clearing, bones crunching with every step, until he finally made it to Percy’s side. Percy whispered, “I actually can’t… um… do this. So, could you?”

Joe’s eyes grew larger than the full moon just now setting close to the horizon. “No. No, I don’t think I can.”

“Well, one of us has to.”

“I will,” called Althea.

“You stay the fuck away from Moxie!” yelled Percy. Then to Joe, “She’s vicious. Did you see?”

Joe nodded his stern agreement.

“Look, you can—just—like this…” Percy pushed the kitten into Joe’s hand, and Joe, reluctantly, sympathetically, took hold of her. Percy passed the knife across and said, “There.” He called out, “Now Joe is going to kill Moxie,” his voice breaking sharply on her name.

Joe whispered across, “I don’t think anyone believes I can actually do this. Least of all you.”

Guilty, Percy searched for a response that was anything but the admission of his complete failure, but then Molly spoke up. “Okay.”

Percy looked up hopefully. “Okay?”

She shrugged. “Okay.” Molly jumped down from her grave and walked, nimble between the bones, to the centre of the clearing. “You’re right. I don’t want you to kill the kitten. I may have murdered dozens of children, and quite a few adults, but…” She sighed. “You win.” With a motion to the bundle under Joe’s arm, “You have the sheath.” Then to Leo, “You have the spear.” And with her eyes on Moxie, “And I have my companion. And immortal life. And magical powers. I’ll tell you what…”

Joe lowered the kitten, pulling her back against his chest, where she clawed into him and scrambled straight back to Percy’s shoulder.

Molly said, “You give her to me, let me go, and we’re done.”

Percy had been expecting it. Joe had too. It was exactly why he’d convinced Percy to keep the kitten. But it was so sudden. So easy. Too easy.

Joe said, “How about you leave and we’ll bring her to you later?”

She countered with, “How about I just reanimate my skeletons and zombies?”

Percy knew it was a stupid risk to take. But he could see his friends were exhausted, cut and bleeding, close to breaking point. If she did that, it was over. So he did the only thing he knew to do, and, cradling Moxie, he moved towards Molly.

The kitten clambered up to his chin, burying her head there, purring, and breaking his heart. But he didn’t let it show in any way beyond the unconscious stroking of her fur and the protective hands that held her tight by his heart.

He stopped in front of Molly, who, in her expression, looked so much like Cleo. Whose face had softened, who had an expectant sparkle in her eyes, who showed a clear fondness for him and the cat.

“You won’t hurt her, will you?” said Percy, trying halfheartedly to get the tiny claws out of his shirt.

“I promise you. She’ll be safe with me.” She watched on, that same knowing smile playing around her bloody lips. She tried to sweeten the deal a little, revealing, “You know, I had a cat once. I loved it dearly. More than you can imagine.”

Moxie nuzzled her head against Percy’s chin, and for all the rest of the world, he never would have done it. But for Joe, Leo, Althea, and Giordano, he picked her off his chest, kissed her forehead, gave her one final stroke, and with wet eyes and shaking hands, placed her in Molly’s upturned palms.

It was the most vulnerable Joe had ever seen Percy, as he watched Molly, frightened, desperate, horribly subjugated. The guilt Joe felt at seeing Percy like that. He wanted to be in the middle of it, protecting him, never again watching Percy step out onto that ledge. But that’s what he did every time, for all of them.

Molly picked the kitten up, examined her, then brought her face in close and kissed her cheek. “She’s gorgeous,” she said. “Thank you.”

Joe could see the way Percy’s shoulders lightened, that smile that was so, so beautiful. The very essence of the man he loved so deeply. And Percy looked for him. Always for Joe first to see that Joe was happy. That Joe thought he’d done well, and that Joe loved him. That look of complete and pure love that had turned the whole world upside down for Joe in the best and most glorious way.

Then his head snapped sharply to the left with a gut-pulverising crack, and Percy dropped down dead on the wet grass of Montmartre Cemetery.