Ash Mistry and the City of Death. Sarwat Chadda

something, a distant, dull roar.

      “Up ahead.” Josh pointed.

      Through the haze of mist and smoke moved a blurry orange glow. As Ash came towards it, flickers of raw heat cut through the icy night air. Gloomy silhouettes began to solidify around them, ghosts emerging from the mist.

      Ash stopped at the rope barrier.

      The bonfire raged against the smothering fog. A tower of wooden debris blazed, over fifteen metres tall, the flames intense and rising twice as high. Even at the perimeter ring, a good eleven or twelve metres from the bonfire, the heat made Ash’s skin flushed and sweaty. Monstrous clouds of smoke rose into the sky and millions of tiny, glowing embers swirled and danced like hellish imps in the fire-born draughts.

      But the light the bonfire cast out did not extend much further than the rope ring. Beyond, the darkness ruled, crowding around the living fire, waiting for the flames to go out so it could claim everything for itself. Oblivion.

      “Did you… did you see Gemma around?” Ash said.

      Josh slapped his forehead. “I knew there was something else. Yeah, she’s been looking for you all evening.”

      “Where is she?”

      “No idea. Could have gone home by now.”

      Great. He didn’t have her mobile phone number.

      There was another pointless, invisible explosion as some fireworks went off. The crowd gave an ironic, half-hearted cheer.

      A cold wind rippled through and the flames swayed. The radiant heat warmed only what faced the flames; Ash’s back felt the chill.

      “I’m getting a burger – want one?” asked Josh.

      “I’ll come with you,” said Ash.

      Dulwich Park had a small food hall attached to it, and tonight there would be burgers, baked potatoes and drinks sold to the shivering crowd. As they made their way closer to the hall, the number of people increased. It seemed everyone was more interested in the food and drink than the fireworks display.

      Ash smelled the crisp odour of burning meat and heard the sizzle of onions, his mouth watering. He weaved his way through the crowd, checking his pockets for cash.

      “Hiya, Ash.”

      Gemma grinned at him, stamping her feet to keep some circulation going. Her hands were stuffed deep into her jeans pockets and she had pulled her bobble hat low over her eyebrows.

      She was here. Ash smiled back. The world seemed a brighter, happier place.

      “Hi,” he said. “You look frozen.”

      “It’s not too bad by the bonfire, but this jumper’s about as thick as tissue.” She gestured to the hall. “Jack’s gone off to get some food.”

      “So, Jack’s still around.” Now the world seemed much darker and colder.

      “We’re not going out or anything,” said Gemma. “But, y’know how it is…”

      “No, not really.”

      “What’s wrong?” asked Gemma. She seemed genuinely concerned. Why couldn’t he have more friends like her? Instead he was hanging out with immortal assassins and demons. Maybe he needed to re-evaluate his New Year’s resolutions.

      Less demons.

      More Gemma.

      He blushed. “Er, I’ve been thinking I’ve got the wrong sort of friends.”

      “Tell me about it.” Gemma smiled, but her teeth chattered.

      Ash whipped off his coat, adjusting his T-shirt to hide the punch dagger sheathed across his back. “Put this on.”

      “No. You’re only wearing a T-shirt. You need it more than me.”

      “Trust me. I don’t feel the cold much.”

      She laughed, but accepted the coat.

      “What’s so funny?”

      “You, Ash. I remember seeing you slogging around the sports fields on cross-country runs, looking as miserable as a human being could. Muddy up to your knees, soaking wet, in last place.”

      “Always last. Yes, I remember those runs.” Him last – Jack, as ever, first.

      “But you kept on going. That was either incredibly stubborn or incredibly stupid.”

      “Probably equal amounts of both.”

      “But you stuck at it. I always thought that was great. Things never came that easy to you.”

      “Still don’t.”

      Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “That still true? You’ve changed a lot, Ash.”

      The way she said it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Gemma spoke quietly, and her tone was edged with… what? Interest.

      She put her hands in his. “You’re right, you don’t feel cold.”

      Gemma tightened her fingers round his. He looked into her eyes, and she didn’t look away.

      “Oh, Ash, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Parvati was standing right next to him.

      Ash couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing here?”

      Gemma dropped Ash’s hand. “Who’s this?”

      Parvati ignored her. “We’ve got trouble.”

      Khan joined them. He looked Gemma up and down. “Namaste.”

      Parvati pulled Ash aside, but Gemma followed. Parvati spun round. “Will you go away?”

      Gemma glared, but Ash spoke up. “It’s OK, Gemma. I’ll be back in a minute.”

      Parvati arched her eyebrow. It was sharp and elegant and designed to be arched. “This is Gemma? The female you want to mate with?”

      “What?” said Ash.

      “What?” said Gemma.

      Parvati continued. “You’re not familiar with the term? Procreate? Make babies with?”

      Why did the gods have it in for him? Ash turned to Gemma. “I won’t be long.”

      “Fine. Take as long as you want,” snapped Gemma before storming off.

      “So that was Gemma?” asked Khan, grinning like a tiger having just spotted a limp deer. “Tasty.”

      “Leave her alone,” said Ash. “I mean it.”

      Khan gave a melodramatic tremble. “I’m so scared.”

      How could tonight get any worse?

      A high-pitched cackle rose out of the fog. It was brittle and cruel, and it descended into a hysterical laugh, echoing across the park. Children began to cry, and grown-ups stared around, bewildered and not a little frightened themselves.

      That’s how.

      “Jackie,” said Parvati. “I’m such a fool. She’s tracked you.”

      Jackie’s mad, demonic cry had haunted Ash’s nights many months after returning from India. Now, hearing it again, he remembered the depth of fear he’d felt the first time he’d heard it.

      “How?” Ash asked.

      “Scent. She must have picked it up at Monty’s.” Then she looked at Ash again, frowning. “Where’s your coat?”

      Oh my God. My coat.

      Jackie was following Ash’s scent.

      Which was all over his favourite Sherlock Holmes coat.

      Which Gemma was wearing.