Morning brought light to a wounded London. The docks, which had been hit hard in the night raid, were chaotic but busy. Those whose livelihoods depended on the river toiled alongside firemen and soldiers to clear the ruin. Pumps were worked at full capacity, bringing the waters of the Thames to bear on stubborn flames as a thick atmosphere of smoke and winter dampness crept between the warehouses. Blast-twisted cranes leaned in from above like dead trees in a mist.

A man named Charlie Grinn looked out through the grubby window of Spurlington’s Shipping Agency and wondered why his men weren’t back yet. Grinn was a dangerous man to disappoint — just ask the late Mr. Spurlington — but he didn’t like being without his bodyguards, not when you couldn’t see more than a dozen paces down the foggy quayside.

“Anything could step out of that,” he murmured to himself, angrily taking a swig of whiskey from one of Mr. Spurlington’s finest cut-crystal tumblers. “Bleedin’ coppers everywhere.”

Grinn never stayed in any one place for long, but thanks to the Luftwaffe the docks were so dangerous at night that a wanted man with a gambler’s heart could forget the police for a while. Grinn would be spending the next few days at the Agency offices, and if the lads were doing their jobs properly, they’d be out and about, making sure the place was secure.

Secure — that was a joke. The building next door had been secure until a bomb had landed on it. Grinn smiled to himself, smoothing his thin mustache as he thought how terrified his men would be at having to stay there. But they’d never dare defy him, not Charlie Grinn — not the most ruthless manhunter in London, Blitz or no Blitz, never a question asked and the body disposed of for free. He took another swig and looked over at the dartboard they’d fixed up.

“Time for a quick game,” said Grinn, but as he began turning from the window, he stopped and looked back. Had he just seen someone out there in the smoke and mist, someone watching the office? One of his men? Or had it just been a cat? He narrowed his eyes, but there was no one there now, just the faint impression of people working far down the quayside.

“Bah. I’ll be seein’ things next.”

Grinn walked away from the window — and froze. In the glass pane of the front door, behind the reversed letters of the name Spurlington, was the dark and unmistakable shape of a person, standing just outside. Grinn’s hand went straight to his pocket. His fingers quickly found the bone handle of his switchblade, rejected it, then pulled out his revolver.

“What do you want?” he called.

No reply.

Grinn took a fortifying swig and put the whiskey glass down, cursing his men for being late. He strode to the door and yanked it open.

“We’re closed,” he said to the person standing there, the gun almost concealed behind his back. “Sling yer ’ook!”

“Actually,” said the figure in the shade of the doorway, “you’ll be open for me.”

Grinn found himself staring into the shadow beneath a dark hat, at the face of a remarkably good-looking young man. He was wearing a suit fit for royalty, though he could hardly be out of his teens. Grinn liked a good suit himself, but this boy wore his like an insult, and Grinn felt suddenly small and insignificant, which was certainly not something he was used to. The stranger raised his hat slightly and locked his coal-bright eyes onto Grinn’s.

“My name is Adam. I’m looking for Charles Bartholomew Grinn. And I’ve found him, haven’t I?”

“No, he … he ain’t ’ere,” said Grinn, unexpectedly flustered by the intensity of the young man’s gaze. He suddenly wished he hadn’t drunk so much. Then it occurred to him that this wasn’t the cleverest answer he could give, so he spoke again.

“I mean, I don’t know anyone of that name.”

“Don’t mess me about, Grinn,” said the visitor. “I have a job for you, that’s all.”

“Job? What job?”

“There’s someone I want you to find. A boy. Shouldn’t be difficult, just a little boy. And when you’ve got him … well, I’m sure a man with your reputation will know what to do.” And Adam’s handsome face split into a demonic smile as he drew his finger across his throat.

Grinn backed away, shaking his head. There was something about this Adam that wasn’t right at all, something that seemed completely out of place in the world of hard men and easy murder Grinn was used to — something wholly unnatural. He tried to shut the door, but his arm wouldn’t obey.

“This is me being nice, Grinn,” Adam said, anger rising in his voice. “Or would you prefer me to get nasty?”

Grinn swallowed, hard. Adam’s voice, which had had honey in it just a moment before, now hammered through his head with unconcealed menace, while his eyes narrowed to two points of fathomless black, drawing Grinn’s in deeper and deeper …

“I … I can’t help yer.” Grinn’s own voice was almost a squeak now. “Get lost!”

And he slammed the door, though it took an enormous effort of will to do so.

“Bloody snoop.” Grinn shook his head to clear the confusion that had come over his mind. What was it about that boy’s eyes? He shuddered and took a deep breath, then another. He went back to his glass, refilled it, and drank it dry. When he finally dared look back at the door, the dark shape had gone.

He picked up his darts, testing the weight of one to stop his hand shaking. He turned to the board and eyed the triple twenty. But he couldn’t concentrate. It felt as though those black eyes were still on him. He blinked, and then sighted his dart again.

Those eyes.

As Grinn looked, it suddenly seemed as if the visitor’s face was indeed staring right back at him from the bull’s-eye. He gave a strangled gasp and let the dart go. It flew wide and bounced off the metal lines.

Grinn’s mouth dropped open in terror.

The face of the strange boy really was emerging from the middle of the dartboard.

Grinn staggered back and sent his whiskey bottle crashing to the floor. The boy named Adam was now standing in the room — Grinn had just seen him step through twelve inches of solid brick! He reached for his gun.

“Get back! Blimey, what are you?”

“In a hurry, Grinn, that’s what I am. And in no mood to play ‘chase me’ with you.”

Grinn was once again transfixed by the two points of darkness in the very centers of the boy’s eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. There was a roaring in his ears, and what little willpower the whiskey had left him began to crumble as the uncanny visitor came closer.

“Get back!” Grinn cried again, and he fired his gun while he still could.

The shot boomed in the office, followed by two more as Grinn panicked. The bullets spattered plaster from the wall right behind their target, but Adam was entirely unaffected. Instead he stepped forward again and into a shaft of the weak sunlight that was beginning to filter through the morning mist.

At the touch of the sun, the boy’s body changed. It took on a ghostly quality as the tones of his clothes and skin took on an eerie bluish light. Grinn dropped his gun in disbelief. His knees gave way, and he tumbled to the ground beside his weapon. He stared up in shock as the ghostly figure came to stand above him. Then Adam spoke again.

“You are right to fear me, Charlie Grinn.”

Grinn couldn’t speak, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a grimace of pure terror. Cold tears ran down his cheeks.

“But I want more than your fear,” Adam went on. “They say that no one knows the back streets of London like you do. I require your services, and I’m fully prepared to pay. I know about you, Grinn — I know you’re a betting man. I even know you’re going to the races today. So you listen carefully to what I say now. Go to the races as if nothing happened here. When you see a horse called Angel Voice, put all your money on it. Do you hear? All your money. You’ll make a packet.”

“Angel … Angel Voice?” Grinn managed not to choke on the words.

Adam nodded, pouring his gaze down at him. Grinn felt as if his mind was being ransacked for some sign that he would do as he’d been told. Then the young man’s eyes released him and he slumped to the floor like a discarded puppet, not daring to look up.

“Put your money on the horse, Charlie Grinn,” said Adam’s voice, but it sounded different now — distant, and growing farther away. “I will visit you again very soon.”

Then there was silence.

Grinn lay still for a long time before he could raise his head again.

The boy named Adam was gone, leaving nothing but a sense of gaping emptiness in the room.