The woman grabbed a handful of her own face and ripped it away, tossing the bloody mess onto her dinner plate, where it sat like a glistening steak.
Beneath was another face, a man’s face, his grinning teeth the brightest thing in the world.
What the—
He lunged across the table, wrapping red-painted nails around Marlow’s throat and squeezing. It was like being suddenly underwater, Marlow’s lungs spasming so hard he thought his ribs were going to snap. The woman’s skin was sloughing off as if the man were wearing a suit, the flesh beneath smeared with blood and dotted with tattoos. Panic drove Marlow’s fist out before he even knew it, his knuckles ripping off another chunk of loose flesh. One of the woman’s dead eyeballs rolled out and there was another beneath, burning with fury.
“Marlow,” the thing mumbled, teeth pattering onto the table as new ones pushed through. “Mammon sends his—”
Something smashed into the creature’s face with a sound like a cathedral bell. The pressure on Marlow’s throat vanished and he clawed in a breath, reaching instinctively for the asthma inhaler he didn’t have.
“Move!” yelled Truck, barging past Marlow, a fire extinguisher gripped in his hands. He drove it into the man’s face, knocking him against the window, then again, and again, the sound of it making Marlow’s stomach shrivel. When he pulled it free there was nothing left of the creature but a cowl of loose skin, drenched in blood.
“What was that?” Marlow said, still gasping for air.
“A Magpie,” said Pan, pushing through the screaming crowd. She was trying not to show it but Marlow could see the fear there, in every movement. “The power to put yourself in somebody else’s body. I don’t know who first thought of it but it’s just about the worst thing you can do.”
“Good way to travel long distances, though,” said Night, hopping along beside. “You can leapfrog continents, so long as there’s somebody to leap into.”
“So he’s—” Marlow didn’t even have time to finish the question before a man at the back of the restaurant car started choking, putting a hand to his bulging throat.
“Nope,” said Pan. “They’re really, really hard to kill. Come on.”
She jogged through the door and Marlow followed, swallowing the fear down into his churning stomach. The whole train was in an uproar now, the aisles blocked with terrified passengers. Pan swore, grasping at her hair.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said. “Night, you think you can get up top?”
“Of the train?” she said, one eyebrow just about launching itself into orbit. “Sure, de nada.”
“Get to the front, try to stop the train. We’ll fight our way through and meet you there.”
“I’ll go with her,” said Marlow before he could even think about it. “I can keep up.”
Pan nodded, wiping a shaking hand over her mouth.
“Watch out for that redhead,” she said. “I don’t know what kind of powers she traded for but I’ve never seen anyone be able to conjure demons like that. Never. Not even the Pentarchy.”
Something roared in the railcar behind them, unleashing a current of screams. Pan glanced over Marlow’s shoulder and he could see it in her eyes—not just fear but something else, something that sent a bolt of panic up Marlow’s spine.
Resignation.
He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“Pan, we can do this,” he said. “We will do this.”
She offered him a weak smile, one that quickly took flight. She pushed him away, turning and plowing down the aisle.
“Just get to the front,” she shouted back. “And if you can kill that bitch on the way then nobody is going to complain. Come on, Truck.”
“Good luck,” the big guy said, rolling after her with the gore-smeared fire extinguisher still gripped in his fingers.
“Yo y tú, amigo,” said Night, standing to one side and gesturing at a window. Marlow took one last look at Pan then jumped onto the seat, placing both hands on the glass and pushing gently. The pane exploded from its panel and the sudden rush and roar grabbed Marlow by the stomach and threatened to pull him out with it. He choked back a scream and grabbed the top of the window, his fingers squeezing the metal like it was dough. The world flashed past in shades of black and gray, too fast.
“I’m not sure if I can do this,” he yelled, his words swallowed whole by the wind.
“It’s easy,” said Night, appearing by his side. She stretched, grabbing the side of the train and pulling herself up, vanishing in a flash. “Just don’t look down.”
He looked down.
Beneath him the ground seemed to thrash and churn as if it were an ocean. Even with the power of the Engine inside him he wasn’t sure if he’d survive that fall. Maybe it would be better if he stayed inside the train? Yeah, Pan and Truck would need his help, he should definitely head back inside.
He heard the sound of the sliding door, looked down to see the Magpie stride into the car, peeling scraps of a stranger’s face from his own. The man scanned the crowd then found Marlow, spitting out a slab of pink tongue before grinning.
Screw this.
Marlow braced his foot on the edge of the window and reached up, gouging a handhold in the roof of the train. Then Night’s slender hands were wrapped around his, pulling him up. It was like being caught by a tornado, the strength of the wind unbelievable, making him slide along the smooth roof. He ducked down and rooted himself in place, tears turning Night into a blur.
“Come on,” he thought she said, his ears full of thunder. “It’s not far.”
He blinked, staring past her to where the head of the train coiled into the mountains, everything painted silver by the light of the moon. How many cars? Four? Night turned and vanished as she broke into full speed.
It’s not far.
Marlow lowered himself into a sprinter’s start, took a deep breath of freezing air, then started to run. Instantly the world slowed into blissful stillness, the wind dropping to a breeze, the world sliding past like a lazy river. Night shuddered back into view, leaping onto the next car. Marlow followed, careful not to trip on the vents. He propelled himself over the gap, the rush of it almost enough to make him smile.
He landed, sliding on the smooth metal, and for a second he thought he was going off the side. He collapsed onto one knee and time snapped back on, full of fury, the wind so powerful it actually lifted him off the roof for a second. He punched downward with enough force to put a hole in the metal, clinging on until the vertigo had passed.
A voice behind him, whisper thin. He turned to see her, the redhead, two cars back. She wasn’t holding a knife this time, she was holding a gun. A big gun.
Marlow pushed himself up, hearing the crack crack crack as she fired. He started to run again, the wind snatching the breath from his lungs. One bullet passed him, as slow as a paper plane, red hot. Then something caught him in the shoulder, not fast but relentless, burrowing into his skin.
He fell back into real time, landing hard, his shoulder on fire. The wind tried again to snatch him, dragging him toward the edge of the train, and he only just managed to stop himself tumbling over into death. He steadied himself, grabbed at his shoulder, and saw blood on his fingers.
I’ve been shot.
And even as the horror of it was sinking in he looked back, saw the girl leap over the gap between cars, saw her aim her gun and fire.
He rolled, trying to get back to the middle of the train. The bullet pinged off the roof, another searing just over his head. The coldness in his shoulder was fast becoming pain, the fingers of his right hand numbing—ohcrapohcrapohcrap—and she was still advancing, her hair a blazing pyre, her grin brighter than the moon. She leveled the gun again.
“Hey, puta!”
Night fizzed into view beside Marlow, waving her arms. Then she was gone again, the girl firing one more round into nothing. She chucked the gun, pulled out a knife, then lurched to one side like she’d been hit by an invisible sledgehammer.
Marlow clambered to his feet, tested his shoulder again. It was bleeding, but there was no entry wound. It had grazed him. He started running, back the way he’d come, gritting his teeth against the agony. The world slowed and he saw Night skid to a halt, spin around, then start back. The redhead was moving impossibly slowly, twisting the blade earthward, stabbing it toward the roof. Marlow saw that it was made of old metal. It reminded him of the bolts Pan had used in her crossbows.
He leaped the gap onto the next train car, running at the redhead from one direction while Night converged from the other. Night got there first, shoving the girl with everything she had. The redhead teetered back in slow motion and almost fell, managing to get one foot behind her to brace herself.
Then Marlow was there, skidding to a halt, the roar of the wind like a building had just exploded next to him. He punched, the redhead weaving out of the way with expert grace. She ducked under his arm and deflected Night’s kick, twisting her body and planting a big black boot in Marlow’s gut. He staggered back, wheezing. The redhead crunched an elbow into Night’s neck then started to drive her toward the side of the train.
“No!” Marlow yelled, throwing himself at the redhead, unleashing a punch. She saw it coming, jabbing out her other elbow so that Marlow’s fingers crunched into it. He cried out, feeling like he’d plunged his knuckles into broken glass. Then that same elbow connected with his nose, once, twice, in an explosion of light and agony, another kick lifting him off the roof. The wind got under him, tossing him down the train car like he was made of paper.
He didn’t stop for long enough to let the pain in, running back the way he’d come, fast, fast enough to slow time again. Night was teetering on the edge now, almost over, and Marlow lashed out with everything he had, feeling the whole force of time as it crunched back to normal, all that power clenched inside his fist. It struck the side of the girl’s head like a cannonball and she dropped, rolling into the wind. Marlow used his momentum, stamping hard. She wormed back, his foot leaving a crater in the roof where her head had been. Then she flipped, landing on her haunches, the blade still gripped in her fingers.
“You guys just don’t get it, do you?” she said, shaking blood from her nose, from her mouth. She looked groggy, but she was still smiling. The Engine was already starting to heal her. “It’s over.”
Then she plunged the knife into the roof, and all hell broke loose.