It was as though some evil power had doused the sun. Jonathan was suddenly and shockingly blind. The darkness was absolute: he could no longer make out the observatory buildings, nor the London skyline, or even the figures standing around him.
Yet far worse than the blindness was the fear. As the unnatural night fell, a coldness struck at the very marrow of Jonathan’s bones. He suddenly felt helplessly young and alone, as if he were the only person on the planet. As the smell of decayed flesh infected his nostrils, Jonathan knew that Lucien had trapped them. The Ripper could transform himself into the Black Phoenix, a vicious bird of prey that hunted under a cloak of darkness. Jonathan and Carnegie had fought the Phoenix before – that they were still alive at all was due to a combination of luck and Marianne’s intervention. They couldn’t hope to be so fortunate again.
As Jonathan stood there, gulping with terror, sounds reached him through the blackness: the choked cries of the watchmaker; a mournful howl – whether from Carnegie or Skeet, he couldn’t be sure; from somewhere overhead, the beating of leathery wings, and a chill screech of triumph as the Phoenix swooped down towards them; and then, finally, a woman’s shrill battle cry.
The inky cloud parted, and Jonathan caught sight of a shock of pink hair and the gleam of a blade as it traced a slicing arc through the air. Then the Phoenix was upon Marianne, in a maelstrom of fetid black feathers and razor-sharp talons. The bounty hunter rolled to one side as the bird’s claws scraped against the cobblestones, before drawing a dagger from her boot and hurling it at the shadow. The Phoenix let out an ear-splitting screech of pain, and the cloud wavered once more. As Jonathan felt the fear within him ebb, he looked up to see Carnegie thrusting Bartlemas towards him.
“Get him out of here,” the wereman growled, flexing his claws. “We’ll take care of things up here.”
Jonathan didn’t want to leave Carnegie to fight the Phoenix, but it was pointless – not to mention dangerous – to protest. He bit back an objection and scanned the observatory for a way out. The Black Phoenix was hovering above the main exit, confronted by the combined force of Carnegie, Marianne, Humble and Skeet. Any attempt to run in that direction would end in disaster. Instead, Jonathan turned and looked out over the iron railing. It was a long drop down on to a steep incline dotted with trees.
Bartlemas followed his gaze. “Are you mad? The fall will kill us!”
Jonathan didn’t bother to argue – he simply grabbed the spindly watchmaker and bundled him unceremoniously over the barrier. Within a second, he had leapt after him.
The pair of them hit the ground with a thump and went tumbling down the slope, bouncing painfully through the dirt, roots and branches tearing at their clothes, until a tree trunk brought Jonathan’s progress to an abrupt halt. As he lay there, stunned, the sounds of battle floated down from the observatory: howls and screeches, blades ringing against talons.
And then Marianne’s voice, crying, “Jonathan! He’s coming for you!”
Darkness was sweeping down the hillside towards them like a black avalanche. Jonathan staggered over to where Bartlemas was crouching on his haunches.
“We’ve got to run!” he urged. “Come on!”
The watchmaker took one look at the cloud pursuing them and began haring down the hill. He proved a surprisingly quick runner, his long, skinny legs eating up the ground. Jonathan followed in his wake, his limbs battered and bruised, spurred on by the shadow on his shoulder, and the knowledge that the Phoenix was gaining on them.
At the bottom of the hill, the park levelled out, and the running became easier, even though the grass was still slippery with rain. There was a screech behind them, terribly loud in Jonathan’s ears. The main exit was far away in the left-hand corner of the park; they would be dead before they reached it. In front of them, a low stone wall separated the park from the National Maritime Museum, a series of graceful white buildings linked by a broad colonnaded walkway. Overtaking Bartlemas, Jonathan cried, “Follow me!” and raced towards the museum.
He placed a hand on the low wall and vaulted over the top of it in one smooth motion. As he turned to help Bartlemas, he saw that the Phoenix hovered over them, close enough for Jonathan to see the bird’s bloodstained beak arrowing hungrily towards the watchmaker. Bartlemas was stuck with one leg on either side of the wall – Jonathan pulled him over, so hard that the pair of them fell to the ground. The Phoenix’s talons passed centimetres over their heads, and the thick smell of rotting meat once again turned Jonathan’s stomach.
Bartlemas remained wheezing on the floor as the bird circled to take another pass.
“Get up!” Jonathan shouted. He pointed through the museum’s walkway to the main road beyond, where cars were criss-crossing by, unaware of the drama taking place only a few hundred metres away. “If we can reach the road, we’ll be safe!”
Forcing the watchmaker to his feet, Jonathan dragged him across the colonnaded path, the low ceiling forcing the Phoenix to pull up and fly over the top of the museum. Bursting out the other side of the walkway, Jonathan led Bartlemas down a straight gravel path towards the main road. Although they were close enough to hear the rumbling buses, Jonathan felt the icy shadow of the Phoenix threatening to envelop him once more. From somewhere he found another spurt of energy, even though it felt like his chest was going to explode.
As they reached the main gates of the museum, a limousine with blacked-out windows pulled up in front of them. A rear door opened invitingly; Bartlemas dived inside without a second thought. Jonathan was about to follow suit, when he caught sight of the man in the back seat.
It was Vendetta.
Jonathan stopped in his tracks. This was the man he had been running from, the reason he had been dragged into this mystery. Now he was face to face with him, Jonathan wanted to turn on his heel and run in the opposite direction.
Bartlemas poked his head back out of the limousine, gesturing wildly for Jonathan to get in. Above his head, the Phoenix screeched with jubilation. As the cloud swooped down towards him, Jonathan heard the sounds of footsteps racing across the gravel towards the gate. Transfixed, he stood and stared at the cloud as it hurtled towards him. He wondered what death felt like – how much it would hurt.
He felt strong hands grabbing him.
“What are you waiting for?” Carnegie snarled. He manhandled Jonathan into the limousine and bundled in behind him.
With a squeal of tyres, the car raced away from the kerb, swerving through the lunch-time traffic. Through the rear window, Jonathan saw the black cloud pull up by the gates of the museum. There was an echoing screech of frustration, and then the darkness swept off towards the Thames.
Jonathan sat back in his seat, too exhausted to feel relief. As the adrenaline in his system drained away, his limbs felt like lead weights. Next to him, Carnegie was panting raggedly, his body shaking as the beast within him receded and he returned to human form. Bartlemas’s eyes were alive with shock, his hands clutching at the small wooden box as though his life depended upon it. By contrast, Vendetta eyed his three passengers with open amusement.
“Rough day?”
The vampire was dressed casually in a crisp white shirt and chinos – despite the time of year, a pair of sunglasses were pushed up on to his forehead. He imbued the back of the car with the cold, lifeless smell of a morgue. Jonathan couldn’t believe he was sitting only inches away from the creature who had tried to kill both him and his father. He was too tired to feel rage, though. If his life was going to end, he just hoped it would be quick.
“I’ve had rougher,” Carnegie replied moodily. “Feel free to put that to the test.”
“If you want a scuffle, go elsewhere,” Vendetta shot back. “This is a limousine, not a bar room, Carnegie. You can at least feign civility, can’t you?”
“That’s rich!” Jonathan spluttered. “Coming from you!”
“You would do well to keep your mouth closed,” the vampire said coldly. “I have hardly forgotten our past differences. Be grateful that for once, Starling, I feel less inclined to kill you than usual. Without your intervention, I’m not sure Bartlemas here would have made it.”
“What was that thing?” asked the watchmaker. “I’ve never felt so scared.”
“The Black Phoenix,” Jonathan replied darkly. “It’s a creature Lucien can transform into. It’s utterly lethal.”
“As James Ripper would testify,” Vendetta added. “It seems that Darkside’s first family have managed to get wind of our plan – we need to move quickly. Did you get the Chronos Wheel?”
Bartlemas nodded wearily, placing the wooden box in the vampire’s hands. Vendetta opened the lid and pulled out a small, intricate piece of brass engineering. It looked exactly as it had on the watchmaker’s diagram: three cogs with jagged teeth encircling a small sphere, the entire mechanism housed within a brass cage.
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Vendetta said thoughtfully. “Something a little more . . . grandiose, perhaps.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Bartlemas wheezed. “It may look like nothing, but it’s utterly unique. It took my grandfather ten years to make it, you know, tapping into the darkest powers in Darkside.” There was a note of pride in his voice as he went on. “Wilbur took its secret to the grave with him. He knew that no Lightsider could be trusted with its power. When he died, the Chronos Wheel was left to gather dust in the observatory. The only clue to its purpose lay in his coded notes, which remained in Darkside with my family. Only days ago was I able to break the code, and unlock the Chronos Wheel’s secret.”
“With a truly fitting sense of timing,” Vendetta said. He closed the box with a snap, making the watchmaker jump. The vampire pressed a button on the intercom, and spoke crisply to the driver.
“Take us to the flat, Yann.”
“Very good, sir,” a dutiful voice buzzed back. Vendetta tapped his cheek thoughtfully with an elegant finger, and then turned to Bartlemas.
“And you’re sure you can succeed where everyone has failed? You can make the Chronos Wheel work?”
“Given two, maybe three hours,” the watchmaker replied confidently.
“Good. You can start as soon as we get back.”
“I don’t understand,” Jonathan cut in. “What is the Chronos Wheel? What are you going to do with it?”
“I should have thought that would have been obvious,” the vampire replied matter-of-factly. “We’re going to bring James Ripper back from the dead.”