Chuda grabs a paperweight from Davida’s desk and swings it round, but Dervish blocks his arm and knocks it aside. Chuda roars and gets the fingers of one hand on Dervish’s throat. Dervish lets him squeeze, cool as ice, sizing him up.

Then he pummels a fist into Chuda’s stomach. Chuda grunts. His fingers loosen. Dervish takes a step back, judges the angle, then takes one final crack at his opponent’s jaw. Chuda’s head snaps back, his eyes flutter shut and he slumps to the floor.

Dervish turns away from Chuda, panting lightly. His eyes fall on Davida, still struggling beneath Bill-E and me. He jerks his head at us. We slide off. Davida starts to sit up, spluttering furiously. Before she completes the move, Dervish puts a foot on her chest and pushes her back down. Stands over her like a triumphant gladiator, fixing her with a glare which is evil in its intensity.

“Now, lady,” he snarls, “it’s time for you to talk. And you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to hear.” He moves his foot up to her throat. “Or I’ll do things to you that would make a demon blanch.”

“You have no right to do this,” Davida says sourly. Dervish has allowed her to rise. She’s sitting in her plush leather chair, glaring at us. “When I tell security what you’ve done, you’ll be in so much—”

“We know about the Demonata,” Dervish snaps. “Lord Loss and his familiars. The barrier and the lodestone in the D workshops. You can’t fool us any longer. So talk.”

Davida pinches her lips shut. We think she’s working with the demons, but we’re not sure. I guess Dervish figures it’s best to assume the worst and treat her harshly. He can apologise later if she’s innocent.

“Don’t think I won’t do terrible things to you,” Dervish says softly. “I obey human laws when it suits, but break them without hesitation when I must. The only reason I haven’t gone to work on you is the boys. But I’m five seconds away from sending them out to the next room and doing whatever I have to to get answers.”

“You don’t know what you’re interfering with,” Davida snarls, betraying herself, confirming our worst suspicions. “This is way beyond anything you can imagine.”

“You underestimate my imagination,” Dervish smiles icily.

“These are real demons, you fool! They can do things you wouldn’t believe. If you mess with them, you’ll wind up—”

“I’ve been messing with the Demonata for decades,” Dervish interrupts. “Now tell me your story. How deep are you in this? What did they promise? Power? Magic? Eternal life?”

“They promised nothing except what I asked for—a great movie.”

Dervish frowns. “We’re past that stage. Your lousy movie cover is blown. I want to know the real reason why—”

“Cover?” Davida laughs contemptuously. “It was never a cover. I’m making the greatest horror film ever. A movie with real demons, doing what real demons do, captured on film—what better reason could there be than that?”

Dervish’s frown deepens. “You’re telling me that was the trade-off? You helped the demons cross to our world, provided them with all the victims you could and they agreed to be filmed? It was as shallow as that?”

“You know nothing about movie-making,” Davida sneers. “Life is shallow. It’s meaningless. Life passes and is forgotten within minutes. But movies endure. A film outlives everyone involved. If it’s good enough. If it’s magical.”

She leans forward intently. “You think I’m evil and you’re probably right. I brought all these people here, knowing they’d die. But we all die in the end. Pointless, forgettable deaths. We fade and it’s like we never existed. We come, we live, we die, and that’s that. Not much of a story, huh?

“But that’s about to change for you, me, everybody here. We’ll become part of history. I’m making a movie which will survive as long as the human race itself. Demons will attack… kill hundreds of people in unimaginable ways… and I’ll capture it all on camera. Splice it in with the other scenes I shot. Make the most shocking horror film ever. I’ll be notorious, yes, feared and despised. I’ll be imprisoned, maybe executed. But I’ll be remembered. And so will the others. And that’s the most any of us can hope for.”

She stops, breathing heavily, face flushed.

“She’s loco,” Bill-E says. “How come she wasn’t locked up years ago?”

Dervish shakes his head in wonderment. “You planned to let these people be butchered in the name of art, so you could film the massacre and turn it into entertainment. That’s a new one. I’ve seen crazy mages bring the Demonata into our world for all sorts of reasons—but never to break box-office records.”

“You don’t get it,” Davida laughs. “This is immortality. It will put us up with the ranks of the great. We’ll mingle with the giants of history—Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon. The world will always want to see this film, to experience true terror, to get as close as they can to the reality of the demonic.”

“You’re deluding yourself,” Dervish says. “There won’t be a film. Even if you capture the footage, you won’t live to edit it. The Demonata will kill you along with the rest of us. You’ll be a brief news item—nothing more.”

“No,” Davida insists. “We have a deal. I give them you, they let me make my film.”

“Do you have that in writing?” Dervish chuckles, then stops. “What do you mean, you give them us?”

“I’ve spent the last several years recruiting demons,” Davida says. “I got a few lesser demons involved once I laid my hands on the lodestone and they saw that I was serious, but I needed a demon master. By myself, I could only use the stone to create a brief window between universes. I knew a demon master could help me use it to build a tunnel, letting many more demons cross and giving them plenty of time to cavort.

“The trouble is, demon masters are hard to contact. I managed to find one—Lord Loss—but he wasn’t interested. I pushed ahead anyway, determined to make the best of what I had. Then, a few months ago, Lord Loss sent one of his most trusted servants to me and offered his services—if I could lure you and the two boys to the set. Lord Loss hates you. He wanted you to be here, to suffer horribly before he personally ripped you to pieces.”

“So you came to Carcery Vale to ensnare me,” Dervish says bitterly. “Did you cast a spell? Mess with my mind?”

“Of course,” Davida smirks. “It wasn’t that difficult, or so I’ve been told—I didn’t do it myself. Your brain was all over the place. Quite easy to manipulate. You fell into our trap without any complications. I’m just surprised you recovered your senses now. You weren’t supposed to wake until tomorrow, when the bloodshed was in full flow. Still, it doesn’t really matter. Your timing’s slightly ahead of schedule, but only just. It’s far too late for you to make a nuisance of yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Dervish growls.

“You don’t know?” Davida giggles with delight. “I did think it strange that you were here, grilling me instead of… I thought you hoped to use me as a shield, to bargain your way out. But you really don’t know, do you?”

“What the hell are you—” Dervish starts to shout, but is cut short by a voice outside, amplified by a loudspeaker.

“Ten minutes,” the voice says. “Will everyone please assemble immediately outside the D workshops. Ten minutes to showtime, folks!”

Dervish stares at Davida, face whitening. She giggles again. “It’s the final scene, Grady. When the demons break through and hell erupts. We brought it forward once you found out the truth—we couldn’t keep you comatose indefinitely. The actors and crew think the heroes in the movie will save the day. But that’s not how it’s going to work. I’ve a surprise up my sleeve. Dozens of demons who aren’t playing by the rules of monster movies, who don’t have weak spots, who aren’t going to be thwarted by a clean-cut movie brat with a cool haircut and a dazzling smile.”