“What happened?” she shouts, striding up to the barrier, stopping just short of it, studying the bloody scenes within, astonished, on the verge of tears.

“You were knocked out,” Bill-E tells her. “We pulled you through.”

“But… the barrier…” She touches it. Pulls her hand back quickly when she feels the power.

“The hole’s gone,” I explain. “It was only temporary. We got out as many as we could. The rest…” I shake my head sadly.

Juni stares at Lord Loss and his victims, her pale skin flushed, dried blood caking the back of her head where she was struck. She’s trembling with confusion and fear, like the rest of us. I think about giving her a hug but I’m too tired. So I just stand and stare with her.

Gradually we all turn away from the horrific scenes, sickened, weeping and shaking, grasping each other for support and comfort. I’m one of the last to look away, watching for Bo, hoping against hope that she’ll show, that another hole in the barrier can be opened, that I’ll be able to get her out.

But she doesn’t appear. She’s either still looking for Tump and Abe or—more likely—has been killed by a demon. If the latter, I hope it was quick and painless, though I don’t suppose it was. Who’d have thought that of all the deaths today, Bo Kooniart’s would hit me hardest.

Eventually, I look around and do a quick head count. Thirty-four. Of all those working on the film… hundreds of people… only thirty-four remain.

I’m about to sit, when one of the faces catches my attention. Slowly, incredulously, I march across and glare with contempt and hatred at a bruised, dazed but very much alive Chuda Sool.

“You!” I snarl. He looks up timidly. “How dare you? So many dead because of your treachery, but you sit here among the living, meek as an innocent child. You should have stayed behind with your masters!”

“Please,” Chuda croaks. “I didn’t know… they said… I thought…”

“You knew!” I scream. “They said they’d spare you—that’s the only thing you got wrong. That’s your only complaint.” I grab his head and force him to look at the destruction on the other side of the barrier. “You made this happen! They’re dying—dead—because of you!”

Chuda starts to cry—but with fear, not regret. “Don’t hurt me. Please… I can help you… I know spells. They promised me a long life, hundreds, maybe thousands of years. How could I say no? Davida convinced me. She set this up. She’s the one you should blame.”

“Davida’s dead,” I growl. “She got her comeuppance. Now you will too.”

I reach deep within myself for the dwindling flames of magic, intent on destroying this traitor.

“No, Grubbs,” Bill-E says quietly, laying a hand on my right arm.

“He deserves it!” I yell.

“He probably deserves a whole lot worse,” Bill-E agrees. “But it’s not for you or me to pass judgement. We don’t have the right to take his life. You’ll become a killer, no better than any of those demons, if you murder him.”

“It’s execution, not murder,” I growl.

“Different word, same thing,” Bill-E says. “It’s wrong. You’d hate yourself.”

“He’s right,” Juni says, leaving the barrier and stepping up on my other side. “You’re a child, Grubbs. No child should ever kill.” Chuda smiles at her pitifully, but her eyes are hard. “Especially when there are plenty of capable adults around,” Juni whispers, then grabs Chuda’s head with both hands. His eyes fly wide open—then fill with a white light. He gibbers madly, trying to knock her hands away, but Juni holds firm, pumping magic into Chuda’s brain, frying the circuits, her mouth twisted into a wicked leer.

Chuda falls back when she releases him, jerks a few times, then dies, face contorted, skin black at the sides of his head. Bill-E and I gawp at Juni, shocked. Dervish is staring at her too, along with most of the people around us.

“I did what I had to,” Juni mutters, looking away to hide her shame. “We couldn’t let him walk away, not after…” She gestures at Slawter.

“B-b-b-but…” Bill-E stutters.

“Don’t,” Juni stops him. “The last thing I want right now is a child lecturing me about ethics.” She walks off, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“Leave her,” Dervish says sadly. He looks over his shoulder and spots Lord Loss finishing off another of his playthings. Sighs and stands. “Let’s gather everybody together and get out of here. I’ve had enough of bloody demons.”

How do you explain away a massive demonic killing spree? Easy—by covering it up and pretending it was an accident.

Dervish spends the rest of the evening making calls, to the Disciples, police, politicians, journalists, firemen, doctors and nurses. The Disciples have a network of contacts, ready and waiting to smooth over the cracks when something like this happens. It’s how they’ve managed to keep previous crossings quiet in the past. They come in their droves, the first arriving late at night, setting up camp close to the barrier around Slawter, so they can move in swiftly and mop up when the time is right.

They keep the survivors together for four days, in vans and tents brought to the site by more of Dervish’s contacts. Nobody’s allowed to leave or make a call. Counsellors work hard, making the most of the time, trying to help people stave off nightmares and come to terms with the deaths of relatives and friends.

Waiting for the demons to finish off the last few victims and return to their own universe. I often feel like going back to the barrier, to view the devastation, to curse Lord Loss or just stand there and let him curse me. But I don’t.

The barrier finally dissolves when the last of the Demonata take their leave. Dervish and a team of volunteers enter the town and demolish the magical lodestone in the D warehouse, closing the tunnel between universes. When the threat of a follow-up invasion has been averted, they retrieve the bodies and body parts, stack them in buildings around the town, then set the place alight. It’s a gruesome end for the unfortunate victims, but necessary to mask the demonic marks and trick the outside world into believing they died in a ferocious fire.

That’s the official story, built on the bones of Bill-E’s gas leak rumour—there was a massive explosion and a wave of fire swept through the town with brutal speed, killing most of the cast and crew. I doubt if all the survivors will stick to it. I’m sure a few will protest in the months and years to come, tell their friends, go to the media, try to spread the truth. But who’ll believe them? If anyone goes on a TV show prattling about demons, the audience will think they’re a crank.

The teams destroy the film reels too. Davida’s notes. The models, props, costumes. A thorough job, leaving nothing behind, removing every last trace of the Demonata, planting fake evidence in its place. The only people who knew what the film was about were all in Slawter. As far as the rest of the world will ever know, Davida Haym’s last film was going to be a departure from her earlier movies—a love story with a touch of science fiction.

I think, if Davida’s watching in some phantom form, that will hurt the most. Not the deaths, the betrayal by the demons, her own grisly slaughter. But that her film was destroyed and all traces of her masterpiece removed.

Good! I hope her ghost chokes on it.

Standing beside Dervish as the fires rage, the night sky red and yellow, thick with smoke. Watching Slawter disappear forever. Most of the survivors and emergency crew are with us. Silence reigns.

“It’s over,” Dervish says as the roof of a large building—maybe the D warehouse—caves in with a raucous crash, sending splinters of flames flickering high up into the sky. “In the morning we can leave. Everyone can go.”

The sweetest words I’ve ever heard.

Juni is gone before we wake. She leaves a note for Dervish. She’s been quiet and withdrawn these past few days, not saying much, refusing to discuss the mayhem or her killing of Chuda Sool.