“Yes.”

“Who will take to the boards with me?”

“I will.”

Lord Loss lays a hand over his mouth to cover a small smile. “The boy is to fight Vein and Artery? I am astonished. I assumed Grubitsch was a chess maverick who would pit his wits against mine. But to throw him into combat with my savage familiars…”

“Grubbs will be fine,” Dervish says, but his voice doesn’t ring with confidence.

“So be it,” Lord Loss sighs. “I would have rather fought a noble contest, but if you are to play into our hands, there is nothing for it but to sweep to a swift victory and make a quick end of you.”

Lord Loss lowers himself off of the web and hovers just in front of Dervish, the jagged strips of flesh at the ends of his legs never touching the ground. Six of his arms fold around his ribs, leaving the upper pair free. Blood drips from his body and sizzles when it hits the stones of the floor.

Dervish steps aside and points to the chess boards. Lord Loss drifts towards them, lips splitting into the closest he can get to a genuinely warm smile. He circles the tables, running his fingers over some of the chess pieces. On the web, Vein and Artery snap and spit, scratching impatiently at the silky strands, hungry for battle and blood.

“I hope you prove more worthy an opponent than your brother, Dervish,” Lord Loss says spitefully. “He was on the back foot from the fourth move. It was quite embarrassing, the ease with which he succumbed. I think, deep down, he secretly wished to lose—just as Grubitsch does.”

“Shut up!” I yell, taking an angry step towards him, hands clenched into fists.

“Easy, Grubbs,” Dervish mutters. “He’s trying to goad you. Ignore his rubbish. Clear your mind. Focus on the fight.”

“Wise advice,” Lord Loss nods. “But Grubitsch is unable to heed it. He is full of fire and fury— like his mother. Her failures proved to be your father’s downfall. He might have fared better had he not been so worried about her, just as Dervish is worried about you. What will you say to your uncle when you fail him, Grubitsch? How will you apologise for—”

“If this continues,” Dervish interrupts softly, “the game’s off.” Lord Loss stares at him archly. “I’m not bluffing. Let it be a fair contest, me against you, Grubbs against your slaves, or there’ll be no contest at all.”

“You would sacrifice the wretched Billy Spleen so cheaply?” Lord Loss smirks.

“If I have to,” Dervish says, and his face is stone.

Lord Loss studies my uncle in troubled silence, then shrugs and sits on the side of the chess boards behind the black pieces. “Very well. We shall dispense with the pleasantries. Take your place, Dervish Grady, and face your finish.”

Dervish walks across to me. Grips my shoulders. Stares hard into my eyes. “You know what you have to do,” he says. “Fight hard and dirty—to the death.”

“Piece of cake,” I grin weakly. “Good luck.”

“We make our own luck tonight,” he says in reply. He releases me and marches to the chess boards. Sits, takes a breath, then without any formalities reaches forward, grips a pawn on the middle board and moves it forward.

Immediately, Vein and Artery leap from the web and zone in on me, screeching, snarling, the stench of death thick in the air about them.

No time to check Lord Loss’s response to Dervish’s opening move. I toss myself wildly to the left. Vein shoots overhead, crocodile jaws snapping together on thin air, human fingers wriggling.

Artery lands on my back. His left hand grabs my neck. Teeth bite into my flesh. I howl and roll over, seeking to squash the hell-child. He leaps free before I complete the move, chuckling darkly.

In the cage, Bill-E roars and shakes the bars, sensing the threat of the demons even in his beastlike form.

Vein attacks again, bounding across the floor. My right hand snakes out. Fingers open. An axe jumps into my palm from the pile of weapons several metres away. I sit up and throw. It arcs towards Vein. Bounces hard off her snout. Only a scratch, but the wound makes her pause.

I rise without using the muscles in my legs. Look down—I’m hovering in the air! Close my mind to the impossibility of the situation. Extend both hands. An axe flies into my left, a short sword into my right. I look for the demons. They’re huddled side by side, glaring at me.

“Come and get it, creeps!” I grunt, twirling the axe like a baton.

“A clever manoeuvre,” Lord Loss notes, clapping drily. “Did you teach him that one, Dervish?”

“Never mind the commentary,” Dervish growls. “It’s your move.”

My eyes dart to the boards. Incredibly, dozens of moves have been made in the few seconds since the game began. Play is at an advanced stage on all five sets.

Artery attacks while I’m distracted. Faster than my eye can follow, he crosses the room, jumps, drags down hard on my legs. I kick at him, but he scrabbles up above my knees. The teeth in his hands sink into both my thighs. I scream. Artery laughs. Vein yaps excitedly. Bill-E butts the bars of his cage with his head and tries to bite through them.

I collapse to the floor. Artery’s shaken loose by the jolt. I kick him backwards. He barrels into a pile of charred books, scattering them, squealing viciously.

Vein’s on me before I can get up. Her teeth clamp around my outstretched left leg. She bites through my shinbone. Rips her head left and right. Flesh and bone tear. My foot and ankle fly across the room. Blood pumps from the lower part of my left leg—agony!

Vein and Artery scramble to the wound. Immerse their faces in the spray of blood. Gulp it down. Push each other out of the way, hungry for the taste of me.

Shaking—going into shock—eyes rolling—room spinning—numb to the pain—watching the demons feed—defeated—dying.

“Use your magic!” Dervish screams. My eyes half-focus. He’s standing, face ashen. “Magic!” he bellows again, as Lord Loss grins and takes one of Dervish’s queens with a bishop.

Staring at the demons—their faces red with my blood—imagining their next attack—the torment—spurred into action.

I’m still holding the axe. Summoning all my strength, I lash out with it and bury it dead in the middle of Vein’s hard, elongated head. The demon falls away, choking. Her strength deserts her. She falls in a heap. I’ve killed her!

I almost shout aloud with glee, until I spot Artery climbing on top of Vein. He pulls the axe out and pushes the edges of the wound together. Blood glows. The wound knots itself closed. Vein gets to her feet, shaken, but very much alive.

My heart sinks—then leaps. Dervish’s cry makes sense now. If the demons can use magic to repair their wounds, so can I! While Vein’s still recovering, I point at my severed foot on the other side of the room and will it back into place. For a second nothing happens. Then it vanishes and reappears at the end of my leg. Flesh, bone and sinews meld. The pain is worse than when it was bitten off. But it works! Within seconds I have my foot back, though it’s sore as hell.

I don’t test my weight on the foot. Instead, I calmly spread my arms and imagine myself airborne. With slow grace, I rise. Tucking both legs up behind me, I face the demons, then stab at them with my sword.

Artery bats my sword away. Vein jumps into the air and snaps for my legs, but I’m too high. I laugh at the demons, then slash at them again. They scatter, Vein to my left, Artery to my right.

Bloodlust. Sensing victory. I chase after Artery. Hack at him with the sword—miss by bare centimetres.

Hack again—closer. He races from me, wailing, tiny limbs waving in an almost comical manner. Throws himself to the floor in desperation. I have him! Hurling myself forward, I take careful aim with my sword, bring it screaming down, and…

…hit the strands of web at the boundary of the cellar!

Sharp resistance, like hitting a steel bar. Bones crack. Sword drops. But worse—I stick! The strands of web are coated with a gluey substance. It clings to my arms, body, legs. I’m a fly stuck to flypaper. Struggling. Trapped. Helpless.