"I … I've moved here actually. I was there last night. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do."

O came closer, her eyes fixed on Jamie's. "Does death follow you, Jamie Brooke?" O whispered. "Or do you seek it out?"

Jamie couldn't speak. The words were too close to her own thoughts. O broke the moment with a dramatic half turn.

"Why don't you stay while we finish the photo shoot?" she said. "We're trying to counter the images of death with life. Magda is a fantastic artist."

"Only because you're such a great model to work with," Magda replied with a laugh.

O walked back to the set, unwound her sarong and dropped it to the floor, completely at ease in her naked state. Jamie had seen her tattoo before when O had danced at the Torture Garden nightclub, but in the daylight, it seemed more unusual. Her back was inked with the head of an octopus with tentacles that stretched out to wrap around her slight frame. As she walked in front of the camera, the octopus moved with her, part of her spinal cord.

One tentacle wound up onto her skull, the black visible under short hair, another wrapped around her waist and dipped down between her buttocks. O turned to face the camera and Jamie couldn't help but gaze at how the tentacles of the creature roved across her body. Her breasts were encircled, with one nipple caressed by the creature, while another tentacle wound down between her legs, touching her hairless sex as it penetrated her there. The detail was exquisite and it was incredible to consider the hours of work involved in the entire piece. O was a work of art and her body the canvas. She stamped her originality on the world with her ink, and Jamie wondered if she could ever be as brave herself.

"How do you want me, Magda?" O asked, and there was a trace of flirtation in her voice. Magda walked round in front of the camera and turned O, her fingers lingering on the woman's shoulder, caressing her skin.

"Look up towards the window. We're going for angelic in the next shots."

"A fallen angel, perhaps." O laughed, her cornflower-blue eyes bright. She composed herself and stood as a statue while Magda clicked away.

Every few seconds, O shifted her posture slightly, changing the angle of her head or her limbs. Her dancing at the Torture Garden had been explicitly erotic, an invitation to sin in a venue that celebrated the physical and the unusual. But here, her body was an embodiment of creation, of human perfection, and the tattoo seemed only to emphasize her vulnerability. Jamie wanted to know why O had chosen this design. Now their paths had crossed again, perhaps she would be able to find out.

Eventually, Magda put the camera down, her face relaxing from the taut posture of the concentrated artist.

"We're done," she said. "There are some great shots in there."

O looked up out of the window, suddenly pointing.

"Look, Magda, the ravens!"

Magda spun quickly and climbed the stepladder up to the high window, gazing out at the birds above, transfixed by their flight. She pushed open the window and began to whistle, soft notes that lilted with a Celtic refrain. It would seem impossible for the tune to be heard above the din of the city and the wind that swept Southwark, but the ravens began to wheel closer.

Magda's song was like a silken cord, drawing the birds to her, and soon there were hundreds of them flying close to the studio windows, their dark eyes fixed on the woman who sang within.

There was a vibration in the air, a heightened sense of connection to the natural world, something Jamie hadn't felt so strongly before in London. It was as if the wild had been brought in here, the rhythms of a far older world reasserting themselves in this cornered civilization. Magda finished her song and threw her arms wide on the final note, the ravens cawing as they winged away and the sky was clear again.

"The ravens are my totem," Magda said, her eyes dark as she descended the ladder. She pulled up her sleeve to reveal the tattoos on her arm in more detail. "They are on me and in me, and they channel my deeper connection to the city."

"I've heard you called an urban shaman," Jamie said. "Is that to do with the ravens?"

Magda smiled. "If I see beyond the skin of the city, then my sight is from the birds. But mainly I live in the world of the practical and human. Like last night."

"Did you know the victim, Nicholas Randolph?" Jamie asked.

"I didn't recognize his body at first. I didn't know it was him …" Magda sighed. "Nick was a friend and we worked alongside each other. He used to work the streets himself years ago, before finding the church. He was gay and spent a lot of time helping the young male prostitutes. He didn't judge them, but helped them with health issues, education, even with places to stay when they were desperate. He visited them in hospital if they got beaten up. He bought their meds. He was a bloody saint and he didn't deserve to die like that."

"But despite his good works, people judged him as they judge the rest of us," O said. "Especially the Society, those bastards who marched behind us last night." She shook her head. "Suppression of Vice – it's a crazy aim, especially around here. The sex trade has been in this borough since Roman times, through medieval London and up to today. The Society tell themselves that they're trying to save us, but they're really trying to get us to conform."

O pulled on her clothes. Skinny jeans and a man's shirt soon covered her tattoo and she could easily pass for an art student on the street. Then she turned around sharply, her face set in determination.

"Tell her, Magda," she said quietly.

Chapter 6

Magda sighed, her face suddenly looking much older.

"Nick's murder is just the latest in a series of worrying events. There've been a number of people going missing round here recently. Sex workers, illegal immigrants, homeless people. Not exactly the cream of society, but people from our community." Magda paused for a moment to take a sip of her coffee. "Of course these things happen everywhere, but this area is under development and many in power want us gone. Since the Shard was built, prices have shot up and there's a lot of money to be made round here," she said, referring to the 87 story skyscraper in Southwark that opened in 2012 and was still under construction. "If only they can get rid of the deviants, the misfits, those of us who don't fit their idea of the future borough."

"If we're gone," O said, "then they can pretend it's all hipsters and expensive coffee and build luxury flats over the sins of the past."

"What have the police been doing about the disappearances?" Jamie asked.

"We report all of them," Magda said. "But missing persons aren't unusual in these transient lines of work, apparently."

Jamie nodded, understanding the other side. The police didn't have the resources to tackle every MISPER in London.

Magda looked at her watch. "I've got to head along South Bank for a meeting at the Tate Modern. If you want to walk with me, I'll show you where some of the people disappeared from as we walk."

"I'll come along too," O said. "I'm heading in that direction."

They left the studio and walked back towards Borough Market, turning down Southwark Street and then into Maiden Lane. Neat terraced houses were interspersed with old converted warehouses as they approached the river.