The Royal Wedding from Hell Page 3
The South Bank 11:45am
“Ow, Jesus Christ,” shouted Pippa, as the Aston Martin bounced up the pavement and scraped along the stone railing, sending sparks flying. People dived out of the way as Harry punched the horn.
“Sorry to bounce you around Pip,” shouted Harry above the roar of the engine and the screams of pedestrians, “but we have got to move fast and this is the only way.” He wrenched the wheel sideways and the car skidded across a junction, causing a lorry and a bus to batter into each other.
“It’s not you,” cried Pippa, “Kate’s punching my doppelganger in the face.”
“How do you know it’s Kate?” shouted Harry, screeching off the road again, slamming his foot to the floor and booting it towards the National Theatre.
“I’ve been on the receiving end of her left hooks before,” she replied, “but don’t worry, I gave as good as I got.”
An image of his sister-in-law and the attractive brunette beside him having a catfight sprung to Harry’s mind. It was difficult but he pushed it away. There was Chelsy to think about. He concentrated on trying to get to the Abbey and not running down pedestrians.
A phat handbrake turn spun the car onto the Queen’s walk and he gunned it along the South Bank, firing the screeching siren all the way. Past the National Theatre, the Aston Martin shot beneath Waterloo Bridge. Harry caned it past the Royal Festival Hall before charging under Hungerford Bridge. Streams of Union flags whipped in their wake. The Millenium Wheel was the next tourist site that he and Pippa ignored, caring only for speed and avoiding the few stragglers that were already diving for cover. Westminster Bridge was up ahead and from there it was just a hard right turn to the Abbey.
“Uh, Harry,” said Pippa, “that’s a flight of stairs up to the bridge. Maybe you should hang a left to go by the road?”
“No time,” said Harry, “besides, this bastard’s got some wicked customisations.”
Harry flicked a switch and Pippa felt a throbbing vibration beneath her. Under different circumstances, she would have been thrilled. Right there and then, she could only see a bunch of steep, hard stone steps ahead.
The jet engine that had just folded out of the back of the car exploded into action. Harry clung to the wheel with a white-knuckled grip as he and Pippa were thrust back in their seats.
Most pedestrians were already open-mouthed at the car hooning it past them. When a jet fired up and the car practically flew up the stairs, they knew they’d just gone crazy.
Luckily, Westminster Bridge was closed for the Wedding, so it was just a bunch of traffic cones that went flying when the Aston Martin thumped over the top. Harry screeched the car round as Police shouted. He skidded to a halt with the back hitting the stone palisade and sending chunks to the Thames below.
“Oh, shitballs,” panted Pippa. Her vision stopped spinning and she found herself focusing on men in full body armour and carrying big, automatic weapons. “Do we have time to tell them that we’re part of the wedding party?”
Westminster Abbey
“Ay carumba,” shouted Maria Teresa, Grand Duchess of Luxembourg as the sweet-looking choir boy bounded towards her. A moment later she yowled in pain as the boy sunk his fangs into the Grand Duchess’s arm. She tried to shake the child off but the creature’s fangs seemed to be bolted in. Maria Teresa stumbled over Henri, her husband and Grand Duke of Luxembourg. The Grand Duchess writhed in agony, feeling boiling venom rushing through her blood.
With a triumphant roar, the boy ripped his mouth away from Maria Teresa’s arm, bringing a chunk of flesh with it. The bloody wound smoked around the edges and foul-smelling puss bubbled out of it.
The choir boy jumped away, now launching himself at a horrified, undercover policeman. Maria Teresa fell to her knees and her head fell into Henri’s lap. “Maria, Maria,” he screamed. She looked up at him. Bile and blood spilled from her lips. Her eyes were the black orbs of the possessed.
“Ay carumba,” shrieked Henri as his Grand Duchess pounced at him.
The rest of the choir carried on charging at the congregation. Some victims were lucky enough to die in bloody carnage; many more were transformed into flesh-hungry beasts. Those who’d got seats near the front of the Abbey were not feeling so pleased about it now.
Westminster Abbey 11:45am
“Good Lord,” ejaculated Prince Charles as a cherub faced beast leapt at him. There was a flash of steel and the possessed choir boy’s body split into two in a burst of black blood.
Princess Anne wiped the blade of her samurai sword on her dress. “I think we should get the family out of here,” she said.
Charles nodded, noticing the look of distaste on Camilla’s face as the horde of demonic choristers bounded out of the choir, some towards the horrified congregation in the nave, some towards the packed leaders and royalty of the Eastern end of the Abbey.
“One doesn’t like to leave the other guests to it though,” said Charles, starting to draw his sword.
“Bloody hell, boy,” shouted Phillip, shoving his eldest son in the back, “your mother wants us out of here. If the Family fall then the nation falls. It’s the blood, you know that.”
Charles looked at his grey-faced mother, being half-carried by Phillip. “Mama doesn’t look too well, Papa?”
“It’s a bloody copy,” the Duke of Edinburgh explained, “your mother’s currently at the Tate Modern trying to cleanse it of some ancient evil.” He pushed the others south to the Great Cloisters.
“It’s like that dreadful situation down in Truro,” said Camilla, “remember, dear, with the wicker men and that blood-eyed hound thing?”
A policeman, now transformed by the black blood of the choirboys into a slavering demon, lurched towards the Royal party. Beatrice wriggled out of Prince Andrew’s grasp and stepped forward. “I’ve got this one,” she cried.
She grasped the twin purple horns of her outrageous hat and concentrated on the policeman. He charged at her, claws reaching for her throat, black bile bubbling up through his teeth.
The runic shape of the hat glowed bright pink and a wave of energy pulsed out. The policeman’s mouth opened wide in surprise before his whole body dissolved into black dust.
“Wow, Bea,” said Eugenie, “that’ll show those Facebook and Twitter haters.”
Beatrice shrugged. “Only one charge, unfortunately.”
Prince Andrew fended off a possessed charity worker. “Is there anyone in this family who’s not some kind of occult warrior?” he said.
Prince Edward shrieked, stumbling forward with his children safely in his arms. “I have nothing to do with this nonsense,” he cried.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you,” muttered Andrew.
“Shut it,” shouted Phillip, “Just get in the bloody carriages.”
Andrew, pushing his daughters ahead of him, went through the side door to the Cloister. In the square space a series of ornate carriages waited. With a sigh, he looked at the glowing, green spectral figures holding the reins of equally spectral horses. “Ah, ghost coaches, ghost coachmen, ghost horses. Naturally.”
“Come on,” shouted the Duke of Edinburgh, hustling the Royal Family into the carriages.
“What about Wills and Kate?” asked Charles.
“Needed here,” said Phillip, “Your mother says that it’s the power that has been invoked through their rings that has brought this about. Power must be channelled through them to defeat the evil.”
Through the side door, Charles spotted sparks of bright white and strange flames of eldritch black as Wills duelled with the doppelganger Harry. “I do hope they’ll be alright,” he muttered.
“You, me and the whole bloody world hope that,” replied Phillip.
An unholy shriek made Charles spin. Two choir boys had charged into the cloister and leapt at Phillip’s back. Before the nonagenarian could turn, Charles had drawn his sword and decapitated one of the demonic boys.
The other rolled sideways and scuttled through
Phillip’s legs. The demon jumped at the doppelganger Queen’s back. Phillip dived on the demon. Charles went to help but three more possessed choir boys came running in.
Phillip yanked the first one back and, with skills he hadn’t employed since 1945, he wrenched the boy’s neck round and broke it with a grinding crunch.
Charles swung his sword at the three new choirboys and they kept back but fanned out, making it harder for him to attack.
“Papa,” he cried, “save Mama, I’ll hold these poor devils off.”
“Poor devils?” muttered Phillip as he pulled the doppelganger to her feet, “Little bastards more like.” He half shoved, half carried the double of his wife through the door and into one of the carriages. Once she was settled, he turned to make sure his son was with him.
Charles was surrounded by the demonic choristers and more were pouring into the antechamber. Phillip took a step forward, drawing his sword as black blood sprayed through the air. Charles’s sword rose and fell, but then Phillip saw his son cry out with pain. The Prince of Wales flipped his sword round and stabbed at the beats that had sunk its fangs into his leg. The demon child was gutted, but Charles tumbled to his knees. He looked up into the eyes of his father.
“For once in your life, listen to me, Papa,” shouted Charles, “Save Mama. I’ll hold these creatures off until you get away.”
“Stout work, Charles,” said Phillip, finding a smile as he saw Charles’s pride at the comment. With tears in his eyes, the Duke of Edinburgh listened to Charles and got into the spectral carriage with the doppelganger Queen.
With the Royal family all aboard, the carriages faded to invisibility. The ghostly horses shrieked, the ghostly coachmen moaned and the whole grim procession swirled in a circle before taking to the air and flying back towards Buckingham Palace.
Charles slashed at the demons until their sheer weight meant he couldn’t move his arms. His skin burned as their black venom dripped onto it. A dozen, bloodthirsty faces crowded in towards him. With his tongue, Charles flipped open his false tooth and sucked on the cyanide it contained. He hoped it was still potent after all these years.
Sound and vision faded away. God bless the secret service, thought Charles.
“Cover your ears,” said Harry. Pippa did as she was told, as Harry hit another switch.
A sonic shockwave pulsed out from the car and the dozen or so armed cops were thrown backwards.
“Woah,” said Pippa.
Harry clutched his head. Blood trickled from his nose. “So that’s what happens with that,” he gasped.
“Harry, get us to the church on time,” said Pippa.
He shook his head to clear it and pumped his foot to the floor again. The car shot forward, hurtling towards police barriers and the tower of Big Ben.
They roared past the Houses of Parliament, screeching left into Parliament Square. Harry narrowly missed the statue of Churchill and halted outside the huge Abbey doors. As the engine shut off, Harry jumped out of his seat with Pippa close behind. As he landed on the pavement, he noticed the crowds. They weren’t cheering; they were screaming and trying to run.
John Key, the Prime Minister of New Zealand, was no longer the Prime Minister of New Zealand. He was now a slavering beast hungry only for living flesh. He had taken down the Prime Minister of Australia in a frenzy of screaming and blood and now, with gore caked across his usually smiling face, he looked for fresh meat. His wild, crazed eyes found a woman trying to stumble away from the growing horror. She didn’t have much meat on her, but to the monster that the Prime Minister of New Zealand had become, she had a warm, beating heart and that was enough.
Victoria Beckham shrieked as the blood-soaked creature leapt at her. She sort of recognised him as one of the many, many people her husband had been photographed with but right now, her only concern was to escape. She turned to run but stumbled over the body of Elton John. John Key’s claw slashed out, only to be kicked away by the powerful leg of David Beckham.
It was clear that the Prime Minister of New Zealand no longer recognised the world’s most popular footballer. Becks was saddened by the transformation of the man he remembered as being very nice, but it didn’t stop him following up with a devastating kick. On the football pitch, such a kick would have scored from the halfway line; in this grim battle for life and death, it took John Key’s head off. The body slumped to the ground, dissolving into bubbling, wretched flesh.
“These things are bloody scary, Vic,” he said, “but if you can get the boot in, they can be taken out.” He swung round as another hissing monster charged at him. Becks realised it was David Furnish. Sad again, but it didn’t stop the LA Galaxy Captain from kicking the beast down.
Becks grabbed Posh and they started to run for the Abbey doors. He pushed Victoria into the fleeing throng, then turned to go back.
“David!” she cried.
“I can help hold them back,” shouted Becks, “you help get as many people out as you can. I’ll be after you soon.”
She didn’t want to leave her husband, but his courage inspired her. Victoria turned and grabbed the arms of a couple of elderly charity workers to help them get along.
Becks got stuck in to hold the line. He kicked back a pair of possessed cops, he lashed out at Prince Albert of Monaco. A figure backflipped into position beside him.
“Never thought it would turn out like this, eh?” muttered Rowan Atkinson as a flurry of his karate moves took down a minor figure of European royalty.
A choirboy, with his robes now stained crimson, leapt at Becks. The footballer kicked him away, then spun round and knocked Sir Clive Woodward flying. The rugby coach roared, his teeth stretching into ragged fangs. Becks tensed to strike again at Sir Clive, but the possessed beast spotted an easier target.
Chelsy Davy’s earlier fury, at what she thought was Harry’s indifference, had been soothed by the revelation that it wasn’t Harry at all but some beast of the abyss. It still didn’t stop her being scared out of her wits. She thought she’d made it to the Abbey doors, but the ex-England Rugby coach, now transformed into a flesh-hungry monster, was in the way.
The creature reared up, only to be felled by the drop-kick of David Beckham. Chelsy smiled; even though it annoyed Harry, she’d always preferred football.
Sir Clive lashed out at Becks. Becks swung his leg out at Sir Clive’s head, but a sudden pain shot up from his foot, making the ex-Man Utd star stumble. It was the cursed metatarsal again. The poisonous talons of Sir Clive ripped through Beckham’s Pierre Cardin shirt and gouged a stinging strip of skin from his toned abs.
Becks hit the ground feeling a burning sensation surging through his veins. He gritted his teeth in pain and fought back the terrifying thoughts that were welling up through his mind.
“Oh fuck,” said Chelsy as Sir Clive’s leering, blood stained face turned back to her. Screw dignity, she thought. She kicked off her heels and ripped off her tight skirt. Now, wearing just her stockings and suspenders, Chelsy could run, and run fast, away from Sir Clive.
Sir Clive bounded after her, howling like some hell-born hunting dog. Becks struggled to his feet, feeling his shaking hands twisting into claws and his teeth stretching into fangs. He looked at the fleeing Chelsy and the pursuing Sir Clive. He blinked, seeing Chelsy as warm, tender flesh chased by one of his kind, then blinked again to see her as a terrified young woman chased by a monster. With churning guts, Beckham raced after them, his mind flashing between chasing the girl and chasing the beast.
Chelsy was less scared than Beckham realised. Raised in Southern Africa, she had spent plenty of time in the bush tackling the wildest beasts that Africa had to offer. If you couldn’t get away, get high. She jumped up and skipped from the back of one pew to the next, heading to one of the columns supporting the vaulted roof of the Abbey.
She jumped, grabbing at the carvings on the column. With her fingertips straining, she started to climb up the stone work, trying to reach a higher, safer level. Sir Clive
bounded over the pews, slamming into the foot of the column. He looked up with a roar. Chelsy didn’t look down.
Becks felt his humanity dying. He clung on, holding the image of Victoria in his mind to keep the horrors of the abyss at bay. With one more desperate, two-footed leap, he slammed into the back of Sir Clive, shattering the rugby coach’s spine.
Woodward roared with fury. Beckham gave one last kick. He ignored the pain of his metatarsal and crushed Sir Clive’s head against the stone of the column. His skull exploded in a spray of boiling gore.
Chelsy, now able to hang on to a carved rim, looked down at the ruined body of Sir Clive, and Beckham slumped beside it. “Becks,” she cried, “you saved me.”
Becks looked up, but no longer with the bright blue eyes that adorned the bedroom walls of teenagers across the world. Now they were just the black pits of the abyss. The footballer opened his fanged maw and howled.
President Obama and his wife watched the horror unfolding on TV in Washington, happy, at last, at not being invited.
Kate blocked another pair of punches from Pippa and aimed a kick at the demon’s midriff. Pippa blocked the kick and, with growing claws, slashed at Kate.
The front of the bride’s dress was torn away, revealing the scarlet basque that had been meant, only for Wills to see. Pippa’s claws ripped through the silk.
The demon laughed, flicking her long, serpentine tongue out. “Scarlet? How cheap,” she laughed.
“Cheap?” exclaimed Kate, looking in fury at the ripped fabric. “This was Agent Provocateur. It weren’t bloody cheap, you bitch!” She dived at Pippa with an anger that she didn’t know she possessed. The Pippa demon back-pedalled fast as Kate rained punches in. One broke through, cracking the doppelganger in the face and sending her sprawling onto the steps of the sanctuary.
Kate leapt into a flying drop-kick, hurtling towards Pippa’s head. The demon roared, gaining strength from the panic that swirled through the Abbey. She rolled aside, catching Kate in mid-air. The Duchess of Cambridge was hurled sideways, clattering into a stand of candles. She was on her feet in a second, spitting blood but ready to face the demon copy of her sister.
Pippa approached more slowly. Kate realised that the demon was growing in size. The tight white dress had all but fallen away, either ripped by Pippa’s growing body or Kate’s karate moves. The demon’s body was taller, more muscled and more voluptuous. Long fingernails were becoming talons. Pippa’s thick, dark hair had escaped from the plait and now seemed to be an almost living mass, swirling around the demon’s bare shoulders.
“I see it in your eyes,” said the demon, “I see your jealousy at your sister’s butt, your sister’s style, your sister’s freedom. No wonder Pippa hates you so much.”
Kate shook her head. “You don’t know shit. That girl may have driven me up the wall at times, but, let me tell you, there is more heart and soul in Pippa’s toenail than the likes of you will ever have. Pippa’s my sister and my BFF and you are going to fucking die.”
“Bring it bee-atch,” said the demon.
“Oh it’s fucking on,” replied Kate, swinging a right hook at her.
Swords flashed through the air. Magical sparks and flames burst forth when the blades clashed. Wills ducked as another lethal blow from Harry swept towards him. He managed a partial parry with his own sword, but a streak of black flame sizzled across his chest. His red tunic, which was already torn and stained with black blood, was now starting to burn.
He dived at Harry, stabbing desperately with his glowing sword, catching the demon off guard for a moment: a moment long enough for the Prince to rip the flaming tunic away. His white vest clung to his toned chest with sweat; his muscled arms and shoulders were bare but displayed many small cuts from the sword fight. Wills and the fake Harry face each other across the stalls of the choristers.
Like Pippa, Harry was transforming. He was now a head taller than Wills with longer, more thickly muscled arms. His tunic had been shredded by his growing bulk and Wills’ swordplay. His skin was now shiny and grey. Harry’s red hair seemed to be on fire, blazing and wild and straggling to his shoulders.
“What are you creatures?” said Wills as he looked for a gap.
“We are years of resentment made flesh,” hissed Harry, “I am all of the hatred that your brother has for you. Harry, trapped in your shadow for years, will be in your shadow no longer.” Harry lunged forward. His sword swings were becoming less and less refined, but had more and more fury and strength behind them. Wills blocked the blows but was thrust back. He tripped back against a pew, barely managing to roll aside as Harry slammed his blade down. The wooden seating, over a hundred years old and carved from the most solid oak of the kingdom, was reduced to firewood.
Wills scrambled to his feet and aimed a lightning fast blow at Harry’s neck. The demon’s sword met the Prince’s with an explosion of power that made both swordsmen stagger backwards.
“Wrong, you monster,” said Wills, “Harry and I are more than brothers; we’re best friends, comrades-in-arms and drinking buddies. Whatever twisted bile spawned you, believe me, is going right back down the hole it came from.” He charged at Harry.
The furious exchange made the demon retreat this time. Wills blade broke through and gouged a slash across Harry’s chest, spraying black blood to the floor. The demon toppled back to the steps to the pulpit with a cackling laugh. Wills approached and the demon bounded to his feet, sword ready once more. “Hurt me, hurt me more, young fool,” he hissed.
Although the Queen had gained some small strength as she felt the real Phillip moving the rest of her family, and therefore blood, away from the evil that was possessing the Abbey, she was still exhausted. Marking out lines of power across the floor of the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern was a severe drain on her physical, mental and mystical resources. The job was done now. The evil of the monstrous creation was contained.
The doppelganger Phillip still stalked the perimeter armed with the blunderbuss. The weapon had been recovered from a chamber found beneath a Slovakian castle in World War I. It had proved very effective at holding back the strange and shadowy spirits that prowled the darkness.
The smooth female voice echoed through the air. “Do you think you have trapped me?”
With the voice came ripples of cold despair. The Queen drew on her mystical resources, finding the permanent link with Buckingham Palace and the ancient heart of the nation.
“I know who you are,” she whispered.
“Did I make it obvious?” replied the mocking voice.
“Morgan Le Fay,” replied the Queen, “defeated and trapped over a thousand years ago by Merlin himself. Maybe you have summoned the power to cause some horror and carnage today, but not even a thousand years of rest will get you much more. You’ve played your hand too soon. Time for the Heir of Arthur’s blood itself to put you to rest for good.” The Queen pulled a blue candle from her pack and a simple box of matches.
“Please,” said Le Fay, “I beg you. I will pull the demons back. Don’t push me back to the darkness.”
“Your mistake was capturing Harry and young Miss Middleton,” said the Queen, placing the candle carefully at the centre of the vast pentagram she had drawn, “You thought that their doppelgangers would be the way for you to escape into the Abbey. It’s worked for a while, but then I suppose you had no idea that I’d be able to find them and rescue them. Once they have killed their doppelgangers, you will be finished in the outside world. Once I’m done here, you’ll be destroyed for good.”
“How did you find me?” pleaded Le Fay.
The Queen smiled, despite her exhaustion. “I have the trump card it seems. Merlin, your old foe, still serves the line of Arthur, in my vault at the Palace.”
“We could rule together,” said Le Fay, “I would rule at your side. Think of our power. Think of how we could return Britain to the glories it once knew.”
“Glories come and go. It is evil and foolish to keep clinging on to them
,” said the Queen. She lit the match and held it over the candle’s wick. She paused, pondering the incantation she was about to invoke. The candle was formed from the blue blood of her own lineage. Once lit, it would draw the power that had been consumed by Le Fay’s monstrous artefact into the endless well that supported the ancient line. As it entered the well it would be purged of all vestiges of Le Fay’s cursed soul and the witch would be gone forever.
“Please,” screeched Le Fay, one last, desperate time.
The Queen lit the candle.
Harry charged up the steps of the Abbey as terrified wedding guests ran out. Pippa was right on his shoulder, although she clutched at a blossoming bruise on her cheek.
“My sister is really going at it,” she said.
Harry whipped round to see if she was alright then stumbled and fell, grabbing at his own chest as he did. He felt his shirt sticking to his chest with blood. “I think Wills just got a good one in too,” he said.
Pippa helped Harry up. He recovered his breath and pushed the pain out of his mind. The guests still running down the steps ignored the black-clad pair. “I guess the fighting is why the congregation are so spooked,” said Harry.
“Let’s get in there before our siblings kill us,” said Pippa. They ran into the Abbey.
Carnage greeted them. Screaming guests ran past. Black-eyed monsters leapt at others. A valiant few tried to fight the horde of beasts back. Blood was sprayed everywhere.
“Mother of fuck,” said Pippa, “what the hell are we going to do?”
“One thing at a time, I guess,” replied Harry, “Let’s kill the doppelgangers before they kill Wills or Kate, or Kate and Wills kill us. Then maybe we’ll see what we can do about the horde of ravenous monsters.”
“That are busy creating more monsters,” said Pippa, pointing at their favourite bartender from Martinique, whose throat had been torn out and was now rising with black eyes and twisted claws.
“Kate and Wills are still going at it,” said Harry, and the pair looked to the far end of the nave where they could see the flashing blades of Wills and the demon Harry, and the twirling fists and feet of the two sisters.
A familiar scream made Harry turn. He spotted Chelsy, clinging to the side column while the demonic Beckham jumped at her from below.
“Save Chelsy,” said Pippa, running forward and unclipping her grappling hook gun. “I’ll try to stop the fights.” Kicking a demon choirboy aside, then elbowing a possessed celebrity chef in the face, Pippa fired her gun. The hook and its cable, shot up and lodged itself in the stonework far above. She clipped the gun back to her belt and hit the cable-rewind button. The mechanism whined and Pippa swooped up and over the mass of beasts and towards the Altar of the Abbey.
Harry was already running towards Chelsy. He dodged a couple of cops, who foamed black bile from their mouths, punched out an officer from the Irish guards and fired his grappling hook gun. This would have to be timed just right.
He hit the cable-rewind button. The monster Beckham jumped, his claw about to rip into Chelsy’s leg.
Harry’s boots slammed into Beckham’s head, making its black innards burst out. He grabbed Chelsy with one arm and swung further up the wall of the Abbey. They landed on a ledge, far out of the reach of the monsters below.
Harry looked back at the body of David Beckham, dissolving into red and black goo. “I always hated football,” he said.
Chelsy, the love of his life, smiled and kissed him.
“How was the wedding?” he asked, smiling back.
“Bloody awful, family arguments,” she replied nodding towards the fighting Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.
“You’re next,” said Harry.
Chelsy gave him a look. “Go save the world.”
Harry retrieved his grappling hook and aimed for the far end of the Abbey. “See you at the reception then?” He fired the hook and swung away.
Kate swung a punch at the demon Pippa but the demon was too fast. She ducked then came up with a blow to the stomach that doubled Kate over. The monster was quick to follow with a hard kick and Kate went sprawling.
The Duchess of Cambridge rolled across the steps to the high altar. Her vision cleared to see the twisted form of Pippa strutting towards her with grasping talons. Kate’s head was still spinning. It couldn’t end like this; she tried to find some strength from somewhere. She pushed herself up with her right hand and clenched her left.
Her left hand shook. She glanced at it, feeling a comforting warmth. The sapphire of Diana’s engagement ring was glowing. Kate caught her breath and looked up at the grotesque version of her sister above.
“Time to die, Princess,” said the demon Pippa.
“I don’t think so,” said Kate.
Over the demon’s shoulder came a figure in black, swinging on the end of a rope. Before the demon could turn, the real Pippa had detached the cable and piled into her with a two-footed kick.
Kate rolled aside as the demon slammed into the steps with Pippa on top of her. The crunch of the demon’s spine was audible just before her piercing scream.
Her human form was mortally wounded, so the demon started to abandon it. Her arms grew, the grey skin ripping and bursting as the muscles and bones stretched and swelled. With a serious of hideous clicks and crunches, the demon twisted its spine. The top half of it swelled and transformed into a long-limbed scaly beast. Below the shattered spine, the legs shrivelled away. Another couple of hard twists, and the beast snapped its torso in two: the monstrous and agile top half and the withered and broken bottom. The demon stalked round, its now huge, crimson jaws open and revealing its heavy tusks.
Kate grabbed a thick, bronze candle-stick and hefted it, ready to bring it down on the creature’s skull.
“Throw it to me Kate,” shouted Pippa, “only I can kill it.”
Kate flipped the candle-stick over the beast’s head. It followed the object around and came face to face with its counterpart.
“You couldn’t beat my sister,” said Pippa, “and you won’t beat me.” The demon had a moment to register fear before the heavy shaft of bronze smashed into its face. The first blow ripped off its jaw; the second crushed its skull. It swayed and Pippa spun, building momentum. The third blow hammered into the demon’s head, making it burst apart with a gush of black gore. The bloated body hit the ground and shattered into globules of fizzing, rotting flesh. In moments, the hard stone it landed on was full of pitted holes from the acrid, dissolving carcass.
Kate ran at Pippa and the sisters hugged. Their elation lasted for barely a second. The noise of clashing swords made them break apart. They looked over to see the demon Harry getting knocked back by Wills’ superior sword skills and righteous fury.
“We’ve got to stop Wills,” said Pippa.
“Are you mad?” said Kate.
“If Wills kills that monster version of Harry, then the real Harry dies,” said Pippa, bounding up the steps and towards the duelling brothers.
Harry swung through the air and watched Wills. The Prince of Wales parried two wild, heavy blows from the doppelganger before replying with a series of fast moves. The glowing blade moved too fast for Harry to see whether it struck home. The sudden pain in his shoulder made him realise that it had.
The demon Harry stumbled back against a choir pew, laughing as bubbling, black foam frothed from his mouth. His sword arm fell to his side.
“It’s over monster,” cried Wills.
The demon spat at him. Harry shouted. Wills thrust forward with the glowing sword.
The demon screamed and so did Harry. The searing blade plunged into the demon’s chest and Harry grabbed at his chest, flexing in the air, with enough force to fall free of his cable gun. He hit the floor, smacking his head and seeing stars.
“Wills,” screamed Pippa, “only Harry can kill that thing. They’re linked. If the demon is wounded, then Harry will feel the wound too.”
Wills, who had been poised to swing the sword and take the
monster’s head off, stepped back in horror. “What have I done?” he whispered.
Oily smoke and putrid fluid spilled from the wound in the demon’s chest, but it wasn’t finished yet. Its body continued to transform as the Pippa demon had. Its arms stretched with fingers growing into claws. The fangs turned into savage tusks. It shuffled forward on all fours, more beast than man in form.
“Harry, are you alright?” shouted Wills. With relief, he saw the ashen face of Harry emerge from behind a row of seats. Blood soaked his brother’s black shirt.
“I’ve been better,” moaned Harry.
There was a savage howl and another figure rose behind Harry. It was David Cameron, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, or at least, it used to be. Ragged tears were rent down the side of his face and through his top coat and shirt. His eyes were pitch black. His scarlet tongue lashed in and out of his blood-caked mouth. Cameron reared up with claws grasping.
Wills didn’t even think. He threw his sword with all the force he could.
Harry ducked; the sword plunged straight into Cameron’s chest. The ex-Prime Minister shrieked as he stumbled back before exploding into black and red fragments. The sword was lodged in the thick marble of a supporting column.
Another angry growl came from one side and Harry pulled himself up to see Nick Clegg, Cameron’s deputy lurching forward. Harry’s vision swam, sweat poured down his face and every part of him just wanted to lie down and die. Every part, except his indomitable will.
He reached, with a weak and trembling hand, for the sword, which still sizzled and hissed with white power. Harry doubted he had the strength to pull it out of the wall, let alone swing it at this undead horror, but it was the only option, and he was not going down without a fight.
His fingers closed around the sword’s handle. His eyes blinked rapidly as Harry realised his vision was clearing. His arm trembled but no longer from weakness. The throbbing, draining pain in his chest faded until it turned full circle and became a sudden blaze of energy. The sword came out in a flash and in the same movement, Harry took Clegg’s head off. The Deputy Prime Minister’s body stayed lurched forward a couple more steps, as if it had not realised that its head had gone, before toppling over and dissolving into nothing.
Re-invigorated, Harry bounded over pews, slashed demons aside and barged his way through to where Chelsy still clung to the ledge. “Jump babe,” he called, “I’ll catch you.”
Chelsy looked at the glowing weapon that Harry wielded, smiled and jumped.
Harry caught her with one arm, put her down and grabbed her hand. “Stay close,” he said.
“Like I’m going anywhere,” she said as the flesh-hungry horde lurched towards them.
The glowing blade slashed through the demons and gave them an avenue to get back to the relative safety of the altar steps. They ran for the gap only to be bowled over by the tumbling form of Prince William. A monstrous, hairy beast of tusks and claws, the hideous creature that had been the demon Harry, followed him.
The blue flame of the candle flickered. The Queen braced herself for the rush of evil energy. It didn’t come.
“Oh dear,” said Le Fay, “what’s happening, your Majesty?”
The Queen reached for the thick shaft of the candle. Wrapping her fingers around it, she concentrated, trying to feel the ebbs and flows of energy. The hideous reservoir of darkness above was not moving. There was an icy cold sensation at the back of her neck.
“Who helped make your candle, my Queen?” asked Le Fay.
The Queen felt cold sweat on her brow. Beneath her, in the well of energies of her long, long line, something was moving. She thought of Merlin and the arcane incantations he recited as she let her blue blood drip into the wax.
“I’ve been trapped for centuries,” said Le Fay, “but I’m not the only one.”
Slivers of power were snaking up from the well. Her power was being sucked into the dark power that Le Fay had accumulated, not the other way round.
“Merlin betrayed you,” laughed Le Fay, her voice growing stronger, “like me, trapped for centuries. And he knew that only I could help him escape.”
With a great effort, Elizabeth pulled her hand away from the candle. The slivers of energy passing up from her well and into Le Fay were becoming a torrent.
“As you’ve said, so many times,” taunted the rich, strong voice of Le Fay, “you just can’t get the staff.”
Above the Queen, the hideous, crimson structure was pulsating. It was no longer an object of rubber and plastic; it had become a monstrous piece of living flesh. Thick, gelatinous blood dripped from its rippling hide. Le Fay continued to speak over the growing noise of the creature’s awakening.
“Merlin desperately wanted to kill you himself,” she said, “but I think the blood-beast here will catch you first.”
“Are you too afraid to face me yourself?” said the Queen.
The flow of energy surged, causing a foul wind to billow around the Queen, hunched in the midst of her pentagram. Darkness flowed upwards.
“I’d love to,” replied Le Fay in a voice now echoing in the real, “but I have to go to the Abbey to devour your grandchildren.” The witch shrieked: a piercing sound that made Elizabeth shudder, even in the protecting pentagram.
There was a smash of glass as something burst through the skylight at the top of the building.
The Queen concentrated, trying to draw whatever power she could to her. Above and around her, the blood beast was coming alive.
The beast that had been the doppleganger Harry fell upon them. Chelsy screamed, Wills swore and Harry gave a sudden howl. Excalibur’s power surged, burning Harry’s hand. He grunted in pain but the sword wouldn’t leave his hand. Harry thrust the blade up, into the demon’s guts.
The creature’s howl tore at Harry’s mind but he carried on pushing and twisting the sword. Foul innards burst from its body, drenching the two Princes and Chelsy.
Its head swung down; repellent breath washed over Harry’s face and flecks of venom stung his skin.
“For fuck’s sake, just die,” he shouted. Harry wrenched Excalibur sideways. The burning blade ripped the creature’s body apart. The two halves fell to each side, dissolving with a wretched stench.
Harry passed Excalibur back to Wills. “Thanks bro,” he said. The two boys and Chelsy rose. The horde of zombies started lurching at them once more. The three ran to the altar.
As they reached the others, the energy of the sword and the glowing power of Diana’s ring created a ring of light that kept the monsters at bay.
“Right then,” said Wills, “those monster doubles of yours are dead and the magic sword and ring seem to keep the possessed, flesh-hungry crowd away. Why do I not feel that we’ve won the day?”
All five of them were backed up against the stone of the altar. Behind the altar, choir boys stood, wincing at the light but still grasping with clawed hands. Ahead of them, stretched down the nave, were hundreds of wedding guests, no longer there to celebrate the day, but intent on devouring live human meat.
Beneath their feet, the stone floor trembled. Here and there, the glass of the Abbey’s high stained glass windows shattered and crashed to the ground. Some of the massive columns cracked. Wails of stone scraping on stone filled the air as the whole building quivered. The light from the sunny day outside faded, replaced by a sickly sepia.
“I think we’re in trouble,” said Chelsy. They looked at the horde. Before the tremors, they had been wincing at the white light that the five wielded. Now, they were starting to grin, horrible, fang-filled grins.
A flicker caught Harry’s eye and he looked up to the high vaulted roof.
“Oh lordy-lord,” he muttered, “we are most definitely in trouble.”
“Phillip,” called the Queen, “to me.” The doppelganger strutted over to the Queen; she took his hands and looked into his eyes. She concentrated, trying to find her own blue-blooded power and to ignore the blood-beast’s ravenous bulk.
>
The Queen focused on Phillip’s eyes. Through the doppelganger, she looked into the real Phillip. She could see he had made it back to the Palace with the rest of the family; it was a spark of hope in this deluge of despair.
She reached further through the link between the two Phillips and found her own duplicate. Transference, they called it. It was tricky, dangerous but, unfortunately, her only option.
“Back to the Palace,” whispered Phillip through the tenuous link between their minds.
“I’m afraid not, dear,” said the Queen. “I’m needed at the Abbey.”
With her iron will, the Queen grasped at every vestige of power she had. She felt her physical body dissolve, along with the duplicate Phillip.
The screech was more than piercing; it was a lance to the soul. Harry, Chelsy and Pippa clutched their ears in pain and crumpled to the floor. Kate and Wills, armed with the glowing sword and Diana’s ring were still able to stand in mere agony.
Huge chunks of stonework fell, shattering on the floor of the nave and crushing dozens of the possessed. A black, winged creature came smashing through the roof. It followed the falling stones and glass: landing with enough force to make the ground shake.
It folded its membranous wings in on itself and stalked towards the five at the altar. Its long neck snaked forward; at the end was a head that was mostly mouth. It was a mouth that was mostly fangs. Venom dripped from the fangs and burned sizzling holes into the stone floor. The demons all gave way.
It reared up as it reached the altar steps and shrieked once more. Wills stepped forward and lunged at it with his glowing sword. The fanged head recoiled and hissed.
The black body contracted, the neck shrank and the fang-filled mouth transformed into the pale face of a woman. In moments, where there had been a serpent-like monster, there was now a slim woman. She was clad in wisps of black smoke. Her eyes were the black orbs of the possessed.
“Excalibur will not keep you safe for long, Wills,” said Le Fay.
“Long enough for this,” shouted Wills. He jumped down the steps swing the blade at Le Fay. She jumped back and lashed out with her hand. From her fingers came tendrils of black that whipped against the Prince. He severed a couple of them with Excalibur, but three others left scorch marks across his chest. Le Fay hissed in pain while Wills groaned.
Wills forced himself to stay standing, with the glowing blade ahead of him. Le Fay staggered back, her body jerking with sudden changes in form. Her shoulder grew spikes and fangs once more stretched out of her mouth. Wills could see the witch fight to regain self-control as her body settled back to its lithe, female form. Harry was tapping at his wrist panel.
“My demons are spreading across the city,” she said, “The crowds that gathered to celebrate now know fear as more and more of them are either devoured or turned to serve me.”
Thunder boomed and more windows shattered. A ragged bolt of red lightning blasted through the north wall of the Abbey, making two of the supporting columns crack and collapse.
“We need to get out of here,” said Harry, stepping closer to Wills. “We need more firepower and we can only get that at the Palace.”
Le Fay snarled and lashed at the brothers. Wills parried the flailing tendrils with Excalibur, but both Princes had to jump back.
There was another pair of mighty booms, this time inside the Abbey. Two huge balls of flame erupted near the door, throwing demons aside. Many of the possessed fled, screaming and burning.
As the bright orange flame turned to balls of black smoke, the Aston Martin shot through. Its headlights folded back and guns extended out. Bright yellow laser bolts lanced out of the guns, blasting more of the possessed apart and clearing a way through.
“That’s our ride,” shouted Harry.
Wills saw Le Fay was distracted and jumped forward, swinging at her with Excalibur. With a shriek, she jerked away. The Aston Martin screeched to a halt with a wicked skid, turning 180 degrees. The five dived into the car, Harry in the driver’s seat and Wills beside him. The ladies crammed in the back.
“You said this thing had plenty of room in the back,” said Chelsy.
“It does,” replied Harry, “at least for what I had planned, but not necessarily for a desperate escape from the forces of evil.”
“Shut it,” said Wills slashing at Morgan Le Fay, “and boot it”.
Harry did as he was told and floored the accelerator.
The awesome car blasted through a few ragged demons and out of the Abbey. They heard Le Fay’s furious scream behind them.
Harry wrenched the wheel round and hit the gas, screeching into Parliament Square. He swung to the left, heading for Birdcage Walk, the quickest route to the Palace. They screeched to a halt.
“Maybe we’ll take the long route,” said Harry as he looked along Birdcage Walk.
Thousands of demons, all transformed from the previously happy crowds in St James Park were bounding over the iron railings and swarming along the road. The blood-crazed mob of fury surged at them, intent on tearing the five apart.
The Queen materialised in a dizzy heap. She staggered into a pew and threw up. Transference was a terrible process.
She straightened up to see a horde of demons surrounding her. They seemed surprised by her sudden appearance. Looking down, she noticed a bloody smear across the floor where she had materialised. That would be it. Transference involved the movement of terrible power. Something in the way when she came through wouldn’t have much chance.
“You may have escaped the blood beast,” shrieked the winged horror that stalked through the demonic mob, “but you will die here.”
Elizabeth looked around. She reached out with the few psychic powers she possessed. “But you still haven’t got Wills or Kate or Harry, have you?” she asked Le Fay.
“The transference energy,” said Le Fay, “that’s what gave them enough power to get through.”
“Excellent,” said the Queen, “just you and me then?”
Le Fay howled, throwing out a burst of power that floored all of the demons in the Abbey. Her monstrous form swelled and grew, stretching out and sucking in all of the shadows in the Abbey. More bolts of red lightning blasted through the roof and walls.
Elizabeth slid to the floor with a hand to her head. Cold sweat covered her. She was spent. The stone floor shook and the whole edifice was groaning as its ancient columns and buttresses rocked. At least Wills and Excalibur were still alive. There was some hope left.
Harry wrenched the gear stick into reverse and backed up fast. Thunder cracked across the city. The sky was filled with billowing clouds of sickly yellow. Red lightning blasted down, shattering buildings and gouging smoking holes in the roads. Harry pulled up the handbrake and swung the wheel, spinning the car 180 degrees. They paused for a moment to gaze on Westminster Abbey.
The great building, which had stood for a thousand years and seen the crowning of monarchs and the history of a nation, was collapsing in on itself. With every piece of masonry that toppled, sparks and flames of black power erupted from the rubble. Another giant bolt of red struck it and the final remnants were shattered. An evil black cloud rose up, taking shape as a winged beast.
“It’s Le Fay,” shouted Wills, “and her power is growing every second. He looked to the west. There was one golden break in the canopy of sick clouds. “The Palace still stands. Let’s go.” Harry floored it again, now roaring up Horse Guards to the East of St James Park. There was a furious horde in front of them and a furious horde behind them.
Harry ripped his wristband off and passed it to Wills. Grabbing the wheel again, he floored the accelerator and roared towards the howling horde that charged down Horse Guards at them. He hit a couple of switches and rockets shot out at the demons. The explosions threw body parts in all directions and gave the Aston Martin a few more hundred yards of space.
“It was meant to be a surprise,” said Harry to Wills. “The chaps at RAF Wattisham have got a Sea King geared up and
ready to go at the Palace. It was going to accompany you and Kate when you drove to Clarence House.”
Wills handed Excalibur to Kate. “Darling, would you keep those demon things away?” He started hitting the controls. “It’s on its way,” he said. “Now, if we can just stay alive for five more minutes…”
A demon leapt at them from the railings along St James Park. Kate lopped its head off with a deft swipe. The gap that the rockets had opened up had allowed them to get halfway towards the Mall but the horde was closing in again.
“There should be guns in the side compartments,” said Harry. “Crack them out and start shooting.”
Pippa flipped a panel beside her and pulled out a stubby automatic gun. Her commando training came in useful again as she blasted back one crazed monster after another.
Wills found a pair of Uzis and, with one in each hand, laid waste to more of the horde. Chelsy opened up with a heavy hand gun.
A piercing shriek made them all wince. A dark shadow billowed overhead, followed by a spray of sizzling venom. The winged beast that was Le Fay dived at the fast-moving car, long claws lashing at the five occupants.
Kate stood in her seat and slashed back at Le Fay. The hot blade of Excalibur cut through a grasping talon, spraying black blood across Kate. She screamed as it scorched her perfect skin, but the pain only roused her fury.
The power of Diana’s ring and the heat of Excalibur rippled out in a ball of energy, making Le Fay swoop up and away.
Another pair of rockets blew up more monsters and bought them a precious sliver of space. Harry gunned the engine even more and they were able to screech onto the Mall. As they sped around, they could see straight down the Mall to the Queen Victoria memorial and the bulk of Buckingham Palace beyond.
The Palace was beacon of blue sky and sunlight amidst the churning clouds and crimson lightning. There were thousands of blood-crazed demons between the Aston Martin and that beacon of light.
A black shape rose up from behind the Palace. “It’s the chopper,” said Harry.
“Great,” said Wills, “blow some more monsters up and we’ll meet it halfway.”
Harry hit the switches and the accelerator. More balls of fire ripped through the horde, but there was a non-stop flow of the demons to fill the gaps.
Chelsy popped a cartridge out of her gun, slammed another in place and resumed firing. “Ammo’s running low, ginger,” she shouted above the howling of the horde and the hammering of the guns.
Harry only had a couple of rockets left and the car’s machine guns would last for only a few more bursts. He swung the wheel furiously from side to side, thanking Aston Martin again and again for their superior automotive engineering as the car weaved between knots of demons. Flicking his gaze upwards for a second, he saw the chopper getting closer. Christ, this was going to be tight.
The black shadow of Le Fay fell across them again, accompanied by another piercing shriek. Kate lashed at the winged demon with Excalibur. The others had to keep their attention on the demon horde.
“Come down here, bitch,” shouted Kate at Le Fay. As she raged at the witch, she spotted the red glow in the cloud above them.
“Fuck it,” she shouted, “jump!”
Kate dived from the moving car, hitting the ground and rolling. She jumped out of her roll, thanks to years of high-class gym training at school, and slashed three demons in half with the sword. Wills, Harry, Pippa and Chelsy leapt after her just as the crimson bolt hit the car.
They rolled into balls as the car exploded, narrowly avoiding being hit by the flying debris.
With ringing ears, Harry pushed himself up. He spat blood from his mouth. He backed up and bumped into his brother. The five formed a wary circle. Ten metres away stood the demon horde, glaring at them, claws grasping, ready for the word from their mistress to charge in and finish the five. Circling above, Le Fay roared in triumph.
At the Palace, Phillip stood, with his eyes closed, trying, desperately trying, to reach his beloved wife.
“Anything, Papa?” asked Anne, at his side.
“Nothing,” he rasped.
Edward, wearing a pair of headphones, leaned out of a window. “Andrew says he’s closing in fast in the Sea King,” he shouted, “but there’s some bloody great bat-thing in the way.”
“Le Fay,” whispered Phillip.
The sound of the Sea King helicopter was coming closer now. Harry felt a moment of hope but then saw Le Fay’s winged, vile form swoop round to meet it. Another shriek summoned another bolt of red lightning. The chopper jerked sideways and the bolt blasted the ground, blowing a pair of demons to bits and setting a dozen more on fire. More bolts rained down, but whoever was flying the helicopter swung it around like a lunatic and was missed every time.
Le Fay roared in fury and flew straight at the chopper. Her claws slammed against its hull, making at tumble across the sky. The pilot just about kept control.
“Uncle Andrew always was such a bloody show-off,” said Wills. He spotted the door at the side opening. A ladder was flung down, but the chopper was still too high for them to grab it. The furious beast that was Le Fay was diving in for another attack.
Wills snatched Excalibur from Kate’s hand and shouted at Harry. “Give me a leg up, I can reach the ladder.”
Harry cupped his hand as Wills jumped. Harry shoved with all his might and propelled Wills upwards. The Duke of Cambridge grabbed the ladder with one hand and swung Excalibur with the other.
Le Fay came at the chopper, talons outstretched. Wills swung with the momentum of the wildly flying helicopter and timed his leap with it. He flew at Le Fay, swinging Excalibur.
He cut off one of her claws and grabbed the other leg with his free hand. Le Fay bucked through the air and away from the chopper. The Prince hung on to her limb and tried to get a clean stab with the sword. The helicopter descended.
Harry practically threw Chelsy onto the ladder, closely followed by Pippa. He grabbed Kate’s wrist and shoved her onto the ladder, shouting at her to move. Harry was right behind as the chopper lifted. He swung his feet up as the grasping claws of the horde reached for him.
Chelsy and Pippa were soon at the top of the ladder and being pulled inside by Beatrice and Eugenie. Kate reached the top but stopped to look round at her husband, still clinging to Le Fay. Prince Andrew tried to swing the chopper towards them but a bolt of lightning blasted between them and he had to veer away.
Wills looked back and locked eyes with Kate. He shouted to Harry. “You’ll need this,” and then flung Excalibur towards the swinging rope ladder. The sword landed in Harry’s palm. He gave his brother a silent salute.
Wills mouthed a silent “I love you,” to Kate, then started punching at Le Fay with everything he had. The witch sank her teeth into his shoulder, but the Prince refused to give up and grasped at the thick, serpentine neck. They tumbled through the air, away across St James’s Park.
Andrew saw his chance and gunned the Sea King forward, charging back to the Palace.
With the chopper away, Wills let go. He plunged hundreds of feet to the ground, taking a few more demons with him as he hit the ground.
****