The Demon Collector by Jon Mayhew

can take hold of the wariest soul. And it is becoming something of a favourite topic for Mr Janus.’
    ‘Well, forgive me for sayin’ as much, sir, but I reckon Mr Janus, bein’ a collector an’ all, knows what he’s doin’,’ Edgy said. A stab of annoyance made him twitch and shake his head. ‘He’s been good to me.’
    Scrabsnitch paused, mulling over Edgy’s words. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he said, nodding. He took the book and wrapped it in thick brown paper, then slid it into a sack. ‘But I’ve met a few obsessives in my time. They never come to a good end.’ The old man stared off into the darkened corners of the emporium.
    Edgy shivered. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, sir,’ he said, teasing the sack out of Scrabsnitch’s fingers and slinging it over his shoulder. ‘Mr Janus’ll be keen to see me back.’
    Scrabsnitch’s eyes snapped back to Edgy, making him jump. ‘Wait,’ he hissed, pushing Edgy down behind a three-legged display cabinet. ‘Someone’s peering through the window, hard to see through the grime . . . A woman . . . dark hair . . .’
    ‘Salomé,’ Edgy gasped. ‘Mr Scrabsnitch, I’ve got to hide!’
    ‘Salomé?’ he said, his eyes widening.
    ‘I’ve no time to explain,’ Edgy said. ‘But she seems to be after me.’
    ‘The back door,’ Scrabsnitch said.
    ‘No, she’ll be on to me like a flash,’ Edgy muttered, remembering the chase in the alleyways.
    ‘Upwards then,’ Scrabsnitch snapped, looking to the ceiling.
    ‘But Henry –’ Edgy began.
    ‘Put him in the sack with the book,’ Scrabsnitch said, guiding Edgy across the shop to a side door. ‘Go up the stairs to the attic. You can make your way along the rooftops there – it may just give you a head start.’
    With a shove, Scrabsnitch sent Edgy staggering through the door and up the first few steps. As the door shut behind Edgy, he heard the muffled tinkling of the bell and started up the stairs as fast and as silently as he could.
    Edgy didn’t have time to take in his surroundings as he hurried upwards. He had a vague impression of fusty decay, worn carpets, peeling walls and then he was in an attic room cluttered with more junk, packing cases, stuffed animals and rusted suits of armour. He squeezed through the room and bundled Henry into the sack before lifting the groaning sash window and gasping at the cold wind that slapped his face. Henry yelped and squirmed in the sack as Edgy tied the top with some curtain cord and secured it over his shoulder. He would need free hands for this.
    Edgy had seen some children on the rooftops last year. They’d been thieving lead from church roofs and had escaped from the peelers that way. Edgy had been impressed and had imagined himself skipping across narrow alleys and sliding down slick slates.
    Now his head spun and his feet felt like they’d been cemented on to the narrow brick causeways that ran along the eaves of the buildings. Henry wriggled, making the sack feel leaden and pulling Edgy in every direction. He teetered on the edge of a grey slate roof. Something gave way under his foot. A loose brick tumbled down through the air below him. Edgy windmilled his arms, bending double and straightening time and again.
    And then he slipped.
    With a yelp, Edgy slapped his hand out to catch hold of the black line of the gutter. Fire seared up his shoulder and he heard his knuckles crack as his descent jerked to a halt. For a moment, Edgy dangled by one arm, dazed and yelling in agony. The cord holding the sack and Henry cut into his shoulder. He swung his other arm up and grasped at the cast-iron gutter with both hands. It was cold, full of moss and slime. How long could he hold on for?
    ‘Edgy Taylor, what are you doing, you silly sausage?’ Salomé peered over the edge of the roof, leaning on an umbrella. Her face split into a childish grin. ‘You ran away from me and that funny Mr Scrabsnitch tried to shoot me with a candlestick. What