London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter One

September, 1872

Brown's Bakery, East London

Alfred Westman browsed the fresh bread and pastries in the lantern-light, waiting while the baker's wife served another customer.

"You be careful out there, young lady," she told the girl at the counter, handing over her change.

She must have been around eleven or twelve years old, Westman guessed. He kept his back to them, perusing a choice of pies, but it was impossible not to overhear their conversation.

"Yes, Mrs Brown," the girl replied.

"It just ain't safe out there at night."

"I know, the monster, Creeping Clem. I'll be careful."

Creeping Clem?

Monster?

Westman glanced up at the mention of the supernatural.

"They say he has glowing eyes of orange, wings like a bat and breathes fire," Mrs Brown continued. "Those poor girls he attacked. Vanished. Never heard from again."

An inquisitive little boy - most likely belonging to Mrs Brown - appeared behind the shop counter at that moment and poked his nose over a basket of Eccles cakes. He peered up at Westman who, likewise, peered back at him. Westman moved away to inspect the pasties. All he'd come in for was a plum pudding, but he now found himself listening to a witness account of the criminal, Creeping Clem; the rumoured demon that had been terrorising the city for the past three months.

Westman felt a movement and found the nosey boy no longer behind the counter, but in the act of drawing back his frock coat. The child looked startled by what he uncovered there and then doubly startled when he saw Westman glaring down at him. He caught the little pickpocket's hand as it hovered by the occult equipment on his belt. In Westman's job, a sharp stake and crucifix were just a fraction of his arsenal. He rarely went anywhere without them.

A finger to his lips warned the child to keep quiet about his discovery. With a wide-eyed blink, the boy nodded and fled back behind the worktop.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked Mrs Brown, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. He was the only customer left.

"A plum pudding, if you please," he answered. "And what can you tell me about Creeping Clem?"

***

A short while later, Westman stepped out into the dark evening with his plum pudding wrapped in paper and tied with string. His carriage waited outside the shop where he found his servant, Blinks, reclined in the driver's seat. Soft snores drifted from beneath the hat pulled over his face.

The evening was young, he decided, so he whistled quietly to the dog sitting beside his servant. "Come along, Jack. There's investigating to be done."

Gently swinging the parcel in his hand, Westman took a left and continued along an ominous-looking route. If the baker's wife was to be believed, this was the demon's favourite haunt; a quiet little thoroughfare; dark and foggy. Indeed, with its many unlit alleys, shooting off into blackness and fog, it was perfect for illicit activities like robbery, kidnap or murder. Above the echo of his shoes and Jack's clawed feet padding over wet cobblestones, he noticed a third set of footsteps ahead of them. As he suspected, it wasn't long before the figure of a girl emerged into the lamplight on High Street, carrying a basket on her arm.

It was the same girl from the bakery.

With a demon on the loose and three women missing, this little girl's safety was an extra concern Westman didn't need. Fortunately, she glanced over her shoulder at the sound of his approach and ran towards the church where a policeman walked his beat. With any luck the constable would escort her safely out of this part of town.