The whack of the demon's head hitting the gutter forced us both to turn back to the fight. The creature, still in human form but with shadows swirling where there should have been a face, lay on the ground. It groaned and didn't get up. Jacob had used Finch's break in concentration when he took the amulet to deliver a knockout blow.
Finch growled low in his throat then began his chants again in earnest. The demon groaned but failed to rise. Finch swore and tried again. Still nothing.
Jacob glanced at me. He neither breathed hard nor sweated like a live person would after a fight but his hair was disheveled and his shirt torn. He stood there, fists pumping at his sides, and watched me with an expression I couldn't make out in the dimness.
Just watched.
"Jacob?" He could be at my side in seconds. With invisibility on his side, he could surprise Finch and snatch the knife away.
But he did not.
He didn't move in my direction at all. He just looked at me. And then he let out a low, primal wail like he was in pain. But he could not feel physical pain so-.
The demon stood up.
"Jacob, look out!"
He swung round and engaged the demon again. They tumbled together in the smudged edge of the lamp's light, limbs tangled, the smack of fists and the grunts of exertion the only sounds.
Behind me, Finch chuckled. "Your ghost lover wants you to join 'im, eh?" he said between chants.
I stared straight ahead, not quite at Jacob, not at anything. My heart had skidded to a stop in my chest. I felt hollow, empty.
Alone.
The notion that Finch might be right...that Jacob had not tried to save me...it was too much to take in. I couldn't even cry even though I was full of tears.
"You better come wiv me," Finch muttered. His arm squeezed my waist so hard I thought he'd snap me in two.
I gasped and scrabbled at his hands, tried to dig in my heels and plant myself on the spot.
But he was too strong. My attempts didn't even make him pause.
On the main landing, Adelaide also gasped but smothered most of it with a hand over her mouth.
Before I could turn and follow her wide-eyed gaze, a loud whump echoed through the night. Finch's grip slackened, he dropped the knife then slipped to the ground with as much grace as a rag doll. Behind him stood Lady Preston, a brass candelabra in her hand and angry triumph on her face.