The small saloon bar was everything Jim had promised. It indeed had a carpet. That was to say, there were no bare floorboards to be seen, and Paul could only hope that the sticky green covering was an ancient fitted carpet and hadn't, say, grown there.

In one corner sat an old woman nursing a small port and lemon, looking for all the world as though she had grown from the furniture. A middle-aged foursome played cribbage at a table by the window.

Paul and Ess sat opposite each other at a Formica-topped table, while Scarth, lost in a musical world of his own, sat underneath.

"Watchya, Streak," called Joan cheerfully from the bar. "You realise you've ruined my day?"

"I have?" asked Paul, perplexed. Jim's threats of violence should he hurt his sister sprang to the forefront of his mind.

"Yeah. You broke my heart. I thought you and me were going to get married, and now I find you with another woman. What sort of way is that to treat a delicate flower like me? Please tell me that's your sister." She cackled at her joke, then collapsed into coughing. "It's all right, Love," she said when the hacking subsided, "I'm just pulling your leg." With that, she returned to the newspaper spread out on the counter before her.

"Streak?" asked Ess, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "What's all that about?"

Paul shook his head. "I don't know. Seems nobody here has a proper name. Everyone's Dumpster or Nosher or Jack the Hat or something. Dumpster christened me 'Streak' last night and no-one will call me anything else now."

"Aw, that's nice."

"It is?"

"Yes. It means they like you. You fit in. That's why they all joke with you. And they seem such wonderful characters, too."

Paul thought of all the 'wonderful' characters in the public bar, many of whom would need to pair up to have a full set of ears and teeth.

"Yes?"

"Yes. And Jim is nice."

"You think?"

"Yes, don't you?"

Paul recalled the muscles and the tattoos, the half-jokey threats should he upset his sister, the casual way he accepted Paul's criminality.

"I guess, but I wouldn't want to cross him."

"Trust me, Paul. You wouldn't want to cross me, either. Especially now I know where you live." She laughed to show she was joking, and Paul laughed too, just because her laugh made him so happy.

"So, how long have you been a witch? I mean, a Wiccan?" said Paul, to fill the silence that followed.

"Since forever. I think I always was, but I just didn't know about it. I used to feel things, or see things, but couldn't articulate them. Like people's feelings. I would know if something was wrong by their aura, only I didn't know what an aura was, or anything. So then I started to read up on that sort of stuff, found a couple of books on Wicca completely by accident, and the rest, as they say, is history. Joined a Wicca group at college, realised I had the Gift, and that's pretty much it."

"And are you full-time?"

Ess burst out laughing. "Full-time? It's not a career, you idiot. You'd be surprised how little money there is in it, outside the tourist-traps. Not like the organised religions. No, I do the occasional reading for people but I'm not Wiccan for money. God, I'd starve if I was."

"So what do you do?"

Ess pointed at his near-full glass. "It'll take you a while to get through that. You want to eat something here?"

"I don't know if they do food. I was thinking, maybe an Indian or something. Brick Lane is just up the road."

Ess shrugged. "You sure? Only, that's the third pint I've seen you with. Not suggesting you're an alcoholic or anything. I'd see that. But I just thought you might want something in your stomach before you down another."

"Oh, no," said Paul hastily. "I don't drink normally. I mean, I'm a normal drinker, but not to excess or anything. It's just that Jim won't serve men halves. It goes against the code, or something. Got to be a real man and drink out of a dirty glass too."

"Come on, let's see what they have."

Ess stood and made her way to the bar. Paul followed in her wake.

"Hi," said Ess, when Joan looked up from the paper. "Do you do food?"

"I can do," said Joan, as though it was the first time such a concept had been broached. "Seeing as how it's Streak, who, if you don't mind a piece of constructive criticism, could do with a bit of meat on him. A woman needs something to grab onto, don't we?" She grinned evilly at Paul.

"Can we see your menu?"

"We ain't got one, Love. You tell me what you want, and so long as we got it, I'll rustle it up. How about sausage, egg and chips?"

"Can you do any vegetarian dishes?" asked Ess.

Joan stared into the mid-distance for a moment.

"I could do you a ham salad."

"Would that have ham in it?"

"I could cut it really thin, if you want."

"Not really."

"Well, I don't know. What about an omelette? I could do you cheese omelette with chips."

"That would be wonderful," said Ess, as though she meant it.

"And sausage, egg and chips for you, Streak?"

"Well, I guess," said Paul uncertainly, looking as Ess for confirmation.

"Sure, go ahead," said Ess. "I don't force my meat-free convictions on other people, you animal murderer, you." She smiled to show she was joking.

"Oh, and I know this is going to sound really strange," continued Ess, as though asking for a vegetarian option at the Kings Arms wasn't strange enough, "but could I have a dish of ice-cream served at the same time as the omelette?"

"Okay," said Joan, uncertainly. "Here, you're not pregnant, are you?"

Ess erupted in laughter. "Oh my, not at all. No, I just like ice-cream with hot food, that's all. I guess I'm a bit weird like that."

Joan shrugged. "Takes all sorts. Knew a bloke once cooked me a chicken with mango and prunes stuffed in it. Said it was Mexican, or something. Bloody funny taste, wherever it came from." She turned towards the doorway on the staff side of the counter. "Jim!" she yelled. "Keep your eye on the saloon. I'm going into the kitchen."
There was a muffled response from the other bar. Joan shook her head in despair. "Just give Jim a yell if anyone wants serving, will you?" she said, and disappeared out the back.

The pair turned back to their table. Scarth stared back at them, chewing slowly, a thin strand of chewing gum reaching from the corner of his mouth to the underneath of the table.

"Oh dear God," said Paul. "That is disgusting."

"Oh, leave him. He's just hungry, poor thing. He'll be fine when his ice-cream arrives."

They sat down.

"His previous owner said he didn't need to eat," said Paul. "I think he does it just because he likes to."

"We all have things we do just because we like it," said Ess. "If you didn't need to eat, don't you think you'd still do it, just for the taste of it?"

"Sure, but I wouldn't eat everything that's not nailed down. He even eats gravel. But I have to admit, his main preference seems to be ice-cream." And people. "So, you never said what you did."

"No, I didn't." said Ess. She took a sip of her Cinzano. Paul waited. "Oh, okay. But you're not to laugh. You laugh, and I will never speak to you again, understand?"

"I promise I won't laugh," said Paul.

"I'm an animal massage therapist. See, I knew you'd laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Paul, through clenched teeth.

"You are inside. You should be grateful. I had to postpone two appointments this afternoon, chasing all over West London to rescue you, you ingrate."

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry."

"No need. I just moved them to later this week. Once I get a client, they really hate switching to someone else. Animals get used to one person. A bit like people. You wouldn't want a stranger to cut your hair, would you?"

"I think that's more of a girl thing, to be honest."

"I see. An animal murderer, ingrate and sexist. My, you just get more and more attractive."

"So, do many pets, erm, want massaging?"

"I mean it, Paul. If you start laughing at my job, I shall drop-kick you back where you came from. It's a serious business. Animals suffer from joint problems just as much as people. Some more so. You take dogs, for instance. Some of the pedigree breeds, like German Shepherds, have a tendency towards rheumatoid arthritis bred into them. I keep them more mobile and less painful. Some pets, I grant you, are just psychotic and need to be de-stressed. Massage calms them down, but I blame their owners more than anything, especially in London. And a couple of vet surgeries call me for help with animals recovering from breaks and things. It's not some new-age indulgence, you know. It's no different than physiotherapy. If it works on humans, why not animals? What?"

Paul stared at her, his chin resting on his hand. "Oh, nothing," he said with a smile.

"What? Are you laughing at me?"

"No, no. Far from it. I was just watching you as you talked about it. You're really into it, your job, aren't you?"

Ess nodded. "Yes. People laugh, but it's really rewarding when you see a dog jump up, or a horse canter around a field, when a few weeks ago they could hardly walk. And people appreciate it too. Not just soft old ladies, but farmers and breeders too. The sort of people you'd expect to be hardened to their business."

"That's fantastic," said Paul. "To have a job you really like, and people are prepared to pay for, that must be fantastic."

"What do you do?"

"Before I went on the run? I was a second-line support technician for an IT call centre, which is every bit as exciting as it sounds." Paul made a show of yawning.

"Well, that's worthwhile too. I mean, you're helping people, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose. But most of the time I'm wishing I had their throat between my hands. They break stuff, then scream down the phone because, somehow, it's my fault they're too stupid to use a PC. And it's not exactly cool. You'd be surprised at the number of women who aren't turned on by my encyclopaedic technical knowledge."

"Why bother? I'm sure you can turn on any number of women regardless of what job you do. I mean ...." Ess giggled, embarrassed, and looked away. Paul looked down at his hands, equally embarrassed.

"Actually, no, not that you'd notice," he said. Then he coughed and took a swallow of his beer. "Anyway, that's all by-the-by now. I'm not a technician anymore. Not much of anything, now, not after Scarth ... not after what's happened. Even if we can send him back, there's still, you know, what he's done."

Ess reached out and grasped his hand. Her grip was cool and firm, and her touch filled his senses and mind.

"Hey, there, don't give up. We'll find an answer, I know we will. And if you don't get your old life back, you can forge a new one. It wasn't your fault, those people, was it? You didn't mean for him to do that."

"No, of course not. Oh, God, no. If I could undo it, somehow. But still, it was me that brought him here in the first place. Ultimately, I'm responsible for it all. Aren't I?"

"Of course you're going to feel like that, but there's a concept in law. Mens rea, it's called. It means criminal intent. You can't commit a crime if you didn't have any criminal intent. And I know you, Paul. I can see your aura, which, quite frankly, is totally screwed up, but it hasn't got a trace of malice in it." She gave a gentle shake of his hand. "We'll sort this out, you see. You've got me and Oz on your side now. What can Hell do against us three, eh?"

"Hey, you two," said Joan, bustling up with a plate in each hand. "No spooning. You know what spooning leads to? Forking!"

She laughed, coughed and placed the plates on the table in front of them. Paul reluctantly gave up possession of Ess's hand.

"I'm just coming with the ice-cream, Love. Two ticks." With that, she disappeared again.

Paul had a sudden sensation of deja vu. Back when puberty was just sending its first rush of hormones to play havoc with his body and mind, he had been to the wedding of a cousin. Some elderly Aunt he could not remember meeting before made lewd jokes at his expense for the entire afternoon. He was now ten years older, and the intervening years had supplied him with no more defence now as then. He unrolled his knife and fork from his serviette to cover his embarrassment.

"Well, not exactly what I was planning for this evening, but it'll fill a gap." He was suddenly very hungry, the result of no lunch and losing most of his breakfast. He attacked his dinner with gusto. Joan made up for the lack of culinary sophistication with quantity, the mountain of chips that would normally challenge Paul were merely adequate for his ravenous appetite this evening. It hardly put him off at all when Ess slipped the ice-cream bowl under the table and Scarth slurped at the dessert with noisy appreciation.

Afterwards they talked forever. Paul couldn't recall the conversation, perhaps because of the beer, or maybe the intoxication of the moment, but it seemed that there was no moment of awkward pauses or pregnant silences. It went on for an eternity, and ended in minutes.

"Time, ladies and gentlemen. Let's be having you, please," called Joan, ringing the ship's bell behind the bar.

Paul looked at his watch. "Wow, it's gone eleven. Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you out this late."

Ess laughed. "Relax. I'm not fifteen. I don't have to be in bed by ten, you know. Besides, it's been fun. I could have left anytime if it wasn't."

"How are you getting back home?"

"I'll get a cab. There'll be one on the main road. Don't worry."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's late. This isn't the West End, you know. There's some rough characters about."

"Aw, you're sweet," said Ess, touching his cheek. "But Jack the Ripper isn't so active these days. Besides, I'm a witch, remember? I have powers."

"Really?"

"Well, no, not really, but a woman has the right to walk the streets without fear, and I have mace and a rape alarm. Seriously, any potential molester has more to fear from me than the other way round."

"Stuff that for a game of soldiers," said Joan, clearing the empty glasses from the table. "I'll call you a cab from here. Shtum! It's settled. Want another drink while you wait?"

"No, that's fine," said Paul, who was feeling a little light-headed, in the same way that a drowning sailor feels a little damp. "Unless you want one?"

"No, I'm good," said Ess.

You're better than good, you're bloody fantastic. said Paul's inner voice.

"Actually," she continued, "I quite fancy a bit of fresh air. Do you mind if we step outside to wait for the cab?"

"No, not at all," said Paul, eagerly. Outside there would be no embarrassing Joan leering over them, and they could 'say goodbye' in a manner he hoped appropriate for the end of a successful first date.

"Scarth," he whispered, as Joan made the rounds of the other tables. He pulled the demon's headphones clear of his ears. "Scarth. Me and Ess are just stepping outside the door, okay? You stay here. Don't move. Be good. Sit on your hands and be good. Understand?"

"Scarth good," said Scarth.

The couple stepped out into the night air.

"Thanks," said Ess.

"What? No, no, thank you," replied Paul. "I mean, thanks for everything. For today, for listening, for rescuing me, for, well, for everything. And for tonight, of course. Tonight had been really great. I mean to say, it wasn't anything like I planned, but really, it's been great, just to talk, and be with you." Paul was sure, even in the dim streetlights, she could see him colouring again. "You, well, you're pretty damned cool."

"Why, sir, you flatter me," laughed Ess, pleased at the compliment. "You're not so bad yourself, you know, when you forget and just let yourself relax."

There was a protracted pause, the first of the evening.

"So, what happens now?" asked Paul, to break the silence.

"Now you kiss me, you idiot," said Ess.

"No, I meant, tomorrow and stuff. Are you going to meet me at Oz's?"

"Paul! Now you kiss me," said Ess, as though English wasn't Paul's first language.

"Oh, right."

Paul leant forward, awkwardly reaching for Ess's waist and tilting his head. Ess leant into him, sliding her hands up his arms as they kissed.

In ten percent of his brain, Paul ran a gamut of urgent questions. Should he leave his hands on her waist, or slide a hand higher, running it through her long hair? Should he run a hand lower, tracing the contours of her pert bottom? Should he part his lips? That at least seemed to be answered as her mouth slowly opened against his. Tongue? No, far too early in the relationship.

The other ninety percent elated in the sheer sensual experience. The tickle of her lips pressed against his. The gentle current of air on his cheek as her breath escaped from her cute nose. The feel of her slim waist under his hands. The gentle probing of her fingertips against his spine. Paul never wanted this moment to end, but the ten percent of his brain that was one hundred percent idiot kept asking questions.

How long was it acceptable to keep this up? Would staying like this forever seem too needy? What if he needed to swallow? What if cramp set in?

These huge philosophical questions that have beset man from the beginning of time were answered in a flash.

"Night, Streak," said Dumpster, slapping Paul on the shoulder with a force that rocked him. "Night, Gorgeous."

The two parted lips, though they held on to each other still.

"Night, Dumpster," said Paul.

"Good night, Mr Dumpster," said Ess.

The pair of them could see Dumpster's shoulders shake as he walked away, laughing to himself. They looked at each other for a moment, then both looked at the ground.

"Today's been really special," Paul told Ess's feet.

"Yeah, me too," Ess mentioned to Paul's knees.

"I wouldn't change it, even the kidnap and the illness or any of it, not for tonight."

"Yeah. I meant what I said earlier, too. I can see a lot in people that others miss. I can see a lot in you, Paul." She looked up into his face. "You're a good person. The principalities of this world brought us together for a reason. Maybe not just for one reason, you know? Tonight's been fun."

"So, what next?"

"Next, we meet Oz tomorrow, and we sort out this whole mess."

The taxi pulled up by the kerb. Ess gave Paul a last hug, then released him, her hand running down his arm until it rested, just for a couple of seconds, on Paul's hand.

"See you tomorrow," she said, and disappeared into the taxi.

Paul stared at the end of the street long minutes after the cab vanished into the night.