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.She had only hours left.Maybe minutes.They had to drive clear across Ireland to reach the Cliffs of Moher.But, as any American will tell you, they spit further’n that.In spite of geography, the journey seemed a long one.Especially with the regrets of two souls swirling around the cab like depressed fog.Finally, three hours and countless picture-postcard towns later, they made it.The Cliffs of Moher.Closed.Or so the sign said.‘Closed?’ scoffed Meg.‘How can you close a cliff?’Lowrie pointed to the chain across the carpark entrance.‘Just like that.’It made sense really.The drizzle had thickened to fullblown rain, and atreacherous wind was rocking the car on its axles.Blustery clouds were threatening lightning.Positive and negative charges gearing up for the big grounding.‘Hmm,’ mumbled Lowrie.A sudden gust of wind could catch hold of a person on those cliffs and whip them into the abyss.Not to mention the fact that you’d be a virtual lightning rod standing up on that plateau.Meg read the emotions swirling above his head.‘You’re right,’ she said.‘We should give up.’Lowrie opened the door with his shoulder.‘There’ll be no more giving up.Not today.’And he was gone into the storm.Saint Peter was trying not to think about it.Concentrate on something else, he told himself.Your desk, or those exotic birds, or the splendour of the tunnel.Or one of the other things he’d been staring at for the last two thousand years.It was forbidden, strictly forbidden, to get involved.Oh, but it would be sweet to snatch a soul from under Bub’s fangs.Sure, his demonic counterpart made noises about being replaced, but he would weather the storm.And if the girl deserved an interview at the Pearlies, then that’s what she should receive.But there was no point even thinking about it.Interference was out of the question.Every single time spirits got involved, things went horribly astray.Angels and mortals.Oil and water.They don’t mix.It’d be different if Beelzebub had sent in a Soul Man.Then he’d just be evening up the odds.Everyone deserved an equal shot at redemption.Even the Man Himself agreed with that.Every sparrow on the branch and so on.So, Peter persuaded himself, Beelzebub being a demon had most likely sent someone back to retrieve the Irish girl’s soul.In that case, it was his angelic duty to send someone for a peek down the tunnel.Just to see what was going on.A flimsy argument, true.But Peter was a tad bored after two thousand years on that marble chair.*The Cliffs of Moher were an awesome sight, even for someone who’d travelled the length of the tunnel.They loomed above the ocean.Vast sheets of grey rock, arranged in a fagged horseshoe over the roughest patch of coastline in Ireland.It was easy to imagine that the cliffs were the bite pattern of some gigantic prehistoric sea monster.The wind tugged at Lowrie’s blazer and prodded at the bend in his weak knee.Rain found its way into his eyes, obscuring his vision and blurring the cliff’s edge.‘Come on!’ he shouted above the crash of the waves.‘Before I lose my nerve!’Ahead, in the distance, a round tower sat perched on the cliff apex.The perfect vantage point.‘It has to be up there, I suppose?’Lowrie nodded.‘Verse twenty-two.The very top.’Meg scowled, slipping into Lowrie’s head for the last time.It was hard.Very hard.Like climbing through a wall of slick mud.‘Are you there?’ asked Lowrie.An ominous question.He should be able to feel her immediately.Her youth and vitality.But now his strength was almost as great as her own.Meg flexed the old man’s fingers.‘Yes.I’m here.Just about.Don’t go away though.It’ll take two of us to climb this hill.’They turned into the wind and put Lowrie’s weight into it.Of course Lowrie, being an old bachelor, weighed about as much as a sack of feathers and would be more use as a hang-glider than a paperweight.You could almost hear the wind sniggering.But they kept going, squatting low to the ground at first, then on hands and knees.Meg opened Lowrie’s mouth to complain, but a gust of wind saw its chance and sent a swirling tendril of compressed air down his gullet, with a few leaves mixed in for good measure.Meg kept the mouth shut after that.Franco’s body was just a husk at this stage.Belch was sucking his juices as fast as his neuro cortex could absorb them.‘Good stuff,’ he dribbled, orange gunge slathered over his ecto chops.‘You might consider pacing yourself,’ commented Elph, effortlessly floating abreast of the Goldwing.‘Save some essence for the assault.There will be some mayhem to be created when we reach the target zone.’‘Maybe I should turn you off.Save some energy.’Elph laughed.‘Turn me off! And leave you in charge of the mission!That would be akin to asking a baboon to program the video recorder.’That was probably an insult, but Belch didn’t waste time thinking about it.He didn’t have the energy.Franco’s fluids were running out fast.They were coming in spurts now rather than a steady flow.He felt like a kid chasing the last drop of cola with a straw.This was going to be a real nailbiter of a finish.Meg looked up to check their progress.‘I don’t believe it,’ she groaned.‘We’re further away!’She knew it wasn’t true, that it only felt like that, but she couldn’t help being disheartened all the same.The rain was pummelling them now.Drops the size of bullseyes lashed on to Lowrie’s bare scalp.His heart was hopping like a steamhammer in a hole and his limbs were weakening from irregular blood supply.Meg poured her strength into him.Every ounce she had.But it wasn’t going to be enough.It was just too far.‘Come on, Lowrie!’ she broadcast.‘Do it here! For God’s sake.This isn’t important.Not like Sissy.Just spit and go home.’Deep inside his own mind Lowrie considered it.He was killing what was left of this girl, and for what? The memory of a lullaby? She was right.He was a stupid old man.‘OK,’ he thought.‘Let’s do it here.’‘At last.You’ve switched on your brain.’She turned Lowrie’s back to the wind and leaned against the safety fence.There were at least two metres on the other side to the cliff’s edge.She’d have to go over.‘Remember,’ Lowrie advised her, ‘you might be able to fly.But I can’t.Not yet.’‘Don’t tempt me,’ grunted Meg, straddling the fence.Keeping one hand on the top rail, she edged towards the drop.The boom of the waves travelled up the sheer wall to pour over them like a physical force.It was awesome, terrifying.Meg sniffed mightily, summoning a big ball of spit.“Ere wee oo,’ she mumbled around the liquid, and let fly.Right on to Lowrie’s two-hundred-pound brogues.Why didn’t anything ever go right the first time?‘Well?’ growled Belch.‘You see anything?’‘Quiet!’ snapped the hologram.‘I’m scanning.’The bike was idling beside the visitors’ centre.Elph was having problem with the electricity build-up in the atmosphere.It was scrambling his radar.He switched to ultra violet.‘Up there!’ he buzzed triumphantly.‘On the ridge
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