Note: Ok, this chapter is a day early people. That's because I was so desperate to share it with you!

Note2: I didn't want to ruin the ending of the chapter with a note, so here's my usual 'please review' note that should come at the bottom. Enjoy, and please review!

Pandora's Box

Fourteen

The dusk was just settling in as Constance materialised in the long shadows of a London alleyway, slipping out of the darkness unseen and mixing seamlessly with the early evening bustle – people out to restaurants or the many theatres, or businessmen just coming home from the office. She felt strange without her cloak and hat, half-dressed. It was as if she had forgotten something of vital importance. Whilst the witch's ensemble in itself did nothing to increase her power, it added to the sense of occasion, to the sense of majesty that being in control of such powerful forces of magic brought. In truth, she felt vulnerable without it, accustomed as she was to using her appearance, however unconsciously, as a warning to potential malefactors that she was a powerful sorceress who should not be trifled with. Without her hat and cloak, she felt open to attack from all sides, and whilst Constance knew that she was more than capable of defending herself, the thought still made her shiver involuntarily. She knew where she needed to be, and over the heads of her fellow travellers she could see Tower Bridge in all its glory, the people on it like ants from this distance. Some were moving quickly, using the bridge as just another way of getting from A to B. Others were stopped in small groups, obviously tourists, taking pictures of the view or of the impressive architectural feat itself. She was too far away to see whether her acquaintance was already there or not. One of the reasons why she had chosen to appear so far away from his chosen meeting place was to allow herself time to scout the area, find him before she was face to face, to allow herself some time to prepare, allow herself time to get over her initial reactions of fear and repulsion. She knew already how her body would respond when she saw him; her throat would constrict tightly, and she would feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it was struggling to break free from its confines of bone and sinew. She had never expected to see Tony again, but she had always prepared herself for this moment should it ever have arisen. The nightmares she had suffered just after the incident had told her well enough what the involuntary result of coming across his face again would be.

She had reached the bridge by now, and she had still not been able to find his face amongst the masses. This worried Constance more than the dreaded sight would have done, and she could taste fear at the back of her mouth. She stepped up onto the behemoth structure, walking with her eyes straight ahead until she reached the middle, not daring to look to the left or right. Finally she stopped and made her way across to the railing, looking out over the Thames like she had done on that first night twenty years ago, the night that it had all begun. She had thought the capital so beautiful then, with all its twinkling lights and untold tales of promise. Now it just looked crass to her eyes, gaudy, as if it was selling itself cheap. Constance pondered her viewpoint; had the city changed or had she?

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

A voice to her right made her spin suddenly, and she saw a man standing next to her, leaning on the railing, staring straight ahead over the river. It was not Tony's face, but Constance knew instinctively that the figure who had simply appeared beside her without her knowledge was the demon that she was there to meet. It was the same Devil who had taunted her in the ninth circle all those months ago, the same demon who had grabbed her, knowing how petrified she would be when she felt his arms creep around her, knowing that the memories of that terrible night had not been laid to rest, knowing that she didn't trust males and their wandering hands. It did not look like Tony, but it was him beneath the sheen of magic. She could feel it, in her quickened heartbeat and shaking hands.

Presently, he turned to face her, still leaning nonchalantly on the railing, and his dark brown eyes seemed to glow red momentarily in the reflected lights of the metropolis that surrounded them.

"It's been a long time, Connie," he said, almost nostalgic, like he had truly pined for her during their time apart.

"My name," she said stiffly, fighting to keep control of her tongue and prevent her words from flying out of her head before she could give them utterance, "is Constance."

"You know I never thought much of that as a name for you. Far too straight-laced. But then again..." He broke off to move around her, stepping in far too close as he came up behind her having completed his appraisal. "You are laced rather straight these days, aren't you?" Constance didn't move, and she didn't know if she would be able to do so had she wanted or indeed needed to. His fingers came up to her hair, as close as they could be without actually touching her, and Constance could sense his proximity to her in every inch of her skin, her nerve endings prickling like she had been stung all over. There was nothing she wanted more than to disappear from his presence, but she knew that she could not do that. She was here for Amelia's sake. She had to save her employer, her friend, and if this was what it took, then so be it. She was stronger than this. She wouldn't give in to her primal, if completely rational, fears. "What happened to the beautiful corkscrew curls I used to love so much?" He came back round to the front and searched her eyes for some sort of reaction, but Constance concentrated all her effort on maintaining a neutral facade. She could not let him know how much he repulsed and scared her. She could not give him more ammunition in this way. "You've gone all... schoolmarm-esque." He raised an eyebrow, and this time Constance could not prevent the shiver that took control over her. He sighed, gazing out over the city once more before returning his attention to the witch at his side.

"You really have changed so much," he said, regarding Constance intently. He reached out a hand, as if he was making to cup her face, and she leaned away from the action instinctively. The Devil simply laughed off her reaction, revelling in the power that he held over her, and Constance knew that there was no way back now. Although he had no doubt known about it before, she had just revealed the chink in her armour to him, and he intended to make full use of it. "When I first saw you down in the ninth circle, all the way back in November, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. You couldn't possibly be the pretty little bit I first met all those years ago. But you were. I've never seen power like yours, it is truly unique."

He smiled sadly, eyes glazing over for a brief moment as he thought of what might have been, had the circumstances of their original parting been different in any way.

"Oh Connie, we could have been so good together, you and I." He sighed. "With your power and my... influence. We could have ruled the world." His eyes hardened momentarily, flashing scarlet and dangerous. "But you just wouldn't do as you were told."

Something caught his attention as his eyes roamed hungrily over her slim frame, and he smiled evilly. Constance could feel her heart start pounding even faster in her chest. Surely he wouldn't try anything, not here, not now. They were in a public place, and already attracting more than their fair share of attention from the passers-by thanks to her demonic associate's theatrical mode of address. He made towards her suddenly, closing the distance between them faster than Constance could back up, unwilling as she was to take her eyes off the enemy and glance behind her. Before she could do anything to stop him, a hand darted out, his fingertips melting through the fabric of her dress above her hammering heart. His touch burned her skin to the point of pain, as fleeting as it was before he pulled away, her pentacle pendant resting lightly on his fingers.

"All this time, and you still carry a torch for me." He leered as he yanked the chain, breaking it away and bringing the drop up to the waning light to study it closely. Constance's hand went instinctively to her décolletage, feeling the absence of the metal acutely. "Why else would you keep such a trinket?"

Constance took a deep breath.

"It means nothing to me," she said, unable to mask the shaking in her voice.

"Are you sure?" The Devil swung the pendant back and forth from the broken chain before catching it up in one hand and holding it out over the railing, ready to drop it into the river. He let four or so inches of chain drop, gauging her response, before laughing lightly and stowing it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

"I told you that you would come," he said, changing the subject on a whim. "I said that you would be here, and so you are."

"I did not come of my own volition," said Constance through teeth clenched tightly together to prevent them chattering in fear. "I am here for Amelia."

"Ah yes, of course you are. The evils and illnesses that Pandora's Box unleashed upon the world. The evils and illnesses that the Void unleashed upon the living." He paused. "Your headmistress will be safe. She will have her cure."

Constance knew what was coming next. She had no need to ask. She was bargaining with the Devil. There was always a catch, always a failsafe. He was the Devil. He could not lose.

"But there will, of course, be a small price to pay if one wants the recovery to be permanent, and the Void to be reclosed for any significant length of time..." He breathed deeply, as if he was a businessman conducting an important transaction, the barter of souls being but commerce in his eyes. He was waiting for her to ask, teasing her, playing her along, making her do what he wanted.

"What is the price?" she mouthed, unable to make her constricted throat produce any sound.

"Oh my dear, I thought you were the intelligent one of your sisterhood?" He cocked his head on one side and smiled knowingly. "You, of course."

Constance gasped, although she had known, deep in her heart, that this was the inevitable answer.

"Oh Connie, it will be a pleasure working with you. Even without the aid of the Liaison, you have always been the most adept magician I have ever met. But there again, since I now have the aid of the Liaison, perhaps your power will not prove as attractive as I first thought it would."

Constance felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she grabbed the railing to try and keep herself upright. The full meaning of the Devil's words hit her immediately. That was how he had been able to open the Void. He had absorbed Della's magical discharge; down in the ninth circle whilst her inherent magic expended itself to save them all, the Devil had been drinking in the residue, becoming more powerful than ever before. He had used this weak facsimile of Della's power to bring about a catechism in the Void, forcing it open, and he was going to use the remnants of the magic to control the effects.

"I shall just have to settle for the other benefits of your company instead." His eyes, now undoubtedly scarlet, appraised her form greedily, mentally undressing her. Constance felt helplessly exposed, and longed to straighten and look him in the eye from her full height, but her ears were ringing and her vision was swimming in front of her. It was all she could do to keep herself hanging on to the railing, and she could barely make out his next words. It took her some time to focus on his speech.

"Do we have an agreement?" the Devil asked patiently. "If I relieve your headmistress of her suffering, you will come here again tomorrow evening. I think you know by now the means by which the accordance must be sealed."

Constance closed her eyes. She could say no. She could leave, although she didn't know how she could physically accomplish such a feat, and she could watch Amelia slowly succumbing to her illness and the world slowly succumbing to the monster who stood in front of her, calmly holding out his left hand, a blade flickering almost imperceptibly in his right. Or she could make the agreement, and stand a chance of saving the girls, of saving the entire magical community. She took a deep breath. She had to act for the greater good. Her head still spinning and her breath still coming in uneven, ragged gasps, she held out her free hand to the Devil.

The pain was searing, intense, but only for a moment.

"Tomorrow night," he reminded her, before seeming to blend into the darkness that had since fallen fully over the bridge.

Constance gave in to the blackness threatening the edges of her vision, surrendering to blissfully numb silence...

"Constance? Constance?"

She blinked a few times, and a face swam into view. She didn't like to wonder how long she had been unconscious for, but her limbs were cold and stiff as the face and its attached body helped her to her feet after she had taken the proffered hand. Finally, Algernon's features came into focus, his usually jovial face no longer smiling, his eyes concerned.

"I saw you fall," he admitted. "Davina said someone ought to go after you, to check you were alright. We argued about it all night until I decided to just come, consequences be..." He broke off, evidently going to use 'damned' without thinking. "No matter the consequences," he corrected hastily. "I arrived by the Tower just in time to watch you fall."

Constance could tell from his voice that the experience had shaken him, and she wondered at his ability to keep his words light.

"Come on," he said, guiding her off the bridge. Constance wasn't sure if her legs would be able to carry her if she did not have Algernon to lean on. "Let's get you home."

Constance thought of her home, of Cackle's, of its headmistress, and of what she'd had to do to save it. Algernon handed her a handkerchief without a word as silent tears began to flow down her cheeks, mourning her final defeat in the battle against the spectre of her past.