Cold horror ran down Sacha’s back.
Taylor didn’t reply. Bending down, she snatched up Zeitinger’s paper from the floor. She took a breath but before she could read out the words, Mortimer gave a dramatic sigh.
‘How tiresome.’
He flicked his fingers in her direction and the page in her hand caught fire.
With a gasp, she dropped it, stepping back as it burned to ashes at her feet.
Seeing the hollow look of terror on her face, Sacha tightened his grip on her.
‘You don’t need it,’ he reminded her. ‘You memorised it.’
But she shook her head mutely.
Somehow Sacha understood. It was more than the words. That paper had Zeitinger’s handwriting on it. It was a piece of St Wilfred’s. It had been her crutch and now it was ash.
The bells were ringing with such force, he could feel the vibration through his feet. It shook him hard enough to make his teeth chatter. He kept losing his balance.
Could bells do that?
Still clinging to him with one hand, Taylor flung out the other hand to grab the back of the pew.
‘Sacha.’
It was all she said, and he knew.
‘At last,’ Mortimer sighed, rising up just a little higher. ‘You waited too long to perform your little ceremony, Miss Montclair. The moment has arrived.’
He pointed to the floor in front of the altar. As Sacha stared, the stone began to tear down the middle like fabric, the crack widening into a chasm. He didn’t want to look down into it. He didn’t want to know what was about to crawl out of it.
Taylor stood next to him frozen in terror.
‘Taylor…’ he said, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony. ‘Do it now.’
Their eyes met. For a moment, he thought she would be too frightened to remember the words.
But then she straightened, balancing on the moving floor with difficulty.
Squaring her shoulders, she raised their joined hands high.
Sacha felt the electricity instantly – it crackled through them, making his breath catch.
A breeze whose source Sacha couldn’t identify, sent Taylor’s curls into a cloud around her face. Her green eyes blazed.
When she spoke, her voice soared, above the bells, above the crash of stones falling and tearing. Above the howling that had begun to pour out of the chasm in the floor.
‘I call on the demon dimension to honour the agreement of the ages. I am a daughter of Isabelle Montclair. This is a son of Matthieu L’Hiver. L’Hiver and Montclair, bound by blood. We beseech thee.’
She drew a breath, then continued with Zeitinger’s words.
‘I call upon Azazel and Lucifer. I call upon Moloch and Beelzebub. I call upon all the demons in Hell, hear my plea. Unbind this boy. Release this curse. Honour the agreement of the ages. I summon thee. I summon thee. I summon thee.’
‘You summon me?’ It was Mortimer’s voice but deeper now. And they both looked up to where he hovered above their heads.
He held out his hands, his eyes black as the abyss behind him. ‘Daughter of Isabelle Montclair. I am here.’
Thirty-Eight
A howling wind hit them both like a fist. Every candle in the room blinked out, save for those placed in a star pattern on the stone at their feet. If anything, those glowed brighter now.
The ground swayed, and Taylor struggled to stay on her feet.
When she’d met the demon in the darkness back at St Wilfred’s, she couldn’t see it. She’d wondered then what form it might take. What a demon would really look like – would it be a lizard or some horned goat creature?
She should have known it would simply take human form. Zeitinger had told her once Mortimer was his vessel, but that hadn’t sunk in until now.
This was the horrifying reality of Mortimer’s bargain: that he would become the demon.
Now she could see death in his coal black eyes. The cold ruthlessness of it. She could feel the overwhelming predatory power. Pure undiluted and devastating.
Long ago, Deide had told her that, to humans, demons would be the equivalent of nuclear war. Now she knew he was right.
It took everything in her to force herself to look into Mortimer’s inhuman gaze. To make herself not fear him.
Trust your power, she imagined Louisa telling her. Know your strength.
She did feel strong. Mixing her blood with Sacha had increased her power exponentially. She had known it instantly – she’d felt the rush of electricity, like a drug. This was different than just holding hands. This power was god-like.
But was it enough?
‘We meet again, daughter of Isabelle,’ the Mortimer demon said. It was still floating, unbound by gravity, several feet above the stone floor. Its oily voice made her skin crawl. ‘Why do you dare summon me?’
‘I summon you to unbind this boy,’ Taylor called above the winds, using Zeitinger’s words. ‘According to the rules of the ages. You are required to —’
‘Required?’ The Mortimer demon laughed. ‘I am not required to do anything.’
His laugh was filled with hate, and Taylor felt the Darkness of it wash over her, subsuming her.
Gritting her teeth, she kept going. ‘You are required by the rules of the ages to unbind the boy from this curse. Our combined blood proves the undoing.’
Mortimer smiled. It looked ghastly. Unnatural.
‘Do you really believe you have the power to fight me, daughter of Isabelle? Did your German professor tell you that you could win?’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘He is a fool. And when I am finished with you, I will take care of him.’
Taylor shivered.
Demons lie, Louisa’s voice reminded her.
‘Do you deny the power of the unbinding?’ Taylor forced herself to sound cold and unafraid. ‘Do the rules of the ages not apply to you? Do you think you are greater than the others?’
‘Enough.’ Mortimer met her gaze directly. ‘When we met in my dimension, did I not warn you of the consequences if you followed this path? Did I not put my mark on you?’
He lowered his gaze to her arm, where the claw marks had nearly healed. Instantly they tore open again, sending burning pain up Taylor’s arm. Blood poured out of the wound.
She bit back a scream. Forcing herself to show no fear.
‘Now who is playing games?’ she heard herself ask, and wondered where that audacity came from.
Mortimer demon’s black eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, daughter of Isabelle. You have no idea of my games. Allow me to demonstrate.’
He lifted one hand and Sacha’s fingers slipped from hers.
His body flew across the room at huge speed, crashing into the wall above the altar with a sickening cracking sound, before sliding slowly to the floor and lying still.
It happened so fast, Taylor had no chance to react. Not even an instant to cling to him.
He was there. And then he wasn’t.
‘No.’ She stared at her empty hand in disbelief. The bloodstained fabric that had bound them dangled loose and torn, fluttering in the wind that swirled around her.
Her hand felt so cold.
She stared across the room at his crumpled body. He hadn’t moved since he landed. He lay so still. So horribly, horribly still.
‘Sacha.’ It came out as a whisper.
Her chest felt hollow. She kept trying to draw a breath but her lungs wouldn’t function.
She forgot Mortimer. Forgot even where she was. All she could see was that figure, its arms flung out to block a blow that had already happened.
‘I warned you, daughter of Isabelle.’ Mortimer’s voice boomed into the church. ‘I told you the boy was mine. And yet you dare try to undo a curse of the ages?’
Some part of Taylor knew she had to go through with the rest of it. She had to at least try to fight. But she couldn’t seem to speak.
Besides, what was the point?
Zeitinger’s book was wrong. The words
had had no effect on the demon.
‘Sacha,’ she said again, despair in her voice.
Grief threatened to tear her body to pieces, and she took an unsteady step towards him. She just wanted to touch him. To see if there was any life left in him.
Mortimer stepped in front of her. At some point, he’d landed. She hadn’t even noticed.
‘It’s over now,’ he said. ‘The curse is fulfilled. The end begins.’
Finally, Taylor lifted her eyes to him. Some catalyst inside her had begun to turn her pain into rage. She felt anger and hatred in every part of her being. It penetrated her soul like blades.
If Sacha was dead, she would avenge him. She could do that much.
‘I told you,’ she said, stepping towards him, ‘I would save him.’
He opened his mouth to speak and she raised her hand.
Silence.
He stopped.
‘I told you,’ she said again, letting the anger fill her with its cleansing heat, ‘I would destroy anyone who tried to harm him. Did you not hear me, then?’
He cocked his head to one side, studying her with new interest.
‘You are stronger than I thought, daughter of Isabelle.’
‘Yeah,’ Taylor said. ‘I am.’
She held up her hand.
Blade.
The ceremonial dagger jumped from the floor to her hand.
She looked at Mortimer’s chest, right where his heart would be if he had one.
Kill.
The blade shot at him with unimaginable force. Faster than any bullet.
He flicked it away with his fingers. It clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Still, he watched her with those dead, black eyes.
‘You interest me, daughter of Isabelle. Why are you still fighting? The boy is dead.’
She held out her arms. And let the power of the room flow into her. It seemed to pour from the star of candles atop the stone near her feet.
‘I summon you. Moloch and Beelzebub.’ She began again. ‘I summon you to unbind this boy. According to the rules of the ages…’
‘This boy is dead, Miss Montclair.’
Taylor paused. Black eyes scorched hers.
‘You should join me, Miss Montclair. The power is…’ Mortimer’s head dropped back, further than was natural, before snapping up again with sickening suddenness. ‘… unimaginable.’
‘I will never join you,’ she growled. ‘Never. You are despicable.’
Taking a step towards him she spat in his face.
Time seemed to stop. When he spoke again, the demon’s voice was inside her head.
‘You go too far. I warned you, daughter of Isabelle.’
And then, without warning, she was flying. She felt her feet leave the ground. The air whistled in her ears. For a fleeting instant she was weightless, but she knew what it meant.
Now, she thought hazily, I’ll know what death feels like.
She hit the ground at the base of the altar so hard all the breath left her body. Searing pain shot through her ribs and she heard something snap.
When she managed to draw a breath, her chest burned. Air whistled into her lungs. She knew it shouldn’t sound like that, but she couldn’t seem to think clearly. Her ears rang and she wasn’t entirely certain where she was.
Everything was a blur but one thing was clear. It was over.
She’d failed.
With effort, she forced her eyes open. She’d landed not far from Sacha’s body. She could see his hands – fingers curled like a child’s.
She didn’t know where Mortimer was. It didn’t really matter to her anymore.
Only Sacha mattered.
Slowly, agonisingly, she dragged herself across the rough stone floor. Each movement sent pain shooting through her. Finally, when she had no more strength, she collapsed beside him, resting her hand against his.
His skin was so cold.
‘Sacha,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She drew another shallow, whistling breath. ‘I tried.’
There was no response. His face was turned towards her, lashes long and dark against cheeks that could have been carved from marble.
Behind her she thought she heard Mortimer shouting something but she didn’t know what. All she cared about was right in front of her.
Then, Sacha’s eyes opened.
Taylor stared, her breath whistling faintly through the hole in her lung.
She was dreaming. She was unconscious. Maybe she was even dead already. That would explain it.
But if she was dead, why did everything hurt?
Sacha’s eyes searched hers, like he was looking for something. Neither of them moved a muscle for a long second.
Very slowly his fingers tightened around hers. His grip was so tight it hurt.
I’m not dreaming.
Electricity rushed through her, and she drew in a gasping breath at the force of it.
She heard a click and felt the snap as her rib healed. Instantly, her breathing became easier.
Warmth suffused her scalp as her skull knitted. She hadn’t even realised it was fractured until then.
The whole time her body was healing, Sacha held her gaze, sea-blue eyes intelligent and aware, as if he knew what was happening inside her.
‘Winters blood,’ he breathed, nearly silently.
And then she understood.
It had worked. The binding had been completed. She hadn’t failed. Not yet.
Demons lie.
It had wanted her to believe Sacha was dead. That the fight was over. So she would give up.
It wasn’t over at all.
Suddenly, she could see alchemical energy all around her. Thick, golden streams of it flowing around her like rivers, pooling like lakes.
It was everywhere.
The basilica seemed to be made of it.
Whatever the demon had done had hidden that from her before. But now it was clear.
Sacha was aware of it as well. In fact, he knew everything that was going through her mind. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she knew it. And she knew what was going through his.
He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t in pain.
He was furious.
His lips curved up just a little as he watched her catch up.
‘Ready?’ he whispered then. ‘We have to do it now.’
Taylor didn’t need to ask what he was talking about.
She knew.
Closing her eyes, she pulled strands of energy to them and felt Sacha doing the same. She imagined it lifting them up off the ground.
Rise.
In an instant, they were standing, their feet on the floor. Then they were hovering above it, their toes barely brushing the stone. Power coursed through them both, swirling around them in a protective nucleus. Rushing through their fingers, moving from one to the other of them.
Across the room, Mortimer had lifted one of the stones and was rummaging underneath it, his back to them.
In unison, Taylor and Sacha frowned as they both wondered what he was doing.
When Taylor spoke, Sacha spoke with her. ‘We summon you to unbind the curse of the ages.’
Mortimer spun around, a look of almost comic surprise on his face. In his hands he clutched a tattered, ancient book. Looking behind him, into the hole he’d uncovered, they saw a skeleton holding a sword in the fractured remnants of an ancient coffin.
‘The rules of time command you to unbind this boy,’ Taylor and Sacha said as one. ‘You must release him from the curse.’
Mortimer recovered quickly.
‘These games,’ he said, ‘are so tiresome.’
But he was nervous.
He raised his hand and Taylor saw his power as oily black globules. She and Sacha watched with curious interest as it moved towards them with what seemed like incredible slowness.
They waved their free hands and the alchemical power around them deflected the globules away.
Mortimer stared at them with blank
disbelief.
‘This is not possible.’
The dagger.
It wasn’t Taylor’s thought, it was Sacha’s. But she heard it in her head like her own. They both looked to where Zeitinger’s ceremonial knife lay forgotten on the floor.
They each had the same thought.
Blade.
It flew to them and hung in front of them, steady and deadly.
They both looked at Mortimer.
‘No,’ he said, taking a step back. ‘We had an agreement.’
‘Unbind this boy,’ they said. And their voices filled the church like a choir. ‘According to the rules of the ages. We command thee. We command thee. We command thee.’
The dagger shot across the room and embedded itself in his chest. The force of it lifted him from the ground and threw him against the back wall where he dangled, impaled.
Black blood ran down his chest and pooled at his feet in a viscous puddle.
He opened his mouth to scream and the sound that came out was like a thousand tortured voices. It was deafening.
He stared at them with an expression of utter disbelief.
The book slipped from his fingers.
A long black shadow poured from his open mouth. Foaming and writhing, it slithered across the stone floor.
It had no recognisable shape but Taylor and Sacha both knew, somehow, this was the soul of the demon.
They watched, disgusted, as it slid into the gaping chasm in the floor.
Seconds later, a tremor shook the foundations of the ancient building, sending stones tumbling from the ceiling. Overhead, the bells rang a discordant peal.
When they looked back, the floor was whole again. But the ground was still shaking.
A chunk of the wall broke loose and landed near them, shattering into a thousand pieces, and sending shards of stone shooting in all directions.
Sacha pulled Taylor towards the stairs.
‘We have to get out of here.’
He didn’t need to say it aloud – he spoke out of habit. She knew what he was thinking.
Together, they ran across the crypt, dodging fallen masonry. When they reached the door to the stairwell, Taylor looked back.
Mortimer’s impaled body swung slowly as the earth shifted. He seemed to be decaying incredibly rapidly, his flesh already hung loose from his bones. As if he’d died a long time ago.
The Secret City Page 26