The roads were eerily quiet. This wasn’t normal, as Christmas was upon us. There should have been a throng of people busy with some last minute Christmas shopping. But the air felt heavy, the atmosphere all but dead. Whatever Diabhal was planning, it seemed that something was brewing, I could feel it.
I knew the Mirror was some kind of portal to the realm of the undead, and since it had been in Lunabelle’s protection, that barrier between my world and theirs had become rather fractured, with fissures breaking out all over the glass. Time was running out to stop them from breaking through.
The Mirror, for so long a dead-weight, was actually feeling a bit lighter, and for this reason alone my pace quickened. Between the gaps in the houses I could discern shadows, not mere silhouettes of the buildings themselves, but an indicator that something had changed, and power was shifting.
Maybe I was wrong to think it could be merely destroyed by myself alone one day. The Mirror had survived this long, perhaps it had some kind of sentience, and would be able to self-destruct at a time of its own choosing, yet all this time I thought I was in charge of its destiny. It seemed it was in charge of mine.
A half-moon lit up the night sky. I would be glad to make it to Christmas, though I wondered who I would have left around to celebrate with me. There could be no real celebration unless this was all settled. I didn’t think I had the energy to go through another year of hell.
There wasn’t time to move as a Zeryth turned the corner to face me, then went straight through my body. It never looked back, but glided down the road. I was going to give chase, but thought better of it. Something was happening to release these demons, and I hoped that the Mirror was part of it. I had to get home to safety.
I wasn’t wearing the pentacle that gave Toril, Lunabelle and other witches their calm reasoning and unfailing confidence. Perhaps I should have wore it, but I decided that my crescent moon was something I could believe in at this time.
Two more roads and I would be there. Now it was coming to a head, I saw three bodies on the road, one of them hanging forward out of a car window. An ambulance had crashed into a street lamppost with its driver visibly dead at the wheel. I don’t believe what I am seeing is an accident.
What had that first Zeryth said to me, all those years ago, when I was about to succeed in killing it? ‘Do it quickly, but know that this is not the end. More of us will come. You cannot stop us all.’
That entity knew I had the Mirror. Perhaps they believed it had been in my home all this time, that’s why the killing had begun. I had not been around enough to see it coming. They valued their self-preservation as much as I did.
My pace quickened, though I did not quite break into a run. But I saw the markings on my door, smeared with blood. Three words that terrified my soul as fear found me once again.
All Will Die.
***
Even though I had faced off a lot of demons since I first encountered one, nothing unsettled me more than those bleeding, pussing demons. I didn’t like how they looked, how they moved, and it was irritating just how hard they were to kill.
A zombie apocalypse this was not.
Inside the house, everything had been tainted. Chairs broken, tables upturned, cups smashed onto the floor. This had been the home of the Mirror for so long, but if they were so brave as to come here, either they were being assisted by a great and terrible power, or they were desperate.
This was designed to get my attention, but they had miscalculated, as it would only provoke an attack. I reluctantly grabbed the pentacle and clasped it around my neck. The panic I had been feeling subsided, and clear thinking began to enter my head.
I grabbed the bag containing the Mirror and carefully brought it upstairs. I intended to put it back in my Nan’s old room for now, but as I climbed each step, I heard something that chilled my bones.
It was a snarling, a deep throated growl that seemed to have come from the depths of Hell itself. I could see the shadow ahead of me, which was shaped like a dog, only this was no mere canine, as it had flame red eyes, and they were locked onto me.
I closed my eyes for just a second, praying for it to go away. If it jumped at me, I had nowhere to go except down to the bottom of the stairs. I could not protect the Mirror in its fragile state. If I stopped moving, the demonic hound would sense it held power over me. I could not let that happen.
I reached one hand over my shoulder and felt inside the bag for that wand. If ever there was a good time to use it, it was now.
The dog snarled, the sound was far worse now, and I could see its teeth, bare in the dark. I pointed the wand at the dog, but I realised I knew no Wiccan death curses, and none would come to mind.
“Go back,” was all I could say, but to my ears it sounded commanding enough.
The dog actually took a step back, then another.
“You know what this is, don’t you? All of you do. So go back to Hell, you bastard.”
It snarled and then leapt at me, and I fell back several steps, landing on my back. There was a cracking sound, but it was not my spine. The Mirror was damaged.
I stood up slowly and removed the bag from my back. I felt so stupid for carrying it on my back when I should have been carrying it in my hands. The hound was gone, but its presence was still there, a mark I could not see but also could not deny. It would be back, and would most likely bring friends.
Nan’s room looked the same as when she was alive. This room was unspoilt, and I started to believe she had cast some kind of protective spell on it. I was left wondering why it needed to leave the house in the first place, and then I remembered.
If I hadn’t taken it, if I hadn’t been at Rosewinter a few years ago, that battle with the Zerythra could not have been won. But that was all it was, a battle. This was war.
I slid the Mirror out of the bag and onto Nan’s bed. I half-expected her ghost to appear to tell me off about so many things.
You wrecked my grave, Romilly.
The Mirror is damaged, and all Hell is breaking loose.
I wish I had entrusted this to someone else.
No. I would not listen to these voices. I was not sure they were my Nan’s words.
The Demon Belial, Romilly. He is not going to let you go.
Now those words do belong to my Nan. A sickening feeling raises in my stomach. I feel the pentacle burning into my neck and chest. The Mirror makes a fizzing sound and more cracks appear on its surface.
I can see into it now. I can see a reflection. It’s me, and I have a covering over my eyes, like a bandage. It appears that my eyes have been gouged out of their sockets, and there is a trickle of blood streaming from my mouth. There are cuts over my hands as I seem to be failing in stopping the Mirror breaking apart.
Is it a vision of the future, or a trick?
Outside, there was no trick, I could see what was actually happening. I counted five, ten, maybe thirty of those hellish zombie demons. They were burning each house, and tossing the charred bodies out of the window and onto the ground.
One poor soul had climbed out of his bedroom window, only for the Zeryth to strike him in his chest. Another woman was running away from them, only to be grabbed and have her neck snapped. This was something new. The demons were either fighting for their own survival or on the behalf of Diabhal. I could not tell which.
The problem I feared the most had returned. Maybe it had never left me, just as Nan had foretold.
Belial, the demon, had awoken within me once more. Whatever Lunabelle had done, it had not been enough. He lifted my body up and slammed me, face-first, into the Mirror. It may have cracked slightly but Christ, did it hurt on impact. Blood began to pool at its edge, and as it lifted me up again, I could see it finally meant to kill me. I could not reach the wand, the pentacle was choking me, and demons had overrun Gorswood.
The pain was different than before. It hurt far worse, and the burning sensation was indescribable. I had been saved from burning to death in Rosewinter
, but Belial was not going to be cheated a second time.
The windows on Nan’s room turned into solid brick, with smoke filling the entire room. I realised the pentacle was not choking me, the smoke was, and with the room sealed, I had no chance of escape.
Mr Jackson, I Presume:
Chapter 24
After I had struck Troy, he had wisely stayed away from me. I would not have been the right kind of girl to bring home to his parents.
Hey Mum, meet Romilly.
I hope she’s different from the last one, Troy. Can’t have you getting involved with a witch.
Oh don’t worry Mum, this one just carries a demon around with her.
He hadn’t rushed back to find Toril either, convinced that she had fallen in her battle with Dana and the Zeryths. He had been stupid and weak back then, and his overbearing parents, especially his mother, took full advantage of it.
Troy came from a privileged background. He was only in our school so that he could experience something like normal life. But he could not hide all that, so as much as he wanted to fit in, he could not, and only similar posh boys or pretty girls could get close to him.
At least I had one thing in common with Toril – she was as unpalatable a girlfriend to Troy as I would have been. Mrs Jackson would probably never accept any girl being good enough for her son. I wondered how I would have turned out as a mother. I would have hoped I would not have acted the same. You have to let your children breathe, find their own way. A controlling woman like Mrs Jackson would not let that happen to her boy.
It would be almost too easy to pity Troy. He had been adored at school, captain of the various sports teams, talented in just about every subject, the object of many a girl’s fantasy, and yet, at home, Troy was as different as could be.
He needed to break free of his parents, of their money and as a consequence, their control. But he didn’t seem strong enough to do that on his own. He looked at his friend Alix, and admired him a lot, because Alix was his own man and made his own decisions. He had worked hard even as a young child, earning money through all sorts of ventures. Troy would have never admitted it, but he would have liked to have been like Alix, without a safety net, not knowing if the mortgage could be paid for that month. As his parents were rich, Troy had no such worries, and so, no pressure.
This was not good for his life, but whenever he displayed any sense of independence, or defiance in his parent’s eyes, the threats of withdrawing the material embellishments of his life were laid bare.
‘We’ll stop your allowance,’ his mother would say.
‘You can return the car keys to me,’ added his father.
Toril had told him that no matter what they gave him, nothing would replace love, care and kindness. He explained to her that by giving him things, his parents believed they actually were being loving, caring and kind.
They had merely tolerated Toril, that was all. She had to dump her gypsy, gothic, Romany look for more a conservative style, something that she abhorred. She was not allowed to mention being a witch, though the Jacksons knew that she was. They preferred to ignore the things they did not like about Toril, in the hope that one day she would simply disappear from their lives.
I knew that Troy was not as weak as his parents thought he was. I also knew that he had hurt Toril greatly by coming after me. Now I think about it, she had a great chance to kill me and yet had left me alive. If I had the opportunity to speak with her again, I would ask her the question Did you let me live because you wanted to, or because that book told you to?
There was another possible reason – Toril knew I was a witch long before I did. That might explain her distant way with me, perhaps she viewed me as a threat in more ways than one.
Anyway, Troy had finally decided to act. He knew that Alix was gone, but he still had contacts, and one of them contacted him, convincing him that Toril was very much alive. Troy had explained he had already visited the Withers household, and there was no sign of life there. He believed that Toril’s mother had left too.
Toril was the only thing in this world that made sense to Troy. I was too difficult, an enigma. Bottom line, he couldn’t trust himself around anyone else but Toril. They had known each other for longer than some people had been married. They had a history, something to fall back on. I had none of that.
Still, I wish I had not left him to torment. The demons loyal to Belial toyed with him, driving him crazy. To anyone else, it looked like Troy could have left Hobs Hole at any time, but he chose to stay. But I knew different. It was hard, almost impossible to resist demonic forces. They have a strength that people who have never been attacked by one, will fail utterly and completely to understand or comprehend what has happened, or is happening.
It wasn’t just demons of the supernatural that were attacking him. Troy was full of remorse, full of regret for what he had done and what he had failed to do. Curie’s hold over him back then was more powerful than even I anticipated. Troy had to apply real strength to bury that arrow into the old devil’s head. Vengeance for Jacinta? Not really. Not when he wasn’t so close to her. She mattered to Toril, so she had to matter to him. But theirs was an icy relationship.
He didn’t even check to see if Jacinta was still alive. He just ran away. That’s how others would see it. But I knew he was being coerced. Every step he took in the name of Curie was killing him. Troy was still a hero to me. A flawed one, but a hero nonetheless.
He threw the axe, but he was not the one who killed Jacinta. Curie made him do it. We understood the terror the demon had put Troy through, but no-one else would.
Each night at the Hob, Curie would send the ghost of Jacinta to torment him. Sometimes he would be woken in the middle of the night, with Jacinta sitting on the side of his bed saying that everything was all right. He would look confused at first, then a smile would come to his face.
Then her death shroud would part down the centre, with her intestines falling to the floor. He would scream, but it sounded more like the howl of a wounded animal to anyone else’s ears.
This would go on for days, weeks, months. If I had a moment to stop and think, I would have thought about him; how he was doing, was he keeping well, simple things like that. I would be reminded that the simple things in life were always the most treasured. The things that made you happy. I wanted to remember those things again. It wasn’t so much about the link with my parents or Nan; or even my friends. It was about those times that would never come around again, and you knew that when they did, their presence would be a fleeting one.
In his heart and mind, Troy knew it too. Still, the demons would not let him leave the Hob, a place that once again was supposed to be a sanctuary for him. Curie would tease him about Toril and me, before bringing back the death of Jacinta again and again. He was remorseless in his terrorising of Troy. More than physical attacks, Curie liked to maim people psychologically. He would get inside their heads long before he assaulted their bodies.
Troy had lost weight. He had also appeared to have lost height, but I knew what that was. His body was hunched, decaying away with repeated attacks from the demons. They hadn’t invaded his body in the way myself and Beth had been victimised, but it was no less traumatic for him. Everything was a visual and aural terror; and he could not escape it.
Who knew what it was that eventually allowed him a moment’s peace, a moment of clarity? Perhaps it was the sight of a star he could see through bloodshot eyes, but it gave him hope. The demons had teased him, so when he would find his way to the front door, it would open so that he was on top of a mountain, and he could only fall forward. The demons only knew what would happen if he fell forward, but my guess would be nothing. Their power was diminishing, and they knew it. That’s why the dead were rising now. Diabhal feared something was going to happen to his precious Mirror.
For Troy, the battles were over. He just wanted to pick up the strands of his life, and if there was some way back with Toril, he would want that too. I could
not begrudge him his happiness; I knew he had to live his own life.
He forced himself to open the front door, and this time, despite all the terrors around him willing him to his death, he forced a deep breath out of his body, and stepped outside.
***
Back in Gorswood, Toril was contemplating the simple things in life too. Beth had gone wandering, and it gave her a little time to think about things. To her mother, Toril had given her word that she would not do anything like raising the dead. Toril wasn’t to know, though she had her suspicions that the good witches who practised in covens did not cast resurrection spells.
She looked upwards, closed her eyes and clasped a hand around her pentacle. With her other hand she set the wand down, and offered a prayer for the eternal and peaceful rest of Jacinta’s soul.
Dark Winter: Last Rites Page 33