Keera drove slowly down the street assessing the houses on each side. She had only been to Ash’s house on a couple of occasions and couldn’t remember which one it was. It was a nice area. Lots of middle class professions bringing up young families, women scowling at her behind netted curtains, waiting for their husbands to come home with the next wage slip so they could spend another afternoon playing online Bingo.
All the bloody houses looked the same in the dark. Pale bricks and fancy guttering. Small plots crammed next to each other, picket fences and leylandii hedgerows, wheelie bins and “sod the dog beware of the kids” signs.
And one house with a garden full of gnomes.
Keera stopped outside. There was something about those gnomes. There was a rumour going round the canteen that Ash had some weird girlfriend who was obsessed with buying him gnomes. They were everywhere, strange little hand painted bastards. The Mitsubishi in the drive way was the other giveaway. Odd how she had seen the gnomes first. The neighbours must hate him.
She pulled up and made her way to the front door. As she crossed the garden a flock of birds suddenly took flight from behind the house and scattered across the darkened sky. The noise of their wings flapping wildly startled her. There must have been thirty or forty of them! Did he keep an unofficial aviary at the back of his house?
Her finger hovered over the doorbell but she hesitated. Next to the Mitsubishi was a Rover, perhaps fifteen years old, rusty and outdated, abandoned haphazardly halfway across Ash’s drive and his neighbour’s. There was something about the way that it was parked, clearly blocking both driveways. As if someone was in a hurry. She studied the door and noticed the gap in the frame. She gently pushed and the door swung inward.
Keera resisted the temptation to call out. Something was clearly wrong. Ash was careless, but he wasn’t the sort of person who forgot to close his door properly. He also wasn’t the sort of person to hang around people who drove old bangers and couldn’t park very well. She had imagined most of his friends were professors and members of the IAM.
Everything was quiet. She felt inside her coat pocket and fingered the pepper spray she carried with her. At the end of the hallway, the lounge was accessed by two double doors, which were half open. She could see movement through the gap but it wasn’t clear what. Dark shapes, nothing more. She took the pepper spray but left her hand in her pocket and used her free hand to push open the door to the lounge.
Keera felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she took in what lay ahead of her but she resisted the temptation to cry out in alarm. The Soul Harvester - a mass of grey, fibrous skin wrapped tightly around a thin, angular body - was bent over Ash’s body, the syringe firmly inserted into his neck. Up its arms and across its back small, leaf shape feathers sprouted. They were a similar colour to its odious body, which seemed incapable of standing erect; its spindly legs were designed for hopping and not walking upright. A gaunt face appraised her through large, black eyes above a thinly cut mouth that protruded outwards like a beak.
“What the fuck-”
Beneath the creature’s claw-like hands, Ash moaned softly. The Soul Harvester puckered its mouth and let out a low sound that was more like a bark than anything else. It seemed to take pleasure in watching Keera’s horrified face.
“’ave y’ com’ to arrest m’?” It seemed to find speaking difficult. The words were wheezed out, as if formed on an inhalation of air so that they were never properly finished.
“Ash,” said Keera, trying to work out whether he was drugged or unconscious. “Ash, don’t move. There’s a needle in your neck.”
“Wha-?”
At least he was awake. “There’s a needle in your neck,” she said carefully. “Stay still.”
“Please yr’ ‘er, woman. I needs anover’ skin. Yus’ will be perfct’.” The creature cackled, a horrible, chilling sound.
“Ash, can you move?”
“Head,” he said helplessly. “Head hurts.” She saw he had his eyes tightly shut, blissfully unaware of what it was that held him down.
“You,” Keera demanded, extending her finger toward the Soul Harvester but standing angled, so the creature couldn’t see her remove the pepper spray from her other pocket. “Take that thing out of my boss and back the fuck up against the wall so I can call the RSPCA and have you impounded.”
The Soul Harvester cackled again. The sound of its feathers rustling together as its shoulders moved was unnerving. It was a sound that Keera would never forget.
“’es all mine, ‘uman. My sou’ t’ take. My gi’t from S-Sin. You’ll wat’ ‘im die.”
“And when you kill him, I’ll pluck those fucking feathers out of your back and choke you with them.”
The creature looked shocked for a moment; never had it witnessed such brazen behaviour from a human faced with it in its true form. It laughed again unpleasantly. It seemed to have little control over its salivation and thick drool was forming around its chin ready to drop. Its face changed again and it bore a row of small, jagged bottom teeth. The ridges around the slits that passed as a nose accentuated as it contorted its features into a repulsive sneer.
“Arll’ en-joy wearin’ y’ ‘ead as a ‘at, wo-man.”
“You really are one ugly freak. When this is over I’m gonna’ put you in a cage and shove you down a mine to check for gas.”
“’ee careful ‘uman, th-is is-s-”
“Shut up!” Keera edged forward. The pepper spray was only good for up to six feet and she needed to close the gap. Whatever it was, it was responding to her. It wasn’t looking at the syringe but she needed to be careful it didn’t accidently inject the fluid.
“Do you like bird seed? I’ve got some right here for you, freak. Right here in my pocket.”
The Soul Harvester lowered its eyes and emitted a low, gargling sound from the back of its throat. Its entire body was coiled: a quivering jumble of grey skin and feathers around scrawny legs and arms that jutted out from hunched shoulders awkwardly, ready to strike. Its beady eyes were fixed on her. Keera sensed she had done just enough to distract Ash’s assailant from the syringe to allow her an opportunity. Her wrist ached from where she had been gripping the pepper spray so tightly. Slowly, she withdrew the canister and took another careful step forward.
“Here, birdy, birdy, birdy...”
She felt the sensation of something take her hand. Confused, she spun round but there was nobody there. She was looking at the pepper spray, staring closely at the ejection point, but she wasn’t sure why. She felt as though she had somehow been detached from the room; she was no longer there, replaced by a clone, a clone who had very deliberately raised the spray canister to her own face and whose finger hovered threateningly over the release trigger.
“What – the – fuck-”
In the distance, she could hear the Soul Harvester cackling devilishly, its free hand outstretched towards her, fingers curled over like talons. “We’s gots our own mag-ic, ‘uman, that’s us’d to m-make skin.”
The spray in the can was capsaicin, an extract from chillies. At a modest range, a dose in the face would inflame and irritate the skin, cause difficulty breathing, induce coughing, impede airways and force eyes to shut involuntarily. But Keera’s eyes wouldn’t shut. Tears trickled down her cheeks, she could taste salt. She had lost control of her arms. They belonged to someone else now. Panic set in as she pulled and strained, trying to move the canister away, but she was helplessly caught in the grip of an unfathomable paralysis.
The spray was inches from her face.
When the canister discharged into her open eyes, it felt like someone had poured boiling water on to them.
As the Soul Harvester watched Keera kick and scream on the floor in agony, she thrust the syringe downwards and injected the poison.
Chapter 7 7
Alix had waited for over an hour by the time Walter Cargil finally flung the office door open and collapsed into the chair behind the desk. He looked different in real life. His sk
in was blotchy and there were bags under his eyes. He wore a beige suit and dark green bowtie, complete with matching handkerchief protruding from the breast pocket. He was the sort of public-school-boy-politician that everybody loved to hate and, when he spoke, Alix was transported back in time to the days of old school masters patrolling dingy corridors with wicker canes, shouting at young boys with names such as “Carstairs” and “Ginger”.
Cargil produced some papers from a pilot’s bag and began shuffling through them. Alix waited patiently. What did all those women he had had affairs with see in him? she wondered. Nothing more than power. He was hardly good-looking.
“N-now then” he said. “I-I see that you’re h-h-here-”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“Do w-what?”
“Put on that fake stutter.”
“I... what did you say?” Cargil looked genuinely bewildered.
“The stutter. I’ve seen your early public appearances. You claim to be taking elocution lessons to remove it but over time it’s got worse not better and in a very early interview you don’t stutter at all so it’s clearly something you do to try and make yourself more appealing to the average voter, with whom you have absolutely no interest or connection, the sort of ‘flawed hero’ approach, it serves to not only make you appear more human than you actually are but also makes the affair rumours that dog your career slightly less believable because people generally associate people who have stutters with vulnerability and integrity rather than liars and cheats.”
Cargil looked at her dumbly, his bottom lip quivering slightly, his hands frozen over the papers.
“What on earth are you talking about? People don’t make that association!”
“When was the last time you heard of a disabled man committing fraud?”
“What? A disabled man committing fraud? What on earth has...”
“Nonetheless, you’ve stopped stuttering now.”
Cargil leant back in his chair and shook his head. He appraised the little lady who had strayed into his office. Right now, she was looking distinctly less attractive than she had at first sight.
“Why don’t we get this over with,” he said eventually.
“Please. I’m in a hurry. I need to register or something.”
Good work, Alix. Let’s move Home-Secretary-piss-take-time along.
“Quite. Now, the government has no official position with regard to the possible existence of demons or entities who claim to deliver unto us from a parallel dimension to possess our citizens but there are limited channels through which information regarding your... your kind, passes.”
Alix raised an eyebrow. She had no idea what to expect from this odd little man but, given his position, even the suggestion of an acknowledgement of what was happening to her was surprising. But it was more than that. It was more evidence that what was happening was actually real. She hadn’t had time to process those thoughts yet, the thoughts about what this all really meant for her. She was putting that off for another day.
“Frankly,” continued Cargil, “it’s all bullshit to me but there are higher powers that have some sympathy for people like you. For now.” He leant forward over the desk and sneered unpleasantly at her. “If it were up to me, I’d round you all up and lock you in Innsmouth and throw away the key. But it isn’t, for now. So the best I can do is remove as much dignity from you as I can by assigning you a number and a code which you must keep with you at all times. I note that you have already signed the Official Secrets Act, doctor Franchot, so no doubt you won’t object to signing it again.”
He pushed a document in front of her, bound with blue string and bearing the Official Seal of the Crown. She took it and he threw a pen across the table at her. She caught it neatly between her fingers in mid air, limiting the spillage of ink. Seemingly satisfied, Cargil fell back into the chair again and stared at her. She put a squiggle at the bottom of the page,
Alix Franchot & Azrael
And pushed the papers back to Cargil. He took it and placed it in a plastic wallet.
Alix, Azrael spoke earnestly in her head, there’s something wrong.
“So, doctor Franchot, what will you do now? Time to save the world?”
“What? No, I-”
I think we need to be leaving now.
“I saw you on the television, by the way.”
“Yeah, Harker already mentioned that.”
Why do you never do what I tell you? Haven’t I always been right about leaving places quickly?
“Quite a stunt, I’d say. Very impressive. Made quite a stir, as well. I had a personal call from the Prime Minister asking if the ‘Necromire’ problem had raised its head again.”
“Really, that’s fascinating. I best be going now. Thanks for the code thingy.”
Good. Move, fast.
“We’re not done yet, doctor. Sit down.”
“No. We’re done.”
Alix stood, as did Cargil and for a moment they eyed each other uncertainly. She was too late to react before she felt stalwart hands clasp down on her shoulders. She was dragged away from the desk, the chair she was sat on was sent spinning across the room, she was sent spinning the opposite way. Then she was falling, hard on to the wooden floor, her veins swelled with adrenalin and she scrambled to try and get to her feet, ready for the next attack. The room seemed blurry all of a sudden, two shapes moving around the desk, one must be Cargil she thought.
He’s here! She heard Azrael hiss urgently in her ear. Need to get out. Now!
Disorientated, she looked up. A window on the opposite side of the room, heading down to the river. Must jump, must survive. But the Essence had seized her and the feeling of living returned, the instinct to lash out, to maim, to kill. Anger and rage drove her forward. Cargil had lied to her. He knew everything. She saw him against the desk and the Essence overcame her. She threw herself at him, at his eyes, but powerful hands pulled her down to the ground, hard. She had been caught in mid air, somehow. How? What was more powerful than the Essence? And then a sudden panic of realising that she couldn’t move. A man’s heavy bulk sat on top of her, his hand pushing hard against her neck, forcing her head back to look away from her body so she couldn’t see his face. But she felt all of his weight crushing down on her.
“Give me the Wyrm,” she heard a muffled and distant voice say. The pressure on her windpipe and lungs was agony. She tried to cry out but couldn’t find the breath, felt her neck might snap off with the force of the hold, felt her arms pinned to her sides, completely disabled.
More hands on her now, moving up over her body, helping the man on top of her to keep her still. The smell of aftershave. Hands on her breasts, pinching the skin. Her body was not hers anymore. It belonged to them. Then Cargil’s face, grinning and sneering, close to hers, minty breath feeding itself down her throat, making her want to gag. He took her by the hair and turned her face sideways so that her eyes were aligned with something. Glass. Cylinder. A jar. Then the noise, drowning out Azrael’s screams in her ear.
Get that evil thing away from us!
The moth fluttered stupidly against the side of the jar, trying to find a way out. She could hear it above everything else, above the noises of the struggle, of the sound of her wheezing, of her straining breath. Every beat of its little furry wings was excruciating, like they were tapping directly on to her ear drum.
Vile creature! Don’t...
Cargil was holding the moth now, pinching its body with his thumb and middle finger, its wings still humming frenziedly, the screaming noise deafening. Hands on her face, holding her nose, denying oxygen to her lungs and as she opened her mouth Cargil fed the insect to her, pushed it to the back of her throat and for a moment everything clogged up completely and she realised with horror that she couldn’t breathe at all. Her body convulsed aggressively, trying to clear the airways but it was useless. She felt the little moth force its way down her gullet.
She tried to puke but she cou
ldn’t.
She could only wretch and quiver with pain.
Into darkness she fell. slowly; like Alice down the rabbit hole.
Chapter 78
“No, I’m afraid I cannot allow that.” The Asian doctor had an off-putting habit of fiddling with his thick rimmed glasses when he spoke.
“No,” said Ash firmly. “This is my fault. I’ll tell her.”
“I appreciate that you want to be involved but she’s my patient. Do you know who the next of kin is?”
Ash felt a flush of shame that he wasn’t sure what the answer was but Keera was such a private person. What he had picked up was from canteen gossip and not her.
“She has no one. Only her work. Which is why I’ll tell her.”
The doctor made a strange noise as he exhaled through his teeth which suggested he found Ash amusing.
“Inspector... what was it now?”
“Fielding.”
“Indeed. Inspector Fielding, there’s a vending machine down the hall, if you would just let me do my job I’d really appreciate it.”
He felt a large arm cup around his shoulder. Mystified, he tried to look round but the size of arm prevented him from turning his neck properly.
“Good evening, doctor Fanucci,” said Baron. “Perhaps you and I can check out that vending machine you mentioned and let my DI speak to his sergeant.”
Baron met Ash’s eye as he passed him, the protesting doctor Fanucci caught in an awkward headlock under his arm, but Ash couldn’t decipher what was said.
*
Ash stood uncertainly over the hospital bed. Keera was laid flat, arms rigid and uncomfortable, a bandage wrapped around her head covering her eyes. Her blood pressure was high but her breathing steady. They said her body had gone into shock. She was still convulsing when the paramedics arrived.
“Keera,” he said. “I-”
“Boss,” she said, “I can’t fucking see.” Her voice was quiet but laced with the same gruffness he was familiar with. Anger exhumed from every part of her.
“They’ve wrapped your eyes to stop you from opening them. You took half a can of pepper spray. Can you remember what happened?”
Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) Page 34