“I’m sorry,” I say.
A floorboard creaks upstairs.
“Will you go, Frank? Please . . .”
That would certainly be the best thing to do. But I find myself standing over her, with no idea what to do next. Just the way she looks up at me, it makes me feel really bad. I turn away and shuffle off along the hall.
“Why’s it so cold?” she asks.
I’m about to open the front door and I realize that I’m shivering. When I run my fingernail down the glass, it scrapes away a thin layer of frost.
Oh hell.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Exterminating Angel
“Get your mum down here. Now!”
I dash toward the back of the house. The kitchen is huge, thank God. There’s an open fire, and a Welsh dresser stacked with ugly, unmatched crockery. I grab dishes and cutlery from the rickety table in the middle of the floor; the crash of breaking china echoes through the house as I dump them in the sink. I turn the table over and start breaking off the legs and tossing them into the grate.
By the time Marvo drags her mum in, I’ve cleared the center of the room and rolled back the mat, and I’m pulling stuff out of my backpack. Before the old bat can organize her outraged look, I scream, “I need string, a hammer, and a nail.”
“Now look here—”
“Don’t argue, Mum.” Marvo turns to me. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes, max. And all the salt you’ve got. Do you grow any herbs?”
“Thyme, rosemary—”
“Garlic too. And money.”
“What?”
“All the cash you’ve got in the house. And anything made of silk.”
I’ll give them this: they’re fast. A couple of minutes later I’ve banged a nail into the floor at the center of the room and tied the string to it. I take the packet of salt . . .
“God of gods and Lord of lords, bless and sanctify this salt.”
Using the string as a measure, I lay a trail of salt in a surprisingly regular double circle, about six feet across.
While Marvo argues with her mum, I step back and examine the battlefield.
The circles are complete, apart from a gap of a few inches. I’ve calculated the points of the compass and got four small candles burning. Marvo has found me a basin of milk and a bottle of brandy; I’ve got my own flask of exorcised water.
The frost is thick on the window. Flames flicker from a pan of burning twigs. I’m on my knees chalking symbols between the two circles. Mother and daughter are standing side by side, staring down at me.
“Rings!”
I wrench mine off. Marvo tosses hers across to me. I chuck them both into the sink.
“Have you got a copy of the Dictionnaire Infernal?”
They look at each other. “Sean had a copy,” says Mrs. Marvell reluctantly. “Do you want it?”
“No, just curious.”
After a second she catches on. When she opens the hall door, an icy blast of wind sends it slamming back against the wall. The candles flicker and almost go out. As they revive, I point toward the small pile of herbs at Marvo’s feet.
“The thyme. I need a few sprigs tied together like a brush.”
I’m pulling more stuff out of my backpack. I knot a red silk scarf around my waist and pin a piece of paper to my shirt.
Something is hot against my chest: Kazia’s pentacle. I’ve known it was her since the moment I scraped frost off the inside of the front door, but I’ve managed to be too panic-stricken to think about it.
Now the proof is dangling from its chain, glowing blue.
“I told you,” says Marvo, so quietly I can barely hear her. She doesn’t look triumphant or anything. Just scared.
Despair is a tempting option, but I decide to stick with panic-stricken. “Let’s get on with it.”
It’s too late to throw the pentacle away now: it’s done its dirty work. Whatever Kazia has sent for me knows where to look. I stick the silver disc in my back pocket and let it toast my bum. I turn to a bundle of clothes that Marvo brought down, and hold up a pair of stockings. “Are these pure silk?”
She nods and I pull them on, ripping them, over my boots.
“Sorry.”
“Will this do?” Mrs. Marvell reappears with a battered paperback book.
“In the circle.”
She looks at me and deliberately drops it on a chair. “Suppose you tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s a demon coming for me.”
She grabs her daughter’s hand and drags her toward the back door.
“Too late,” I say. The temperature is still dropping and ice is forming on the surface of the milk and water. I’ve no time for an argument. “If you try to leave now it will destroy you.”
“Don’t talk nonsense—”
She screams as a snake falls writhing and hissing from the ceiling and vanishes through the floor. I dodge another falling snake and push the pair of them into the circle. I pull a wand and two knives from my backpack and hop in after her and Marvo. I look around. The charcoal is glowing. I’ve got the herbs and liquids, my lump of gold, and the money. Marvo’s mother is clutching a handbag; maybe she realizes I can’t protect her and she’s going somewhere . . .
The book, the book! I leap out of the circle. My feet slip out from under me and I go flying—the entire floor has iced over. I throw myself at the chair, grab the Dictionnaire, and toss it to Marvo. I pull a blanket off the floor and dive back into the circle.
I’ve enough salt left in the packet to close the gaps in the circles. I scuttle around, leaving a smear of garlic. I grab my black-handled knife and pour a few drops of exorcised water out along the blade.
I bang through the incantation and race around with the knife, sealing the circle. As I throw the blanket at Marvo’s mother, she’s flicking goggle-eyed through the illustrations in the Dictionnaire Infernal: a gigantic fly; a donkey with a peacock’s tail, standing up on its back legs; a creature with the heads of a man, a sheep, and a bull, legs like a rooster’s, and a serpent’s tail, riding a lion with dragon’s wings and neck; a man with an owl’s head and wings, riding on the back of a wolf . . .
I dip the thyme brush in the milk and sprinkle it toward each of the candles. I close my eyes . . .
What we’ve got here is, of course, a desperate lash-up. Everything’s wrong: the hour, the place, the materials, the smells. I’d have felt better if I’d had the time and the gear to jump through all the hoops, but I’m just going to have to rely upon force of will to hold it all together.
And it feels . . . well, better than I’d have expected. I open my eyes. Marvo is staring doubtfully at me. I look around . . .
“I had a pen . . .”
I can see it lying on the floor on the other side of the room, like it’s trying to tempt me out. But it’s too late now. The flickering candles cast no light and the only illumination comes from the sickly phosphorescence emitted by the thick frost covering every surface in the room.
I’m shivering uncontrollably. The old bat opens the blanket and tries to spread it over Marvo’s shoulders.
“I need something to write with!”
The dimensions of the room have changed: it’s as if the walls have shifted off into the distance. The snakes are falling thick and fast now, writhing and exploding in tiny bursts of flame as they hit the floor. A flock of black birds wheels to and fro, the wind from their wings fanning my face. A fire is burning in the grate and a baby lies there, writhing and screaming, its skin blistering in the flames.
“Eyebrow pencil?” Marvo pulls it out of the handbag.
“Why don’t you do something?” her mum screeches.
“I am doing something.”
I’m drawing a symbol on a paper hat and jamming it on my head. I’m pulling a white silk blouse out of the pile of clothes and scrawling more symbols across the front . . .
“Hey, that cost a fortune!”
I’m throwing milk every
where and sprinkling brandy into the brazier while I struggle into the blouse and mutter incantations. I toss a handful of herbs onto the charcoal and the smoke rises in a column to the ceiling, billows out horizontally, then flows downward to form a translucent cylindrical wall within the space between the two circles.
I’m waiting for the Presence. Until I know what we’re up against . . .
A small, indistinct shadow is forming, inside the room yet infinitely far beyond its walls.
“Sit tight. Don’t move. Whatever happens, stay in the circle.”
“Anything else?” says Marvo.
“Anything I tell you to do, do it—however stupid it sounds.”
“That one’s easy, eh, Mum?” She nudges her mother in the ribs. A nervous smile flickers across her face. “Is this going to work?”
Luckily I don’t have time to answer that question: the shadow has grown and taken shape.
We have two eyes, golden and bright like a bird’s. Sharp yellow teeth, fixed in a predatory grin. Goat’s horns—well, that’s traditional, I suppose. I’d expected wings, but I guess they’d only get in the way when the simple objective is to rip, impale, disembowel, and dismember. I don’t know about dragging us off to hell, but he’s certainly here to mess us up and smear us over the walls. He has the tools for the job. He’s clutching a three-bladed, serrated dagger in one hand, and an ax in the other. In case that isn’t enough, he’s got a scourge in his belt, with a dozen weighted chains ending in metal hooks.
He’s a good seven feet tall and under-equipped in the clothing department. He halts just outside the circle, staring contemptuously down at us through the wall of smoke. He takes a swipe with the ax. There’s a noise like a ship hitting a dockside and the entire house shakes. The blow leaves a deep red gouge in midair. Blood drips onto the floor.
Marvo’s mum has pulled the blanket over her head, leaving just one hand sticking out, clutching her amulet. I’m searching frantically through the book. It’s a cheap, incomplete edition—only half the size of the copy back in my studio. I hope this bastard is in here because I need to know who he is.
He walks slowly around the circle.
Got him! Alastor—the executioner. The exterminating angel.
This is what you get for trying to help somebody.
He stops dead. He transfers the ax to the same hand as the dagger and runs his free hand over the wall of smoke. One taloned finger moves to and fro, like he’s trying to work it into an invisible flaw in the barrier. He pulls the scourge from his belt and raises it over his head. The hooks sweep down with a ghastly ripping sound, leaving trails of blood in midair. Lumps of flesh sizzle on the frozen floor.
Now that I know who he is, I’ve an idea what might hold him. But I need to buy time until I can get the smells and symbols working. I grab a coin from the pile and toss it out to him. He opens his mouth and swallows it. I shake Marvo’s shoulder.
“Chuck him one, any time he looks like he could get through.”
She makes a grab, scattering the coins. One rolls out of the circle and she’s about to go after it. I pull back her arm a split second before Alastor’s dagger stabs deep into the floor.
I need blood, and I haven’t got any small creatures to butcher. I pick up my white-handled knife.
“O King Eternal! Deign to look upon thy most unworthy servant and upon this my sacrifice—”
Marvo gasps as I slice into my forearm. I let the blood run down into a small bowl, then use one finger to scrawl inside the circumference of the inner circle. Old friends—“Adonai,” “Tetragrammaton,” and “Jehovah”—just visible on the floorboards.
While I’m checking that I’ve spelled everything right, Marvo wraps a silk scarf around my arm and ties the ends.
“Don’t want you bleeding to death on us.”
Alastor is hacking away with his ax. At every blow the air inside the circle compresses violently. It’s like being bounced around in a giant drum. Marvo is shaking so much she can hardly grasp them, but she keeps tossing out coins. The demon stops dead with a curious smile on his face every time he swallows one. Then after a few seconds he goes back to work.
By some miracle I’ve managed to keep the brazier going. I sprinkle in more brandy and let a thin stream of herbs drop onto the steaming charcoal.
“Alpha, Omega, Elohim, Zabahot . . .”
The protective wall of smoke thickens. Alastor stops to examine it thoughtfully, head on one side. Then he gives it everything he’s got, ax in one hand, scourge in the other, pounding away—
“More money!” I yell.
“There’s none left!”
“Burn the notes.”
She’s staring at me. I grab a ten pound note and drop it into the brazier. It explodes like a firework. Alastor reels back with a stupid grin on his face.
While she feeds money into the flames I crawl around the circumference of the circle with the bowl of blood, madly scrawling symbols inside the inner line. I’m gabbling the incantations.
“I will open the book, and the seven seals thereof. I have beheld Satan as a bolt falling from heaven. It is thou that hast given me the power to crush dragons, scorpions, and all thine enemies . . .”
At every blow, blood and tissue fly. Strictly speaking they may not be real, but it’s beginning to look pretty messy out there. He’s not getting through, but he’s got nothing better to do than keep hacking away with an ax that never gets blunt. Marvo’s mum is staring out from under her blanket, white in the face and trembling like a leaf.
“Do something!” she yells.
“Like what? Appeal to his better nature?”
She chucks her amulet at him. He opens his mouth and swallows it.
“There must be something!” Marvo’s faith in me is touching.
“I can’t fight a demon—”
Two sounds in quick succession: a deafening thunderclap, then an almost inaudible metallic rattle. The stench of sulphur fills the room. A couple of feet behind Alastor, Mrs. M’s amulet glints on the floor.
“They’re immortal beings,” I explain. “By definition.”
“So what are you going to do?” Marvo asks.
“Give me a break, will you?”
“I’m scared!”
“You think I’m not?”
For some reason that seems to calm her down. “What do you need to do?”
“Demons don’t just roll up on your doorstep like Jehovah’s Witnesses. Someone sends them, and the spell has to be sustained, so somewhere there’s another magic circle with a sorcerer inside.”
“Told you—the girl!”
Marvo’s mother is feeding the last few banknotes into the brazier. I dig Kazia’s pentacle out of my pocket and turn it to the light so I can read the symbols etched into the silver. I look up: Alastor is gazing longingly at the pentacle with his golden eyes. He holds out one hand, palm up . . .
“Where did I put that eyebrow pencil?”
“Here!” Marvo watches me scrawl symbols across the pentacle. “What’s that for?”
“I’ve got to leave you here. Is that all right?”
“No.”
“He’ll follow me. You’ll be fine.” I think they will, anyway.
I realize what Marvo’s afraid of: that I’m going to leave them to be sliced and diced while I save my own skin.
As I turn in the circle, Alastor follows me. He’s actually weeping tears of blood as he gazes at the pentacle. The chains of his scourge drag across the floor, leaving trails through the frost; every now and then a hook catches the edge of one of the floorboards and pulls a thick splinter away.
“We’re coming with you!”
“You can’t come with me. Damn!” I can barely control my hands and I’ve messed up one of the symbols. I rub at it with my fingertip and succeed only in smearing it. “How does this stuff come off?”
“Use your shirt.”
Why not? It can’t make things any worse. I spit and scrub away furiously until the smear h
as vanished. I redraw the symbol and move on to the next.
“What’s that supposed to do, anyway?”
“It’s supposed to keep him from tearing me limb from limb.” I turn the pentacle to the light and point. “That’s the moon, right? It reflects light and if light is reflected it doesn’t illuminate what’s beyond. Diana—the huntress—she’s the goddess of the moon—”
“That’s gibberish!”
“Magical gibberish, though.”
“Why can’t you take us?” Mrs. Marvell whispers as the final banknote flares up and disappears into a twist of ash.
“Because you’d be in the way. You’ll be safe in the circle.”
I take Marvo’s hand. It’s ice cold and I’m surprised how small it is. I can feel her trembling.
“It’s me he’s after. He’s probably in pain.”
“He just looks incredibly pissed off to me.”
“That too. Kazia woke him up and forced this deal on him: if he rips my heart and lungs out and tears me into pieces no bigger than a postage stamp, she’ll let him go back to bed. But if he can’t nail me, he’ll go back to her at dawn and she has to give him some of her own blood—like, to buy him off. Then she has to dismiss him and sever the affinity.”
“What affinity?”
“She called him up. As far as he’s concerned, that’s a relationship. A lot can go wrong, dismissing a demon. If she makes a mistake, she’s his breakfast.”
“That’s good.”
I hang the pentacle around my neck. “I’m going to see if I can get her taken off the menu.”
I’m a lot more scared than I’m letting on. It’s like stepping into a dragon’s lair armed only with a note from my doctor. One of the sorcerer’s most powerful weapons is his belief in his methods and materials. I struggle to work up any confidence in any of this.
Marvo’s hand is on my arm. “Frank, she doesn’t want your help.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t have to try. Unlicensed sorcerers . . . they don’t get the training and they’ll go calling up demons all over the place when there’s better ways to do it.”
A Dangerous Magic Page 25