“And it all seemed to go so well. Until the head turns up and I start meddling—”
“That’s one thing I taught you: to be thorough.”
Actually that pisses me off. The thoroughness, that’s just me—one of the many admirable personality traits that have made me so popular around Doughnut City. It’s got nothing to do with Matthew.
“And I get this bizarre result: no contiguity between Wallace’s head and body.”
Matthew nods. “It took me a while to work out what had happened.”
I realize that he genuinely believes he’s in control of the situation here. That shakes me: I thought everybody could see that I was. Am I missing something?
Matthew smiles indulgently. “What are you playing at, Frank? There’s nobody coming to the rescue.”
“Who says?”
“You say.” He points at Kazia. “If you call the police in, I’ll make sure she goes to the stake.”
Kazia goes stiff. Her eyes and mouth open wide. She looks like she’s been pushed off a cliff and she’s scared to look down in case she sees how close she is to getting squashed.
Matthew’s got this ugly smirk smeared across his face. “She did kill Groce, you know.”
“Not directly.” Who are you kidding, Frank?
“She summoned the demon who talked him into murdering Alice, then writing the note and killing himself. It comes to the same thing.”
“But acting on your orders.”
“I’d take my chances.” He smiles. “I know a lot of important people’s weak points.”
I’m aware that Kazia is standing there staring at me. It’s not love—not that I’d know what that looks like anyway. I could say it was bewilderment, maybe regret . . .
I could say a lot of things. I talk too much.
But all this chatter has got me where I want to be, at the southern point of the circle. Kazia is standing almost directly between me and the chalice of blood. Alastor is a couple of yards away, trailing after me but with one beady eye on her. She looks almost as exhausted as I feel. She’s been stuck in the circle, holding the spell together, for hours.
She yawns. She bends to put the sword down, across her toes, and straightens up.
She stretches. Her eyes close . . .
The Boss shouts, “Don’t let him—”
Too late! I throw myself forward. My bum rubs out a section of the inner circle as I slide across the floor. The blade of the sword slices into my palm as I snatch it. I roll frantically out the other side of the circle into the triangle, stopping just short of knocking the chalice over.
I grab it.
“Stop him!” yells Matthew. But I’ve already thrown the blood at him.
What happens next? Something I hadn’t expected.
Picture the blood, frozen in midair—
Kazia is desperately re-sealing her circle, gabbling incantations.
I’m curled up like a wood louse inside the triangle, still clutching her sword and waving the pentacle in the air.
Alastor is legging it clockwise around the circle toward me, radiant with anticipation, ax held high.
Matthew has frozen with his hands up. But he needn’t worry . . .
Because Akinbiyi is out of his circle. I think he was trying to grab me, but he missed and overshot, and as he turned to scamper back to safety he took the blood full in the face. It’s dripping down his surcoat and he’s suddenly the dish of the day!
Alastor keeps going past me. I see his feet leave scorch marks on the tiles, but I don’t watch anymore. It sounds bad enough. When I open my eyes, Akinbiyi has gone—to hell, if that’s what you want to believe. There’s nothing left of him anyway, just the blood from the chalice spattered across the floor and Alastor on his hands and knees, licking it up with a long green tongue.
Finally he looks up. And farts.
Chapter Thirty-One
Begone!
Back in Littlemore, Marvo and her mum are still sitting in the circle, wrapped up in the blanket.
We spend half an hour arguing, which at least gives me time to fix the gash in my hand. Finally I make a couple of shapes with my fingers and Mrs. M collapses in a heap.
I fish my ring out of the sink, grab my backpack, and drag Marvo and her duffle coat across to the termite nest, over the back wall, and into my corridor . . .
Where some bastard has petrified my door. Literally turned it to stone.
“Now what?” Marvo says.
I interlace my fingers and stretch my arms above my head, palms up, until the bones crack. “Relax,” I say. “Watch a master at work.”
If the Society can issue licenses to practice sorcery, it can take them away. There’s no judicial proceeding, no right of appeal. Just an owl at your window with a message in its beak; or, more likely, a couple of large men on your doorstep. I figure this is their work: an incentive to go on that hike to Rome.
I’m not putting up with that.
There are creatures that can survive being frozen in ice. Petrification is the Society’s standard technique for immobilizing door elementals, so I built mine to handle it.
The first thing it needs is human warmth. My body, pressed against it. My hands, stroking it. And the sound of my voice:
“It’s all right, I’m here. Mezekiel, Ramoth. It’s all right, it’s all right . . .”
After ten minutes the surface is warm to the touch. After fifteen it has the texture of wood. After twenty it gives a weak yelp and its head emerges. I tickle it behind the ears and ruffle its fur. I tell it how clever it is and that it’s my good boy . . .
When I look around, Marvo’s leaning against the wall, grinning.
“What?”
“If you were only half as good with people.”
Whatever. We’re inside . . . and the place has been wrecked. The good news is that although they got into my cabinet, they didn’t find the broom cupboard where I keep my really dangerous stuff. Even so, there’s papers and gear all over the shop; herbs, spices, and concoctions scattered; glassware smashed and a smell of piss. Since I’m not supposed to be able to get back in here anyway, this is pure malice.
Let’s start with the costumes: we’ll both need full sets of robes. While I rummage through the pile of clothes beside the wardrobe I finish telling Marvo what she’s missed.
“So who’s still alive?” she finally asks.
“Apart from Akinbiyi, everybody.”
Exorcised water. Myrrh, cinnamon, and sweet flag in olive oil. Salt. Incense.
Marvo frowns. “What’s to stop Kazia just dismissing the demon?”
“Without her sword?” I pick up a ragged black book. “Suicide.”
“Perhaps we should just turn everything over to Caxton.” Marvo watches suspiciously as I stuff all the gear into my bag.
I grab two silver discs and start scratching away at them. “Matthew is the Superior General of the Society of Sorcerers. That makes him one of the most powerful men in the country. I’m a suspended member of the Society with a grudge.”
“And the girl? It’s her you’re really worried about.”
There’s this thing in her voice. I get resentment, sadness, resignation . . . and I realize that preparing instruments and remembering incantations is child’s play compared to figuring how people tick.
I don’t want to hurt Marvo, but it’s like she’s dead set on being hurt. “I’m sorry . . .”
“She tried to kill us.”
Money for a cab: this has turned into a very expensive night. “What’s she supposed to do? The way she sees it, it’s her or me.”
“What do you want to happen to her?”
“I want to meet her before any of this started. Can you fix that for me?”
In the corridor Marvo says, “So what are you going to do?”
“I can’t just leave her there.”
“But if you let her go, what about your boss?” Her eyes widen. “You’re going to feed him to the demon—”
I shak
e my head. “I don’t know what it’d do with him.”
“You don’t believe in hell—”
“I won’t believe in hell. I could be wrong.” I open the outside door. “I usually am.” I hand her one of the silver discs and a gold chain. “Here, you’ll want this. Just stick it around your neck.”
She turns the disc to the light and peers at the design: two concentric circles with symbols scattered around the place. “Will this work?”
“With luck.”
I realize that I really meant to turn Alastor on Matthew, until Akinbiyi got in the way. But that was in the heat of the moment.
I’m cool now.
My pentacle—the one I got off Kazia—is still where I left it, at the bottom of the stairs where it prevents Alastor from passing. At the center of the underground chamber, the girl of my dreams is standing in her circle, turning on the spot to face him as he prowls around the outside, stopping now and then to hack away with his ax. The Boss just watches from the protection of his own circle.
As I pick up the pentacle and drop it around my neck, Alastor turns and rushes at me, then skids to a halt, screaming with rage and frustration and giving off clouds of foul-smelling smoke.
Marvo has her instructions. I cut the grand circle and push her into it. As I follow and reseal the boundary behind me, she hands Kazia the third pentacle.
The Boss doesn’t take long to smell a rat. I’m burning white candles and incense. I’ve thrown salt around the place and sprinkled exorcised water over everyone inside the circle. Alastor has stepped back and is standing there scratching his head with the tip of his knife. This isn’t my usual stuff, so I’m doing it from the book I brought, with Marvo leaning over my shoulder, reading the responses.
“From all sin . . .”
“Deliver us O Lord.”
“From the snares of the Devil . . .”
“Deliver us O Lord.”
The Boss pipes up. “This isn’t your usual style, Frank.”
I ignore him and plow on. We’ve a lot to get through. Psalms. Bible stories . . .
The Rite for Exorcism, as defined by the Roman Ritual of 1614.
“What are you trying to do? Wriggle out of losing your license? It’s playing with demons, Frank, and I’ll see you burn for it.”
The demon himself is watching intently. You should never attribute psychological motives to supernatural beings, but he’s beginning to look very uneasy. I’m sticking to the Ritual:
“I command you, unclean spirit, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign the day and hour of your departure.”
And Alastor explodes in flames. Through the smoke, I can see my dad beating frantically with his hands, trying to put the fire out. He sees me . . .
“Frank—”
His hair is on fire. His skin is blistering. He’s kicking and screaming . . .
“For God’s sake, Frank!”
I don’t think any of the others can see this charade; it’s just Alastor messing with my head. I charge on through the ritual, wondering if the fact that I really don’t believe any of it makes any difference. Marvo gives the responses; her voice is trembling, but she never loses her place.
Matthew is struggling to work out why I don’t just give Kazia her sword back and let her dismiss the demon like any normal sorcerer. He keeps repeating, “What exactly are you hoping to achieve?”
Amid the smoke, my dad is rolling on the floor, begging me to fetch the fire brigade, my mum, his mother . . .
Only Kazia is utterly silent. She just stands there, looking down at the floor.
We’ve got to the point at last.
“I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Kazia steps back as I turn to face her. Marvo grabs her arm to keep her in the circle and holds her tight while I dip my fingertip in the oil and trace a series of crosses across Kazia’s forehead—
“Begone and stay far from this creature of God. For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell. It is He who commands you, He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm. Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear—”
I can hear my dad screaming, “Please, Frank. Please, Frank—”
“I adjure you, profligate dragon, in the name of the spotless Lamb, who has trodden down the asp and the basilisk, and overcome the lion and the dragon, to depart from this woman.”
Who wrote this stuff? Anyway . . .
“The Word made flesh commands you; the Virgin’s Son commands you; Jesus of Nazareth commands you—
“Depart from her!”
I throw holy water around. My dad sizzles and smokes.
“Depart from her!”
Marvo joins in the chant.
“Depart from her!”
And just like that, my dad has gone. The flames have vanished; the smoke has dispersed. Alastor climbs unsteadily to his feet and stumbles around gathering his scattered armory.
He mutters, “That hurt, Frank.”
“Sorry. I didn’t write it.”
“Bloody sadists.” He picks up his ax and sticks it in his belt. “OK, I’m ready. Get on with it.”
He visibly braces himself. But I close the Ritual. I take off my paper hat and nod to Marvo to do the same. “I’m finished.”
I cut the circle and step out. Don’t forget, I’ve got the pentacle around my neck. I’m not a complete fool.
“Frank.” That’s my Master’s voice. “You can’t just leave him here.”
I beckon Marvo out after me. “Why not?”
“Well, what about me?”
“You’ll be company for him.”
Matthew has gone white. You have no idea how gratifying that feels. Like I’m finally in charge and if I so much as flick one finger, whole nations will tremble and fall at my feet. It feels great.
So great, that I’m sure I must have missed something.
Marvo isn’t convinced either. “What if he gets out?”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
I dig a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal out of my pocket. As I copy a series of symbols down each side of the wall beside the foot of the staircase, I hear Kazia’s voice:
“What about me?”
“The exorcism severed the affinity, so he has no particular interest in you. You’re protected.” I point to the pentacle around her neck. “And once I’ve finished this, he can’t leave the chamber.”
“And if someone wanders down here?” Matthew says.
“I’ll maintain the concealment spell.”
“I’ll starve.”
“I’ll organize sandwiches.”
As Kazia steps tentatively out of the circle, Alastor moves toward her. She flinches as he raises the scourge. But then his eyes fix on the pentacle. He stops dead. The scourge drops to his side, the chains rattling almost regretfully.
She ducks past him. She stops beside me.
And I realize I’m waiting for her to kiss me.
Coz I did save her, didn’t I? I mean, I could’ve fed her to Alastor. I could’ve done a deal with Matthew and let the Inquisition have her. But I didn’t and I figure that’s worth at least a peck on the cheek.
And I think she did fancy me a bit. OK, a tiny bit. A very tiny bit.
And even if she was playing me for a fool, there was this other thing: I was a sorcerer.
I mean, imagine you’re Kazia. You’ve got the Gift, but it’s always been this secret thing that could get you killed. Matthew knows Wallace is making you do creepy stuff, but he does nothing to stop it . . .
Did either of them ever tell her she was clever or special?
I realize Kazia was always scared of me, right from that first morning in the Bishop�
��s Palace when she leaned over the stairs and watched Marvo drag me in. But I figure she wanted to be friends with me too, because she realized she could only be herself—you know, the girl with the Gift—with another sorcerer who understood all the crap flying around.
So what about that kiss? I’m still waiting, but she’s got this blank, closed-down expression on her face again, like I’m a total stranger. She darts across to the staircase.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“You think I’ll tell you?”
Another reason to be thankful for the absence of mirrors down here. I wouldn’t want to see my own face right now. I feel like I’ve been sat on by a horse.
“I’m sorry, Frank. I like you . . .”
She makes this weird gesture, like she’s rubbing dirt off a table or something.
I’m desperate. I know Marvo and Matthew are listening, so I whisper, “We could—you know, what we said before. Get out of here.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“But it’s not impossible . . .”
“Oh, Frank.” She takes my hand. This is progress, isn’t it? “I can’t go home. They’d kill me.”
“They’ll kill you here.”
“I know people. My father’s here.”
“You can’t trust him.”
“I understand him.” Her fingers brush across my cheek. “I’m sorry, Frank, I don’t understand you. I mean, you can’t look after yourself . . . What can you do with me?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“You won’t get your license back.”
“How do you know?”
“Working for Matthew . . .” I can’t help following her gaze toward him. He’s standing there in his circle, arms folded. I hate it when she calls him by his first name. “I think I understand the Society better than you do.”
I’ve pulled my hand away.
“I did magic for him,” she says. “That’s all.”
Alastor sneers. “That’s what she says!”
But I don’t believe him. I turn back to Kazia. “And Wallace?”
“You do what you must do.” I get this final sad smile out of her. “You will see now.”
And she turns and runs off, up the stairs. I shout after her:
“Wait!”
“Leave me alone!”
A Dangerous Magic Page 27