Max made a rapid mental check of his flat to see what else had been pilfered by a light-fingered Level Two demon. She’d taken a loaded water pistol and the gold censer, crossbow and silver darts from the weapons’ bag. The Latvian rock monster was missing – and the mystical key had been taken from his coat pocket, probably using the gloves he’d given her. Most worryingly, the amulet had gone, too.
What on earth was she doing? Or possibly, what the hell was she doing?
Max knew that Sophie couldn’t have left the country, her Demon Passport only allowed her to travel in the British Isles and Ireland. Mystical barriers prevented foreign demons from travelling without permission. Max guessed that the President Elect had managed to force a Demon Passport from Walter J. before sending him screaming mad, if indeed she was demonic, as Sophie had insisted. Otherwise, she’d just apply for a human passport like everyone else.
But that all added up to good news for Max: it meant Sophie could be traced. He doubted that she’d go to Ireland – demons hardly ever went there. The leprechauns kept a tight hold of the mystical reins, so the usual demonic activities were severely curtailed. Plus, it was the Land of the Saints and for most demons, this made their skin itch.
His police radio crackled into life, making him jump. It was an ordinary, everyday sound he didn’t hear much anymore and he’d missed it. Since he’d joined the Demon Division he hadn’t had much use for routine policing or standard equipment, but he’d kept the radio as a sort of talisman; it reminded him that there was a world out there where people still believed that there was nothing hiding under the bed and that demons were a myth. Of course, they were myth-taken, but he hadn’t been able to let go of the police radio. It was comforting in a way Max didn’t quite understand.
“Base to Detective Darke,” said the disembodied voice. “Come in, please.”
“Darke here,” said Max, trying not to sound too surprised.
“Officer 143 has reported that your car has been found abandoned outside the safety perimeter at Buckingham Palace. You’re on the security list for tomorrow morning but your car isn’t. Advise, please.”
Max had to think quickly.
“Oh, my partner, Detective Smith, borrowed it,” said Max, breaking into a sweat. “Can you tell the officer that I’ll be on scene soon? I don’t know why my car isn’t on the list, we’re working security. Ask Superintendent Thatcher – she’s organised the special guard duty roster. I’m going to need you to send a squad car around to my apartment. Oh, and tell the officer not to approach Detective Smith. She’s er... undercover. Roger.”
“Wilco. A car’s on its way. Roger and out.”
The handset died and Max was left staring at the silent lump of plastic.
“Kennet said there’d be days like this.”
His heart had broken into a sprint and was thumping loudly in his chest.
He gathered his remaining weapons into a rucksack and slammed the front door shut, sealing it with a host of protection spells that would keep out even the Mother herself – or so he hoped.
He waited impatiently for the squad car to arrive.
The driver was a young PC who looked even younger than Max.
“Good evening, sir,” said the young officer.
“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’,” said Max, mechanically, “we’re the same rank. Call me Max.”
“Oh right, thank you, s.. Max; it’s just that you’re a bit of a legend back at Hendon. All the weird ritual cases – right?”
“Yeah,” said Max. “‘Weird’ is definitely in my job description.”
“I’d really like to work with you one day, s... Max. I’m really interested in psychological profiling and the work of serial killers – all sorts of abnormal psychology.”
Max had a wild desire to laugh, but he restrained himself. “Perhaps when you’ve got a bit more experience of ... er... normal, I mean routine police work,” he replied.
“Really, s... Max? That would be great. Thank you!”
Max hoped the eager young officer never got the chance to work with him, because once he saw the creatures that lurked in the dark, he would never sleep properly again.
Officer Rowan drove Max to Buckingham Palace. He turned out to be rather chatty.
“I saw your new partner the other day,” he said, “Detective Smith. She’s amazing. Really funny and clever. I’ve never seen such a beautiful police officer. Is she single?”
“Stay away from her, mate,” said Max, wearily. “She’s a man-eater.”
PC Rowan looked disappointed. But better disappointed than dead.
Max’s car, an elderly Rover 75, was lying abandoned at a crazy angle, with one wheel on the kerb. Max winced. He was rather fond of his car and didn’t like to see it being abused, especially by a demon who in all probability had never passed a driving test.
“Thanks for the ride,” said Max, getting out of the car, “I can take it from here.”
He saw the look of frustration on the young officer’s face. He just about remembered when he had been fresh out of Hendon and full of enthusiasm. It seemed like another lifetime.
“I’ll be sure and call you if I need any back up,” said Max.
“Thanks, s... Max,” said Officer Rowan. “See you – and Detective Smith – at the squad room some time.”
Max waited until Officer Rowan was out of sight before he began tracking Sophie. He was lucky that the marks left by her high heels were distinguishable, even by torch light. But he didn’t really need to follow them – he had a pretty good idea where she was going.
Sophie had used her demonic charms to gain access to the palace. More prosaically, Max showed his Warrant Card to the Footman on night duty.
“We weren’t expecting you until early in the morning, Detective Darke,” said the Footman, checking Max’s ID against a list and set of photographs of all the officers assigned to the President Elect’s visit. “The press conference isn’t until 11am.”
“You were told to expect me in the morning,” said Max without a glimmer of a smile. “It is the early morning.”
The Footman raised a manicured eyebrow, but nodded and let him in with a warning to stay away from the Royal Family’s apartments; apparently the Queen didn’t like having her sleep disturbed.
Max knew how she felt.
He made his way through the dimly lit state rooms, watched by the unseeing eyes of the numerous portraits that stretched along the Picture Gallery.
Whilst the most important jewels belonged to the nation – the Crown Jewels – the Queen’s private collection was also worth untold millions.
Sophie had set up a few crude mystical screens to protect her from most prying human eyes; Max was too experienced to be fooled by those.
He found her kneeling on the floor of a small room: with a safe door hanging open, and the floor strewn with expensive gems.
“Hello, partner,” said Max.
Sophie squeaked and dropped the tiara she had been stroking.
“Max, darling!” she said, her eyes darting around nervously. “You frightened me. What do you mean creeping around and scaring a girl like that?”
Max almost laughed. She really was priceless.
“I might answer that question,” he said, “but first I think I’d like to know why you stole my mystical key and weapons’ bag, and why I’ve found you knee-deep in the Queen’s jewels. Oh, yes, and you took the amulet.”
“Oh, I thought I might just borrow a few jewels. You know, as my reward for being the Saviour of the world.”
“Sophie,” Max sighed. “They’re not yours.”
Sophie pouted. “But they look so pretty on me.”
She held up a pair of diamond and pearl drop earrings, dangling them beneath her delicate lobes. She was right – they looked gorgeous on her.
“That’s not the point,” he said severely. “I’m forbidding you to take any of the Queen’s jewels. I forbid you to even borrow them. Or anything else in the Palace.�
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Sophie dropped the jewels as if she’d been scalded. Max decided that the Blood Oath she’d signed must be a mighty powerful document.
Sophie had to put on her leather gloves to replace the jewels in the safe; after Max’s decree, they burned her every time she tried to touch them.
Max took pity on her and helped her to shovel up the cascade of rubies, emeralds, pearls and diamonds that made up the Queen’s private jewellery collection.
“Don’t ever touch my mystical key again unless I tell you to,” added Max. “And hand over the amulet.”
Sophie scowled but did as she was told.
“Do you want to know what I found out?” said Sophie, pouting. “I think the Mother’s Amulet must have been kept here at one time. Look – it’s even in the Palace’s official guide book.”
She shoved a glossy brochure at him and pointed to a photograph of the amulet – it was definitely the same one.
Weird or what?
“I suppose it explains why Lily Bruce is so keen to do some sight-seeing in London.”
Max nodded slowly.
“We may as well stay here until she gets here. It’s only three hours until dawn and we have to be on duty shortly after that.”
“You mean I can stay in the Palace?” said Sophie, smiling happily. “Oh, that would be lovely. Some of my friends used to work here and they always made me so jealous. I belong in a palace, don’t you think?”
“You have friends who work here?” said Max, feeling uneasy.
“Oh, well, when I say ‘friends’, I mean other demons, of course,” said Sophie airily. “You know, when the Royal Family said they wanted to relax security so they could see more of ‘the people’.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?” said Max.
Sophie stared at him.
“Stupid question: never mind. I mean, just think about it: if there are demons working the palace, they’ll be perfectly placed to help the President Elect when she arrives for the press conference. We have to get rid of them.”
“Oh, yes!” said Sophie, her eyes glittering, “Oh, Max, darling! You’re such a poppet. Let’s go and kill something.”
The mention of a spot of disembowelment seemed to help her get over the loss of a stolen fortune in Royal jewels.
In silence, they drifted through the palace, alert for human or demon.
The first person they encountered was a security guard. Either the man was suffering from food poisoning, or he was part Level One demon. Max shone the torch full in the man’s face and was more than a little surprised.
“Ralph?” he said.
It was Ralph, without a doubt.
“How is that possible?” whispered Sophie. “We saw him – well, parts of him – in the Temple Church – and he was definitely dead then.”
“Well, he’s definitely undead now,” said Max. “Ralph? How you doing, mate? Feeling all right?”
Ralph nodded and smiled crookedly.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Answer, fool!” snarled Sophie, taking a pace towards him.
Ralph looked alarmed and took a step back. He motioned as if writing something.
“I don’t think he can talk, Sophie,” said Max. “Perhaps he didn’t get his tongue back when they reassembled him. Is that right, Ralph?”
Ralph nodded and smiled, looking slightly happier, although it was hard to tell with his crooked, pock-marked face.
“What do you want to write down for me?” said Max.
Ralph scratched his head and dug into his pocket for a tatty notebook and stub of pencil. He pursed his lips as he wrote slowly then handed the note to Max.
Max read the childish handwriting: “‘I work here.’ I know you work here, Ralph,” said Max patiently. And I’m guessing you found the Mother’s Amulet and decided to liberate it, “but I want to know who put you back together and why you’re still working here.”
Ralph looked terrified and shook his head, taking another step backwards.
As he moved, Max noticed that a bunch of keys were jingling at his waist. One of them had a faint, silvery glow.
“Oh, I get it,” said Max. “You’re the key man. You’re the one who lets in all the demons who work here – and you use that mystical key to do it. I wondered how demons could get in here in the first place, because I know for a fact that Buck House has some heavy-duty protection spells on it – that’s why you need the mystical key. Well, time’s up, Ralphie. Hand it over.”
A mulish expression etched itself on Ralph’s face.
“Oh, really, Max!” said Sophie. “We’re wasting time. Let me handle this. Now, Ralph: are you going to give me that mystical key or not?”
Ralph shook his head again.
“Fine!” said Sophie. Then without further warning, she snatched the silver letter opener from the weapons’ bag and sliced Ralph in half – right down the middle.
A look of faint surprise passed over his face before he decomposed into the usual green goo.
Sophie delicately removed the mystical key from the slime spot.
“There, you see, Max, darling. A woman’s touch.”
“Er... thanks,” said Max.
He felt a bit sorry for Ralph. But only a bit. To be killed twice in the same week must really suck.
“I think I’d better have that mystical key, Sophie. I’m not sure you’re safe with it.”
“Oh, Max! But you’ve already got one! It’s just not nice to be greedy. Pretty, please?”
“Sorry, Sophie. Company orders.”
Sophie’s eyes blazed with lust, but the power of the Blood Oath was too strong and permanent termination too scary a threat. Reluctantly, she handed it over, but her eyes watched thirstily as Max hid the second key inside a deep pocket, next to his original mystical key. He wondered where Ralph had got it; Kennet had told him that only one existed in Britain. But Kennet had been dangerously wrong before; maybe he was wrong about this, too.
“By the way,” said Max, “any idea how many demons work here?”
“Mmm, quite a few,” said Sophie. “At least fifteen, the last I heard, but who knows how many Ralph has been letting in lately. Nowhere has standards anymore – not even palaces,” and she sighed heavily.
Max took a deep breath, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. It was going to be another long night.
He was startled from his reverie by snarling and snapping, as a dozen vicious-looking fur balls hurled themselves towards Sophie.
She moved gracefully as she whirled the golden censer around her head like some medieval knight’s mace.
“No, Sophie! Not the corgis!” yelled Max.
He imagined the Queen waking up to find pieces of her beloved corgis all over the carpet.
“Those aren’t corgis,” hissed Sophie. “They’re Welsh boggits!”
“What?”
“Welsh bog monsters – they’re deadly!”
She scythed the censer through the pack of snarling, snapping creatures. They shrieked in unison and exploded in tiny balls of greyish-purple light, leaving a faint scent of sulphur and Pedigree Chum on the air.
One little furry creature, who was smarter – or more cowardly – then the rest, was trying to make a run for it. Sophie fired her crossbow and pinned the boggit to a rather attractive Persian wall hanging. It fizzled quietly, whimpering softly, and the silver dart fell to the carpet with a dull thud.
“The cleaners are going to have their work cut out,” muttered Max.
The real corgis must have had the sense to stay in their kennels because they were far from the scene of the crime; Max could imagine them whining with fear. They’d probably be okay – so long as they stayed out of Sophie’s way. Probably.
Room by room, they scoured the palace of demons. Most were Level Ones and too dopey to put up much resistance, although there was a nasty moment with a Hawaiian man-eating parrot monster that had tried to peck out Max’s eyes. He’d finished that fiend with a quick shot of H
oly water, which left behind the unpleasant and distinctive aroma of toasted feathers.
Max glanced through a window framed by heavy, velvet curtains. The sky was beginning to lighten – dawn was coming, and they still hadn’t had a chance to eradicate anything on the upper floors.
“We’d better split up,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Meet me back in the kitchen in two hours. And remember, just demons – no human kills. And no stealing – of anything.”
“Why, Max, don’t you trust me?” said Sophie looking hurt.
“Not entirely,” said Max truthfully.
Max knew that if looks could kill, Sophie would have reduced him to atom-sized pieces long before now.
Sophie headed up the main staircase and Max took one of the many backstairs that led to the upper floors.
His detective’s nose led him to a servants’ wing; it had about it the distinct whiff of demonic presence. Silently, he crept along the gloomy corridor and paused outside one of the bedrooms. The faintest glow of dirty grey aura was visible from the gap under the ill-fitting bedroom door. Max checked that his Holy water pistol was fully loaded and held it in his left hand. With his right, he used his mystical key to open the door.
The door swung open and Max stared into an empty room.
For a moment, Max was full of doubt but then a shadow leapt at him screeching and yowling with all the ferocity of a mountain lion defending her young; which wasn’t far off the target, as it turned out.
Max was pinioned against the bare floorboards and the creature’s long, feral fangs tried to tear his neck to decorative ribbons. As the gaping maw closed on his collar and the fetid breath of rotten meat made Max gag, the creature’s mouth erupted in a ball of fire as soon as it touched Max’s coat. It howled like a scalded tiger and shot backwards.
Max rolled onto his stomach and blasted the creature into another dimension with a jet of Holy water.
Shaken, Max clambered to his knees, using an old wooden dresser to haul himself upright. That had been too close for comfort. For the third time in 24 hours he had been saved by the protection charms his grandmother had put on his coat. It was an odd thing to be saved by a clothing garment in a life or death situation. But Max figured it was no different from the stories soldiers told of being saved by a Bible or hip flask hidden in their clothes: some item that had taken the bullet that would otherwise have killed them.
The Dark Detective: Venator Page 13