The Book of Doom

by Barry Hutchison

  Zac pointed at Gabriel. “You tried to make him an angel.” He pointed at Satan. “You tried to make him a demon. But he doesn’t belong in Heaven, and he doesn’t belong in Hell. He belongs here.”

  Gabriel laughed falsely. “Here? Among humans? Don’t be ludicrous.”

  “He’s halfway between angel and demon. Halfway between good and evil. That sounds pretty much human to me.”

  Satan gave a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Gabe,” he smirked.

  “Oh, I think not,” Gabriel sighed. He gestured to Michael. “Seize the boy.”

  Zac stood his ground. “You’ll have to get through me.”

  “And me,” added Herya. “Although I don’t actually have any idea what’s going on here,” she admitted. “But I really enjoyed punching people in the face earlier, and I’d like to do it again.”

  “Twice the fun,” said Michael, drawing his sword. His eyes shone as he lunged with the blade straight towards Zac’s chest.

  “Don’t you dare hurt my grandson!” Phillip cried in that voice that boomed from everywhere. Michael’s attack faltered.

  The angel stared down at the object he was holding in his hand. It had been a sword. He was absolutely certain that it had been a sword.

  “Michael,” began Gabriel quietly, “why are you brandishing an ice-cream cone?”

  “It’s... it’s a sword,” Michael insisted, refusing to believe what the mounting evidence was telling him. “It’s a big sword with fire on it.”

  “It’s a mint-choc-chip ice cream,” said Zac. “And I’d really advise against letting it drip on my granddad’s carpet.”

  Michael stepped back. He looked around for somewhere to put the cone. Finding nowhere, he licked it instead, and discovered that he really quite enjoyed mint choc chip.

  Gabriel shot Zac a questioning look. “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “Trade secret,” Zac lied. “Just a little trick I picked up on my travels.”

  The archangel looked at the ice-cream cone, then he looked down at Phillip, still sitting in his armchair. It was a long time before he met Zac’s gaze again. “I see,” he said almost inaudibly. “Very interesting.”

  “Angelo stays here,” said Zac. “He stays here and you leave him alone.” He looked over at Satan. “Everyone leaves him alone.”

  Gabriel and the Dark Lord exchanged a glance. “Very well,” said Gabriel. “You win. The boy will stay here.”

  Angelo leaped out from behind Zac and began body-popping once again. “Oooh yeah, I’m staying, I’m staying, I’m staying here. I’m staying, I’m—”

  “You, of course,” continued Gabriel, directing his smile firmly in Zac’s direction, “shall return with Satan to Hell, whereupon your punishment shall commence immediately, and continue for all eternity. I trust the Dark Lord will take a special interest in your case.”

  Satan shot Phillip a quick glance, but the old man didn’t appear to be paying much attention. The Father of All Lies’ forked tongue flicked hungrily across his teeth. “Oh, you betcha,” he said, but he kept his voice low so Phillip wouldn’t hear.

  Angelo stopped dancing. “Wait... what?”

  “You can’t do that,” gasped Herya.

  Zac turned and looked at his granddad, but that shadowy confusion was back behind Phillip’s eyes. Whatever had awoken within him had now gone back to sleep.

  “They can,” Zac said. “I died. That’s how I got back into Hell in the first place.”

  Tears sprang into Angelo’s eyes. “No, but... but...”

  “It’s OK, Angelo,” Zac told him. “I knew this would happen.”

  “Wait... what’s happening now?” asked Phillip.

  Zac knelt beside him. “I’m going away again, Granddad.”

  “What, again?” said the old man. “Make up your mind, will you?”

  Zac smiled and patted Phillip’s hand. “Angelo’s going to stay here. He’ll look after you. Look after him too, will you?”

  He stood up and turned to face the rest of the room. “Right, then,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “It’s not fair,” sobbed Angelo, throwing his arms round Zac and holding on tight. “There has to be something we can do. There has to be.”

  “Well, there isn’t,” said Gabriel quickly. “Satan will take you to the underworld. Off you pop.”

  “No!” Angelo wailed.

  “It’s tragic, I know,” Gabriel agreed, “but there’s nothing that can be done. Our hands are tied.”

  “Fair enough,” said Zac. He held out his wrists, ready to be led away. Just as Satan reached for them, though, he pulled back. “Unless...” Zac said, watching Gabriel closely, “What’s the Right of Enosh”

  Gabriel’s left eye twitched. Michael paused, mid lick, then lowered the ice-cream cone from his mouth.

  “Never heard of it,” said Gabriel. “Now if there are no further delays...”

  “Wait!” Angelo cried. “The Right of Enosh! I’ve read about that. The Right of Enosh. The right to challenge Death for your soul. Remember?”

  Gabriel’s eye twitched so violently this time it made his whole head shake. Satan let out a low groan.

  Zac frowned. “What? You mean you can really challenge Death? I thought that was just in movies.”

  “No!” laughed Angelo. “It’s real. It’s real, isn’t it, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel glared raw hatred at Angelo. “Why, yes,” he said, through his fixed smile. “The Right of Enosh. How could I have forgotten? Those who request it may be given the opportunity to challenge Death to a game of chess. Win and you will be restored to life.”

  “And if I lose?”

  “Then you will be cast into Hell.”

  Zac shrugged. “Well, I’ll do that, then.”

  Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “I’m already going to Hell anyway, so yeah. Why not?”

  “Well, yes, there is that,” admitted Gabriel. “But if you lose you’ll... go for longer.”

  “What, longer than all eternity?”

  There was a pause. “Yes,” said Gabriel through gritted teeth. He was trying to hold his smile in place, but it was a losing battle.

  “Let’s give it a bash anyway,” said Zac, and he saw what little remained of Gabriel’s grin fall away.

  “Right, fine,” Gabriel snapped. He clicked his fingers. There was a soft pop, and a school desk appeared in the middle of the living room. Zac recognised the boy sitting behind it as the one he’d met in the shed in Limbo. Drake looked up from the sheet of paper in front of him.

  “Um. Hi,” he said.

  “I give up,” mumbled Phillip, whose already slender grasp on reality was being tested to the limit.

  Drake looked at the faces staring down at him. “Hey, you’re that guy with the book,” he said, recognising Zac.

  “That’s me,” Zac replied.

  Drake smiled weakly. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, not bad, not bad,” Zac replied. “Dead, though.”

  “What, properly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah. Listen, we were wondering, can you play chess?”

  Drake shook his head. “Nah.”

  Gabriel tutted sharply. “Well, can you learn?” he demanded.

  “When for?” Drake asked.

  “Now, ideally.”

  Drake looked down at the paper in front of him. “Not really,” he said. “I’m doing a maths test. Actually, that’s a point. Does anyone know what the square root of—”

  Gabriel clicked his fingers and the desk vanished again. “Right, you win,” he sighed. “Your life is restored, the messy remains you left on the pavement will be disposed of and no one will ever remember finding them.”

  “And Angelo stays here,” Zac reminded him.

  “Yes, yes,” said Gabriel vaguely. He made a cryptic gesture with his hand, and reality parted a few dozen centimetres. “Come, Michael,” he
scowled, “we must return and continue our search for the book.”

  “That you off, then?” asked Phillip. He still had no idea what was going on, but he knew where his manners were. “Safe journey home.”

  Gabriel paused at the gap in space. He turned and gazed at Phillip. For a long time, he just gazed.

  “Indeed,” he said at last, then he stepped through the gap and Michael stepped through after him. There was a sound like a zip being done up, and the hole closed over.

  “I suppose I’d best be off as well,” said Satan brightly. “Getting a new kitchen fitted this afternoon. Right bunch of cowboys doing it. Don’t trust them as far as I could throw them. Although I could actually throw them quite a long way if the wind was right.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?” Phillip asked vaguely. Satan gave a throaty chuckle and winked at Zac.

  “Never changes, does he? No, I won’t bother. Some other time, maybe.”

  He looked Angelo up and down. “Shame,” was all he said, then he clicked his fingers and vanished in a puff of red smoke.

  And with that, silence fell on the living room.

  “Right, then,” said Phillip, finally breaking the spell. “Let’s have that cuppa.”

  Zac, Angelo and Herya stood in the kitchen, their mugs in their hands. Phillip was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “Does he know?” Herya asked.

  Zac watched his grandfather. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think he’s... forgotten.”

  “Forgotten what?” asked Angelo.

  “How do you forget something like that?” continued the Valkyrie.

  Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he forgot on purpose. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.”

  “Remember what?” Angelo quizzed. “What are you on about?”

  “Can he do that? Can he make people forget?”

  “I suppose he can do anything.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Angelo said. “Only God can do anything.”

  Zac and Herya exchanged a glance. They all sipped their tea.

  “So, what now?” Herya asked.

  Zac shrugged. “Dunno. Get a job, I suppose.” He jabbed a thumb in Angelo’s direction. “Doubt he’ll let me go back to stealing. Will you?”

  “Nope,” said Angelo.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Zac. “What about you, Herya?”

  “Going to travel a bit,” the Valkyrie said. “Find some adventures. You can come if you want.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Good, I didn’t want you to anyway. You’d only hold me back.” She smiled, then gulped down the last of her tea. “Well, see you around,” she said, making for the back door. “Nice to meet you, Mr Corgan.”

  Phillip looked up from the table. “You too, dear. And I like your wings.” A flicker of something that might have been recognition shadowed his face as he admired the white feathers.

  “Oh, but look,” he said, getting up and shuffling over to her. “You’ve got blood on one.” He licked his thumb and rubbed the wing. Both the dried blood and the wound itself were wiped away. “There,” he said admiringly. “That’s better.”

  Herya flexed the newly healed wing. “Thank you,” she said. With a final glance to Zac and Angelo, she opened the back door.

  “Herya,” said Zac.

  The Valkyrie paused.

  “Thanks. You know... for coming back. For saving us.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t get used to it,” she said, then stepped through the door. There was the sound of applause as the Valkyrie leaped into the air. It faded as she soared off across the skies.

  “Right, then,” said Zac, setting down his mug. “I’ll show you your bedroom.”

  “What?” asked Angelo, following behind him as he made for the door leading into the hall. “I thought we’d be sharing a room.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “But I thought we could get bunk beds. Bunk beds, Zac!”

  They walked out into the hall and made for the stairs. “Well, you thought wrong.”

  “But bunk beds. Everyone loves bunk beds. Bagsy being on the top bunk!”

  “You can’t bagsy the top bunk because there is no top bunk,” Zac said. “You can’t bagsy something that doesn’t exist.”

  There was a rattle from the letterbox and a black envelope fluttered to the floor. Zac grabbed it, then opened the door and looked out. There was no one there, but had he paid more attention, he might have seen something one-eyed and semi-naked lumbering along the street in a decidedly unfeminine way.

  Zac closed the door and studied the envelope. His and Angelo’s names were written on the front in silver script. He tore open the top, and two rectangles of plastic slid out into his palm.

  “What is it?” asked Angelo, craning his neck to see.

  Zac held up the cards. “VIP passes for Eyedol.”

  “Aw,” smiled Angelo. “That was nice of him.”

  “Want to go?”

  “No way,” said Angelo firmly.

  “Yeah, nor me,” said Zac, and he slipped the passes back in the envelope, then tossed them in the bin.

  “You know the only thing that still bothers me, though?” Angelo asked.

  “Steropes being a woman?”

  “No!” Angelo shuddered. “Well, yes, but something else too.”

  Zac stepped on to the bottom stair. “What?”

  “The book. Where’s the book?”

  “How should I know? Does it matter?”

  “Depends. What if someone dangerous has got it?”

  “I doubt they’d be any more dangerous than Gabriel.”

  He moved to head up the stairs, but as he did, his eyes fell on the goldfish bowl. The fish inside was swimming around as fast and as frantically as ever, darting through the water in a blur of shimmering orange.

  Zac stopped.

  He stepped back down into the hall.

  “What is it?” asked Angelo. “What’s the matter?”

  Zac looked at the fish, and for the very first time, he saw. Properly saw. As it swam it left a shining trail behind it, like someone drawing in the air with a sparkler. Before Zac’s eyes the trails became shapes and the shapes became letters and the letters spelled out words.

  “Z-A-C,” he said aloud.

  Angelo’s lips moved silently. “Zac,” he said. “That spells Zac! Give me another one.”

  Zac shushed him and kept watching. The letters sparkled in the bowl, each one visible for only a tiny fraction of a second, but leaving an indelible imprint on his mind’s eye.

  ZAC CORGAN LOOKED IN DISBELIEF AT THE BOOK OF EVERYTHING.

  AND IN THAT MOMENT HE UNDERSTOOD, AND KNEW THAT HE COULD NEVER TELL

  ANOTHER LIVING SOUL WHAT HE HAD SEEN.

  “What is it?” asked Angelo. “Why are you staring at the fish?”

  “He took the book,” Zac said to himself. “He took the book with him and he hid it.” He glanced through into the kitchen where his grandfather sat. “Just like I’d have done.”

  “What? What are you on about?” asked Angelo.

  Zac shook his head. “Oh, nothing,” he said, and he turned towards the stairs once more. The thing that looked like a fish continued its endless, eternal swim.

  ZAC CORGAN WALKED UP THE STAIRS, FOLLOWED BY THE HALF-BLOOD, ANGELO.

  ZAC CORGAN SMILED, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ZAC CORGAN’S LIFE,

  HE CONSIDERED THE POSSIBILITY OF BUNK BEDS.

  “ BRING NEWS, sir.”

  “Good show, Gabriel. News of the book?”

  “The... uh... the book, sir?”

  “Yes. You know. The... the book. What’s it called?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.”

  “What? Of course you do, man. The missing, uh, the missing... thing. What’s it called?”

  “Missing thing, sir?”

  “Yes, you know. With the... and the... and whatnot.”
/>
  “If you’ve misplaced something, sir, I can have some of the angels look into it.”

  “Misplaced something? Who’s misplaced something?”

  “I thought you had, sir.”

  “Me? No. How could I misplace anything? I’m a disembodied voice, for Heaven’s sake.”

  “Quite, sir. Forgive me for asking, sir, but why was it you wanted to see me?”

  “I didn’t. I thought you wanted to see me.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You had news, you said. About... About something or other.”

  “I don’t seem to recall having any news, sir.”

  “I’m almost certain that you did.”

  “Then it must’ve slipped my mind, sir.”

  “What did?”

  “Uh... I don’t know, sir.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, sir?”

  “Why are you here, Gabriel?”

  “My apologies, sir, I think I may have hit my head on the way in. I am having difficulty recalling my reason for coming.”

  “For coming where?”

  “To see you, sir.”

  “Did you? When?”

  “Now, sir.”

  “Ah, right. Yes.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, I have some duties to which I must attend. Michael has requested that we try to source him some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “Yes, sir. He has rather inexplicably taken a shine to the flavour mint choc chip. We don’t know where he got the taste from.”

  “Well, whatever keeps him happy, I suppose. You may go. Good day, Gabriel.”

  “Good day, sir. And should I remember what I came in for, rest assured you shall be the very first to know.”

  “To know what, Gabriel?”

  “...”

  “Gabriel?”

  “Nothing, sir. But I think perhaps I’d better have something of a lie-down.”

  Other AFTERWORLDS books by Barry Hutchison:

  The 13th Horseman

  The INVISIBLE FIENDS series by Barry Hutchison:

  Mr Mumbles

  Raggy Maggie

  The Crowmaster

  Doc Mortis

  The Beast

  The Darkest Corners

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2011