by J. B. Thomas
‘Right. Joe, how many rifts have you opened?’
He blinked. ‘You mean the sphere, Mum?’
‘Yes.’
‘Three.’ Joe’s heart pounded.
Dad cut in. ‘When did it first happen?’
‘Yesterday.’ Joe ran his fingers over the sofa. They still tingled from the power.
‘Where were you?’
‘In my room.’
‘The second time?’
Joe coughed. ‘The garden.’
‘Outside?’ Dad frowned. ‘That was very dangerous, Joe.’
‘Why?’
‘You must never do that again.’
‘Why not, Dad?’
Mum turned her sights on Grace. ‘What about you? Have you seen anything strange?’
‘Y-yeah.’
‘Such as?’
‘A . . . boy. But he was weird.’
‘What kind of weird?’
‘Just weird . . . I can’t explain it!’
‘Try!’
‘I don’t know how to, Mum.’
Her mother kneeled, took Grace’s shoulders between firm hands. ‘Tell me everything, honey. Now.’
Grace pressed her fingers against her temples, rubbing away a sudden, darting pain. ‘It – wasn’t there all the time. The shadow, I mean. At first I thought I was seeing things. But it was there, it was real. It was a monster.’
Mum swapped a glance with Dad. ‘When was this, Grace?’
‘Yesterday . . . and the day before.’
‘Did you see him, Joe?’
‘Yeah. At school. Out the back, selling drugs. I heard Grace calling –’
‘Too close for comfort.’ Mum stood and began walking the room.
‘We should call Diana now, Suse.’ Dad glanced at the telephone.
Grace watched her mother pace. ‘Why call Aunt Diana?’
‘No, don’t call her just yet.’ Mum looked at Grace. ‘Is there anything else that’s happened? Anything at all?’
‘Oh, not really.’
‘What?’ Mum pressed. ‘Tell me.’
Grace sighed. ‘Just that – Joe can hear me when I’m calling him.’ She pointed to her forehead. ‘In here.’
Mum gave Dad another tense look. She kept pacing, her hands clenched.
‘Sit down, Suse.’ Dad tapped the sofa next to him; Mum stopped and sat down.
She gave Dad a pleading look. ‘There’s so much they need to know. I thought they were both too old for anything to emerge now, but I was wrong.’
Dad squeezed her hand. ‘But we were right to give them a normal childhood. We talked about this, Suse.’ Dad’s voice was low and gentle as he looked at his son. ‘I mean: a Ferryman. Of all things. Who would have guessed?’
Joe’s eyes narrowed.‘What are you talking about?’
‘In the old days, Joe, your people – or people with your skill – were known as Ferrymen,’ said Dad. ‘You have the power to move between worlds. That sphere, as you call it, is actually a dimensional rift.’
Joe’s eyes went wide. Grace stared. ‘Dimensional?’ Images of strange alien life, born of the stars, came crawling through her mind.
‘This gift has been passed down to your brother from a very old line of highly skilled mercenaries, known as the sarsareh. People who have the Sight, who can see the truth around them when most of the world can’t. Your mum and I worked for an organisation founded on the sarsareh tradition. Your Aunt Diana is still a part of it. But we quit when you were born, Joe, and came out to the suburbs. We knew it was the right thing to do. It would have been no life for children.’
He raised a finger. ‘You’ve both had a good, normal upbringing, and there was no guarantee either of you would be gifted. We didn’t think this would happen. Gifts usually emerge at a younger age.’ Dad started to shake his head. ‘Oh, you are yet to grasp who you are, son. Your kind is so rare. Your gift, so powerful.’
Dad glanced between his children. ‘This will be very hard for you both to accept, but you must try. The reason why that boy looked so strange to you, Grace – and to you too, Joe – was because . . . well, there’s no other way to put it. He’s a demon.’
‘What?’ Grace shot up, sitting upright on the sofa. ‘Whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?’ Joe’s face mirrored what she knew hers must look like: pale skin, open mouth, frightened eyes. Her breath was coming tight and rapid.
‘But th-they look like people,’ Joe said.
‘Yes – but the shadow they give out is pure demon energy. It’s something they generate themselves. They are the demons. They become the demons through their own moral decline. They’re not possessed, they just are.’
Dad squeezed Grace’s hand. ‘Don’t be afraid, honey. I promise we won’t let anything happen to you. It’s been a few years, but we haven’t forgotten our training.’
Grace stared at her father’s eyes. ‘Training?’
‘Special operations. Contract work.’
‘You’re talking about . . . you used to be mercenaries?’ Joe’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s friggin’ awesome!’
‘It’s not all fun and games, Joseph’. Mum gave him a sharp look.
‘Sorry.’
Grace felt numb. This had been going on all this time. Mum and Dad had been hiding things from them. She gave her mother a hard stare. ‘So, can you still see them?’
‘Yes. But I try not to go looking for them.’
‘Well, why did you stop fighting? Don’t you want to?’ Grace’s voice shook with anger. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. There was no way it could be.
Her mother leaned forward, palms open on her knees. ‘Of course I do. But we knew the only way to keep you both safe was to quit our old jobs.’ Her eyes fell on Joe. ‘But your brother changes all that.’
* * *
DESPITE HIS EXCITEMENT, Halphas walked a steady pace along the upper deck, passing through the double doors into the saloon. A smoky ether hung in the air, filling him with a sudden stab of nostalgia: the scent reminded him of the opium dens of old London. Cascades of golden silk draped the walls. Candelabra shone gaslight rays through the mist. The crack of billiard balls, the jostling laughter. Young men lounged on leather sofas, sucked on cigars.
Cream chiffon swayed in the breeze, women were strewn around the room like exotic flowers. They came in many varieties; Master preferred it that way.
Halphas stared, but his eyes did not undress them. Instead, he noted the small signs of nervousness. Twitching fingers. Gleaming sweat on arched eyebrows. Eyes darting around the room. Trembling legs, rustling the satin of a fine dress.
The room pulsed with anticipation. They all felt it, knew it. It was the energy that Master gave out.
Yet Halphas was tired.
Against a large window that spanned the starboard wall, silhouetted against the sunlight, stood Mammon, hands in pockets, staring out across the water.
‘Master,’ Halphas said. ‘I’ve seen a Sign!’
Mammon turned and gave him a sharp stare. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Master! In this very city.’
Halphas fought an urge to shrink: even behind his sunglasses, Master’s eyes were searing. ‘Are you absolutely sure, Halphas?’
‘You have no reason to doubt it, my Lord. I’ve tracked the Sign to the City’s northwest. I have people monitoring the house now.’
Mammon stared at him. ‘The suburbs?’ He curled his lip. ‘How unpleasant. I do hope this isn’t another disappointment.’
Halphas tensed. The billiards game had ended; he felt an insolent gaze burning in his direction. Then, predictably, Andras slithered his way to Master’s side. He folded his arms and regarded Halphas with a cool stare. Halphas ran his own gaze over Andras’s c
lothes – the upstart looked as though he’d just emerged from a menswear catalogue. What a good little clone he was.
Halphas turned his eyes to Mammon. ‘The signal is very strong, Master. Only thirty seconds this morning, and yet – so very powerful. It was easy to tune in and find him. The boy lives with his parents and sister. He’s been outside working on a motorcycle all morning, so my people have been able to watch him for some time. Seems like an ordinary teenage lad.’
Halphas drew a breath and smiled. This was his moment of glory. Using his unearthly intuition, he’d tracked another Ferryman in just days. These apprentices could not offer Master anything close to this.
Mammon slid his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. ‘Well, what do you suggest now, Halphas?’
The old servant scratched his ear. ‘There’s a problem.’ Despite himself, he stared at the floor, Master’s expectant gaze burning into his forehead. ‘The house is protected.’
‘That won’t stop us,’ said Andras.
Halphas threw him a triumphant glance. ‘Our kind can’t cross a Line of Protection.’ He raised his eyebrows as Andras’s smile fell. ‘Or didn’t you know that?’
‘It still won’t stop us,’ Andras said. He turned to Mammon. ‘Master, I can sort this.’
‘Mmm.’ Mammon’s lips twitched. ‘We need to draw the boy out. But carefully.’ He paced for a few moments, then he turned to Halphas with a lifted finger. ‘Dig into the family’s background. It’s not normal for a suburban house to have a Line of Protection.’
Halphas bowed his head. ‘I have already made extensive enquiries, Master. I have been told by a reliable source that the Line was there years before the family moved in. After watching the family, I believe that they are not aware of its presence. A mere coincidence.’
‘Master, let me help,’ Andras said. ‘It will be far more discreet than using any of your military resources.’
Mammon pressed his fingertip to his lips. ‘It has to be done right.’
‘It will be.’
‘Well, fill me in on the plan.’ Mammon placed his hand on Andras’s shoulder and led him on a slow walk towards the deck. He threw a last glance over his shoulder. ‘Turn the boat around, Halphas.’
The old servant gritted his teeth as he made his way from the room. Master blamed him for the last failure. And now Andras was taking control with a thrown-together plan. Why did Master indulge these young ones so recklessly?
* * *
GRACE DROPPED HER book onto her bedside table and sat up, letting her legs swing over the edge of her bed. She stretched. Pale afternoon light streamed in through the gap in her curtains; new rain pattered on her window. Yawning, she slid on her slippers and shuffled towards the window to pick up her watch. Three-thirty.
A rumbling shook the walls. She peered down. There was Joe, leaning over the bike, revving the engine in sustained bursts. Grace glanced at the sky: surely he wasn’t thinking of riding in this? Even as plump raindrops splashed on to his hair, he seemed oblivious, tuned in to the bike’s steady vibrations.
* * *
Across the road, behind the safety of a tinted bedroom window, Halphas shifted in his chair, his fingers clenched. Even at this distance, the Line of Protection around the boy’s home set off a painful stinging in his skin.
Andromalius watched the upper window where a woman had stood, minutes earlier. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the minds inside the house.
Halphas watched the young girl appear in another window. He wondered how her tender skin would react to the attentions of a sharp blade.
Mammon’s gaze never left Joe.
Andromalius opened his eyes. ‘The father’s trying to reach someone on the phone.’ He threw a concerned glance at Mammon. ‘I can’t tell who. Could be trouble. We might get some unwanted company.’ He paused slightly. ‘Shouldn’t we get moving?’ He threw a careless glance towards the homeowner, sprawled in the hallway. ‘This one might wake up and become a nuisance.’
Mammon shook his head. ‘Then we put him to sleep again. And we don’t need to worry about whoever the father is calling.’ He gave Halphas a hard look. ‘Do we?’
The old servant shook his head. ‘No, Master. They’re just an ordinary family.’
Zagan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. ‘Why don’t we just kill the family and force Joe to come with us?’
Mammon gave him a scathing stare. ‘A Ferryman won’t be taken like that, you fool. I didn’t get this far in life by being rash and impulsive. We’re going to lure Joe in, carefully.’ He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Today, we plant a seed of desire in him.’ He nodded with a confident smile. ‘He’ll come to us – sooner, rather than later.’
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. A tall, very thin man with a dark beard entered the room. He wore a red-checkered shirt and black leather jacket, emblazoned with a logo for the Northern Raiders motorcycle club.
Haures screwed up her nose at the man’s tangy scent.
‘You’re late,’ said Andras, without looking at the newcomer.
The biker shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Andras a shrug. ‘I had to head into the City first. Mike needed me to do a job there.’
Slowly, Andras turned and gave the man a dark stare. ‘From now on, you follow our orders first.’
‘Keys, please.’ Haures thrust out her palm.
The biker stared, jaw open. Such hair . . . it floated around her face like waves of fire. And those lips . . . fighting against the temptation to lean over and kiss her, he handed Haures a set of keys. ‘All yours, pretty lady.’
She threw Andromalius a smile before disappearing out the door.
The biker turned back to Andras. ‘Shouldn’t she be wearing leathers?’
The young demon stared out into the street. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
* * *
GRACE SIGHED AND made for her bedroom door. Moving into the hallway, she glimpsed her father sitting on his bed, phone in hand.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, honey.’
‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Taking a shower. She’s made you a cup of tea.’
‘Okay.’ She jumped in fright as a clap of thunder shook the walls. A heavy lashing of sound above told her the rain had begun in earnest. Soon it would flood the back garden and flush pools of fresh water over the pavers.
Usually, she liked the rain.
But today, it meant sitting inside for cups of tea and talking. Making plans, mostly. Before all this weirdness started, she would have looked forward to a Saturday afternoon with Dad and Mum: watching movies, eating fish and chips, snuggling up in a blanket against a sudden cold snap. But today felt laced with a sense of uncertainty, as if tomorrow would bring great change.
What would that change be?
* * *
JOE SQUINTED, LIFTING his hand to shield against the fierce glare from the road. Something had happened. A telltale thud; the sound of an engine idling in mid air. It could only be one thing. He walked towards the glare. A shape came into view: a rider, lying on the tarmac. Joe shook his head. The wet must’ve gotten to this poor bastard. He kneeled over the rider, pulled the viser up. ‘You okay, dude?’
He caught his breath as a pair of deep green eyes gazed up at him. Velvet skin and rich, moist lips. Strands of brilliant red hair poking through the side of her helmet.
‘Whoa.’ Joe gulped. ‘Sorry. I thought you were a guy.’ He glanced back at her right leg, bent at a painful angle. ‘I’m gonna help you to the kerb, okay?’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was a warm, husky whisper. He ached to hear more. ‘What’s your name?’ He slid his hands under the woman’s shoulders and began to drag her to the kerb.
* * *
G
RACE MADE HER way across the living room and pressed herself against the window, wiping away the fog, straining to make out the movement in the distance. At the sound of squealing tyres she’d almost tripped down the last two steps in her rush. Now she saw the source: a rider, lying on the far verge; Joe bent over her. A downed motorbike.
To the right, the hill’s abrupt descent and treacherous curves had caught speeding drivers before. It was easy to see what had happened.
* * *
THE RIDER LOOKED up at Joe with a grateful smile. ‘My name is Serena.’
She was beautiful. Joe smiled. ‘Well, Serena, you’ll need to see a doctor. Your leg . . .’
‘Can you take me?’
‘I can come with you in the ambulance.’ His eyes focused on those delectable lips.
She gasped. ‘No!’
‘What’s wrong?’
She blushed. ‘It sounds silly, but . . .’
‘Tell me,’ Joe whispered, stroking her hand.
‘I don’t like paramedics or ambulances. My sister was killed in a car accident, and –’
Joe squeezed her palm. ‘Okay. Don’t worry. I’ll take you.’ He stood up and turned towards the road to pick up her bike.
In the distance, Mammon stroked his chin. ‘She’s doing very well.’
Andras nodded. ‘She just has to get him away from here, and we’ll be on our way, Master.’
* * *
AT HOME, GRACE watched Joe help the rider to the kerb.
Her father appeared at her shoulder, phone still in hand. He peered out the window. ‘What’s going on?’ His jaw dropped. ‘That’s not Joe out there, is it?’
‘Yeah,’ Grace said.
‘Damn it!’ Dad lunged past and pushed the wire door open. ‘I told him!’
A low, rumbling roar approached, accompanied by twin beams of light. The truck bore heavily down the hill, gathering speed as it descended. The driver, whose head had lolled more than once on this journey, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Not too far now.
Grace pushed through the door and stood next to her father. ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’