Mammon

by J. B. Thomas

  ‘Joseph!’ Dad roared, waving his arm. ‘Get over here, now!’ Cursing, he headed towards the kerb, shooting tense looks around the neighbourhood.

  Joe squinted at his father. ‘What?’ His voice barely carried in the intensifying downpour. A fresh boom of thunder sounded. Something moved in the corner of his eyes; glancing sideways, he saw the truck bearing down on him. His feet felt glued to the ground.

  ‘Joe!’ Grace’s heartbeat tore through her chest as she watched the truck rush towards him. She broke into a run – but tripped as her foot slid into a deep, uneven dip in the grass. She shrieked as pain exploded in her ankle.

  Through droopy eyelids the truck driver peered at the boy on the road. Recognition came too late. ‘Oh, no!’

  Clouds of grey smoke plumed as brakes locked, the trailer swinging sideways. All Joe could see was a black sheet of metal coming at him, the jackknifing trailer spanning the entire width of road. Even if he moved now . . .

  Mammon took a step forward and raised his arm.

  Joe watched, stunned as the truck slowed . . . like a giant, shadowy hand had slammed against it; shockwaves rippled through the trailer – folding steel as easily as a paper fan. He ducked but twisted his neck to stare up into the underbelly of the trailer as it spun and soared; a terrified, sweaty face stared down at him from the cabin. Then the whole rig tumbled to the ground, smashing into shards of metal and glass that spilled across the road.

  ‘WELL DONE, MASTER,’ said Andras.

  Sparks of residual energy filled the room as Mammon lowered his arm and watched the boy stumbling around on the road, his face white with shock. He could taste it now – the nearness of the boy, this new Ferryman. ‘You were too slow there, Zagan.’

  The young demon swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry, Master.’

  Joe stood up slowly, the tremble in his fingers too strong to even grasp the handlebars of Serena’s bike. He could only stare at the destroyed truck, watch the neighbours emerge in a flurry of voices. And Serena – where had she gone?

  He turned to see his father’s grim face. Silently, Dad seized Joe’s arm and hurried the staggering boy across the road. He shoved Joe towards the door. ‘Inside! Now!’ He waited until Joe was safely inside and then looked down at his daughter. ‘Get up, Grace.’

  ‘I’ve sprained my ankle.’ She was rocking back and forth, holding her foot.

  Dad reached down and slid his hands under Grace’s armpits, lifting her.

  Blinking back tears, Grace let Dad guide her through the front door, where Mum stood wrapped in a robe, the blood drained from her face. She had Joe in a tight hug. Joe drew away and turned to look at his father.

  Dad reached out and grabbed Joe, pulling him into a swift, crushing embrace and then held him at arm’s length. ‘What did I tell you about going outside, son?’ His eyes were harsh.

  ‘But there was an accident . . .’

  ‘I don’t care! You don’t leave the property!’ Dad shook Joe. ‘Out there – on the road – you weren’t protected. Anyone could’ve got you.’

  Joe gasped, wrenching himself away. ‘But no-one did.’

  Dad shook his head. With a hiss, he jerked forward, pulling Joe to the window. ‘You don’t get it. The EMF only runs so far.’ Deep below, a series of electromagnetic cables formed a protective barrier around the house. ‘I told you this last night.’

  Joe stared out at the yard. ‘I didn’t think, Dad.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  Grace felt herself sway. The shock – the near miss with the truck and the pain in her ankle was overwhelming. ‘Mum,’ she whimpered.

  Her mother glanced down at the injured ankle, then she turned and headed into the kitchen.

  Joe stood at the window, arms folded. ‘I don’t even know if the driver is alive.’ He watched the crowd gather, tried to ignore the creeping chill that was clinging to the back of his neck; the cold sweat lining his back. What just happened? Against all laws of gravity . . . who or what could do that? He tensed his fingers, still trembling.

  Dad picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear. He waited for a bit before throwing it down. ‘For God’s sake, Diana! Where are you?’

  He stalked into the kitchen. His wife, bent over a first-aid box, looked up with frightened eyes. She rose and reached out for him with a trembling whisper. ‘Danny.’

  His eyes clouded over. ‘I don’t want to face it, Suse. I can’t.’

  ‘I’m scared for Joe.’

  ‘So am I.’ He squeezed her shoulders, his breath coming in shudders.

  She began shaking her head. ‘If anything happens to him . . .’ Tears emerged. She blinked them away and glanced in the direction of her children.

  ‘Don’t let them see you upset,’ her husband said. ‘Come on. I’ll pack, you stay here with the kids. I’ll keep trying Diana. The sooner we get her, the sooner we’ll know they’re both safe.’

  * * *

  GRACE WATCHED ANXIOUSLY as Mum swept back in with bandages and an icepack. Dad had walked past and given her a small smile. Mum pulled over a low stool, lifted Grace’s leg and started to wrap the bandage around her daughter’s ankle. Grace gazed at Mum’s face; a safety pin was clenched in between her mother’s teeth. ‘What’s going on?’

  Mum removed the pin from her mouth.‘We’re going to fix your ankle.’ She looked up at Joe. ‘Come away from the window now. It wasn’t your fault, son.’

  Joe grunted. ‘Tell that to the driver’s family.’ He turned around. ‘Come on, Mum. Something’s going on here.’

  Mum continued bandaging the ankle in silence. She peered at the ceiling. Upstairs, her husband was rummaging through wardrobes for suitcases. By this time tomorrow, they’d be in the south.

  ‘We’re going away for a few days, kids,’ Mum said suddenly.

  Grace grimaced as Mum tightened the bandage. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To stay with your aunt. No, keep your ankle elevated. You’ll feel better in a few hours.’

  * * *

  HAURES RACED UP the stairs and into the bedroom. ‘What the hell went wrong? Damn it!’

  She froze. At the window, the boss’s shoulders were tense, his fists clenched. She backed away and sank onto the bed.

  Mammon looked at Andras. ‘We need to act now.’

  ‘Yes, Master. I’ve got men ready to go.’ Andras glanced at the biker. ‘You can leave.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  ‘Don’t you care about your girl here? She busted her leg . . .’ The biker did a double take as Haures stretched out both legs on the bed. He scratched his head, eyes drifting to Andras. ‘Look, uh . . . I don’t know what game you people are playing here, but I want compensation for my bike.’ He pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders.

  Andras shook his head. ‘Get out.’ He flicked through his contacts, searching for a number.

  ‘No dice. I let your bitch crash my Harley. Now pay me.’

  Haures stood up, scowling. ‘Did this maggot just say what I think he did?’ She then threw Andromalius an incredulous grin.

  The biker turned to the quiet man standing near the window. Surely he’d be reasonable? But, to be sure, he walked over to the man and poked him in the chest. ‘I want my bike replaced, and payment . . .’

  Mammon lifted the man into the air; squeezing iron fingers against his throat. A satisfying crack sounded as the spinal cord ruptured.

  With a grunt, Mammon kicked the body into the hallway.

  Haures gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you, Master.’

  Andras pressed the phone to his ear, his eyes pinned on the boss’s stony face. ‘What about the family?’

  Mammon folded his arms and stared at the house. ‘We need to take everything away from the boy. Kill the parents and the sister. And then I will
become Joe’s rock.’

  * * *

  GRACE WATCHED JOE pace back and forth in front of the window. ‘Sit down, Joe!’

  Joe spun around, his face grey. ‘The driver’s dead. I saw the ambulance take him away.’

  Mum swooped in, pulling him into a hug. ‘It’s not your fault. It was an accident.’

  ‘I feel sick.’ Joe stepped away and gazed out of the window.

  Grace craned her neck to look. The scene was eerily calm and clear; all wreckage tidied up. Dusk had long fallen, brown and murky compared to the pinky haze of last night. The sound of the doorbell echoed in her memory; visitors ranging from concerned neighbours to a policeman seeking information – Mum had turned them all away with a firm tone. ‘Joe can provide a statement tomorrow.’

  Of course, by then he’d be safely tucked away in his new home.

  Dad came thudding down the stairs, dragging three suitcases behind him. Propping them against the wall, he nodded at Mum. ‘That’s everything we’ll need for now. Diana will be here in an hour.’

  Mum took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. ‘Thank heavens. Now we just have to wait.’

  Joe looked at her. ‘Can’t we just drive ourselves?’

  ‘No. It’s not safe.’ Dad walked back to the dining room table and opened a small wooden chest. Slowly, he drew out two strange-looking guns. Mum got up and walked over to him, lifted one of the guns and examined it. She and Dad exchanged mutters.

  Grace tried to sit up. ‘What are those for?’

  Joe crossed the room to stand next to his father. ‘It’s a taser,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right, son.’

  Mum turned around, gun in hand. ‘They’re special weapons, Grace. For demons.’

  ‘You think we’ll need them?’ Grace laughed as a stab of hysteria took hold. The absurdity of it all. Plus the fact that she was virtually a cripple. How could she hope to do anything? ‘What can we do to defend ourselves? Just sit here?’

  Mum put down the gun and sat next to Grace. ‘You won’t.’ She reached back and unclasped her necklace. ‘It’s time for you to have this.’ She dropped her pendant into Grace’s hand: a sliver of amber wood lined in gold.

  ‘Grandma gave you this.’

  ‘No, she didn’t.’ Mum drew the pendant and put it around Grace’s neck. ‘All sarsareh wear one of these. It’s very special; so look after it.’

  Grace’s fingers tingled when she touched the pendant. What effect would it have on a demon? Hopefully she wouldn’t have to find out.

  ‘Here, son,’ said Dad. ‘You get one too.’

  Joe reached under his t-shirt and pulled out his Celtic cross. ‘I don’t need another chain, Dad. I’ve got this one.’

  His father nodded before leaning forward to string a pendant around Joe’s neck.

  Grace looked at her father. ‘Will these protect us?’

  ‘No, honey. It’s not like that. The pendants are more symbolic than anything.’

  ‘Oh.’ A new wave of fear hit at his words.

  ‘Don’t worry, Grace. We’re protected here. No demon can get across our EMF line.’ Dad took a deep breath and smiled. ‘All we have to do now is wait for Diana and her team.’ He took Mum’s hand and squeezed it.

  Grace and Joe waited; speechless, nervous. Dad guarded the window; Mum checked her watch every few minutes. ‘Oh, Diana – please hurry,’ she whispered.

  But then, with a soft click, the power went out, and the house fell into silent, vulnerable darkness.

  ‘DANNY!’

  ‘Downstairs! Quick!’

  ‘Move! Now!’ Grace felt herself dragged through swamping darkness, adrenaline numbing away the pain; Joe’s heavy steps behind her. Ahead, a small light led the way. Grace squinted – the silver reflection told her it was a phone. ‘Just keep walking.’

  ‘Suse – your gunlight.’

  A small click, and something brighter lit the way. The shadowy party made their way to the rear of the house.

  ‘Dad . . .?’

  ‘It’s all right, honey. Keep walking.’

  She heard the click of a door handle, and then she was being led again, step by careful step, slowly descending into the sweet, musty air of the cellar. Beneath a small window, which allowed dim light through, she could identify the outlines of Mum’s pickling jars, standing in rows, and a lumpy shape poking its head up: a sewing machine, layered in swirls of fabric.

  So they would hide here. Fine. She reached out, trembling hands searching for the soft comfort of the old armchair. She needed to rest her foot: the stabbing pain had started again.

  A clunky creak filled the air, then a slam. Grace stiffened. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Come on.’ Dad’s fingers pressed into her forearm. He led her a few steps away from the window light. ‘Step down, one leg first.’

  Grace stared down into the unfamiliar void. ‘What is this, Dad?’

  ‘Just climb down.’

  ‘Are you serious? What’s down there? You can’t expect me to –’

  Dad’s voice was hard. ‘You never needed to know about it. Now, move.’

  ‘But my ankle!’

  ‘Do it!’

  Grace winced, lowering her good ankle until she touched wood, then she gently brought her other foot down. ‘Okay . . .’ Looking up, she gazed at Dad’s face, silhouetted by the glow from Mum’s gunlight pointed unnervingly in her direction. Even so, she felt the calm emanating from her father’s eyes.

  ‘Good girl. There are eight rungs. One at a time, honey.’

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Grasping the wooden sides, she stepped down again on her bad foot, wincing. Okay. Six to go. She felt the ladder give, lurching to the right as Joe climbed on.

  ‘Okay, son?’

  ‘All good, Dad. If Grace can just move her arse.’

  She was on the final rung now. Joe’s impatience hit her in waves; he was practically stepping on her. In her haste to get to the bottom, her foot swung past the last rung and hit hard ground.

  She’d misjudged the distance – now her ankle felt as though a giant had stepped on it. Gasping, she hopped on her good foot, holding her sore ankle. A heavy click, and a hum filled the air. Steadying herself against a cold, rough surface, she glanced up at the cold light spreading across a ceiling that seemed to bear down on her.

  ‘Okay.’ Mum swept over, pulling a plastic chair behind her. ‘Sit down, Grace.’

  Dad shoved the ladder against a wall, yanked open the fuse box and snapped a switch. ‘Okay. EMF’s back on.’

  ‘They had plenty of time to get inside, Daniel.’

  ‘I know. They won’t get in here, though.’

  From her seat, Grace watched the intermittent flicker of the fluorescent light, humming and buzzing as though it were zapping flies. A bunker. That’s what this place seemed like.

  ‘Why won’t they get in here, Dad?’ Joe folded his arms tight, leaned against the wall and swallowed hard. He cast a wary look around the room.

  Grimacing, Dad snapped his phone shut. ‘Damn. No signal.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘God. We’ve done everything we were trained not to.’

  From the centre of the room, Mum threw Dad a tense look. ‘Stop it. We did the best we could. We’ll just have to wait, Danny. She told you it would be an hour – and that was how long ago?’

  He sighed. ‘An hour, Suse.’ He began to pace around the cramped room.

  ‘Everything will be fine, Danny.’ Mum looked at her children: pale, terrified, vulnerable – and her fingers tightened around the gun.

  Grace’s eyes searched the room: over the grey walls, along the stubbly cement floor and up to the anaemic light, flickering and buzzing. ‘Why couldn’t we just stay in the cellar, Dad?’

  ‘This room is armoured,
Grace.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Demon-proof. In more ways than one. This room is a cage. Look at the walls.’ He strode over to the fuse box and pulled a switch; the room fell into darkness again.

  ‘See?’

  Grace peered at the walls, where a foreign script was splashed in luminescent blue paint. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘They’re incantations. But that’s not all.’ Another click; the dreary glow crept through the room again as the fluoro lit up. Dad nodded at her, his hand still on the switch. ‘The part you can’t see is the virtual cage that this room is. EMF-protected. Demons can’t get in here.’

  ‘What do we do now, Dad?’

  ‘We sit and wait, son.’

  * * *

  MAMMON RUBBED HIS palms together. ‘Soon. Very soon.’ He gave Halphas a rare grin.

  The old man returned the smile. A cloud was lifting overhead. Soon – very soon, indeed. Master was bound to reward him for this.

  Andras frowned as an unwelcome rumbling hit his pocket. He fished out his phone. ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve gone into the ground,’ the voice responded. ‘Past the cellar. There’s a trapdoor, but it’s deadlocked. We can’t break it.’

  Andras peered sideways; Mammon was staring at the sky, watching the darkness crawl towards the horizon. Andras turned away and hissed into the phone. ‘Listen, you bug! Draw them out. Do what you have to!’

  ‘Okay, sir.’

  ‘Remember – do not let the boy come to harm.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  Halphas’s skin began to tingle. ‘The Line of Protection has been re-activated.’

  ‘I know. But it won’t bother the humans, will it?’

  For the first time, Halphas felt his demonhood a handicap, rather than a gift. He watched as one of the men struck a lighter, which brought a yellow glow to the house. ‘Get it right, damn you,’ he muttered to himself.

  * * *

  ‘HOW LONG NOW, DAD?’

  ‘Half an hour, honey. Won’t be long.’ Dad lowered his watch, giving Grace another reassuring smile. Mum tilted her head towards the ceiling. She gasped. ‘Danny!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Can you smell that?’