The Infernal Aether Box Set: All Four Books In The Series

by Peter Oxley

  The sickening realisation hit me. “He cannot continue the way he is—neither man nor demon. The only way he will survive is if... he gets the strength of the demon. Goes back to being...”

  Kate looked at me. “Not a very appealing thought, is it?”

  “He would never allow it—he would die before he did such a thing.”

  The face shifted once more, a demonic leer looking at and through me, almost as though it had heard me and wished to make a mockery of my words. I suddenly felt very small and alone. Surely he would not wish to go back to that thing? Surely?

  “We could never allow it either,” I whispered. “That creature cannot return.” Then, louder: “How much longer before he is beyond help?”

  Kate shrugged. “Not a doctor, am I? Anyway, we’ve seen all we need to here. Let’s go.”

  “But we can’t leave him like this!”

  “Why not?” she said. “Think about it. You’re not really here, are you? What are you going to do? Wring your hands at him?” Without waiting for a reply she grabbed my hand and I was whisked away into a blinding tunnel of lights.

  ***

  I came to my senses in another darkened room, one which was much less squalid but much more cluttered. I recognised in the semi-ordered chaos all the hallmarks of my brother and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see him sitting in the midst of a jumble of papers, tubes, piping and other miscellany. He was sat in his wheelchair, his useless legs dangling below while he fiddled with a bowl-like contraption on his lap. His face was twisted with the effort of trying to unscrew something from the centre of the device, his neck muscles standing out in contrast to his pallid skin as he grunted.

  He cursed as the device fell out of his hands and skidded across the floor. Breathing deeply to control his frustration, he pulled himself over to where the object had come to rest and then leaned forwards to try and grab it. He overbalanced and fell to the floor, bringing with him other papers and objects in his efforts to arrest his fall.

  He gasped and strained to pull himself back up to his wheelchair, but only succeeded in yanking it over and knocking yet more of his experiments onto the floor. “Kate!” he shouted through gritted teeth and then groaned.

  “He’s just remembered I’m not there,” she said. “Want to know where I am?”

  “Here with me?” I asked.

  “Don’t be stupid. No, I’m out on the streets, looking for you, his idiot brother, after we heard about you being snatched.”

  I watched Maxwell’s face as he gave up on his struggle to get himself upright, lying back with gritted teeth.

  “Want to go into his mind too?” asked Kate.

  I shook my head. “I don’t need to,” I said quietly. “He’s my brother; I know him almost as well as I know myself.”

  I squatted down next to him, hoping that he would somehow sense my presence and that this would give him some measure of comfort. It pained me to see him so helpless. He had always depended on me for so many aspects of his life, as I had on him, but never before had he been so dependent on the total charity of others.

  Silent tears ran down his cheeks, tears of frustration and loss. Of all of us, I knew that the actions of the demon Andras had affected him the most, knowing that he had been the creature’s unwitting pawn, the instrument of all that had come to pass. The price which he had paid had been so great—not just his legs but also our parents, and knowing that that loss had been the source of his inspiration, knowledge and achievements. He had always been a frustrating yet lovable introvert, a strange individual which understood equations better than people, but at the heart of this had been a vitality and enthusiasm for life and the various challenges he set himself.

  The creature in front of me looked so small and helpless, no more than a baby in an uncaring world. I looked in his eyes and could see the frustration and hatred. Above all, there was hatred now: I knew this from the bitter exchanges I had had with him recently. Our battles had taught him above all that the demons were something to be eliminated at all costs, and that had become his all-encompassing passion.

  For the moment, though, he was alone and I had chosen to spend my time away from fighting in a tavern, rather than by his side—even if to do so would have been to act as the recipient for his bitterness. I choked back a tear as I offered him a silent promise.

  I felt Kate’s hand on my shoulder. “Time to go,” she said gently. “Time’s running out, and you’ve still got the last ghost to see.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve seen enough. I don’t need any more visions; I understand what I need to do.”

  “Not your choice, mate,” said Kate as the world dissolved into noisome darkness.

  ***

  I lay on my back on a cold, slimy floor and stared up into the darkness, hearing distant voices swim around me. Physical sensations were slowly returning, a sign that the laudanum’s influence was finally waning. “It’s my vision,” I muttered feverishly. “I decide what does and doesn’t happen.”

  A feeling of dread descended on me as the world turned a fearful shade of red. I looked around for the lamp or flame which was casting this glow but could see none, realising as I did so that my cell had dissolved into a shapeless void. I stood and looked around. “So, I’ve had the ghost of past and the ghost of present,” I muttered. “That just leaves the ghost of future.” I turned to see a figure approaching, a speck in the distance but growing closer with an inexorable inevitability.

  Dickens’ words from A Christmas Carol came unbidden to my mind: “The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.”

  I shuddered and then let out a cry as I noted the size and shape of the form approaching, for it was a low and hunched figure confined to a wheelchair made from bones.

  The apparition stopped several yards away and somehow remained shrouded in shadow so that I could not make out any features as such, although the strong impression it gave me was one of decay and despair.

  “Max?” I asked, my mouth dry. “Is that you?”

  The apparition did not speak, but just raised a hand to point behind me. I turned slowly, forcing myself to take in what was there in the hope that this would hurry along the end of this nightmare.

  A darkened street swam into view, snow-lined streets stained red with blood. A woman hurried past, sobbing, her clothing torn and bloodied. I recognised her instantly: “Kate!” I cried but to no avail as, without waiting for any prompts from me, the scene shifted to the inside of a building, a charnel-house. A line of soldiers stood against one wall, rifles raised and aimed at the far side of the room. An officer stood to the front of them, a shaking pistol in his hand.

  “There must be something we can do,” the officer said. “He’s done so much for us.”

  “No,” said a weak, bitter voice from behind the line of soldiers. “There’s nothing left there but demon. Not anymore.” I looked to see an aged and pale Maxwell clutching the arms of his wheelchair with clawlike hands. “And you know what we do with them.”

  “Sir, I...”

  “Do you dare to disobey me, Captain?” asked Maxwell, his voice dripping with menace.

  The officer’s back straightened and he swallowed hard. “No sir—of course not.” He took a shaking breath. “Take aim!” he shouted at his men.

  A snarling red creature leapt from the shadows at the far side of the room, a hideous demonic vision wearing the frame of a man. Deep black eyes glared pure hatred at the humans at it slobbered in anticipation of the slaughter to come.

  “Oh, N’yotsu,” I muttered, and then the breath caught in my throat as I noticed the sword clutched in the creature’s hand. My sword.

  I looked closer at the demon, forcing myself to peer past the simmering heat of its venom. What looked like red scales on its skin were in fact runic symbols etched in painful relief and covering every inch of
its body. It looked up and in the light I could make out features which were sickeningly familiar, no matter how distorted and bastardised they were.

  I ran back toward the apparition which had brought me to this place, straining fruitlessly to discern some form of emotion or features in that shadowed form. “Is this what is to become of me if I continue to use the sword? A mindless demon? I had always feared as much but I truly thought I had the changes under control. But without it I cannot fight—I am of no use to our cause. In any case you—Maxwell, I mean—is working on an antidote; surely he will find a way to save me?”

  In answer, the apparition pointed once more at the scene as a volley of gunfire rang out. I turned to see the officer and Maxwell approaching the bloody, demonic mess.

  “I am sorry, sir,” said the Captain.

  “Why?”

  “Well, wasn’t he... it...?”

  “I have no brother, if that is what you mean,” said Maxwell. “I am pure bred and so is all my kin. And that is the last you will say of that.”

  The words had a sickening finality to them which forced me to my knees, a terrible cry escaping from my throat.

  ***

  A stabbing pain in my ribs, the taste of blood in my mouth and an unidentifiable slime on my face heralded my return to the land of the living. I started to groan and then froze as I realised that I was not alone in the room. I squinted in the half-light and made out a silhouette before me, a rather petite silhouette.

  I sat upright. “Kate,” I coughed. “Are you still an hallucination?”

  “A what?” she asked, stepping closer to me so that I could make out her features, staring at me with undisguised concern.

  “Hallucination. A...” I struggled with the definition. “A dream image.”

  She grinned. “Why, Mr. Potts, you naughty boy. You often dream of me?” She reached out and prodded me in the shoulder. “Don’t know about you, but I’m definitely real.”

  I coughed again. “I am glad. Although...what are you doing here? Am I being rescued?”

  She grimaced. “Not really. I came looking for you, but I clearly asked the wrong people. Before I knew it, here I was.”

  “And Max? N’yotsu?”

  “Max is at home, working on some thing or other which will locate you. Me, I thought I’d do it the old fashioned way. Not managed to find N’yotsu yet.”

  I shuddered as I remembered the visions of N’yotsu and Maxwell in their private little hells, Kate’s words making it more likely that they had been true.

  “You should be careful,” I said. “These are dangerous people; there is no telling what they would do to you.”

  She grinned and leaned forward to show me a swollen eye and cut lip to match the old scar down her left cheek. “They already tried.” She waved away my concerned look. “You should see the other fella—he won’t make that mistake again.”

  “So what now?” I asked. “Do you have a grand plan?”

  “I was kind of hoping you’d have one,” she said. “But I didn’t reckon on you being ten sheets to the wind. How much did you drink last night?”

  “Too much,” I groaned. “But I think it’s wearing off now. Or at least the bulk of it, at any rate. Nothing like a good beating to sober a man up.”

  She glanced at the door. “Then I reckon you’ll soon be the soberest man in town unless we think of something. I saw your sword outside—if we can get that then we might stand a chance.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the thought, my body’s primal urge to be reunited with that wonderful weapon clashing headlong with the memory of the last vision, that creature driven to inhumanity through its use.

  “Ah,” I said. “I don’t think I want to use...”

  “No time for any squeamishness,” she said. “We’re in a bad scrape and we need the best weapons we can get if we’re going to come out of this one alive. That means your sword and my gun.”

  I could not fault her logic. “Did you see how many there are out there?”

  “Two thugs at least,” she said. “I remember them as Jason’s old mates—before N’yotsu made them shop him to the Bill, that is. Not them that worry me, though: I counted at least a couple of demons. And that’s not the best bit.”

  I groaned. “Pray tell.”

  “Right now, we’re in the middle of St. Giles.”

  I looked to the heavens in despair. Since the demonic invasion brought about by Andras’ portal, not to mention the evacuation of London which had followed, certain parts of the country had been overrun by demons and as a result were unsafe for the majority of humanity—save, of course, for those who were in league with the demons. At first, the whole of London had been overrun but the army had gradually taken control, working their way through the key strategic sites which, coincidentally, were also the areas most commonly frequented by the upper and middle classes. As a result, the demons had been forced back into the rookeries and slums, with that of St. Giles being one of the more prominent. With that news, our chances of escaping with our lives had reduced considerably.

  “So this is where we die,” I said. “Kate, there’s something I need to say to you. While I was unconscious there was something I saw, something which—”

  “Shut up!” she snapped. “I’ll come over there and slap you if I need to. We are not giving up; you know that—that’s not what we do! Now save your confessions for after we’ve got safe away, ideally having beaten a few demons and their mates to a pulp.” She stood and paced the room, peering into corners and kicking at the walls.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Seeing what we can use,” she said. “I’m good at working stuff out, remember?”

  I allowed myself a wry grin as I recalled the time when she had singlehandedly saved us all—maybe even the whole world—from the terrors of the Aether armed with little more than a broom.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “You going to sit there moping, or you going to get off your arse and do something useful, for a change?”

  ***

  The door clanged open, bathing us in sudden harsh light and I looked away, allowing my eyes to adapt slowly without blinding me. When I looked back the twin forms of Spencer and Bart loomed over us, casting their shadows, one tall and one squat, upon the room. I noted with satisfaction that Spencer’s right ear was covered in a makeshift bandage, traces of blood showing through the material. “Very nice,” I said to Kate.

  “Shut up,” said Bart, booting me in the stomach. I moaned and doubled up, rolling on the floor helplessly.

  “You just lie there,” said Spencer. “We’re going to have a bit of fun with your lady friend ’ere. Then we’ll do for you.”

  “You’re brave,” said Kate. “Fancy a second round, eh?” She lunged at him and grinned as he backed away. Bart stepped between them and held her back, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled and snarled at them, but to no avail.

  Taking advantage of their momentary distraction, I took a deep breath and then launched myself straight at Bart, swinging the stocking which we had packed tightly with rubble gathered from the floor and walls. The makeshift weapon connected with the squat man’s head with a rather pleasing ‘thunk’ and he pitched forward, made insensible by the impact. I followed up with a series of kicks to his stomach and head, until I was satisfied that he was safely unconscious.

  Kate launched herself at Spencer and threw him hard against the wall before he had a chance to retreat or raise the alarm. He flattened himself into a corner and stared at us. “But you can’t... I thought you were...”

  “Helpless and immobilised?” I asked. “Word to the not-so-wise: it takes more than a couple of kicks to lay out a Potts.”

  “You know you won’t get out of ’ere alive,” he spat. “Them out there will cut you to pieces as soon as look at you. They’re waitin’ you know.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but if they do then you’ll suffer too; see,
we’re taking you with us.” I pulled him to his feet and twisted him round, smashing his face against the wall for good measure before using the other stocking as a garrotte. I pushed him forwards as Kate brandished a club and a knife, both of which she had taken from our would-be attackers. “Now lead on, MacDuff.”

  Spencer fought against me. “Who? Ow!”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I could have sworn there was a door there.”

  We stepped into a small anteroom which was just as grimy as the one we had left, at the far end of which was a flight of crumbling stairs. “Where are our weapons?” I asked him.

  “Upstairs,” he gloated. “With the demons. Good luck.”

  I took a deep breath. “Make one sound and I kill you. Now, move.” I pushed him up the stairs.

  The door at the top was closed. Kate opened it a crack and peered through. “There they are,” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  “On a table, about three or four feet away, that way.” She pointed slightly to the right. “There’s three demons in there that I can see, standing behind the table. Reckon if we’re quick we stand a bit of a chance of getting to our stuff before they do.”

  I nodded and gestured for her to stand aside. She flattened herself against the wall, her hand on the door ready to push it open. “On three,” I whispered. “One, two...” I closed my eyes for a split second and allowed myself to relax, bouncing on the balls of my feet and picturing the sword just beyond the doorway. I exhaled. “Three.”

  As Kate kicked the door open, I pushed Spencer into the room, propelling him forward with all the strength I could muster. He flew into the demons, having the desired effect of surprising and distracting them, but also knocking over the table and sending our weapons flying further from our reach.