Changeling Dark Moon

by Steve Feasey

  ‘What did you say?’ Brian’s voice was a mixture of amusement, concern and anger. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Philippa?’

  ‘I …’

  This time she tried to stop the unbidden words from coming, restricting her throat and grimacing, her lips pulled back over her teeth in some grotesque mask. A small mascara-tainted tear slid down her cheek.

  ‘I don’t want to see you any more, Liam. It’s over. Please don’t call me. I shan’t be coming to the party. Goodbye.’

  She pressed the red button on the handset, disconnecting the call. She stared in disbelief at the telephone in her hand, letting it slip from her trembling fingers and fall to the floor, where it stared back at her mockingly. She shook her head again and slowly stood up from the bed, walking back over to the mirror to study her reflection once more. She wiped the smudges of make-up from beneath her eyes and took a short, sharp breath in through her nose.

  Leaving the bedroom, she made her way down to the kitchen. She filled the kettle to make a cup of tea, leaned against the sink and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  By the time the little ping sounded from the kettle to signal that the water had boiled, she had forgotten that she had ever even made the phone call.

  Trey rocked back on his right foot, throwing his weight quickly backwards into his shoulders and narrowly avoiding the curved claws of the Shadow Demon. He roared, a huge sound that filled the room, echoing off the plastered ceiling and reverberating around and around.

  He hooked his own fingers into a fearsome-looking grapnel and raked the air in front of him, where the creature had stood moments before. He sensed it was now behind him and he spun about just in time to avoid the kick aimed at the small of his back. Instead the blow caught him in the hip, pitching him forward slightly and causing a balloon of pain to burst in that area. He regained his balance immediately and veered back around to see that the creature had leaped from its feet and was hurtling towards him, its mouth stretched wide to reveal two jagged fringes of needle-sharp teeth.

  Trey dropped his shoulder and, throwing all his considerable weight down towards the floor, he forward-rolled gracefully beneath the flight of the demon, regaining his footing and turning to see the demon land, turn and ready itself for the next attack all in one movement. The creature was incredibly quick.

  The Shadow Demon grinned at him, its red clustered eyes all blinking in unison as it gestured with its hand for him to come at it. Trey pounced, watching to see which way the demon would move to start its next wave of attacks. He saw the tell-tale flicker as the demon seemed to disappear, moving so fast that his eyes lost it for an instant. But he thought that he had seen enough of its intentions in that fraction of a second. He twisted his body and lashed out with his hind leg to catch the creature full in the face with his foot. The crunch of cartilage suggested that what had passed for the creature’s nose was now in a much altered state, and Trey watched as the demon landed on its back on the canvas. He was on it immediately, pouncing through the air to land with all his weight on the demon’s chest and stopping his teeth millimetres from its throat.

  ‘Lucky,’ the creature said, glaring balefully back at him, before its features cracked into a broad smile. It turned its head to one side and spat a globule of gluey black blood on to the floor.

  Trey stood up and morphed back into his human self, smiling back down at the figure of the man in front of him. There was no blood to see with his human eyes now and, despite the fact that the man he was now looking at showed none of the injuries and marks that the demon was still covered in beneath its mantle, he frowned and shook his head in apology.

  ‘Sorry about your nose, Flaug,’ Trey said.

  ‘Ah, it’s nothing,’ the demon said, tentatively reaching up and feeling at the nose on his face that from Trey’s perspective looked absolutely fine. ‘You got lucky at the end there though … again.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s funny that, isn’t it? The last three times we’ve sparred, I’ve got lucky on each occasion. I must be the luckiest bloke to have ever come up against a Shadow Demon.’ He grinned again and offered his hand, helping the demon up off the canvas.

  Flaug had been selected by Tom to act as the latest sparring partner for Trey. He had purposely selected a Shadow Demon because of their phenomenal speed, saying it was the closest thing to experiencing the ‘misting’ that a vampire could perform – the act where they were able to disappear in one spot and reappear in another instantaneously. Tom had suggested that Trey and Flaug just shadow-box with each other so that Trey could hone his skills and build up his own speed. But the two of them had quickly formed a close friendship and agreed that they could trust each other to try to make the fighting seem a little more real.

  Today had got out of hand on a couple of occasions, both of them going at each other with a ferocity that they had hitherto avoided. Trey had enjoyed it at the time – the power and speed that he experienced as a werewolf filled him with something close to elation at times. But now it was over he felt a twinge of remorse and fear at how the fight had gone, and was worried that he had hurt Flaug more than he had intended to.

  As if reading his thoughts, his friend came over to him and slapped him on the back. ‘Don’t worry, Trey. You’re a werewolf, for goodness sake. Your natural tendencies are towards destruction and chaos. You should just count yourself lucky that you’re able to control those predilections, thanks to the amulet you wear. If not, I’d now be trying to scoop the contents of my throat back together instead ofjust having a sore nose.’ Flaug grabbed a towel from a rail on the wall, threw it to Trey and frowned as he turned to look at his friend again. He walked over to Trey and reached out his hands, placing them on Trey’s shoulders and turning the boy slightly to one side.

  ‘Ouch. You might need a stitch or two in that.’ He nodded towards an area on Trey’s back, and as Trey groped behind him he could feel the sticky warmth of blood on his fingers.

  Flaug was about to take him off to have his wound attended to when he suddenly looked up towards the closed door on the other side of the gym. ‘Someone’s coming,’ the demon said.

  ‘It’s OK, the door’s locked and—’

  The handle turned and the door opened.

  Trey morphed back into a werewolf and moved towards the door. He was naked – any clothes that he wore when he morphed were instantly destroyed, and the prospect of Alexa walking in on him in the altogether was something that he would rather avoid happening again.

  Charles stepped into the room. He nodded in Flaug’s direction and then looked up into the orange-yellow eyes of the seven-foot werewolf that was looming over him. ‘Whoa, now I know how Little Red Riding Hood must have felt,’ he said in a small voice.

  Trey strode over to where his towel had dropped to the floor and, holding it in front of him, morphed back while wrapping it about his waist.

  ‘What do you want, Charles?’ he asked. ‘And how did you get in here?’

  ‘The door was unlocked, so I—’

  ‘That door was locked. I did it myself.’

  ‘Maybe you were mistaken. As you just saw, it opened as soon as I tried it.’

  Trey looked at him through narrowed eyes. He suspected him of using some kind of magic on the door mechanism to allow him entry, but could not be bothered to argue the toss right now.

  ‘Well, now you’re here perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what you want?’ Trey said, turning to retrieve his clothes.

  ‘You need that looking at,’ Charles said, indicating the deep puncture wound in Trey’s back. ‘Hold still for a moment and let me see.’

  Trey paused, looking over at Charles for a moment before shrugging and turning his back to allow his wound to be inspected. Charles gently dabbed at the bloody wound with a handkerchief that he had removed from his jacket. He clicked his tongue in a manner that reminded Trey of his grandmother.

  ‘Hold still,’ Charles said. He pulled a wallet out of his inside pocket. He ope
ned it and located the item that he had been looking for. Trey looked over to see that he was holding a black needle. There was no thread hanging from it. Charles approached Trey, the needle delicately poised between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Charles, what on earth do you—’

  ‘Stay still,’ Charles warned him again and dug the point of the needle deep into Trey’s flesh.

  ‘Ouch! Get off me. There isn’t even any thread in that thing!’

  ‘It’s a sutura needle, Trey. My father was a sorcerer too and it belonged to him. It uses an invisible thread that will stay in place for about four days before it disappears. Now keep still.’ He pushed the tip of the needle through the other side of the wound, peering intently at the torn flesh as he worked.

  Trey tried to look back over his shoulder to see what he was doing, but the wound was too far round and all he managed to do was get a rather painful crick in his neck.

  ‘What is it used for?’ he asked Charles, to try to take his mind off of the pain.

  ‘This mostly. They were first used in the Demon Wars for the very purpose that we are employing it for now. This one is practically an antique. I’ve had it since I was a little kid – great for practical jokes. As a young boy I would use it to sew simple purses together for my mother and fall about in hysterics when all her change dropped out on to the floor at the checkout. All very silly, but enormous fun.’ He paused for a second, inspecting his work. ‘There,’ he said, standing back. ‘As good as I can do; it’ll hold together until you heal up.’

  ‘Thanks … I owe you one.’ Trey nodded his appreciation. ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.’

  ‘I’ve come because Alexa has asked me to apologize for what happened yesterday and to try to make peace between us. I wondered if we could go upstairs, have a cup of coffee to clear the air. We’re going away tomorrow and I want us to be fine with each other before we set off.’

  Trey studied Charles’s face for any sign of subterfuge but only received an open and honest stare back. Eventually he nodded his head. ‘OK, let me grab a shower and get changed, and I’ll see you upstairs in the apartment.’

  Charles nodded and turned towards the door. He went to twist the handle, only to find that it would not budge. ‘Well, what do you know? It was locked after all. There must be a fault with it. I’ll have someone come and have a look at it.’ He turned the small mechanism in the centre of the handle, opened the door and left.

  Trey watched him leave. He still couldn’t make the guy out – one minute he seemed like the world’s biggest arsehole; the next, he seemed almost bearable. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and wait to hear what he had to say upstairs. He went to grab his clothes and leave when a small cough behind him made him turn round.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were going away,’ Flaug said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah,’ Trey sighed. ‘Lads’ weekend away.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Funny, I wouldn’t have had you and Charley-Charles down as the best of buddies.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Trey said, and left the room with a wave of his hand in the demon’s direction.

  The car carrying Martin Tipsbury pulled up outside his house. He looked out of the passenger’s side window, a puzzled look on his face as he noticed that none of the lights were on. He sincerely hoped that his daughter had not gone out to visit one of her friends again. He insisted that she stay at home and do her homework until he arrived back from work in the evenings – not that she seemed to listen to a word he said these days. She had turned into an extremely difficult teenager in the last year or so, and their relationship had suffered to the point where they hardly spoke at all now. His wife didn’t help matters, phoning up from Jersey where she lived with her new man and poisoning her daughter against him, telling her how useless he was and how she loved her and missed her. If she loved her that much, why had she run away to Jersey with some fancy man and abandoned her? He’d tried to talk to Philippa about the divorce, but she didn’t seem to want to listen to him. Only last week he’d suggested that she attend counselling to address her anger issues, but she had laughed in his face and told him how pathetic he was. Before she had gone up to her room she had hissed that she wished he was dead so that she could get on with her life. Things were at an all-time low in the Tipsbury household.

  He opened the car door and climbed out, looking behind him as the man that had simply been introduced to him as Mr Ellington got out of the driver’s side and locked the doors. Mr Ellington was a huge bull of a man with a head that seemed to grow straight out of his shoulders. He moved very slowly and deliberately, and if it was not for the bulging muscles obvious beneath his well-cut suit, Martin would have thought him incapable of any swift or dramatic movement, let alone of being some kind of bodyguard – which is what he secretly guessed he was.

  ‘Is it really necessary for you to come in with me, Mr Ellington?’ Martin asked.

  The man slowly turned his head and looked down at him. He wore dark glasses that he hadn’t taken off from the moment they had met, despite the fact that it was now quite dark. Martin found this disconcerting, and even now he couldn’t be certain if the man was actually looking at him or not.

  ‘Mr O’Callahan said that I was to stay with you at all times.’ Even the man’s voice sounded like two colossal tectonic plates grinding over each other.

  ‘Yes, but I need to speak to my daughter, explain to her what this is all about. I see no reason why you can’t simply wait out here for us.’

  ‘Mr O’Callahan said that I—’

  ‘Yes! I know,’ Martin said in exasperation. ‘I know what Mr O’Callahan said, thank you. I just thought that you might be able to see that this is a difficult situation and …’ He broke off, looking at the blank and impassive face that stared back at him. He sighed. ‘Fine. Come on then, Mr Ellington. Let’s get this over and done with.’

  The Necrotroph watched them approach up the path and hissed in anger when it saw the Maug demon that accompanied the human. It quickly realized that it would be impossible to even attempt to possess the man with such a powerful demon protecting him, and it pulled away from the window and began to pace the room, quickly assessing its options. It resolved to wait, bide its time until it saw an opportunity to strike. It moved to the door as soon as it heard the key enter the lock, turning on the hall light as it went.

  ‘What were you doing in the dark?’ Martin asked as he stepped into the house.

  ‘I’ve not long got in myself,’ his daughter replied, and leaned forward to plant a small kiss on his cheek. ‘And no, before you ask, I wasn’t round Gemma’s. I went to the library to do some swotting.’

  Martin frowned and regarded his daughter. She never welcomed him home. Never even came out of her room to say hello. And certainly never kissed him.

  ‘Who’s your friend, Dad?’ she asked as she moved off towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘You didn’t tell me that you were bringing anyone home with you.’

  Martin walked down the short hallway, followed closely by the behemoth at his back. ‘This is Mr Ellington,’ he said in a small voice. ‘He works with me at the firm.’

  ‘That’s nice. Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Ellington?’

  Martin nearly passed out with shock. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on. Philippa never made tea. It was as much as he could do to get her to make her bed each day. She was behaving extremely oddly. He wondered if she had done something very wrong and was trying to cover it up. If that was the case, she was making a terrible job of it.

  ‘Are you all right, Philippa?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine. Never better, thank you. Why?’

  ‘No reason.’ Perhaps this was not going to be as bad as he had thought. He had been dreading telling her that they would have to leave immediately for the airport – as he had been instructed to do by Mr O’Callahan – and he had not been able to think of a single way that it could be done without
her resorting to one of her screaming fits, where she told him how utterly crap her life was and how he had ruined everything. Whenever they had one of these arguments she would threaten to kill herself, telling him that they would both be happier if she did. Martin was always left exhausted after these rows and never knew what to say, because whatever he did say always made things a hell of a lot worse.

  He picked up the mug of tea that she had placed in front of him and ignored the pain on his lips and tongue as he took a huge gulp. He looked at her and screwed up his courage.

  ‘We have to leave for the airport. I’ve been sent on extremely urgent business to the Seychelles and the firm want you to accompany me. The whole trip will be paid for by Mr Charron, and we have been given an extremely generous expenses budget to spend as we see fit once we get there. We have to leave right away. Now. This evening.’ The words came out in a long, tumbling stream, and he hunched over the steam coming up off the hot tea, waiting for the inevitable eruption.

  The demon inhabiting the body of Philippa Tipsbury was treading a very fine line. It was unable to take complete control of the host in case the Maug sensed something was amiss – the demon bodyguard was watching the whole scene very carefully, and the Necrotroph could not afford to make it suspicious. It had to work subtly now, suppressing the areas of the host’s mind that wanted to react violently to this news, while hiding from the Maug’s attentions. Its only hope was that the father would react favourably to this new side to his daughter and not become overtly apprehensive in front of the accompanying demon.

  ‘The Seychelles? Just like that? But what about school, Dad? You’re always telling me that I need to knuckle down this year and that I can’t afford to miss any time from my studies.’

  ‘That will all be taken care of by Mr O’Callahan and Mr Ellington here. They assure me that my company has strong connections with the headmaster of your school and that they will be able to smooth the whole thing over. They are even going to arrange a tutor to cover anything that you might miss.’