by C. J. Archer
So why would she introduce something that could harm them? She'd summoned the demon with both sons in residence at Frakingham. Even if she thought she could control it, she must have known how dangerous such a thing could be.
Sylvia directed us into her private sitting room and deposited her lamp on a table, tucked between two armchairs near the windows. The large arched windows overlooked the lawn, ruins and lake during the daytime. It was a cloudy night, with nothing but inky blackness punctuated by Bollard's swaying lantern, off to our left, near the woods.
"Where are they?" Sylvia muttered as she rifled through a drawer on her dressing table. With a click of her tongue, she slammed it shut and opened another. "Aha!" She pulled out a pair of mother of pearl opera glasses, rimmed with gold. She handed them to Mrs. Gladstone, already seated at the window.
The older lady hesitated, as if she'd not expected the kindness. "Thank you," she whispered and lifted her veil. Her face was mottled, her eyes and nose red. She turned her attention to the window and held the opera glasses in place.
Just at that moment the clouds parted and the full moon bathed the estate in its glow. It was as if Mrs. Gladstone herself had ordered the light.
"What can you see?" Sylvia asked, settling in the other armchair. I came to stand beside her and rested my hip against the window frame near the curtain. Thanks to the moon, I could now see the shapes of the three men and that of the demon, only a few feet away from them.
I swallowed and prayed as hard as I'd ever prayed.
"It's there," Mrs. Gladstone whispered. She leaned closer to the window. "Good god. It's…"
"Hideous," I finished for her.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips, but it didn't stop her little gasp from escaping. Sylvia met my gaze and put out her hand. I held it firmly and tried to lend her what strength I still possessed. But it was hard. So very hard to watch from a safe distance and know that I could do nothing to help. I wasn't accustomed to feeling so useless. Only when I'd been in the master's grasp had I ever felt like that. Not even as a child, under the so-called care of my mother, had I felt so pathetically inadequate.
"Ow." Sylvia tugged at my hand. "Charity, you're hurting me."
I loosened my grip. "Sorry," I muttered, without turning away from the window.
"It's all right. You're worried. We all are."
Mrs. Gladstone lowered the opera glasses to look at me. Her watery eyes unnerved me, but there was no malice in them for once, only extreme distress. She'd aged in the few minutes since the men had left. She was no longer the redoubtable matriarch of a powerful family, but simply a mother worried about her son.
A gunshot pierced the night. We all jumped.
"They're moving!" Sylvia pointed to the lantern now bobbing like a drunken glow worm away from the woods. "The glasses, Mrs. Gladstone!"
Mrs. Gladstone put up the opera glasses and peered through the window again. "Oh God!" She dropped them and leapt up.
I grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away from me, but I held on as Sylvia picked up the opera glasses.
"What is it?" I snapped. "What did you see?"
Mrs. Gladstone turned sightless, frightened eyes on me. "He's dead. My son is dead."
Bile rose to my throat. No. Please, God, no. My stomach rolled. My legs weakened. If I collapsed on the floor would I ever be able to get up again?
"Not dead," Sylvia said, her voice a high squeak. "Just knocked flat to the ground. He's up again and running after the lantern. I'm not sure, but I think the creature is chasing them, not the other way around. Look."
Mrs. Gladstone did not look. She jerked free and ran for the door as fast as her age would allow. I followed her. We were of the same mind—the time for inertia was over. We had to act.
Except we were not of the same mind. While I made for Samuel's room, she continued down the stairs. His door was unlocked, thankfully, and I barged in. It was dark and I stumbled about until I managed to throw open the curtains and let in the moonlight. I found the amulet in a drawer of his desk and rushed to catch up to the others.
Sylvia was at the front door with Mrs. Gladstone. The latter held a pistol. Bollard must have left it nearby. I remembered my derringer and felt for it in my pocket.
"How good is your aim, Mrs. Gladstone?" I asked.
She didn't hear me. She was trying to open the bolt on the door with one hand.
"We know yours is quite accurate," Sylvia said to me. She frowned and pointed at the dangling amulet. "You're bringing that?"
"Of course."
"Do you know an incantation to send it back?"
"No, but Mrs. Gladstone must."
At the mention of her name, Mrs. Gladstone stopped trying to unlock the door and blinked at me. Her eyes still bore the marks of her crying, but she seemed more alert now that she had something to do. "I don't," she said simply, and turned back to the door.
I grabbed her shoulder with the hand that held the amulet and swung her round to face me. I wanted to see her eyes when she answered me. I wanted to know if she lied.
"The time for falsehoods is over," I snapped. "Their lives depend on you now. Samuel's life depends on you. You must send it back."
"Don't you think I know that?" Her voice was not her own, but harsher. "Don't you think I would send it back if I could?"
I shook my head, over and over. "How could you bring that thing here and not know how to control it or return it?"
"I know one," Sylvia said. At my arched brows, she added, "I know an incantation to send back demons. We all memorized one at Christmas, the last time we had a demon here. I haven't forgotten it."
"Bloody hell, Sylvia, why didn't you say so?"
"I just did! And Charity, please mind your language."
I handed her my pistol and strapped the amulet around my neck. I used both hands to slide back the bolt then grabbed my pistol in one hand, and her hand in my other, and together we ran outside. Mrs. Gladstone was directly behind us.
The clouds had once more shut away the moon and its light. The night air felt cool and damp from drizzling rain. The grass squelched under our shoes and our breath ballooned in silvery puffs as it left our mouths. The amulet tapped against my chest, a solid reminder of what needed to be done. It was a comfort; my only one.
We ran toward the lantern in the distance. Mrs. Gladstone fell behind, and Sylvia and I waited for her to catch up. We ought to keep together.
"No," Mrs. Gladstone gasped between heavy breaths. "Go!"
We did. The lantern was down at the ruins and had become still. This worried me more than the sight of it bobbing along at a fast clip.
We slowed down as we drew closer. The broken arches of the ruined abbey erupted from the ground like ice crystals, their pale stones ghostly in the darkness. It was quiet. Too quiet. The lantern sat on top of a low wall. It glowed preternaturally, casting its pathetic light in a small circle. There was nobody about.
Mrs. Gladstone caught up to us and we three approached the ruins carefully together. Every nerve ending was drawn as taut as a bow, every sense tuned in to our surroundings. I would hear the slightest sound, smell even a whiff of foulness. I felt the magic all around.
A cold whispering breeze washed over me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and my warmed cheeks cooled. It was an unnatural cold. Dry, not damp, and penetrating. It wrapped icy tendrils around my bones and did not let go.
Beside me, Sylvia shivered. Mrs. Gladstone drew closer. If I had a spare hand I would have taken hers for comfort. As it was, I could feel her body shaking uncontrollably. She was as terrified as Sylvia and me.
"Where are they?" she whispered.
I shushed her.
Something snorted and snuffled to our right. Sylvia tensed. Her grip became bruising. Mrs. Gladstone sidled closer again, until we were all huddled in trembling silence.
"Get back," someone hissed. It wasn't one of us three. "Get back to the house."
"Tommy," Sylvia whispered. "Tommy, where
are you?"
"Samuel?" Mrs. Gladstone pulled away and headed toward Tommy's voice.
The snorting and snuffling stopped. An unearthly silence fell over the ruins. No owls hooted in the woods, no insects chirruped. Nothing.
Then came labored breathing. And a footfall. Another and another. It was coming our way.
"Here," came Samuel's voice near Tommy's. It sounded thin, however, but gritty as if he were clenching his teeth. "It's too late to leave. Come over here."
My relief at hearing him almost overwhelmed me to the point of not responding. Not so Mrs. Gladstone. She ran toward his voice. It came from behind one of the more intact walls of the ancient abbey. The wall was quite long, and came to about waist height. It was a serviceable hiding spot, but offered little protection once discovered.
Sylvia tugged me and together we raced to the wall. I dropped to my knees beside Bollard. I scanned the faces of each man, but it was impossible to see expressions in the dark. "What's happened?" I asked. "Why is the lantern over there?"
"It attracts the beast," Tommy said. He reached up to take Sylvia's hand as she joined us. She settled on her knees beside him, far too close for a proper lady.
"Isn't that what you want?" I asked. "To attract it and kill it?"
"That was the plan," Samuel said. There was that gritting of his teeth again. And he appeared to be clutching his leg.
"You're hurt," his mother hissed as I noticed it too. She pushed his hair from his face. He jerked away from her touch. "Let me see."
"Not now," he growled.
I gripped the pistol handle harder and managed to remain where I was, despite every piece of me wanting to go to him and do exactly what his mother had just done.
"The plan went awry," Tommy said. "The demon was too quick and dodged the knife. It attacked Samuel and knocked it out of his hand."
"Where is it?" I asked.
"Lying in the grass, somewhere near the woods." Even in the darkness, I could see Tommy's gaze meet mine. "We have to get back over there and search for it."
"No," I said. "We don't."
"The amulet." Samuel grunted in pain. "Clever girl. I know the incantation."
"So do I," Sylvia said.
"And I," Tommy chimed in.
Bollard shifted beside me. His fingers dug into the soft earth. Perhaps he felt inadequate for not being able to speak, poor man.
"Time to call over our friend," Samuel said. "Do not, under any circumstances, shoot."
"Unless it attacks someone," Sylvia cut in.
"We don't want to frighten it off."
"We don't want anyone to die, either."
Samuel hauled himself to his feet. His grunt of pain had me wincing and his mother begging him to sit down again.
"Let the others fight," she pleaded with him.
Samuel had no chance to respond. The demon emerged from the darkness like a ship through fog. It bore down on us, snuffling and snorting like a wild pig.
Sylvia screamed. Tommy shoved her behind him and she fell onto her side, silenced. Mrs. Gladstone's scream took up where Sylvia's left off. She grasped both Samuel's arms and tried to drag him away, but he shook her off.
"Tommy!" he ordered.
Tommy stood beside him and began to chant as the demon came at us. Bollard joined them and the three men formed a blockade in front of us. They were an imposing group, tall and powerfully built.
The demon barreled through as if they were mere children.
We three women scattered. Sylvia screamed and ran off to another wall. Mrs. Gladstone hid behind a column base. I was conscious of remaining nearby and stayed. I had the amulet around my neck and it was vital to our success.
Tommy, bless him, continued his chant. The demon swung around as if the chant were a siren song that it couldn't escape. Its yellow eyes glowed in the dark. It stank like raw meat left out in the sun too long.
"Charity!" Samuel cried. "Give me the amulet."
"No." I stepped a little away from him lest he grab it off me. "You're injured."
"It will come for you! Give it to me. I can fight it."
"No, Samuel, you can't. You can barely walk."
"I can use my fists," he growled. "Christ, Charity, do as I say!"
I stepped closer to Tommy. Not out of fear of Samuel's rising temper, but because being near the person chanting was necessary. Besides, the demon was eying both Tommy and me now. It knew we were the danger, not Samuel, or Sylvia, or Mrs. Gladstone, or Bollard.
Samuel swore colorfully and loudly. The demon was coming again, gathering speed. I could hear its snorting grunts and the whap whap of its paws on soft earth. Then I saw the yellow of its eyes, directed on me. It must have picked me out as the weaker of the two. I clutched the amulet, willing Tommy to hurry up and end the chant.
The beast loomed out of the darkness, a monstrous thing covered in fur with a massive head on gigantic shoulders. Its face was a collection of bulging muscle with a slit for a mouth and those penetrating yellow eyes. It was exactly as I imagined a hound from hell to look like. The lipless mouth widened and it bared its pointed teeth as it drove straight for me. The ground beneath my feet rumbled with its pounding steps.
I willed my heart to calm, but it only beat harder against my ribs. Instinct almost had me ruining everything and jumping to the side too soon, but I fought against it and won. I braced myself for impact.
Sylvia's scream shattered the air just at the same moment that Samuel stepped between the demon and me. He punched and ducked, punched and ducked, each jab smacking the demon around the body and head. They say a madman can fight with the strength of ten men. Watching Samuel made me believe it.
But the demon was stronger. It was inevitable that Samuel would lose. It was just a matter of time. Bollard came to help, but he was easily dashed aside by a huge paw. The demon used its superior strength to crash into Samuel. They hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud.
My scream lodged in my throat along with my tears. No one had ever fought for me before, not even Jack. I'd gotten away from the master the first time, on my own, and I'd defeated him when he was in ghostly form too. Watching someone defend me with fists and brute strength was as new to me as the terror filling me.
Not terror for my own life. Terror for Samuel's.
"Samuel!" I cried through my sob. He would die if Tommy didn't finish the chant soon. I couldn't stand by and let that happen.
My pistol. Where was my pistol? I must have returned it to my pocket. I fished inside and my fingers gripped the hard metal. I drew it out and aimed, but it was impossible to get in a good shot. They rolled together, their limbs tangled. I couldn't get in a clear shot of the demon. Damn, damn and hell!
Samuel grunted in pain and I felt sick to my stomach. Hurry, Tommy!
The demon managed to wrestle Samuel flat to the ground. Finally, a clear shot! I used two hands to hold the pistol steady and aimed.
The demon suddenly reared back to reveal Samuel lying beneath it, his eyes closed, his body still. He didn't move.
CHAPTER 16
NO! Please, Samuel, get up!
He did not.
The demon stood on thickly muscled hind legs and fixed its eyes on me. Tears turned my vision blurry, but I pulled the trigger anyway. The shot rang out, quickly followed by a second, barely a blink later. The demon fell back with a groan, stunned, thank God.
Still Samuel did not get up.
I swung around. Through my tears I saw Mrs. Gladstone standing near the column, gripping her pistol with both hands like me. She stared wide-eyed at her son's prone form. Then she ran to him. I went to step in the way, to stop her getting too close to the demon, but I need not have worried. Tommy's chant stopped. The demon began to disintegrate and within moments it was nothing more than a pile of dust.
Sylvia came out of seemingly nowhere and embraced me fiercely. She then let me go and fell to her knees near Samuel. He hadn't moved, not even when his mother wept over him. His shredded shirt sleeve
s and waistcoat revealed the bloodied skin underneath. So much blood.
My heart plunged and my stomach with it. I approached him and his sobbing mother on legs of jelly. His eyes were still closed and his face was as pale as the moon. My throat closed and my tears streamed down my cheeks in a waterfall. Someone circled an arm around my shoulders. Tommy, I thought. But no, it was Bollard's face that I peered into.
I clung to his jacket lapels in the hope it would steady me when all I wanted to do was collapse beside Samuel. "Is he…?"
"He breathes!" Sylvia cried.
I pulled away from Bollard and sank to the ground. I wanted to cradle Samuel's head in my hands and gently push the damp hair from his forehead, but his mother did that. I had to kneel there and watch, wait.
He opened his eyes and blinked at me. "Samuel?" I whispered.
His mother echoed my question. She turned his face to look at her with what I thought a little too much force. "Say something," she whispered.
I touched his hand. His fingers curled around mine. His grip was strong. Pure relief flooded me. I started to cry again.
"I'm all right," he rasped. "But I have a pounding headache."
He drew my hand up to his lips and kissed the knuckles. His mother reared back and fixed our linked hands with a look of distaste. I quickly withdrew mine and tucked it into my skirt folds.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Mrs. Gladstone cut in. "Can you sit?"
He sat up with assistance, but swayed. He closed his eyes and put his hands to his temple. "I think my brain is going to explode."
"You need rest," Sylvia said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice. "Can you walk back to the house?"
Tommy and Bollard helped him up and assisted Samuel to limp across the lawn. Sylvia marched ahead, Mrs. Gladstone hovered alongside, and I fell back to the rear. Nobody took any notice of me there. I could cry in peace.