Dark Rain

by Tony Richards

  I craned around to get a better look at them.

  They seemed to be three rolling, churning clouds. Or three dark palls of smoke, perhaps. But smoke had never moved like this. It didn’t come apart.

  They all came hurtling across the mansion’s grounds, in the same direction we were headed. Then began to climb as they reached Plymouth Drive, getting harder to see the further they rose, until the murk above had almost swallowed them.

  All that you could make out, before too much longer, was a faint motion against the dormant sky. A bolt of lightning flashed across it briefly, but no thunder came.

  “Were those …?” I asked, my head still back.

  “Yes. Just watch the road,” van Friesling told me.

  We were coming up on the first of the bends.

  By the time I had a chance to look up again, a fourth cloud had come soaring along to join the others. Judging from its direction, my best guess was that Cynthia McGinley’s sister, Dido, was counting herself in as well, minor stroke or not.

  Another chill ran through me. And it definitely wasn’t from the cold this time. In all the years I’d lived here, I had never seen the adepts change themselves in quite this fashion.

  Saruak and his Dralleg had better watch their step, from this point. Salem’s most gifted descendants were now on the move.

  Coming down a steep part of the hill, we went round another hairpin bend. The golden needle swung with the motion, still pointing directly at the center of town. Union Square itself. Did Saruak have the gall to still be loitering around down there? It was where we’d first met, after all.

  But then we passed a line of trees, and the square came properly into view. We were close enough to make out detail. And a quick glance through the windshield confirmed that, not only did he have the nerve, but he had it in spades.

  The broad, rectangular buildings of Union Square still looked pretty small, from this distance. But I could make out a paler dot, directly on the Town Hall roof. As I watched, it detached itself from the chimney it was standing by, and began to pace across the broad expanse of grayish-green tiles.

  I glanced across at van Friesling, who had lost a little of his detachment and looked rather stunned as well. Son of a bitch, how long had Saruak been up there?

  The road straightened for the last time. We’d reached the lower stretches, where the normal houses stood. There was no need to watch our speed, no traffic in the way. And so I powered down the last half mile as quickly as I was able.

  Kurt van Friesling sat up in his bucket seat when we skidded off the Drive. And then, as I raced through the narrower streets, he reached into his pocket. His casual air had slipped away. He produced a jangling metal object, which he fastened round his neck. It was an intricately-wrought, large pendant, made of strands of black-enameled metal. The shapes were slim sinuous dragons, like the golden one on top of the disc. But writhing ones, all wrapped around each other. Their talons were extended and their jaws gaped. There were red stones for the eyes.

  And it must have been the car, creating the effect. But for an instant, I thought I saw one of them shift position very slightly. I tried to pay that no attention.

  “It’s called Black Morgan’s Talisman,” Kurt told me with a tight, wry smile. “Not all my family is Dutch. My many-times great-grandmother brought it to Salem with her, all the way from Swansea.”

  “And what does it do?” I asked.

  We were having to shout above the wind and the roar of the engine.

  “Wrong question. It’s what it helps me do. It magnifies the power that an adept has. In this case, a Spell of Binding.”

  And he settled back again and closed his eyes, preparing his mind for the task in hand.

  When I got another look at the Town Hall roof, the dot on it had resolved into a vaguely human shape. And had stopped between the two flagpoles directly at the center, Old Glory and the crest of Massachusetts fluttering above it. We were still too far away to tell, but I felt sure that Saruak was watching us.

  He could disappear at will, I knew. So the fact that he was waiting for us didn’t seem to bode too well. I tried to tell myself he was simply being overconfident, or didn’t understand what he was really up against this time.

  Van Friesling opened his eyes again, spread his hands apart, the palms facing each other. And an electric bolt danced between them, so bright that it dazzled me. What the hell was that?

  The streets had grown even narrower, too many flat rooftops obscuring our view. Which made me uneasy. What might Saruak be doing, while we couldn’t see what he was up to?

  Van Friesling had begun muttering under his breath, although not in any language that I recognized. Starting up his spell, I didn’t doubt.

  We finally burst into the square. I braked, and we swerved to a halt.

  It was dead to the world, its windows vacant. Shadows were layered heavily across it, the same way as they had been the last time I was here at night. The wind, trapped by the buildings, made a heavy moaning sound.

  And there he still was, in between the banners. I could see his outline clearly. He was waiting for us, his left eye still glinting faintly. A bulge against his shoulder and a twin green glow told me he was cradling his dog.

  The sky had turned a little brighter. Saruak was black against it, and I could not see his face. Had no idea what his expression was.

  He was staring at us, though. He didn’t seem to move a muscle.

  Van Friesling held out both his palms. A huge web, like flaringly bright electricity, came shooting from them, reaching up across the square.

  At the exact same moment, there was another flash of lightning from above. Those four dense, boiling clouds had gathered high above us, I could see. And they were circling. One of them detached itself, came hurtling down at the roof.

  It made a thrumming noise, parting the air as it approached. The flags crackled more fiercely. Saruak looked up.

  Gaspar Vernon’s face appeared at the center of it, strangely disembodied, as if somebody had lopped his head off. Enormous though, as big as a house, and rather two-dimensional.

  His eyes blazed and his mouth was gaping. I had never seen the man look so angry and determined. The humming noise turned to a shriek.

  The web that van Friesling had cast tried to wrap itself round Saruak. But he just flailed with his free arm and brushed it off. The strands came apart, then vanished. And before Vernon could get to him, he disappeared, along with his dog.

  The other three clouds wheeled around a little faster. Shining bolts flashed in between them once again. Gaspar Vernon hovered above the rooftop, staring down at us with plain frustration.

  “Kurt?” his voice boomed out, so loud it made my head ring.

  Van Friesling could only look apologetic.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I did anything like this.”

  But had that been our only chance? I glanced down at the black stone disc. The needle had swung around again and was pointing southward.

  “He’s still here,” I said.

  But how far away, exactly?

  I backed the Porsche up a little, swung it round, bumping the front tire on the curb. Then put my foot down hard. The howling motor started eating up the distance. And it wasn’t very long before the taller buildings started giving way to a low, suburban sprawl.

  The needle flickered slightly to the right, halfway down May Avenue. I swerved at the next intersection, went across a block. There was a cold, hard feeling growing in my chest. Could we be heading …?

  Greenwood Terrace lay ahead of us. The scene of one of his crimes last night. He seemed to be fond of revisiting places. He had gone back there.

  Van Friesling had leaned back again, his blond hair fluttering in the draft. His lips weren’t moving anymore. But the look on his face was so intense, I felt sure that he was concentrating hard. Focusing on, and trying to strengthen, the next spell that he was going to cast.

  His palms lifted again. Dozen
s of electric sparks danced in between them, like a tiny firework display.

  I spotted a narrow silhouette ahead of us, at the next intersection. And tensed for a moment, thinking that it might be Saruak again. But it wasn’t. It was just an ordinary man, the first that I had seen so far on this particular morning. The dimness robbed him of all his normal hue. And his back was bent, as though to take the weight of the approaching day. He was climbing onto a pushbike, heading into work presumably. His head came up at the sound of our approach. And he gawped at us astonishedly as we went hurtling by.

  He was lost into the background a few seconds later. Just a regular Joe with a regular life, completely unaware of what was going on around him.

  I’d been like that, once upon a time.

  When I got the chance, I glanced up again. There was still movement in the sky above us. The adepts’ first attempt might have failed, but they were not anywhere near to giving up.

  We crossed another junction, and a spire became apparent up ahead of us. The needle shifted again, pointing directly at it.

  My teeth clenched, and I almost spat enamel. My God, he’d gone back to St. Nevitt’s!

  We swung around the corner. Saruak came clearly into view a second time.

  As did other things, high up in the air, to either side of him.

  Vernon was hanging back, this time. It seemed to be the turn of the others. Two of them swung round to the left of the church, and one more to the right. And then they started to descend.

  There was no humming noise accompanying them, this time. And no faces I could see. As they grew closer, they changed shape, lengthening and spreading out.

  A sound did reach my ears at last. But it was a steady, heavy flapping. As the shapes resolved, it finally became clear what they were. The adepts had transformed themselves to massive birds.

  To Saruak’s left were a pair of buzzards, but far larger than normal ones. Their wingspans had to be at least eight feet. And what was the betting, if you got up closer to them, they had nasty emerald eyes? It was impossible to tell from this far away.

  To his right there was a truly gigantic eagle. A bald eagle, I guessed, since Levin had always been a patriot. I couldn’t tell for sure, because there was no visible detail or color. All the birds looked the same shades as the original clouds had been.

  Saruak peered around at them slowly. And if he was taken off-guard, then he didn’t show it. Because his next act was to stoop down, drop the bulldog from his grasp. It ran around in small circles on the church’s rooftop, growling furiously at the approaching shapes.

  Then the ragged figure straightened. And spread both his arms out to the sides, for all the world like some enormous scarecrow. These weren’t crows though, and did not slow down. He was in silhouette again, and I still couldn’t see his face.

  But he yelled out something, a single guttural word. In some Iroquois tongue? There was no way of telling. But the beginning of a spell of his own, I was pretty certain.

  I began to slow the Porsche down, about fifty yards away. And without any warning, Kurt van Friesling stood up in his seat.

  His hands shot toward the roof. A massive net of sparks, far larger than before, leapt out at it. They moved faster than they had done last time, wrapping themselves around the man up there.

  He didn’t have the chance to lash at them, this time. Saruak began struggling in their grasp.

  There was a solid beating noise. A shadow slid across the roof. The great eagle reared its body back and struck at him with its massive talons.

  One of them took purchase. And the judge began to lift the figure up into the air. Saruak writhed abruptly and broke free, dropping to the roof again. But the bright web still surrounded him, he could not get away.

  The eagle was turning for its next attack.

  Saruak was on his hands and knees, still trying to get up, when both buzzards hit him at the exact same time.

  For the first time since I’d met him, he let out a yell of pain. These two weren’t trying to grab hold of him. They were mauling him like enraged Harpies, their wings churning the air with a furious clattering sound.

  My gaze went tight. Had they finally got him? When I looked round at van Friesling, his face was all lit up.

  The buzzards were screeching, their bills agape. And the eagle had rejoined the attack, adding its great curving talons to the onslaught. Saruak couldn’t even get back to his feet. He’d managed to work one of his arms loose, and had a hand clasped to his head, trying to protect it. But the howls that he was letting out were wild, agonized ones.

  I think I smiled, when I heard that.

  But I’d forgotten about the Dralleg. One moment, it was barking at them helplessly. The next, it swelled to its full size, a pale gray mound of flesh and muscle, something of the wolf about it, rearing up and then stooping forward against the backdrop of the brightening sky. Its green eyes flared. It roared.

  “Good God!” van Friesling whispered.

  I thought I saw its claws come out. And then the monster lurched into the fray, swinging at the birds around it. The eagle flapped up out of reach. But one of the buzzards wasn’t so lucky. The Dralleg managed to catch hold of its right wing, and there was a big explosion of shattered plumes before the huge scavenger got free again.

  It soared away, but flying oddly, listing to one side. Lord, I hoped that wasn’t Dido.

  The second of the pair kept coming at the creature, trying to attack its glowing eyeballs. The Dralleg just hissed back and swiped at it defiantly. The buzzard continued circling, but could not get close enough.

  The creature’s master was still down on all fours, still in the grip of the shimmering net. But the Dralleg stooped toward him, next, and swiped at the strands. They parted, blinking out of existence. Beside me, van Friesling cursed.

  If he’d been hurt, there was not any lasting damage. Or even, apparently, lasting pain. Saruak stood up and laughed.

  How could that be? I felt staggered. Maybe agony was just a fleeting thing for him, a sensation felt like a gust of air against the skin and then forgotten. He was nothing like a human, I reminded myself.

  Both the figures vanished as I watched.

  I wiped a hand across my face and peered down at the black stone disc.

  The needle, again, was pointing due east. And I squinted in that direction, puzzled. It was the district of Greenwood that was being indicated. There were just poorer suburbs that way, single-level houses for as far as your eye took you. Not a single taller building. Why the hell would he go there?

  A shaft of pale yellow light sprang up at the far horizon. The sun was finally rising. And, as a few birds started singing in the trees nearby, my stomach tightened. A terrible suspicion had begun to grow in me.

  I pulled back onto Greenwood Terrace all the same, and got us on the move once more.

  It was a long road, dead straight, traversing the town west to east. The needle kept pointing relentlessly ahead of us as we went down along it. Not a flicker. Not a waver. He was right in front of us.

  We went past sleeping houses and the shadowy windows of stores. A couple of lights had come on by this hour, but there was still no one around. A scruffy dog yapped at us from behind a chain link fence. It was the only living thing in sight.

  The last few intersections went by. And the last few rows of homes. Then there was only an untidy stretch of waste ground and some bushes, a low heap of rusty, scattered motor parts.

  And beyond that …

  I stopped the car.

  We were on the very edge of town. Its farthest limit.

  Regan’s Curse took over, if you went any further than this.

  And the needle was still pointing directly ahead.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Porsche’s engine made a clicking sound as it began to cool. It was the only noise I was aware of for a while. I just gazed out toward the edge of the horizon. Kurt van Friesling, beside me, was silent and stunned too. This was something he’d not
been expecting.

  More yellow rays were lancing up ahead of us, brighter than the first. And finally, the top edge of the sun came boiling up. Its edges seemed to ripple. Everything looked pitch-black against it. I shielded my eyes with one hand, still peering out ahead.

  As night fell away, the view out there got clearer. Most of our town is surrounded by forest, coming right up to the borders like an army of stern, wordless giants. But in this particular spot, there were rolling green fields stretching for several miles before the tree line swallowed them again. The woods were an aquamarine blur in the distance. A few wild poppies dotted the landscape in between, but little else.

  Except that a fair way ahead, perhaps the best part of a mile off, the grasses rose and formed a hillock. At the top of it stood the remains of a lightning-blasted elm. It looked fossilized, against the morning sky. You could paste its photograph against the word ‘unmoving’ in your dictionary.

  But I could just make out a tiny shape sitting in one of its branches. Guess who. I was surprised I could see him at all, from that far off. Perhaps he wanted it that way.

  His voice came rolling across the green sward toward us, much louder than it should have been, considering the gap between us.

  “Me and Dralleg sitting in a tree, savoring our victory!”

  The kind of thing a child might say. That was the first thought that came to me. This guy was capable of being so violent. Where he’d cast his shadow, there’d been death not far behind. But now, he was chortling about the whole affair, the way a schoolboy might.

  There were different sides to his nature, apparently. And none of them very good.

  We got out of the car. I did it slightly warily. But Kurt van Friesling looked, in equal measures, infuriated and amazed. He couldn’t quite seem to understand how easily he had been bested. His pale eyes glittered, his wan complexion deepening a notch. And he had taken several steps forward before he remembered himself.