I mean, it’s my bloody sword, for Christ’s sake. Forged, quenched and purified. You’d think it’d have the decency to turn red hot in his hands when he tried to use it on me. And there’s always that problem with backing away from danger: you can’t see what you’re backing into.
I fall backwards over Marvo. She yells. The sharp end of the sword is pointing right at my gut and I’m wondering what being disembowelled will feel like—
When Kazia crashes into Lumpy and sends him flying. The sword spins off across the floor again—
‘Get out,’ Kazia screams. ‘Go!’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Two Demons or One Demon Twice
QUIZ TIME: HOW fast does a demon travel?
Correct! Two hundred and forty-seven miles per hour.
Me and Marvo, we’re a lot slower than that, and by the time we get to the Bishop’s Palace, we’re both panting. Inside the library I can feel the floor shaking. The electric lamp bounces to the edge of the desk and crashes to the floor.
I make a move for the door in the corner, but Marvo’s there first. She turns, arms wide. ‘Not till you tell me what’s down there.’
‘Two instances of Alastor.’
While Marvo’s struggling to get her head round that, the door mutters, ‘Skinny cow!’ She jumps and steps away from it.
‘The reason you have to get authorisation from the Society to summon a demon—’ I’m struggling to catch my breath. ‘Look, there’s all sorts of reasons, but the main one is that if some idiot summons a demon that’s already up—’
‘So you tricked Kazia.’
I nod. I’ve got a stitch in my side. My ankle still hurts. ‘Nobody’s ever really worked out exactly what happens, but it’s always a mess.’
‘What sort of mess?’
‘Like when the first crusade turned up outside the walls of Jerusalem in 1099. That’s ten thousand lunatics who’ve basically walked from Europe – they’ve been on the road for three years. They’ve eaten their own horses and drunk their own urine—’
‘Ugh! You’re making that up—’
‘The point is, they’re desperate – totally bonkers. Four months later, they’re still outside Jerusalem and the walls aren’t getting any thinner. So what do they do?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Summon a demon.’
‘Not just any demon, though: Beelzebub. Trouble is, the Muslim governor of Jerusalem, he’s got a spy in the crusader camp who warns him what the Christians are up to. The governor has this bright idea: if the other side are going to summon Beelzebub, why don’t I get there first? He’s got a sorcerer in the city, so he puts him to it.’
‘Who won?’
‘Nobody. Two instances of Beelzebub popped up within a few minutes of each other. One outside the city, the other inside. After they’d finished beating the crap out of each other, there was no city left to conquer anyway.’
The floor hasn’t stopped shaking. The door is still spitting curses.
‘The Chinese made a habit of double summonings, right up to the seventeenth century. In 1747 the Society banned any further research and made double invocation a capital offence.’
‘What is it with you and the Society? I mean, it’s like you’re deliberately trying to wind them up—’
‘Not deliberately.’
‘Oh yeah? Think about it, Frank.’
I’d rather not. I push past her. The handle of the door is warm.
‘Arse!’ says the door. Not unreasonably: that’s exactly what I look like with my jerkin just slung on over my ritual robes.
‘You don’t have to come,’ I point out.
Marvo’s face is white. She struggles to stop her voice shaking. ‘Think I’d miss this?’
She pulls her pentacle out of her coat pocket and drops it around her neck.
Down in the cellar, Alastor’s going at it hammer and tongs. Axe and scourge, actually.
I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around demons. I’d rather not think of them as real, but these two sure act like it.
Yeah, there’s two of them. Of him, strictly speaking, since these are identical instances of Alastor. They look exactly the same: same beady golden eyes, same razor-sharp yellow teeth, same goat’s horns. And they must be thinking the same because they’re each waving the same weapons and making the same moves. Only for some reason – and I guess this makes some sort of sense – they’re doing it like they’re mirror images of each other.
In all the smoke, I can’t see which is the original instance that Kazia summoned to mash me all those weeks ago; or which is the new version that I tricked her into summoning earlier tonight. But one Alastor has the axe in his right hand and the scourge in his left. The other is all vice versa: axe in his left hand and scourge in the right. A bleeding gash opens in mid-air as Alastor A takes an almighty swipe with his axe. Alastor B does the mirror image, like I say: same weapon, same instant, same trail of blood.
The two axes meet.
You’d think there’d be some minute deviation, that the blades would glance off each other and there’d be fingers on the floor. No such luck. Razor-sharp. Dead on. Edge to edge. There’s a deafening clang. Sparks and more smoke. The whole room compresses. Alastor and Alastor both reel back, emitting identical howls of rage. Both snarl and roll their eyes at each other. Both stick their axes back in their belts and pull out their three-bladed daggers. Both gnash their teeth and charge at each other.
Marvo’s got her hands over her eyes. Me, I can’t look away.
The daggers flash in the air and gouge out a rain of flesh and blood that sizzles on the black tiles of the floor. The tips of the longer middle blades meet, absolutely point to point. Another deafening bang. More sparks and smoke. The demons are face to face, pushing with all their might and blowing smoke out of every available orifice. The stink is unbelievable.
I’m wondering if this could go on for all eternity. One thing about demons: they never seem to get bored. They live in the moment . . . and drag it out for ever.
A voice: ‘Come here, boy.’
My Master’s voice.
It’s a bit like all those names of God that I use on demons: you control things with names. As well as ‘Frank’, ‘Sampson’ and ‘Brother Tobias’, I answer to ‘arsehole’ and ‘skinny little freak’. By calling me ‘boy’, Matthew’s trying to turn me back into that scrawny little kid at Saint Cyprian’s, with his mouth hanging open and a stupid, scared look in his eyes.
Does it work?
I step obediently forward, clutching my pentacle. Not that I need it: Alastor’s too busy beating the crap out of himself to even notice me. Matthew smooths his tangled hair. He straightens his back so he’s a good six inches taller than me.
‘Are you responsible for this?’
I hang my head.
‘I suppose you think you’re clever . . .’
And you know what? I do think I’m clever. I look up at him. ‘Wasn’t me.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Kazia.’
‘She’s not that stupid.’
‘Maybe nobody ever taught her about double summonings. Or that Alastor’s other name is Azazel.’
‘You tricked her. Why, though? I mean, where does this get anybody?’
‘Got me and Marvo out of a hole.’
‘But at what cost?’
‘None to me and Marvo.’ The Alastors are still pegging away at each other. ‘Far as I can see.’
‘So how do you propose to stop it?’
I smile. ‘I’m not sure that I want to.’
When I was just a nipper I had this idea that grown-ups didn’t get scared. I got over that the night my dad went up in flames and I watched him scream and yell and beg. We’re all scared; the trick is how well we cover it up.
But I always thought Matthew was special. That he really was as cool and in control as he always looked. That he could face up to stuff that scared the crap out of me . . . and just deal with it.
But now he tran
sforms.
You know that formula I use; the one that goes: ‘I exorcise thee and do powerfully command thee, that thou dost forthwith appear before me in a fair human shape . . .’
I’ve seen a lot of things transform into different things; but whatever that different thing is, it’s never something you can get comfortable with. Matthew’s whole body sags. He’s not a grown-up any more; just this frightened kid who stares back at me and begs, ‘Get rid of them. Please.’ His hands move away from his body, palms facing me. He drops onto his knees. ‘I can’t take any more.’
It’s like . . . I dunno. Like the Earth stopped turning. Like the sun came out in the middle of the night. Like the termites served me up a three-course meal . . .
Marvo nudges me. ‘What’s up with him?’
‘There’s a rule,’ I say. ‘Once there’s a demon in the room, all bets are off.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘Double that if you’ve been stuck down here for a month and suddenly there’s two of them.’
‘So what’re you gonna do?’
I stick my hand in my pocket. Maybe the rat knows what’s coming, because it starts wriggling as I get my fingers round it, and when I manage to drag it out I’ve got to move fast before it can bite me. If a demon gets a taste of my blood, I’m sunk.
A moment later the rat is spinning through the air. Just for a split second it’s the right way up, looking back at me with this reproachful expression on its gob. And then one of the Alastors has turned his head and flicked out his long, green tongue to wrap round the rat’s middle and swallow it whole.
There’s a brilliant flash of light and a gurgle like the plug being pulled out of the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
And a moment after that, there’s just one Alastor in the cellar, who’s in the middle of a wild swing with his scourge that carries him clear across the cellar into one of the columns. He bounces off, snarling and staring around in bewilderment.
‘Where’d I go?’
Sorry, but I can’t help it: ‘He’s behind you.’
Alastor jumps and swings. Another deafening crash. More flying chunks of stone. He hops around the place like water on a hotplate, spitting and lashing out.
Finally, the penny drops. He sighs, sticks the long blade of his dagger deep into his ear and wiggles it. When he pulls it out there’s a white maggot twisting in agony on the tip. He stares at it for a moment, cross-eyed, then pops it into his mouth. He chews and swallows.
He looks up at me. ‘I’ll get you for this.’
I wave my pentacle. ‘Gotta catch me first.’
‘Shut up.’ That’s Marvo. ‘Now what?’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Pentacle
‘FRANK FINISHES WHAT he’s started and I go free.’ Matthew has transformed back into himself. He’s on his feet again, stating this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
‘But I can’t!’ I wail. ‘I mean, what am I supposed to do?’
‘You’re supposed to remember your oath of allegiance to the Society. You swore to submit yourself to the will of God and to serve the Society, even to the point of death and at the risk of your immortal soul. Well, now it’s time to make good on that vow.’ Matthew’s got this gleam in his eye. ‘Get rid of him’ – he’s pointing at Alastor, obviously – ‘and we can resolve this.’
‘You’ve got to let him out eventually,’ Marvo points out.
‘I’m bored,’ says Alastor. ‘Even if nobody else is.’ He sticks all his weapons back in his belt.
So they’re all ganging up on me. ‘How?’ I turn back to Matthew. ‘I mean, once you’re free—’
‘I’ll sign a document, anything you like. I assume your licence has been revoked. I can have it reinstated.’
‘Maybe you could sign a pact,’ Marvo says. ‘I’ve read about them.’ She points at Alastor. ‘He can guarantee it, yeah?’
Alastor grins. He pulls a small, golden snake out of his eye and bites its head off. ‘It’ll be an honour and a privilege, boss,’ he says in Preston’s voice.
I’m still staring at him when Matthew says, ‘That’s not a good idea. But listen to me, Frank. I’m serious about your obligation to the Society. Vannutelli wants to destroy us. One of the reasons I was prepared to make the Procedure available to him—’
‘Yeah,’ says Marvo. ‘What is this Procedure thing anyway?’
I wave a hand for her to shut up, and turn back to Matthew. ‘I suppose Kazia did that too.’
‘It couldn’t be done officially. But the whole point is, that gives me leverage on him. If it became known that he’d had the Procedure done, it would expose him as a hypocrite—’
‘He’s dead,’ I say. And when Matthew just stares at me: ‘Vannutelli. He’s dead.’
‘How?’
‘He asked for it,’ Alastor mutters through a grisly mouthful of half-chewed snake.
That’s interesting. The instance of the demon that snaffled the rat must’ve been the one I tricked Kazia into summoning. Which means that this original instance knows what the copy did. But I have other priorities right now, because Matthew has suddenly gone bonkers again—
‘You stupid boy!’ he screams. ‘Do you really think this is all some big muddy puddle you can jump into with both feet? The entire future of the Society is at stake and you manage—’
Words seem to fail him. Not for long, unfortunately. He’s off again: ‘Vannutelli would have been the next pope. That would’ve given us—’
‘By “us”, you mean you, right?’
‘It’s the same thing, don’t you get it?’ Matthew’s gone red in the face. ‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this.’ The pissed-off look clears, like he knows what to do now. He smiles. ‘I rather assumed that you would have explained to Detective Constable Marvell what the Procedure is . . .’
‘No.’ Marvo’s doing her sullen face. ‘He keeps clammin’ up.’
Matthew smiles. ‘That’s understandable. You’re how old . . .?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘So you have . . . let’s be reasonably optimistic, a twelve-year career ahead of you as a tatty, pointing out to Chief Inspector Caxton all the little things she can’t see for herself. Sadly, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Your own decline will be sudden and catastrophic. It’s not just the loss of your insights – of the talent that makes you such a valuable and highly regarded member of the police force – although I sometimes think it’s as much a curse as a blessing—’
‘You can say that again!’
‘You go completely blind.’
‘We know all this,’ I mutter, like maybe it’ll stop him.
Matthew’s enjoying himself. ‘So what if I told you that the Society has a Procedure to forestall or even reverse the Blur.’
‘I knew it!’ Marvo glares at me.
‘I thought Frank would have told you.’ Matthew grins. ‘No? I imagined that, as a good friend, he told you everything . . .’
‘I was going to,’ is all I can manage.
‘It’s expensive, the Procedure,’ Matthew continues. ‘The principal ingredient is the eyeball of a particularly rare Tibetan wild cat. I’m sure I don’t have to explain why it became so rare. The Procedure is performed upon all members of the Society upon the successful completion of their first year at Saint Cyprian’s. That includes Frank, of course – like me, he will never need to wear spectacles. It can also be arranged for certain non-members of the Society for whom cost is not a problem. Although the Church has repeatedly condemned the Procedure as dealing with demons—’
Papal bull of 1957: De magiae . . . oh I dunno, something or other.
‘—over the centuries many senior clerics, including Cardinal Vannutelli, have availed themselves of it. As have other non-members of the Society for whom cost is not a problem.’ Matthew smiles down at Marvo. ‘If you were rich, you need never go blind.’
‘So how much?’
‘More than you’d earn in a lifetime.’
‘But it would save me . . .’
Matthew nods sympathetically. ‘I’m truly surprised that Frank hasn’t told you all this.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Marvo mutters.
‘So it occurs to me,’ says Matthew, ‘that maybe we have some basis for a deal. As Superior General of the Society I am in a position to make the Procedure available to you.’
‘Not right now, you’re not,’ I point out.
He ignores me. He’s watching Marvo. ‘And I can tell you exactly what happened to your brother.’
‘Oh please!’ That’s me. ‘We know what happened—’
Marvo whacks me. ‘Shut up, you! I’m talking to him.’
‘Of course,’ Matthew says, ‘you’d have to let me go . . .’
Marvo’s giving me this ‘what now?’ look. I’m giving her the same thing back.
Alastor, by the way, is leaning against a pillar, running the tip of one taloned finger down the edge of his axe.
Matthew is standing at the centre of his circle, hands on hips, looking down his nose at us. ‘You haven’t thought this through, have you? You’ve assumed you can just waltz in here and play games. Well, it doesn’t work like that. What’s in it for me? And don’t tell me, better sandwiches. When do I get out of here?’
‘Someone’s gotta pay.’ It’s kind of weird, the way Marvo says it. Her voice is dull . . . expressionless, a bit like an elemental sounds. It’s like she’s stating this fact and because she’s said it, it’s got to happen . . .
‘I don’t think I’m prepared to go that far,’ says Matthew.
‘You’d rather be left stuck down here?’ I say.
Marvo walks across to plant herself outside the circle. ‘OK,’ she says.
‘Are you nuts?’ I stammer.
She’s still talking to Matthew. ‘You write a confession – everything that happened, who this Vannutelli guy is, why you killed Sean—’
‘Don’t be stupid, Marvo! He’s not gonna fall for that!’
‘I can’t do anything while I’m stuck in here.’ Matthew gestures towards the chalk marks at his feet.
‘All right then.’ Marvo puts her hand in the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a small silver disc, swinging on a chain. My heart stops as I recognise the pentacle that I grabbed off Kazia, five days ago, in the summoning room.
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