by J. R. Wallis
A dark leg came up through the floor in front of Jones and kicked out hard, catching him full in the chest. He hit the wall behind with such force that he heard his teeth click before collapsing face first onto the floor. As he shook his head free of the sparks behind his eyes, he felt a weight on his back, pushing him down.
He turned his head to look up and saw the Wretch standing over him, one foot planted on his back, pinning him to the floor. It was holding Thomas Gabriel now in one large hand, its long talons wrapped around the boy’s waist, as he kicked and struggled, shouting at it to put him down. But the Wretch just grunted and raised its free hand, the talons curled into the shape of a claw, before reaching into the boy’s mouth, stifling his cries. Thomas Gabriel began to tremble as the Wretch pulled out a string of white mist from his mouth. When the creature let go of the end, the white thread began coiling round and round on itself, spinning into the shape of a tiny ball. As Thomas Gabriel went limp, Jones struggled to break free of the foot keeping him stuck to the floor, but it was no use, and he shouted and screamed as the Wretch laid the other boy down. The white floating ball, still attached to Thomas Gabriel, continued to spin round, growing in size as it did.
Jones felt the strength in the Wretch’s hands as it picked him up, and then a strange feeling rushed up out of his chest as it reached into his mouth too. Jones saw a white thread being drawn out of him as if the Wretch had found the end of a piece of string inside him. The last thing he saw was the One Eye fluttering near him, frantically whispering something, and then the world went black.
As the two boys lay unconscious on the floor, not a thing stirred except for the strange white translucent balls, spinning and gathering the thread from each boy’s mouth, like balls of wool winding larger and larger. The Wretch watched them for a moment more before sinking back down into the floor, apparently satisfied.
Some minutes later, with the white balls bigger now, and floating like balloons attached to the strings coming out of the boys’ mouths, a very strange thing happened.
‘Jones?’ asked a voice that sounded as if it was coming through a tannoy on a railway platform. ‘Jones, can you hear me?’ If Jones had been awake, he would have realized it was a girl’s voice. One he knew very well indeed.
FIFTEEN
‘Jones,’ said Ruby again. ‘Can you hear me?’
She was sitting on the floor beside the chest full of Maitland’s gifts, peering into the scrying mirror at Jones. When there was no reaction from him, Ruby purred her disapproval, which made the sore part of her chin throb even more from where the axe had bashed it before knocking her out.
‘He can’t hear you through the mirror,’ said the gun. ‘It’s for scrying not communicating.’
Ruby pointed at the pamphlet on the floor. ‘The Beginner’s Guide to Scrying says scrying mirrors can be used for communication and even as portals.’
‘Look, you’ve got a talent for scrying, no doubt about that. But a portal? Come on! I bet that pamphlet says it takes years of practice.’
‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’ Trying to ignore the dull pain in her chin that was starting to give her a headache, Ruby scooped out a great blob of polish from the Heaton’s Old Familiar tin and began rubbing it into the face of the mirror.
When Ruby had opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling for a second, all she could remember was that one moment she’d been holding the axe, and then the next she was on the floor with her chin throbbing painfully and the gun shouting at her to get up. Gingerly, she’d tried moving her jaw and had found it was still working, which, she told herself as she stood up, was a very good thing. It meant Jones would be able to hear every single word she was getting ready to unload on him for not coming downstairs to help her with the axe or Victor Brynn. But, before going upstairs to find him, she’d felt a fizzing in the tips of her fingers as she’d picked up the scrying mirror to place it safely back in the chest, and then she’d seen Jones in the glass.
Ruby had watched entranced, observing him searching a house with another boy, a Badlander too apparently, who seemed rather arrogant and had the most ridiculously coiffed hair she’d ever seen.
It didn’t take Ruby very long to work out where Jones was. His stolen glances at the photos of a couple dotted around the house was the first clue. Ruby had noticed a likeness between Jones and the man in the photo too. The same arrow-shaped nose. A similar mouth with fullish lips and a pronounced Cupid’s bow. Even the same colour eyes. So Ruby had guessed Jones had gone to search for his parents even before he’d blurted it out to the other boy after being threatened upstairs with the razor.
But what intrigued Ruby was how Jones had got to the house, a question answered when the two boys began arguing over the Slap Dust. The black dust, it seemed, was a way of travelling from one place to another.
Ruby had clapped her hand to her mouth when she’d seen them defeated by the Wretch. And then her brain had started to pump as she began to work out a plan and reached for The Beginner’s Guide to Scrying.
With the big lump of polish rubbed in, Ruby took a deep breath and pushed her face into the scrying mirror. She felt her nose bump against the glass, which then softened and gave way as she pressed harder, and pushed her whole face through, as if submerging it into water.
She heard the gun’s loud exclamation as her head popped all the way through the mirror.
On the other side, Ruby found herself looking down at Jones from what she judged to be about ceiling height.
‘Jones?’ Still he didn’t stir. The mirror was clearly too small for her to climb through so Ruby ducked back through the glass. Once she was looking at Jones in the mirror again, she asked it to focus on him. The image drew closer to Jones and this time she pushed a hand through the glass, and grabbed hold of his overcoat, trying to shake him into waking up. But it was no good.
She withdrew her hand, deciding on a different tactic, and thought about the other boy lying in the hallway. When his face appeared in the mirror, Ruby pushed an arm through up to the shoulder and her hand felt its way down into the nearest pocket of his herringbone jacket. She had watched the boy’s fairy-like creature fly away after whispering something to Jones and hadn’t seen it since. But even so she was still wary of what else might be in the boy’s pocket as she delved inside. And she was wary of the Wretch too, having no idea if it was still lurking in the house.
The inside of the pocket felt much bigger than it should and Ruby realized it must be charmed to be able to hold a lot of objects. But, as soon as she thought about the bottle of Slap Dust she was trying to find, her hand closed around it.
It didn’t take long to work out the address of the house either, after looking at a pile of junk mail lying on the bureau.
Putting the mirror down, she picked up the gun from the floor. ‘We need to get going. What do you know about taking on a Wretch?’ she asked.
‘They’re dangerous, make no mistake. Using magic’s the most usual way for a Badlander to tackle them.’
‘O-kay, any other way?’
‘Maitland had a staff made of rowan. As far as I remember, he used it once on a creature like that. It’s in the hall with all the others. It has the word “syrfe” inscribed around the middle. Maitland marked each staff, stick and cane with their Anglo-Saxon name for Jones to learn,’ announced the gun as Ruby ran out of the room.
The rowan staff was wedged into a stand by the front door along with a collection of other staffs and sticks and canes of different shapes and sizes. It was about waist height and as Ruby weighed it in her hand she liked the feel of it.
‘There’s a special energy in it,’ said the gun, watching on from the dresser where Ruby had put it. ‘It’s made from flying rowan, a rare type of tree found growing on a mountain or a hillside. Maitland was given the staff on a trip to Norway a long time before he ever had Jones. It’s a special piece.’
‘I’ll look after it.’
‘Let’s hope it looks after you,’ the g
un replied. ‘Most people start by tackling something a little easier the first time they take on a creature.’
‘Well, that’s because they’ve all been boys before,’ said Ruby, spinning the staff around and striking a pose like a superhero. But then she remembered this wasn’t a game. ‘Maybe I should check the Pocket Book Bestiary first on Wretches.’
‘No time for that. We need to get going, like you said. The staff cuts through a Wretch like a knife, that’s all you need to know.’
Anything else?’ asked Ruby.
‘Avoid contact with a Wretch at all costs because it’ll sap your energy otherwise. Also, salt and rosemary mixture burns them. There’s ready-mixed vials of the stuff in one of the cupboards in the van because it’s useful against a lot of creatures. Draw a ring on the ground with it and you’ll be protected as long as you stay inside.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ruby, setting off quickly for the van outside.
The last thing she did before leaving to rescue Jones was change out of her nightclothes and dig out the thick sweater in her backpack. She put it on, together with a stout pair of gloves and a balaclava she’d noticed hanging on a peg in the hall. Ruby looked like a woolly ninja after putting everything on, which made the gun laugh when she returned to fetch it, and the staff, from the hall.
‘Forget about the Wretch, you’ll cook yourself to death in that get-up,’ it said from the dresser.
‘I’m not taking any chances; you said a Wretch can sap your energy on contact. I’m not planning on ending up like Jones. I’m rescuing him.’
‘Is that so?’ replied the gun. ‘Well, just remember, however ready you think you are, unexpected things can happen taking on a creature as dangerous as this. You need to be prepared for anything. That’s the Badlander motto – BE PREPARED!’
‘I am. I’ve got the right weapon. I’ve covered up. And I’ve got you. You’re not having doubts now, are you? You’re the one who wanted to partner up, remember?’
‘No, but—’
‘Good, so let’s get going, shall we?’ After shoving the rowan staff under one arm, and double-checking the vial of rosemary and salt was in the right pocket of her jeans, Ruby took out the small bottle of black Slap Dust from her left pocket and consulted the instructions on the back. Then she tipped out a pile of the dust into her gloved hand.
‘I’d go easy on that Slap Dust if I were you,’ said the gun as Ruby put the bottle back in her pocket for the return journey. ‘We’re hardly travelling to another country.’
‘I’m just making sure I get there in one piece. I don’t want to leave any bits of me behind, do I? There’s a warning about it on the bottle. I’m only being prepared like you said.’ Ruby picked up the grumbling gun with her free hand and stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans. Then she cleared her throat and addressed the mound of dust in her hand. ‘I want to go to Number 17, Chesterford Gardens,’ she said clearly. ‘In Hampstead, London,’ she added. ‘Let’s make it the living room.’
And with that Ruby slapped her gloved hands together.
SIXTEEN
She arrived in the living room with such force her trainers left scorch marks on the carpet as she hurtled towards a large armchair. As she landed in it, the whole thing scooted backwards and hit the wall behind with a loud CRACK!
Ruby uncurled herself. Someone had lit a small fire in her left shoulder. She gritted her teeth, and listened for anything moving in the house. But it was difficult to hear with the balaclava on. It seemed to be quiet, for a moment at least.
‘That went well,’ announced the gun, which had fallen out of Ruby’s waistband onto the armchair, just before a plasma screen hanging on the wall to the right of them dropped to the floor, breaking with another CRACK!
Ruby smelt burning and looked down to see little blue flames dancing over her gloves. Spotting a large vase full of lilies, she tore out the stems and plunged both hands into the water. She left the gloves wet and steaming on the floor, between the two dark furrows she’d ploughed into the carpet. She took off the balaclava too because everything sounded too muffled with it on.
‘Bang goes the element of surprise then,’ said the gun as she picked it up. ‘I’m astonished the whole street hasn’t come knocking.’
‘Shhhh,’ hissed Ruby as she picked up the rowan staff, which thankfully seemed to have survived the journey intact.
‘About my offer of us working the Badlands together, I regret to inform you the position’s been taken.’
‘Yeah, by who?’
‘Anyone but you.’
‘Let’s see about that, shall we?’ Ruby made her way carefully to the doorway and peered into the hall. Jones and the other boy were still lying silently.
When Ruby picked up Jones’s limp hand, it was cold. His lips had a tinge of blue in them as if he’d been sucking on a blueberry lollipop. But the white globe floating above him was full of bright light and radiating a faint warmth. The thread connecting it to Jones’s mouth looked fragile. But, as Ruby tried to break it, she found it was as strong as wire.
Every so often, a little scene played inside the white globe, rather like someone had pressed a secret ‘play’ button. Ruby saw Maitland holding up what looked like a small dead rat with four eyes and asking a question, and then fading away.
‘They’re Jones’s memories,’ whispered the gun. ‘The poor boy’s had most of his life force drained out of him judging by the state of him. That’s what Wretches feed on, Life Balls they’re called, which they make from their victims. We’ve got to kill the Wretch before all of Jones is gone and he’s just a corpse. It’s the only way to reverse the process, and save him. Looks like his time’s almost up.’
A soft creaking noise made Ruby spin round. A dark shadow was moving across the wall. When it stopped, the black skull of the Wretch emerged and stared at her. Ruby began backing away, stuffing the gun in her waistband and then realizing she had left the rowan staff on the floor beside Jones. She cursed because it was too late to go for it now.
The Wretch emerged out of the wall and came quickly towards Ruby, its long arms outstretched and the sharp blade-like fingers swinging and slicing the air. Ruby reached into the right hand pocket of her jeans for the small vial of rosemary and salt. But quickly realized it had broken with the impact of her arrival. Managing to scoop some of the mixture out of her pocket, she flung it at the creature. White spots burnt little holes all over the Wretch’s black body and the creature screamed, retreating back. Ruby darted forward and grabbed the staff. There was a sensation of strength and power coming off it now, as if the object had come alive in the presence of the Wretch. Ruby hurriedly backed down the hall, through the doorway at the end into the kitchen where she was out of sight.
Quickly, she took a fistful of the salt and rosemary out of her pocket, crouched down in the middle of the room, and drew a ring of the mixture around her, drizzling it out of her fist, her trainers squeaking on the linoleum floor.
‘Is this right?’ she asked, drawing the gun out of her waistband to show it what she’d done.
But there was no time for a reply as the Wretch came running into the kitchen and launched itself at Ruby, a black torpedo of outstretched arms and talons. For a terrifying moment, Ruby doubted the mixture would be strong enough to deflect a creature as big and as terrifying as this.
But it worked.
The Wretch was repelled with such force it crashed back into the small table and chairs behind it.
Seizing her chance, Ruby nipped out of the circle and swung the rowan staff one-handed at one of the Wretch’s arms as it struggled to stand up. She sliced the hand clean off and it lay twitching on the floor.
Screaming, the Wretch kicked out again. Ruby jumped over its leg – elegantly enough for the gun in her other hand to whistle its approval – and retreated to the safety of the rosemary and salt circle.
‘Nice move!’ the gun shouted. ‘Where’d you learn that?’
‘Ballet classes. Mrs Simmons was a
lways telling me I had a nice high jeté.’
‘She should be training Badlanders,’ the gun cried as the Wretch staggered to its feet. ‘Now, line me up! Give me a go. I’ve got a rosemary and salt mix loaded!’ Ruby aimed the gun at the creature’s head. But, before she could pull the trigger, the Wretch disappeared into the floor, like a black flame suddenly snuffed out, and Ruby was left pointing the gun at the wall. She circled slowly, waiting to see where the creature was going to reappear. And then she suddenly had a thought and took a big step out of the circle.
‘What are you doing? Are you ma—’
The gun’s voice was snuffed out as the Wretch shot up through the floor inside the salt and rosemary ring with a triumphant scream.
Ruby watched as the creature realized it was trapped inside the circle, unable to step out towards her. Before it had time to sink back down through the floor, Ruby swung the staff as hard as she could, slicing through its neck. The Wretch’s head went flying from its shoulders and landed on the wooden counter, rolled down it, then over the drainer, and plopped into the aluminium sink with a thud. The headless corpse collapsed to the floor and lay like a black puddle inside the salt and rosemary circle.
Ruby stood, waiting for something else to happen, until, gradually, she realized the gun was shouting and hollering and whistling. ‘You did it! You killed it!’ Ruby grinned. She was so proud of herself, her chest felt like a balloon about to burst. ‘You need to mark your kill,’ said the gun. ‘All Badlanders do it to show the creatures they’ve killed. It’s called a mearcunge.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘You just write your name somewhere close to the body.’
But, before Ruby could think about how she might do that, she heard a whooshing sound in the hall and rushed to the doorway to see a tall man appearing from out of nowhere. He was wearing a tweed suit and his long grey hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His face was full of deep creases, suggesting he either laughed a lot or frowned most of the time, and Ruby could not decide which one it might be. He didn’t notice her as she watched him, the faint smell of Slap Dust now recognizable to her fading away.