Night of Demons - 02

by Tony Richards

  “I sensed that you were on the way,” she told me. “That’s why I came back here. And you have a plan? Lord knows, Ross, we need one.”

  Not that she could read minds, the way the more powerful denizens of this town could. But she’s massively intuitive, and usually picks up on stuff like that. She’d probably got it off my bearing and expression.

  She greeted Lauren warmly, and then ushered us both through into her living room. You’d have expected a preponderance of fancy decor, damask, silk, and lace, but there was none of that. The place was prettily but simply furnished, floral scatter-cushions on the chairs and couch. Delicate porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece. A small fire was burning in the grate beneath them. It had to have been lit because she liked the way it looked, since there was no need for it at this time of year.

  In fact the flames, as I got closer, seemed to cast not the slightest particle of heat. I’d come across magic like that before, and it didn’t surprise me too much. The lights in here had been turned down. But, as I’ve already pointed out, sorcery and shadows cling together. The only thing that you can ever do is hope that your eyes properly adjust, so you can see what’s really going on around you.

  The paintings on the walls were by local artists, exactly like my place. And there was a large bowl on a plain round table in the corner, with a pair of tiny bug-eyed goldfish swimming around in it. Maybe they imagined they were trapped there by a curse as well.

  The smell of recent cooking was still wafting from the kitchen. She’d been doing something with cinnamon and ginger. I could see a row of copper pans in there, and a long rack of spices.

  Her hospitality was impeccable, as usual. She didn’t take too long over it, realizing how serious the situation was. But she got us both sat down comfortably and offered us a drink. And then, when we declined it, took a tall chair facing us, crossing her legs neatly, folding her hands in her lap.

  Sitting down, she had the bearing of someone riding a show horse. It was all part of the way she looked.

  She listened intently as I outlined my idea. And when I produced the Thieftaker from my pocket, her nose screwed up a little and her mild gaze narrowed.

  “I haven’t seen one of those in quite a while,” she said.

  “But you can use one, right?”

  She gave a brisk, stiff nod.

  She didn’t feel entirely comfortable—and I understood that—using a device that was not her own. Such things often carry the peculiar vibrations of their owners with them, and can throw you all kinds of unexpected curves. So she knew what the risks were. But she would do it for the town’s sake.

  It wouldn’t work on Millicent, she went on to explain. Ms. Tollburn was the wand’s rightful owner, and nothing could change that fact. But Hanlon was still vulnerable. The two had merged into a single entity…so drawing him to us would, doubtless, bring them both.

  Then I went on to ask her about the way she had changed shape this evening.

  “Can you do the same to someone else?”

  An alarmed gleam sparked up in her eyes, but she stayed motionless.

  “You mean yourself?”

  I stared back at her and nodded.

  “But I thought you hated magic, Ross?”

  And was not even supposed to use it—Amashta had told me that. But magic could be used on me, by a third party. I could be a conduit for it. That had happened before.

  So I carefully explained to Martha what I wanted her to do.

  CHAPTER 45

  With so much rage pouring through her, you’d have scarcely thought that she was capable of fear. But if there was one thing that terrified Cassie, it was the sight of the Little Girl. The creature—and that was how she thought of the apparition, not as a genuine child—frightened her even worse than Lehman Willets.

  She had only met her once. It had been on that first evening she and Ross had come across her. Nobody in Marshall Drive had told them anything about her. They had simply noticed a strange blue glow coming from behind the drapes of a window, and followed it. And when they’d stepped into the nursery room…

  She’d been aghast, plain horrified. Every fiber in her body seemed to rear away. Partly because the Little Girl resembled one of her own missing daughters, though with lighter hair. But mostly, because she got a real peculiar feeling.

  Cassie knew her, on one level. She was positive of that. There was a sense of recognition. And that disturbed her on a profound level, because she was absolutely certain they had never met.

  So how could that be possible? Instinct and reality did not match up. Her mind had struggled with the problem for a long while before giving up on it completely.

  In the end, she’d told herself a trick was being played.

  Because of that, she’d never gone back. Felt far safer, staying away. Ross didn’t seem to share her misgivings. And that was his business, she supposed. But, so far as anyone knew, the Little Girl never left her nursery on Bethany Street.

  So what was she doing out here? Was this some new kind of illusion?

  Her tiny form was floating nearer, her electric blue glow lighting up the tombstones as she passed across them. She was still revolving in the air. Her eyes—like they always seemed to be, from what Ross said—were closed. Her pale blond hair fluttered gently, despite the fact that the breeze had died away to nothing by this hour. So it was being caused by her own motion.

  Cassie stumbled back among the trees and tried to think straight. It was almost impossible under these circumstances. But she knew that—several times in the past—the Girl had managed to communicate with Ross while he was in another part of town. She had projected herself into his mind. Was something like that happening now?

  The child reached the edge of the copse. She paused a moment, hovering. And then continued inward. And she wasn’t moving in a straight line any longer. She was changing direction constantly, slipping around the tree trunks rather than passing through them. Did that mean that she was really there, or was it merely some more general deception?

  Cassie started backing away again, petrified the Little Girl would get too close. Although, however quickly she retreated, it didn’t seem to make the slightest difference. This was taking on the surreal quality of a bad, anxious dream. She couldn’t seem to put any distance between them. It was like the child was tethered to her invisibly, and the rope was getting shorter the whole time.

  The infant rose a few inches higher in the air, and Cassie went stiff with fright and stopped.

  When the Girl was a few yards away, she finally—out of desperation—resorted to violence. Cass raised her arms and fired, using both her weapons. There was enough discharge to blow a full-grown man apart.

  It had no effect. The Little Girl kept moving in, until her buckled white shoes were spinning around slowly, practically in front of Cassie’s face.

  She lashed out at them. The muzzles of her weapons passed right through the small, pale ankles.

  So perhaps she was not really there. Was it possible that she was still back in Marshall Drive, and this was just an image of her?

  Cassie didn’t care. She simply wanted this to go away.

  But nothing she could do was going to make that happen.

  “Why did you try to hit me, Miss Cassie?” the Girl asked, in that high-pitched voice of hers. “I’m only here to help.”

  Cass didn’t answer. She went stumbling back again. The image of the Little Girl turned blurry for an instant, then resolved once more in front of her.

  “Why are you running away from me? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Cassie reached out for a tree trunk again, to support herself, then took in the fact that there were none. She had retreated the whole way through the clump of lime trees and was back on open ground. It was flatter here, and neatly mown. Some gravel scattered in the grass crunched underfoot. She had wandered into a wealthier section of the graveyard, the shadows around her larger than they previously had been.

  A few more
steps, and she was among the mausoleums. Some were square, and looked like bunkers. Others were more Byzantine in design. Many had statuary on top or in front of them. Lions, favorite pet dogs, and yet more angels, spectral figures in the gloom. And there were studded doors and iron grilles barring the entranceways. Quite a few had arcane symbols carved on them or welded to their frames.

  Many of these were dead adepts. She’d never wandered into this part of Greenlea before, although she’d skirted around it many times. It was wise to avoid places like this. Dark forces still lingered here, or so was the general opinion in town.

  None of which seemed to bother the Girl. She kept on drifting forward at the same unbroken pace, a delicately sad look on her tiny features.

  “Why are you following me?” Cass howled at her. “Leave me alone, goddamn you!”

  “God would curse me if I stood back and did nothing,” came the echoing reply. “You are Mr. Ross’s friend. I owe it to him to help you.”

  “I’m nobody’s friend! Don’t you understand, you stupid brat?”

  The Girl’s expression didn’t flicker.

  “You don’t mean that, Miss Cassie. It’s the darkness in you, talking in that way. It has a very strong grip on you at the moment. But it did once before, and you defeated it.”

  Her head reeled again. She hadn’t the tiniest idea what the infant was referring to.

  “You turned back to the light that time. And I know that you can do it again.”

  Cassie tried to clutch her forehead, but her arms were still the same. Her skull was pounding furiously. What was this mockery of a small girl trying to tell her?

  “You were already halfway there,” the infant told her sharply, making her draw back. “Complete the memory.”

  Cassie turned and tried to run, but stepped on a damp patch of earth instead and stumbled. Wound up on her knees and elbows, the blue glow hovering above her and washing down.

  “You were already thinking how it happened. But you didn’t finish. It is time, Miss Cassie. Do it now.”

  Cassie let her eyes slip closed. And the whole encounter came rushing back.

  “I know who you are,” said the cop.

  They were pulling slowly away from the curb, leaving the alley behind them.

  “You’re Cassie, right? Gus and Joanne Mallory’s kid?”

  What of it? The only thing he wanted to do was to put her behind bars like some kind of animal, so why pretend to be concerned? Cass stared out through the windshield and said nothing in reply.

  “Never met your ma,” he continued. “But your pop? I knew him well. He was a great guy, quite a character. I was sorry as all hell to hear what happened.”

  It had been twenty months since her parents had died. But her eyes still began to prickle. And she turned her face away to hide their dampness.

  “Must’ve been pretty tough on you, since then.”

  “I’ve been fine,” she answered tersely.

  “Yeah? How do you figure?”

  “I’ve got a whole new family now.”

  She could feel him staring at her with open disbelief.

  “That bunch of jokers you’ve been hanging out with? Good God, family? They’re not even your friends. They lit out when I showed up, didn’t even try to warn you. Genuine friends don’t do that, Cass. They look out for each other and they watch each other’s backs.”

  Had they genuinely just run away and left her? When she thought about it, she could see no other explanation. But she’d spent most of the time since she had joined the gang trying to hang on to their approval. So she shook her head and set the thought aside.

  “What do you even know about it?” she said. “Think you’re smart because you got a badge?”

  He laughed.

  “You may be right.”

  And then, as if she had said absolutely nothing, the man kept talking to her quietly. Telling her how proud her Dad had always been of her. How he’d shown around photographs, and talked about her the whole time. Was this what cops did when they caught someone like her? Did they try to worm into your head and make you easier to handle? Another trick? Another lie?

  “That’s not true!” Cass retorted. “He didn’t even really want me. He wanted a son.”

  She’d been trying to tell herself that for months, to make herself feel better about the fact that he was gone. But it only got a grunt from the man beside her.

  “You mean the shooting lessons and the judo stuff?” he answered. “Hell, all he wanted was to know that you’d be safe.”

  And she’d always suspected that, whichever way she tried to twist it. Cassie found she had no comeback, and lowered her head.

  How would Gus feel—the cop continued—if he knew what she was up to these days? What would his opinion be of the kinds of people she was hanging out with now? And if he ever found out she’d been trying to steal drugs…?

  She couldn’t even speak. Could feel her insides drawing tighter, her whole body clenching in upon itself. Other memories came back to her, from the time her folks had still been alive. The warmth and security of those years. And it seemed to have all happened in another lifetime. Something that was practically a physical pain ran through her, because there was no way back.

  “Cat got your tongue?” the cop finally asked.

  She hated the way he’d gotten to her. Felt that she was being undermined. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. The words came rushing out.

  “I’ve nowhere else to go!” she blurted.

  And there, she’d said it at last.

  “How’s that?”

  “I can’t seem to go forward, and I can’t go back! There’s nowhere else but where I am!”

  The cop peered at her.

  “In the gang, you mean? Explain that.”

  “I was never any good at school. And the only jobs for me in this town all come with a hairnet or a paper hat. I’d rather…”

  And she didn’t say the last word. But she thought it, loudly.

  The cop pulled a sympathetic face.

  “There’s an alternative.”

  And now he was really messing with her, wasn’t he? She was qualified for nothing, and so how could that be possible?

  “You inherited your folks’ place free and clear, right? And it’s all paid up? That’s called an asset, Cassie. You could raise money against it, start up on your own.”

  Which made her thoughts whirl slightly. No one had explained that to her before.

  “You could be your own boss. That was Gus’s dream, one he never lived long enough to turn into reality. But how proud do you suppose he’d be if you did that?”

  The car finally drew to a halt, and she became aware of her surroundings for the first time in a good long while. They’d not stopped outside any station house. They were almost back where they had started, out in front of the alley where the bikes were hidden.

  “You’d better be getting along,” the cop told her, smiling gently.

  He was…letting her go?

  “That’s right.”

  But—?

  “I’ve a son about your age,” he told her. “And every time I look at him, I know he’s going to turn out right. I get the same feeling off you, Cass Mallory. So why don’t you just go home?”

  Her head was still reeling when she got back out onto the sidewalk. She couldn’t seem to get a grip on any of this. Was he playing some kind of game with her? But he seemed genuine enough.

  At first, she felt deeply relieved. But then, as she walked away, some of her earlier attitude returned. Stupid cop, she started thinking. Who did he imagine he was dealing with?

  Maybe she’d wait until he was gone, and then go back and steal some of those drugs anyway. That would be a tale to tell the others when she got back to The Hole.

  She rounded a corner, then stopped dead. There were only bare brick walls in front of her, nothing else in sight.

  The noise of an electric window made her look back the way she’d come. The cop was ga
zing at her, with a sad expression on his face.

  “Those ‘friends’ of yours came back and took your bike, right? Didn’t think you’d need it anymore?” His lower lip came jutting out. “I kind of figured they’d do that. And I’m sorry, Cassie. But some lessons are only learned the hard way.”

  She stared at him, feeling the breath leak out of her body.

  “Need a lift?” he asked.

  She shook her head. He seemed to understand that, shrugged.

  “A good long walk’ll give you time to think. And I guess you’ve not done much of that for a while. Good night then, Cass.”

  On an impulse, she asked him, “What’s your name?”

  She was not sure why. It just came spilling out.

  He adjusted his shades a touch.

  “Most people simply call me Frank.”

  And then he turned his head away, and the car drifted off…

  The Little Girl dropped back a few feet. Cass stood up abruptly. The mausoleum walls around her were washed with blue light, making them look eerier than ever. But the child—or whatever it was—was no longer revolving.

  She was hanging limply in the air, her small face tilted down. Her eyelids were still closed, the pale, fine lashes quivering.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she was saying, “but you did it once. You rediscovered the brightness in your life.”

  And that had grown more intense down the years, once she’d started having children.

  “You can do it again, Miss Cassie,” the girl said urgently. “You must.”

  But the only thing she felt was renewed panic. Where was the sense in trying to change back? It was better to stay the way she had become, wasn’t it? Nothing could really hurt her this way.

  “Get away from me!” she howled.

  She began stumbling between the mausoleums. The Girl kept following her from a safe distance.

  “You know who Frank was, don’t you?” she asked.

  Cassie tried to cover her ears, but there was still the problem with her hands.