Beranabus nods, and I can see that he’s enjoying bringing Dervish down a peg. He doesn’t like people who challenge his authority. “In the universe of magic, you might survive. Here, you’re a dead man walking.”
“Then get him there quick,” I say instantly. “I’ll stay.”
“Not you too,” Beranabus groans. “What did I do to deserve as stubborn and reckless a pair as you?”
“It makes sense,” I insist calmly. “If the attacks were Lord Loss trying to get even, they’re irrelevant. But if they’re related to the Shadow, we need to know. I can confront the Lambs, find out if they’re mixed up with the demon master, stop them if they are.”
“Is the Shadow the creature we saw in the cave?” Bec asks.
“Aye,” Beranabus says. “We haven’t learnt much about it, except that it’s put together an army of demons and is working hard to launch them across to our world.” He stares at me, frowning. He doesn’t want to admit that I might have a valid point, but I can tell by his scowl that he knows I do.
“You’d operate alone?” he asks sceptically.
“I’d need help.” I glance around. Shark’s an obvious choice. I can channel a lot of magic here, but there are times when it pays to have a thickly built thug on your side. But I’ll need someone sharp too—I don’t have the biggest of brainboxes. “Shark and Meera,” I say, with what I hope sounds like authority. Shark can’t hear me, but to my surprise Meera responds negatively.
“I want to stay with Dervish,” she says.
“He’ll be fine,” I tell her, trying to sound confident, not wanting them to know how nervous I feel—I’ve never taken on a mission like this before. “He has Beranabus and Bec to look after him. Unless you want to leave Bec with me?” I ask the magician.
“No,” he mumbles, as I guessed he would. “If you’re staying, I’ll take her to replace you.”
“Then go,” I say. “Chase the truth on your side. I’ll do the same here. If I discover no link between Lord Loss and the Lambs, I’ll return. If they are working for him, I’ll cull the whole bloody lot.”
Kernel grunts and a green window opens. “Time to decide,” he tells Beranabus. I look from the magician to Meera. She’s not happy, but she doesn’t raise any further objections.
“Very well,” Beranabus snaps. “But listen to Shark and Meera, heed their advice and contact me before you go running up against the likes of Lord Loss or the Shadow.” He picks up the unconscious Sharmila. “Follow me, Bec,” he says curtly and steps through the window.
Bec stares at us, confused. I flash her a quick grin of support, which she misses. Meera steps up to her and asks if she’s OK. Before I can hear her reply, Dervish is hugging me, squeezing me tight.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he says, and I can tell he’s struggling not to cry. I have a lump in my throat too.
“You have to go,” I tell him. “You’ll die if you stay here.”
“Maybe that would be the easiest thing,” he sighs.
I squeeze his ribs until he gasps. “Don’t you dare give up,” I snarl. “Mum and Dad… Gret and Bill-E… they’d give anything to be where you are now—alive. It doesn’t matter how much pain you’re in or how sorry you feel for yourself. Alive is better than dead. Always.”
“When did you become the sensible one?” Dervish scowls.
“When you became a pathetic mess,” I tell him lightly.
“Oh,” he grins. “Thanks for clearing that up.” He clasps the back of my neck and glares into my eyes. “Be careful, Grubbs. If you die before me, I’ll be mad as hell.”
“Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I’ll outlive you by decades. I’ll be dancing on your grave fifty years from now, just wait and see.”
Dervish smiles shakily, then releases me and staggers through the window, massaging his chest with one hand, just about managing not to weep. I hate watching him go. I wish he could stay or that I could leave with him. But wishes don’t mean a damn when you’ve been selected by the universe to spend your life fighting demons.
“Sorry we couldn’t have more of a chat,” I say to Bec, and I genuinely mean it. I’d like to sit down with her and listen to her full story, learn what life was like sixteen hundred years ago, what she makes of the world now, if Riverdance is anything like the real deal.
“Next time,” she smiles.
“Yeah,” I grunt, not believing for a second that our paths will cross again. In this game you soon learn not to take anything good for granted. The chances are that Bec or I—probably both—will perish at the hands of demons long before the universes can throw us back together.
I think about bidding Kernel farewell, but he doesn’t look interested in saying goodbye, so I simply wave at him. He half-waves back, already focusing on Bec. She’s his companion now. I mean nothing to him if I’m not by his side, so he won’t waste time worrying about me. I know how he feels because I feel the same way about him.
“Come on,” I say to a slightly befuddled-looking Meera. “Let’s go and break the news to Shark. Do you think he’ll mind us volunteering him for a life or death mission?”
“No,” Meera sighs as we cross the roof to the doorway. “That dumb goon would be offended if we left him out.”
GETTING STARTED
It’s chaos downstairs. Juni Swan forced down a helicopter during the duel on the roof. The flames are still flickering, though the teams of firefighters who were quick on the scene have the worst of the blaze under control. Shattered glass from the hospital windows lines the surrounding streets like crystal confetti. The dead and wounded are everywhere, covered in blankets or being nursed by bloodied, shaken medics. Police buzz around like angry bees.
Shark has no problem talking his way through. A few words with the commanding officer and we’re being escorted past the teams of baying news reporters to a spot in the city where we’re free to go our own way. The Disciples have contacts in some pretty high places.
First things first—we’re exhausted and need to sleep. We find the nearest hotel and book three connecting rooms. The receptionist regards us warily and almost refuses us entry, but when Shark produces a platinum credit card and says he’ll pay up front, and that he wants their best rooms, the man behind the desk undergoes a swift transformation.
I’d like to talk through events with Shark and Meera, but both disappear to their beds as soon as we’ve tipped the bellboy and shut the doors, so I’ve no choice but to follow their lead.
The room’s large, but it feels cramped after a year spent sleeping wild—if not often—beneath vast demonic skies. I open the windows and stick my head out, breathing in fresh air as I replay the scenes from the hospital. Why the hell did I volunteer to stay behind? I could be with Dervish now, catching up, taking care of him. Instead I’ve promised to track down Prae Athim and put a stop to whatever’s going on between Lord Loss and the Lambs. Just how I’m going to do that is a mystery. I spoke before I thought, like an over-eager hero. I’ve been hanging around Beranabus too long!
Withdrawing, I decide the plans can wait. I go to the toilet, then undress and slide beneath the soft bedcovers. I’m worried I won’t be able to sleep, that I’ll lie awake all night. But within a minute my eyelids go heavy and seconds later it’s lights out.
Breakfast in bed is heavenly. I eat like a ravenous savage, bolting down sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms. And toast! How can a few burnt bits of bread smeared with churned-up cow’s milk taste so delicious?
There’s a knock on one of the connecting doors while I’m mopping up the juice from my baked beans. “C’m’ in,” I grunt.
Meera appears like an angel, in an ivory-white nightdress. Washed, manicured, the works. You’d never guess that twelve hours earlier she’d been elbow-deep in demon blood.
“Wow!” I exclaim, dropping the toast and clapping.
She beams and gives me a twirl, then perches on the edge of my bed and picks up the toast. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” I grin, though I’d have
bitten the hand off anybody else who tried to take my last piece.
“I’ve been up for hours,” she says.
“You should have woken me.”
“Why? Did you want a manicure too?”
“Very funny. But I could have done with a haircut.”
“That’s for sure,” she sniffs. “I ordered some clothes for you. I can’t wait to see you in them. I love dressing up boys, especially fashion-challenged teens.”
“Me? Fashion-challenged? I never used to be.”
“Well, you are now.” She takes my tray and tugs at the bedsheets. “Come on. Chop-chop!”
“Whoah!” I yelp, only just managing to grab on to the sheets in time. “I’m naked under here!”
“That’s OK,” she says. “You sleepwalked into my room last night and did a dance on my rug. I saw it all then.”
I stare at her, more horrified than I’ve been in the face of any demon. Then she winks wickedly and races out of the room before I batter her to death with a pillow.
Shark’s the last to rise. We hold a conference in his room while he tucks into lunch, wearing a robe which just about covers his privates.
“So,” he mumbles through a half full mouth. “What’s the plan?”
I scratch my head and smile sheepishly. “I kind of hoped you guys would have one…”
Shark and Meera share a wry glance.
“I thought you were our leader,” Meera says.
“You set the ball rolling,” Shark agrees. “We just came along for the ride.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I grumble. “It was easy in the demon universe. We cornered demons, beat them up and sometimes killed them. It’s different here. I don’t know where to start. How will we find Prae Athim? It seemed like the simplest thing in the world last night, but now…”
“Not such a big shot in the cold light of day, is he?” Shark jeers.
“Don’t tease him,” Meera tuts. “It was brave of him to volunteer.”
“But stupid.” Shark points a thick finger at me. “What use are you to us? Why shouldn’t we leave you here and pick you up when it’s all over?”
Stung, I focus on the bed. The mattress quivers and comes alive. It throws off the startled Shark, then bucks from the bed and lands on his back, driving him down. He lashes out, bellowing with alarm, but the mattress smashes him flat and pounds at him relentlessly.
“Enough,” Meera says softly, laying a hand on my shoulder.
I scowl at her, then ease up. I’m sweating slightly.
A bruised Shark gets to his feet, smoothes his robe and studies me calmly. “OK, I’m impressed. You’re a magician?”
“Yes.”
“How powerful are you?”
I shrug. “I never really tested myself on this world. That trick with the mattress tired me, but I could do a lot more.”
“How much more?” Shark presses.
“No idea,” I answer honestly. “But in the absence of any windows between universes, I’m stronger than any mage we’ll face.”
“I suppose we might as well bring him along,” Shark says grudgingly to Meera.
“Where do we start?” Meera asks. “Do you know where Prae Athim’s based?”
“I never even heard of her before last night,” Shark says. “I knew about the Grady werewolves and the Lambs, but they were never my problem. Still, this won’t be the first time I’ve gone looking for someone. We’ll find her.”
“We could do with some help,” Meera notes. “They have armed troops, as we saw in Carcery Vale.”
“The Disciples?” Shark asks.
“The Disciples,” Meera agrees.
The pair produce mobile phones and start dialling.
The mages aren’t interested in our mission. This is a bad time for humanity. Demons are attempting to cross faster, and in greater numbers, than ever before. The Disciples are rushed off their feet, dashing from one crisis to another. There have been six successful crossings this year and more than a dozen foiled attempts. And those are only the recorded attacks—more probably went unnoticed. Over five hundred people that we know of have died, not including those at the hospital last night. That’s an average decade’s worth of action.
The Disciples that Shark and Meera chat with over the course of the day don’t care about werewolves or the Lambs. They don’t even respond when told that Beranabus is involved. Most times, the mere mention of his name is enough to whip them into action. But not now. We can fight our own battles as far as they’re concerned.
Shark and Meera turn to their other allies when the Disciples fall through. They have a network of contacts—soldiers, politicians, police officers, doctors, etc. They call on them for support when demons cross and create merry hell. The operatives move in to clear up the mess, bury the dead, comfort the survivors, kill the story before it spreads.
Meera’s contacts are mostly media types and corporate directors. She rings around, asking about the Lambs, but the Grady executioners keep a low profile. She learns that they have several worldwide bases, but Prae Athim could be at any of them.
Shark takes a different approach. He phones a guy called Timas Brauss and tells him to come as swiftly as possible. He then contacts people in armies or who were once soldiers. He sets about assembling a small unit of men and women with a variety of skills—explosives experts, mechanics, pilots, scuba divers and more. He won’t need them all, but he puts in place a large force to draw from. They’re more cooperative than the Disciples. Shark seems to command a lot of respect in military circles.
The calls continue into the night. It’s the most frustrating day I’ve spent in a long time. There’s nothing I can do except sit, listen and run errands for Shark or Meera, fetching them food and drink.
I try to watch TV, but I can’t get comfortable. I’m worried that Shark and Meera will think I’m slacking. Eventually I crawl into bed, tired and grumpy, thinking I should have stayed in the demon universe. At least I served some bloody good over there!
THE FILTHY TWELVE
My phone rings unexpectedly. Jolted awake, I check the time on the bedside clock—07.49. Picking up the phone, I yawn, “Yes?”
“It’s me,” someone says in a strange accent.
“Who?”
A pause. “You’re not Shark.”
“No, I’m Grubbs. Shark’s in the next room. Do you want me to—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “I’m Timas Brauss. Tell the receptionist to let me up.”
A couple of minutes later there’s a knock on my door. I open it to find an incredibly tall, thin man in the corridor. He must be seven or eight centimetres taller than me. Skinny as a stick insect, with long, bony fingers. Floppy red hair, an even darker shade than mine. A startled pair of blue eyes, as if he’s in a constant state of shock.
He pushes past me without a word. Looks around the room and up at the ceiling. He’s carrying a couple of laptops and a briefcase. He sets them down, then drags the desk by the wall out into the middle of the floor and lays his gear on top of it. Fires up the laptops, takes a few plug-ins out of the briefcase and connects them up.
“Wi-Fi is a blessing from the gods,” he mutters as I stare at him. “It was hell on Earth when I had to hook these up to ordinary phone lines. Who are we looking for?”
“A woman called…” I hesitate. “Do you want me to wake Shark?”
Timas shakes his head. “I can work without him. Who are you after?”
“Prae Athim.”
“Spell it.”
When I’ve done that, I tell him she works for an organisation called the Lambs. I start to describe the attacks and why we want to find her, but he holds up a hand. “That is enough information for me to be getting on with,” he says curtly and bends over his laptops like a pianist. He’s soon tapping away at a fierce speed, oblivious to all else, working on both computers at the same time.
Meera wakes before Shark. She’s surprised to find the odd-looking stranger in my
room, but says nothing once I’ve told her in whispers of his approach to business. We eat breakfast, then return to watch Timas Brauss. At one stage I ask if he’d like anything to eat or drink. He shushes me without looking up.
Shark finally rises close to midday. When he steps in to find Timas hard at work, he doesn’t look surprised. Stretching, he nods at Meera and me, then grunts at the man hunched over the laptops. “What do you have?”
Timas spins neatly to face Shark, letting his fingers rest on his knees. He looks like an overgrown schoolboy. “I have a full profile of the woman, Prae Argietta Athim. Do you want to know her background?”
“Couldn’t care less,” Shark sniffs. “Where is she?”
Timas clicks his tongue. “I would need more time to answer definitively. But I can tell you where she should be if she’s adhering to her regular schedule.”
“That’ll do,” Shark says.
Timas reads out a long address, down to the postal code, finishing off with her floor and office number.
“It’s a regular building?” Shark asks.
“Yes. The Lambs own the complex. A mix of offices, laboratories and miscellaneous divisions. I’ve downloaded a schematic plan of the structure and environs.”
“Let’s see.” Shark pushes Timas aside and studies the right-hand screen. Meera and I edge over to look at it with him. The blueprints mean nothing to me—my eyes go blurry from looking at all the lines—but Shark nods happily as he scrolls down. “Should be easy enough to crack. Security systems?”
“Downloading,” Timas says, tapping the other laptop.
“How much longer?”
“Maybe an hour. They are very cleverly protected. An invigorating challenge.”
Shark stretches again. He looks pleased. “Unless they’ve packed the corridors with troops, this should be a piece of cake. We’ll put a small team together, waltz in, grab Prae Athim, shake her up… be home in time for supper.”
“You really think it’ll be that easy?” Meera asks sceptically.
[Demonata 08] - Wolf Island Page 3