Just give up, they said. It won’t hurt for long, and then you can join us. You can be at peace …
Jake heard a skitter of claws behind him. No longer running, he shuffled onwards. At any minute he expected to feel the sting of the monster’s bite.
And then the bells of St Swithin’s rang out.
A terrified scream cut through the woodland. Jake looked over his shoulder. It was Pinch. Hands clasped over his ears, the demon rolled in an agonized ball. Jake remembered a story from one of his horror comics in which a vampire had been tortured by the toll of a cathedral bell. Perhaps the sound of something sacred could ward off demonic forces as effectively as the sight of a crucifix or a splash of holy water. If so, that must mean that sanctified ground would provide a safe haven.
The bells stopped. It did not matter. Jake was now within a hundred metres of the church. He jumped over the graveyard wall and dodged between the headstones. There was no light behind the stained glass windows. He prayed that the solid oak door was unlocked.
He reached the church steps, and was about to rush the door, when a hand caught at his leg and tripped him to the ground. Jake’s head smacked against the stone step and his vision fractured into whirling shards. Through this kaleidoscope, he saw Mr Pinch’s mouth stretch wide and lock down on his leg. His scream shattered the silence of the old churchyard.
The shadowy form of Mr Quilp appeared from between the trees.
‘Your mother died trying to save you.’
The Pale Man stepped over the graveyard wall.
‘Your friend choked to death on his own lifeblood. Again, an attempt to save your pitiful life.’
Wicked little teeth sank deeper into Jake’s flesh, tearing muscle away from bone. His vision continued to reel in loops and spirals. He could see Quilp coming towards him. It appeared as if the man glided between the headstones.
‘All that sacrifice for nothing. If only your mother had told me the Elders’ secret, she might have saved you. Never mind, my boy, I’ll tell Mr Pinch to make it quick.’
Quilp stood over him. Jake felt the witch’s fingers rake through his hair. At his master’s instruction, Pinch let go of the boy’s leg and scampered up his body. Hot, meaty breath filled Jake’s senses. He saw those jaws open once more. Soon they would close upon his throat.
‘Please … ’ Jake murmured.
‘Goodnight, Jacob Harker.’
Light flooded through the church doors. Jake heard an exclamation of surprise and horror—then the sound of a gun being loaded with lightning speed. A second later, two shots rang out and grey gunsmoke billowed overhead. Pinch screeched and dropped to the ground. Quilp staggered back, his hand clamped on the bullet wound at his shoulder. The slightest movement hurt like hell, but Jake managed to twist his head around and look up at his saviour.
Through dimming eyes he saw Dr Saxby—Rachel’s father—slip the revolver back into its holster.
Dr Saxby flipped his mobile phone shut.
‘We’ve had word, sir. They’ve found Claire’s body snagged in bramble under the canal bridge. The … um … the head was found further downstream.’
‘Thank you, Malcolm.’
Dr Holmwood approached the examination table. Saxby joined him, his round, sweaty face a picture of concern. Jake stared up at the doctor and a small part of his brain wondered how someone so ordinary-looking could be the father of Rachel Saxby. The thought occupied a split second before grief and confusion overwhelmed it. His mother and his best friend were dead—murdered by a witch and a demon. He had almost suffered the same fate but had been rescued by Dr Saxby and brought … where exactly? The questions came thick and fast: how had he got here? Had Quilp and Pinch been captured? Why was Dr Holmwood here? And, most puzzling of all, why did he seem unable to move or to speak? Jake knew the answer to only one of these questions. This was the Hobarron Institute. He would recognize these grey walls anywhere.
Apart from the surgical examination table on which he had been laid, the large, high-ceilinged room appeared to be featureless. People in white coats went in and out, checked their flipcharts and stole glances at Jake.
‘Poor child,’ Holmwood said.
‘Can he hear us, sir?’
‘Perhaps. Hypnotism is a tricky art, more magic than science.’
A faint look of disgust crossed Dr Saxby’s features.
‘Indeed. Well, I don’t suppose it matters. For now.’
‘Tell me again how you found him. Your earlier report was rather muddled.’
Saxby pressed a button on the far wall and a large video screen rose up out of the floor. A Bond villain lair after all, Jake thought. He watched the screen, aware that his eyes were the only part of his body still mobile. Perhaps that meant the hypnotic trance was wearing off. He strained to move the little finger of his right hand. Not a twitch.
‘I was attending the weekly meeting of the Hobarron Institute Bell Ringers’ Club … ’ Saxby began.
Holmwood raised an eyebrow. ‘We have a bell ringers’ club now?’
‘Afraid so. A few of us get together every Thursday night to … ’
‘Ring bells?’
‘Yes, sir. Anyway, I heard a commotion outside and thought I’d better take a look. Luckily, I had my weapon with me.’
‘Anyone outside the Institute see anything?’
‘Only the old vicar of St Swithin’s. We’ve worked our mojo on him. Now he thinks it was just a scuffle between a gang of louts.’
‘Good work. But who was our mystery assailant?’
Saxby clicked a pen-like device and a photograph of the Pale Man appeared on-screen.
‘Tobias Quilp. A witch of some considerable power. Fifty-three years of age, no living relatives. Since Tobias came to our attention in the early nineteen-eighties, we have interviewed most of the people connected with him. School friends described a malicious young boy, fond of tormenting animals. That aside, young Tobias was an excellent student. He attended the local grammar school and earned a place at Oxford University. He studied history, his special interest being the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century. His book on Matthew Hopkins is still the most thorough history of the witchfinder … ’
Jake’s mind raced through his knowledge of horror, real and fictional. It did not take long to locate Matthew Hopkins within his dark catalogue. For a period of only two years, from 1645 to 1647, the self-appointed ‘Witchfinder General’ had tortured confessions from many suspected witches. Those convicted had been hanged by the neck until they were dead, after which Hopkins would claim his reward from the local community. He had been responsible for the murder of hundreds of innocent people.
Jake’s attention returned to Saxby.
‘It was while researching his book on Hopkins that Tobias met Esther Inglethorpe.’
Holmwood nodded grimly. ‘Mother Inglethorpe. And through her Tobias was introduced to the Crowden Coven?’
‘Yes. Inglethorpe was a professor at the Oxford college where Quilp studied. She saw that Tobias had a cruel mind, much like her own. Quilp was introduced to the mysteries of black magic and he never looked back. Within a few years he was third in command of the Crowden Coven, second only to Mother Inglethorpe herself.’ The picture zoomed in to focus on Quilp’s neck. An ugly black mark ran around his throat. ‘Here’s Quilp’s brand, given to him when he joined the Coven.’
Jake thought that the mark looked like a rope burn. Perhaps that was how witches identified one another. And then he remembered that strange ritual Brett made him go through every time he arrived at the Hobarron Institute. The security guard had always paid special attention to Jake’s neck.
‘And Quilp’s demon?’
Saxby pressed a button and the image on the screen switched to a pencil sketch of Mr Pinch.
‘This is our only image of the demon, an illustration from a sorcerer’s spell book from around the thirteenth century. He is a powerful creature that has been a familiar to many dark witches over the centuries.
As you are aware, Quilp will have been assigned his demon when he was initiated into the Crowden Coven. We know that the witch has mastered many dark arts: levitation, hexes, voodoo enchantments … ’
‘And now we have them, this Mr Pinch and Mr Quilp. They are secured in the cells downstairs?’
‘And separated. I’ll be preparing a full report, of course, but my first impression is that Quilp and Mother Inglethorpe plotted this together. A kill-spell like the one performed tonight is very dark magic, difficult for even an experienced witch to pull off unaided.’
‘It’s all very strange,’ Holmwood mused. ‘Why would the Coven attack one of our employees?’
‘That is surely obvious, sir,’ Saxby said. ‘The Demontide . ..’
‘The Demontide is over six months away. Of course, we would expect an attack then, but what possible advantage is there in attacking now? We have fought the Coven once in every generation, but only ever at the time of the Demontide. Between those periods we do not engage with them. That is how it has been for over three hundred years, so why have they broken the pattern?’
‘There can be only one reason. They have heard about the weapon.’
Holmwood gave a sharp nod. ‘Yes … But they don’t know what the weapon is. Quilp must have tortured Claire trying to find out. Then, when she wouldn’t tell him, he turned on the boy.’
‘Are you so sure Claire didn’t tell him?’
‘She was one of us.’
‘She wasn’t an Elder. Not one of the old Hobarron families.’
‘She was Adam Harker’s wife, and I trusted her,’ Holmwood insisted. ‘No, I am confident that the secret is still safe.’
‘As to the weapon, sir … ’
Holmwood raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, you know that I’ve voiced concerns before about this new plan.’
‘Hardly “new”, Dr Saxby—the weapon has been many years in the making.’
‘My objection remains the same. It is unproven and untested, and the theory behind it is … ’
‘Rooted in good, honest science,’ Holmwood cut in. ‘The weapon was created using the most sophisticated machinery and engineering. And it is now our best hope of destroying the demon threat once and for all.’
‘But can it be trusted? Are we sure that it will even work when the time comes? Remember, if we cannot stop the Demontide then the world is lost.’
‘I am aware of that, doctor. We have faced the threat many times before and we have always triumphed.’
‘This time it’s different,’ Saxby countered. ‘This time there’s a real danger that we will fail, especially if we place all our trust in the weapon … ’
‘Wrong.’
Adam Harker stood in the doorway, tears wet upon his cheeks. He strode towards the table and pulled Malcolm Saxby away from his son.
‘Adam, I’m so sorry for your loss … ’ Saxby began.
‘I thank you for rescuing Jake,’ Adam said, ‘but don’t pretend you’re sorry that my wife is dead. You never liked Claire.’
Holmwood placed a hand on the bereaved man’s shoulder. Adam brushed it off.
‘As to your objections, you needn’t fear,’ he continued. ‘I give you my word that in six months the weapon will be fully functional. Then three hundred years of horror will end and the threat of the Demontide will be no more. Now, leave me. I need to be alone with my son.’
Holmwood took Saxby by the arm and led him from the room.
Adam stood over Jake, the tears flowing freely now.
‘I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me, son. Forgive your mother, too. We tried to protect you.’
Adam took a silver coin from his pocket and began twirling it between his fingers.
‘I’m sorry that I can’t make this any easier for you, Jake.’ The coin danced and dazzled. ‘Look at the coin. Listen to my voice. Your head is heavy, your eyes are drooping. Your memories of tonight are fading. Your mother’s death, what you saw, what you heard, everything is disappearing into darkness. When you wake up you will remember only what I have told you. Concentrate on my words.’
The coin spun in a silver blur.
‘Jake, this is how your mother died … ’
Chapter 5
Ten Minutes in the Nightmare Box
The old woman hurried out of Waterloo Station and into Leake Street. Anyone too slow to move out of her path was elbowed aside or swatted with her cane. Ignoring the yelps and complaints, Mother Inglethorpe’s thoughts focused on her destination: Number 8 Yaga Passage. A phone call had summoned her to the Coven’s London Headquarters. It seemed that Tobias Quilp’s mission had not gone to plan.
Esther Inglethorpe shuddered at the thought of explaining their failure to the Coven Master. She needed to get her story in order, and so she went back to the beginning …
It had all started six months ago, with a rumour that the Hobarron Elders had devised a powerful new weapon. Mother Inglethorpe had not taken the story very seriously but the leader of the Coven had insisted on an investigation. The Coven numbered three Dark Seers among its thirteen members: Roland Grype, Ambrose Montague, and Felicity Summers. Using the magic of their demons, these witches could see into people’s homes, listen to their conversations, even eavesdrop on their thoughts. Together, they had been able to cut through the scientific and magical security cordon that the Hobarron Elders put up around themselves.
Almost as soon as they had bent their thoughts upon the weapon, Felicity Summers had been struck dead. Some form of magic employed by the Elders had felt her presence and lashed out across the miles. Even Esther’s heart had trembled at the sight of the young woman’s sudden death.
Then, almost immediately, another magical infection had struck, this time at Ambrose Montague. Well used to such attacks, the old man had escaped more or less unscathed. If you can call losing your left eye unscathed, Esther thought. An invisible hand had reached out for the witch and plucked the eye clean out of its socket.
Only that odious little man Roland Grype had pierced the Hobarron defences long enough to learn something. Esther remembered how he had crawled towards the head of their Coven, panting, exhausted, but obviously proud of his achievement.
‘There is a weapon,’ Grype hissed. ‘I cannot be sure, but I believe the Elders have been developing it for many years. It is their last defence against the Demontide.’
‘We must learn more,’ the founder of the Coven had said. ‘Tell me, did you see anyone closely connected to this weapon?’
‘Claire Harker,’ Grype nodded, delighted to have a ready answer.
‘Adam Harker’s wife,’ Esther had sniffed. ‘She’s a mechanical engineer. Builds machines, computer systems, that sort of thing. Maybe the Elders have asked her to create a device that they can use against the Door. Some kind of machine that could destroy the entrance into the demon world.’
‘A powerful device indeed,’ the Coven Master whispered. ‘Mrs Harker will pay dearly for her actions … ’
He had then turned to Esther and Tobias Quilp. Their task was to learn all they could about the weapon. Esther knew that a secret operation was their only hope. The Hobarron Institute was a powerful organization, its wealth vast, its connections reaching into the highest levels of government. In the magical world, too, the Elders could not be underestimated.
A headstrong young witch called Sidney Tinsmouth had once tried to frighten the Elders by murdering a little girl within the grounds of the Institute. All agreed that it had been an amusing trick, but the Coven as a whole had paid very dearly for it. Tinsmouth himself was captured and, no doubt, executed. The Elders had been merciless in their revenge and had killed eight Coven witches in a single night. Although they had since recruited new members, the lesson was well learned. They could only attack the Institute when they were absolutely sure of their power.
And so Esther and Tobias had met at her cottage one warm August afternoon. There, in her garden of deadly nightshade, the two
witches had devised their plan. It was obvious that, although Claire Harker was not an Elder, she was still unlikely to give up the secret easily.
‘Maybe we could use the son,’ Tobias had suggested.
‘Son?’ Mother Inglethorpe frowned. ‘I was not aware the Harkers had a son.’
Quilp passed her an envelope. Inside she found three photographs, each showing a thin, lanky boy with brown hair falling over his eyes.
‘Looks rather soft, doesn’t he?’ Quilp grinned. ‘I’m sure that Mr Pinch could convince Claire to talk, especially if the boy was threatened.’
‘My clever Tobias,’ Inglethorpe chuckled. ‘Yes, I think that will do very well.’
Of course, there had been some risk involved. Finding a time when Claire and Jake Harker were alone was the main difficulty. Using his Seer abilities, Grype had discovered that mother and son sometimes walked home together in the evenings. The other problem Esther foresaw was the chance that Claire or Jake might escape and tell Dr Holmwood what had happened. Tobias had reassured Esther on that score.
‘After we learn all we can about the machine, Mr Pinch will kill them both—then we can dispose of the bodies. No one need ever know what really happened.’
It had seemed a foolproof plan. So what had gone wrong?
Mother Inglethorpe turned out of the noisy street and into an alleyway cloaked in silence. A sign bolted to the wall proclaimed this place:
The street was long and narrow, the pavement slick with ice. The soot-blackened walls either side leaned in at such an angle that it seemed only a matter of time before the buildings tumbled against each other. Mother Inglethorpe looked up once or twice. She caught sight of a parade of strange figures watching her from their windows. Creatures with the heads of animals and the bodies of men; shapes with long, spidery limbs and glowing eyes; ghostly forms that evaporated as soon as they were glimpsed. In one window she saw the silhouette of an eight-armed woman painting her forty fingernails.
Esther reached the door of a grubby-looking bookshop and rang the bell. Her eye slipped across the sign:
Dawn of the Demontide Page 5