Jenny felt her lungs constricting as she closed in. Her white-blond hair had come undone and strands of it were lashing round her face, only she did her best to ignore that. Some clue, that was what she needed. Something to confirm her instincts. She couldn’t shoot a person in the back merely because he fitted the right general description. But if he turned and saw her, if he was that fire-breathing demon …
How to do this? God almighty!
She thought she caught a glint of metal by his ear. So he most likely did have glasses on. But that by itself proved nothing.
Then she took in something else. There were few driveways on this particular street. Both curbs were lined with parked vehicles.
She signaled for Eddie to hang back, then went ahead alone. Hobart’s words continued ringing through her head as she shortened the distance.
“Don’t look away from him, even for a second, and shoot him while he’s still in human form. Do otherwise, and it’ll be too late.”
A lock of hair fell across her eye. She batted it aside annoyedly, wishing that she’d tied it back a little better. She was coming up behind the man, her sidearm grasped two-handed, and he didn’t even seem to realize she was there.
Gently, now. Take it easy.
She’d practically stopped breathing altogether. Jenny was keeping half an eye on this guy’s back, and the other half on the parked cars’ windshields. A reflection of the man’s left shoulder floated into view. Jenny edged off to the side.
The next car that came up was an aged station wagon, and it didn’t look like anyone had washed the thing in months, the glass all covered up with crud. Goddamit!
But the vehicle past that was perfectly clean. And she finally caught sight of a reflection of her suspect’s face.
Spectacles and too much flesh. These were precisely the same features as the photograph that she’d been given. Jenny pinned her taut gaze to the guy’s wide back. Her back arced a little as she raised her service pistol.
But without any slightest warning, Olly Kirkland sidestepped sharply. He must have known that she was there behind him all along.
There was a front yard with a row of ornamental poplars to the right-hand side of him. Kirkland went behind one, vanishing from view.
Jenny started firing into the shrubbery, but she no longer had her eyes directly on him.
And something was already growing back there, swelling very quickly to enormous size.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
It was hard to miss the thick column of black smoke, as we headed back into the heart of town. Not again? But seriously, I should have been expecting this. Because the ‘Olly’ demon was still loose, and how else was it going to act?
The pall was vast, the breeze pushing it sideways so it drifted right across a dozen blocks. It was coming from the nearest neighborhood along. And so, instead of turning right, I stuck to Greenwood Terrace before heading south.
Another awful scene sprang up ahead of us. More homes ablaze, scores of them. Fire crews battling furiously, and people forming water-chains again. The wind was keeping the smoke off of us this time, and so I looked out for Saul Hobart.
He was on the outer edge of the crowd, looking awful grim, his big jaw set and his lips shrunken to a barely visible incision.
“Two officers badly burnt,” he snapped when I approached him.
And when I found out that they were Jenny Pearce and Eddie Allen, my spirits sank to sheer rock bottom. I liked them both, and had patrolled with Jen a good few times back in the day.
“And they’re not the only ones,” Saul was saying. “Plenty of folks were still at home. Willets is up at the hospital, trying to help, except he’s just as tired as everybody else. Those damned devils are taking us apart like turkey leftovers, and that’s the straight truth of the matter.”
I stared at the water bucket chains. No help seemed to be coming from Raine Manor any longer – Woody always was erratic. And so these people were having to cope by themselves. Nick McLeish was there, and that was no surprise. He’s a pretty active member of the Garnerstown community. And there were several other faces that I recognized, buddies of his for the most part. Then I spotted Becky Trayner hurrying across to help as well.
I knew that she was still at risk from Eastlake junior, and she understood that too. Except the knowledge wasn’t stopping her. She took hold of a slopping pail and passed it up, her young face straining with the effort. Then she ran a wrist across her brow, peering at me defiantly as I approached.
“I couldn’t just sit home and watch. Could you do that, Mr. Devries? I think not.”
She was certainly the strong-willed type. I started trying to reason with her, but she shook her head.
“I’m surrounded by my neighbors, here. If Ryan wants to do anything to me, then he’s going to have to go through them.”
I wasn’t sure how accurate that was, but Becky was determined and she wouldn’t quit. And so I went across and had a word with Nick. He nodded thoughtfully, then he and several of his crew moved across and joined the line directly behind her. If anything did start happening, they’d be on top of it instantly. That was the best that we could manage till the damned adepts came up with something. If they ever did.
The fires were being gotten under control. There wasn’t much that I could do to make things any better. And this wasn’t really Hobart’s main job either – he had bigger fish to fry. He was already climbing back into his Pontiac when I stopped him and suggested that we had another powwow at the station house in half an hour’s time.
“To discuss what?” he rumbled at me, looking unconvinced.
“I think we’re going at this the wrong way. We’ll get nowhere, trying to track the devils down. It’s Harker Eastlake that we need to get at. And I’m still willing to take an even bet he’s holed up at the Deth House. So we have to figure where it is.”
“We’ve already looked in every place that we can think of,” Saul objected.
“So we need to start looking in a few places that normal people can’t.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Half an hour later, the station house was playing host to the gloomiest bunch of individuals since the Wall Street Crash of ’29. Thank God that there were no high windows to jump out of.
Martha and Judge Levin both looked crestfallen and lost, their bodies hunched, their gazes hollow. They’d brought Gaspar Vernon along again. He was sitting in a corner, gnawing at his off-white moustache with the edges of his teeth. And by the haunted look on his face, he was caught in the remembrance of happier times. I couldn’t blame him.
Doc Willets was not merely distressed but utterly worn out. The red glow in his pupils had become reduced to a dull glimmer, and his eyelids kept on trying to smack shut. He’d been up at the hospital for ages, employing his healing powers. They’re finite, like all magic. Can be drained, and need replenishing. But he’d not been given any time to do so.
Us more normal humans weren’t in any noticeably better state. Lauren looked like she had spent the last few hours sucking a big pile of lemons, and I was genuinely concerned that she was coming down with something. Saul – in counterpoint – was filled with nervous energy, the way that people get when they are so damned tired they either keep on moving or else fall apart.
Me, I wanted somebody to reach inside my skull and find the switch that turned my brain off for a while. Except that I couldn’t afford to go that route.
“That goddamned frat house has to be somewhere.”
“My people have searched every inch of town,” Saul responded. “Even Tyburn, and the woods on Sycamore Hill. It’s nowhere to be seen.”
“Perhaps it can’t be seen,” Martha suggested. “Maybe it’s become invisible as well.”
“A thing that size? Somebody would have bumped into it by now. I don’t see how that’s the answer.”
“Maybe it’s been moved to some other dimension?” Levin tried.
He was remembering the time when one of those th
ings had tried to overwhelm us. But Willets had come around a little and was shaking his head gently.
“Demonism’s not that kind of magic,” he said. “It’s all about the here and now. Its followers want power and wealth in this world, and they’re not concerned with any others.”
The entire room’s attention swung to him.
“My guess would be that if it’s not out there, then Eastlake’s gone and hidden it inside something.”
I could not speak for the others, but I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.
“You’ve had more dealings with him than the rest of us,” the doc asked me. “Did he have anything with him, on his person, at his house? A ring? An amulet? An … I don’t know. A crystal ball?”
I struggled with my memory, but could remember nothing like that.
“A jewel?” Willets suggested.
Me and Saul looked at each other sharply.
When he’d still been in the disguise of a tired old man, when he had pottered into that reception room to greet us, Harker Eastlake had been bowed over. And shuffling, walking with a stick.
And that stick had, set into its head …
“A lump of quartz!” Saul burst out loudly.
Not even a jewel as such. Merely a chunk of barely precious mineral. He’d even shown it to us and explained where it had come from. So I told the rest about it. They mostly looked perplexed, but I could see the way that Willets’s face had brightened just a hint.
“That has to be it, then. We need to get hold of it, and straight away.”
“Are you seriously suggesting …?”
Then I took in his expression.
Me and Lauren started getting up, but Levin raised a hand to stop us.
“You’ve both done enough. There’s no need for either of you to go running these kinds of simple errands.” And he turned his gaze to Saul. “I’ll draw a warrant up, lieutenant. I’m sure that your people can handle what ought to be a pretty routine job.”
Saul nodded, then went through to the dispatch room. We could hear him talking on a police waveband, finding out which cars were nearest to the Eastlake mansion.
Could it really be this simple? I just wasn’t sure. But Willets was the real expert on magic here, and so the safest plan of action was to trust him.
“How long is this going to take?” I asked Saul, when he came back.
“Depends if my guys run into any trouble.”
Then he went over to a window facing south and cursed. The rest of us got up to take a look. Another massive plume of smoke was lifting itself up into the air, from the borders of the Tyburn district this time. Our fire-breathing friend was obviously making a wide circuit of the suburbs.
Saul’s shoulders bunched.
“The rest of you can do what you like, but I’m not sitting around with all this going on.”
He headed for the door, and no one even tried to stop him. The main thing was that we got to the core of this.
The room fell so silent I could hear a small clock ticking. A quarter of an hour passed, and I could feel my sinews getting stiff. And so I got up, paced a little. Grew uncomfortably aware that everyone was watching me. And so I wandered over to the door instead.
A patrol car was drawing up outside. Two uniformed cops got out, and one of them was holding something.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The demon Uhezreth had moved a good distance away. The heat of the new fire that he’d started was far back behind him, and he missed its sparkle and delicious warmth. But he could still smell the smoke. And while to humans it was only that, to a creature like himself there was a massive layering of scents and flavors.
The devil’s nostrils flared, and he enjoyed the subtleties of the bouquet the same way that a connoisseur of fine wine might enjoy a claret’s ‘nose.’
There was a hint of burnt flesh. Not enough to really satisfy him, but a hint would do. A powerful tang of scorched clothes and furniture, the items that kept human beings comfortable and warm. But best of all, Uhezreth could smell the burnt-out dreams.
People’s lives had been invested in the homes that he’d destroyed. They’d worked hard to pay the bills, and labored in their off hours to decorate their humble dwellings. They’d believed that they would live there happily, the entire way into old age. And now, a few minutes of dancing flame and those dreams had fizzled off like shadows.
Uhezreth smirked delightedly.
He’d changed back to his human form – his chubby, Olly Kirkland form – and was walking north up Halsham, entering the Clayton district. The houses round him were larger and far neater than the ones he’d left behind. They were mostly on two stories, and had front yards full of flowerbeds and back yards that had tall trees in them. A prosperous district by the look of it, full of dreams ripe for the plucking.
He could keep on doing this till – what was the expression? – Kingdom Come. And that was a sick joke, wasn’t it? By the time that any kingdom came, these folks would be enslaved or dead. And it pleased him greatly to keep moving, spreading his destruction, hastening their end.
He heard a fire truck go howling by, a couple of blocks away. The crews had to be getting desperately tired, but he considered that another bonus, yet another tasty sprinkle on the cake of pain he’d made. Like most devils, he took genuine sustenance from human suffering.
But then a dark blue car appeared on the street and went roaring past him in the same direction that the fire truck had gone. The driver didn’t even seem to notice him, but then, why should he? All Uhezreth looked like was a large and rather happy man who’d gone out for a gentle stroll. There was no reason anyone would pay him the slightest attention.
He waited till the car had dwindled off. And then he stopped dead, lifting himself to his full height. It was time for him to strike again. And he was going to burn this neighborhood to ashes.
He tried to transform to his proper shape.
But found that he could not.
Uhezreth peered down at himself, his spreading belly and his slightly buckled knees. They ought to be transmuting, giving way to the strange beauty of his true, insectile form. But however hard he tried to make that happen, his flesh wouldn’t change. And he couldn’t understand it. Why should that be?
There could only be one answer. Someone had to be looking directly at him. Holding him in their tight gaze, and so preventing him from turning.
He whirled around, trying to spot who it might be. Nobody was staring at him from the windows or the yards nearby. But then an instinct made his neck prickle. He swiveled back the way he’d come.
That dark blue car had returned. It was heading back in his direction, going a great deal slower than before. And he could not make out the driver through the windshield. But the man was staring at him, obviously.
Uhezreth struggled desperately to change into his more invulnerable form, but he still couldn’t manage it.
The car was drawing level, its side window sliding down. A head came poking out, a bald one with a large, flat face and a wide, jutting jaw. And then a hand came out as well, clutching a heavy pistol.
“Peekaboo!” Saul Hobart growled. “I see you!”
Then he started shooting.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
For a good while now, there’d been a sensation of swaying in the Deth House. And that feeling was confirmed when Ryan looked up at the massive, iron-framed chandelier. It was rocking on its chain, as if the entire building had been lifted into the palm of some enormous giant who was casually inspecting it. It made him queasy, but he did his best not to let that bother him.
He was sprawled out on the chaise longue in the common room again, trying to drown his sorrows in a bottle of neat vodka. There was a livid bruise on one side of his face. And it was not the first time that had happened by any means. The old man had always been too free and easy with his hands.
The glitter in Ryan’s eyes was a melancholy one, and the liquor only made that worse. Pop was right on one lev
el. Those dead guys downstairs hadn’t been his friends. They’d never really liked him, simply looked to him for leadership. But they had been the only people – male at least – that he’d had any tentative connection to. Everybody else at college gave him a wide berth. And now that even the Delta crowd was gone, a heavy sense of loneliness began weighing down on him.
He began to think what being the prince of a devilish inferno really meant. Forever and all time? It had sounded so appealing when his Pop had first described it but, by this stage, he was beginning to wonder.
The house’s rocking became even worse, and there was something like a soundless thump. The walls and floor all jolted violently. The crystal beads on the chandelier jangled and some plaster dust came spilling from an upper story. Then a crack appeared.
A painting dropped from its hook, hitting the floor, its glass shattering. And a lamp fell off a coffee table, smashing.
Moments later, Ryan could hear his father – who was still down in the crypt – yelling out in a demonic tongue. And then a second voice, deeper and far darker, answered. So the old man was consulting with Lord Ithmoteus once again.
He couldn’t make out what they were discussing. Ryan got warily to his feet, the floor still trembling beneath him. Then another crack appeared above his head, next to the railings on the second floor. So what was happening?
Below him, the conversation stopped. There would have been pure silence, if it wasn’t for the noises that the house was making.
Pop materialized beneath the chandelier. He stripped off the robes that he had on, straightening the sleeves of his dark jacket. And his motions were all hurried ones, which made Ryan concerned.
“Are we under attack?”
Pop stared at him like he was retarded.
“No, of course not, Sonny-boy. Not us directly. But didn’t you feel it? The second devil has been beaten. Dammit, but he’s gone back where he came from.”
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