Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light

by Tanya Huff

  Her search became a frantic scramble, masking all further sounds. She didn’t need to hear it. She knew it was still out there. The tip of one finger touched metal. Her knuckles left skin on the concrete as she snatched up the keys and scrambled to her feet.

  Then she couldn’t find the handle….

  Then she couldn’t find the lock….

  Then the damned key wouldn’t fit….

  Then something touched her back.

  She shrieked and spun around, arm raised.

  “Here now, Miss, be careful. I just thought you could use a little light on that.” The security guard lifted his flashlight and shone it against the car’s door.

  Daru took a deep breath and forced herself to stop trembling. The old man smiled kindly, neither surprised nor upset by her reaction.

  “It’s a pretty spooky place down here when the lights are out,” he added, glancing around.

  She followed his gaze, noting that the darkness had become more gray than black. She could see her car, not clearly, but she could see it. Wetting dry lips, she murmured, “Thanks,” unlocked the door and climbed in. As she drove away, she thought she saw, just for a second, a shadow in her headlights where no shadow should be.

  With no reason to hold him—no outstanding warrants, no previous record, not so much as an unpaid parking ticket—the police had no choice but to let Roland go. He’d spent a bad twenty minutes, stammering over his name, forgetting his address. Every time he’d opened his mouth, they became more convinced he had to be guilty of something. They’d asked him to put the guitar down, so he didn’t even have the comforting weight of Patience in his hands.

  Finally they waved him off, sending him on his way with a stern, “We’ll be watching you.”

  It struck him, about a block later, that one, and possibly both of the cops were younger than he was. He had a feeling it wouldn’t have helped if he’d realized that earlier. Shaken, his balance eroded, he headed for Yonge Street and the anonymity of the crowds. At the moment, Darkness seemed preferable to another run-in with the Metropolitan Toronto Police.

  The four-piece band still blasted out its version of rock at the north end of the Centre, but its audience had thinned. As he watched, another group of teenagers wandered away, joining the steady stream of people moving south. No one was coming north.

  Puzzled, he followed the crowd.

  The open area, just down from the big central doors, was packed with bodies, some swaying, some nodding in time, all standing quietly listening to a single voice and an acoustic guitar.

  Roland pushed his way forward, using his case as a battering ram where necessary, until he stood just one row back from the singer. He couldn’t see the big attraction. A dark haired man, about his own age, stood strumming a shining new, black Ovation, his voice pleasant enough but not really great. Certainly not up to the quality of the guitar. And then, his curiosity satisfied, he listened, really listened, to the song.

  He couldn’t understand the words, if it had words, but had picked up the feeling easily enough. Despair. Disillusionment. Hopelessness. He found himself swaying in time, agreeing with the sentiment. What was the point of it all anyway. No one else cared, why should he?

  Evan cares, chided a small voice in his head.

  It’s Evan’s job to care, he told it, wishing it would shut up so he could hear the music.

  What about Daru? it asked.

  Her job, too, he pointed out gleefully, getting the better of that small voice for the first time in his life.

  And Rebecca?

  He didn’t have an answer for that. Rebecca cared because Rebecca cared, no other reason. Suddenly the music didn’t make as much sense and he jerked his head to clear it.

  The singer looked up and smiled right at him.

  Roland backed up fast, ignoring cries of outrage as he banged into people, disregarding the muttered curses he left marking his path. He didn’t stop until his back pressed up against an ad pillar and a mass of bodies were between him and the Darkness. His heart pounded so hard that he couldn’t hear the music, but he knew it went on.

  And he knew he had to do something about it.

  I can’t. The police will come again and this time they won’t just talk.

  He was panting as if he’d just run a race. I can’t.

  I can’t fight Darkness alone. Evan is supposed to be here!

  All around him, men and women of all ages swayed and nodded, their faces growing bleaker.

  I can’t.

  But he fumbled for the clasps of the guitar case and pulled Patience free, holding her before him like a shield.

  He had to, for the Darkness was taking something he loved, warping it and making it ugly. He couldn’t let that continue.

  There wasn’t anyone else.

  But what would be strong enough to lift the disillusionment that lay like black syrup over the crowd? What was strong enough to span the generations listening spellbound to Darkness? He chose and discarded and chose and discarded again. Then he realized if he had only one chance, he had only one song. His fingers strummed the opening chord and he prayed that John Lennon, wherever he was, would lend a hand.

  By the fourth line, the heads closest to him began turning.

  By the sixth, they’d shaken off the Darkness and the effect was spreading.

  Roland let the song sing itself, giving himself to the lyrics and the music and blocking everything else from his mind. The song had to be all there was, leaving no room for Darkness to get in.

  As he finished “Imagine” and moved without pausing into “Let It Be,” he saw tears glimmering on more than one cheek and suspected his own were wet. He felt the power of his singing, of his playing, move out from his voice and fingers and find a place to grow. This is worth believing in, said the power. Hope. Life. Joy.

  He slid into “Can’t Buy Me Love” and saw toes beginning to tap. And then he saw the smiles and knew he was winning.

  He stopped singing when his voice had died to a croak and saw without any real sense of surprise that he’d been at it for a little over two hours. The crowd, laughing and talking, began to break up. The occasional frown or mutter remained, but the overpowering sense of despair had vanished.

  Roland stretched cramped fingers and grinned. Beatles, one. Darkness, zero.

  “I think,” said a quiet voice at his shoulder, “we should talk.”

  Roland’s grin widened. After this, he could deal with the cops. He turned, and froze.

  Darkness smiled.

  Chapter Nine

  “You play very well,” the Dark Adept nodded at Patience still cradled in Roland’s arms. “You’d be superb with a better instrument.”

  Roland’s hands tightened against the polished wood. “I’m happy with what I have,” he said, indignation breaking through his fear.

  “Of course, you are.” Standing his own guitar case on end, the Dark Adept leaned companionably against the top of it. “If you weren’t happy, you wouldn’t be so good. But surely you must have wondered what it would be like to play on a really top of the line guitar. One with a decent resonance and strings that don’t go sharp when you least expect it.”

  Of their own volition, Roland’s fingers found the A-string. It did tend to go sharp, regardless of how many times he changed the string or how carefully he tuned it. And Patience, for all she’d been the best he could afford at the time, had always had a slightly shallow sound. I must have been crazy to go up against him with just … Hold on! He forced his gaze away from the Darkness and out over the last of the dispersing crowd. I won. His sense of accomplishment came flooding back and with it his self-confidence.

  “I’m happy with what I have,” he repeated, his tone refusing all further discussion. He laid Patience carefully in her case, caressing her gently as he settled her against the felt. When he straightened, the plastic handle secure and familiar in his hand, the Dark Adept had moved around in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Walk wi

th me.”

  “Do what?”

  “Walk. You have nothing to fear from me now. You defeated me. You can afford to be magnanimous.”

  Talk about taking a walk on the wild side. Roland stared fixedly at a point beyond the cotton clad shoulder and tried to get his thoughts in order. He was not going to go for a stroll with this deceptively friendly young man and that was final. But Evan needed information—where the Darkness hid, where the gate would be—and this might be the best, probably the only, chance to get it. Sure, there’d be risks, but wouldn’t it be worth it? He could still feel the residue of the power he’d put into the music warming him. Besides, up close, the Darkness didn’t seem that frightening. He had defeated him and he could do it again.

  Two large, blue clad figures coming into his line of sight from the south made up his mind.

  “Walk where?” he asked, moving away to the north.

  The Dark Adept fell into step beside him. “Oh, just around.”

  They walked in silence until they turned left onto Dundas and then the Adept said, “I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  Roland’s head snapped around in astonishment. “A deal? What kind of a deal?”

  “In return for what you most desire, you will cease to help the Light.”

  The tone was so matter-of-fact, Roland could only say, “You’re tempting me?”

  The Adept smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, it is what I, uh, do.”

  In spite of everything, Roland couldn’t help but laugh. They turned left again, into the small park behind the Centre, moving across the grass toward the looming spires of Trinity United Church. “So tempt, but I’m warning you, I don’t want anything you can give me.”

  “But you have been wanting different things of late.”

  The curve of Evan’s cheek, the long line of thigh, the heat in his hands …

  “No,” Roland shook his head violently. “No. No, I haven’t.”

  The Dark Adept looked surprised. “You deny your desire for the Light?”

  His mouth opened to say, “Yes,” because he couldn’t admit to Darkness something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself. Then he stopped, suddenly aware of the danger in giving Darkness a lie. The lie, he realized, would deny the Light, the words that made it up were unimportant.

  “No,” he said again, slowly and carefully. “I don’t deny my desire.”

  “But you said …”

  “I denied that I’ve been wanting different things of late.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Roland thought he could get away with it. “I’ve wanted love before. What difference does plumbing make?” What indeed? he asked himself, turning the idea over and feeling like he’d just been hit with a brick. Holy shit, Evan was right. There is no evil in loving. Wait until I see him again, I’ll … He stopped the thought, unsure of just what he would do but sure, at least, that he’d stopped running. The light by the church door illuminated the face of Darkness and Roland realized he’d won again.

  “That wasn’t my offer,” the Adept snapped as they headed back toward the Centre. “That isn’t what you most desire.”

  “Well?” Roland prodded, willing to be, as Darkness had suggested, magnanimous in winning.

  The Adept took a deep breath and placed his hand against one of the glass doors leading into the mall. It swung open.

  “Hey, it’s after midnight. That shouldn’t be unlocked.”

  “It wasn’t.” The Adept grinned back over his shoulder, his blue eyes almost black in the dim light. “Coming?”

  Roland shrugged—In for a sheep, in for a lamb … —and followed.

  The inside of the Eaton Centre looked like a different place at night, like a set waiting for actors. Their soft soled shoes made no sound against the tiles as they crossed the wide concourse and paused just inside the glass doors leading out onto Yonge. On the other side of the glass, the area they’d played in was now empty of everything but trash.

  The Darkness waved a long-fingered hand. “I offer you what you had out there tonight …”

  “That’s already mine,” Roland scoffed, touching the last warmth of the power. “That came from within me, not from something outside. You can’t give it, and you can’t take it away.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” the Dark, Adept sighed. “I give you what you had tonight, with your own songs.”

  “With my own …”

  “Yes. Your words, your music will have the power to move people. Not just you singing and playing the words and music of others.”

  “Mine …”

  “Now,” Darkness smiled, “is that not what you desire above all else?”

  “Yes.” Roland barely got the word out. To have the piece that was somehow missing from his songs. to finally have a voice of his own. To have music he’d created mean something to others; to move them to tears, or laughter, or anger; to last and have the same effect long after he was gone. He’d often thought he’d sell his soul for that. Now he was being given the chance.

  “Well, do we have a deal?”

  Evan didn’t really need him. Besides, tonight he’d done his bit to defeat the Darkness. He’d beaten it not once but twice. Wasn’t that enough?

  “Roland?”

  His songs. His music.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  A red and white fried chicken wrapper blew up against the doors.

  Roland they’ve got chicken.

  I can see that, kiddo.

  Would Rebecca want to listen to his songs if he gave in? Somehow he didn’t think so. But weighed against the rest of the world, did it matter what one simpleminded girl thought?

  He could feel himself trembling and he couldn’t raise his head. His voice was scarcely audible. “No.”

  It mattered.

  “No?”

  He knew he should feel exalted that he’d proven strong enough yet again, but he only felt an aching sense of loss.

  “You’re making a mistake, Roland.” The Dark Adept shrugged. “But it’s your mistake to make.”

  “You’re taking this very calmly,” Roland said with some surprise, not entirely sure he liked this nonchalant attitude toward his sacrifice.

  The Adept placed his hand against the door and the lock snapped back. “You win some, you lose some. Oops,” he paused, “looks like your friends in blue are still out there. I don’t think they’d be very happy to see you coming out of a locked and closed building.”

  Roland looked from the two cops to the Dark Adept and knew he was saying quite possibly the most stupid thing he’d ever said, but his fear of the police was immediate and his fear of the Darkness was, well, confused. “What should we do?”

  “We go out the back, of course.”

  They made their way back across the concourse to a door that would bring them out on the other side of the church.

  “We’ve circled right around Trinity,” Roland said as they paused under the same exterior church light.

  “Yes,” said the Dark Adept, “I know.”

  Roland leaned back against the stone and took a deep breath of humid air. “I can’t figure you out. You’re not at all what I expected. You’re so, well, up close, you’re not very frightening.”

  “Oh?” said the Dark Adept. And suddenly he was very frightening.

  Roland’s legs gave out and his knees slammed down on the concrete. His mind, trying to deal with the immensity of the evil it faced, could deal with nothing else. He tried to look away and couldn’t. He tried to scream and couldn’t. He fought his mouth around one word and it came out as a whimper. “Evan …”

  Darkness smiled. “Too late.”

  “Hey Marge!”

  PC Patton paused, one hand on the station house door, and waited for the auxiliary who, having gotten her attention, ran up waving a piece of paper.

  “I found that guy you were looking for!”

  “That was fast.” She let the door close and held out her hand.

  The auxiliary relinquished the paper, grinning widely. “It wasn’t hard. I mean, he’s a little distinctive. I’m not surprised you remembered seeing him.”

  Scanning the printout, PC Patton nodded thoughtfully. “No, neither am I.” The picture didn’t do him justice; it couldn’t capture the moving highlights in his hair or the incandescence of his smile. She’d known when she saw him at the hotel that she’d seen him before. “So, we scooped him up at the riot … Evan Tarin eh? Well,” she shoved the paper in her pocket, “thanks, Hania, you never cease to amaze me with what you can pull out of that computer.”

  Hania shrugged and smiled. “It’s what I do. That was an easy one.”

  A few minutes later, sliding into her seat in the patrol car, PC Patton tossed the printout on her partner’s lap.

  “Told you so,” she said as he picked it up.

  PC Brooks merely grunted as he read the information.

  Her expression smug, PC Patton drummed her fingers on the dashboard. “I knew there couldn’t be two men that good looking in the city.”

  “Well, thank you very much, Mary Margaret.” He handed back the paper and started the car. “What do we do now?”

  “He was released to a Daru Sastri from Metro Social Services.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So we finish this shift, and maybe tomorrow we check her out. This Mister Tarin has some connection to our murderer and I want a few words with him and his friend.”

  “Should’ve had them this afternoon.”

  PC Patton frowned. “Yeah, I know.” She still didn’t understand why she’d let those two walk out the way she had; no names, no nothing. It wasn’t the sort of thing she normally did. She shot a glance at Jack from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t the sort of thing they normally did. “I guess the heat got to us.”

  “You really believe that?”

  She laughed humorlessly. “Since that night in the Valley, I don’t know what I believe.”

  “Personally, I believe what I always did.”

  “You always believed in unicorns?”

  “Yep.”

  “Elves and pixies, too, no doubt.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night?”

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