Werewolf Parallel

by Roy Gill

  He’d found the Human World equivalent of the tunnel to Daemonic. Just another forgotten part of the city. People probably never even gave it as second glance as they ran or cycled past, or shot baskets at the shuttered gate.

  He hesitated, feeling a surge of anger. If Morgan and Eve hadn’t made it out, he’d come back here and tear those bars down. He’d force his way in, find a way back to them somehow…

  His hands shook.

  Perhaps the wolf wasn’t buried so deeply after all.

  “Morgan? Eve?”

  Cameron’s voice echoed back from the deserted shop. It had been a vain hope they’d both be waiting, full of stories about their adventures.

  Still, it wasn’t as if he was without resources… He’d learnt so much running the business this past year. There were people and daemons he could talk to, books he could consult. All sorts of things! He’d track down Morgan and Eve, rescue them if he had to, respond to the Court summons, take on Mr Grey and Dr Black…

  He sank into the chair, momentarily overwhelmed. Where to begin?

  On the corner of the desk, the lump that had been Mr Grey’s chin squatted. It seemed bigger than he remembered, and he couldn’t shake the uncanny notion it was watching him. What connection did it have to the Greys on the train? He prodded it with a pencil and it pulsed damply.

  He moved to the storeroom, returning with a fresh set of clothes and a covered plate. He scoffed the stale cake from below the cover, recharging some vital energy, but his real goal was the lid. With a swift motion, he clapped the patterned dome down over the lump.

  “That’ll teach you to sit and look at me with… no eyes.”

  A message light blinked from the answerphone and he eagerly thumbed a button, hoping for news. It triggered a long series of clicks.

  “– Cam! It’s Amy! Have you still not got a new mobile? Seriously? Who doesn’t have a mobile? Well, you don’t obviously; otherwise I wouldn’t be leaving you this message… Anyway, I had to let you know, she got it! My old mum’s gone and got the job! So we’re gonna be moving through to Edinburgh. Can you believe it? Not right away – I’m gonna have to stay with my nan till term’s over, but this summer – boom! This town isn’t going to know what hit it! And we can go to the same school again –”

  There was a garbled sound and the message juddered to a halt. He opened the lid of the machine and a cassette ejected, spewing yards of tape. Like nearly everything else in the shop, the answerphone was years out of date.

  “Oh Amy. You broke the phone. You talked it to death.”

  They’d been friends for ages, growing up in Cauldlockheart, back when life was simple and he’d lived with his dad. Cameron had been awkward and uninterested in sport, preferring daydreams about guitars and bands; Amy big and bolshy, with a lilting Scots-Italian accent and a refusal to back down in a fight. Seeing less of her was the one thing he regretted about leaving that gloomy town.

  He began the laborious process of detangling the tape. Somehow, that felt easier to deal with than his real problems…

  He’d never found a way to explain his new life to Amy. No matter how great she was, she was still only human – and human without Inheritance at that. She had no idea the Parallel even existed. One of the most terrifying moments he’d had was coming back from a trading mission to find her unexpectedly in the shop, deep in conversation with Eve.

  “We’ve been discussing your faults,” Eve said brightly. “Which are numerous.”

  “What are you doing here? How did you even find this place?”

  “Weird and arcane powers!” Amy flared her eyes and made witchy movements with her hands. “Also known as Google. I put in ‘record shop’, ‘Edinburgh’ and ‘scary old woman’ and there was a surprisingly long page. Loads of people going on about stuff they’d found here, and some pretty bizarre rumours too… Eve’s told me everything.”

  “She has?” Cameron shot an alarmed look at Eve.

  “Isn’t it strange?” Eve said pointedly. “How before your dad died, neither of us knew we had a cousin?”

  “Oh! Yes. That was… odd.”

  “I could tell you were related at once, as soon as I looked at her,” Amy said, oblivious. “Eve must be way more fun to live with than your gran. When’s the old lady getting back from her research trip anyway?”

  Amy was relatively contained during term time – she never had much money for the train – but if she lived in the same city… How long would it be till she found out all about him?

  Cameron sometimes felt like he was two people: the ordinary boy from Cauldlockheart, a bit shy and lacking in confidence, and the world-shifting wolf-boy who had a totally mad and often wonderful existence. He loved his new life, and fiercely wanted to protect it. Now it seemed like his identities were colliding – just as things were falling apart.

  He picked up one of the guitars he kept at the shop, placed it on his lap and began to absent-mindedly pick out a tune. Music had always helped him, at both the happiest and saddest times in his life. It was something he could focus on, and lose himself in: a perfect world of its own, far from any worries or anxiety.

  He was just contemplating a particularly tricky chord progression when a movement out the corner of his eye distracted him. The cake cover was shuffling along the desk… The dome bumped into the discarded cassette, lifted, drew in the tape, and moved on.

  He put the guitar down, and moved quietly to the desk. He whipped the lid off. A long brown strand of tape was vanishing into the lump, sucked in like spaghetti. It froze, mid-sook.

  “Caught you! What are you up to?”

  A tiny mouth puckered, revealing chalky grey teeth. “You are ordered to attend the Court of the Parallel. The case of Dr Black versus Lady Ives o’ the Black Hill is called!”

  He stared at the lump. “That wasn’t meant to be for another two days!”

  “The case has been brought forward,” it gurgled smugly. “You must attend. You must produce Isobel Ives or surrender your tenancy of the shop.”

  “You can’t do that!” Cameron thought frantically. They had gone off in search of the ward so they’d have a safe base of operations – not that it had worked out. Morgan and Eve were still missing, and he hadn’t even begun to tackle the threat posed by Black and Grey. “What if I say no? You can’t make me.”

  “Then action will be taken.” The lump rolled along the desk, its grey dough flesh squashing into and over the answermachine. There was a suckering sound, and the machine vanished. The lump grew bigger.

  “All problems will be absorbed…”

  CHAPTER 6

  Guided by Lamps

  A fancy bookcase swung aside to reveal the top of a flight of stairs. A lantern, hanging by a metal ring from a staff, lay propped at an angle against the wall.

  Cameron peered down the stairwell, which spiralled away into darkness. “This way to the Court,” he said to himself. He reached for the lantern.

  “You are expected. You will follow me.”

  The staff lifted itself from the ground and swung forward, as if being used as a walking stick by some unseen person. The metal tip made a pock! pock! sound as it descended the wooden steps.

  “Portable lighting. That’s original.” The pool of light was moving fast and Cameron hurried after. “Hey, wait for me! It’s pretty dark.”

  “Then let the light of justice be your guide.” The flame flickered, its voice a hollow whisper. “That was by means of a joke… You didn’t find it funny.”

  Cameron drew in air through his teeth. “Not really. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “I try to lighten the mood if I can. So many people never leave the Court. We may as well make their stay as pleasant as possible.”

  “That fills me with confidence,” said Cameron. The stairs creaked beneath his feet. “Is it far to go?”

  “Quite a distance. Nearly all the way down,” said the lantern. “The Court was set up to deal with cases that uniquely concern the Parallel. It was f
elt it should be located between both worlds. You will have passed the Human law chambers on your way in?”

  Cameron nodded.

  Grey’s double chin had provided directions. The lump had become increasingly strident, its warnings accompanied by a series of bleeps, gargles and clicks from its innards. “A non-appearance at Court is as good as an admission of guilt. You may be judged in your absence –”

  “Oh belt up.” Cameron had popped the plate-cover back on, ignoring the indignant cries. The lump was sounding increasingly like the pompous daemon that had spawned it. “Don’t think you’re going squelching about free-range while I’m out either.” He added some strips of parcel tape, strapping the cover in place.

  He had dashed about the shop, looking for anything he could find that might show his connection to Grandma Ives, and so to the trading business he’d taken over after she’d vanished. Given that he couldn’t whistle-up the old lady in the flesh, perhaps he could prove to the Court he was her rightful successor.

  That strategy hadn’t worked with Janus, but it was the best he could come up with.

  Gathering together his papers and documents, he had scribbled a quick and only slightly desperate-sounding note to Eve and Morgan. He left the shop, climbed the hill to the oldest part of the city, and headed for a huddle of buildings off Parliament Square, set back from the Royal Mile. Tagging onto a procession of dark-suited lawyers and their clients, Cameron had slipped in.

  A series of elegant rooms reminded him of the costume dramas Eve sometimes watched on telly (the sort that usually made him long for an invasion by killer robots). On entering a grand multi-tiered library, he shifted through to the Parallel. The bookcase alcove opened up, as if it had been waiting for him.

  The air was turning stuffy as he descended, the spiral stair passing balcony after balcony. Below, he could see the blurred outlines of lights bobbing through the gloom. Daemons of all kinds followed in their wake: antlered Cervidae, their heads bowed; impossibly glamorous Fey; whisker-faced Selkies, Moss Mites, Tree Spirits, Red Caps…

  “Lanterns,” he said, as his eyes adjusted. “They’re all lanterns – moving by themselves, leading people through the dark.”

  “Weir lamps, to be accurate.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Ah ha.” The light flared. “We are lanterns, yes. But we’re Weir lamps too. Named after the mad Major. You’ll know of Major Weir?”

  Cameron shook his head.

  “He was infamous in his day, as was his walking stick, which he’d send out on errands across the city.”

  Cameron thought he’d have remembered seeing a flock of unaccompanied lights-on-sticks marching about the place. “When was this?”

  “Oh… 1670 or so.”

  “I’m fifteen.”

  “Are you? The major’s long gone, I suppose, but his stick – and its scions – are condemned to walk on.” The lamplight dimmed and turned a rusty orange. “And so, that is what we do. Until our task is done.”

  The staff tilted back to block Cameron as a procession of monks in purple robes joined the stair. They were chanting and carrying aloft a banner strung between uplifted poles.

  “The Joyful People of the Banner,” the lantern whispered.

  “They don’t look very happy to me,” said Cameron, noting the monks’ downcast faces and mournful song.

  “They’re in thrall to the Weaver Queen,” said the lamp. “The joy is all hers. I don’t believe their happiness enters into the arrangement.”

  As the banner flowed past, the red eyes of the largest Weaver Daemon Cameron had ever seen glared back – and he swiftly became very interested in the banister.

  “So not a fan,” he muttered. “I don’t know how they stand it.”

  “We all have to serve, in our way.” The lamp resumed their descent. “And who will be representing your case at Court?”

  “No one.” Cameron gave a tiny shrug. “There’s just me.”

  There was a sound like wind blowing on a candle and the light guttered. “That is not a wise choice.”

  “It wasn’t a choice at all, trust me. There was no time.”

  “We’re about to pass the advocates’ boxes. You could still seek counsel?”

  The lantern slowed as the spiral stair touched the next balcony. It led Cameron past a line of wooden crates that reminded him uncomfortably of coffins. A stained and yellowed barrister wig rested at the head of each.

  As he watched, a couple of forest daemons tentatively approached a box, and posted a scroll through a letterbox on top. There was a pause and a puff of smoke rose up from the slot. The wig lifted as the smoke beneath billowed out into a tall thin shape.

  “They’re in luck,” said the lamp. “The advocate has agreed to take their case.”

  The silhouette solidified into a gaunt-faced man with swept-back hair. He shook out a heavy cloak that hung from his shoulders like wings.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Cameron, as the pale man adjusted his wig using surprisingly sharp fingernails, “but when you say ‘advocate’, you mean vampire, right?”

  “Vampires are suited to law. They have a long life, good memory, and are content to study for decades in darkened rooms,” said the lamp. “On the other hand, they do tend to bleed their clients dry.”

  Cameron managed a mirthless laugh.

  “It was not intended as a joke, sir. Many of our best legal minds belong to that clan, and prefer to take their payment in blood.”

  The advocate raised his arms, enveloped one of the furry daemons in the folds of his cloak, and lowered his head. Cameron shivered and turned away. “I think I’ll defend myself. I’ve got enough problems without adding a vampire to my case.”

  “Then we shall proceed. We are nearly there.”

  The balcony became narrower. Eventually the boards diverged, splitting into two paths that ran in both directions around a circular opening, about half the size of a football pitch. At regular intervals around its circumference, burly bull daemons stood to attention beside gleaming metal winches. The Weir lamp came to rest by the balustrade, and Cameron peered over.

  The wooden panelling of the Court walls gave way to densely packed brick, and then in turn to bare rock. A warm sulphurous wind blew in his face. From somewhere deep below, a distant red light rippled and pulsed, reminding him of the tunnel that led to Daemonic.

  He couldn’t see the bottom at all.

  Cameron cleared his throat. Heights had never been his favourite thing. “That’s the Court?”

  “As I said, it lies between the worlds.”

  “There’s nothing down there – just a drop!”

  “There will be. The jury is going in now.”

  On the left-hand side of the pit, a line of daemons and humans were being guided down steps onto a suspended platform, not unlike the sort used by window-cleaners to access the sides of very tall buildings. Working as a team, four bull daemons began to turn the winches at either end. Sweat rose from their swarthy flesh and jets of steam pumped from their nostrils as the platform was lowered, and the jury vanished from sight.

  “You’re completely out of your depth, you know.” Leather shoes clicked on boards, and Cameron turned to see Dr Black. He gave a smug smile and brushed dust from his lapels. “You’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into, have you, boy?”

  Cameron’s brow furrowed. The humans he’d met on the Parallel had been eccentrics or scholars; adventurers, visionaries or mad men. Even his gran, who had prided herself on her respectable appearance, had revealed a knife-sharp inner core. It was as if the Parallel Inheritance – that strange power that burned inside them – always found a way to creep to the surface. They were all outsiders – and Cameron counted himself in that category – different in some way, by fate or by choice.

  Dr Black, by contrast, didn’t seem to match the Parallel ‘type’. All the things that would make him seem unremarkable on the city streets – his suit, his clippered hair, his neatne
ss and blandly handsome features – made him stand out in the murky subterranean court. He was just too normal.

  Why was he here?

  What was he up to?

  Cameron took a tighter hold on the folder he’d carried from the shop: the proof of his Parallel heritage. “Out my depth? I don’t reckon so. I’ve looked things in the face you wouldn’t believe. I’ve survived time-eating bats, Gods of Doorways, Gods of Winter, Mrs Ferguson… even my gran.” He shrugged. “You though… you must’ve snuck in with a crash course: Daemon Parallel for Dummies.”

  Black’s mouth contorted, and for a second Cameron thought he was going to hit him. “What do you know about the things I’ve been through – the things I’ve found –”

  A blubbery hand clamped onto Dr Black’s shoulder. “Not another word, Dr Black! Most unprofessional! We shall settle this matter in Court, properly, like GentleDaemons.” Mr Grey stepped from the shadows. He was dressed in the garb of an advocate, with a black robe and a coarse horsehair wig perched on his greasy head.

  “Properly? That’s a joke,” said Cameron. “So you’re not going to hijack this too, like you did Janus’s train?”

  “He can’t know about the engine –” Black began, but Grey’s hand squeezed tighter and the anger seemed to drain from his colleague’s face.

  Grey’s sugary-mushroom stink washed towards Cameron.

  “You will discover, young sir, that in Court there is such a thing as ‘burden of proof’. And you have no proof – no proof at all.”

  Leading the now docile Black, Grey retreated to the other side of the pit. He lumbered into a pulpit-type box, his swollen body just squeezing in, while Black stepped into a cradle of rope that drew closed around him. The bull daemons began to heave and strain and soon Grey and Black were both lowered over the edge and into the pit.

  “You must go now as well.” The lamp indicated a further cradle. “In the absence of a proper defence counsel, I will accompany you, if you like, and try to shed a little light on proceedings?” It flared brightly as a bull daemon unhooked it from the top of the walking stick, and threaded its metal ring onto a rope.