by Lucy Banks
“It is just a little way down here,” she whispered, sensing his discomfort, then she glanced over her shoulder again.
“Why do you keep turning around?” he asked, following her gaze. “Do you think we’re being followed?” However, he couldn’t see anything, only an empty road with a few parked cars lining the kerb. Mind you, he rationalised, if Hrschni or Fylgja were trailing us now, it’s unlikely I’d spot them. I’m sure daemons have all sorts of clever ways to avoid detection.
Anya shook her head. “I think we’re safe at the moment.”
I don’t like this, Kester thought. Despite his joy at seeing Anya again, there was something very wrong about everything, a sense of grim anticipation to the air as though something terrible was just around the corner. He reached for his phone again. “I’d better call Miss Wellbeloved back,” he muttered. “She’ll be out of her mind with worry.”
“No, you mustn’t call anyone!” Anya said with a look of alarm. “It is too risky. Please, just trust me, just for tonight. You can call her in the morning.”
“I have to text her at least,” Kester said uncertainly. “If I don’t tell them where I am, they’ll all come up here to find me.”
Anya clasped his arm. “Text her in a minute, when we’re out of sight. Okay?”
He nodded reluctantly, stuffed his phone back in his trouser pocket, then followed her across the road into what looked like a car-park. “Where the hell is this?” he asked, scanning the area for clues.
She pointed down a dark road. “We can’t use the main entrance,” she whispered. “There’s another way in down here. No-one knows about it.”
“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about,” Kester said with a smile, “but I’m sure you’re right. I’ll just follow you.”
Anya nodded. “Yes. That’s a good idea, you don’t need to worry about a thing.” Although her expression was calm, there was a skittishness to her movement that suggested nervousness. Hopefully she’ll explain everything when we’re safe, he thought, stumbling blindly behind her and bracing himself against the wind.
Finally, Anya stopped. In the dark, Kester could just make out what looked like a solid mass of tangled bushes in front of them, but nothing else. He squinted, wondering if he was missing something.
“What is—?”
“—Shh. You’ll see in a minute.” Anya reached out and pulled a mass of tangled weeds away. To Kester’s surprise, it revealed a rough hole in the concealed rock.
He gulped. “Are we going in there?”
“Yes, but don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. I have a torch in my pocket.”
Now this definitely doesn’t feel right, he thought. A slither of fear crept up within him. “Anya,” he began hesitantly. “What’s through that hole? I’m not comfortable about going in, not unless I know what we’re going to find there.”
She turned. He was certain he spotted a flash of irritation in her expression before her eyes softened again. “We’re at Chislehurst Caves,” she explained and pulled the torch from her pocket. Her eyes gleamed in the piercing beam of light. “This is a secret entrance.”
Not more caves, he groaned inwardly, thinking of the hag o’ the dribble, not to mention all the other spirits that probably liked to linger in dark places like these. He took a step back. “How did you know about it?” he asked. “I think we need to discuss this before we go in. It doesn’t seem like a very good—”
She grabbed his arm, more roughly than he’d expected, and pulled him towards her, pressing her lips against his. The force of the kiss took him by surprise, but eventually, he melted into the moment, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as he wrapped his arms around her.
A sudden, sharp pain made him gasp. Anya pulled away, eyes twinkling in the torchlight.
“You bit me!” Kester whispered, patting his lip. It hadn’t been hard enough to draw blood, but the area throbbed gently.
Anya shifted on the spot. “I don’t know what came over me,” she muttered, looking uncomfortable.
That wasn’t like her at all, he thought, studying her intently.
“Well, there’s more where that came from,” she said finally, grasping his arm. To his shock, she started to forcibly pull him towards the hole, with a strength that was totally at odds with her slender frame. “Why don’t you come inside and find out?”
That’s not the sort of thing she would normally say, he thought, wrestling his arm free. He examined her carefully. The moon cast a glow over her hair, forming a strange halo, but her predatory watchfulness was far from angelic.
A horrible thought, clear as a bell, clanged through his mind. This isn’t Anya, he realised with total certainty. I’m with a total stranger.
His instinct was to run, but he forced himself to remain calm, knowing that any wrong moves could cost him dearly. Of course it’s Anya, he told himself firmly, forcing himself to think rationally. Who else would it be? Unless she’s got a spirit doppelganger or something. However, he couldn’t deny that there was something profoundly different about her, a note of discord in an expression, a misjudged comment or action. The thought unsettled him deeply.
Anya gave an exasperated sigh. “Kester, you need to come in, we’re not safe out here. Now get moving.”
Kester took a few steps backwards, hands held out protectively. “No,” he said slowly and glanced over his shoulder. The road was deserted. There were no houses nearby. If I ran for it, what would happen? he wondered crazily. God, why didn’t I just wait for the others, like Miss Wellbeloved told me to? I’m out here in the dark, completely alone, and no-one knows where I am!
Anya stepped towards him, pointing the torch directly into his eyes. Kester winced, instinctively holding his hands up against the glare.
“Kester,” she whispered, a ghost of sound in the darkness. He could hear her footsteps crunching delicately on the loose stones underfoot, advancing steadily towards him. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Don’t force them to get nasty with you.”
His heart dropped like a stone plummeting into an abyss. She’s betrayed me, he realised dumbly. I trusted her, and she’s taken me for a fool again. I’m such an idiot.
“How could you?” he whispered, aching with hurt. “How could you let me think that you—”
“It’s not like that,” she replied before reaching out to touch him.
Kester recoiled instinctively. “Don’t touch me.”
“Please. I need to explain things to you. But if you don’t—”
“—You don’t need to explain anything to me,” he spat and brushed her hand off him. Taking a deep breath, he started to run.
“Kester!” Her shrill cry tore through the silence as he pounded into the darkness, the icy air already freezing his lungs. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Miss Wellbeloved’s number, but lost his grip just as he pulled it to his ear. Horrified, he watched it fly into the undergrowth beside him, before forcing himself to race forward again. There was no time to stop and retrieve it, not now that he knew the Thelemites were somewhere close by.
You absolute moron! he chastised himself. A wave of self-loathing tore into him, so strong it left him breathless. Not just stupid enough to trust Anya again, but dim-witted enough to throw away your only chance of being saved!
To his relief, he could see the main road up ahead, along with the reassuring glow of the streetlamps. He had no idea whether Anya was chasing after him or not, but he felt confident that he could outrun her, at least for this short distance. Perhaps it’ll be okay after all, he thought, picking up his pace. Maybe I’ll make it to the train station and—
Suddenly, his vision went black. Rough material dragged across his face, smothering him, and his arms were grabbed by strong hands. He cried out, but the fabric was pulled tightly across his mouth, muffling his shouts. To
his horror, the unseen arms began to yank him backwards, until his heels were dragging uselessly along the road.
What’s happening? he thought wildly as he struggled to get free. He knew that it wasn’t Anya pulling him, the grip was far too strong; there were at least two people, pulling him on both sides. He shook his head from side to side, trying desperately to free himself from whatever it was that had been tugged over his face, but he couldn’t shift it.
The urge to scream was almost unbearable, but Kester knew there was no-one else around. Instead, he forced himself to listen as hard as possible. Aside from the scrape of his shoes, bumping over the rough ground, he couldn’t detect anything, other than a hoarse whisper, which might have been male or female.
Finally, the dragging stopped. His captors hauled him upright, then started muttering, too quietly for him to hear. He looked around wildly, but his eyes only found the blackness of the fabric pressing against them.
Think rationally! he ordered himself. It’s obviously the Thelemites, and they’ve clearly dumped some sort of sack over my head. But why? What don’t they want me to see?
He took a tentative step to the side, only to be yanked back immediately, so forcefully that he nearly lost his balance.
I’m going to die, he realised with abrupt, horrible clarity. The Thelemites are going to pick us off, one by one. Or maybe they’ll murder me as a message to my father, warning him to steer clear of them. And I’m powerless to stop them.
A memory came to mind of reading the old book about the Thelemites in the Infinite Enterprises archive department. He recalled the tale of Ethelred Bunting, the Victorian spirit-door opener who’d gone missing after a run-in with the Thelemites. Why didn’t I take that as a warning? he wondered, a hysterical giggle bubbling in his throat. Bunting dared to go up against them, and he ended up vanishing. The same thing is about to happen to me!
An arm enveloped him, constricting his breathing, then started to heave him backwards. His heels kicked against smoother terrain underfoot, and there was a dampness to the air that indicated they’d entered the caves. His heart quickened, thudding painfully against his chest.
What a mess I’ve made of everything, yet again, Kester thought desperately as he fought against the urge to start crying. Please don’t let me die in here, in the dark.
He was tugged along for several minutes until, finally, the arm around his chest released him, and he was shoved against a wet, stone wall. Straining his ears, he fought to make out noises that would give him a clue as to who was down here with him, but aside from the occasional footstep and hint of breathing, the space was silent.
He waited, senses alert to every movement, bracing himself for the start of the violence.
Without warning, a hand grasped somewhere at the back of his head, pulling the sack away. He blinked, then stared wildly at the roughly-hewn walls that surrounded him, the oil lamps flickering eerily on the floor, and the surrounding figures watching him intently.
The first person he noticed came as no surprise. Barty Melville. Kester nodded grimly, fighting to regain composure. “I expected to see you here,” he muttered.
Barty Melville smirked. “Kester. A pleasure to see you again. It’s a shame you wouldn’t come willingly, but it was only to be expected, I suppose.”
Beside him was another familiar face; a petite woman with a sharp suit and an even sharper expression. Parvati Chowdhury, Kester remembered, eyeing her with dislike. She refused to meet his gaze, instead fixing her eyes to the ceiling as though musing on more important matters. Arrogant woman, he thought.
He’d never seen the two men flanking Anya before. The first was almost unnaturally tall, long-faced and haggard. Under any other circumstances, his appearance would have been amusing, given that he looked almost identical to a stereotypical gravedigger in a bad B-movie. However, there was nothing comedic about it at present. The other man was broad-shouldered as a bulldog and completely bald, with bright eyes that seemed to burn in the lamplight. Barty saw the direction of Kester’s gaze and nodded.
“Do allow me to introduce these men,” he said smoothly, waddling forward. He gestured to the tall man. “This is Felix Taggerty, Master of the Cambridge lodge. And this,” he pointed to the bald man, “is Reggie Shadrach. Master of the Oxford lodge.”
“Wonderful,” Kester replied sarcastically. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say hello, gentlemen; but you must forgive me, I’ve just been kidnapped.”
Barty looked surprised. “Why do you think this is a kidnapping, Kester?”
“Probably something to do with the fact that you put a bag over my head, then dragged me down here?” Kester snapped back. He glared at Anya, who looked down at the floor.
Barty shook his head, then moved slowly closer. “No, no, my dear boy. That is not what is happening at all. We mean you no harm, I promise.”
Kester rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for not believing you.”
Parvati turned towards him. Her eyes glittered with alarming intensity—so much so that Kester instinctively shrank backwards. “You’re feisty, aren’t you?” she said conversationally and strolled over to study him better.
He blushed under the ferocity of her scrutiny. Her gaze seemed to burn through him, making him feel horribly like a specimen under a microscope.
“Look at me,” she whispered in a voice that seemed unnaturally deep for such a small woman.
Daring to look up, he stared back, hypnotised by her fathomless pupils, which gleamed with energy. A flicker of movement caught his attention, a tiny speck of flame illuminating her glare, and he realised with horror who he was looking at.
“Hrschni,” he whispered. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Clever boy,” Parvati replied slowly, each word slipping from her lips like velvet. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long.”
Kester took a deep breath. Why didn’t we think of Parvati when we found out Hrschni was inhabiting the body of a small woman? Still, it didn’t surprise him, not when he thought about it. Although the woman was short, her intimidating personality made it almost impossible to regard her as anything other than formidable.
“What do you want from me?” he asked finally. “If you’re using me to get at my dad, there’s not much point. He—”
The daemon laughed. “I don’t think so, Kester. Come on, you’re wiser than that. Guess again.”
Kester shook his head. “No. I won’t play games with you, Hrschni. I’ve had enough of all that. I’ve been dancing to your tune for the last month or so, and it’s been exhausting.”
“Dancing to my tune,” Hrschni repeated with a chuckle. “That’s an appropriate expression, given my previous incarnation. You certainly were dancing to my tune when you came to my final gig, weren’t you?”
Kester thought back to the Billy Dagger concert. It felt as though it had happened hundreds of years ago to someone else. “It was a fantastic performance,” he admitted.
“ was a lot of fun,” he agreed. “I’ll miss him dearly. Though Parvati has been a most pleasant hostess.”
“Why don’t you come out of Parvati Chowdhury so I can see you face to face?” Kester challenged, hoping to stall for time. He knew it was almost pointless to do so, but he held out the hope that somehow, his father and the others would manage to find him. After all, I’m not too far from the station, he thought, though he knew it was over-optimistic to think that they’d come looking for him here.
Inside Parvati’s body, the daemon shrugged, mulling over his request. “Sure,” he agreed finally. “Why not?”
Kester watched with fascination as the woman raised her arms, fingers stretching to the ceiling. Eyes closed, her whole body started to shudder, building momentum until she was vibrating on the spot. Then, just as her figure became no more than a blur, Parvati seemed to combust in a violent explosion of light.
Kester blinked, m
omentarily blinded, not to mention stunned into silence. In the dim light, he could just about see Parvati’s crumpled body on the floor, swimming slowly into focus as his eyes recovered. Behind her, glowing piercingly like a wildfire, was the daemon himself.
He looks like a series of flames, tangled into one another, Kester thought stupidly, staring wildly at the pulsing, embryonic form in front of him. The daemon coiled, foetal-like, in the air, though his sharp features were anything but babyish. Slitted eyes poured forth scarlet light, and his wide mouth was full of broad, nail-thin teeth. Above all else, it was the sense of power that was overwhelming. The daemon exuded strength like a force-field—an irrefutable authority that was humbling and terrifying.
“Well?” Hrschni asked finally. His voice rang crystal-clear around the echoing cavern. “Lost for words, Kester? I take it you’ve never met a daemon in the flesh before.”
Kester gaped as the daemon uncoiled, revealing a thick, misty tail that flickered above the ground like a restless snake. “I haven’t, no,” he agreed, feeling alarmingly small and pathetic. The other Thelemites smirked.
“How does it feel, to meet one of the oldest daemons to ever walk the earth?” Reggie Shadrach asked, running a hand across his shining scalp. “It’s a great honour, you know.”
Kester frowned. I’m not going to let myself be awed into submission, he thought. If I’m going to go down here, I’m going to go down fighting. “I’m sure it is an honour,” he said slowly, straightening against the wall. “But I still don’t appreciate being kidnapped.”
The daemon moved forwards, sliding through the air as though gliding on ice. “Apologies for manhandling you, Kester. But we needed to talk to you and saw no other way of getting you here.”
“So you used my girlfriend to trick me?” Kester snapped, pointing in Anya’s direction. She was still staring miserably at the floor.
“Anya agreed that it was the right thing to do,” Hrschni replied smoothly. “Like the rest of us, she merely wanted what was best for you.”