by Nick Moseley
‘We’ll discuss it more later,’ said Deacon. ‘I’m sure Ruby and Franz would be very interested to hear about it.’
Trev nodded and ploughed on. Recounting the fight against the barghests was difficult. Bad Trev had been in the driving seat for much of it, and as a result Trev’s memories were a jumble of disconnected mental snapshots and feelings rather than a coherent string of events. He remembered glowing eyes and snapping jaws; Smith’s smirking face; the shouts and screams of the Custodians; and his own deep, dark rage, which had almost led him to abandon his companions in favour of pursuing personal revenge.
The version he gave Deacon was, unsurprisingly, disjointed. He fudged his charge at Smith as an attempt to stop the barghests by taking out the man controlling them, despite there being no evidence whatsoever that the creatures would’ve packed up and gone home had he done so. It sounded weak to Trev’s own ears, so what Deacon made of it was anybody’s guess. He’d gone back into silent mode, letting Trev rattle on and say more than he intended. Finally he took pity and interrupted.
‘All right, so after trying to get to Smith and failing, you fell back to the main group, which was under heavy pressure, and took refuge in the house. Whose idea was it to use the Key to escape?’
‘Mine, I think. I’m not sure. I remember speaking to Barker about it.’
‘Did Barker know how to operate it?’
‘I don’t think he even knew what it was. He said he’d tried infusing it with psychic energy to see if it reacted, but just as an experiment. It didn’t respond to him.’
‘Did you believe him?’
Trev frowned. ‘Actually, yes. He’s very good at killing people but he’s never struck me as a liar. I know that sounds weird.’
Deacon let the comment pass. ‘And how did you work out the process for activating the Key? This is important.’
We’re back into Bad Trev territory, Trev mused. If this interview had told him anything, it was that Bad Trev held even more influence over him than he’d thought. It backed up the revelation he’d had on his way to work, and then some. Bad Trev was worming its way into every aspect of his life and all he’d been aware of was his occasional short temper. Was the fact he was so unwilling to tell Deacon about it a part of that? Was it protecting itself? These were worrying thoughts.
‘I wish I could tell you,’ Trev replied. ‘I tried feeding energy into it, like a vapour weapon. That didn’t work. I was starting to panic at that point. The barghests were hammering at the doors and windows. I don’t know whether my panic, you know, that desperation to get out of there, was what caused it to start up. But it did.’
‘What did it do when it “started up”?’ Deacon leaned forwards.
‘The crystal in the centre lit up,’ said Trev. ‘I felt it tap my psychic energy reserve, but it didn’t actually drain it until I activated the transfer.’
‘This is where I’m having difficulty,’ said Deacon. ‘You’d never laid eyes on the Key before it was handed to you last night, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you’re able to make it work, just like that?’
‘I know it sounds unlikely, but yes.’ Trev tried to get his thoughts in order. ‘Agatha said that Prescott Ewart turned the Key to make it work, so I knew that was part of it.’
‘How did you choose a destination?’
Trev shrugged. ‘It was a bit like tuning a radio. The old type, with a dial. As I turned it I felt different sensations. When I got near Dark Limbo I could hear the Shades whispering in my head.’
‘What made you choose the place you did?’
‘We were running out of time and it was the only place I found on the “dial” that didn’t strike me as dangerous.’
Deacon sat back. ‘All right. Carry on.’
Trev went on with his account. He found he didn’t need to give Deacon a description of the empty hall and the stone ring because Rahman had used his phone to take photos of it all. Trev had to give the man credit; the thought hadn’t even occurred to him at the time. A whole group of us travel between dimensions and only one of us thinks to document it, he mused. Massive missed opportunity for a trans-dimensional selfie.
Man, I really need some sleep.
Deacon didn’t seem all that interested in Trev’s version of events in the hall for the most part. It was well covered by the other accounts. He asked a couple of questions about the conversation Trev’d had with Barker, which Trev was able to field confidently as it had been about the stone ring and its function, and little else. As Trev had expected, however, it was when he moved onto the topic of his emergency recharge that Deacon’s attention sharpened.
‘How long have you known you can do that?’ he asked.
‘A while,’ Trev hedged.
‘When did you find out? Specifically?’
‘Around the time I found out that demon was after me.’
‘Months, then.’ Deacon tapped his pen on the table. ‘Why did you keep it to yourself? I understand not even Bernard knew. Your own grandfather.’
‘I don’t know, really,’ said Trev. ‘It’s not something I use much. It makes me ill. I still feel like crap after last night.’
‘That’s the only reason?’
‘The main one,’ Trev replied. ‘And I suppose there’s what we talked about the other day. My reputation here. People seeing me as something I’m not. I didn’t want to add to that by announcing I’ve got some rare ability.’
‘It does put a different complexion on things,’ Deacon admitted. ‘There are people in the organisation who recover their reserves faster than most, but it’s been decades since we had someone who can actually draw energy in that way.’
‘Like I said, I don’t use it if I can avoid it,’ said Trev. ‘I think I almost killed myself last night. I feel so bad I’m worried I’ve done myself some serious harm.’
‘Prolonged usage is dangerous, we know that much,’ said Deacon, ‘though from what you’ve said I don’t think you’re at that stage yet. That said, if the symptoms persist you ought to let Ruby and Franz check you out.’
‘Right,’ said Trev. At this rate I’m going to end up moving in with Ruby and Franz.
‘Anyway, this is a topic for another time,’ said Deacon. He gave Trev an appraising look. ‘You were able to get enough energy from the others to reactivate the Key. Was it easier to use the second time? More difficult? The same?’
‘Bit easier, if anything,’ said Trev, a little puzzled by the line of questioning. ‘Don’t ask me why, because I haven’t a clue.’
Deacon motioned for him to continue. Trev did so, going over the reversing of the Key and finding the right “frequency” to get them all home.
‘We left just in time,’ he concluded. ‘And I felt… well, I thought I heard… something.’
‘What was it?’
‘Anger, frustration. From the darkness. That we’d got away. Oscar said he thought it might be sentient. I think he was right.’
Trev thought Deacon might scoff at this, or ask for more detail. He didn’t.
‘Doubtful we’ll ever know for sure,’ was all he said.
Trev launched into the final part of his account. This was another section where he expected questions from Deacon, in particular regarding the loss of the Key. He wasn’t disappointed.
‘Why do you think Barker took it?’
‘His original plan was to use it to draw out the Invocation of Peace,’ said Trev. ‘I’d guess he still wants to do that. It’s not like he’s got much else on his plate.’
‘What’s his interest in them?’
Trev spread his hands. ‘They tried to kill him. He’s annoyed about it.’
‘Hmm.’ Deacon appeared unconvinced.
‘From what he said to me, he’s trying to redeem himself,’ Trev offered. ‘Going after the Invocation, whoever they are, is part of that.’
‘It’s a worthy idea, but things aren’t as simple as that,’ said Deacon. ‘He can’t erase hi
s past crimes by doing an equal amount of good deeds. Him being out there acting as a vigilante will probably make things worse anyway.’
‘He understands the Custodians aren’t going to let him off,’ Trev explained. ‘I think it’s for his own peace of mind as much as anything else. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy.’
Deacon waved a hand. ‘Whatever his motivation, bringing him in is one of our top priorities now. The Key is too dangerous an object to have out there. We have to secure it.’
‘He’s already shown he isn’t able to use it,’ said Trev. ‘Not sure what harm he can do with it.’
‘I’m more concerned about him losing it to someone who is able to use it,’ Deacon replied. ‘Do you have any other information that might help us track him down? Think hard. Any hint he let slip might be useful, however vague.’
Trev thought about the phone number Sarah had sent him. ‘No,’ he said.
Hey, I made it almost to the end before telling an outright lie, he thought. Not bad. He didn’t much care whether the Custodians found Barker or not, but he didn’t want Sarah to end up as collateral damage. That was the likely outcome of a battle between the two.
‘Well, keep thinking and let us know if something occurs to you later,’ said Deacon. ‘We’ll be speaking tomorrow anyway, won’t we?’
‘We will?’ said Trev.
‘You’re giving me your decision on joining us,’ said Deacon. ‘Unless you want to tell me now?’
‘Oh yeah, that,’ said Trev. ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ There’s a second outright lie, and so soon after the first. Oops. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow, if that’s OK.’
‘Tomorrow, then,’ said Deacon. ‘Anything else you wanted to add? About last night, I mean.’
‘Can’t think of anything.’
‘Right then. Thanks for your time. And thanks on behalf of the Custodians for the lives you saved last night. Whether you decide to join us or not, you did us a great service.’
‘Hear hear,’ said Woods, who hadn’t spoken to that point.
Deacon stood and offered his hand, which Trev shook.
‘No worries,’ he mumbled, wrong-footed by the sudden change of tack.
‘Now go home and get some rest,’ said Deacon. ‘You look exhausted.’
‘Yeah, cheers,’ said Trev.
It was a suggestion he was very happy to follow.
Thirty-Seven
As things turned out he didn’t even bother to have anything to eat when he got home, which was a rarity. He went straight to bed and was asleep within seconds. After so much punishment his body had run up the white flag.
When his alarm went off the following morning it took a while for his brain to come back online. He lay in the dark and performed an inventory of his various bits and pieces. The improvement on the previous morning was substantial. The headache had faded to a faint throb and the nausea was gone. His reserve of psychic energy, while not fully restored by any means, had replenished to the point where he’d be able to use a vapour weapon if he needed to defend himself.
As an added bonus, nobody had tried to kill him in his sleep and he hadn’t received any emergency phone calls during the night. For the first time in a week it felt like an ordinary workday morning. Past experience warned that this was probably just the calm before the storm, but Trev resolved to shut out the nagging doubts and just get on with things. He had to, if he had any intention of saving his job at SmoothMove.
He breakfasted, showered, dressed, and was on his way in good time. Outside the sun was shining and it felt as if the temperature was finally on the rise. The piles of dirty snow by the side of the road were thawing, thin streams of water trickling into the gutters.
Trev had a disconnected feeling. It was as if the past week had been a dream he’d woken from. While a number of things remained unresolved, most of them were in the hands of others. Smith was still out there but he had no reason to come after Trev anymore; Sarah was safe enough with Barker; and the Eyes of Nona were only after the Key. The lone fly in the ointment was that Deacon needed an answer from him by the end of the day.
Trev mulled over the two choices. Having done this so many times before, he didn’t expect to reach a conclusion but it was something to occupy his brain while he walked. If he decided against joining the Custodians, he’d have to isolate himself from the supernatural world as much as he could. Now he’d seen behind the curtain things couldn’t just go back to how they’d been, that was obvious. He could, though, choose to simply ignore the revelations of the last few months. Living in denial was something at which the human race excelled, after all. There were people out there who chose to believe that the Earth was flat; or that the world was run by a secret cabal of lizard people; or that pineapple was an acceptable pizza topping. Pretending the supernatural wasn’t real ought to be pretty easy. Given enough time he might be able to repress the memories altogether, like he’d done with various England penalty shoot-outs and the Star Wars prequels.
On the flip-side, if he decided instead to join the Custodians he’d have to do so whole-heartedly. No pining for the days when he was Brackenford’s number one estate agent. No selling the occasional house on the side just to “keep his hand in”, or calling Barry to exchange insults for old times’ sake. If he was going to be a Custodian he had to follow Granddad’s example of selflessness and dedication. Although possibly with less whisky.
Trev was aware of his own tendency to ignore difficult decisions in the hope they’d either go away or resolve themselves. He couldn’t do that this time, nor could he go with his usual second choice of coming up with a half-arsed, fudged compromise. He had to choose a path and commit. And that’s exactly what I’ll do, he thought. But… not until this evening.
He arrived at the office well before the morning meeting was due to start. Helen looked up from her computer screen and gave him a subtle nod of approval. Trev responded with a thumbs-up and got started on his e-mails. He might as well use the day as a trial run of his “forget about the supernatural” scenario. If he couldn’t do it for a single day, there wasn’t much hope for it as a long-term strategy.
His expectations weren’t high, so he was surprised that he managed quite well. Unlike the previous day he didn’t have the distraction of feeling like he was about to die, and the improving weather had brought some punters out of the woodwork. What a difference it makes to go a full twenty-four hours without someone trying to kill me, he thought as he booked a viewing. While it was true that working in the property trade didn’t offer the adrenaline rush of battling the forces of darkness, neither did it offer the risk of a sudden and untidy demise. It was something he knew he could do.
Having a revitalised Trev back in the office went down poorly with Barry, who for most of the week had been content just to sit and watch his colleague commit career suicide. Now it appeared Trev might not fall on his sword after all, he apparently decided that action had to be taken. A steady flow of passive-aggressive comments began to emanate from his desk, muttered just loud enough for Trev to hear without reaching Helen or Phil. The intent was obvious: to draw a response from Trev that would be heard, and make him seem like the instigator. Barry knew Trev was in “one strike and you’re out” territory, and nothing would have pleased him more than to provoke that final indiscretion.
In times past Trev’s pride (not to mention his pettiness, which had always been quite noticeable where Barry was concerned) would’ve compelled him to fire back a few comments of his own, because allowing Barry to score points off him unopposed was intolerable. Now, though, he found he didn’t care nearly as much. Although it was still annoying, it currently ranked low down on the scale of traumatic experiences Trev had endured and he felt able to ignore it. The added bonus was that his lack of reaction was irritating Barry more than a slanging match would have. Trev dropped him a sly wink or a cheery smile in response to each comment and was rewarded with the sight of Barry’s face getting progressively more purple as the morn
ing wore on. Once he’d hit the shade of an overripe plum, he stormed out of the office for his lunch break.
By the time Trev went out for his own lunch, he’d had a very productive few hours. He’d booked several viewings plus a couple of valuation appointments, had updated his list of buyers, and pissed off Barry enough to make him walk out. All things considered he was feeling rather good about himself, until he pulled out his phone and saw a text from Granddad:
Please give me a ring when you can.
Trev gritted his teeth. Granddad knew he was making his final choice that day and, of course, wanted his say beforehand. Trev had hoped to avoid another heart-to-heart about the Custodians; he respected Granddad’s opinions on the matter but the old boy needed to accept that it was Trev’s decision. He’d be hurt if his grandson didn’t follow the family line, Trev knew. He also knew that if he allowed himself to be persuaded to join when he didn’t really want to, it’d hurt him much more in the long run.
He called Granddad, who picked up with his usual promptness.
‘Good afternoon, Trevor.’
‘Hi. Got your message.’
‘Good. I wanted to offer you a lift to Birmingham this evening.’
‘You don’t have to,’ said Trev, knowing that arguing was futile, ‘I can make my own way. You’ve been ferrying me backwards and forwards all week.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Granddad replied. ‘I know your car’s a bit unreliable. Why don’t you come here after work and I’ll run you up.’
If he wants me to go to his house first, that means he wants a chat before we set off, Trev thought. His last chance to give me the hard sell.
‘All right,’ he said, knowing that they’d have the conversation at some stage anyway. He might as well get it out of the way. ‘Thanks. I’ll see you later.’
‘All right. Bye.’
Trev found his normal appetite returning, so he bought himself a burger and fries for lunch. He sat in the restaurant and ate his food while his brain turned things over. The conversation with Granddad had been something of a reality check. However well his morning had gone, he still had a potentially difficult evening to look forward to. He didn’t feel any closer to a decision either. There was always the option of just tossing a coin and taking a fifty-fifty chance, though he suspected that would turn into a best of three, then best of five, then best of seven…