Drake (20 page)

Wormwood sneered at me. “How many times has that been used?” he said.

“What? Twice, that I know of. One of them by me, and I fucking ate Wellington Phoenix with it, so–”

“So that's two down,” he said. “How many charges did it have to start with, Drake? Do you even know?”

“Charges?”

I could feel the quicksand shifting under my feet again, and I didn't like it one little bit.

“You fucking idiot,” Wormwood sneered. “What did you think, someone makes a talisman and you can have instant devourers on tap for ever more? Why hasn't some banana republic headcase already long since conquered the world with one of those then?”

“Um,” I said. I had to admit I hadn't really given it a lot of thought, but now that he mentioned it…

“Do you have the
faintest
idea of what it takes to summon a devourer?” he asked. “It makes what you do look like a Sunday school picnic. The enchanter has to carry out one real live summoning for each charge he wants to imbue into a talisman, that's how it
works
you fucknut. How many charges do you think could have been in that thing, realistically? Two? Three, tops. No more than that, I assure you, or the body count would have made the papers.”

I looked from him to the talisman and back again. His argument made sense, much as I hated to admit it. Fuck it.
Fuck
it, I was getting well and truly pissed off with everything going wrong for me. Still, I reasoned, he wanted the talisman all the same so he must believe there was at least a fair chance of it still having a charge left in it. I think it was the slimy look of raw greed on Wormwood's face that finally tipped me over the edge.

“So was it two charges, or was it three?” I asked him. “How much do you want to bet?”

“What?”

“I'll call it,” I said. “If it was two charges, you win and I'm fucked. You can have Connie kick the living snot out of me again, whatever you like. If it was three though… if it was three then I get to see you dragged screaming back down to Hell. I've already proved it ain't your lucky night, Wormwood.”

Wormwood gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles went white. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from between his fingers as the rosewood began to smoulder. Oh yes, he wanted that talisman all right, even if there
was
only one devourer left in it. At the same time, after what Trixie had told me I knew that I had touched on his deepest fear. If there was one thing Wormwood was terrified of, it was being sent back to Hell.

I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist it.

“Are you feeling lucky, punk?” I asked him.

“Oh fuck off!” Wormwood shouted at me. “Just fuck off out of here, and we'll both pretend this night never happened.”

“What about my debt?” I asked him.

He gave me a look of pure hatred. “Don't fucking push your luck Drake, or I
will
call your bluff. Just fuck off, and don't come back until you're told to.”

Sanity prevailed at the last minute. I turned my back and fled while I still could, the talisman clutched tightly in my hand. I almost ran straight into the hoodoo man. He had left his teenage arm-candy at the craps table and was standing outside Wormwood's office smoking a cigar and obviously waiting for me.

“Don-boy Drake,” he said with a wide grin. His accent was so thick I could barely make out what he was saying. “Long time no see.”

“Good evening, Houngan,” I said.

I'm afraid I had no idea what his name was, but he seemed content enough to be given the respect of his title. Come to that I had no idea how he knew
my
name, but I felt ridiculously flattered that he did.

“
Tout moun fet pou soufri
,
tout moun fet pou mouri
,” he said, his silk top hat nodding wisely.

“Forgive me, Houngan, my Haitian isn't all that great,” I said. “Everyone is…?”

“Everyone is born to suffer, everyone is born to die,” he said. “Old proverb.”

What an uplifting thought that isn't
. “Um, right, OK,” I said.

“What it mean is, everyone suffer,” he said. “Don't matter. What make the man is what him do when the sufferin' come knockin' on his door. You listen me now, Don-boy, and you listen well. You come here lookin' for advice, I'm hearin'.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah I was, but… I dunno.”

“There be loa fightin' in your house. You draw your
vévés
and speak wit' bad spirits, but time him come, Don-boy, when a man gotta choose what path he goin' walk. That your advice from Houngan Armand. From
Papa
Armand, you understand?”

He chuckled and sauntered off into the crowd without waiting for an answer, trailing cigar smoke in the air behind him. I frowned after him. The only thing I'd really understood from that was that his name was Armand, which I hadn't known. That, and he'd just given me tacit approval to address him as Papa instead of by his formal title of Houngan, which was basically just Vodou for “priest”. That meant, to him at least, that he had accepted me as a spiritual pupil. I had no idea whether that was a good thing or not. Probably not, the way my luck had been running recently, but all the same. I liked the guy, you know?

I looked around the club, feeling people watching me. Wormwood was bound to come out of his office sooner or later, and I knew it would be in the best interests of my health if I wasn't still there when he did. It was too hot in the club, and the air suddenly seemed close and stifling. It was fair to say my night had been an unmitigated failure so far.

I pushed my way through the crowd and headed down the stairs. Connie was still standing there like a statue at the bottom of the steps, keeping an eye on the bar and the front door.

“You get your advice, Don?” he asked.

“I got
some
advice,” I said. “Not sure I understood it though.”

Connie laughed and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder that almost floored me. “I know that feeling,” he said. “You stopping for a drink?”

The funny thing was, for all that Connie had slapped the crap out of me several times in the last couple of weeks, I couldn't help but like him. He seemed so amiable it was almost rude not to, if you know what I mean. I glanced around the bar. There were a few actual humans in now amongst the other patrons, but no one I recognized. There were a couple of young guys in heavy metal T-shirts at the bar, their bare arms covered in Goetic tattoos – and wasn't
that
going to bite them in the arse sooner or later – a red haired girl with her back to me, and a husband and wife exorcism team I'd once been briefly introduced to and couldn't remember the names of.

“Nah,” I said. “Think I'll call it a night. Cheers anyway, Con.”

“Another time then,” he said.

I nodded and made my way to the door.
A red haired girl…
I half-paused in the doorway when someone shoved me through the glamour and out into the alleyway. I stumbled forwards a couple of steps and smacked the palms of my hands painfully against the opposite wall.

“Hello sweetie,” she said.

“Oh for fuck's–” I managed, before she kicked me in the kidneys hard enough to send me to my knees.

I scraped a good bit of skin off my face and hands on my way down the wall. Damn but this was really starting to piss me off now. I turned on my knees to see Ally standing over me, glaring down at me with her hands on her hips.

“Oh yes,” she said, “I think I like you better on your knees.”

“Will you for the love of God please just fuck off,” I said. “Do I have to call Trixie again? Really?”

“I heard your pretty little angel was feeling under the weather,” Ally said. “She's so under the weather she couldn't even keep me out of that pub, remember? And that was before she hurt her poor little leg.”

I
did
remember, and I also remembered how Trixie hadn't had an adequate explanation for that. I didn't like it one little bit, and I even less liked it that Ally seemed to know she was hurt.

“We were both pissed and you caught her off guard, that's all,” I bluffed.

Alley smirked at me, her lips twisting into an ugly sneer. How I had ever thought she was attractive was beyond me now. It's amazing what magic can do, and she had definitely been doing something to my head at the time. I was bloody sure she had.

“Little miss goody-two-shoes' pretty angel magic doesn't seem to be working quite as well as it used to, does it?” Ally said. “I wonder why that might be. Maybe she's not quite as angelic as she used to be, what do you think? Maybe she's keeping bad company.”

She threw another kick at my head, and I rolled out of the way and pulled myself frantically to my feet. I'd had yet another shit day, I was half pissed, confused, scared, and not in any sort of mood to take another kicking from this horrible cow. She closed in to slap me, and I lost my rag. I'd never hit a woman before in my life, I swear I hadn't, but then Ally was only technically a woman and I was past breaking point by then. I balled my right hand into a fist and belted her in the mouth as hard as I could. Ally's head snapped back an inch, and she blinked at me in astonishment. But that was all. She laughed.

“Is that it?” she said. “Is that the best you can do?”

She hit me in the guts so hard I doubled over, puking spaghetti and red wine all over the filthy ground. At least, I
hoped
it was just red wine and she hadn't actually ruptured something in my guts that time. I clutched my stomach with both hands, and felt the shape of the talisman through my coat pocket.

If there was one more charge left in it, I could set a devourer on her right there and then. That was the beauty of a talisman. Maybe you
did
have to do the summonings in advance when you made the thing, but it still meant you could have the results immediately whenever you needed them. I really had to learn how to do that. If there was just one more charge I could have her.
If
there was.

I staggered backwards a step and pulled the talisman out of my pocket. Ally frowned at me as I held it up, my thumb rubbing at the ugly sigil of the devourer as I focused my Will and prayed for a little bit of luck, just this one time. I had to be owed some luck by now, surely. Something must have been smiling on me for once, though I dread to think what. The air split open beside me, and vile black tentacles burst into the night air.

“No, that
isn't
the best I can do,” I said, and pointed at her. “Kill!”

She dropped into a crouch, her claws extending smoothly from her right hand. The tentacles surged towards her and she went into overdrive, seeming to flow bonelessly around them as she slashed and cut and whirled. I watched in dumbstruck astonishment as it started to rain the Devil's own calamari. A tentacle whipped up and opened a long cut across her cheek, then another slashed almost the entire length of her left arm open as the devourer gave as good as it was getting, but she was still going. One of the tentacles wrapped around her thigh and almost yanked her off her feet but she leapt into the pull, her claws slicing down and out as she turned a perfect somersault. The severed tentacle withered and fell away from her leg, and curled into a shrivelled ball on the ground. Ally landed on her feet with a grunt of pain, obviously hurt but still fighting.

Dear fucking God
, I thought,
she can't be this good!
But she could, and she was. I backed away in horror, suddenly remembering how Ally had almost faced down Trixie that first time. Ally, it dawned on me somewhat belatedly, was almost as good as Trixie, and Trixie had killed three of these things in one go. She might be hurt, but by then I could tell that she was going to win.

I wanted to run, but they were between me and the street. The other end of the alleyway ended in a blank wall two stories high. That was me well and truly fucked then.

I sank hopelessly to my knees and watched Ally destroy my last chance. She took another lashing cut across the stomach, still fighting her way closer and closer to the source of the tentacles. I could only stare numbly as she plunged her claws right into the hole in the air with a savage grin of satisfaction on her face. Thick black ichor poured out of the void as something down there died screaming. Ally turned to face me just as Wormwood's club erupted like a kicked anthill.

Connie was first out of the door, bless him, with a baseball bat clutched in each massive hand like they were billy clubs. The tattooed heavy metal boys were right behind him, and the huge shaggy thing that had been playing craps with Papa Armand was behind them. Ally backed up a step as still more people jostled out of the club, all of them staring in astonishment at the slimy mess of diced devourer all over the ground and splashed up the walls.

“What the bloody hell's going on out here?” Connie bellowed. “Something big just died, I felt it.”

Ally backed up another step, limping and hunched over around her wounded stomach. There was inky black goo dripping from her claws, which was about as incriminating as evidence gets. Her gaze flicked over the crowd as though counting, figuring the odds. She turned and ran. Connie shook his huge, horned head in amazement.

“You do get in some scrapes, Don,” he said.

I sagged back onto my knees and let my head rock backwards with a weary sigh. Looking up, I could see through the glamour covering the upper floor of the club. There was a window there, and Wormwood was standing at it looking down at me with a sour expression on his face.

“Don't I just,” I said.

I
woke
up sprawled on the sofa in my office, still wearing my coat. God only knew what time I had got home last night. Connie had called me a cab, and I had been nearly asleep by the time it pulled up outside my front door. I remembered dragging myself up the stairs to my office, but that was it.

I sat up and groaned. There was dried puke all down the front of my shirt. My guts hurt, my head was pounding, the palms of my hands and my right cheek were grazed raw and, not to put too fine a point on it, I stank. I made myself get off the sofa and head to the bathroom.

I felt a bit more human for a shower and a shave. I wanted some clean clothes too, but they were in my bedroom where I assumed Trixie was still asleep. I made do with a towel wrapped around my waist and went to make coffee. To my surprise I found her sitting at the kitchen table instead, drinking coffee and smoking one of her awful Russian cigarettes. She must have been back to wherever she had her base, or wiggled her nose or whatever the hell she did, as she was wearing her own clothes again now. Very nice she looked too, in a pair of eyewateringly tight jeans and a loose white silk blouse. She winced when she saw me.

“What happened to you last night?” she asked.

“I got in a fight,” I muttered.

Trixie mashed her cigarette out on the saucer she was using as an ashtray and gave me a cross look. “Who with?”

“Doesn't matter,” I said, acutely conscious that I was only wearing a towel. “I'll just go get dressed.”

“It was Aleto again, wasn't it?” she demanded as I left the room.

I ignored her and closed the bedroom door behind me. I dug through my wardrobe, thinking it was high time I did some laundry. It's funny how the simple jobs of keeping life going are easy to forget about when things get hectic, but are so quick to turn around and bite you when you suddenly realize you've run out of things to wear, or you haven't got anything to eat or whatever. I normally wear suits but yesterday's had been my last clean shirt, and now that had vomit down the front of it and was splattered with devourer ink as well.

I sighed and settled on a pair of jeans that had probably been fashionable about five years ago, and a plain black sweatshirt. That would have to do. Trixie rapped on the door and barged in without waiting for an answer. At least I was halfway into my jeans by then, that was something. I yanked them up sharpish and turned to face her.

“Don't you ignore me when I'm talking to you,” she snapped. “It was her, wasn't it?”

“Yeah, it was,” I said. I pulled the sweatshirt on over my scarred chest and looked at her. “She knows you're hurt, Trixie. I don't know how, but she does.”

She knew Trixie was keeping “bad company” too, and that was probably much worse.
Maybe she's not quite as angelic as she used to be,
Ally had said, and that was the very thing I was afraid of.

“I'm fine,” Trixie said brusquely. “How are
you
, more to the point?”

I shrugged. “A bit battered, but not too bad. I set a devourer on her, the last one in the talisman I think. The last charge, you know how it works.”

Yeah I know, I know, but there was no way I was going to admit to her how naive I had been about how talismans work. A man has to have some pride after all, and I really didn't want to look stupid in front of her. More stupid than I did already, anyway.

“And?”

“And she slaughtered it,” I admitted glumly. “Bit of a waste, really.”

“Yes, it was a bit,” Trixie said. “That might have come in handy for something it actually stood a chance of doing. For heaven's sake, Don, don't you understand how strong Aleto is?”

“I do now,” I said. “To be honest I figured it out at the time, about thirty seconds too late.”

“Well, it can't be helped now I suppose,” Trixie said. “Have you still got the talisman?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it's in my coat pocket.”

I went and got it for her, and she followed me through to the office. Her aura glowed momentarily brighter as she examined it closely.

“Yes, the devourers are all used up I'm afraid,” she said after a moment. “That's a shame. So is the paralysis spell, by the way.”

I coughed. So if I had tried that one on Phoenix first instead of going straight for the big guns he might well have killed Trixie in the time it would have taken me to figure out that the spell wasn't going to do anything. All because I hadn't known how a talisman works. It's times like that when I seriously start to worry about what else I don't know and really should. It was starting to look like the Burned Man had left more than a few holes in my education.

“What does the other glyph mean? Any idea?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “No, sorry, I haven't got a clue. There's still power in it though, whatever it is.”

“Well I'm not trying it just to find out,” I said.

“No, no, I don't think that would be a very good idea,” she said.

She slipped the talisman into the pocket of her jeans, as though to make
sure
I didn't do that. I shrugged. It was no use to me now anyway, and she was probably right. Curiosity was bound to have gotten the better of me sooner or later, and whenever that happens I usually fuck something up.

“I'm going for a lie down,” Trixie said.

“Help yourself,” I said, again trying not to think about her lying in my bed. “It'll do you good.”

She left the room and I sighed and went to make myself a coffee. I stood at the kitchen window drinking it, looking down into the yard behind the grocers where Mr Chowdhury and his eldest son were sitting by their back door on a pair of upturned crates. They were drinking cups of tea and laughing together. For a moment I envied them their normal life.
Good for you, Mr Chowdhury
, I thought.
Make the most of it
.

The phone in my office rang. I hurried through to get it before the noise disturbed Trixie, cursing under my breath as I slopped hot coffee over the back of my hand. I just reached it before the machine picked up.

“Don Drake,” I said.

“Don, thank God!”

It was Debbie. I put the cup down in a hurry, spilling more coffee on the desk. Her voice sounded fuzzy, like she was on a mobile somewhere with lousy reception.

“Debs? Debs, what's the matter, where are you? I–”

“Shut up and listen,” she interrupted, and now I could hear the panic in her voice. “I don't
know
where I am, Don! She took me away, sometime last night. She's–”

I heard a muffled voice in the background, then there was a sharp crack and a howl of pain. I'd have known that sound anywhere – the evil cow had obviously got herself a new fucking whip.

“Hello sweetie,” Ally purred down the phone, her voice like battery acid poured over an open wound. “I've got your little friend. You're actually quite brave in your weaselly little way, aren't you sweetie? Tormenting you will take me years, and to be perfectly frank, I can't be arsed. Still, you have the very devil of a conscience. If I hurt
her
, well, you'll drive yourself crazy over it for me, won't you?”

“You fucking bitch!” I yelled down the phone at her. “Where are you? Where's Debbie?”

I heard another crack of the whip, another shriek, and the line went dead. I screamed and hurled the phone across the room. The worst of it was, she was absolutely right. I
would
drive myself crazy, more than I already was. That was it. That was just fucking
it!
The bitch was never going to go away, was she? I couldn't stand by while she hurt Debs, that much was for certain. I stormed into the workroom.

“Fuck the cost, how do I kill a Fury?” I demanded, before I really took in what I was seeing.

Trixie was standing over the Burned Man with the talisman in her hand. She was pressing down on the third glyph, and whatever that one did it was halfway through cutting a hole in my altar around the Burned Man.

“
This
way,” she said. She turned to stare at me, and something in her eyes looked quite unhinged. “The third glyph is a spell for
opening
things
, Don. Locked doors mostly, but this is working just fine.”

“Trixie…” I started.

“No! I'm
sick
of this,” she screamed at me. “Sick of
waiting!
Get close to him, Adam said. Kill for him, make him owe you, make him love you, he said, and sooner or later he'll give it to you. But you
won't
, will you? You love this… this
fucking
thing more than anyone on Earth, don't you?”

I stared at her in astonishment. That was the first time I had ever heard Trixie swear.
Adam said…
I had a very, very bad feeling about that.

“I'm touched,” the Burned Man sneered, but I couldn't mistake the gleeful look in its beady little eyes. “The
angel
says you love me.”

“
Adam
said… you want the Burned Man?” I said. “That's what you were after, all along?”

You don't think there's even the tiniest chance she might want something in return? the Burned Man had asked me, but I don't think it had ever occurred to either of us that what she really wanted was the Burned Man itself. And now it knew what she was. That was bad. I still wasn't quite sure why, but I knew that it was.

“I
need
it,” she said. “I can do it, with this. I can finally destroy Aleto and
go home!
”

I suppose I should have pointed out that Meg and Tess weren't actually dead so killing Ally wouldn't get her home anyway, but Trixie looked so close to going for my throat right then that I honestly didn't dare. All the same, I didn't dare let her try to steal the Burned Man either.

“Trixie,” I said, “you can't–”

“
Don't tell me what to do!
” she shrieked.

She threw out a hand towards me and some psychic outpouring of her rage picked me up and hurled me bodily across the room like a rag doll. My head slammed into the wall with a solid crunch. You can't steal the Burned Man, I had been trying to tell her. It doesn't work like that.

I slumped to the floor in a heap and the lights went out.

I
had tried it myself
, of course. Davidson had been well on his way to dying of cirrhosis of the liver by then, but he was taking far too long about it for my liking.

“Why the fuck should I wait any longer?” I demanded, pacing Davidson's study with a glass of his whisky in my hand. “I'm sick of waiting.”

I had been a student of the Burned Man for almost four years by then, and I was running short of patience. I had learned everything it had to teach me, or so I thought at the time, and there was little more we could usefully do now until I actually owned it. Davidson assured me he had left it to me in his will, described rather obtusely as “a curious statue of which Donald has grown fond”.

Fond
might not be quite the right word for it. The Burned Man still revolted me and frightened me by turns, but I couldn't deny its power. I had my own keys to Davidson's place by then and I had taken to feeding the Burned Man myself, since Davidson was rarely in any state to do it these days. I had also taken to drinking too much, and not spending as much time with Debbie as I should. She had actually joked that she thought I might be having some sort of gay affair with Davidson. At least, I sincerely
hoped
she had been joking.

He was thoroughly repellent by then, of course, and if I had been gay I'd like to think I could have done a good deal better. He was never sober, rarely functional, and he stank all the time. The university had pensioned him off two years ago, when he started to become too much of a public embarrassment for them to pretend to ignore it any longer. He still steadfastly refused to see a doctor, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I hadn't exactly encouraged him to either. To put it bluntly, I needed him dead.

“They say all things come to those who wait,” the Burned Man said.

“Things come to those who reach out and fucking take them for themselves,” I snapped at it. “You told me that yourself.”

“So I did,” it said, and chuckled.

Davidson chose that moment to stagger into the room. He was wearing a stained dressing gown of a sort of dirty mustard yellow that matched the colour his skin seemed to be gradually turning. He smelled horrific.

“Don, dear boy,” he slurred. “Lovely… to see you.”

It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning and he was shitfaced. He stood there for a moment, swaying on his bare feet with a slightly confused look on his face. A moment later he turned and shuffled out of the room again.

“You can't still want to belong to that,” I said. “The man's an alcoholic wreck.”

“Never said I did,” the Burned Man said, “but I
do
belong to him and there it is. He has to give me to you, and he won't while he's still alive. He's said as much. We'll just have to wait for him to finish drinking himself to death.”

“How long is
that
going to take?”

The Burned Man shrugged. “I can't see it being more than another year or two, the state he's in these days,” it said.

“Oh fuck that,” I said. “I'm not getting any younger here. I'm not waiting another
year!
”

I was all of twenty-four by then, after all.

“You'll just have to, unless you want to do him in,” it said. “I can't help you with that I'm afraid, not while he still owns me. And if you try to do it by yourself you'll only fuck it up and end up dead or in prison, so that's the end of that.”

“No it isn't,” I said. “Things come to those who take them.”

“I've told you before, I can't be stolen,” it said.

“And I'm telling you, bullshit.”