Gallows at Twilight (13 page)

‘I thank you all for travelling so far, my friends.’ The voice boomed, as if amplified through a Tannoy. ‘I have had the pleasure of meeting your coven leaders, and I look forward to speaking with you all individually very soon. But now we must act quickly. I cannot maintain this protection for long.’ His hands gestured to the cloud that capped the stadium.

A wizened old woman in Romanian peasant dress stepped forward. She held a two-headed frog in her hand. The demon’s grasshopper legs arched behind it and rubbed out a brittle chirrup. When she spoke, fear rippled through her voice.

‘I am Baba Balescu, Mother of the Bucharest Coven,’ she croaked. ‘We were honoured to receive you in our territory earlier this year, Master Crowden. We have shown our allegiance by placing your mark on our hillsides. But now we must ask—what is it that you want of us?’

The Master smiled.

‘I want to give you power, Baba Balescu. Power beyond your wildest dreams.’

A stir of excited chatter rustled through the universal coven. Simeon, leader of the Kansas Coven, spoke out:

‘What is this power?’

The Master beckoned and the nightmare cabinet swirled above the heads of the witches. Its doors swung open and a fiery wind blasted their upturned faces. Those that did not turn away saw a glimpse of distant volcanoes, of rivers running with molten lava and the blackened earth of an infernal landscape.

‘I offer you the power of the demon world!’ the Master called. ‘The full, unfettered majesty of demonic magic at your command! Imagine it—not just one demon to serve you, but thousands!’

‘How is this possible?’ Baba Balescu cried, a dark joy dancing in her eyes.

‘Tell us, Master!’ Simeon pleaded. His cry was taken up by the horde.

The figure on the arch held up his hand for silence.

‘As some of you may know, last year my coven and I attempted to open a doorway into the demon dimension. We were thwarted by a boy conjuror—the child Jacob Harker.’

‘Forgive me, Master,’ Simeon interrupted, ‘but how could a mere child stand against you?’

‘He was helped by a powerful organization. The Elders of Hobarron. It is true that the boy possessed
some
magical skill of his own, but he used the element of surprise to his advantage. Suffice to say that he managed to destroy the Door and prevent the Demontide.’

‘Remarkable.’

An elderly man with sun-baked olive skin shuffled through the crowd. This ancient, white-bearded witch leaned heavily upon a staff inscribed with classical Greek letters. A feeble looking cat with a scorpion tail slumped at his feet.

‘This child defeated the most powerful coven master in the world. He destroyed the great Door and flung demon-kind back into its prison. And he did all this with the element of surprise?’ The old man shook his wrinkled head. ‘I think not. There is a rumour running through the world of the dark creatures, Master Crowden. They say that this Jacob Harker is Josiah Hobarron born again. They say he is a practitioner of Oldcraft.’

Most of the witches laughed at this, but not all …

‘That old superstition?’ the Master sneered. ‘Surely you do not believe such tales, my dear Adelphos.’

‘I believe what my eyes show me,’ Adelphos countered. ‘I see a man—or something like a man—who was bested in battle by a boy.’

A younger man with the same shade of rich olive skin pressed forward.

‘Please, Master Crowden, do not listen to this old fool. He does not speak for the Athens Coven.’

‘No, I speak for myself,’ Adelphos agreed. ‘I believe Jacob Harker is what he claims to be, and that Marcus Crowden is no more. This creature—’ a gnarled finger jabbed at the figure on the arch, ‘—is something
other
. Why else does he hide his eyes?’

‘Hold your tongue, Adelphos,’ the young man pleaded.

‘I will not. I believe … ’ The witch took a moment to gather his courage. ‘Hear me, brethren witches, I believe this boy conjuror works his magic
without
demons!’

‘Blasphemy!’

‘I believe he is an agent of Oldcraft!’

‘Heresy!’

‘I believe this with all my soul. I believe it so much that I cast away my own demon!’

The old man stepped away from his cat. He held out his hand and muttered a few words. Bolts of fire crackled from his fingertips and shot out towards the demon. Before the magic could hit, the nightmare box made its move. With its doors still wide open, it plummeted down into the bowl of the stadium. Adelphos Mitro looked up into the descending jaws and tried to cry out. The cabinet slammed to earth and swallowed both the witch and his scream.

The box shuddered, as if digesting tough old bones. Then it flipped upright, its door snapped shut, and it soared back into the air.

‘Is there anyone else who wishes to question me about Oldcraft … ?’ the Master asked. ‘I thought not.’

With its witch now dead, the scorpion-tailed cat burst into flames and returned to the demon world.

The young Greek witch threw himself onto the ground beneath the arch.

‘Please forgive us, Master. None of the Athens Coven would ever doubt your word.’

‘Get up out of the dirt,’ the Master called, ‘and listen to me, all of you. The Door which was destroyed cannot be reformed. That weak point between our world and the demon realm has been sealed off for ever. But hear this—it is within our power to create
a second Door
.’

Awed silence.

‘That is why I have travelled the world to meet you. That is why I brought you here. To create this Door will require dark magic beyond any that can be summoned by one coven alone. And so we must pool our powers into a single spell— the creation of a Demon Doorway!’

Excited chatter followed this pronouncement.

‘Is it possible?’

‘Imagine what we could achieve with legions of demons at our command!’

‘Nothing could stand against us! No government, no army!’

‘The world would be ours to rule!’

‘We would be living gods!’

‘ENOUGH!’ the Master bellowed. Then, in a softer tone: ‘Be still, my brothers and sisters. Before we can even think about summoning the Door, there is something we must do.’

The figure stepped off the arch and flew down into the stadium. Witches drew apart as the Master walked into the centre of the universal coven. They saw themselves reflected in his dark glasses, and some of them wondered about what old Adelphos had said—
something other
…

The handsome face looked at each coven in turn.

‘Only one thing stands between us and true, demonic power. An old foe must now be vanquished. The time has come to destroy the Hobarron Elders once and for all.’

A roar of approval rang around the stadium.

‘Are you ready to fight, my witches?’

‘Yes!’

‘Are you ready for slaughter? For mayhem? For carnage?’

‘YES!’

‘Then follow me!’

The Master rose into the air. His new disciples joined him, riding into the thunderhead and black reaches beyond.

‘KILL THEM ALL!’ the Master commanded. ‘LEAVE NONE ALIVE TO TELL THE TALE!’

Chapter 11

Fire from the Sky

His patrol complete, Brett Enfield returned to the security hut at the gate of Hobarron Tower. Before entering, he flashed his torch along the road that led back to New Town. Something small, a field mouse perhaps, darted off the tarmac and into the cornfields. Brett patted the Doberman at his side.

‘Heel, Cerb.’

Cerberus grumbled.

‘I know, I’m hungry, too,’ Brett sympathized. ‘Let’s get some chow.’

He unhooked Cerberus’s leash and the dog bounded through the hut’s open door. Snuffling noises came from inside: the sound of an impatient animal seeking his supper. With thoughts of a hot meat pie filling his head, Brett was about to join his canine partner when something caught his eye.

Shapes moving through the sky.

Flying figures silhouetted against the face of the moon.

Cerberus had forgotten his dinner. He slipped out of the hut and nudged his master’s leg. Brett looked down into a pair of moist brown eyes. It was the whimper at the back of the dog’s throat that frightened him more than anything else. Brett had never seen Cerberus scared before.

Sirens cut the air. Amber alert lights flashed around the perimeter fence and swept across the face of Hobarron Tower.

Before Brett could catch his breath, a young Japanese girl dressed in jeans and a denim jacket landed in front of him. In other circumstances, Brett would have appreciated her beautiful, flawless skin and the lustrous black hair that fell down her back. Instead, all he could do was stare at the horrible scarred flesh of her throat. His thoughts flew back to all those checks he had performed since coming to work at the Institute. Dr Holmwood had always instructed him to pay careful attention to visitors’ necks.

The girl began to murmur under her breath. She held out her hand as if in greeting. Cerberus growled.

‘Bad dog,’ the girl said. ‘You will play with my pet now. Come, Mr Sickert.’

Eyes burned red in the hedgerow. Brett watched, dumbstruck, as a creature the shape of a rabbit but the size of a fox padded out onto the road. A bloody stump occupied the place where the rabbit’s right ear should be. Torn and ragged, much of the left ear also appeared to have been ripped from its head. Anyone might think that the poor animal had been attacked, but that was not the case. The remnants of an ear rolled around inside the rabbit’s mouth: the thing was eating itself alive.

Those red eyes fixed on Cerberus. Mr Sickert spat the flesh from his mouth and licked his blood-splattered lips with a thin, lizard-like tongue. Then, using his powerful hind legs, the thing launched itself at the dog. With one lethal bite it tore the throat out of the Doberman. Cerberus dropped twitching to the ground. A gush of hot blood pumped out of the dog’s throat and Mr Sickert planted his lips over the wound and drank deeply.

‘What a clever bunny,’ the girl grinned.

Brett fumbled for the weapon on his belt. His sweating hands made his movements clumsy.

The girl made a gun of her fingers and pointed at the guard.

‘No … ’ Brett pleaded.

‘Bang!’

The hex struck Brett and spun him round. He staggered away from the gate, hand clasped over the wound at his stomach. He felt the spill of blood beat against his palm and froth through his fingers. He managed eight short steps before his legs gave way and he hit the road.

Through dimming eyes, Brett Enfield—security guard and friend of Jacob Harker—watched the army of witches descend. Bolts of magic flew from a hundred hands and shattered the glass face of the tower. Chunks of masonry rained down from the roof. The ground beneath Brett trembled and he saw gigantic cracks snake along the tower walls. People appeared at the broken windows, framed by fire, waving and screaming. Their cries for help were answered with a barrage of dark magic.

Brett’s blood eased to a trickle. Though he knew that the night was warm, he shivered. He no longer counted the time in minutes and seconds, but by the slow, dull thud of his heart. At last, Brett closed his eyes against death and destruction, witches and demons. His thoughts turned to his wife and his little boy. Their kind, loving faces stayed with him as he journeyed into the darkness.

‘Rachel, get away from him.’

A faint blue flame ignited in Jake’s hand.

‘He won’t hurt me,’ Rachel said. ‘He could never—’

Another scream from Simon cut her short. He was changing. With his gaze still rooted on the smoky trident, Simon’s pupils sharpened into slits.

‘The symbol—we need to get rid of it,’ Jake said.

He turned to the Oracle.

The tripod chair was empty. The serpent and the child had vanished. Jake tore the shirt from his back and ran across the pit. Standing astride the crevice, he wafted his shirt through the smoke, trying desperately to disperse the trident.

Meanwhile, Simon’s transformation quickened. His back hunched and his shoulders arched over his head. His bones crackled and reconfigured into new positions. Skin stretched, toes lengthened, fingernails thickened and sharpened into claws. Rachel held the changing face in her hands.

‘I’m here, Simon. Breathe.’

Simon’s nose wrinkled. With a warm, wet crack the bone snapped. Nose and mouth pushed out from his face to form a wolfish muzzle. The scar that ran down his upper lip split apart and pulled back over a set of ragged and still-growing teeth. Tears streamed from the boy’s ferocious green eyes.

‘G-go! Get out!’

‘But you’ll be all right,’ Rachel gasped. ‘You won’t hurt me. You could never…’

Simon’s T-shirt tore along the seams. His muscles strained and his spine rippled as dark hair sprouted from his skin. A cry, dripping with both horror and hunger, tore its way out of his throat: ‘
Rrrruuuunnnn!
’

But Rachel did not have time to run. The transformation had gone too far. Unable to control himself, Simon lashed out. His clawed hand struck Rachel’s face and sent her flying across the pit. Jake turned in time to see a fine spray of blood shoot into the air. Helpless, he watched as Rachel’s head smacked against the hard stone wall of the well and her body crumpled to the ground.

An inhuman face turned to Jake. Something like a smile played around the beast’s jaws. Then its eyes switched back to Rachel, unconscious on the ground. An easy kill. The creature tensed and sprang from the steps.

Jake felt the magic flare in his heart and rage through his body. No need to search among dead memories and emotions—he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. He held out his hand …

The creature was still in midair when the stream of blue light lanced against its flank. It yelped and tumbled sideways, missing Rachel by inches. Jake felt the vibrations as the half-demon hit the ground. Magical energy fizzled and died in his fist. He rushed to Rachel’s side. His heart sang— she was breathing. Brushing the hair back from her face, he saw three shallow cuts made by the creature’s claws. A sob rattled in Jake’s chest as he kissed the unscarred side of Rachel’s face. Then he looked over to where the beast lay sprawled unconscious, and his eyes narrowed.