Mammon (5 page)

‘Mmm.' His father examined his fingernails. ‘That's happened to me after a double shift. You're probably just a bit tired.' He stood up. ‘Now, what'd you do with my tool kit?'

‘No, Dad. I saw something.'

Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. What was it?'

Joe hesitated – his dad wasn't going to believe it. ‘It might be easier if I just show you.' He handed his father the wrench, savouring the excited anticipation, the now-familiar tingle in his fingers.

‘O-kay.' Grinning, his father leaned against the workbench, running his fingers back and forth over the metal rim.

Dad watched expectantly – but his smile soon dropped.

His eyes became wide with horror as the room turned dark, and clouds gathered, forming a sphere. In the middle of his garage. He flinched as a bolt of lightning ran down the side.

Joe grinned. ‘I think I'm a wizard, Dad!'

Dad dropped the wrench. ‘Oh,
no
.'

From the doorway came his wife's scream.

TREMBLING, DAD WAVED
his hand through the air. ‘Close it! Now!'

With a pounding heart, Joe stared into the swirling cloud, willing it to disappear. Why was Dad so upset? He glanced at the doorway where his mother stood, a wide-eyed Grace beside her. Mum seemed – angry?
Around her feet, shards of china lay next to spoiled sandwiches.

‘Oh, no. Not him. Not my son!'

A sweat droplet slid down Joe's forehead. He blinked it out of his eyes. ‘What's the matter?'

Grace stared into the space where the strange cloud had been. ‘What
was
that, Joe?'

Dad grabbed Joe's shoulders, his eyes searing. ‘Son, you must promise me that you will never do that again.'

Joe buckled against his father's grip. ‘Why, Dad?'

‘
Don't question me!
Just promise!'

‘Okay, okay! Stop shaking me!'

Dad's fingers had turned white. Grimacing, he dropped his hands. ‘You don't understand, son.' He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing hard. ‘You don't know what you've just done.'

Not the reaction Joe had expected. ‘I thought you could explain what it is.' Was that
fear
in Dad's eyes?

A sudden pressure – Mum's fingers on his arm; the sway of forced movement. ‘Get inside.'

‘Dad . . .'

‘Now!'

Grace jumped; Mum's voice cracked through the garage like a gunshot. Trailing behind Joe and Mum, she glanced back. ‘Go on, Grace,' Dad said. ‘With your mother.'

Mum pointed to the sofa. ‘Sit.' Grace tumbled on to the chair; Joe followed.

In the garage, Grace had felt her mother shaking, seen tears in her eyes, but now Mum was focused. The controlled intensity of a coach at half-time. Dad stood nearby, arms folded, jaw tight.

‘Right. Joe, how many rifts have you opened?'

He blinked. ‘You mean the sphere, Mum?'

‘Yes.'

‘Three.' Joe's heart pounded.

Dad cut in. ‘When did it first happen?'

‘Yesterday.' Joe ran his fingers over the sofa. They still tingled from the power.

‘Where were you?'

‘In my room.'

‘The second time?'

Joe coughed. ‘The garden.'

‘Outside?' Dad frowned. ‘That was very dangerous, Joe.'

‘Why?'

‘You must never do that again.'

‘Why not, Dad?'

Mum turned her sights on Grace. ‘What about you? Have you seen anything strange?'

‘Y-yeah.'

‘Such as?'

‘A . . . boy. But he was weird.'

‘What kind of weird?'

‘Just weird . . . I can't explain it!'

‘Try!'

‘I don't know how to, Mum.'

Her mother kneeled, took Grace's shoulders between firm hands. ‘Tell me everything, honey. Now.'

Grace pressed her fingers against her temples, rubbing away a sudden, darting pain. ‘It – wasn't there all the time. The shadow, I mean. At first I thought I was seeing things. But it was there, it was real. It was a monster.'

Mum swapped a glance with Dad. ‘When was this, Grace?'

‘Yesterday . . . and the day before.'

‘Did you see him, Joe?'

‘Yeah. At school. Out the back, selling drugs. I heard Grace calling –'

‘Too close for comfort.' Mum stood and began walking the room.

‘We should call Diana now, Suse.' Dad glanced at the telephone.

Grace watched her mother pace. ‘Why call Aunt Diana?'

‘No, don't call her just yet.' Mum looked at Grace. ‘Is there anything else that's happened? Anything at all?'

‘Oh, not really.'

‘What?' Mum pressed. ‘Tell me.'

Grace sighed. ‘Just that – Joe can hear me when I'm calling him.' She pointed to her forehead. ‘In here.'

Mum gave Dad another tense look. She kept pacing, her hands clenched.

‘Sit down, Suse.' Dad tapped the sofa next to him; Mum stopped and sat down.

She gave Dad a pleading look. ‘There's so much they need to know. I thought they were both too old for anything to emerge now, but I was wrong.'

Dad squeezed her hand. ‘But we were right to give them a normal childhood. We talked about this, Suse.' Dad's voice was low and gentle as he looked at his son. ‘I mean: a Ferryman. Of all things. Who would have guessed?'

Joe's eyes narrowed.‘What are you talking about?'

‘In the old days, Joe, your people – or people with your skill – were known as Ferrymen,' said Dad. ‘You have the power to move between worlds. That sphere, as you call it, is actually a dimensional rift.'

Joe's eyes went wide. Grace stared. ‘Dimensional?' Images of strange alien life, born of the stars, came crawling through her mind.

‘This gift has been passed down to your brother from a very old line of highly skilled mercenaries, known as the
sarsareh
. People who have the Sight, who can see the truth around them when most of the world can't. Your mum and I worked for an organisation founded on the
sarsareh
tradition. Your Aunt Diana is still a part of it. But we quit when you were born, Joe, and came out to the suburbs. We knew it was the right thing to do. It would have been no life for children.'

He raised a finger. ‘You've both had a good, normal upbringing, and there was no guarantee either of you would be gifted. We didn't think this would happen. Gifts usually emerge at a younger age.' Dad started to shake his head. ‘Oh, you are yet to grasp who you are, son. Your kind is so rare. Your gift, so powerful.'

Dad glanced between his children. ‘This will be very hard for you both to accept, but you must try. The reason why that boy looked so strange to you, Grace – and to you too, Joe – was because . . . well, there's no other way to put it. He's a demon.'

‘What?' Grace shot up, sitting upright on the sofa. ‘Whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?' Joe's face mirrored what she knew hers must look like: pale skin, open mouth, frightened eyes. Her breath was coming tight and rapid.

‘But th-they look like people,' Joe said.

‘Yes – but the shadow they give out is pure demon energy. It's something they generate themselves. They
are
the demons. They
become
the demons through their own moral decline. They're not possessed, they just
are
.'

Dad squeezed Grace's hand. ‘Don't be afraid, honey. I promise we won't let anything happen to you. It's been a few years, but we haven't forgotten our training.'

Grace stared at her father's eyes. ‘Training?'

‘Special operations. Contract work.'

‘You're talking about . . . you used to be mercenaries?' Joe's mouth dropped open. ‘That's friggin' awesome!'

‘It's not all fun and games, Joseph'. Mum gave him a sharp look.

‘Sorry.'

Grace felt numb. This had been going on all this time. Mum and Dad had been hiding things from them. She gave her mother a hard stare. ‘So, can you still see them?'

‘Yes. But I try not to go looking for them.'

‘Well, why did you stop fighting? Don't you want to?' Grace's voice shook with anger. It couldn't be true. It wasn't. There was no way it could be.

Her mother leaned forward, palms open on her knees. ‘Of course I do. But we knew the only way to keep you both safe was to quit our old jobs.' Her eyes fell on Joe. ‘But your brother changes all that.'

* * *

DESPITE HIS EXCITEMENT
, Halphas walked a steady pace along the upper deck, passing through the double doors into the saloon. A smoky ether hung in the air, filling him with a sudden stab of nostalgia: the scent reminded him of the opium dens of old London. Cascades of golden silk draped the walls. Candelabra shone gaslight rays through the mist. The crack of billiard balls, the jostling laughter. Young men lounged on leather sofas, sucked on cigars.

Cream chiffon swayed in the breeze, women were strewn around the room like exotic flowers. They came in many varieties; Master preferred it that way.

Halphas stared, but his eyes did not undress them. Instead, he noted the small signs of nervousness. Twitching fingers. Gleaming sweat on arched eyebrows. Eyes darting around the room. Trembling legs, rustling the satin of a fine dress.

The room pulsed with anticipation. They all felt it, knew it. It was the energy that Master gave out.

Yet Halphas was tired.

Against a large window that spanned the starboard wall, silhouetted against the sunlight, stood Mammon, hands in pockets, staring out across the water.

‘Master,' Halphas said. ‘I've seen a Sign!'

Mammon turned and gave him a sharp stare. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, Master! In this very city.'

Halphas fought an urge to shrink: even behind his sunglasses, Master's eyes were searing. ‘Are you
absolutely
sure, Halphas?'

‘You have no reason to doubt it, my Lord. I've tracked the Sign to the City's northwest. I have people monitoring the house now.'

Mammon stared at him. ‘The suburbs?' He curled his lip. ‘How unpleasant. I do hope this isn't another disappointment.'

Halphas tensed. The billiards game had ended; he felt an insolent gaze burning in his direction. Then, predictably, Andras slithered his way to Master's side. He folded his arms and regarded Halphas with a cool stare. Halphas ran his own gaze over Andras's clothes – the upstart looked as though he'd just emerged from a menswear catalogue. What a good little clone he was.

Halphas turned his eyes to Mammon. ‘The signal is very strong, Master. Only thirty seconds this morning, and yet – so very powerful. It was easy to tune in and find him. The boy lives with his parents and sister. He's been outside working on a motorcycle all morning, so my people have been able to watch him for some time. Seems like an ordinary teenage lad.'

Halphas drew a breath and smiled. This was his moment of glory. Using his unearthly intuition, he'd tracked another Ferryman in just days. These apprentices could not offer Master anything close to this.

Mammon slid his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. ‘Well, what do you suggest now, Halphas?'

The old servant scratched his ear. ‘There's a problem.' Despite himself, he stared at the floor, Master's expectant gaze burning into his forehead. ‘The house is protected.'

‘That won't stop us,' said Andras.

Halphas threw him a triumphant glance. ‘Our kind can't cross a Line of Protection.' He raised his eyebrows as Andras's smile fell. ‘Or didn't you know that?'

‘It still won't stop us,' Andras said. He turned to Mammon. ‘Master, I can sort this.'

‘Mmm.' Mammon's lips twitched. ‘We need to draw the boy out. But carefully.' He paced for a few moments, then he turned to Halphas with a lifted finger. ‘Dig into the family's background. It's not normal for a suburban house to have a Line of Protection.'

Halphas bowed his head. ‘I have already made extensive enquiries, Master. I have been told by a reliable source that the Line was there years before the family moved in. After watching the family, I believe that they are not aware of its presence. A mere coincidence.'

‘Master, let me help,' Andras said. ‘It will be far more discreet than using any of your military resources.'

Mammon pressed his fingertip to his lips. ‘It has to be done right.'

‘It will be.'

‘Well, fill me in on the plan.' Mammon placed his hand on Andras's shoulder and led him on a slow walk towards the deck. He threw a last glance over his shoulder. ‘Turn the boat around, Halphas.'

The old servant gritted his teeth as he made his way from the room. Master blamed him for the last failure. And now Andras was taking control with a thrown-together plan. Why did Master indulge these young ones so recklessly?

* * *

GRACE DROPPED HER
book onto her bedside table and sat up, letting her legs swing over the edge of her bed. She stretched. Pale afternoon light streamed in through the gap in her curtains; new rain pattered on her window. Yawning, she slid on her slippers and shuffled towards the window to pick up her watch. Three-thirty.

A rumbling shook the walls. She peered down. There was Joe, leaning over the bike, revving the engine in sustained bursts. Grace glanced at the sky: surely he wasn't thinking of riding in this? Even as plump raindrops splashed on to his hair, he seemed oblivious, tuned in to the bike's steady vibrations.

* * *

Across the road, behind the safety of a tinted bedroom window, Halphas shifted in his chair, his fingers clenched. Even at this distance, the Line of Protection around the boy's home set off a painful stinging in his skin.

Andromalius watched the upper window where a woman had stood, minutes earlier. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the minds inside the house.