The Midnight Witch (12 page)

“In the name of Lazarus I cast this circle, that it be a gateway to the Darkness. I stand in the sacred space of our coven, safe and strong. None shall come that are not called. None shall go that are not sent.”

I put down the stub of the candle and take up the vial of bone dust. Removing the stopper I lean over and sprinkle the fine gray powder over the area I have drawn. When this is done I look to Violet again and give a firm nod. She knows what is required of her, and begins to chant in a soft, low voice, the incantation for protection. She might never have been a part of such strong magic, but every witch knows this chant, and knows that the more it is used during spellcasting the more it shields those present from the forces of the Darkness. For a long minute she chants alone, then, tentatively at first, other witches join in, then more, until the chamber buzzes and thrums to the low voices as they utter the sacred and powerful words over and over again.

I touch the rope on my arm.

“Maygor’s Silver Thread, gift from our revered ancestor, awaken and do my bidding,” I say, before blowing gently on the delicate glistening strands. Within seconds the rope begins to shine brightly until it seems to pulse almost with a life of its own. I can feel the strength of the magic inside it as it slips a little tighter around my arm so that I feel as if a serpent is embracing me. I raise my arms slowly and am about to begin the calling when I notice my father’s spirit restlessly shaking his head.

He’s trying to stop me. Does he think I cannot do this? Is he afraid for me? No, I know he believes in me. Wait. I have forgotten something, that’s it! He’s trying to tell me there is something missing from the circle. But what? The rope, the candle wax, the bone dust … Ah! The Book of Divine Wisdom! Yes, of course, I should have it beside me.

I reach out a hand toward Violet. “There is one more item I need. Bring me the Book of Divine Wisdom.” As she fetches what I require I fancy I hear more than one sigh of relief among the gathered witches. They are powerless to interfere. Even though they knew I was doing something wrong, they could not speak out. If things go badly they will not help me. I must do this alone. Alone save for Father.

I glance toward where he stands and see his spirit is still and calm once more.

Placing the book by my feet on the edge of the wax circle I raise both my arms.

“As it is written in the words of the ancients, as my brothers and sisters have done before me, in the name of Lazarus I summon a demon creature! Let it hear me and come from the Darkness, passing through river of blood twixt day and night. Let it step into the circle. By the might of Solomon’s wisdom, and Maygor’s magic, and the strength of the coven, I summon you, Demon! Hear me now!”

As my voice rises I drop my hands, causing the silver rope to slide down my arm. Catching the end in my hand I let it unravel, snapping it back fast so that it cracks like a whip. A whip that twists and turns, driven by the magic energy in which it is steeped.

“Hear me, Demon!” I call once more, cracking the rope again, and again, and again. The witches continued their chanting, louder and stronger. I pace around the wax circle, calling to the demon, lashing the floor with the silver rope, my eyes fixed on the center of the wax loop. At last the colors within it, the painted images, begin to shiver and shift, and then to blur. They appear to melt, leaking into one another until there is nothing but a gray-brown miasma. And through it something—something dark, and oily, and terrible—begins to emerge. One three-fingered hand, sharp with talons, shoots up from the abyss. Then another. The chanting in the room falters. There is a powerful stench of burning, and of some acrid substance that stings throats and causes eyes to smart. The creature continues to claw its way up from the depths, writhing and struggling as it does so. At the sight of its hairless, bulbous head most of the chanting ceases and several witches cry out in horror. I am transfixed by the slimy shape that is making its painful way from the Darkness. It’s happening! Dear Spirits, I called a demon and one has come!

After what seems like an age of agony, the thing is revealed, crouched low in the inner circle, its yellow eyes narrow as it casts about, bewildered and furious. It is the size of a large hound, but without a single hair on its body, which is instead covered in a glutinous substance that drips about it, singeing the floor where it lands. It opens its slack mouth and lets out a hideous wailing noise. All chanting has stopped now. Witches back away in fear, and it is only that fear that keeps them rooted to the spot rather than fleeing from the chamber. I know it is up to me to control the beast. I must keep it in the circle at all costs. I stride around the perimeter, cracking the silver rope, calling to the demon.

“I am Morningstar, heiress to the title of Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven and you will obey me and only me.”

The demon answers with a low growl and lets its weight fall back on its haunches. At first it looks as if it might be sitting, submitting to my commands. But then, to my horror, I realize it is crouching, ready to spring.

“Stay back, Demon!” I am shouting at it now. If it leaves the circle I will lose what little control I have!

The demon turns its head, looking this way and that. It takes a shambling step forward, its broad foot crossing the wax of the small circle. It flinches, lifting its foot quickly, as if irritated, more than frightened. With a quick hop it leaps into the main circle, where it throws back its head and bares its teeth at me. If it senses how terrified I am we are lost. Fighting the impulse to run, I force myself to take a pace toward the creature. Surprised, or perhaps a little perplexed, it lowers its head and slides a fraction away from me. I take another step.

“Hear me, Demon. You were summoned by me, and so you will return to the Darkness at my bidding.”

The creature growls again but keeps low and retreats a little farther. It turns its gaze from me and begins to look around the chamber, shifting its weight from one back foot to another. It is in this instant that I realize what it is about to do. Spirits save us, it’s going to jump out. It wants to escape. It wants its freedom!

You foolish girl! Did you truly consider yourself able to control a demon?

No! Not now, not here! Leave me!

I must not allow the spirit to draw my attention. I must not let my concentration waver for a second. I open my mouth to command the demon to return to the Darkness, but it is too late.

The beast springs out of the sacred circle, and in one bound is at the back of the chamber. Witches scream and scatter in all directions as the terrible thing moves among them. I draw back my arm and flick out the Silver Thread. My first throw falls short. The demon begins to advance on two terrified witches who are cowering against the paneling. I try again, and this time the end of the rope finds its target and wraps itself tightly around the creature’s wrist. I brace myself, clinging on to the other end with both hands. The demon howls in rage, struggling to try and rid itself of the tether, but it is held there with magic centuries old. All it can do is lean its weight against its bond, so that I am pulled off my feet and begin to be dragged across the stones. I must not leave the circle! I will have only a tiny part of my magic outside it.

Again I hear the unholy sound of the haunting spirit’s laughter echoing through my mind.

He is winning, Daughter of the Night. You will fail!

No. No! I will not!

My bare feet give me no purchase, and the linen of my shift tears as I am hauled toward the outer rim. I try to recite further words from the Book of Divine Wisdom, to focus my will, to do anything that might make me stronger, but I am being pulled inexorably out of the safety of the circle. One of the witches tries to open the door, causing several others to cry out and two more to bar his way.

“It must not escape the chamber!” one yells.

As my skin is scraped raw against the rough stones I notice my challenger still standing by the altar, seemingly unaffected by the horror that is unfolding at his behest. He does not attempt to protect himself, nor to help me, as some of the other witches are now doing. But their efforts are ineffectual. They have no time to spellcast, no instruments of magic to hand, no circle of protection. All they can do is try to frighten and bully the demon into going backward. One even strikes it with his cane, but the wood breaks to splinters. The demon clutches at the Silver Thread with its free hand and yanks hard, reeling me in as if I were a floundering fish on dry land. It is too strong!

He is toying with you. You will be defeated, Lazarus child.

I ignore the cruel voice in my head. I know I have only seconds left before the situation becomes completely out of control. Seconds before all my father taught me, all I have worked for, perhaps even the existence of the coven itself, would be for nothing. How can I let it happen? How could I bring this terrible being into the world only for it to break out, unfettered and free, able to do whatever dreadful things its evil soul might crave? I cannot let this happen. I will not! I close my eyes and let myself go limp. I hear a wail from behind me and cries of despair.

“She has given up! Look! She is finished!” someone shouts.

The demon, too, seems to believe his tormentor is beaten. For just a moment it relaxes its grip on the rope and pauses in its efforts to haul me out of the circle. I use that moment. I consider asking the spirits for help. I could call on my guardians, my protectors, who have shielded me so many times when I have ventured into dangerous places looking for Freddie. My loyal Cavaliers, they would fight bravely for me. But no. It is I who am challenged. I must complete the task myself. In one fluid movement I spring to my feet, my eyes open, fixed on the demon.

“I am daughter of Brightstar. I am of the Coven of Lazarus, and I will command you, Demon. You do not belong here, and you must return to the Darkness.” So saying I swing around and run, full tilt toward the steaming fissure at the center of the circle. Fearing I will be swallowed up by it myself, the Master of the Chalice cries out a warning, but I am committed to my course. Behind me the demon, caught off guard, falls onto its side and is dragged back toward the circle. I leap into the air, bounding over the entrance to the pit, hauling hard on the Silver Thread as I do so. It seems as if I might succeed, but the demon is not finished yet. As it skitters past Violet it flings out a gnarled hand and grasps her ankle. Violet screams as the demon’s contact on her bare flesh burns her skin. The effect of the extra weight at the end of the rope is to halt me midleap, so that I drop abruptly, falling short of firm ground. I land with my upper body and arms on the daytime half of the circle, but my legs dangle into the foul-smelling opening in the floor. I can feel the heat from the depths singeing my bare feet. I find myself struggling wildly. Violet continues to scream. The Master of the Chalice has grabbed her and is using his considerable weight to prevent the demon from dragging her away, but its grip on her ankle does not loosen. As I fight to drag myself up from the pit, I notice my challenger remains unmoved by our plight, not even attempting to help Violet. Anger spurs me on. I twist the Silver Thread twice around my wrist. I am free from the hole now and able to reach the vial of bone dust, which I snatch up and hurl at the demon. The glass smashes against its chest, the fine powder spreading out in a cloud over its body. The creature roars and writhes, and releases its hold on Violet. Standing up, I pull hard on the rope, swinging the demon across the stones and toward the pit.

But the beast is not finished yet. It musters its strength and makes another lunge at Violet, grabbing hold of her hair. It regards me for the briefest of moments, its yellow eyes latching onto my gaze so that I see my own anguish reflected there. From the assembled company come one or two bursts of magic in an attempt to free my poor maid, even though whoever sends them knows they are breaking coven rules to intervene. However well-meant, their efforts are futile. Violet wails and struggles to free herself, but now the demon wraps his other arm around her neck and shuffles toward the opening in the ground.

“No!” I shout. “Let her go!” I lean my weight against that of the demon, but cannot hope to stop its progress now. Violet shrieks and the creature, seeming to tire of her, coolly, heartlessly, twists her head in his arm. The sound of her slender neck snapping is unbearably clear.

“Violet!”

There is a second, an instant in time which seems to stand still, where the beast teeters on the brink of the abyss. In that moment I am overwhelmed with sadness for my lost friend, with rage at the awful creature. And then it falls, taking Violet’s body with it. And as it falls the rope becomes taut again so that I am yanked toward the hole after it, the Silver Thread still wound tightly around my wrist.

I know I should let go, but the need to hold on to Violet, to bring her back, is instinctive and defies the logic of the situation.

From behind me, I hear the Master of the Chalice call out in desperation, “Release the thread’s hold, child!”

“I cannot! Violet!” I scream, even as I am dragged farther across the floor, my own grasp on the slender rope slipping as sweat coats my palms.

“You must!” Lord Grimes insists.

Suddenly I am aware of someone standing in the circle with me. It is Druscilla. She raises her hand and calls in a clear, firm voice, “Maygor, release!” In less than a heartbeat the rope slips from my arm, dropping to the ground, dull and inert, a simple cord once more.

I lie where I have fallen, gasping, my toes at the very edge of the pit, my breath ragged, fear and exertion causing my body to tremble. My shift is in shreds, and my legs bloodied from being scraped by the stone floor. Slowly I climb to my feet. As I watch, the hole within the wax circle closes over and seals itself. I raise my head, letting my gaze sweep over the shocked witches around me. Violet is gone. The demon that I summoned snuffed out her life as if she were nothing. My sorrow, my guilt, my horror at what I have allowed to happen render me speechless. At last I feel Druscilla’s cool hand on my shoulder.