Dark Company

“T
he connection must be severed completely,” Francis said. He had his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his faded blue jeans, acting casual.

Skylark stared at the demonic entity across the dingy hotel room. Francis called him the Speaker, but she could think of a few other choice names for him given the way he was dressed. He was lethally out of place with his flawless grey suit and carefully sculpted white hair. His face was emotionless and smooth as polished marble. But it was his eyes that disturbed her the most. They were the colour of ice chips and twice as cold. Just looking at him made her bad arm start to ache. She leaned toward Francis, whispering, “Are you sure he can’t see us?”

Francis shook his head. “We’re on a different frequency. He can’t see us until we engage him. Then there’s no turning back.”

“My scar hurts,” Skylark said. She rubbed her right arm, easing the pain in the scar that ran in a lightning bolt from her shoulder to her index finger. She could feel the binding strands of the healing cord beneath her sleeve and prayed it would keep her arm strong until she had a chance to shoot.

“Just stay focused and be ready when I give you the signal,” Francis said. “It’s gonna happen soon, I can feel it.” He began worrying the fringe of beard along his lower lip.

This was not a good sign. Skylark looked at the other man in the room, the one sitting on the edge of the bed sweating in his undershirt. He was human. Not so dangerous, she thought—at least, not to anyone but himself, it seemed. In one hand, he held a revolver. In the other, a half-drunk bottle of whiskey. What would the Speaker want with this train-wrecked guy? More important, what was she doing engaging a demonic entity of the Speaker’s calibre? She was just a recruit. She barely had any training other than a bit of target practice. But Francis had insisted, going on about the element of surprise, despite the directive from head office. He was supposed to bring Kenji, not her. Kenji had been on the case since the beginning. They were going to catch hell back at headquarters when Timon found out about their cowboy antics, that was for sure. If she had any brains, she would jump out now, before things got critical.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she asked.

Francis ignored her, pushing his white Stetson High Point down firmly on his head. Skylark reached up to stroke Sebastian, the mouse sitting on her shoulder. He’d been tickling the hairs on the back of her neck the whole time with his little paws, trying to calm her. He didn’t agree with this half-baked escapade either, though there was little he could do to prevent it. The role of animal totems was to guide but not interfere. Any recruit knew that. “Don’t look him in the eyes,” Francis said. “And whatever you do, don’t listen to his voice.”

She nodded, tugging the cuffs of her shirt over her knuckles.

The Speaker moved toward the bed and there was the faintest sound of tinkling glass. Skylark shot Francis a look.

“I hear it too,” he said. “Those are the soul vials of the ones he’s gathered.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he waved her quiet. The mouse reared up and grabbed two fistfuls of her black hair, preparing for whatever was coming.

The Speaker raised a small metal funnel to his lips. He sighed into the mouth of it, and to Skylark’s horror, a dark tendril wriggled from the end. It squirmed, reaching across the bed and working its way into the man’s ear. The man’s shoulders slumped and his head tilted to one side as the tendril wormed deeper. His eyes fluttered and his hand relaxed, dropping the bottle of whiskey to the floor.

The Speaker’s voice was an opiate lulling the man into submission. Skylark cleared her mind, protecting herself from his words.

“There’s nothing left to live for,”
the demon said.
“Everyone will be happier when you’re gone.”

The man sobbed and cocked the gun. He pressed the tip of the barrel to his temple, the sweat trickling in rivulets down his face. Skylark glanced at Francis. He held up his finger.

“Wait for it …”

“It’s so easy,”
the Speaker crooned.

The man exhaled, slowly squeezing the trigger.

“Now!” Francis said.

In a blinding flash, Skylark transformed, her gold breastplate gleaming, her raven hair now white and flowing. She winced as she drew her bow and arrow, the scar on her arm flaring with pain. But she held steady.

Beside her, Francis had also changed. His cowboy boots, hat and jeans had transformed into white sandals and a long robe that shimmered like river-washed opals. His hair and beard had turned from grey to silver, but his eyes remained the deepest shade of blue. A beam of light blasted from his palms and he trained it full strength on the gun. The muscles in Skylark’s hands jumped, preparing to fire, but she skipped a beat when the holographic face of a girl appeared in front of her. It was
Caddy—that pretty loner with the hazel eyes who’d stolen her boyfriend’s heart. What was
she
doing here?

“Shoot!” Francis shouted.

Skylark gritted her teeth and fired. A streak of light seared from her bow and her soul leapt because she knew the shot was good. There was an electric snap and a crescendo of breaking glass as the arrow sliced the tendril in half, its severed tail a live wire whipping back into the funnel. The Speaker didn’t falter. He snatched the arrow from the air and hurled it in her direction. This she had not anticipated. The arrow had blackened at his touch and it flew with unimaginable speed, piercing the small gap between her breastplate and shoulder armour.

“Francis!” she cried, and collapsed, her bow clattering to the floor. From the corner of her eye she could see the mouse lying next to her, unmoving, his grey fur blue with frost. “Sebbie …” There was a gunshot and moments later Francis was kneeling beside her, his concerned face fading in and out of focus. She wanted to tell him something, but the shivering had started and she couldn’t make her mouth move properly. In fact, she couldn’t move at all. Her whole body was cold as ice.

Francis gathered her in his arms. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

“The g-girl …” Skylark tried to tell him through the cold. “I—I saw the girl …”