Demon Games [4] (3 page)

Caliban glanced over at the steps and noted that the number of insects descending them was beginning to decrease, as if they somehow sensed that the thing in the sarcophagus was approaching completion and that they would not be needed. The rate of growth of the thing inside the stone coffin had slowed down too. Gone was the frenetic, frenzied charge to be a part of the thing forming on the cold stone surface; instead a more careful construction process was beginning as the outer elements of the body began to take shape. Nowhere was this more evident than at the head, where the larger creatures acted as a bridge for the smaller insects that amassed on the upturned face to form the facial features.

Quite suddenly, as if some silent command had been issued, the influx stopped. Those creatures that were already inside the crypt continued their march towards their comrades, but no more were called. Caliban felt an emotion that he had not experienced in some time begin to well up inside him and he turned to look down into the coffin excitedly.

The humanoid form was complete. It was obvious from the shape of the body that the figure was that of a woman, but this was like no woman that any creature had laid eyes on before. She lay on her back, her arms crossed over her breasts, and the vampire’s gaze wandered over the writhing mass of black insects which were in constant motion so that her skin rippled and shifted beneath his scrutiny.

Caliban reached forward, his hands hovering in the air over the body.

‘It is done?’ he asked.

The Pit-Shedim did not move or answer his master’s question. The magic he had performed had drained him of all energy, and his body seemed limp. The huge horns that grew downwards from either side of his head seemed to weigh the whole thing down so that it hung forward, the nether-creature seeming to lack the strength even to lift his face to look the vampire in the eye. ‘It is done,’ he said eventually. ‘I have returned her to you, as promised.’

The vampire looked at the figure inside the tomb again before turning to the demon. ‘You have done excellently, Thrin. You have served your master well.’ He turned his back on the demon, his eyes blazing as he took in the contents of the coffin.

‘Step closer,’ the vampire ordered, without turning. ‘There is one more thing that I want from you.’

The nether-creature obeyed, shuffling forward until he stood beside his master at the edge of the dais.

He never saw the blades that now served as fingers on the vampire’s false hand until it was too late. The razor-sharp edges raked across the demon’s throat, and a fountain of gore erupted from the wound. Blood spewed into the air, covering the vampire, who moved quickly, stepping back and grabbing the demon, manhandling the body so that the inky liquid poured down on to the prostrate form inside the sarcophagus.

As the hot black gore spattered on to the body, a sound like a long breath being slowly exhaled filled the vault.

Throwing the demon’s body to one side, Caliban leaned over the figure of the woman, his mouth close to her ear.

‘Patience, my pretty one,’ he said. ‘I will bring you more blood, lots of blood, and soon you will be returned to where you belong.’

He stepped back, taking in the figure on the dais one last time. Images he’d seen of the sorceress suggested that she had been beautiful to behold. She had not lived in the Netherworld for such a long time, and he knew that her return must be kept secret for a while yet. She needed more blood to reanimate fully, but that was not a problem for Caliban; the vampire was never short of that particular commodity. He would revive her: Helde the Queen of the Dead, and when he had, he would unleash her dreadful powers once again.

The vampire smiled to himself. Stepping over the dead body of the demon, he left the vault, carefully closing the door behind him.

‘OK, tell me again why we can’t just locate a portal and go through it to the Netherworld.’

‘Because all the normal routes – the permanent portals – are under constant surveillance. Caliban’s goons maintain a presence near them,’ Dreck said with a small sigh. ‘We can’t use any of those, so we need another method of entry. We need a portal of our own so that we can slip in undetected.’

‘And why is that so difficult? I thought Lucien had people who could do that.’

‘Well, that requires some pretty powerful magic, and the person who could have carried out such a feat – Alexa – has upped and left already. The only other person who could have opened up a portal large enough and for sufficient time to get you and me through together was Charles Henstall. But we don’t have him any more.’

Trey felt a sinking sensation, as if he’d suddenly been hollowed out inside. Charles had been a talented young sorcerer who had died saving Trey’s life. Thoughts of Charles quickly turned to thoughts of Alexa, and a sickening feeling of fear coursed through Trey as he considered the danger that she had now placed herself in, trying to rescue her own friend.

‘The problem we have is
you
,’ Dreck continued, nodding his head in Trey’s direction. ‘I can get to the Netherworld quite easily. Like many demons, and some djinn, I have the ability to open a portal for a fraction of a second – long enough for me to slip through. But it’s not possible for anyone – or anything – to come through with me.’

‘Can’t you go through, open it up again from the other side, and I’ll slip through then?’

Dreck looked at him as if he was some kind of idiot. ‘It doesn’t work like that. My ability to get back to the Netherworld is like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s a safety system – an escape hatch, if you like. The portal is unique to the creature that created it. If you tried to go through, you’d arrive at the other side minced into tiny pieces.’

‘Oh, this is just great. Are you seriously telling me that we have no way of getting me into the Netherworld? That with all the magic, demons and technology housed in this building there isn’t someone or something that can get us across easily?’ The teenager stood up, scraping the chair legs on the tiled floor.

Tom had come back into the room behind him. He crossed over to Trey and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, gently motioning for him to sit down again. As Trey lowered himself back into the seat, he caught a look that passed between Tom and Dreck.

‘As Dreck has explained, we’re in a bit of a bind,’ Tom said. ‘We want to get you both into the Netherworld as quickly as possible, but we’re behind the eight-ball when it comes to doing so without being discovered. Dreck has suggested using a hell-hole.’

‘A what?’

‘Some demons set up remote snatch points: portals from the Netherworld into the human realm from which they can grab people and drag them away. The amount of magic involved in operating one of these holes is enormous, so only the most powerful and influential demons can do it. Our friend Molok happens to be one of those. Very occasionally he’ll set up a hell-hole. When someone unwittingly wanders in the portal is automatically triggered and the demons have a few seconds to grab their victim and drag him through. Humans are highly prized over there, so the risk involved is worth it to some nether-creatures.’

‘And how would a hell-hole help us?’

‘We know the location of one. Usually when we discover one of these traps, Lucien is quick to see that it’s swiftly put out of action. But on this occasion we—’

‘Could use it to get me through.’ Trey finished the Irishman’s sentence for him.

Tom winked at his young charge. ‘The rain that destroys the turn makes the cabbage grow, eh?’

‘I have no idea what that means, Tom,’ Trey said, feeling his mood lift for the first time in the two days since Alexa had disappeared, ‘but I’m guessing it’s something along the lines of, “Let’s go and kick some demon arse.”’

‘Something like that, lad. Something like that.’

‘There are drawbacks to the plan,’ Dreck said in a small voice.

Trey shot the demon a sour look. ‘What drawbacks?’

‘You’ll have to go over in your human form. If the portal opens and they see a seven-foot werewolf standing there, they’re going to know something is up.’

Trey considered this. The idea of being snatched by a group of demons while unable to defend himself was not one he relished. But he pushed the thought away, reasoning that he would deal with it as and when it happened. It sounded like the only way to get to the Netherworld and to Alexa.

‘When can we go?’ he said.

‘Today,’ Tom answered.

‘Let’s do it.’

Lucien Charron kept the folds of his hood pulled down low over his features, knowing that it would not do to be recognized here. Few gave the cloaked figure of the vampire a second glance as he walked among them.

Despite the hour, the maze of tight alleyways that made up the market was still busy with nether-creatures of every size, shape and description. They crowded in on each other around a multitude of vendors selling all manner of items. There were markets like this all over the Netherworld, trading in all manner of strange goods from cheap trinkets and novelties to darker, more macabre items: human body parts, fluids, bones and hair – all of which were used by the realm’s denizens to perform acts of dark magic. Most were counterfeit – the real thing was rarely found in the markets – but that did not deter one or two traders who could be heard crying out to the passers-by, expounding the merits and authenticity of their goods. One merchant – a huge, fat Gogwad, selling what it claimed were genuine shrunken human heads – had gathered quite a crowd around its pitch, and Lucien smiled to himself at the sight of the two Shade-imps darting in and out among the onlookers, relieving them of any purses that they were foolish enough to have on display.

There was a shout from up ahead and Lucien turned to see an ornate sedan chair being borne through the crowd. The windowed litter was constructed of what appeared to be hundreds of bones – a commonly used decoration in the Netherworld – but these had been coated in a deep red, glossy lacquer, giving the impression that they were still wet with blood. The red livery marked the vehicle as one of Orfus’s, although the demon himself would not be inside – this carriage would be occupied by one of his underlings. Two long black poles stretched out fore and aft, and these were carried on the shoulders of two Shadow Demons. Walking ahead of the entire ensemble was a great, lumbering Maug, growling and cursing at the crowd to make way, and flicking a barbed whip at anyone or anything not quick enough to do so.

Lucien stepped beneath a stone archway, content to wait out the passing of the litter in the shadows that it afforded. The litter’s occupant was hidden from view, ensconced behind heavy black curtains, but the vampire guessed that it held a demon of some wealth and power; no one else travelled in these ludicrous and pretentious vehicles. At some unheard signal, the Shadow Demons halted, bending at the knees and gently lowering the litter to the ground. There was a movement at the curtain nearest to the shrunken-head seller’s stall, and a hand emerged from the darkness. The appendage was skeletal, the bones clearly visible beneath paper-thin grey skin. Gnarled and horribly misshapen fingers were topped by long black talons whose dagger-like tips hung down beneath the palm, and one of these slowly extended, pointing at a particular shrunken head on the front of the stall.

Lucien was surprised. This was no demon hand, and he instantly recognized it as one of his own kind – a vampire – and, judging from the look of it, an old, and therefore powerful, one. He sank further into the shadows, considering this. If the vampire was riding around in one of Orfus’s official vehicles it must mean one of two things: Orfus had either joined Caliban or been overthrown by the vampire.

The market trader became a whirl of motion, its bloated frame moving at a speed that belied its size as it grabbed the head and approached the litter, bending and scraping to place the article into the outstretched hand, which withdrew behind the curtain into the darkness of the litter. There was a brief pause, followed by a hissing noise from the litter’s interior. The Maug’s head turned sharply at the sound. The huge demon stepped forward to face the stallholder, moved behind the Gogwad and, holding the handle of the whip at either end, brought the weapon back against the stallholder’s throat, forcing the creature’s head up and awaiting further instructions from inside the litter.

The yellow globes of the Gogwad’s eyes bulged, black pupils shrinking to tiny dots, and a fat brown tongue hung from its mouth (which moments earlier had been shouting the efficacy of its wares). Now all that came out of that mouth was a strangled groan. Its hands grasped and clawed at the whip handle, but the Maug was simply too powerful.

The black curtain twitched again and was held open a little, although not wide enough for Lucien to make out the creature behind it. The hand clutching the shrunken head appeared, carelessly tipping forward so that the thing dropped into the gutter, where it rolled to a stop beneath the Gogwad’s frantic feet.

‘Fakes,’ the litter’s occupant said in a voice like sandpaper being dragged across wood. The hand disappeared behind the black curtain for the final time. ‘Kill the charlatan,’ was the command from the litter.

The Maug increased the pressure on the Gogwad’s throat, ignoring the oohs and aahs of the crowd that had gathered to watch. Not one of the onlookers stepped forward and challenged the vampire’s right to kill the creature, which confirmed Lucien’s suspicion that the demon lord Orfus and his forces were no longer in charge here. The Gogwad’s frenzied attempts to break free began to abate, gradually decreasing in intensity until its body finally went limp and all signs of life drained from its face. Only then did the Maug release its grip, allowing the body to crumple to the ground in a heap, and return to its position at the front of the litter.

The Shadow Demons hoisted the sedan chair again, the poles creaking in protest as the weight of the litter bore down on them, and the mysterious shopper resumed its journey.

The nether-creatures that had crowded round the stall went about their business, many stepping over the Gogwad’s corpse as they moved off.