Mammon (31 page)

Where is this place? Why are you here?

He screwed up his face again, not from fear, but rather to show contempt for her not knowing where she was.

This is Blackpool.
I was born a few miles from here. My mum used to bring me in summer.

Grace peered around at the bleak beach.
But it's not summer now . . .

Yeah, I know.
He took a shuddering breath.

Must get him to move, to do something.

Is this a bad dream for you, Malcolm? What is it in here that frightens you?

For the first time, he looked at her.
Aren't you afraid? Look around. Look at what you see. It's all gone.

She's all gone.

He never brought me back here. I begged him to. He never took me anywhere. Just dragged me out to the end of the world. To that place.

Then she died. He didn't let me see her then, either.

Malcolm didn't look up, but he pointed up the beach to where a shadowed figure stood. The cold light dropped on Marcus's outline; his face eternally turned away from his son.

Grace crouched in front of him.
You mustn't want to stay here, Malcolm. Surely not.

Malcolm looked at the horizon.
But I don't want to die.

Now, the sun was dropping at a frightening speed. Night swept over the sand like a dark, unwelcome wind. Malcolm turned back to his drawing. But the stick dropped from his trembling fingers and he couldn't see in the dark. He hugged himself, rocking back and forth.
It'll get better, eventually. I just have to wait. He'll get what he wants – and then I'll be free. It'll be warm, and I can lie in the sun by the pool . . .

Grace looked at his outline.
I don't think so. I think it will get dark and cold before summer comes. It's only the beginning. You'll have to wait a long time for the sun. Mammon will never let you be free, Malcolm.

He turned to her, his eyes devastatingly vulnerable.

I don't want to live in the dark.

No. Do you want to see her again?

His face began to crumple.
Oh, yes.

Where it's warm?

Yes.
Tears spilled from his cheeks, plopping onto the sand.

Suddenly, a new light began to shine on his face, bringing colour, accentuating the redness in his cheeks down to the capillaries, the tiny veins in his eyes, even the clear shimmer of his tears. It was a light in which nothing could hide, but it was warm, emanating from the southern edge of the beach.

Did she make that happen?

No. This was something far bigger than any illusion she could pull.

This was home.

The light was moving away, radiating across the ocean. Up until that point, it had flooded everything else in the vicinity, but now a red and white lighthouse revealed itself, sitting on a grassy plain that seemed to hover above the water.

Grace pointed to the lighthouse.
Go now, Malcolm.

A woman was waiting there. Her hair was loose, flapping around her shoulders in a temperate wind. Slowly, Malcolm stood up. Without looking back at Grace, he walked towards the woman, leaving the grey, ruined memory behind.

Once again, the lighthouse's bright beam saturated the beach. Grace blinked and squinted – but she could not see anything. When the light subsided, she looked again – and Malcolm had disappeared.

‘NO!' MAMMON'S ROAR
shook the walls as his Dark Rift began to collapse. His fingers pressed deeper into Malcolm's skull, desperate to spark another connection, but the boy had gone limp. With a thump, his body hit the carpet.

Mammon threw his head back and howled.
‘Why?'

In the safe darkness of the corner, Halphas allowed himself a very small smile.

The high demon watched, almost tearful as the clouds evaporated, leaving nothing but a trashed room and a tense, almost embarrassed silence among his generals.

Then, they all heard it. The reason – gasped through dying lips.
‘Grace. Thank you.'
A final breath escaped Malcolm's body, and then he was free.

‘Damn you!' Mammon lunged at the boy, smashing his foot into Malcolm's ribcage, over and over. A cracking noise accompanied each kick.

‘Mammon,' Bathin said, half-amused by the tantrum. ‘He is dead!'

‘I realise this, Bathin.' Panting, Mammon glared at the door.

Outside, Grace opened her eyes to see Ivan's face in front of her. Thank God. She was back. She gave him a weak smile. ‘The Dark Rift is gone.'

‘We know,' Joe said. ‘It's quiet. Too quiet.'

Ivan helped Grace to her feet. ‘Well done. Now, to get in there and finish this.'

‘The door is locked,' Joe said.

Ivan took a charge and planted it on the door. ‘Take cover!'

Mammon pointed to the window. ‘Get to the helipad, all of you!'

As the generals clambered out of the nearest windows, Haures darted into the throng. Halphas was limping in front of her. ‘Hurry up, old man!' She shoved him through a window. He landed on the outside roof with a thump, crawled to his feet and threw her an indignant look before hobbling after the others.

‘Oh, no you don't!' Mammon snatched Haures's hair and yanked her back; she squealed. ‘Not you. You lost Joe, now you owe me!'

The door exploded, leaving dust and plaster in its wake.

Ivan led the others, shotgun trained. Mammon stood in the middle of the room. Ivan pulled the trigger. ‘Now, Joe!'

A ball of cloud exploded. Joe's brow was tense – the concentration painful as he directed the energy upwards.

Mammon stumbled around as the harpoon skewered his torso, the back end forming an X behind his spine. His eyes were wide, fixed on Joe as he tried to open his mouth to speak. But no sound came; he watched in silent horror as Ivan turned the gun, aimed it into Joe's rift, and hit the trigger a second time – a controlled, yet rapid firing.

The diamond wire shot into the cloud.

The wire grew taut, and they all knew the Reavers were on the other end. Mammon flew into the dark void, screaming in a strange, high-pitched tone.

Joe closed the rift. He breathed out, bending over, hands on knees. Sweat dribbled from his forehead on to the carpet.

Silent shock took the room for a few seconds.

Ivan lowered his gun. ‘We did it.' He reached over and offered his hand to Joe. ‘Congratulations.'

Grinning, Joe shook Ivan's hand. ‘You too.' He blinked, and in the darkness his eyes replayed the memory. Among the clouds and lightning shards of his rift, had he caught a glimpse of red hair, a hint of ivory skin?

He blinked again, shaking his head.

A sharp cry shocked him. The crowd of mercenaries moved in, all eyes searching the room for the source.

Then, Grace stumbled forward from the shadows, hands pressed to her stomach. She stared down at the blood leaching between her fingers.

Ivan ran at Grace, grabbing her as she swayed. He looked into her glassy eyes and the truth hit him instantly. ‘You'll be all right,' he whispered. His gaze dropped to the wound – the clean, precise cut that had somehow penetrated the smart suit. ‘Medics! Now!'

Mammon stepped out into the light, his fingers gripping the handle of a short sword. Its dark grey blade glinted in the light, but its edges seemed dull due to the shadow that it carried – an aura of dark energy. He gave Joe a smile, then he slipped a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping away Grace's blood.

‘Joe.' He chuckled. ‘Did you really think that you had me?' He cast a triumphant glance at the girl, slumped in Ivan's arms. ‘Don't waste your time there, boy. She'll be dead in a few minutes.'

Joe spun around to the other mercenaries.
‘Kill him!'

But Mammon arched his back, his body contorting, blending flesh with demonic essence – until he took the form of the Shadow Wolf.

Joe stared in terrible fascination at Mammon's mystical transformation: no longer human, but not all spirit, either.

The creature sounded a roar – rumbling like the peak of volcanic eruption – and the ground shook. Mercenaries pressed hands to ears; some fell to the carpet, writhing at the piercing pain in their eardrums. Then, the roaring stopped and the Shadow Wolf reared up – its head brushing against the ceiling. On four legs, it began a crashing run towards the exit – massive claws gripping the sword, which now looked so small; a child's toy.

‘Fire!'

Bullets just fell through the ethereal body, smashing into the far wall. The Shadow Wolf plunged on – its path clear as mercenaries leapt aside in terror – and with one last howl, it shot through the exit to be swallowed up by the darkness outside, towards freedom.

In silent shock, the mercenaries lowered their guns. Trembling, sweaty faces glanced at each other.

In the middle of the room, Joe began a summoning, speaking under his breath. He stood: eyes open, hands spread. The room began to glow as a bright circle took form.

Ivan carried Grace across to a chair. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. With a gentle hum, he began rocking her. Three medics swooped on them. Upon examining the wound, they swapped confused frowns. The lead medic shook his head. ‘I don't understand how the blade got through her suit! We'll have to get her straight to surgery.'

‘Well? Snap to it!' Ivan growled.
‘Hurry up!'

‘No.' Joe's voice boomed from the centre of the room. ‘Wait. We'll take her to Utu.'

‘Well, do it then!'

Ivan looked down at Grace. She reached up and touched the stubble on his chin. ‘Don't be angry.' Her voice was so weak.

‘Just focus on me.' He didn't like the look on her face. Frighteningly calm. A look he'd seen before . . . in the dying. He remembered his promise to Diana, and a deep panic hit as he pressed his hand against the wound once more. ‘We'll stop the bleeding,' he whispered. But her eyelids were sagging, her breaths becoming fainter. Her face was already too pale.

She tried to smile. ‘I saw something . . .'

He bent his face closer. ‘What was that, little one?'

‘I saw it. I don't know how to tell you . . .' As she faded into darkness, her last thought was of the lighthouse and that brief, indescribable moment of peace.

Ivan's heart pounded as he traced his finger over her pulse point. She was still alive. His head snapped up.
‘Hurry up, Joe!'

The rift reached its peak – the light too intense to look into without squinting.

Next, Utu emerged and looked at Joe. ‘Mammon?'

‘He got away.'

Utu looked over the damage. ‘But how many came through?'

‘I think . . . about fifty.'

‘Fifty.' Utu's voice echoed, his tone grave. ‘And they would have been his best.' The old priest began a slow walk across the room. ‘A major victory for him.' He shook his head gravely at Joe. ‘You have no idea. Our struggle has just become infinitely harder.'

‘Hey!'
Ivan gave Utu an angry look. ‘There are more important things than that right now! She needs healing – fast!'

Utu bent down and stared at Grace's wound. His eyes shone with solemn pity. ‘This is a spirit-blade wound.'

‘Can she be healed or not?' Ivan demanded.

‘Yes, but . . .'

‘Come on, then!' Ivan stood; Grace secure in his arms. He was already moving towards the rift, when Utu stepped into his way, his hand raised in warning. ‘She
will
be healed, but she is already absorbing the spirit blade's energy. You must understand, you must be prepared for this . . . the future will be hard for her.'

‘She wants to live,' Ivan said.

Joe nodded. ‘We'll take our chances.'

Utu lowered his arm and bowed his head. ‘As you wish.' He turned and led them into the rift.

THE FIRST PEOPLE
I would like to thank are John and Linda: my think tank, support group and critical friends.

Of course, I want to thank my wonderful mum, who has always been calm, supportive and overwhelmingly positive about this book.

Thanks must go to Cristina Briones and Abigail Nathan for their excellent, spot-on suggestions and ability to see little things that were invisible to me.