Night of Demons - 02 (17 page)

Some instinct made me avoid Plymouth Drive again. Going that way would have taken me directly past Millwood House. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to get that close, in view of what was happening below me. That smoke-ghost I’d seen headed off in this direction might be present, after all. And capable of turning back into its serpentine form? I wasn’t sure.

There was another route I knew, a track through the dense timber on the western slope of Sycamore Hill. It was barely wide enough to let my car through. Branches scraped continuously against the paintwork, and rocks grumbled underneath the tires. But I made it to the summit with my Cadillac still in one piece, although I’d have to get the chassis looked at.

Then I was making my way on foot to the Manor for the second time in twenty-four hours.

The moving window was no longer there. So—whatever it had been in the first place—Raine had given up on the idea. There was only bare brick in the space that it had occupied, no windowpane remaining. Above it, a couple of the gargoyles on the roof had woken up. But they weren’t doing too much. Just sitting by the guttering and peering at the stars, for all the world like a pair of old men entranced by the night sky’s mysteries.

I did my level best to ignore them. Finally went up onto the porch and rang the bell. Then, when I got no answer, hammered on the woodwork. There was not a sound inside. No indication anyone was there. I understood that couldn’t be the case. Woodard Raine was agoraphobic, hadn’t stepped outside in years. And Hampton—loyal servant that he is—never leaves his master’s side unless he absolutely has to.

But it wasn’t just the noise that I was making. Raine has a keen inner eye. He had to realize I was out here. For some reason best known to himself, he was taking no notice of me.

I stepped down again and walked along the front of the house, trying to peer in through the windows. Which was as hopeless a task as any I could think of. The moon was out again, reflected in them, like on a series of dark, rectangular ponds. I knew that there was furniture inside the place—I’d seen it. Ornaments, paintings and stuff. And I ought to have been able to make out some outlines.

However hard I peered, I could not see anything beyond the panes of glass. Not even from this close up, with my nose almost pressed against them. Pure unblemished black returned my gaze. I already knew no light ever got into the place. Maybe that worked in reverse as well, and none could get out either.

I tried one of the frames, but it didn’t budge. Didn’t even tremble, like it was nailed to the surrounding wall. I took out my pocketknife, unfolded it. And, slipping it through a gap, felt around for where the catch ought to be. There seemed to be none. There was nothing physical holding this pane shut.

The same happened with the next one I tried. My temples began pounding with frustration. Then a sound came from above that made me suddenly look up. The two gargoyles on the roof were watching what I was doing. Maybe they’d never seen anyone trying to intrude on Woodard Raine this way.

I knew that I was taking a big risk here. But I couldn’t see any other course of action. If Woody thought he could just sit in there and sulk while the whole town was torn to bits, he was mistaken.

Desperate measures, and all that. I went back in among the leafless trees and rummaged around a short while. Came back clutching the kind of object I’d been looking for.

It was a mossy, muddy rock, about the size of a sourdough loaf. I stopped a yard from a window, my lungs feeling heavy and my heart banging against my ribs. This was taking one hell of a chance. I understood that fully.

What finally made me do it was…I couldn’t see the town from here, there was too much in the way. But I could hear the whine of sirens from below. They seemed to be heading in every which direction. And when I glanced across, I saw two more gray smudges drift through the night sky toward Millwood House, looking like the sails of old-time ships against the glittering blackness. The cops and their allies had managed to stop a couple more of the creatures. But mayhem and then some was still breaking loose down there.

I turned back, hefting the rock. And flung it at the glass.

It shattered easily enough. So I’d been right about it being mostly normal. Big shards and smaller fragments tumbled to the dirt beneath the sill.

I kicked away a few jagged edges at the bottom. Then I started climbing up.

But halfway through, I saw that I might just have made a really big mistake. Because the pieces on the ground were floating up again. The glass was putting itself back together, taking shape around me.

Quickly too.

I yanked my hand away as a section moved in underneath my palm. And then a long shard came swinging up and snagged on my pants leg. The cuff tore as I pulled it free. Panic swept across me. I hurled myself forward, slamming to the floor inside. All the breath was knocked out of me, but considering the alternative…

I lay perfectly still, trying to get a sense of my surroundings. Couldn’t. It was totally dark in here. Everything seemed to have a floating, weightless quality, so that I wasn’t even sure which way was up.

But I’d thought to bring a little flashlight with me and I clicked it on, then got up to my knees.

When I looked back at the window, it was exactly as it had been before the rock had gone through it. There was not the smallest crack visible. But the really weird thing…?

I could see the view outside it perfectly. The tangled woods and the star-filled firmament. And if no light got into this place, how was that even possible?

It was best to simply try and forget it. So much around Raine defies explanation. So I looked away, and almost gasped. This was August Raine’s old study. There were snapshots from his college days, up on the wall. And a photograph of his wife on the huge mahogany desk. I played the circle of light across them gently.

This was where he’d shown me the Thieftaker, during the course of one of his numerous garden parties. I’d felt honored at the time.

I got the rest of the way to my feet, still playing the beam around. There was a brass and crystal chandelier overhead. And a stuffed bear in one corner of the room, exactly as I remembered it. But I wasn’t here for any of this, so I went into the corridor outside.

A different kind of light came bobbing up to me as I emerged. A candle, in a white porcelain holder. Behind it, I could see Hampton’s face, his mismatched eyes glinting annoyedly.

He was far more used to living in this all-consuming darkness than I was. He’d had years to adjust to it. And as the distance closed between us, he must have seen the look on my face, and slowed down sharply. He’s not a bad guy, and I didn’t want to hurt him. But I wasn’t about to let him get in my way.

His expression phased through from astonished to noticeably scared. And then he seemed to reach a quick decision, disappearing through a nearby doorway, blowing out the candle as he went.

That was the last I saw of him. I headed for the ballroom, which was where Woody was usually holed up, passing numerous examples of the family crest and antiques hanging from or clustered by the walls.

My soles finally clacked on parquet flooring. Several more candles on tall, thin holders had been lit in here. Given the size of the room, their glow was not particularly bright. The shapes around me were uniformly indistinct. There was a massive crystal chandelier above me, five times the size of the one back in the study. Huge portraits of Raine’s ancestors dominated most of the paneled walls. But on the furthest one, his family tree had been engraved. It stretched right back to Theodore Raine, the founder of this town. And immediately after him, his son, Jasper. Who had married Sephera McBryde, the leader of the Salem witches.

Of the current owner, there was not a sign. But that’s far from unusual. Woody acts like he’s doing you a favor when he bothers to reveal himself.

I was opening my mouth, about to yell his name out. But then events went and beat me to it. Two things happened, one hard on the other’s heels.

The door behind me suddenly slammed shut, with a resounding thump. It did that on its own, since there was no one standing there.

And then, the air around me started moving. Sucking inward fiercely. Gusting up around me. I could feel the hair lift on my scalp, and the loose edges of my clothing flapped.

The wind rose to a steady shriek, becoming so intense that I could scarcely breathe. It plucked at me like a giant hand. The bottoms of my shoes lost contact with the floor a second.

Then I was lifted completely off my feet and carried up into the air.

My first instinct was to grab hold of the chandelier. But I decided that was a bad idea. Staying calm, whatever might be going on, was always the best policy. Except that it was pretty hard under these particular circumstances.

And then—damn—I dropped the flashlight.

“Woody!” I barked. “Cut it out!”

A pair of dark gold eyes with slitted pupils came open below me. And they stared up at me balefully.

The main thing about Woodard Raine—however crazy he might get—is that he’s always clung on to his father’s values. He’d been taught them at such an early age that they were etched into his brain, I guess. And they included civility. So long as you were a guest in his home, he would never harm you.

Except on this occasion, I didn’t exactly count as that. This wasn’t a social call. I hadn’t been invited. Quite the opposite, in fact. The word was “intruder.” I’d committed B&E. And so, how’d he react to that? Maybe the old rules no longer applied.

The air continued to push in around me, streaming across the contours of my face. It was really hard not to surrender to panic. I had to be twelve feet off the ground, and that bronze-tinged gaze was still fastened on me.

Raine blinked slowly.

“Put me down!” I shouted at him, gulping as I did so. With the wind pushing against my features, it was hard to draw in any air.

I went up a little higher. There was a gleam of sharpened teeth as he finally replied.

“You have some goddamn nerve, sport! Smashing up the place? And scaring Hampton? Just because we’ve been on good terms in the past, that doesn’t allow you to take liberties.”

I’d no idea what “good terms” meant. I’d put up with his quirky behavior, that was all. Done it from expediency and little else. The less time I spent in his company, then the happier I was. But Woody’s always had his own distorted way of seeing things. He looks at them through the eyeglass of his own imagination—realism barely played the slightest part.

Back before the magic had completely taken over, he’d been little more than a rich spoiled brat. Slim and blue-eyed, with a permanently cocky sneer imprinted on his face. His parents’ influence had kept him out of trouble. Now that they were gone, he kept on finding brand-new ways of getting into it.

I kicked at the air defiantly, trying to show him I was not afraid. Which wasn’t wholly true. He’d never done anything like this before, and I was concerned how far he’d take it.

But, as I’ve said before, dealing with the adepts is a matter of not being intimidated by them, or their conjuring tricks.

“It’s not me taking liberties!” I managed to shout down at him. “How can you ignore what’s happening?”

His gaze narrowed, and I thought I could detect a hint of puzzlement.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“You must know what’s been going on?”

“You mean the creatures in the suburbs? There’ve been monsters in my town before, old chum.”

Which was how he thought of the whole Landing, in a patriarchal and possessive sense.

“They’re being taken care of adequately. I don’t see there’s any need for—”

“These aren’t the usual kinds of conjuration!” I broke across him. “There’s a lot more to it this time. Something genuinely weird is happening. And it’s partly down to Millicent Tollburn!”

“Milly?”

The twin bronze glows vanished. He’d either shut his eyes, or dropped his head. And, when they appeared again, their brightness was far less intense than before.

A pale, slim hand with long, narrow fingers like a pianist’s became apparent. He stretched it out at me.

And when his palm moved downward, I did too. Relief washed through my entire frame.

I settled to the parquet floor a couple of yards in front of him. The wicks of a few more candles sprang up with fresh flame, which danced but made the scene a little clearer.

He had changed since I’d last met him. It’s like he keeps on reinventing himself. The sallow, sharply structured features were the same. And he still had the leaf-shaped ears that were the mark of all his family. But—apart from the darker eyes—the beard of before was gone. His hair was shorter than it had been. You could see the little scar on his chin where he had fallen over drunk one time, in college.

He seemed to be wearing pure black robes on this occasion. They were plain matte ones, and did not throw back a scintilla of the candlelight. His head looked like it was floating independently because of them. Whether that was an intentional effect or not I’d no idea. I’d better things to do with my time than try to figure out what was going on in that bizarre jumble inside his head.

But I needed his help, and didn’t let myself forget that.

I explained everything that had been going down. Not merely the creatures, but Hanlon’s arrival here, and the whole business at Millwood House as well. I left Lauren Brennan out of the equation, since I didn’t want him taking too much of an interest in her. She’d already gone through quite enough, without being subjected to Woody’s weird attentions.

I wasn’t quite sure how much of this he was really absorbing. It was a whole big load of information, even for a saner mind. And I knew how Woody’s focus kept on going off in strange directions.

He did look concerned, however. And kept making funny little noises, clucks and gulps and thoughtful humming sounds.

He broke across me only once, to explain about the Wand of Dantiere and what it did. The way that it turned human bodies into clouds of vapor, which could enter other people and affect their minds. Which was pretty much as I’d expected. I continued to the point where the last creature had appeared.

“Does the wand do that too?”

“Not that I was ever aware of,” he came back at me.

The candlelight was leaving shadowed hollows in his face, so it looked partway like a skull. A few crystal beads on the chandelier tinkled softly above us, in spite of the fact the door was closed.

“I need to get an idea what’s been going on behind the scenes,” I told him. “What Millicent and Hanlon have really been up to.”

He blinked at me again, but didn’t move.

“That would mean looking back into the past. Which I can’t do, old chum.”

His mind was like a junk heap. So much garbage kept getting poured across it, he could no longer sort out what was valuable from what was not. His memory was shot to pieces. So I reminded him—gently—he could do precisely that.

He squinted at me, still not getting it.

“The Eye of Hermaneus, Woody. You know where you’ve put it, right?”

“Oh!” He suddenly brightened. “One of my most precious artifacts. Ah, yes! I think I know where it is!”

He held out his right arm, the hand closed to a fist. And when he opened it, the large white jewel was lying in his palm.

“What precisely are we looking for, sport?” he asked me for the umpteenth time.

He kept on getting distracted by the tiny, detailed scenes that were unfolding in front of us, and forgetting what this was about.

“Langham Tavitt, just before he turned,” I reminded him wearily.

“In Garnerstown?”

“That’s right.”

“I really ought to do something about that neighborhood. It’s honestly a bit of an embarrassment.”

I had to fight hard not to let my irritation show.

The Eye of Hermaneus was floating six feet in the air. Brightness was churning at its heart, intensely as a tiny sun. A cone of light was being projected down from it. And, within that steady glow, images from this evening were being replayed in miniature, in full three-dimensions, but devoid of any sound.

There we were, shooting at the snakelike creature. There were Saul, Lauren, and Cass, arriving at the scene. Events were going backward here. It seemed to be the best way to discover the correct moment in time

The snake let go of a passer-by that it was clutching in its jaws, then went in reverse through the wall of Langham Tavitt’s home, which promptly became whole again.

“We’re getting there,” Woody murmured.

Then we were inside the house. My God, it was an awful mess. Everything looked grimy. A huge pile of newspapers over in one corner looked like it went back a couple of decades. And three plates were lying on the dining table, each of them with leftover food.

The elongated black form shrank away to reveal Tavitt himself, sprawled back in a rocking chair. There was a bottle of wine gripped in his fist. And in his lap was the same paperback I’d seen in Garnerstown.

Despite the fact he was indoors, he still had his coat on. It was a thick woolen number with big buttons down the front, the kind of thing they used to wear in the trenches in the First World War. He had on big scuffed boots as well. And fingerless gloves on his grimy hands. His hair and beard both needed cutting. There was nothing clean about him, when you studied him properly.

Nick McLeish hadn’t been joking. This guy was a total wreck. His eyes were closed and he was mumbling to himself. Of course, I couldn’t hear a word that he was saying. The magic of the jewel, so far as I was aware, didn’t allow for that.

But—I practically jerked when I saw it—he was not alone in the room. The ball of vapor was hanging over him, a gray miasmic pall like an embodiment of his own thoughts.

We went further back, to the point where it had first arrived. It came seeping in under the front door, for all the world like normal fog. Woody made a sudden motion with his hands. The scene stopped running backward, and we could see what had happened after that.

The vapor didn’t pour into the man. It merely swirled above his head, looking pretty harmless. Then it densened a little, contracting.

Tavitt sat up alarmedly—although, curiously, his eyes did not come open. He tipped his head to one side, like he was listening to something. Then his mouth began to work again. Whatever he was hearing, he had decided to answer it.

But this was no real use to me. I turned frustratedly to Woody.

“This isn’t helping.”

He looked perplexed, and a strange buzzing noise echoed between the paneled walls. I was used to things like that, since I’d heard similar stuff on previous occasions. Sounds that manifested his troubled state of mind.

“It was good enough before,” he argued.

He was referring to the time when he had helped me outwit Saruak. But that had been a completely different set of circumstances. I was pretty certain—whoever was in that ball of vapor, he, or she, was saying things to Tavitt. Things that could make him change shape physically. A spell?

It was the reason I’d come here. I just had to find out what it was. “Ached” was not too small a word.

“This is really important, Woody.”

“I’m not sure that I agree,” he stuttered.

He’d forgotten part of what I’d told him, and was wandering from the point again. I wondered what could bring him back. Appealing to his finer feelings? “The whole town’s counting on you,” I reminded him. “Your town. Your people, right? How can you let them down?”

His expression became far more sober. And he nodded, seeing I was right.

And once that was agreed, I gave him some elbow room. When the Master of the Manor turns to stronger magic, then it’s not overly wise to get too close.

He spread his arms out to the sides. Thanks to the robe, the only way that I could tell was by the white blobs of his fingertips. He closed his eyes again and tipped his head back. Then he started muttering.

I couldn’t make the slightest sense of it. Adepts use a range of languages when they’re invoking the dark forces. Kurt van Friesling uses Dutch. The McGinley sisters, Gaelic. Latin plays its part, of course. But the stuff that Raine was using sounded like English that had gotten drunk, and then fallen over and started mumbling to itself in a gutter. Some old dialect from a place like Cornwall, England, maybe? It’s believed to be the home of Merlin, so that’s not impossible.

The scene inside the cone of light started running in reverse again, back to the point where the mist appeared.

And suddenly, almost miraculously, there was a blurt of actual sound.

“Yes.”

That was Tavitt, his voice whiny, like he had a bug caught in his throat. The man looked attentive, for all that his eyes were closed.

“Yes, you’re right. I can see that.”

He tipped his head to one side and his features started creasing up, his expression becoming angry.

“It’s true. I’ve always known that, really.”

This was merely one half of the conversation. So I returned my attention to my host.

“This is single speaker, Woods,” I told him. “I need stereo.”

Woody’s eyes came open a slit. They’d gone an ever darker shade of gold, and were glowing in an edgy, rather feverish way. But then he applied himself harder to the task.

I had to wait another full minute before a second voice came oozing out. As I listened, I could hear that it was actually two voices, speaking in unison and overlapping.

One of them, I recognized immediately. Those cut-glass tones were Millicent Tollburn’s. The deeper accent had to be Hanlon. He sounded like a loud and fractious child.

So it had a weird, distorted echo to it. Rather like listening to the Little Girl, to tell the truth.

“None of these people understand you, Langham. No one in this whole town does.”

“I’ve always suspected that.”

“Look how you’ve been treated your entire life. All you’re fit for—so far as these people are concerned—is sweeping up the filth they leave behind.”

“You’re right. I had dreams, once upon a time.”

“And they’ve denied you that. They even teach their children to hate you, so it’ll be the same for the next generation. Your life will never change. It’ll be this way until the day you die. Do you deserve that?”

His face was growing angrier.

“They want to make you suffer, can’t you see that? Want to keep you poor and on your own. Why should you accept that, Langham? Why don’t you fight back?”

The man’s eyes snapped open at last. And they were not gray as yet. But a strange murkiness had begun to swirl across their glassy surface. I stared at it, amazed. The pall of vapor was still hanging over him. Had not taken possession of him, the way it had with Karl. The whole transformation, this time, seemed to be coming from inside the man.

“Show them they can’t get away with it,” the voices urged. “They’ve hurt you so very much. Now, it’s time to hurt them back. Make them regret what they’ve done.”

When he nodded, it was sternly.

“Yep. I think I’ll do precisely that.”

The cloud had still not touched him. But his eyes turned a glowing gray from lid to lid all the same.

There was a sharp crash as he let go of the bottle. His hands dropped into his lap. Then they started melting into his body. Which was lengthening, and turning black.

I could have let it go on, but I got the general picture. Woody seemed to think so too. The cone of light, the scene inside it, vanished. The glow inside the jewel diminished, and it floated back into its owner’s grasp. He slipped it quickly underneath his robes, then turned around to face me.

His features looked even more sickly than they’d been before. He was genuinely shocked. That was a rarity. Nothing seemed real enough to him for that reaction, most days. Which told me this was a very exceptional day indeed.

His lips were pressed together. And his golden gaze shimmered like a pair of distant lamps.

I still wasn’t sure I wholly understood this. If the cloud had not possessed the man, exactly what had happened? I looked to my host for an answer. And was pretty astonished by what finally came out.

“I really had no idea,” Woody murmured, “exactly how far reaching the wand’s powers were.”

Which didn’t make things any clearer. But I sensed that he was getting to the point, and so I waited for him to go on. He raised his fingertips to his chin, growing lost in anxious thought, and not his usual batty kind.

“Normally, by means of magic, change is imposed on an object or a person. But this…?”

He seemed aghast at such a concept.

“This is transmutation brought on by consent.”

His eyebrows were lifted as high as they could go. And he stared at me like I was lucky that I didn’t fully understand it yet.

“Tavitt became that creature because he wanted to. It was within him. I’m willing to bet the other man—”

“Penn.”

“—was the same. They weren’t turned into monsters, no. The monsters inside them were released. They were in there the whole time, Devries. Just hidden, until tonight.”

I still wasn’t sure I got it. Woody stepped in, getting so close up to me that we were almost standing face-to-face.

“Think about it. Can you really not see the big picture? Milly and Hanlon didn’t change those men. They simply released their inner demons.”

And that hit me like a blow, taking the remainder of my breath away. What he was suggesting wasn’t possible, was it? I didn’t see how that could happen.

I had watched it, though. I’d seen the process. There was no use trying to deny that.

“So…they’re seeking out misfits, and what? Letting loose the bigger creep inside of them?”

But I still had not got it completely. Raine shook his head, looking very subdued. He seemed—for the moment—utterly sane.

“It’s not only misfits who are vulnerable, old chum. We all have monsters trapped inside us, I’m afraid.”

He saw the question spark in my gaze.

“Even me, remarkably,” he nodded. “Even you.”