Night of Demons - 02 (33 page)

I tried to see what the rider was doing, but a mass of billowing black put paid to that. The folds of its cloak had dropped across me, covering my face. I struggled to get free of them.

The weight on my rib cage became more compressed, narrowing to two sharp points. And I knew what that meant. The rider had already got part way up, and was kneeling on my chest. I tried to shove it off me, jabbing blindly through the cloth. But had no success on that score either.

Both its narrow hands bore down and closed around my throat. And the look of the thing belied its strength. It began to squeeze with awful power and ferocity.

I tried to knock its arms away, throwing punches near its elbows. But the blows felt spongy, ineffective. And its grip didn’t relax even a little bit. Some of the cloth parted finally. I caught a glimpse of its lean face looming over me. And that was when I saw my chance.

I didn’t even hesitate. Held my right palm flat and straight, and drove the tips of my fingers as hard as I could into one of its deathly eyes. That really hurts when you do it to a human. But the figure on top of me wasn’t that.

There was the same lack of solidity again. Although its head did lurch back a few inches. And the pressure on my throat eased off a touch. Which was—I could see—all the chance that I was ever going to get. I immediately began to roll, pushing myself over. That threw it off balance, and I didn’t stop. I went onto my stomach, sucking in breath like there was no tomorrow.

The Horseman’s weight slammed into me again. It might be less than whole flesh when I tried to hit it. But that didn’t seem to be the case the other way around. One of its hands grabbed a fistful of my hair. The other began sliding around my neck, trying to throttle me from behind this time.

I put one of my forearms in the way, to stop that happening. And the creature got really annoyed when I did that, shoving at the back of my head, slamming my face hard against the paving stones. Colors flared behind my eyelids.

Then they slid back open. And locked on something that gave me a slim hope I could still prevail.

The ax was lying right in front of me, gleaming on the sidewalk.

I reached out for it. But the rider had noticed it as well. We lunged for the weapon at the same time, our hands clashing. The ax skittered away. When I tried to grab it a second time, it had gone several inches further than my arm could reach.

The thing on top of me attempted to get hold of it. That gave me the chance to throw it off balance again. It was forced to let go of my hair. I lifted my upper body, and then sent an elbow slamming back.

The Horseman paused a second. Then it began pounding furiously at my shoulders and my back, its knuckles driving into me like cannonballs.

Two shots rang out. The rider paused. Whoever had fired, I didn’t think that it was Cassie. Lauren had let go of the wall, and the muzzle of her gun was smoking.

But the thing had been no use at all.

“The ax—use that!” I yelled out to her.

But there was a real big problem. The thing on my back had heard as well.

I felt the whole direction of its body shift. As it tried to scramble over me, I brought my head up sharply. The back of my skull connected with its chin. Again, to lack of any real effect.

I reached around and grabbed its robes. It reacted to that by landing another punch at the center of my spine. The pain was so intense that something in my nerves seemed to short out. I could feel my body going slack. My grip loosened. Then the rider went across me.

My vision had faded momentarily. I could only make out a fuzzy shadow up ahead of me, a darkened blur that turned out to be Lauren. And she did three things in one continuous motion. She rolled across the last few feet of sidewalk. Snatched up the ax as she went past. And then, coming up on her knees, she slashed the rider across its open palm, just as it was reaching for the weapon.

A flesh wound—that was all that she inflicted on it. But it stopped the creature dead. I struggled out from under it and pushed myself away. I had a pretty good idea what would happen now, and didn’t want to be touching the thing when it started.

The rider was huddled on the sidewalk, a look of astonishment on its ravaged face. It was staring at its injured palm. There was only the narrowest cut, a thin trickle of colorless goop easing out from it. An injury that should barely even hurt. But the effect was considerably more dramatic.

Even the parchmentlike skin seemed to be getting thinner. And the skull underneath started melting away. The rider shrank before my gaze, hunching over and then folding in upon itself. When its mouth came open again, the gums were receding. And the few remaining yellowed teeth dropped out.

The glimmer of its eyes was getting tinier as well, like lights moving away from me. A hand came up, and pawed at its retreating features. Then it all began to fall apart. The whole body was doing that. There didn’t seem to be enough strength left to support its own weight.

The rider collapsed in an untidy heap in front of us, its pieces held together only by the tangled folds of cloth. One finger gave a final tremble. And then nothing moved in the slightest.

A rather nicer-looking hand reached down. Lauren helped me back to my feet. I felt like I’d been trampled by a team of oxen. But I got up all the same, although I couldn’t stand entirely straight at first.

“You okay?” she asked me worriedly.

It depended on how you defined that. I gazed at the mess on the sidewalk, then across at her again. She was out of breath, but otherwise unharmed. Pretty startled, it was plain to see. The creatures of last night—viewed mostly from some kind of distance—had been one thing. But this fight had been altogether far too close for comfort.

“Congratulations,” I said quietly, trying to think of something that would cheer her up. “You’ve just killed your first real demon.”

She tried to smile, but it was pretty unconvincing.

“The nuns would be proud of you,” I added.

Catholic school, right?

But I was jumping the gun, wasn’t I? This wasn’t nearly over yet. Another whinny and a harsh metallic clatter brought our faces swiveling around.

Cassie was still up there on the front of the Town Hall, still clinging to that drainpipe. And the Horseman with the flaming sword had nowhere near given up on trying to bring her down from there.

I stiffened with renewed shock. He was halfway to succeeding.

Cass was only just out of reach of the warlike rider’s burning sword. She hadn’t managed to climb any higher, and a quick glance upward told me why.

The section of drainpipe above her had buckled, dragged out of shape by the weight she’d brought to bear on it. The bracket that was keeping it in place had torn loose of the brickwork. If she tried to head further up, then there was no doubt that it would rip free completely. And the fact was, she had nowhere else to go.

She was dangling, and looking pretty worried. That look is unusual for her. But there are no circumstances under which she won’t fight back. Her free hand had a Glock in it, and she was firing down at her attacker. She was hitting the thing more often than not. But normal bullets were still little use. Her Mossberg was lying on the flagstones where she’d thrown it, right out of her reach.

As for Hanlon? He had remained over by the statue, and was watching the events unfold from there. He seemed to have lost any interest in me and Lauren, his focus moving wholly to the front of the Town Hall. He was taking in the scene almost detachedly, waiting to see what would happen. His robes billowed gently. And his sickly horse had gone as still as he was.

He hadn’t even noticed that the mayor and his people were getting away. Aldernay scrabbled—hunched and crablike—off into an alley on the east side of the square, then disappeared into its shadows. Mrs. Dower, following along behind him, did the same.

A loud clash brought my head swinging back. The warlike rider had come up with a new plan. It had given up on trying to hack at Cass, and was attacking the drainpipe she was clinging to instead. Its first blow made the whole thing rattle. And the second time, an entire lower section fell away.

Which forced Cassie to holster her gun and concentrate on simply hanging on. There was a row of window ledges above her. She stretched for them, but couldn’t reach them either.

The horse reared up below her. It was as ugly as its master, its hide the same red as dried blood. Its mane was a series of high, rigid spikes. And all these beasts had sharp fangs, surely. But this one was saber-toothed.

It stretched as high as it was able. And then pounded at the next section of pipe. Cass kept hanging on like grim death. Except—by this time—there was very little to hang on to.

Me and Lauren were both running. I still wasn’t quite sure what difference we could make. Perhaps if I got the shotgun and distracted the thing for a few seconds…?

But if we didn’t have a proper plan, then Cass apparently did. Before we reached her, she had set both of her booted feet against the wall. I watched her body go tight. Her back arced, her arms stretching to their full length.

And then she did something that I’d never even thought her capable of, before tonight.

She let go. And, at the same time, pushed herself away with her legs, as hard as she could manage.

She performed a back flip in the air.

And when she landed, it was on the horse. Behind the rider.

The only thing that we could do was stumble to a halt and gawk. I’d watched Cassie do some crazy things in my time. But was pretty sure this topped them all.

There was a maddened logic to it, on reflection. If you’ve only got one place left to go, then why not go there forcefully? And once she had landed, she didn’t even hesitate. Her left arm went around the rider’s throat. She wasn’t trying to strangle the thing—it was simply the best way to hold on. The stallion started to buck furiously, bellowing with mindless rage. Its neck craned around. Its long teeth snapped. But its jaws couldn’t reach her.

Cassie tried to grab the rider’s sword. I thought at first that she was going to manage it. But then the Horseman saw what she was doing, and snatched the weapon away from her.

They were flailing around in circles, the steed going up on its muscular hind legs. Clattering and braying echoed in between the empty buildings. And my bones seemed to shudder with the sound.

Cassie’s face was hard, determined. Set like rock, her eyes twin spots of anthracite. She grabbed for the hilt again. And this time, her fingers almost closed around it. But the Horseman proved to be a good deal stronger. One sharp yank, and it was clear again.

This couldn’t go on too much longer. Human beings, however tough, are only made of flesh and blood. The horse lurched up so fiercely all but one of its hooves left the ground. Cassie yelped. Lost her grip, starting to fall. But just as she was sliding down, she managed to grab hold of the black robes in front of her.

She clung to a double fistful, setting her teeth grimly. And, thank God, the fabric didn’t part. But she was dangling precariously. And she’d already done enough of that to last her several lifetimes.

The rider turned around in its saddle, twisting its shoulders as far as they could go. The bright blade plunged in her direction. Cassie swung off to the side. The tip of the sword almost grazed her arm. And one tiny cut would have been enough to finish this. A sharp tremor ran through my body.

She tried to right herself, but couldn’t do it properly. Her balance was off, and she kept on wobbling and slipping. I raised my firearm, trying to take aim at the rider’s head. But couldn’t manage it without risking hitting her. Lauren, with her Walther raised, could see that too.

Cass was losing her grip.

I started closing the distance again. Perhaps I’d get a chance to drag her out of there. But she wasn’t finished yet.

She let go of the cloak with her right hand. What exactly was she doing? She was yanking at the wide folds, gathering up as much of the black cloth between her upper arms as she could manage.

The blade came hacking at her again, its edges still on fire. But instead of drawing back, Cassie shoved her arms toward it, pushing the wad of cloth into the dancing flames.

She was leaping clear in the next instant. Sailing off behind the horse, where its hooves couldn’t reach her. She hit the flagstones badly, on her shoulder. But that didn’t slow her down. The next moment she was back on her feet, and sprinting out of reach.

A silent prayer of thanks went through me. Then I looked at what she’d done.

Fire had spread across the Horseman’s back, and was climbing up across its neck. Its steed was still turning in circles, faster than it had before. And shrieking at a higher pitch. It was trying to throw its master off, and looked completely terrified.

Orange flames started crackling fiercely, all over the black-clad body. As I watched, they engulfed the hood. The creature tipped its face back and let out an anguished howl that seemed to split the air in half.

When the figure finally dropped from its saddle, it fell like a burning branch. It kicked furiously for a while, its limbs diminished to thin, flickering outlines.

Then it went completely still, although the fire did not go out immediately.

An awful stench began drifting to us. The horse, like its brothers, disappeared from sight. The front doors of the Town Hall seemed to tremble in the shifting light.

I would probably have let out a long, slow breath at that point. But there was nothing resembling that still remaining in my lungs.

But by what means exactly were we going to defeat Hanlon? I couldn’t imagine how that could be done. There weren’t any weapons to use against what he’d become. There was only the creature itself, possessed of its deadly touch.

I looked back where he had been sitting. But he was no longer there.

Was nowhere to be seen at all. He had simply watched his comrades being vanquished, and then gone away, presumably to hatch some new plans.

Where to? That was pretty obvious. But it was a reprieve of sorts, and I was grateful for that. My bones ached.

The square was completely deserted apart from us three, where there’d been such sound and fury before. The shadows of the buildings hung around us. And the big bronze statue—it continued to gaze down. Did old Theodore approve? I glanced across at Cassie, who had gone off to the left side of the building and was rubbing at her injured shoulder.

There seemed to be something odd about her. Nothing as serious as before. Her eyes were back to their normal shining darkness. But a strange, ominous sense began to overtake me at the sight of her.

I simply knew it, staring at her. This was not quite the same Cass Mallory I had come to know and rely on. She might have returned to help us, and in a more than usually impressive fashion. But something was off center.

Normally, she’d look pleased with herself. But this time, there was none of that. She looked hunched and shrunken, pretty miserable in fact. And she was keeping her distance from us, in spite of the fact that the danger was gone.

She didn’t look like she knew which direction to go. There was something almost waiflike and disoriented about the way she was standing. I kept peering at her through the broken dimness. What the hell was going on?

She looked like she’d lost a fight, rather than winning it. Something had obviously changed, inside her. Been taken out of her, perhaps?

I stepped in a little closer, holstering my gun. Some glass from a broken lamp skittered away from the tips of my shoes. And Cass tried to shrink back from me a little, before deciding to stay where she was. There were emotions in her eyes that I wasn’t familiar with, not from her. And not simply sadness. Could I make out shame? Perhaps a trace of self-disgust? The battle, her victory, seemed to mean nothing to her. Maybe she’d been fighting on some kind of automatic reflex, since it looked as though her spirit had been broken.

“Cassie?”

To my astonishment, she took two paces back. She was holding her body stiffly by this time, the way a child might when confronted with an angry grown-up.

“I’m sorry, Ross,” I heard her say.

And I tried to put this right, before it got completely out of hand.

“What happened before—it wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s not true!” she came back at me.

What on earth was she talking about?

“I’ve tried to make it right,” she went on, “best way I know how. But I can’t do any more, understand? It’s up to you to finish it.”

I opened my mouth again. But she simply turned away, and began loping off into the darkness, growing smaller as I watched.

I was so astonished I remained stock-still, instead of trying to follow her.

“What just happened?” Lauren asked me quietly.

She had come up, and could see how stunned I was. Her hand went to my arm, but I barely noticed that, my thoughts a dense muddle.

“I’m not sure,” I heard myself say.

“Does she do that kind of thing a lot?”

The answer was…never. We still had a final battle up ahead of us, and Cassie knew that perfectly well. And she’d never backed down from a fight before.

I couldn’t get a handle on any of this. What exactly did it mean? I had always been able to depend on her, no matter how bad things got. To lose her at a time like this was like having one of my own legs chopped off.

“Does she think Saul’s dead?” Lauren suggested. “Maybe she’s in shock, or denial?”

Which would account for a hell of a lot. And I wished Cass were still here, so I could set her straight on that. But it was too late, and might not even have made a load of difference. She seemed to have gone into a state of mind a long way beyond that.

A moving smudge flitted across the corner of my vision. And then Martha Howard-Brett appeared in front of us. Her face was drawn, like she’d been deeply worried, or else working really hard, or both.

“How’s Vallencourt?” I asked her quickly, glad to change the subject.

“I almost lost him, to be honest. But then, a few minutes ago, he suddenly revived.”

That had to be have been when Lauren killed the Horseman. And was some cause for celebration, at least. The thought of losing a third good guy in just one evening…

But Martha was still looking pretty darned unhappy.

“Hanlon’s back at Millwood House,” she told us. “I watched him ride in. That was quite a sight.”

“And?”

“Something else is happening. You’d better take a look.”