The Gathering Dark (37 page)

“No,” she said.

“Nikki,” Peter whispered. “She’s right. You’ll be safer anywhere except with me. You could stay here. Or go back to L.A. until this is over.”

“We talked about this!” Nikki cried, eyes moist, cheeks reddening, as though she were a rebellious teenager lashing out at her mother. “Who’s to say what’s going to happen? Where the problem will spread next?”

“True,” Peter agreed. “But what might happen is different from walking right into the middle of it. This thing . . . this presence is so foreign to me, I have no idea if I can stop it.”

Nikki pressed her lips together so hard they went white. Her face seemed carved from granite and she wiped at her eyes, not allowing a single tear to fall, taking a deep breath to control herself.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said, choking on the words. “I’ve spent too much time alone. I can’t bear it.”

Peter lifted his chin and met her gaze steadily. “Allison’s right. If you’re there, I won’t be able to focus. You’re not immortal. You have no magick to protect you except for mine, and I won’t be able to do that and fight this thing too. You’d be . . . you’d be in the way.”

Nikki seemed about to respond but her jaws clacked shut at Peter’s final words. Then her nostrils flared and the pain in her eyes turned to fury. She glared at Allison, lips curled back from her teeth.

“Bitch!” she snarled.

Allison flinched.

Then Nikki turned and walked back along the corridor toward Peter’s bedroom just as Keomany emerged. Keomany tried to speak to her but Nikki slammed the door, leaving her friend to glance at Peter in bewilderment.

Allison looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Peter replied. “But you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Look, I’ve got to go talk to her, if she’ll even speak to me. There’s no way to . . . no way to know how this is going to end. I want to say goodbye properly, and then I have a plane to catch.”

Keomany had tied her black hair back with a red ribbon and she had put on a fresh change of clothes, brown pants and a white shirt, practical clothing for traveling.

“What was that about?” she asked, obviously upset by Nikki’s behavior. Before Peter could respond, Allison spoke. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

Peter shot her a hard look. “What about the U.N.?”

“Fuck the U.N.”

Task Force Victor had taken over a quaint bed-and-breakfast that had once boasted a stunning pastoral setting. The kind of place that was perfect for romantic getaways, not far at all from Derby and only a bit farther from Nottingham. To Father Jack Delvin, the green hills and copses of trees seemed to have sprung to life from the scenery of some Merchant-Ivory film. His previous knowledge of England had consisted entirely of trips to London, and so he had never realized that there were areas where the countryside was still so pristine.

Now it had been tainted. Soiled forever by what had happened in Derby. The entire town was gone. From the front walk of the Derbyshire Inn the view had been replaced by a shimmering field of energy, a barrier that made what was beyond it appear to be nothing more than ravaged, barren tundra.
So much for romantic weekends away
. Father Jack could still smell all the flowers in bloom, but the promise of spring had been torn away by the horror that had visited Derby . . . and stolen it away.

The priest stood on the lawn in front of the inn with Bishop Gagnon and two of the other priests who had accompanied them. On the street was a single military vehicle. It was dark, long after midnight, and the headlights cut the night, reflected off the moisture in the heavy air. Behind the wheel, the driver of the vehicle sat motionless, waiting for instructions, while a new kind of Hell loomed a quarter of a mile away.

Commander Ray Henning stood beside the vehicle with a cell phone clapped to his ear, conversing in staccato bursts of language that were nearly unintelligible. Jack had taken an instant dislike to Henning. He knew the commander was just there to do his job, and that it was an honorable purpose, but the guy just rubbed him the wrong way. He was an officious prick who clearly had little use for faith or for magick.

Past the commander the road wound toward the outskirts of Derby. There were homes, but only sparsely. All of them had been evacuated long ago. Beyond those homes was the shimmering barrier, the twist in reality that was little more than the wound left behind on the flesh of the world now that Derby had been cut out of it.

It was just like Wickham.

Down the road, Task Force Victor and other U.N. forces under their command were doing their level best to waste ammunition. Huge floodlights had been set up and turned on the barrier, which just seemed to absorb them. Bullets and mortar and explosives and fire had all been implemented by Task Force Victor in an effort to break through into the Hell where Derby had been drawn, all without luck. Even now there were regular bursts of gunfire and explosions as new combinations were tried. From their vantage point, Father Jack and Bishop Gagnon watched two men fire antitank weapons at the barrier.

They exploded harmlessly against it, not appearing to disrupt the energy field at all.

Idiots
, Jack thought. How long would it take them to realize nothing so conventional was going to work?

The Bishop did nothing to intervene. From the moment their first brief sharing of information with Commander Henning had ended, Bishop Gagnon had instructed his priests to do nothing. To stand and wait. Their superiors had an agreement with the U.N. Secretary General, but the Bishop assured them it would be best to wait until Henning was prepared to let them do their job.

Under other circumstances Father Jack might have gotten bored. As it was, all he could think about was the town of Derby, and how many of its people were still alive inside there, in that other world, trying to get out but finding no means of escape. How many people were screaming in Derby in that very moment?

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Jack whispered.

Bishop Gagnon shot him a disapproving glance. “Our chance will come, Father. If you are not sure you can do the job, I don’t know why you’re so eager.”

Jack stared at him as though he were insane. “Because what if I can?” he asked. “What if I can help, and we’re wasting this time?”

The Bishop did not have a chance to respond. Commander Henning shouted something into his cell phone, then clicked it closed, hanging up on whoever was on the other end. He left his driver in the vehicle and strode up the grass toward them. It all seemed so very wrong, these unnatural things unfolding at the foot of the hill upon which stood the four-hundred-year-old inn.

“All right,” Henning said, his blue eyes crystal clear, his white hair combed tight against his scalp. “Time for your boys to have a go, Bishop.”

Michel Gagnon nodded his head. “And so we shall.”

They both looked expectantly to Father Jack and the priest knew that the time had come for him to explain that despite his studies he was not a very powerful magician. It was possible that he would be able to disrupt the field enough so that he could slip through, maybe with a few others, but it was not likely.

“Look, Commander,” Jack began, slipping off his glasses. “Whatever promises Bishop Gagnon made to you, I—”

“Hush,” Commander Henning said, waving at the gathered clergymen as he pressed a hand against his left ear. With his right hand he tugged up the collar of his coat. “Repeat that,” Henning barked into his collar. “Say again, Sergeant.”

For a moment Father Jack was baffled, and then he felt foolish as he realized that of course the commander had a commlink in the collar of his coat and the audio piece set inside his ear. In the second or two it had taken the priest to make that connection, the commander’s pale blue eyes went wide and he stopped demanding information from the sergeant who had contacted him.

“You’ve gotta be . . .” Henning muttered in amazement as he turned quickly around to look down the road toward Derby, toward the shimmering magickal barrier that stretched from ground to heavens.

The soldier who had been assigned as Henning’s driver had stepped out of the car and was staring in the same direction.

Father Jack frowned, not understanding at first what he was seeing. The shooting had stopped, there were no more explosions. In fact, if his eyes did not deceive him, Task Force Victor and the other U.N. troops under their command had packed it in. The trucks and tanks and Jeeps were rolling quickly away from the crackling barrier, away from the hole in the world where Derby should have been. Then the floodlights disappeared behind the barrier, one of them exploding as it did, and Father Jack understood.

“Dear Lord,” he said. “It’s spreading.”

“What’s going on?” Bishop Gagnon demanded. “Father Devlin, what has happened? How can this be?”

Jack stared at him. How could the man be so dense? “I don’t know. For God’s sake, all of this is new. How does a city disappear? Just because these spheres of influence from this other dimension have been static so far doesn’t mean they’re going to stay that way.”

The Bishop paled, his face looking grayer, even in the dark. “Hell will overtake us all,” the man whispered, and there was a gleam in his eye that might have been madness, or simply the zeal of the faithful.

Henning, on the other hand, had reddened considerably, his features contorted with fury and adrenaline. “Damn it, I didn’t give the order to retreat! What’s wrong with you people? Task Force Victor, this is Commander Henning. Hold your ground! I repeat, hold your ground.”

As Father Jack watched, the vehicles began to slow. Most of them, tanks included, began to turn to face the expanding barrier as it swallowed everything in its path.

“What are you doing?” Father Jack asked, horrified. “Bullets aren’t going to stop that thing! They’re going to be swallowed alive.”

Commander Henning grinned with satisfaction. “Yes. They are. And so are we. We needed a way in, Father. Well, here it is. Your magick wasn’t all that helpful on the outside. Let’s hope you can do more from the inside.”

A shudder went through Father Jack. He had crossed over into that other world once already, had seen the sort of horror that awaited them, but he had had the world’s most powerful sorcerer with him at the time.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Jack told Henning. “I was supposed to help you breach the barrier, that’s all.”

The Commander rounded on him, reached out to grab Father Jack by the front of his sweater. Jack raised a hand to stop him but Henning slapped it away.

“Get your hands off me!” he protested.

Henning dragged him closer so that they were practically nose to nose. “You listen to me,
Father
.” His gaze ticked over to the Bishop and then to the other priests before returning to Father Jack. “We’ve got a dozen cities now, maybe more, sucked into the devil’s mouth. So far there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do about it. That leaves only one choice. We go right down the bastard’s gullet and try to tear him apart from inside!”

Father Jack felt nausea roiling in his gut. There was a sparkle in Henning’s eyes that told him the commander was relishing this moment, that he was thrilled by it. Jack shook his head, unable to find the words to respond. He turned to Bishop Gagnon only to find His Eminence staring toward the ballooning barrier in a kind of rapture that made him shake slightly, his breath coming in thin, reedy gasps.

“Michel? Are you all right?” he asked, afraid the Bishop might be having a heart attack.

Slowly, the Bishop rotated his head sideways, eyes glazed, face slack. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with awe.

“It’s the truest test of our faith, Jack. Hell come to claim us. What will you do now, Jack? Now that the devil stares you in the face? Will you blink?”

Father Jack stared at him, then twisted around to glare at Henning. The two men were ignoring him. Beyond them he saw that two of the other priests who had flown to England with the Bishop had turned tail and begun to run. Slowly, Jack finished turning so that he faced the same direction as Henning and the Bishop.

He was just in time to see the shimmering, swelling field of magickal energy sweep across the line of tanks and trucks and Jeeps. Some of the soldiers, like Father Vernon and Father Spencer, turned to run. The officers of Task Force Victor stood their ground and let the blossoming magick envelop them as though they were standing in the ocean and a tall wave were crashing over them.

The sound of static reached Father Jack where he stood in front of the Derbyshire Inn, and a kind of sulfur smell that he could not help thinking of as brimstone.

The dimensional field swept over the troops, even those who had tried to run. Bishop Gagnon and Commander Henning stood their ground. In the car down on the road, Jack saw Henning’s driver glancing anxiously back and forth between his commander and the magickal onslaught and there was a squeal of tires and a puff of dust kicked up by the wheels as he did a hard U-turn and took off in the other direction.

“Coward,” Henning snarled.

“He won’t get far,” Bishop Gagnon said dreamily, staring at the wave of magick humming toward them with a kind of breathless adoration.