The Devil’s Paintbox

by Robin Jarvis

  Fearfully, she ran into the living room and discovered her mother crouching at her father’s side. He was lying on the settee, sweating, and his skin was yellow.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Cassandra demanded. ‘I found him on the floor when I got back. He could’ve died here on his own. Where were you? As if I need to ask.’

  ‘Dad!’ Lil cried, kneeling beside him. ‘Dad, it’s OK. I’ll witch something for you. I did it for Verne’s brother and it’s making him better. You’ll be OK.’

  Her father didn’t hear her.

  ‘He will be all right, Mum,’ Lil assured her. ‘It works, I promise.’

  But the expression on Mrs Wilson’s face unnerved her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘If you’re going to whip up some magic, then hurry up about it!’ Cassandra shouted.

  ‘I need to fetch my knitting bag.’

  Flustered, she raced into the hall, and was about to tear upstairs when a violent thumping thundered against the front door.

  ‘Crisis control!’ a strident voice shouted outside. ‘Let us in or we’ll force an entry.’

  Bewildered, Lil opened the door and stepped back in alarm at the sight that greeted her.

  A figure in an inflated plastic suit, connected to its own portable oxygen supply, filled the doorway. Behind it, taking up the width of the narrow street, was a long white windowless van. Beyond that were four more. Lil heard the neighbouring cottages being hammered upon and the same barking command rang out.

  ‘You got the sickness here?’ the unseen face behind a dark visor asked.

  Mrs Wilson joined Lil in the hallway. ‘My husband,’ she said anxiously. ‘He’s here in the front room. Can you give him something? Have they found a cure?’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  The figure stepped away and another inflated suit barged inside, pushing past Lil and her mother to go into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lil challenged. ‘You don’t need to go in there.’

  ‘Emergency powers,’ answered the first. ‘We have the right to search every property to make sure no contagion is being harboured.’

  He waved at the nearest van and two more inflated suits appeared from the back, with a stretcher.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Cassandra asked as they strode inside.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lil demanded. ‘You’re not from the hospital.’

  ‘Name and age of subject?’

  ‘Mike Wilson,’ Cassandra answered, distracted by the second figure who had returned from the kitchen and was now going upstairs. ‘He’s . . . he’s forty-one.’

  The person in front of her tapped the details and the address into a hand-held device that printed them on to a wide cable tie.

  ‘Leave him!’ Lil cried, following the ones with the stretcher into the living room. ‘I can make him better!’

  They didn’t reply and lifted her father off the settee.

  ‘What are you doing?’ the girl yelled as they carried him into the hall where the cable tie was fastened round his ankle. ‘The hospital is full and no one can leave the town, so where are you taking him?’

  ‘You’ll be informed in due course,’ the voice behind the visor said as Mr Wilson was removed from the cottage.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Lil yelled, forcing her way past the first suit and into the street. ‘Those aren’t even proper ambulances!’

  She was about to go after the stretcher when two figures emerged from the van, bearing assault rifles.

  ‘Remain in your home,’ she was ordered.

  Lil could tell they weren’t bluffing. Along the rest of the street, other victims of the Yellow Scourge were being put inside the windowless vehicles.

  ‘Mum, do something!’ she shouted, but Cassandra was too shocked to respond.

  When they had done, the vans began reversing and the armed figures retreated backwards, making sure no one followed. Moments later Lil was standing in her doorway, staring at a Henrietta Street that was empty except for bewildered and frightened neighbours.

  Lil returned to the house. Her mother was on the settee, a hand on the sweat-stained cushion that had been under her father’s head. There was a deadness about her expression that startled and frightened Lil.

  ‘You all right?’ the girl asked. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Mrs Wilson turned a blank face to her.

  ‘I’ve watched you,’ she said quietly, ‘taking it all for granted, those amazing, incredible gifts you’ve been given, powers that you never even wanted, and yes, I can admit it now. I was jealous. More than that, I resented it, so very much. But it’s got worse, and I know I’m a terrible, terrible person, because I’m your mum and I should love you whatever, but after what you’ve done today, I can’t. I just can’t any more and I’ll never be able to forgive you.’

  Lil recoiled. Unable to believe what she was hearing, she sank to the floor.

  ‘What you are,’ Cassandra continued, choosing her words carefully and delivering them in a flat, considered monotone, ‘it’s everything I always wanted, absolutely everything I prayed for. I know I should have been proud of you and I think I truly was, at first. Since then, watching you and Cherry together, sharing that bond with her that I can’t ever be a part of, I finally realised . . .’

  ‘What?’ Lil whispered, dreading the answer.

  Mrs Wilson stared at her as if she was seeing her for the very first time. ‘Believe me,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried, but I can’t fight it any more. I simply can’t. The deceit is destroying me.’

  ‘Fight what?’ Tears began to fall from Lil’s eyes.

  ‘I can’t bear to be near you,’ came the cold reply. ‘Can’t even look at you any more. There, I’ve said it. Such a relief. You being a witch has made me hate you. It’s as simple as that.’

  Mrs Wilson rose. ‘I can’t be around you right now,’ she said. ‘I left that robot up on the cliff so I’m going to fetch him down. We’ll need all the help we can get.’

  Feeling as though her soul had been torn out, Lil watched her mother go into the hall.

  ‘You can’t leave me! Mum!’ she cried. ‘Tell me you don’t mean any of that. Please! I’m sorry!’

  Cassandra left the cottage and Lil doubled over in anguish.

  When her phone rang, she fumbled to answer it. ‘Mum?’

  ‘It’s me, Verne!’ the caller replied in a voice as distressed as her own. ‘That heart you made – it’s turned yellow. Clarke’s as bad as he was before.’

  Lil closed her eyes.

  ‘And there’s a line of white vans pulled up outside,’ Verne continued anxiously. ‘Guys in creepy protection suits are knocking on all the doors. Some of them have got great big guns! What’s happening? What have we done?’

  Mrs Wilson made her way to the 199 steps and hurried up them, feeling strangely excited. As she neared the top, she saw the pale grey figure she knew as Queller posing, haughty and heroic, next to the Caedmon Cross.

  ‘You were right!’ she said, running up to him. ‘I do resent my daughter. I do want you as a spirit guide. Can you help me? They’ve just taken my husband away. I don’t know where. There must be a way to cure this and make everything right again.’

  Queller smiled at her.

  ‘If there is,’ he promised with warmth in his deep, manly voice, ‘then we shall discover it together. But it will be a grim journey and you must not baulk at any of the things we may need to do. You will need courage, lovely lady.’

  Mrs Wilson smiled back. Her heart was beating fast, like when she was a teenager. Embarrassed, she looked away and gazed around the churchyard.

  ‘Where are the other ghosts?’ she asked.

  ‘Your mechanical servant fell asleep and the link with the spectral plane was severed,’ he lied.

  ‘But you’re still here.’

  ‘I wanted to meet you again.’

  Cassandra saw Ja
ck Potts standing in the deep shadow of the church, some distance away. All his lights were off.

  ‘Must have run out of money,’ she said, glad of an excuse to move away from Queller’s piercing gaze. ‘I’ll just go and fix that.’

  Taking deep breaths, trying to calm her emotions, she walked the path between the graves until she reached the automaton. His pockets were empty, but she found one ten pence in her own and pushed it into the side of his skull.

  The torch eyes flashed on.

  ‘Mistress Wilson,’ he greeted her. ‘Can I be of assistance?’

  ‘I changed my mind,’ she told him. ‘You can stay at our place.’

  ‘That is most generous. I thank you.’

  ‘Does the invitation extend to me?’ Queller asked.

  Mrs Wilson bit her lip. ‘Of course,’ she said, her heart pounding again.

  ‘In that case, we must perform a small ritual of bonding that will cleave my spirit unto you. Otherwise I will not be able to leave the confines of this churchyard.’

  ‘What sort of ritual?’

  He beamed at her. ‘To seal our pact with a drop of your sweet blood upon my phantom lips. It is the bridge that will allow me to follow you anywhere.’

  ‘My blood on your lips?’ she repeated, her skipping heart in her mouth.

  ‘Just a thumb prick, no more. A taste only.’

  ‘OK,’ she agreed.

  ‘Allow me to be of assistance,’ Jack Potts offered. ‘My forefinger is as sharp as a knife. One deft nick and it will be done.’

  Cassandra offered her upturned hand to him. The automaton took it in his cold metal grasp. She held her breath and waited, turning to the entrancing features of Queller beside her.

  ‘No, wait!’ she said, slipping deeper into his power. ‘Not there – not my thumb.’

  She unfastened the collar of her cloak. With one hand, she pulled the neck of her top clear and with the other pressed the forefinger against her skin.

  ‘There,’ she said.

  The torch eyes shone on her exposed throat. An instant later a dribble of bright red blood was trickling down to her shoulder.

  Queller moved close.

  ‘You have a pretty neck,’ he said.

  She tilted her head back and held her breath. His spectral arms wrapped round her and she felt his lips touch her flesh, like a whispering winter kiss.

  ‘Blood is the bridge,’ he said softly in her ear. ‘Now I am yours to command, and you are mine.’

  Lil slept badly. She had stayed up into the night, crocheting more hearts for Clarke and now her father. She made five for each, trying to pour as much power into them as she could. If only she knew where the two of them had been taken.

  She was still awake at 3 a.m. when she heard her mother return. Lil pulled the covers over her head, too drained for another hideous confrontation. She didn’t know how she could ever face her again. Lying in the dark, she wished Sally would visit and comfort her, but it was one of those nights when the furry blanket on the bed remained empty. Eventually Lil fell into an unpleasant sleep, in which she dreamed a shadowy stranger looked into her room, only to be called away by her mother.

  At a quarter past six, the whirring din of a helicopter outside jolted her awake. Then an amplified voice rattled the window.

  ‘Residents of Whitby, do not be alarmed.’

  Lil sprang out of bed and dragged the curtains back, just in time to see a naval helicopter fly low over the roof.

  ‘Emergency medical centres have been set up in public buildings where the sick have been taken. Everything possible is being done to help. Do not panic. Further bulletins will be broadcast throughout the day.’

  The helicopter swept over the East Cliff, blaring the same recording, before swinging round and repeating it across the river. At the end of the stone piers, at the mouth of the harbour, two flagpoles had been erected, each flying the black and yellow quarantine flag known as the Yellow Jack.

  Five minutes later Lil was downstairs, the paintbox tucked under her arm. Before she could slip out, Jack Potts stepped in front of the door.

  ‘Good morning, Mistress Lil,’ he said. ‘Did the aircraft wake you? Such a quantity of decibels. Shall I prepare breakfast? It is important to commence the day with adequate nutrition.’

  The torch eyes glanced at the object under her arm.

  ‘Is that the box of watercolours? Where are you going with it?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ Lil said, looking up the stairs and wondering how her mother could have slept through the racket. ‘If Mum asks, not that she will, say you haven’t seen me.’

  Jack Potts nodded.

  ‘Hey, I’m glad you’re back,’ she told him, managing a weak smile as she left the cottage.

  He watched her set off down the street, then closed the door.

  ‘Good luck, Mistress Lil,’ he said quietly.

  Verne was already at Cherry’s when she got there. He hadn’t had much sleep either.

  ‘Mum and Dad are driving around, trying to find Clarke,’ he told her. ‘They’re going to all the schools and church halls that’ve been turned into emergency wards. Mum’s out of her mind with worry.’

  ‘Madness is what it is,’ Cherry said, serving up three cups of steaming green tea. ‘No need for all that brutality. Ain’t the folks in this town frightened out of their wits already? They broke down Gregson’s door last night and gave the moaning old bag the screaming abdabs. She walloped them with her stick, but they still took her away because of her age. One of them stormed in here too. I came real close to filling his protective suit with extra hot chilli sauce.’

  Lil placed the paintbox on the coffee table.

  ‘Before we do this,’ she said, ‘I need to find my dad. I made more hearts last night. Even though they don’t last long, it would help him for a while. I’ve got some for Clarke too.’

  ‘I know this is tough for you, Lil,’ Cherry told her, with a stern shake of the head, ‘but we don’t have time for that. We gotta get through this next stage, soon as we can. After that, you got all day. Now drink your tea. It’ll keep you sharp.’

  Agitated, Lil drained the cup. She wanted to tell them about what had happened with her mother, but decided that would have to wait too.

  ‘Ready?’ Cherry asked.

  The children nodded.

  Lil opened the paintbox. There was nothing to suggest it was anything other than an old set of watercolours, and that made it worse somehow. The bright, cheerful pigment blocks were deceiving, betraying no sign of the malevolence that had gone into their creation. She hesitated a moment, then removed the red pigment from its compartment. Turning it over, she read, ‘Carmine Swarm.’

  ‘And the little image on the front is a beetle,’ Cherry observed. ‘Okey-dokey, then I think we know what to expect from this one. As far back as ancient Egypt, they got the best red dye from squishin’ a certain type of insect. Still goes on today, and it’s in just about everything – just ask my make-up bag.’

  ‘So this one won’t be another virus?’ asked Verne.

  ‘Who knows?’ Cherry answered. ‘Bound to be gross whatever it is. OK, Lil – paint the town red.’

  Lil took up the paintbrush and stirred it in the tumbler of water Cherry had brought in with the tea.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ the witch said. ‘Let me call up some protection for us first. Take my hands.’

  She closed her eyes and the walls of her parlour became a velvety purple. The air smelled faintly of violets and the children felt their fingertips tingle and the hairs on their neck rise.

  Cherry exhaled and sucked her teeth critically. ‘That was kinda sluggish,’ she declared, annoyed with herself. ‘Must be getting rusty. Go ahead, Lil, let’s boogie.’

  Lil put the fancy paintbrush to the watercolour block and swirled it around. Verne flinched in anticipation and gripped hold of Cherry’s hand.

  ‘Here we go,’ she said.

  The paintbox began to vibrate, emitting a low hum. Th
en, out of the red pigment crawled a small, ladybird-like insect. It climbed over the lid and rested, as if the effort had been too much.

  ‘Doesn’t look too bad so far,’ Verne said, watching the creature slowly hinge open its outer wings.

  The hum grew louder, becoming a fierce buzzing.

  Cherry slapped her forehead. ‘I’m such a doofus!’ she yelled above the angry noise. ‘We shoulda done this in the yard!’

  It was too late to take the paintbox outside. It rattled and jumped violently, cracking the smoked glass table top beneath it. The horrendous din peaked and the red paint block burst apart as millions of flying beetles erupted into the parlour.

  A never-ending torrent of them gushed into the air. Within moments the room was in darkness, all light choked by countless insects. The noise of their tiny wings was deafening.

  Lil let go of Cherry’s hand and almost screamed, but she didn’t want them to fly into her mouth. She pinched her nose while hundreds more buzzed into her ears. They clung to her lashes and infested her hair, dropping down her collar and flying up the legs of her jeans.

  Verne had opened his mouth and was coughing and spitting out the dozens he hadn’t accidentally swallowed, while slapping and scraping them off his face.

  Cherry still had hold of his other hand. She pulled him towards the hall, groping blindly through the almost solid flying fog, squishing and crunching thousands underfoot as they went.

  The zooming cloud wasn’t as thick in the hallway yet, and a dim path of light could still be seen, filtering through the coloured glass in the front door. But that small window was quickly disappearing under a seething curtain. Cherry pushed Verne towards it, then stumbled back into the parlour for Lil.

  It was pitch-dark in there. A torturous, droning hell, crammed from floor to ceiling with teeming life. Cherry could only feel her way forward. Every surface was buried beneath scuttling mountains and after a few steps she was completely lost and disorientated. But there was no trace of Lil.

  Anxious, Cherry pressed on. She cracked her knee on the chaise longue, then almost tripped over a cushion. Halting, she crouched quickly. Reaching out, she realised it was no cushion. Lil was lying on the floor, completely covered.