He chuckled. “Well, I’m confused.” Then he looked at her more seriously. “That man is not going to hurt you, Scarlet. The Devil himself won’t get through me, okay?”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
They came off the highway and entered the ring road around town. The Little Treasures Emporium was right next to the Redlake Historical Society, which had a small car park. It was still the middle of the night, so her dad ignored the parking restrictions and pulled up into one of the bays. A flickering street lamp allowed them light to see by, but the overfilled wheelie bins at the back of the high street were all shadowy hiding places for lurking tramps or druggies. Scarlet felt a shiver down her spine when she realised that the world scared her even without supernatural menaces.
Her dad wrapped his arm around her and hustled. “Come on. Sooner I get some answers from your boss, the better—and I best like his answers.”
“You won’t,” she admitted. “I haven’t liked a single answer he’s given me in the last two days, but that doesn’t mean he’s not telling the truth.”
The lights inside Little Treasures were on and shadows shifted inside. Her dad put an arm out in front of her and kept her from going in first. “No, let me go.”
He tried the handle of the front door and found it locked, so he patted on the door with his fist, not too loudly, but loud enough to disturb the shadows inside. One of those shadows moved right up to the door.
Then the door crept open.
Half of Chester’s face peered out at them from behind the frame. His one eye went wide. “Scarlet! You’re okay. Thank heavens. You should have remained home where it was safe.”
“It wasn’t safe,” her dad grunted. “Some maniac almost killed her.”
Chester opened the door widely, revealing that the ghastly lump on his forehead had only grown. A bloody slit ran across its centre and the edges bulged red. He frowned at Scarlet. “The charm I gave you didn’t work?”
“It did, but it’s complicated.”
“Then I suppose you ought to come inside.”
Scarlet and her dad slipped inside Little Treasures and were immediately faced with two strangers, a man and a woman, the woman middle aged approaching old age, and the man a decade or so younger. The woman looked at Scarlet from behind the thick, wire rims of round spectacles. Her short grey-brown hair was seemingly fixed in place as she moved her head and spoke. “You must be The Spark.”
“My name is Scarlet.”
“Indeed. What is your age?”
“Didn’t Chester tell you?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah,” Scarlet mumbled. “I’m planning on informing National Geographic.”
“She’s feisty,” said the man, giving a lopsided grin and looking past her as though she wasn’t even in the room. “I like her.”
“What’s going on?” her dad finally asked. “Why is somebody trying to kill my daughter?”
Chester came and patted him on the back. “Let us go in the back and have a cup of tea, Mr Thomas. We’ll discuss everything there.”
With a huff, he allowed himself to be led away, although he made sure that Scarlet went with him. In the backroom they were met by more strangeness. The table and shelving units had all been pushed back against the walls, and in the middle of the room was now a painted red circle. The paint seemed tacky with some kind of powder. A thatch of straw and grass marked the circle’s centre.
“What’s going on, Chester? Are those two strangers from the White Order?”
“Yes, they are here to help. They have been preparing a spell.”
“To do what?”
Chester swallowed and gave her a strange look. “To render the magic within you forever inert, and as such, unable to ever come to fruition.”
She nodded, understanding. “You want to take away The Spark?”
Her dad rubbed at his temples. “I’m still hoping that this is all just a big joke.”
“It’s not, Mr Thomas, I assure you. Your daughter is very important, and she is in danger.”
“From whom exactly? Who was the blond bodybuilder that turned up in my garden in the middle of the night?”
“The Saint is an agent dedicated to carrying out the Father’s will.”
“The Father? You mean God?”
“Not exactly. The Father is just one powerful force of many, but long ago, he became guardian of our world and protector of mankind. Truth be told, we’re nothing more than a chess piece in an intergalactic pissing contest. The Father protects us more out of pride and duty than love and affection. Right now, Scarlet is the biggest threat to The Father’s assets.”
Her dad folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t really care about that. How do we stop The Saint? I can’t believe I’m buying into all this.”
“You’re buying into it,” said Chester, “because you have witnessed what is happening. Same as I have. Some things don’t add up, though. Scarlet was supposed to be eighteen when she began to exhibit her powers. She should have been invisible until then, yet somehow, the forces of good have located her. I was here, waiting for the rise of The Spark, but I was taken completely by surprise to find out that it was Scarlet all along, working right under my nose. I believe it is fate, Mr Thomas. I believe I am supposed to act differently than was planned. Scarlet is innocent in all this.”
“You were planning to kill me, weren’t you?” Scarlet said.
“Yes, but the reality is far different from the planning. I cannot harm you, Scarlet. I have known you for almost a year now. I know the fine young woman that you should, and will be allowed to grow into. The problem with the White Order is that we spend so much time with our books, that we forget about the human cost involved. We’ll work this out, Scarlet, I promise. If the spell works…”
“What will the spell do to my daughter?”
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. Margaret—that’s the woman out front—is one of the White Order’s Grand Shamans. She understands more than I do about a spell of this magnitude. I’ll just go and get her, let her know that we are ready to begin.”
Chester disappeared for a moment, leaving Scarlet with her dad. Knowing her way around the shop, she went over to the kitchenette and began making the tea that Chester had been meaning to brew. The kettle was already boiled, used tea bags on the side.
“I don’t like this, Scarlet. These people believe in magic and spells? So did your mother, and it did her no good. Magic is bad.”
“I know that. That’s why The Saint wants me dead. If I live till I’m eighteen, then I’ll bring magic back to the world, and things will go all Dante’s Inferno.”
“Dante’s Inferno? Impressive. You learn that in school.”
She shrugged. “We looked at it in English class. It was kind of boring.”
“You don’t like English?”
“Yeah, I like it just fine, but… wait, should we maybe focus on the big issues here?”
He took the mug of tea she handed him and took a tiny sip. “Christ, I feel like I’m having a nervous breakdown.”
“How do you think I feel?”
He put the mug down on the counter and approached her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Chester re-entered with his colleagues. Margaret held her nose in the air and looked like she had a rod up her back. In contrast, her male colleague seemed constantly amused. His greying hair was the colour of spent coal, yet his age was too young to suit it.
“Allow me to introduce Margaret Kindersley and James Holtby,” said Chester, pointing to each person in turn.
“A pleasure,” said Holtby, holding out his jittery hand, but nobody shook it. The way the man moved—in flinches and nods—was birdlike.
“Shall we begin?” asked Margaret curtly.
Her dad shook his head. “I want to know what you’re planning first.”
“I do not answer to you, sir.”
“You do if you want to go anywhere near my daughter.”
Margaret showed the first hint of amusement since Scarlet had set eyes on the woman. She tilted her nose even higher. “We are here to ensure the ongoing viability of the world, sir. What you feel about these matters is quite irrelevant. Try to impede our duties and you will be restrained forcefully.”
“By you and whose army?”
“I do not need an army, sir.”
Holtby moved like lightning. He slid towards Scarlet’s dad and shot out his arm. A deadly looking blade shot out of his coat sleeve and leapt into his hand—the sharp tip stopped just centimetres from the target: her dad’s throat.
“Don’t hurt him,” she shouted.
Her dad swallowed, but did not flinch. The look in his eyes showed determination, not fear.
Holtby shook his fist and sent the blade back into his sleeve. “I’m not looking to harm anyone, lass. Just making a few things clear.”
“Holtby is my personal custodian,” said Margaret. “I tell him to pluck out the eyes of an infant, and he will do so. Do not mistake my cheery demeanour for patience, for I have none.”
Chester moved into the centre of the room. “Come now, everybody. We all want the same thing. Scarlet’s father just wants a few assurances. What father wouldn’t?”
Margaret took a deep breath and let it out like an irritable dragon. “Very well. You have done good work here, Miles, in locating The Spark and bringing her so close, so I will humour you.” She turned to Scarlet’s dad. “The spell I wish to perform will draw out the magic inside Scarlet and allow me to contain it in a receptacle. That receptacle will then be placed in the White Order’s vault, where not even The Father, himself, could get at it. The Spark will be safe and no magical apocalypse will occur. Our task will be completed to the satisfaction of the High Council. Understood?”
“No,” said Scarlet’s father. “Will it hurt her?”
“Perhaps, but she will no longer be a target of supernatural assassins. Think of it like an operation. Having an inflamed appendix removed is no picnic, yet it is vital to future health.”
Her dad said nothing, but Scarlet nodded on his behalf. “Okay. So doing this spell will make me normal?”
“As normal as teenage girls can be, yes.”
“Then I want to do it.”
Her dad looked at her, but he didn’t argue. “Are you sure?”
“I just want the nightmare to end. Eventually, The Saint is going to kill me; especially now that Sorrow is gone.”
Chester frowned. “What happened to Sorrow?”
“The Saint attacked my dad, and he was there to help. He didn’t make it.”
“I’m assuming you mean the demon sent to protect this girl?” said Margaret.
Chester nodded. “When he arrived, he had no memory of who he was. I must say, that as far as demons go, he’s not all that bad.”
Margaret grunted. “Mr Chester, have you taken leave of your senses? Manah is one of the vilest creatures ever to walk this earth. We need to seriously discuss your priorities when all this is over. A demon-sympathiser is of no use to the cause.”
Chester swallowed loudly. “I am more than capable.”
“Sorrow is the only reason I’m still alive,” Scarlet objected, having had enough of the crabby old woman looking down her nose at everyone.
“That’s precisely my point. You are the metaphysical equivalent of a nuclear bomb, and Manah’s role is to make sure you go off one day. You people seem to have things very backwards. Manah wants to see the world burn—he is not the valiant hero here. The Saint is the force of good in this equation. He has been responsible for stopping countless tragedies throughout human history. Do you know that, prior to Hiroshima, the Japanese developed a warhead that, once ignited, would convert the atmosphere into a perpetual fuel supply? They had no idea that if they had ever set it off, they would have immolated the entire planet. Every square inch of oxygen would have turned to flame. The Saint assassinated the scientists involved and destroyed the research. To this day, their Government believes that the United States sent Special Forces to do the deed.”
“Then how do you know about it?” Scarlet asked.
“Because The Saint and the White Order are on the same side. During the Second World War, members of the Order assisted The Saint many times. Our history with him goes back a very long way, and he will not be pleased that one of our members has been working against him.”
Scarlet’s dad snarled. “You mean, you people associate with the maniac that tried to murder my teenage daughter right outside her own home? Then you are as much a monster as he.”
Margaret wore no expression. “I, myself, have yet to have the pleasure of making The Saint’s acquaintance, but once again, I will highlight that your notions of good and bad are muddled. The Saint wishes to prevent the end of mankind. You label him a monster. Ridiculous.”
“She’s right, dad. I’m the dangerous one here, not The Saint.”
But he didn’t agree. “Way I see it, there are no good guys. If the good guys are willing to murder innocent girls, then they are just as bad as the other side. If that’s the cost of being good, then I’d much rather follow the Devil.”
Margaret rolled her eyes behind her spectacles. “There is no singular Devil, Mr Thomas. The reality is far worse. There are forces in existence that your mind cannot even begin to comprehend, and there are fates a hundred times worse than death. Now, if you have any sense at all, you will allow me to get started.”
Her dad went to argue again, but Scarlet grabbed his hand. “Let’s just get this over with so we can go back to our lives.”
“Very well,” said Margaret. “Let us begin then. Scarlet, stand inside the circle.”
She did as she was told and stepped over the red paint. “What is all this stuff, anyway?”
“The paint is cat’s blood mixed with ground up acorns.”
“Eww. Did you kill a cat?”
“No,” snapped Margaret. “A shaman has such things on hand at all times. I’m sure Mr Chester already explained that the small magic we can still utilise is possible only through sacrifice. Human blood and dead foetuses would work best, but cat’s blood and acorns will suffice. The blood of a mammal and the unborn.”
Scarlet nodded. “Cat’s blood and an acorn. I get it.”
“What a relief,” said Margaret. “Now, kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on the grasses. You must be tethered to the earth for the spell to flow through you.”
Scarlet kicked off her shoes and placed her toes amongst the grass and straw. It stabbed at her soles and made her itch.
“Keep still,” Margaret chided. “You don’t want me to turn you into a monkey, do you?”
“Y-you can do that?”
“If I’m in a bad mood.”
“You’re in a good mood?”
“Yes, can’t you tell?”
“Not really.”
“What’s next?” her dad asked impatiently.
“Now we stay silent,” Chester whispered. “Margaret must now speak the incantations of the spell. It must be spoken in ancient tongues.”
Holtby moved then, making everyone, except Margaret, flinch. He’d been so still and quiet for the past ten minutes that he seemed to have disappeared, but now that he moved, all eyes were on him. He dragged a chair over from the side of the room and sat down on it before crossing his legs femininely. He noticed them all staring and smirked. “It might be a while, folks, and I’m not one for standing when I don’t have to.”
Chester took heed of the comment and dragged over another two chairs—one for him, and one for Scarlet’s dad.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “If you’re all quite finished?”
Everyone went still and quiet.
Margaret kept outside the circle and faced Scarlet. Closing her eyes, she clasped her hands together and let them hang at her waist. “Cadatha, lux partis boll vartis. Camla holl lux montra. Kat
htarla Kath.”
This went on for almost twenty minutes. Scarlet had to fight to stay still. Her feet ached from the uncarpeted floor beneath the grasses, and she had an itch right in the centre of her spine that she was dying to get at. She was relieved when Margaret finally stopped speaking nonsense and started speaking in English again. To Holtby she said, “Give me the receptacle.”
Holtby leapt up out of his chair and was by her side in a second. In his hand, he offered out a small, silver cylinder not much bigger than a pen.
“That’s it?” Scarlet asked. “That little thing is going to hold The Spark?”
“Silence! You must not interrupt the spell. I have performed the preparation, but now I must pull the magic from your body into this receptacle.”
Scarlet shut up. What was coming sounded painful—she hoped it wasn’t.
Margaret went back to chanting gibberish.
The pain began soon after.
“It… It’s burning my feet.”
“The spell is beginning to work,” said Margaret. “Remain still. It will be over soon.”
Scarlet gritted her teeth. It felt like something was sucking on her skin, trying to turn her inside out. At first, it felt like a burning sensation, but it was really more like pressure—something drawing her insides out. “I can’t… I can’t…”
“You’re hurting her,” she heard her dad shout.
Chester’s voice: “Remember, it is like an operation. Stay calm, Mr Thomas. She can take it.”
“No,” she cried. “I can’t.”
She began to scream.
Her dad rushed to get her, but Holtby was up out of his chair again with his blade to Scarlet’s father’s throat. He tried to shove the blade away, but the other man punched him in the face with his free hand and sent him to the ground. “Don’t make me open you up, mister.”
“I’ll kill you,” he growled.
“No, you won’t,” said Holtby with a twitchy smile.
“Everybody remain still!” Margaret hollered in a voice that was manly and deep.
Scarlet went to move, as she could take no more, but found that she couldn’t. Only her mouth could move and it was busy screaming. The pain increased to a point where she could barely breathe, and her mind became so muddled that her vision was only a series of brief glimpses.
Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) Page 10
