Flee

by Caroline Clark

  Simon hesitated. “Any first born on their ascension is a powerful sacrifice. The scion of a powerful mage is especially so. She holds a percentage of your power, even though she doesn’t know it. Alex, meet me in Lincoln. We will tackle Robert together.”

  “No. I’m here. I have to find him, and get Jenny out of there before she gets hurt.” He replaced the receiver, before Simon could disagree.

  He jumped back into the Renault, and slammed the car into gear. He turned towards the suburbs and Roberts house, but something stopped him, Robert’s office was closer. He stepped on the brakes, and screeched into a side street, hoping he could find a clue to this madness. His old friend, who had always said he hated magic was a monster. Was he really a mage of Aldona?

  The office was close to the town center. He parked a short way off, leaving the Renault, and walking the last few hundred yards. The gothic buildings hugged the street forcing him onwards. He entered from the back, noticing the light in an upstairs window as he approached. Could Robert be here?

  He walked past the blue Omega in the car park, not recognizing the car he approached the door. The security light burst into life, searing him with light. “Off.” He waved his right hand, and the light responded instantly.

  He approached the door with the intercom box on one side. He had been to this office many times. Both he and Helen had often popped in for a coffee when in town. He tried the door, surprised when it opened. Gently, he pushed it inwards.

  The hallway was dark, but he knew the route, straight through, left turn and up two flights of stairs to Roberts’s office.

  Stepping carefully, he wanted to be quiet, but the clumsy morgue shoes hindered his progress.

  Once at the stairs, he quickly ascended to the second floor, the light from the office providing a beacon for him to follow. Bit by bit the euphoria had faded, and now his strength was draining away. His body was still recovering, and any physical activity was pushing him to the limit.

  At the top of the stairs, he rested with his head down. Sucking in big refreshing gulps of air he garnered his strength. The nurse’s blood had helped heal his throat, but he was weak and low on power as the dizziness that threatened to floor him attested.

  Taking one last breath he approached the office. Noises of doors being opened, items placed on a desk filtered out to the hall. The door was slightly ajar. Alex crept up to it and listened. Someone was there. Would he have the strength to fight?

  Peeking between the door and its frame he saw Robert rooting around in a cabinet. The office was beautifully furnished in dark oak with deep green carpets. Normally the room was immaculate, with everything in its place, but tonight cupboard doors were open and the large oak desk was in disarray.

  Alex pushed the door a little, and silently slipped inside. The desk was littered with supplies, Vervain, Willow and Wormwood. Robert was definitely up to something. He faced away from Alex, reaching into a cupboard to select another bottle of herbs.

  Alex’s head was spinning. Part of him clung to the hope that this was some bad dream, that he would wake, and the world would be normal. Yet here was Robert preparing magics. Though not necessary for the ritual, the herbs added a flavor to the blood, and provided a chemical, as well as a mystical, high. Alex could no longer contain his rage at the sight of his once friend. He slammed the door back to announce his presence.

  “Robert.”

  Robert turned, and dropped the glass he was holding. It landed on the deep carpet, unharmed. Shock crossed his face, along with fear, but it was quickly hidden. He stooped to retrieve the glass, placing it on the desk with the other items, before looking up at Alex.

  “You’re back. How?”

  “You’re planning an immortality spell, and you wonder how I’m immortal?” Alex raised his eyebrows at Robert’s stupidity.

  “Well, I guess I didn’t think you could survive a sacrifice.”

  “Immortal is immortal. Until my seventieth birthday I can’t die.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  Robert walked casually around the desk, bringing his arms in front of him, he sent a spell muttering, “Tenere.”

  Alex was slammed into the wall. His back hit the dado rail which knocked the breath from him in an explosive blast. Held there by Robert’s power, he struggled to free his arms. He was weak, but reached deep inside. Finding his rage he pulled his concentration into a ball. Sweat appeared on his brow as he focused his anger, but it was working. With the last of his strength he freed his hand, and hurled it at Robert.

  “Back.”

  As the two mages struggled against one another, the atmosphere in the room was charged. Each move created a crackle of electricity as they thrashed their arms, back and forwards.

  At first Alex held his own, forcing the less experienced Robert back against the wall. As they struggled, he inflicted lash like wounds on Robert’s face and chest. Each cut gave him satisfaction as he fought to use his memory of Helen’s face to build his anger, and focus his power. But the effort was costing him. Robert’s shirt was tattered, and blood dripped from the wounds, but Alex was weak. He could feel the energy draining from him with each blow, and Robert just kept coming. His throat ached, and the wound had begun to reopen and wept blood. It trickled down his neck, and dripped onto the green of the mortuary shirt. Standing was becoming increasingly difficult as the fatigue and dizziness overwhelmed him. He refocused his anger, gaining strength from it, but he needed an advantage. Each play he made was countered by Robert, and Robert was getting stronger as he weakened.

  Leaning back, he allowed Robert to gain a little ground. Slowly, Alex relaxed, building his own power. A vision of Helen filled his mind, and created a fury inside of him. He built it, and nurtured the red hot hate he felt for this man, letting it grow and grow. The thought of Helen cold and lifeless on the mortuary table made his anger boil. It seared him with white-hot fire.

  Robert moved in close, sure he had won. A smirk appeared on his cocky face. He raised his arms, and pulled them back to each side of his head. Long fingers, spread wide, poised above him as Robert relished the moment. Then, flinging his arms forward, with all his weight and power, he shouted, “ligáveris cum potestate.”

  Alex ducked just as the spell to bind him left the other mage’s lips. He spun around with impossible speed, and ended up behind Robert. Placing his arms on his back, he shoved him into the wall. Robert fell, cracking his head with a loud thunk.

  Alex drew back, resting just for a second as he mustered his remaining strength, and sent the spell to hold Robert.

  “Inveigle.”

  The word meant to win over by deception, but once added to the magic of Sophana, it was a powerful binding spell.

  Alex’s power was gone. He stumbled around the office, and pulled back an expensive leather manager’s chair. Sinking into it gratefully, he collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in short sharp, blasts. His arms ached like he had fought ten rounds, and sweat trickled down his forehead to pool on a desk blotter. Swallowing, his throat was raw and painful.

  Slowly, he raised his head, and brushed the sweat from his brow. He scrutinized the man who was once his friend.

  “Why?”

  Robert was held against the wall, hands by his side. He looked so normal. Just like a kindly old accountant or everyone’s favorite uncle.

  “Damn it, Robert, you killed me, murdered Helen. Why?”

  Robert smiled. The grin made him appear deranged. It was the grin of a child who had just pulled the wings from a fly.

  “For Jenny, of course. I intend to sacrifice her on Saturday.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a congenital heart condition. It’s doubtful I will live much longer. Didn’t know that, old friend, did you?

  “To gain immortality, you need to sacrifice your firstborn. Jenny is no use to you.”

  Alex could feel his strength was almost gone. He could feel Robert working at his mind, probing, insinuating. He leaned forward, and res
ted his head on his arms. The fatigue forced him to close his eyes.

  “She is my first born.” Robert’s grin was wicked, waiting for the words to sink in.

  “What?”

  “Yes, I had an affair with Helen. Didn’t know that one either — did you, old mate? Ha. Oh, how we laughed at you.” Roberts’s hands were free, and he sent a spell at Alex without him even seeing. “Credere.”

  Alex’s face disintegrated. The words were backed by the unseen spell, which made them true to him. They cut deep into his soul, and took with them his last bit of energy.

  Robert was released, and fell forward onto the floor.

  Alex’s head was in turmoil, not Helen, not his rock. How could she betray him? He needed her, could not imagine how he could continue without her, and she had cheated on him? No, it wasn’t possible. Could she really have been making a fool of him all these years? Head on his hands, he wept for his lost love, wept for the betrayal, and wept for Jenny, his precious Jenny sired by this evil man. He collapsed onto the desk, exhausted and beaten, and fell instantly asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The garden was preternaturally quiet and empty. No birds sang, there wasn’t even a breeze behind the hedge. Jenny felt irrationally spooked. It’s just a door.

  Peering through the frame, past the splintered lock, and down the steps that disappeared into the blackness below filled her with dread.

  “Hello?” she called into the dark. The sound echoed back to her.

  The wooden stairs stretched down, going from semi-darkness to inky black. To her right she saw a light switch. Should she use it? She reached out to flick the switch, but if someone waited, it would warn of her approach.

  “Rosie,” her voice was but a whisper. Swallowing she called again. “Rosie sweetheart are you down there?”

  Nothing. The dark seemed to mock her. It soaked up the noise, and kept it down in that dank hole. Why was she being so silly, it was just a cellar? Or was it? Robert had lied, had said it was just a door to wasteland, and where was Rosie. Fear made her legs clumsy and heavy, and she hesitated before the steep and rickety steps. It was foolish to go down. She should wait for Simon, for the police. She turned around in the narrow space, and was engulfed in the conifers. Their musty scent seemed to clear her mind. Rosie could be down there, hurt. She knew the dog would not hesitate if she were in danger.

  Turning back to the hole in the wall she put a foot on the first step. It gave slightly with her weight, and fear spidered down her spine. No way am I descending into the dark. She reached out, and flicked the switch up. Light illuminated the depths below, and cast a welcome glow on the stairs in front of her.

  Putting one foot forward, she tested the next step. It creaked as it took her weight. Doubt stayed her foot. Should she wait for the police? Let them come down with her? But Robert could come back anytime, and Rosie was still missing. She paused just a second more, and then stepped onto the treads. One by one she descended the narrow stairway. Taking them quickly to prevent her fear from forcing her to run.

  The concrete walls, whitewashed and rough, were covered in cobwebs and dust. Despite her rush she moved cautiously, keeping one eye on the door behind her, nervous it could slam shut, and seal her in this dank forbidding place. It grew colder with each descent, and her heart was pounding in her ears. She froze wanting to turn and run, but knowing she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Rosie.

  Her legs didn’t want to move. Fear had paralyzed them, and she began to shake as a spider ran across her fingers and into a waiting web. Shaking her hand desperate to throw off the sticky filament she started to turn. It was too much — she must get out of here. A coward, she had given up on Rosie.

  The thought stopped her. She would not leave, not until she knew what was down here. Stepping onto the next step she continued down on the narrow and unforgiving stairs.

  Halfway down, she pulled the mobile from her pocket, and checked the display, but there was no signal. Should she ring Simon and tell him where she was before entering this place? The urge to turn back, to go back to the light was overwhelming and logical… but damn it, there was no time.

  Shoving the mobile back into her jeans she continued, more confident as anger began to take over from fear.

  The last step and she was on a concrete floor. She reached the bottom. Before her was a large room, the light did not quite penetrate to the far corners, leaving much of the cellar in dark shadow? The room felt wrong, and all the hairs on her arms were standing up, warning her to run. Ignoring the feeling she glanced around the dismal looking room.

  Equipment stood forlornly to her left, weird chains, ropes, and what looked like a weight bench. Further, in she saw a desk. Littered with books, she approached it, wondering if it would tell her what was going on. Crossing to it, breath held, she spotted something just in front of her. Was it a perch? Beneath it was a pile of something moving. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she realized it was guano covered with moving, crawling insects.

  Confusion and curiosity pulled her towards it. Her skin crawled as she watched the bugs scurrying about, trying to evade the light. The activity was frenzied for a few more seconds when the last of the insects burrowed under the filth, hidden from the light. The pile was now still; only a noxious smell betrayed the horrors beneath it.

  Leather ties were attached to the perch as if some oversized bird of prey had been tethered there. They hung down from the wood, which was a T shape around three feet high. The top was scarred where some creature’s claws had bitten into the soft material. A noise, like breathing, drifted down from above her.

  Gasping, she looked up. The bat was suspended from another perch, hanging down just a couple of feet above her head. Its papery wings were tucked against its body, its mouth open. Its rat-like teeth was visible, and the nose twitched as it breathed.

  The animal appeared to be asleep. Its translucent body was drawn in tight. Its claws clinging to a pole above it. Horror filled her at the monster hung there, resting, a faint breath moving its body.

  Jenny fought the urge to scream, and backed away step by step, back towards the stairs. She wanted to run, to get out of this disgusting, infested hole. But she had to stay calm, to move quietly so the beast would not hear her. She took a long, deep breath, and steadied her heart. Watching the bat, she counted each breath in and out, ready to sprint if it should wake. She felt her foot hit the bottom step, and slowly released her breath. The creature had not moved. She could only just see it from here, and she was so close to safety. Turning she put one step on the stairs.

  “Is someone there?” Doris’s voice was weak.

  “Doris, is that you?” Jenny forgot her fear, and headed towards the voice. As she crossed the cellar, she saw the seal in front of her. The huge pentagram, sunk into the floor, eight triangular sections open and pointing upwards seemed to herald the arrival of something, but what? She passed close to it, seeing the hole beneath, deeper than she thought possible, a slight mist within its depths.

  To the side was an altar of black granite. It looked as if someone had swept the items from it as scattered nearby were candles, a book and a red altar cloth.

  In front of the hole, she saw Doris tied naked to a post set into the concrete floor. Her face was haggard, her eyes red from crying, and a cut in her right shoulder wept blood which had run down, crusting her breast and side. Jenny ran to her, and hugged her close.

  “Don’t worry; we will get you out of here.”

  “Jenny be careful, Robert may come back. Just go, save yourself.”

  “No.” Jenny ran to the altar, and pulled the red cloth from the floor. She draped it over Doris while she looked for a way to undo her. Doris’s hands were held with tie clips, secured to the post at either side. The plastic had cut deep into her skin where she had struggled against them. Her ankles were fastened the same, and also showed deep gouges. Blood ran down and over her feet.

  Jenny tugged the tie clips, causi
ng Doris to cry out in pain.

  “Leave me, please save yourself.”

  “No, Doris we will get through this together. Have you seen Rosie?” she asked.

  “No, I have been unconscious for some time. Oh God Jenny, there is a creature on the other side of the pit. Get out before it sees you.”

  Kneeling on the cold floor, Jenny used her nails to find the clasp that held the plastic together. “Don’t worry, the bat thing is sleeping. Let’s just be quick and quiet, all right.”

  “OK.” Doris was shaking, with fatigue, and cold.

  Jenny worked on the plastic clips, straining her nails. They were designed that the more pressure was put on them, the tighter they pulled. They were digging cruelly into Doris’s wrists and ankles, cutting her delicate flesh. But if she levered the clasp the opposite way, they would release. Jenny pushed with her nail, pulling the clasp away, out of the ridge that held it. At last it loosened, moving a few notches, and then caught again. She cursed, and pressed against the clasp a second time. Her nail bent back with the effort, but at last the clip came free. Dropping the plastic to the floor, Doris’s bruised left wrist was freed.

  “This will take too long.” Jenny left Doris, and walked to the altar, keeping one eye on the pit and another on the Hell bat. She searched the debris that was scattered around. All she saw were candles and books. Nothing that would help. She felt the pressure of time, and decided to return to Doris, and try again with her fingers, when she saw the knife. The huge blade covered in runes seemed to wink at her from beneath the altar.

  She froze. Something about the knife made her fear it. The thought of touching it repulsed her.

  “Damn it,” she said, breaking its hold. She walked forward, and reached out to touch it. It was as cold as ice, and felt alive in her hands. She rushed back to Doris, and easily sliced through the remaining ties.

  Doris pulled her hands around to her front, gasping as her shoulder muscles moved, and blood rushed back into her battered arms. She rubbed her hands carefully, to bring back the circulation. The cuts were not as bad as they looked, but still they hurt as the blood surged back into her fingers.