“You could say that,” replied Nick. “I have been going for what seems an eternity.”
“Less talking in the wings, please!” said Tim.
The two watched the expulsion from Eden.
“She's not bad, is she?” Abdul whispered when Erin had finished her speech. “I know her – had her in the back of my cab.”
“She is good,” said Nick. “Pity the script gets it so badly wrong.”
“Which bit do you mean?” asked Abdul, looking at the other man in puzzlement.
“I mean pretty much all of it,” said Nick. “All that stuff about Lucifer rebelling against God and war in heaven. It was a bit more complicated than that.”
“You make it sound like a real war – sort of thing you see on the news,” said Abdul, amused but increasingly baffled.
“It was as real as anything else,” replied Nick, still staring at Erin. “But you'll have to excuse me, I have to get changed.”
“Sure,” said Abdul. “Break a leg!”
It was only when Nick had vanished in the direction of the dressing room that Abdul wondered why he needed to change when he was already in costume. Dismissing the thought, he turned again to the fabric of the tower. There was a faint sound of something crumbling, and a shower of dust fell a few feet away. Looking up, Abdul saw that the original crack had extended up the wall to a height of nine or ten feet.
“Erm, guys,” he said, turning to the other Magi. “I think we've got a problem.”
This time he insisted that they come and look.
“What's wrong?” said a small voice as the Three Wise Men studied the crack.
“It's nothing, son,” said Abdul, looking down at a small figure wearing a hooded robe.
It's a mini-monk! Don't want to startle the kiddies, he thought. Didn't realize Tim had brought in such young extras.
“It's not nothing, silly man,” said the boy. “It's everything.”
The boy pulled back his hood to reveal a skull half-covered with flaps of skin, a few hands of ginger hair.
“Shit!”
Abdul retreated, bumping into one of the other Magi, who looked around and yelled in panic. Four more horrific children appeared and began to drive the men back into a corner.
“You Three Kings of Orient are,” said one skull-face. “Now you don't have to go very far.”
The others giggled.
“I don't know what this is,” said Abdul, trying to remember his stern Dad voice, “But it's not funny. Those are – are really stupid masks.”
One creature reached up and poked a sharp-nailed finger into an empty eye socket.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” said the actor playing Melchior. “Oh God!”
“Such language!” hissed the tallest child. “Taking the Lord's name in vain! You're all going into the naughty corners!”
The giggling became even louder.
***
“What's that guy doing here?” asked Erin, nodding towards Park. The tall, saturnine man had just entered the cathedral and was now talking to Tim.
“Who? Oh, Park,” said Jen, sourly. “Annoying old git.”
“He's on the regional police committee,” explained Carr. “A right pain in the arse. Always talks down to you, as if you were a child with special needs. Not popular with our lot.”
“He seems to be giving our esteemed director a right old ear-bashing,” observed Jen. “He doesn't mind making enemies, Mister Park.”
It was true. Park had drawn Tim aside into a niche, well away from the actors, and was talking rapidly. The director was clearly unhappy and was talking back, waving his arms for dramatic emphasis. Erin and the two cops both had the same idea and started to edge toward the confrontation. But they had only moved a few steps when Saffron bounded up.
“I say! Erin!” she whispered urgently. “Do you know what's going on?”
“I was just trying to find out,” said Erin, trying to dodge around Saffron. But the girl persisted in bouncing about in front of her like an over-eager puppy.
“I heard that Asian cab driver chap say the tower is cracking up!” hissed Saffron. “He said we should get everyone out, but not to say why! In case people panic, I suppose, but surely, if they panic they might move faster? Oh, you're sensible, come and talk to him.”
Erin stared at Saffron then looked around.
“Abdul said this? Where is he?”
“Over there!” said Saffron, eagerly, and took Erin's hand. Erin let herself be led into the shadows under the tower.
“I don't see him,” said Erin, as they moved out of sight from the rest of the company.
“He's not far away,” said Saffron. “Oh, look!”
Erin followed the pointing finger and saw a robed figure slumped against the wall of the tower. She recognized Abdul's Wise Man costume and ran over to him, calling his name. As she got closer, she noticed that there was something wrong with Abdul's slumped form, but could not work out what it was. He seemed shrunken, somehow. Then she realized.
Oh my God, he's sinking into the stones!
Bending, she grabbed hold of Abdul under the arms and tried to pull him out. It was as if he was half-submerged in tar.
“Hey, buddy, get up, help me help you!” she shouted. He gave a moan of pain, but his eyes were closed. Erin gave another tug and felt his body move slightly.
“Saffie, give me a hand,” she yelled. “No, go and get help, and call an ambulance!”
“It's a bit late for that, Erin,” said Saffron. “Besides, this is why we're all here.”
Something about the girl's tone of voice made Erin let go of Abdul, stand up, and peer at her colleague. Saffron was smiling at Erin with her usual not-quite-vacant expression. Then Erin realized that Saffron was not smiling up at her. Their faces were level.
She's about six inches shorter, so even if I'm barefoot and she's wearing heels...
“Don't worry about it,” said Saffron. The girl's voice was definitely deeper, now, and somehow less pleasant. Mocking, almost. “Worry about them instead,” Saffron added, looking past Erin.
Five of the dead children were standing in a semi-circle, hands linked. Their hooded faces were just visible in the dim light. Erin could make out the decayed ruins of cheeks, noses, eye sockets, the perpetual grin of lipless mouths.
“Free us!” said one.
“We have waited so long!” moaned another.
“The quincunx must be replaced!” hissed a third.
“They have a point,” said a voice barely recognizable as Saffron's. Erin looked back to see a blond-haired young man wearing Saffron's blue and white robe. His face seemed to glow in the gloom of the great stone building.
“Saffie?” she said. Things were moving way too fast.
“Being Saffron was very enjoyable,” replied the young man. “It allowed me to sample your world from a different perspective. But even in these liberated times I find the male form more satisfactory. And this guise has sentimental value – I wore it when I built this tower. Call me Nick, by the way. I'm the last person you will ever meet in this life, we might as well be on friendly terms!”
“Nick? As in Old Nick? The Devil himself?” demanded Erin, beginning to back away.
Maybe I can keep him talking and make a run for it. Worth a try.
“Regrettably not,” smiled Nick. “Different outfits entirely. But he and I are old acquaintances. One time allies, even. Have to say, though – your wings are almost as impressive as his were, back in the day. You do look the part.”
“Hurry!” wailed one of the children. “We must be free!”
“Bless their little hearts,” said Nick, in a voice cold as winter frost. “Seven hundred years, you'd think they could wait a little longer.”
“Seven hundred?” asked Erin, curious in spite of herself. “You mean exactly?”
“To the very day. Or rather, night,” confirmed Nick. “The contract was clear. Seven sacrifices would safeguard the tower for seven centuries. The first five secu
red the foundations. Once the time is expired, Mother Nature can do her work again.”
As if to underline his point, a crack appeared in a granite slab in front of Erin. A thin trickle of dust fell onto Nick's stage costume.
“So she's making up for lost time?” asked Erin.
Nick nodded.
“It is necessary to preserve the tower for a higher purpose,” he said. “That is all you need to know. Now, just stop there.”
Erin had no intention of stopping, but before she could turn to run she felt small, bony hands clawing at her through her Gabriel robe.
“You're right where you should be,” said Nick with bleak satisfaction. “Now we can complete the quincunx.”
Searing pain shot through the soles of Erin's bare feet. It felt like acid burning through her flesh. She screamed.
“Nobody can help you,” said Nick. “They are rather preoccupied with my pets.”
The pain occupied almost all of Erin's consciousness, but she could just hear cries of fear, panic. And something else. A growling and baying, growing louder as bestial sounds echoed around the great stone building.
Hounds. The Wish-Hounds.
Someone ran into Erin's field of vision. It was God, discarding his solar mask, two rangy black beasts snapping and snarling. The actor was being driven towards the corner of the tower adjacent to where Abdul lay. A pattern was being completed.
“Nearly there,” said Nick.
“We are sorry, fair lady,” said one of the boys, but the grip of small fingers did not lessen as Erin tried to pull her feet free of the granite.
Suddenly, a dark figure appeared behind Nick and knocked him to the ground. The young man's expression was almost comical.
So, thought Erin, he doesn't have super-strength.
“The dreadful Day of Judgment is at hand!” yelled Holy Joe. He rushed over to Erin and grabbed her outstretched hands, began to pull. Erin screamed again as the flesh tore away from the soles of her feet. But she was being freed from the stone.
“Nooo!”
Thin, ghostly voices cried out in displeasure and the children started to scrabble with their talons at Joe and Erin. The five assailants were small but ferocious, and Erin felt despair as Joe released one of her hands to protect his eyes. Then the children's wailing grew louder. Erin felt something wet splash onto her head. A man in black grabbed her free hand, began to pull, while throwing the contents of a small bottle at the squealing ghosts.
“Park?”
In her surprise, Erin almost forgot the searing pain.
“I was wrong, so wrong!” shouted Park, giving a tremendous heave. Erin stumbled forwards, landing heavily on hands and knees. At once, she felt the stones sucking the flesh from her bare hands, tore them away, leaving patches of blood.
“Very impressive,” said Nick. “But not remotely worthwhile.”
The creature in the guise of a young man had regained his footing. Now he made a stabbing gesture at Park, and a huge dark shape hurled itself onto the tall man's back. Park gave a gasp of despair as the Wish-Hound bore him down. Another gesture, another beast lunged at Holy Joe, huge jaws fastening round the vagrant's face. Both men struggled bravely, but it was clear that they were losing an unfair fight.
“No! You bastard!” yelled Erin, trying to stagger to her feet. But by the time she was standing upright both men had been mauled, their faces and throats torn to shreds of bloody flesh. The Wish-Hounds continued to worry at the inert bodies. An iron smell of blood filled the air.
“Think yourself lucky, Miss Cale,” said Nick. “You will at least serve a higher purpose, while those two are now just carrion. So, if you will kindly resume your place we can 'finish up', as you say in the New World.”
“Way I hear it, Nick,” said Erin, staggering toward him, “you guys have gone native in a big way. Sins of the flesh, right? Wallowing in our disgusting mortal ways. That must take its toll, huh?”
Nick seemed to hesitate, his smug smile almost fading.
“This is very disappointing,” he said. “I so wanted you to run! With those legs, it would have been a splendid chase.”
“Not my legs you should be watching out for, shiny boy,” she said, taking another pace closer to him. The pain in her feet and hands was tremendous, a throb that threatened to obliterate thought.
Then her pain was gone, and she was in a timeless moment. Erin was small again, maybe six years old, crying in bed, head under the covers. Her dad was looking around the door, glancing back to make sure her mom didn't know he was coming to see his wayward daughter. When he was sure the coast was clear, he tiptoed up to her bed, sat down by her, and ruffled the top of her head.
“Got into another fight, huh?” he had said softly. “With a boy? Bad-mouthing you, maybe? Or me?”
Erin had responded with a muffled whimper. Her mother had given her quite a spanking.
“You're a chip off the old block, girl,” her dad had said. “The oldest block there is. Don't waste your energy on the little fights if you can avoid 'em. The big battles will come soon enough.”
The vision faded, and the agony in Erin's hands and feet flooded back. But the interlude stabilized her mind, focused all her energy on Nick. Suddenly she knew that, for all his power, he was not invulnerable. Not to her.
Just within reach, she thought. If I'm right …
“Daddy once gave me some good advice. Wanna hear it?”
“Please, you might at least make your last words memorable,” sneered Nick, holding his hands out by his side. The hounds left their victims’ carcasses and began to circle around Erin, obviously waiting for their master's kill order.
“If you have to hit 'em, hit 'em hard,” she said quickly.
Before Nick could respond, she smashed her right fist into Nick's nose. The pain in her wounded flesh was tremendous, but through it, she still felt the satisfying double crunch as cartilage collapsed and bone broke. Blood, almost black in the gloom, gushed down Nick's face and onto his stage robe. He reeled back, flailing, then made a stabbing gesture at Erin.
I was right she rationed, feeling triumph despite her own pain. Immortal does not equal invulnerable to harm, to suffering. Makes sense. A lot of 'em are in Hell, after all.
A hound struck her in the back and bore her down onto the stones. For a moment, she thought she had miscalculated, that her improvised plan would not work. But then she heard Nick shouting in fury, giving commands in some unfamiliar tongue. There was snarling, a confused melee of jaws, and long, black limbs. Nick shouted again, not a command this time but a cry compounded of rage and panic.
Blood, Erin thought, as she rolled herself into a ball. His blood might just be human enough after all these centuries. Too much time spent in mortal form.
There was a confused thrashing of limbs, snarling and snapping of great jaws. Nick began shouting in a language that Erin did not recognize.
No human language, she thought. The tongue of the angels, maybe?
“Filthy hybrid creature!” yelled Nick. “You cannot best me!”
But in the tone of the being's voice Erin heard doubt.
Perhaps even fear?
Emboldened by the sign of weakness in her enemy, Erin made a huge effort of will, trying to break free of the hounds. Instead, it seemed as if a dam burst inside her mind, releasing a flood of energy. Suddenly the bloody chaos in the cathedral faded and she was standing in a dark place. Again, the pain was gone, but this time she was her adult self, not Erin the little girl. She was naked, yet felt warm, comfortable. Facing her was a glowing vortex of light. Like a cylindrical whirlwind of flame, it swirled, hovered, darted back and forth.
Nick, or whatever he's really called, in his true form, she thought. A rebel angel, not wholly Fallen.
A thought struck her. Erin looked down at her own naked body and gasped. She was glowing. Not so brightly as Nick, but still perceptibly. Flickers of golden light played over her flesh. The strange energy tingled. The sight was so incredible, so wond
erful, that she smiled, held up her arm to enjoy the sensation.
“Worthless creature, you will suffer eternally!”
Her enemy's words boomed in her mind. Nick no longer had need for lungs and larynx to communicate.
“Screw you!” she said, but then flinched as the pillar of fire darted forward.
“Product of unholy union! Divine fire tainted by the mud and mire of flesh!”
Again, her father's voice came to Erin.
“This guy needs to work on his trash talk. Go get him!”
Erin laughed, in spite of the bizarre threat, and stepped forward. As she got closer to the rogue angel, she could make out a vaguely human form within the column of swirling energy.
“I was right,” she said, “looks like you're kind of tainted, Nick. Too much jig-a-jig with the natives down the centuries.”
She punched at the blurred region where the head of the being was. Her fist passed through the flaming vortex easily, causing none of the pain she had expected. It connected with a mushy, yielding substance, like a damp sponge.
“That's my girl!” said her father's voice. “He's a big fella, but he's out of shape. Been a long time since that war in heaven”
Feeling more confident, Erin began to punch and kick at the man-like form in the fiery whirlwind. Again the spongy, not-quite-flesh inside gave way. But then the being started to dodge and weave, and then a glowing filament shot out. The golden-red tip struck Erin in the eye, causing stinging pain. More threads of fire emerged, and started to entangle her limbs.
“Keep moving! Don't let him tie you down!”
But her father's advice was already too late. Erin's arms were pinned at her sides, her legs fastened together by a glowing net of blazing filaments. The nebulous entity in the heart of the vortex approached, began to enfold her. A tongue of flame found her mouth as she screamed and plunged into her throat.
“Nooo!”
Her father's howl of protest transformed into a high-pitched sound that no earthly being could have produced. At the same time, another blazing vortex appeared on the far side of Nick. There was a burst of flame, glowing motes sprayed out into the blackness. It was so beautiful, that even in her pain, Erin thought of the Big Bang, the act of creation.
Curse of Weyrmouth (Curse of Weyrmouth Series Book 1) Page 15
