Blood of Angels (Curse of Weyrmouth Series Book 2)

by David Longhorn

  The two officers stared up at the window, then looked at each other.

  “This simplifies things, somewhat,” said Carr.

  ***

  “Why don't you get on with it?” said Erin. “We've all got places to be. Museums to run. If you're going to let us go, that is.”

  “Show some respect!” snapped Roker as he donned his robe. “You're privileged to be present at the ceremony. Strangers are usually forbidden. Especially women.”

  “Yeah,” mused Erin, “but I'm guessing that a woman once had a close encounter with your shining lord and master. Am I right? Some poor girl who didn't have a choice?”

  “Be quiet!” hissed Roker. But his expression told Erin that she had guessed right.

  Amy touched Erin's arm, looked up at her.

  “Please, let them get on with it! The sooner they summon him, the sooner we can all go.”

  “Yeah, right,” murmured Erin. But she kept quiet as the blinds were closed, the lights dimmed, and the Shadow Council began their ritual. Soon the room was filled with golden radiance spilling from the ornate mirror. Erin heard Amy gasp.

  “Fascinating!” murmured Louise. “A genuine bit of Renaissance ritual magic. Totally illegal at the time, of course, but–”

  Louise stopped speaking as the face of Ithuriel formed. It was smiling in its cold, inhuman way. Erin recognized the being she had known as Nick. The glowing eyes caught sight of her, standing behind the semicircle of kneeling men. Ithuriel frowned, then the smile returned. This time it had a cruel edge.

  “I see you have detained my foe,” said Ithuriel. “Good. You have done well, my acolytes.”

  “We live only to serve you, great one,” responded Roker.

  “There are others,” observed the rogue angel. “Two more females. Good. The tower needs blood, souls. It must be preserved.”

  “But – but my lord!” exclaimed Roker, confusion and panic in his voice. “One is my own child!”

  “I have sacrificed my own mortal offspring,” returned Ithuriel. “It is no great matter. The great task is all.”

  “My lord, I–” began Roker. But he stopped as the light began to pulse rhythmically. The radiance seemed to become a living thing, reaching out glowing tendrils that caressed the kneeling councilors. Roker, in particular, became the focus of the unearthly light's attention.

  “You will obey me,” insisted the cold, musical voice.

  “We will obey, master,” said Roker, and the rest of the Shadow Council joined in.

  “Hypnosis,” hissed Louise, nudging Erin. “Don't look directly into the light.”

  This must be how Ithuriel has controlled the city for centuries, thought Erin, shielding her eyes with one hand. Give them money and status to keep them sweet, and if they balk at dirty work, a bit of mind control.

  Erin backed up to the double doors, tried to open them. They were, as she had assumed, locked. She looked around the room but there was no other exit.

  “Subdue them, now,” Ithuriel ordered. The robed men got up off their knees, moving slowly as if drugged, and turned towards the three women.

  “Amy, now might be the time for some teenage rebellion,” said Louise, backing up to stand by Erin.

  “Dad?” Amy pleaded, going down on her knees next to Roker. “Dad, you've been brainwashed or something. You can't just–”

  “Subdue her!” commanded the glowing face.

  Roker turned to his daughter and gripped her by the throat, Erin shouted, started to rush forward, but her way was blocked by the rest of the Shadow Council. The cries of Amy were horrifying, pathetic.

  “So that makes two of us,” muttered Erin. “Okay, I'm gonna try something. Wish me luck.”

  She stepped forward, still shielding her eyes.

  “Hey, Ithuriel!” she shouted. “I've got something you want.”

  “Grab them,” said Roker, letting go of his daughter, and three robed men closed in on Erin.

  Erin kicked the nearest man in the groin. He collapsed, wheezing, and as the other two hesitated she took an object out of her pocket. It was a smooth, oval stone she had found in the park, and then wrapped in an old scarf.

  “Bit of lost property,” she said, holding up the stone. Then she hit a second man on the side of the head with it. He grunted and fell sideways, unconscious. Again, this bought her a few moments as the surviving councilors hesitated.

  “For God's sake, grab her!” shouted Roker, and lunged forward. Erin stepped aside at the last instant and helped him collide head first with the door. He collapsed to the floor, moaning with blood oozing down his face.

  Flabby middle-aged business types, thought Erin. Not really men of action.

  “Subdue her!” came the command from the mirror.

  The remaining members of the Shadow Council split up and started to approach Erin and Louise from both sides. One man lunged forward and grabbed Louise, dragging her roughly away despite her best efforts to fight him off.

  “You can't win, you silly cow,” shouted a beefy, red-faced man. “Just give up.”

  Okay, I can't win a straight fight, thought Erin. Time for plan B.

  She raised the wrapped stone above her head and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Lapsit Exillis.”

  The men closing in looked puzzled, but hesitated.

  “Lapsit Exillis!” Erin said again. “This is the stone you sought for centuries. It's the price of my freedom.”

  The golden light changed again, flickering and taking on a reddish tinge. Erin glanced at the face in the mirror. It was frowning.

  “How do you know of the stone?” Ithuriel demanded in a new tone of voice, one that was not quite as clear and musical as before.

  Was that hesitation? Is there something this guy doesn't know, for a change?

  “I know of it because I found it,” said Erin. “What other explanation is there?”

  “I would know if the Lapsit Exillis were near!”

  Ithuriel again sounded uncertain, even tetchy.

  I guessed right, Erin thought. This thing has been stuck in Weyrmouth for so long he can't be sure he would recognize the old hometown. Or home stone, in this case.

  “Take the stone from her so that I may examine it!” commanded the angel.

  Erin unwrapped the stone and made as if to offer it to the beefy man. As he made a grab for it, she dodged back and around him.

  “No you don't, Tubs,” she said. “I only hand this over to the boss villain.”

  “Do not touch the stone!” warned Ithuriel. The Shadow Council immediately fell back. At the same time, the mirror seemed to bulge, as if it were about to burst outward. Erin flinched, then realized that the face of the rogue angel was emerging from the sheet of glass.

  So this is how Nick got into our world, she thought. And this is how he made angel hybrids to serve him throughout the centuries.

  The face drifted forward, rose up, and streams of golden plasma began to weave a form beneath it. The Shadow Councilors and Amy were awestruck, mouths agape. Even Louise simply stared into the light, not speaking. Erin peered through half-closed fingers, unsure how much influence Ithuriel might have over her, unwilling to take a chance.

  “You will give me the Stone of Exile,” said the musical voice. Again, it was not quite flawless, betraying a gamut of human-like emotions.

  Hunger, thought Erin. Eagerness. Greed. All new for this guy.

  “Release my friend,” she demanded. “I know your true name, Ithuriel, and I conjure you to do my bidding.”

  Erin was guessing wildly, improvising on discussions of magic she had had with Louise. She saw Martin Roker look round at her in surprise.

  Maybe that means I got it right.

  “I give you nothing, slave!” boomed the shining figure. “I will take what is mine.”

  By now Ithuriel had almost cohered into a recognizably man-like shape; a handsome youth clothed in shimmering veils of light. Erin glimpsed at what might have been glowing wings beating, but felt no mov
ement of air. Ithuriel started drifting toward her, gradually becoming less bright, more earthly. An unnaturally white hand reached out for the stone.

  Erin dodged back, holding the wrapped stone just out of reach. An idea had occurred to her. She could just make out that Ithuriel was still linked to the glowing mirror by tendrils of light. Memories of watching old Star Trek episodes with her dad came to mind.

  He's not quite materialized yet. What we need is a really bad transporter accident.

  “Mortal, you try my patience!”

  Erin paused, contemplating her options. It was a mistake. The glowing figure darted forward with startling speed and its fingers closed on her hand. A searing pain shot through her and she heard herself cry out. Erin struggled to pull free but the angel's grip was like a white-hot steel claw. She smelt something burning, and saw the scarf that wrapped the stone catch fire. She pulled back, managed to propel him a few paces further from the mirror before the pain grew too much and she fell to her knees.

  “Okay!” she howled, “You win, you bastard!”

  “Of course,” he replied. “They always kneel in the end.”

  Ithuriel sounded bored now. Erin opened her hand, relinquished the stone. Ithuriel held it in his hand, gazed at Erin's scarf burning away to ashes. Then he frowned, held the stone closer. Erin, clutching her wounded hand, tried to observe Ithuriel in her peripheral vision, shuffled to the side a couple of feet.

  “Where are you, my brothers?”

  The angel turned the commonplace, greenish-gray stone over and over. Erin congratulated herself on finding one that looked very like the one that was carried by Edward Kayll.

  “This is not the Stone of Exile!” hissed Ithuriel. “It is worthless!”

  He looked down at Erin, dropping the stone onto the carpeted floor. Erin snatched it up with her uninjured left hand. Glowing filaments still connected her enemy to the mirror, but were fading quickly. Now she had a clear view of the target, unimpeded by Ithuriel or the councilors. She threw back her arm and flung the stone at the glass.

  “No!” cried Ithuriel, inhuman rage in his voice as he realized what Erin intended. The stone hit the mirror near the center and the glass shattered. There was a soundless explosion just after the mirror broke. The golden light was dazzling. It filled the room, blinding Erin, and a wave of heat and pressure threw her back against the wall. Unable to see, she started to grope her way towards where she hoped Louise would be. Someone was sobbing, someone young, and she thought she recognized Amy's voice.

  “Oh God.”

  “Louise? You okay?” Erin asked.

  “I can't see!” said Louise.

  “Join the club. Let's hope it's temporary.”

  Erin could hear sirens in the distance, shouting from the street, groans and cursing from the men in the room.

  “Oh God, we can never fix it,” moaned Roker. “Nobody could make another. Not now.”

  “Can't get the parts nowadays, I guess,” Erin said. She heard Louise laugh.

  Then Amy screamed. There was a glutinous sound, like some dense liquid overflowing onto the floor. An inarticulate noise, not quite a human voice, bellowed in what might have been rage or pain.

  “What is it?” Erin shouted. “Where are you? I'll come to you.”

  “Something touched me!” Amy cried weakly. “It's all wet and foul and–”

  Another scream from the girl, then a man's voice cried out in horror and fear. As she moved toward the commotion, Erin could smell something; a stench that quickly filled the room.

  Oh God, she thought. Something was left behind. Like an incomplete sketch of a human body. A shell with a few raw impulses in its head.

  She had assumed that Ithuriel's materialized form would simply vanish. But, as her eyesight recovered, she realized she had guessed wrong. Where the shimmering angel had been was a dark mass of corruption, blackened and purulent flesh loosely massed around a malformed skeleton. What was left of its face was no longer proud and beautiful, but a mask of imbecilic rage. It drooled greenish fluid onto Amy Roker as, with one bloated hand, it hoisted her up by her hair.

  Erin rushed forward but tripped over a prone body, falling heavily. Winded, she was struggling to her feet when Martin Roker hurled himself at the monster. The creature swiped at him with its other hand, knocked him flying backwards. Several of its swollen fingers went with Roker. There was a sickening crack as the man struck the wall.

  Amy, no longer frozen with fear, was beating at the thing with her fists. Her hand knocked away chunks of steaming, rotting tissue, exposing a distorted ribcage. The thing caught the teenager in a bear-hug, forcing its suppurating features into her face. Erin stumbled forward and body-slammed into them. The bizarre, revolting residue of Ithuriel flew apart, legs and arms detaching, its head bouncing across the carpet leaving a trail of black slime. Erin fell into the rapidly liquefying remains, gagging on the fetid reek.

  “Daddy!”

  Amy was crawling through the spreading puddle of decay towards her father. There was a smear of blood down the wall behind Martin Roker. He was now moving, as far as Erin could see. All around men were gawping at her, at the foul remains of Ithuriel's body, or staring in silent horror at the motionless body of their former leader. The blinds were partially intact, admitting thin gray winter light. The mirror now consisted of fragments of wood and glass scattered across the table and on the floor nearby. One of the Shadow Council was holding his face. Blood streamed through his fingers.

  “I don't think covering this up will be an option, guys,” said Erin wearily. “Your little club's officially disbanded.”

  There was a sudden banging at the door, voices shouting. Erin recognized John Carr and Jen Deighton.

  “We're fine,” she shouted. “But the door's locked. Dunno who has the key.”

  “Stand back,” Carr replied.

  There was a pause, then the doors burst in, followed by the two detectives.

  “What the hell happened?” asked Jen, looking around the room. She took out a handkerchief to cover her nose. Carr reeled back at the stink, then began talking into his police radio, stating that there were 'blast injuries'.

  Erin looked at Jen and shrugged, then gestured at the hardening crust of rotting tissue caking the front of her clothes.

  “You might need to get some help for them. For all of us, in fact.” Erin gestured at Amy Roker, weeping wildly over her father. Then added, “You see, I broke a mirror. Seven years bad luck, right?”

  Epilogue: Offerings

  Three days passed. The investigation into the explosion at the Masonic Hall quickly became bogged down in confusion. It made international headlines when people assumed it was terrorism-related. When this was officially denied the interest quickly died down. But local media continued to probe, no longer afraid of the influence of Roker and the other Shadow Council members. As Louise remarked, people who had once been cowed by 'that bunch of wankers' were now fearless.

  “So everyone knows that their power is gone?” said Erin. “Cool. Maybe this city will become a bit more normal now.”

  “Whatever that is,” observed Louise. “And why are we here, again?”

  They were crossing Cathedral Green, the dark tower looming above them. The slanting sunlight of a fine winter afternoon cast a vast, cold shadow over the two women. Erin stopped, looking up at the tower.

  “We agreed it would be a bad idea if it fell down, right?”

  “Yes, of course,” frowned Louise.

  “But the way it's been kept standing all these years is human sacrifice. Not a good look for a big old church, right?”

  “We know this. What's the big mystery?” demanded Louise. “If it falls, it falls. Anything is better than more killings.”

  Erin looked back towards the road, searching for something. Then she pointed. A silver car drew up on Cathedral Close and Doctor Black got out. He went to the trunk and got out a sports bag.

  “Here's my pusher,” said Erin, wryly. “Now i
n the role of Professor Van Helsing. Kind of.”

  “I don't get it,” said Louise, as the doctor waved and began walking towards them. “Van Helsing killed Dracula.”

  “You should re-read that book,” Erin suggested. “He did a lot of blood transfusions, as well.”

  Louise looked baffled, then her eyes widened.

  “You're not – no. Erin, that would be a mad idea, even for you!”

  “In her defense,” said the doctor, setting down the bag, “it was my idea.”

  He opened the bag and took out a plastic blood sachet.

  “Precious stuff,” he said. “Unique.”

  Erin took the blood bag and looked around again. There was nobody nearby. She began to walk over toward the base of the tower.

  “But–” spluttered Louise, following her friend. “This is wrong. I mean, there's no way you could provide enough – even if it works.”

  “It's my blood, said Erin. “As removed by the good doctor there. With luck, we can manage, what? About a pint a week. So instead of intermittent sacrifices, we literally drip-feed this damn thing.”

  “Make it a pint a fortnight,” put in Black, falling into step beside her. “You have amazing power of recuperation, but let's not push our luck.”

  They reached the gray stone wall. Erin took out a pen-knife and, holding it at arms' length, slit open the plastic bag. Blood splashed onto the stones. At first, it ran down over the granite surface in dark rivulets. But then the blood began to disappear, absorbed into the fabric of the tower. In less than a minute, it was gone, except for a few droplets left in the bag.

  “Okay,” Louise said. “I admit it worked. Apparently. But will it be enough?”

  Erin looked up at the tower, then laid a hand on the stone. Closing her eyes, she felt a familiar surge of energy, sensed the unholy life coursing through the structure.

  Come on guys, she thought. Don't go all shy on me.

  “Erin!”

  She heard Louise's voice from a great distance. Then Doctor Black, sounding surprised, afraid. Opening her eyes Erin saw what had been a child's face, seven centuries ago. The Seven stood around the three living humans, bony hands linked.