The Job (Novella #10)

by William Meikle

The Just One started to diminish, shrinking away from the wall of sound. Robbins stepped toward it, using his amulet like a priest might brandish a crucifix. This time I saw it clearly, a rainbow aurora, almost dazzling, that pulsed and flared in time with the beats of the chanting. The beast cowered down low to the stone, hunched over Campbell’s prone body.

  As our chant rose to a pounding crescendo, it started to fade away entirely, until there was little more than a dark shadow on the stone.

  I hit the old guitar hard, a ringing minor chord that echoed through the hall.

  Dhumna Ort! Robbins shouted, accompanied by one, final blast of light and sound and fury. I had to blink against the glare.

  When I opened my eyes again there was just Robbins, standing, bleeding and panting in the circle. The Just One had gone.

  And wherever it had departed to, it had taken Campbell with it.

  11

  The room fell silent except for Robbins’ panting breath. I slung the guitar over my back and made to step forward, but once again he motioned that I should stay outside the circles.

  “We’re not done yet,” he said. His voice came throaty and whispery, but his eyes were clear as he stared back at me. “We’ve emptied the house, right enough. But it needs a master, one who will stop the darkness returning.”

  “I don’t know what you’re havering about now,” I replied. “But George is still outside somewhere, and at least six of Campbell’s men that I know of.”

  He managed a smile.

  “No. I think you’ll find they’ve all gone the way of their bosses. The house is empty and waiting; can’t you feel it?”

  As soon as he stopped speaking, I did feel it; a sense of anticipation, of the house holding its breath, waiting to see who would make the next move. Robbins was determined it was going to be him, despite the fact that blood had already pooled on the floor at his feet from deep wounds in his shins and calves.

  “Sing for me,” the black clad man said. “Sing me an old song to see me on my way. Then I’ll make you another offer you can’t refuse.”

  I hefted the guitar again. Every part of me wanted to go to the man’s aid, but his stare told me to stay back. Instead, I struck a chord, and once again the music made the magic as I sang.

  “My love is like a red, red, rose that’s newly sprung in June.”

  Robbins walked the perimeter of the painted circles, laying down new lines, lines that were being painted in his own blood, smeared on his hands and let to drip down through the amulet to the stone below. It was only as I brought the song to a finish and he completed a circle that I saw what he had done. He now stood inside a painted replica of his amulet, a circle with a line through it, just off center.

  As the guitar rang a last chord, an answering ring came up through the floor. I felt the vibration hum through my bones as Robbins smiled.

  “The House of Sigils is once again open for business,” he said.

  “So what now?” I asked.

  He bent and lifted something from the floor. I hadn’t noticed it until then, but it was the book Campbell had been reading from, the fabled Concordances. Robbins picked it up, leafed through the pages until he found what he wanted, and read from it, under his breath.

  The circles he’d drawn in the floor glowed, golden, like a hot brand, then faded. I saw that the new pattern was now permanently etched in the floor, overwriting the previous painted marks. Robbins closed the book and tossed it, feebly, toward me; it only just cleared the circles.

  “Back in the safe with it,” he said. “And don’t read it; don’t even look at it. There’s power in there that’s best left to those that know how to handle it. Campbell thought he knew, and look where that got him.”

  I kicked the book gently to one side. Robbins’ immediate future was my most pressing concern; it didn’t look like he had much left in him. But he stood straight when he saw me looking, and clutched tight at his amulet, as if drawing strength from it. He sat down, hard, inside the circle. He looked as fully spent as any man I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m the new master here,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “It’s my job to hold the house against the darkness. But I’m going to need a housekeeper, a concierge if you like. How would you like a new job?”

  “What does it entail?”

  He smiled thinly.

  “Some singing, mostly. That and making sure the lines I’ve just drawn don’t get broken. For that, you get to oversee the running of the house. People will come. Lost, lonely people, with sigils and totems, looking for a room. It will be your job to watch over them.”

  I was about to argue the case, about to plead unsuitability. But at that moment the guitar rang, softly, and I heard my mother’s voice, singing so close I could almost touch her.

  “My love is like the melody, that’s sweetly played in tune.”

  I looked back at Robbins. He had started to diminish and fade, but he smiled as he looked up at me.

  “I’ll be here if you need me. All you have to do is sing.”

  He held up his amulet, and it was the last thing to fade, a rainbow sparkle that danced in the center of the circle then was gone.

  I lifted the Concordances from the floor, stepped back out of the room, closed the door behind me, and went to get ready.

  I had a feeling we were going to get some visitors.