The Making of Gabriel Davenport

by Beverley Lee

  Noah stood, then bent to place his hand over Gabriel’s brow. Clove pursed his lips. A prayer. Interesting. The priest had seemed to be all out of faith a little while ago.

  Clove intercepted Noah with a questioning look as Noah made for the door.

  ‘I’m going to pray for Ollie. I won’t leave him up there alone and I won’t let anything else happen to him. Don’t follow me. I want to be alone with him.’ There was a waver in his voice despite the brave words.

  Clove stepped aside and gestured with his arm to the kitchen. If Noah wanted to risk his own life for that of a dead man, so be it. At the start of the night, Clove had thought he could keep them all safe. Now he was all out of chief protector mode.

  ‘I fear your God has deserted you. Or do you think he is watching from the sidelines?’

  Noah’s lips tightened into a thin line. ‘My God is testing me. And my God is your God too.’

  ‘We must have a theological discussion one day. I think I may be able to sway your mind.’

  Noah’s shadow paused in the hallway. Clove waited for a reply, but it seemed Noah had no answer for that.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Noah made the decision to go to Ollie the moment he was sure Gabe was okay. He could feel the cold chill of shock settling around his shoulders. It was obvious Ollie had passed the point where medical intervention could help.

  The full horror of the event hadn’t yet sunk in, but it hung over his head like a boulder tottering on the edge of a cliff. No one had really reacted, apart from Gabe. He wondered how much more he could take and how changed he would be after this night ended. How changed they all would be.

  Noah trudged up the stairs. They seemed to go on forever. Ollie lay where he had fallen, in a dark pool of blood, one arm dangling over the top step. Noah didn’t want to look at the wound where his throat once was, but he knew that he had to. It glistened with congealed blood, the raw tissue wet and obscenely pink in the glow of the lamp. His glasses lay twisted on the carpet, his eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  If the demon wanted to attack Noah now, he knew he would be an easy target. The brand on his forehead throbbed with each movement of his brow, a constant reminder of the power the demon possessed. God hadn’t come to save him. Maybe He knew Noah’s faith was wavering. As he grabbed a blanket from the nearest bedroom, he came to the conclusion that, while he might be a lousy priest, he wouldn’t be a lousy friend. Ollie would be treated with the dignity he deserved.

  He knelt down and the blood oozed into the knees of his jeans. He retched and gulped several mouthfuls of air to force it down. With a quivering hand, he closed Ollie’s eyelids for the last time. He recited the Lord’s Prayer, but every time he got to the line ‘but deliver us from evil’, resentment flared and the words stuck.

  Ollie was never overtly religious, but he wasn’t a disbeliever. ‘I’m hedging my bets,’ he’d said with that boyish grin. Noah could hear his voice in his head. Did he ever hedge his bets that something evil would kill him? Noah fought his anger as he covered Ollie’s body with the blanket. It had been easy for the demon to infiltrate Ollie’s body, to drive out the goodness and the energy that defined him. Noah knew that power too; Gabe didn’t stand a chance. Their only hope was with the vampires, and if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth then nothing was. Did Clove have the understanding to battle it and win? He had to believe that. The irony of it wasn’t lost to him.

  Carefully, he scooped up Ollie’s lifeless body, hefting him to his chest and carrying him down the stairs. He was heavier than Noah had expected. The phrase ‘dead weight’ hammered against his skull like some macabre woodpecker.

  It would be too much to take Ollie into the room where the others were, but Noah didn’t want to leave him alone with the chance that the demon would try to desecrate his body. That only left one place where he would be safe—the place where all this started early this morning.

  ***

  The White Room became a stage, or at least that’s what Gabe thought as he eased himself onto his feet. It was as if each scene was being played out, and occasionally the actors exited stage left. A surreal sense of passing time hung in the air.

  Carver sat with Teal at the end of the room, both of them nose-deep in manuscripts. Occasionally, one of them would bring a point to the attention of the other and there would be nodding or the shaking of a head. It was like the old days before any of this had happened, before Gabe decided to go poking his nose into things he should have left well alone. Before the box. Before Beth. Before Ollie.

  Gabe winced as he straightened up. Clove sat by the window, turning the box around in his hands, his long black hair obscuring his face.

  Gabe cleared his throat, not because he wanted to announce his approach—Clove would have known that seconds before—but because his airways were shrivelled and bruised.

  ‘Gabriel.’ Clove tucked his hair behind one ear as he glanced up. ‘It appears you have as many lives as a cat. That is, I think, a good thing.’

  For a moment, Gabe thought he saw the shadow of a sad smile, something a little wistful.

  ‘I can’t wait around anymore. The people I love are dying because of me.’ The words stuck in his throat, a burning ember that lodged there and refused to budge.

  ‘I know. I understand. I hoped it would show itself by now, but I am concerned that it is waiting until dawn.’

  Gabe’s mouth opened slightly and then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, fuck. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘I keep thinking that I’m missing something with this.’ Clove gestured to the box. ‘Here, in the inner lip of the lid—there are marks, see?’

  Gabe narrowed his eyes and held the box up to the light. It was the first time he had inspected the object that had played such a great part in his family’s downfall. The wood felt rotten in his hand, like a coffin dug up from a worm-ridden grave.

  ‘Is it a language?’ Gabe paused. He was going to say that Ollie had a knack of deciphering ancient languages.

  ‘I don’t think so. More of a signature, I believe.’ Clove clasped his shoulder and Gabe didn’t pull away. He wasn’t scared anymore. Not of Clove. The vampire was turning out to be something solid he could rely on.

  Gabe stared at the inside of the box. It was hard, even now, to understand how his whole life had been shaped by it. He ran his finger over a dark stain on the bottom. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  Clove nodded and brushed his fingers along Gabe’s wrist as he took charge, placing the box on the table. Gabe cradled his wrist with his other hand. He could still feel the pressure.

  ‘Where is Noah, anyway?’

  ‘He went to clear up the mess upstairs.’ Moth’s voice cut into their conversation. He was stood as far away from everyone as he could get, flicking a pack of playing cards through his fingers.

  An almost physical pain stabbed through Gabe’s chest. He couldn’t hide the hurt in his face.

  Any further remarks from Moth were cut off by a single glance from Clove, but the younger vampire’s animosity sizzled in the air.

  The skittering started again. This time, it was coming from inside the chimney breast. A flurry of soot fell into the hearth. Everyone turned to watch it settle.

  A few thin tendrils of smoke trailed out over the hearth and Clove pulled Gabe against him.

  Chapter Seventy

  Olivia opened her eyes to darkness.

  Panic scoured her veins, dragging thorns of terror in its wake. But inside her jacket, the palm crosses prickled through the thin cotton of her shirt. It was a small shred of comfort and she clung to it. The force that had pushed her down the coal chute was gone, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think it had gone for good. Something hadn’t wanted her to get back to the Manor House, and now that she’d made it, she wasn’t giving up despite every muscle and bone in her body screaming at her to stop. She eased herself onto her knees and spat out a mouthful of coal dust. Her eyes stung with it and she could feel it on th
e palms of her hands and her face. Dust again.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  ‘Fuck it!’

  The noise echoed around the confined space, mocking her from all angles. She crawled towards the wall that separated the two cellars and used it as leverage to ease herself upright. Peering through the brick air holes, a faint wedge of light from under the door at the top of the jam cellar stairs taunted her. So close, so far away.

  Her right ankle throbbed. On closer inspection, it was hot and swollen but nothing was broken, which had to be a minor miracle.

  Up ahead, the keypad of the vault glowed. It was her sole object of focus as she gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet.

  ‘You know it would have been easier to use the door.’ The familiar voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. The dust coating her tongue turned to relief.

  ‘I could use a bit of help here, damn you.’ She didn’t care that her words wobbled. All she wanted was to get upstairs, away from the oppressive darkness. Part of her never wanted to leave the safety of The Manor again.

  ***

  Oh, this was the most delicious of nights! Aka Maga drifted fragments of itself into the room. It lapped up their fear. It had planned to wait until dawn, but its new born heartbeat and vitality had increased its sense of power; it did not have to wait any longer. Let the vampires cower down before it, too. Even the old one would be no match.

  Gabriel stood with Clove’s arms protectively around him, nearly as pale-skinned as the vampire. Dark shadows pooled under his eyes. Bruises already dappled his neck from Ollie’s attack. Aka Maga was somehow glad that attempt to take Gabriel had failed. It wanted them all to be a party to the moment where it suffocated the life from the boy and replaced it with its own superior spirit.

  Aka Maga decided Moth would be Gabriel’s first victim. Even though it was glad Ollie’s attack was unsuccessful, the meddling young vampire would pay for his audacity. Dawn was approaching. It would see him burn.

  It floated into the room and raised itself into the dense, rolling pillar that so many had cowed down before. Its heartbeat thudded, strong and exultant, unconquerable at long last. The ball of black energy within its core whirled to life like a chainsaw blade, all of the pain and indignity concentrated into a mass of hate and triumph. It found a language in its stored memory they would all understand.

  ‘It has been an interesting game, but I tire of play. I could have taken him at any time.’ A hollow laugh echoed from within it as Gabriel shrank back. ‘I could have destroyed you all, with a flick of my wrist. Even you, night walker.

  ‘It would have been so much easier for all concerned if you hadn’t intervened, Noah Isaacs. If only your faith had been as weak then as it is now. Gabriel is mine—has always been mine. I will gift him with the kind of immortality that history will bow down before.’

  ‘Do not flatter yourself, demon.’ Clove’s voice carried not a hint of fear and it admired his courage, begrudgingly.

  ‘Shall I kill your children first? To make a point? That one there would make a fine entree.’ Moth stood by Clove’s side. Aka Maga could smell the fear on him despite his firm stance. ‘I see your other child has fled the room. No matter. I will cut him down before the dawn breaks.’

  It watched for any sign of emotion from Clove but found none. That was an irritation; they should all fear for their lives.

  On all four walls, the paint began to blister and peel like shreds of skin as its dark energy boiled. A few degrees away from total crazed insanity.

  Finally, the sand had run out of the hourglass for Gabriel Davenport.

  It set the spinning ball of its core into motion and felt the ice-cold centre shift into a mass of razor-edged shards. The tendrils of smoke curled against the boy’s limbs.

  Gabriel screamed—a lovely, plaintive wail filled with horror and anguish. It was the sweetest sound Aka Maga had ever heard.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  So this was the moment he would die.

  Gabe remembered all the movies where the young hero miraculously discovers his superpower to battle the forces of evil and triumph. No one had given him that script.

  Clove’s arms held him tightly and he was even grateful for Moth’s hovering presence.

  There was only one card left to play, the one he was praying he didn’t have to use.

  ‘End it for me,’ he whispered to Clove. “Please. Do it so it can’t take me.’

  An instant later, a curtain of hair fell over Gabe’s face as the vampire lowered his head.

  A man shouted, but Gabe couldn’t tell if it was Noah or Carver. Gabe was too intent on breathing. In his peripheral vision, he could see that the ball of black energy was almost upon them.

  The cold touch of Clove’s lips sent a shiver down his spine.

  The glass in the French doors shattered. Through strands of Clove’s hair, he saw Noah duck. A pale form emerged, as thin and willowy as a sapling silver birch. Splinters of glass dusted her hair with diamonds and blood ran from the corner of her mouth in a thin trail.

  Her dark eyes shone with a barely-concealed madness. Gabe took one moment to register who it was, before she launched herself into the small space that separated him from the energy force.

  In that instant, Clove swept him to one side and Moth’s hands were yanking him towards the door. He struggled, his eyes fixed to the place where he had been only seconds before.

  The black ball hit Beth full in the chest. She staggered, absorbing it with a howl that struck Gabe’s heart like a sucker punch. The evil that was Aka Maga tore open her heart, her blood turning black beneath translucent skin as it raced through her veins.

  ‘Do something!’ Gabe spat the words out into the mayhem.

  ‘Leave her. She won’t last the night—she’s a renegade.’ Moth pulled him away but hesitated, both of them magnetically drawn back to what was happening.

  Teal stood in the doorway with Olivia at his side. She was clutching something in her hands.

  It was all a frenetic blur of movement and voices.

  Noah took what Olivia was offering. She clutched them like flowers.

  But Gabe’s eyes couldn’t stop watching the horror unfolding in the centre of the room.

  A wail rose from Beth’s throat, an inhuman sound that made the blood in Gabe’s veins turn to ice. Plumes of smoke spiralled out of her mouth as her head fell back. She clawed at her own throat.

  Clove’s attention seemed to be on the box sitting on the table, Beth’s struggle only a minor distraction. Gabe wanted to launch himself at Clove, make him do something, anything, but Moth held him firm.

  Something crawled over Gabe’s foot and he looked down—thousands of cockroaches writhed over the patio, turning it to a black, moving carpet and he froze. Moth hesitated and Gabe took this as his only chance. He twisted his arm and snatched it back against his body. Moth’s grip loosened for a moment.

  Gabe bolted for the doorway, the crunch of insect bodies beneath his feet.

  Carver screamed for him to stop.

  ‘Pray, Noah! Something from the Foot of the Cross!’ Clove held the box open in his hands.

  A blinding white light erupted from Beth’s mouth, obliterating the smoke for a few seconds. Gabe crossed his arms over his face, temporarily blinded. Something hit him in the chest. It sliced through his flesh and bone as though he was made of paper. Blood welled up in his mouth. He doubled over, pain alive in every nerve ending. He needed to breathe but had forgotten how.

  Someone caught Gabe under the arms before he hit the floor. The room blurred and spun. He reached out, the thick blood spilling from his mouth. He was drowning in it. Blindness settled but he could still hear the shrill, panicked voices around him.

  Fingers touched his skin. His head was being gently cradled, but the pain twisted all reality into a tight, hard knot that he followed in his mind’s eye. The knot floated upwards, as if being carried by water—or blood.

  He felt himself
being lifted, held tightly. The smell of damp earth. Clove.

  Gabe knew he was dying. Life wasn’t like a book. The kid didn’t get to save the world. He didn’t even get to save his family or friends. He did the best he could, but it wasn’t enough.

  His limbs were cold. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes and he was tired, so tired. His eyelids fluttered. Clove’s pale face was silhouetted against an ink-black sky. Gabe forced his mouth into what he hoped was a smile. We tried. We really tried.

  Clove lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Gabe’s brow.

  Gabe closed his eyes as one more knife of pain sliced through his body. Maybe death was a small price to pay.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Aka Maga seethed in the crypt upon the hill. The stench of the nightborn filled its nostrils.

  It was so close to claiming Gabriel, too close perhaps. It scourged itself with its mistakes, lashing itself with barbs of regret. It had not anticipated Beth’s appearance. It left her for dead on the hill, weak and pitiful. And it had not planned for her to turn into a renegade. It knew about the existence of such half-breeds, but they rarely lasted more than a few hours and were always dead by dawn.

  It had underestimated her love for her son, which had somehow surfaced from its cloistered cell within her brain.

  It wanted to make her suffer and it did, driving out the last remnants of her goodness in the blinding flash of light. It had shredded her soul in front of the priest. And the boy would have been next. It had ploughed a shard of itself into his fragile flesh to pin him down. That’s when it saw Clove holding the box. Inside it, it knew, lay the one thing that could quiet it.

  Its energy seeped away as Noah recited the prayer. It remembered the general—the man who had cursed it, and his deranged sorcerer. It remembered the man they called the Son of God. Religion hung on that cross and religion had showed it no mercy on the killing tree.