Gallows at Twilight

by William Hussey

  ‘I offer you the power of the demon world!’ the Master called. ‘The full, unfettered majesty of demonic magic at your command! Imagine it—not just one demon to serve you, but thousands!’

  ‘How is this possible?’ Baba Balescu cried, a dark joy dancing in her eyes.

  ‘Tell us, Master!’ Simeon pleaded. His cry was taken up by the horde.

  The figure on the arch held up his hand for silence.

  ‘As some of you may know, last year my coven and I attempted to open a doorway into the demon dimension. We were thwarted by a boy conjuror—the child Jacob Harker.’

  ‘Forgive me, Master,’ Simeon interrupted, ‘but how could a mere child stand against you?’

  ‘He was helped by a powerful organization. The Elders of Hobarron. It is true that the boy possessed some magical skill of his own, but he used the element of surprise to his advantage. Suffice to say that he managed to destroy the Door and prevent the Demontide.’

  ‘Remarkable.’

  An elderly man with sun-baked olive skin shuffled through the crowd. This ancient, white-bearded witch leaned heavily upon a staff inscribed with classical Greek letters. A feeble looking cat with a scorpion tail slumped at his feet.

  ‘This child defeated the most powerful coven master in the world. He destroyed the great Door and flung demon-kind back into its prison. And he did all this with the element of surprise?’ The old man shook his wrinkled head. ‘I think not. There is a rumour running through the world of the dark creatures, Master Crowden. They say that this Jacob Harker is Josiah Hobarron born again. They say he is a practitioner of Oldcraft.’

  Most of the witches laughed at this, but not all …

  ‘That old superstition?’ the Master sneered. ‘Surely you do not believe such tales, my dear Adelphos.’

  ‘I believe what my eyes show me,’ Adelphos countered. ‘I see a man—or something like a man—who was bested in battle by a boy.’

  A younger man with the same shade of rich olive skin pressed forward.

  ‘Please, Master Crowden, do not listen to this old fool. He does not speak for the Athens Coven.’

  ‘No, I speak for myself,’ Adelphos agreed. ‘I believe Jacob Harker is what he claims to be, and that Marcus Crowden is no more. This creature—’ a gnarled finger jabbed at the figure on the arch, ‘—is something other. Why else does he hide his eyes?’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Adelphos,’ the young man pleaded.

  ‘I will not. I believe … ’ The witch took a moment to gather his courage. ‘Hear me, brethren witches, I believe this boy conjuror works his magic without demons!’

  ‘Blasphemy!’

  ‘I believe he is an agent of Oldcraft!’

  ‘Heresy!’

  ‘I believe this with all my soul. I believe it so much that I cast away my own demon!’

  The old man stepped away from his cat. He held out his hand and muttered a few words. Bolts of fire crackled from his fingertips and shot out towards the demon. Before the magic could hit, the nightmare box made its move. With its doors still wide open, it plummeted down into the bowl of the stadium. Adelphos Mitro looked up into the descending jaws and tried to cry out. The cabinet slammed to earth and swallowed both the witch and his scream.

  The box shuddered, as if digesting tough old bones. Then it flipped upright, its door snapped shut, and it soared back into the air.

  ‘Is there anyone else who wishes to question me about Oldcraft … ?’ the Master asked. ‘I thought not.’

  With its witch now dead, the scorpion-tailed cat burst into flames and returned to the demon world.

  The young Greek witch threw himself onto the ground beneath the arch.

  ‘Please forgive us, Master. None of the Athens Coven would ever doubt your word.’

  ‘Get up out of the dirt,’ the Master called, ‘and listen to me, all of you. The Door which was destroyed cannot be reformed. That weak point between our world and the demon realm has been sealed off for ever. But hear this—it is within our power to create a second Door.’

  Awed silence.

  ‘That is why I have travelled the world to meet you. That is why I brought you here. To create this Door will require dark magic beyond any that can be summoned by one coven alone. And so we must pool our powers into a single spell— the creation of a Demon Doorway!’

  Excited chatter followed this pronouncement.

  ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Imagine what we could achieve with legions of demons at our command!’

  ‘Nothing could stand against us! No government, no army!’

  ‘The world would be ours to rule!’

  ‘We would be living gods!’

  ‘ENOUGH!’ the Master bellowed. Then, in a softer tone: ‘Be still, my brothers and sisters. Before we can even think about summoning the Door, there is something we must do.’

  The figure stepped off the arch and flew down into the stadium. Witches drew apart as the Master walked into the centre of the universal coven. They saw themselves reflected in his dark glasses, and some of them wondered about what old Adelphos had said—something other …

  The handsome face looked at each coven in turn.

  ‘Only one thing stands between us and true, demonic power. An old foe must now be vanquished. The time has come to destroy the Hobarron Elders once and for all.’

  A roar of approval rang around the stadium.

  ‘Are you ready to fight, my witches?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Are you ready for slaughter? For mayhem? For carnage?’

  ‘YES!’

  ‘Then follow me!’

  The Master rose into the air. His new disciples joined him, riding into the thunderhead and black reaches beyond.

  ‘KILL THEM ALL!’ the Master commanded. ‘LEAVE NONE ALIVE TO TELL THE TALE!’

  Chapter 11

  Fire from the Sky

  His patrol complete, Brett Enfield returned to the security hut at the gate of Hobarron Tower. Before entering, he flashed his torch along the road that led back to New Town. Something small, a field mouse perhaps, darted off the tarmac and into the cornfields. Brett patted the Doberman at his side.

  ‘Heel, Cerb.’

  Cerberus grumbled.

  ‘I know, I’m hungry, too,’ Brett sympathized. ‘Let’s get some chow.’

  He unhooked Cerberus’s leash and the dog bounded through the hut’s open door. Snuffling noises came from inside: the sound of an impatient animal seeking his supper. With thoughts of a hot meat pie filling his head, Brett was about to join his canine partner when something caught his eye.

  Shapes moving through the sky.

  Flying figures silhouetted against the face of the moon.

  Cerberus had forgotten his dinner. He slipped out of the hut and nudged his master’s leg. Brett looked down into a pair of moist brown eyes. It was the whimper at the back of the dog’s throat that frightened him more than anything else. Brett had never seen Cerberus scared before.

  Sirens cut the air. Amber alert lights flashed around the perimeter fence and swept across the face of Hobarron Tower.

  Before Brett could catch his breath, a young Japanese girl dressed in jeans and a denim jacket landed in front of him. In other circumstances, Brett would have appreciated her beautiful, flawless skin and the lustrous black hair that fell down her back. Instead, all he could do was stare at the horrible scarred flesh of her throat. His thoughts flew back to all those checks he had performed since coming to work at the Institute. Dr Holmwood had always instructed him to pay careful attention to visitors’ necks.

  The girl began to murmur under her breath. She held out her hand as if in greeting. Cerberus growled.

  ‘Bad dog,’ the girl said. ‘You will play with my pet now. Come, Mr Sickert.’

  Eyes burned red in the hedgerow. Brett watched, dumbstruck, as a creature the shape of a rabbit but the size of a fox padded out onto the road. A bloody stump occupied the place where the rabbit’s right ear should be. To
rn and ragged, much of the left ear also appeared to have been ripped from its head. Anyone might think that the poor animal had been attacked, but that was not the case. The remnants of an ear rolled around inside the rabbit’s mouth: the thing was eating itself alive.

  Those red eyes fixed on Cerberus. Mr Sickert spat the flesh from his mouth and licked his blood-splattered lips with a thin, lizard-like tongue. Then, using his powerful hind legs, the thing launched itself at the dog. With one lethal bite it tore the throat out of the Doberman. Cerberus dropped twitching to the ground. A gush of hot blood pumped out of the dog’s throat and Mr Sickert planted his lips over the wound and drank deeply.

  ‘What a clever bunny,’ the girl grinned.

  Brett fumbled for the weapon on his belt. His sweating hands made his movements clumsy.

  The girl made a gun of her fingers and pointed at the guard.

  ‘No … ’ Brett pleaded.

  ‘Bang!’

  The hex struck Brett and spun him round. He staggered away from the gate, hand clasped over the wound at his stomach. He felt the spill of blood beat against his palm and froth through his fingers. He managed eight short steps before his legs gave way and he hit the road.

  Through dimming eyes, Brett Enfield—security guard and friend of Jacob Harker—watched the army of witches descend. Bolts of magic flew from a hundred hands and shattered the glass face of the tower. Chunks of masonry rained down from the roof. The ground beneath Brett trembled and he saw gigantic cracks snake along the tower walls. People appeared at the broken windows, framed by fire, waving and screaming. Their cries for help were answered with a barrage of dark magic.

  Brett’s blood eased to a trickle. Though he knew that the night was warm, he shivered. He no longer counted the time in minutes and seconds, but by the slow, dull thud of his heart. At last, Brett closed his eyes against death and destruction, witches and demons. His thoughts turned to his wife and his little boy. Their kind, loving faces stayed with him as he journeyed into the darkness.

  ‘Rachel, get away from him.’

  A faint blue flame ignited in Jake’s hand.

  ‘He won’t hurt me,’ Rachel said. ‘He could never—’

  Another scream from Simon cut her short. He was changing. With his gaze still rooted on the smoky trident, Simon’s pupils sharpened into slits.

  ‘The symbol—we need to get rid of it,’ Jake said.

  He turned to the Oracle.

  The tripod chair was empty. The serpent and the child had vanished. Jake tore the shirt from his back and ran across the pit. Standing astride the crevice, he wafted his shirt through the smoke, trying desperately to disperse the trident.

  Meanwhile, Simon’s transformation quickened. His back hunched and his shoulders arched over his head. His bones crackled and reconfigured into new positions. Skin stretched, toes lengthened, fingernails thickened and sharpened into claws. Rachel held the changing face in her hands.

  ‘I’m here, Simon. Breathe.’

  Simon’s nose wrinkled. With a warm, wet crack the bone snapped. Nose and mouth pushed out from his face to form a wolfish muzzle. The scar that ran down his upper lip split apart and pulled back over a set of ragged and still-growing teeth. Tears streamed from the boy’s ferocious green eyes.

  ‘G-go! Get out!’

  ‘But you’ll be all right,’ Rachel gasped. ‘You won’t hurt me. You could never…’

  Simon’s T-shirt tore along the seams. His muscles strained and his spine rippled as dark hair sprouted from his skin. A cry, dripping with both horror and hunger, tore its way out of his throat: ‘Rrrruuuunnnn! ’

  But Rachel did not have time to run. The transformation had gone too far. Unable to control himself, Simon lashed out. His clawed hand struck Rachel’s face and sent her flying across the pit. Jake turned in time to see a fine spray of blood shoot into the air. Helpless, he watched as Rachel’s head smacked against the hard stone wall of the well and her body crumpled to the ground.

  An inhuman face turned to Jake. Something like a smile played around the beast’s jaws. Then its eyes switched back to Rachel, unconscious on the ground. An easy kill. The creature tensed and sprang from the steps.

  Jake felt the magic flare in his heart and rage through his body. No need to search among dead memories and emotions—he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. He held out his hand …

  The creature was still in midair when the stream of blue light lanced against its flank. It yelped and tumbled sideways, missing Rachel by inches. Jake felt the vibrations as the half-demon hit the ground. Magical energy fizzled and died in his fist. He rushed to Rachel’s side. His heart sang— she was breathing. Brushing the hair back from her face, he saw three shallow cuts made by the creature’s claws. A sob rattled in Jake’s chest as he kissed the unscarred side of Rachel’s face. Then he looked over to where the beast lay sprawled unconscious, and his eyes narrowed.

  Jake stood up. Blue light—darker this time—crackled once more in his hand …

  ‘JAKE! Are you down there?’

  The magic vanished. Jake blinked, as if coming out of a dream.

  ‘Brag? Is that you?’

  The troll’s head craned over the pit.

  ‘Your dad sent me to find you!’ Brag shouted. ‘Something’s happened. Something bad.’

  By the time they had lifted him out of the pit, Simon had changed back to his human form. Jake’s magical blast had burned the flesh around his ribs, but he was otherwise unharmed. Both he and Rachel were still unconscious and so had to be carried back to the Grimoire Club. With Simon slung over his shoulder, Brag held the door open for Jake.

  The club seemed unnaturally quiet. Usually there was laughter, the babble of conversation, even the odd scream echoing down the corridors.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘In the bar watching the TV,’ Brag grunted, kicking the door shut.

  ‘All of them? What’s going on?’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself soon enough.’

  With Rachel in his arms, Jake hurried along the hall. Her soft breath sighed against his neck and he felt the prickle of tears. If he had lost her …

  ‘Found ’em!’ Brag bellowed.

  Pandora opened the apartment door. Her gaze passed from Simon to Jake before coming to rest on Rachel’s wounded face. Concern flashed in those intelligent eyes.

  ‘He changed?’

  Jake nodded, and Pandora lifted Rachel out of his arms.

  ‘We’ll have to talk about this later,’ she said. ‘Your father’s waiting.’

  Jake found his dad hobbling back and forth across the lounge. Adam’s eyes darted between the television and the phone. He gnawed at a hangnail and ran fingers through his thin grey hair. Jake’s breath caught in his chest—was this old man really his father?

  Adam caught sight of Jake and a mixture of relief and anger muddled his features. Brag and Pandora carried Simon and Rachel into the lounge and laid them on the sofa.

  ‘What’s happened? Where have you been?’ Adam demanded. He shuffled over to his son and caught Jake in a rough hug. ‘Are you all right?’

  Jake explained what had happened in a few short sentences. The only thing he kept back was his reason for visiting the Oracle. If he spoke about the cure then he would have to break his promise to Pandora.

  ‘Prophecies,’ Adam muttered. ‘Tonight they’re coming true. Remember what Simon told us during his hypnosis? “Dark powers are gathering, drawn together by the Demon Father.” Now we know the meaning of those words. He has assembled a universal coven.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A brotherhood of witches drawn from across the globe. I believe that’s what the symbol meant. After he had visited them, the coven would display his trident as a mark of allegiance. Tonight this universal coven had their first meeting.’

  Adam gestured towards the TV. It showed a grainy picture of a huge cloud gathered over Wembley Stadium.

  ‘That was where they received their fir
st orders.’

  Jake’s mouth ran dry.

  ‘What orders?’

  Adam switched to another news channel.

  ‘Orders to kill.’

  Flashing blue lights. Ambulance sirens. A reporter standing in front of a police cordon, her voice jittery with excitement and horror. Paramedics raced through mountains of rubble, the dead and dying in their arms. Great plumes of fire billowed against the night sky. And there, in the background of the shot, an inferno raging in the shattered heart of Hobarron Tower. It was like a vision of hell.

  Rachel stirred. She glanced between frightened faces before focusing on the TV.

  ‘My dad … ’

  The reporter handed back to the studio. The anchorman shuffled his papers.

  ‘Horrific scenes of what is believed to have been a terrorist assault on the headquarters of the Hobarron Institute. Staggering news is reaching us that another site has also been attacked. The birthplace of Dr Gordon Holmwood has been devastated by a separate but equally lethal onslaught. The little village of Hobarron’s Hollow … ’

  Pictures flashed onscreen: burning cottages, the old church on the hillside smashed to rubble, Holmwood Manor ablaze.

  Jake went to the phone.

  ‘Eddie,’ he croaked.

  Adam took the receiver from his hand.

  ‘I can’t get through to anyone. Not Dr Holmwood nor Malcolm Saxby.’ His gaze flitted to a distraught Rachel. ‘Mildred Rice isn’t picking up either. None of the Elders are.’

  The anchorman was back onscreen.

  ‘We pass now to Downing Street where the Prime Minister is due to make a statement.’

  The picture flipped to show that famous front door. A podium had been set up outside Number 10 and the Prime Minister had taken her place behind it. She looked tired but very serious. Miss Cynthia Croft stared directly into the camera while flash bulbs went off all around her. Perhaps frightened by the late-night hubbub, Miss Croft’s cat, Chequers, mewled at her feet.