by N. J. Mercer
“You each possess a degree of psychic ability; it is present in every being, strong in a few, weak in most. Tonight, we aim to combine and focus this inherent ability so that it may become a more potent force, one that may activate the wormhole and summon Orbok. My superior ability will magnify and direct the efforts of your many wills until the Demon King hears the call, recognises my psychic voice amongst the many, and comes to our aid. Orbok will seed the three kings, and when the three kings are in power, the Disciples of Disorder will walk on Earth freely and openly once more!”
Edward Devilliers finished his address in a wild crescendo that emboldened his Disciples; he then switched to the language of Disorder and burst into recitation from the malign book in front of him. He screamed out sacred words that echoed throughout the chamber, words that were foul and blasphemous to the uninitiated. The gathered Disciples started their own delivery of twisted verse from memory, words of power that had been learned and rehearsed for this very night. They wailed and shouted from behind tight leather masks, producing a cacophony of noise from the galleries above and the ground level. Strange words barely capable of being produced by the human larynx rose up in unison. The noise and the scenes that were playing themselves out would have been enough to drive the uninitiated to insanity. And at their very heart, standing at his lectern, louder than the rest, was Edward Devilliers, waving his arms like a demented conductor before the hellish choir, urging on the chanters.
A frenzied rocking motion gripped sections of the gathered miscreants like an infectious disease passing between them. Naked bodies moved back and forth, some holding their arms aloft in an ecstasy of corruption, some human, others not, an undulating sea of flesh, limbs and hanging organs. With the chants of his followers in full flow, Edward Devilliers became quieter. His eyes closed in concentration, and he started to feed off the psychic energy generated by the many minds around him. With his iron will and superhuman psychic ability he gathered all this new energy, moved it into the purple portal, and enhanced it with the potential of his own mind. The semi-solid purple matter of the portal glowed more strongly, and as the Disciples chanted, it slowly started to rotate until a vortex formed at its centre. Its previously lazy, ebbing vibration increased in both volume and frequency – the activation of the wormhole had begun.
**
While the madness proceeded underground, more sedate preparations were taking place in the house itself.
“Lisa, are you awake? We have someone special coming to visit tonight; your father got you these dresses especially.”
“Oh, Mum! It’s so late now; can’t I just go back to sleep?”
Elizabeth Devilliers stood in her youngest foster child’s bedroom. Lisa had been asleep; after spending the day cycling, using the Internet and playing with her sisters, she was very tired. It was the school holidays and up until now the evening had been like any other. She could not remember the last time her mother had intruded so late.
“Please, honey, you’ll love the dress, and Dad is relying on us tonight; he wants to introduce his family to his friend. I have a special drink ready too; c’mon, it’ll be fun.”
“Are Rachel and Meredith getting up too?”
“Well, I’ve spoken to Meredith and she’s up. She said she was too old to go to bed at ten o’clock anyway. I haven’t spoken to Rachel yet; I’m sure she’ll be awake too. Look! Surprise!”
Elizabeth held out a long dress before her; it was a shapeless lace and silk item.
“What is that!?” asked Lisa grimacing. “Is that, like, old-fashioned or something?”
“It’s pretty, you’ll look like a little princess in it. Give it a try; there’s one for Meredith and Rachel too.”
Lisa reluctantly heaved herself out of the bed, walked over to Elizabeth Devilliers and took the dress from her.
“Give it a try, and come down to the kitchen, pet; I’ll go and see Rachel.”
Rachel was sitting up in her bed, anxious and unable to get to sleep. This was the night Martin had warned her about. The day itself had been quite uneventful, and she had found herself wondering whether Martin had gone mad, but by the evening, just before she went to bed, her suspicions were aroused by what she had seen from the bedroom window. In one of the adjoining fields, not far from the perimeter wall of the house, cars were parking and people were milling around. Now that it was dark, she could no longer see the commotion. Occasionally, a pair of distant headlights crossing the field would become apparent. She knew her foster father was an important man who entertained visitors at all hours; tonight, there seemed to be so much more activity than usual. The field had become a car park, and she did not have a clue why. Rachel checked her bedside clock, it was approaching eleven. She had retired to her bedroom at around 9:45 p.m. It was not particularly late; her foster parents were always strict about bedtimes, and this was earlier than what was expected of her. They were not strict about very much; bedtimes and not wandering out of the grounds were two things they never compromised on.
Rachel was feeling edgy; the strange sounds like fireworks from the previous night, the activity in the field and Martin’s warning were all getting to her. She was trying to relax by reading a book when a knock at her bedroom door caused her heart to skip a beat.
“Come in,” she invited, hesitantly.
“Hi, love.”
“Oh, hi, Mum.”
“Rachel, there’s someone your dad and I want you to meet tonight; it’s a business friend.”
Rachel looked confused. Slowly, her worst fears were being confirmed. There was something different about tonight after all.
“It’s a bit late isn’t it, Mum?” she suggested.
“Well, we weren’t entirely expecting him,” Elizabeth Devilliers lied, “it’s really important to your dad. I’m not too fussed myself, it would mean a lot to him though if you could just come down. This friend is very keen to meet the family.”
“Can’t I just meet him tomorrow?” Rachel ventured, sensing she was on a losing ticket.
“He’s not here tomorrow; c’mon, it won’t take long. Your sisters are both getting ready to come down. C’mon, Rach, please.”
There was a determination in her foster mother’s voice, and at the same time, she was trying to be rational and persuasive. Rachel got the sense that even if Elizabeth had to drag her down tonight, she would be prepared to do so, no matter how uncharacteristic it was of her. To object too strongly now would only raise suspicion.
“Okay,” she nodded submissively. It was starting to look as though Martin had been right; she had really not wanted to believe the things he had told her.
“Here, you’re all to wear these dresses before you come down. Look at that, lovely isn’t it?” said Elizabeth Devilliers, holding up another one of the silk and lace garments. To Rachel, the dress was hideous. With her heart racing nervously and her hands trembling, she slipped out of bed, walked over to the door and took it from her foster mother. She smiled at Elizabeth as if to let her know everything was fine. Elizabeth smiled back and walked out of the room. Rachel knew she had to do something to get away; first, she would have to pull herself together and start thinking clearly again. I mustn’t let fear get to me.
**
Elizabeth walked from Rachel’s bedroom, down the grand staircase and into the large hallway. From here she proceeded along a wood-panelled corridor into the kitchen. She removed three glasses of pearly white homemade lemonade from the fridge (a recipe she knew the girls loved) and placed the drinks in a line on the heavy pine dining table. From a pocket in her skirt, she produced a tiny crystal bottle decorated with gold filigree; it had a rubber-ended pipette as its lid. She put two drops of clear fluid from the vessel into each glass. The fluid had been prepared with great care by the Pharmacist, a precise mixture designed generations ago specifically for a night such as this. As she stealthily put the bottle back into her skirt, a hand on her shoulder made her start. She spun around to see the tall, dark figure of Edwar
d Devilliers standing beside her, still clad in leather. She smiled with relief at the sight of her husband. “Edward?” she whispered, wondering what he was doing here in the house so soon.
“Elizabeth, my dear, there is someone you must meet before we proceed any further with the evening.”
“The girls will be down any minute now.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll send a Disciple up to look after them; you must come to the subterranean levels with me.”
“What is it, Edward?” she asked; her husband did not reply and was already making his way to the secret complex that lay beneath the old house. Elizabeth Devilliers put the drinks carefully back into the fridge and followed him to the door in the old utility room.
Chapter 24
Sascha watched Boyd from the corner of his eye as he paced impatiently up and down the motorhome. His new companion had made no secret of the fact that he considered himself to be a man of action, and all this waiting was evidently getting to him. Earlier on they had been studying maps of the region together, and following this, Boyd had given Sascha an impromptu tutorial on the basics of firing handguns. Sascha hadn’t asked for the lesson; at the same time, he would never turn down the chance to learn something new. He assumed Boyd had taught him because it was a way of constructively using their time. Boyd was restless; Sascha, on the other hand, was unconcerned about hanging around because it gave him the time to work on his gadgets. He tried to ignore his tense companion and focused instead on the work before him, eager to complete this particular device before they confronted the Disciples. Keeping his head down, he tinkered away on the unproven circuits embedded within a shiny chrome item the size and shape of a large cigar. The purpose of this particular creation was to alter the wavelength of psychic energy and therefore its physical properties. He had wanted to try it out earlier, unfortunately, it was not quite complete, and the opportunity for a convenient trial had not presented itself.
Since the discovery of Johnny’s psychic ability, Sascha had made it his goal to reproduce through technology what his friend could do with his mind. Not for an instant did he believe that Johnny’s skill, and indeed any psychic capability, was magic; it was his conviction that psychic potential was actually a poorly understood physical property of the universe – one he was gradually figuring out. It was he who first postulated the existence of Presarium, an idea that was confirmed later when they were introduced to Baccharus and the Council of Seven.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” said Boyd, half to himself, half to Sascha. “It’s almost eleven. Where is he!?”
Sascha had lost count of the number of occasions Boyd had asked that question and now simply refused to respond to it. He had been acquainted with Johnny far longer than the other man and did not doubt that his friend would return at an appropriate time. He concentrated harder on the shiny gadget in front of him, mentally blocking out all complaints as he used the mini screwdriver.
“How long are we supposed to wait?” Boyd ranted on, and then he sat at the dining table opposite to Sascha, who had intentionally not said a word for the past twenty minutes.
“What do you reckon we should do?” Boyd asked directly.
Knowing he could ignore his companion no longer, Sascha took a deep breath, patiently put down his mini-screwdriver, took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair.
“Boyd, I have said this before, and I will say it again: we wait until midnight, just like Johnny asked us to. Personally, I think he will be here before then.”
“It’s possible that he may not turn up at all, right? He said so himself, ‘If I don’t turn up, I will send Baccharus to report back and you’re on your own!’ That’s what he said. Right?”
“Well, yes, in a roundabout way.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Yes, it bothers me. Look, it is not yet midnight nor has Baccharus returned to bring us news of any problems. I have decided to use the time to prepare for a possible raid on the house in question because, like Johnny said, it may only be the two of us going in; I suggest you do the same.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Boyd said. “I’m prepared all right!” He opened the front of his jacket to reveal the larger of his two pistols holstered under an arm.
“You see that, sonny! That’s prepared!” While his jacket was open, he fumbled inside for a cigarette packet and lit a Marlboro.
“What’s that you got there? Some sort of vibrator?” he asked, looking at the cigar-shaped device and chuckling.
“It creates an electromagnetic signal that disrupts psychic energy by altering its wavelength. You’re not psychic, I’m not psychic; if we have to go in without Johnny or Baccharus this may save our arses, so to speak.”
“Oh, okay, very good,” said Boyd with feigned interest.
Sascha sat still and looked at his agitated companion who inhaled impatiently on the cigarette as his eyes darted around the motorhome. Their team was at half strength; Sascha knew this, and it was worrying for him too. When he was certain there were no more questions he leant forwards, replaced his glasses and set to work on the Disruptor device again.
A few minutes later, Boyd stood up and leaned over to look out of the motorhome’s window. Sascha, still sitting, watched him. There was a light drizzle outside; the silvery clouds were not continuous and slivers of moonlight managed to illuminate the rural landscape ever so slightly.
“It’s almost a full moon, we’ll have to keep our heads low,” muttered Boyd before sitting down again to recheck his weapons – something else that was bothering Sascha, he had lost count of the number of times Boyd had done this. Sascha returned to his device. He was about to complete a critical piece of wiring when his friend suddenly got up, and in the process of doing so, jogged the table, interrupting the delicate work. Boyd spoke before Sascha could raise any objection.
“I can’t just sit here any more; I’m gonna go and check things out on my motorbike.” He took a final drag on his cigarette and threw it out of the narrow gap in the window.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sascha asked with genuine concern in his voice, suddenly distracted from his work by the impulsive suggestion.
“Look, we know there’s at least one kid in trouble in that house, probably more. The Disciples have big plans going down tonight, with demons and the like included. I hate to say it, but Johnny and Baccharus may be compromised; we can’t just sit here fucking around. I’m sorry, mate, I have been in enough combat situations to know that reconnaissance is what it’s all about so I’m going to get on my bike and gather some intelligence. We need to get an idea of the terrain, observe any activity in the grounds, check weather conditions, all that kind of thing. As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m just a random biker riding by, and before you know it, I’ll be back. I’m leaving most of my stuff here. I mustn’t carry too much; a gun and my holy book are all I need.”
Sascha listened and worried. The potential for blowing their cover was very real; he fully trusted Boyd’s abilities, but against a psychic enemy it was only Johnny who could be totally relied upon.
“Just hang on, Boyd; give it another half hour, will you?”
Boyd looked at Sascha; on seeing his concern he agreed to wait. Sascha fiddled distractedly with his device, anxious about what Boyd, who was pacing again like a caged animal, would do. The big man cast fleeting glances at his wristwatch as he smoked yet another cigarette. Every few minutes Sascha would say something like, “Oh, Johnny will be here soon…” to try to keep the other man from going off on his own. It carried on like this for another ten minutes before Boyd decided he could wait no longer.
“Sod this, Sascha, I’m going! I won’t be long; thirty minutes max. I will be back with some useful data, you’ll see. Here, take this, with one of these at your side you’re never alone.” He placed his high-calibre revolver hard on the table in front of Sascha, who stood up suddenly and started to stutter; before he could complete his words, Boyd had walked out of
the motorhome. Sascha followed as quickly as he could, and by the time he reached the doorway, Boyd was already on his bike with his helmet on.
“Boyd!” called Sascha as the motorbike engine simultaneously fired up, drowning out his cry. He could only watch as his companion rode across the petrol station forecourt, onto the road and then away. Unsure what to do, he cast a few suspicious glances into the night, then went back inside, ensuring the motorhome’s door was firmly shut behind him. He returned to his device, worked on it for about five minutes before accepting that he was too concerned about the safety of his friends, and most of all himself, to concentrate on it any more. He felt totally abandoned; as the only one in the motorhome, he suspected that he was also the most exposed target. Determined to wait for Johnny and hoping that Boyd would return sooner rather than later, he made a coffee. The only good news it seemed was that his device was almost complete.
Chapter 25
Johnny gulped the strange brew. Baccharus watched nervously. “Be careful, Johnny,” urged the familiar. The taste was not unpleasant decided Johnny; he put the mug down after drinking only a third of the warm liquid. He wasn’t particularly thirsty, and much to his relief, the old woman did not insist that he finish the drink. Theodora, who was sitting on the ground in front of him, started to rhythmically tip her head from left to right and chant quietly. He watched her slow movements closely; she seemed oblivious to everything around her.
Johnny waited expectantly for something to happen, and a few minutes later he felt the world around him, as perceived through the five senses, gradually shutting down; it was a most disconcerting experience. His sight slowly faded while sounds became distant and increasingly muffled, he just about managed to hear the old woman say something to him before his ears gave up altogether, it sounded like: “Go to the circle” or possibly, “Go through the circle”. All sensation in his body gradually diminished to the point that he was no longer even aware of the ground beneath him. There were positive aspects to this particular sensory deprivation, the ache in his neck that he had felt since their last battle and the general feeling of physical malaise from the exertions of this assignment were no longer present.
