Drake

by Peter McLean

  “Did it?” I asked her. “Why’s that then?”

  “Well,” she said, sipping her gin and tonic, “my superiors have been trying to keep an eye on that for a long time now, as I’m sure you’ll understand, but… anyway that’s way above my pay grade, as you might say. I’m more concerned about you, Don, and about the Furies. I’m sort of, well, assigned to them I suppose. It’s my job to keep them under control and away from innocent people. Ultimately, I’m here to destroy them. Vengeance belongs to Heaven, after all, not to them. But now I know you’ve got the Burned Man, I’ve got a professional duty to keep you on the straight and narrow path. The wrong sort of person could do terrible things with the Burned Man in their possession, after all. I can’t have you turning into that sort of person, Don.”

  I never liked you, Ally had said to her, I remembered, and Trixie had said you’re not supposed to, or something like that. It sounded almost plausible. Almost. I supposed that spending however many years following Ally and her sisters around could cause anyone to slip a bit, even an angel. All the same I couldn’t help wondering whether she might have had some help somewhere along the way. The concept of a fallen angel was hardly new, and I suspected there might be some of them out there who had done a damn sight more than just slip. If one of those had been getting to her… well, wasn’t that a nasty thought?

  That, and something else was still bothering me.

  “What about that bloke though?” I said. “The rich guy Wormwood sent me after. He was dead when I got there, and I’m not buying natural causes.”

  “Oh dear me no, he was healthy as a horse,” Trixie said. “I killed him.”

  I stared at her. I mean, I had sort of wondered, but why on Earth would she? And now I knew what she was, it seemed even less likely. I wondered again about what sort of company she might be keeping. She had said it in such a straightforward, matter-of-fact sort of way, too.

  “You killed him?” I echoed, trying to keep my voice down. That sort of talk was a bit much even for the Rose and Crown. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

  “I told you, Don, I’m looking after you,” she said. She finished her gin and tonic and picked up her whisky chaser, and smiled at me over the rim of the glass. “I can’t have you going around killing people – it’s not good for your soul.”

  * * *

  “The ends always justify the means,” the Burned Man said. “That is, if you’re the type who feels the need to be justified at all. I don’t see the point, personally, but there you go. I know a lot of people seem to feel this inexplicable need to think they’re in the right, whatever that is.”

  I was in Davidson’s study, alone with the Burned Man. The professor was passed out on the sofa in the other room, an empty bottle of scotch cradled in his arms. The Burned Man had been teaching me for a little over a year now, and it had been a long time since Davidson had last been sober enough to attend one of its lessons. Not that it mattered. I still liked the old chap, don’t get me wrong, but he was getting harder and harder to talk to as he sank further into alcoholism. It was a shame, but in a funny sort of way the Burned Man itself was starting to replace him, to fill that father figure void in my life. Maybe that’s going too far, but it was certainly my mentor now. It had become increasingly obvious that the Burned Man had given Davidson up for dead, or as good as dead anyway. It seemed I was its new owner-in-waiting.

  There was a strict succession process, it had explained to me some time ago. Apparently it couldn’t be stolen, or sold, or passed on through any means other than mutual consent. I had no idea what would happen otherwise, but it was very clear on this point. Davidson had to give it to me as a gift, and I had to accept it. Whether the Burned Man itself got any say in this process wasn’t clear, but I had a suspicion that nothing much ever happened to it that it didn’t want to. It had long since become obvious to me that it absolutely ruled Davidson, heart and mind.

  “Doesn’t everyone need to think they’re doing the right thing?” I asked it.

  “No,” it said. “Trust me boy, no they don’t. I know you do, I know you that well by now, but there’s plenty out there that’re happy enough to do something just because they can, you understand me?”

  I nodded. I’d grown up on a tough estate and been to a pretty rough comprehensive before I escaped to university, and I was well enough acquainted with bullies and petty thugs to know exactly what it meant.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” I said. “I know what bullies are like.”

  “Right,” it said. “Now, take those little oiks you’re thinking of and imagine them with magic on their side. Imagine the local bully with a pet demon on a leash instead of his pitbull or Rottweiler or whatever sort of furry shark they go in for these days. You starting to get the picture yet?”

  I nodded slowly. It wasn’t a pretty thought, but then this wasn’t a pretty world. The Burned Man had taught me that much already.

  “Yeah,” I said again.

  “Right,” it said, nodding. “so if you’re not going to be one of them then you’ll be up against them, you understand me? And that means you’ll have to do some stuff. Stuff you might not be all that keen on at first, but it’ll need doing just the same. People like that, you don’t want them around you. You don’t want them around your friends or your family either, do you?”

  “Well no, of course not,” I said. “I don’t see why they would be, though.”

  It snorted. “You’re going to be a magician, yeah? A diabolist, at that. Scenes like that, well, they attract people like them. Anything a bit out of the ordinary attracts its own version of people like that, doesn’t matter what it is. Everything’s a pissing contest to these pricks, you understand?”

  I nodded slowly. I knew it was right. I remembered Jim telling me how a couple of the rowing team had started using steroids last term, and how they’d beaten one of the other lads black and blue when he threatened to grass them up to the coach. Same sort of thing, I supposed.

  “So what am I supposed to do to get rid of them?” I asked. “I have to sink to their level, is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, no, no,” the Burned Man shook its head in obvious irritation. “You’re thinking about this all the wrong way. Fuck levels, and who’s better than who, yeah? Just fuck it. It ain’t about being better, whatever that means. It’s about winning. It’s about coming out alive. You do what you’ve got to do, you understand me? Because trust me boy, when some cunt’s coming down on you with a pack of vorehounds you don’t stop to worry about whether it’s morally fucking OK to gut a few toads, yeah? You worry about keeping your head stuck on your shoulders. You beat that bastard off, then you do whatever you need to do to cook up something worse to send after him so he doesn’t ever do it again. Because next time, those vorehounds might be going to your mum’s house instead of yours. Are you starting to understand me yet?”

  I nodded slowly, wondering what on Earth a vorehound was. “So it’s dog eat dog,” I said.

  “Fucking right it is,” the Burned Man said. “You’re getting it, my boy, I do believe you’re finally getting it. Now you get in the kitchen and sort that fucking toad or you aren’t learning anything more from me.”

  I went into Davidson’s squalid kitchen and did what I was told. I summoned my first real, actual demon that night. It was only a sprite, and looking back on it, well, big fucking deal, but right then it was the absolute pinnacle of my magical career. The Burned Man had beamed at me with an almost fatherly pride as I teased the tiny, spiteful little faerie out of the ether and into my summoning circle. I watched it pace the boundaries of the salt circle with my heart full of wonder.

  “What can it do?” I asked.

  “Fuck all,” the Burned Man said. It looked at the expression on my face and hooted with laughter. “This is just an exercise, lad. Sprites are virtually useless, but that’s not the point is it? The point is it’s here, and it’s here because you told it to be. It’s here because you can make it be here. It
’s the same principles whatever you want to summon, it’s just a matter of scale from here on in. Scale, and ingredients, and the sheer fucking balls to do it. You remember the Four Powers of the Sphinx that I taught you?”

  I nodded. “To know, to will, to dare, and to keep silent,” I said.

  “Yup,” it said. “Well now you know, and you’ve proved you’ve got the Will. Keeping silent’s fucking optional at this point, to be honest. All the rest comes down to dare.”

  * * *

  “And you dared,” Trixie said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I did,” I said. “I dared for England, and look where that got me. Excuse me a minute, I’m going to the bog.”

  I got up and wandered across the pub to the gents. I was feeling a tad unsteady on my feet, but it must have been about nine o’clock by then and I wasn’t the only one so I didn’t feel the need to apologize to anyone I might have bumped into on my way across the bar. That’s another thing about the Rose and Crown, it’s a serious drinkers’ pub.

  I let the toilet door swing shut behind me and stood at the urinal with my forehead resting comfortably against the cold tiled wall. I wasn’t quite sure what Trixie had made of my story so far but one thing was really beginning to strike me – she and the Burned Man seemed to be on the same wavelength about certain things. The Burned Man had always said you did whatever you had to do to achieve the goal, and Trixie was obviously of the same mind about that. I killed him. Just like that. I really wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I was just zipping up when the cubicle door banged open behind me.

  “Hello sweetie.”

  I lurched around just in time to see a flash of red hair and steel claws as Ally caught me by the throat and slammed me up against the wall. Her talons sank into the plaster either side of my neck, pinning me to the wall with my feet flailing helplessly a good six inches off the floor.

  “…the fuck?” I choked.

  “Oh don’t play that innocent game with me, you shit,” Ally snarled.

  She was a lot less pretty up close than I remembered. Her clawless left hand balled into a fist and smashed into my guts. I yelped, and she hit me again. My heels kicked against the wall behind me as she stuck a painful jab into my solar plexus.

  “Pack it in, you bitch,” I gasped.

  “That’s for Meg,” she snarled, and hit me again. “And that’s for Tess.”

  At least the Furies won’t kill you, I remembered the Burned Man telling me. They never do. I gagged as Ally hit me again, and prayed it was right.

  “Trixie’s… right… out there!” I gasped

  Ally nodded. “Yes,” she said. “She’s right out there, in this nasty little dive full of all your cheap criminal friends. Are you going to go crying to your pretty girlfriend to come and save you this time, sweetie? You want Mummy to come into the loo and look after you?”

  I spat bile on the floor and had to admit she had a point. I mean, I could, sure, and I had no doubt Trixie would kick her arse again if I did, but… shit. I mean shit, I just couldn’t, could I? A man has to have some pride, after all.

  “Fucking bitch,” I groaned.

  “Oh yeah, I’m the fucking bitch to end all fucking bitches,” Ally said. “That’s the whole point of me, sweetie.”

  Her knee cracked up and caught me square in the bollocks, and I blacked out for a moment. She let go of my neck and I hit the floor like a sack of meat. She kicked me in the ribs, and then the side of the head. That time I saw stars for real, and everything went dark.

  When I came round Alfie was bent over me with a wet towel in his hand and a concerned look on his flat-nosed boxer’s face.

  “You all right Don?” he asked me.

  “What?” I mumbled.

  “Your bird got worried about you and asked Ma to get me to come and check on you,” he said.

  “Shit, yeah… shit Alf, I must’ve slipped over. Banged me head, you know what I mean?”

  Alfie nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Enough beers with whisky chasers can make this floor slippery like that,” he said. “Come on, up with you then, you daft prick.”

  He hauled me up to my feet and I took a moment, leaning against the wall with one hand pressed to my crotch in a deeply undignified manner. “Jesus, I must’ve caught my balls on the radiator or something on the way down,” I muttered by way of explanation.

  “That’s a shame,” Alfie said, “what with a bird like that waiting for you and everything.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” I said, and forced a grin. “Nothing another beer won’t fix.”

  I let Alfie help me back out of the gents. I couldn’t help but blush when I got a round of applause from the lads at the bar. Trixie didn’t look any too pleased but at least she was still sitting at our table, waiting for me. I hobbled to the bar.

  “Same again, Duchess,” I said, to a further smattering of clapping and catcalls.

  I caught Shirl glancing over at Trixie for her consent before she nodded and took my money. Women, huh?

  “Go careful this time, duck,” Shirl said.

  I took the drinks back to our table.

  “Well?” Trixie demanded. “What was all that about? I was starting to think you’d passed out in there.”

  “Ally,” I said, and necked my whisky chaser straight down. “She jumped me in the bogs and kicked a few lumps out of me. I thought you were keeping her away from me?”

  Trixie frowned. “I thought so too,” she admitted. “She shouldn’t be able to get within a mile of you when I’m around.”

  “Well she got a lot closer to me than that just now,” I said, “and it bleedin’ hurt.”

  “I’m not at all happy about that,” Trixie said, as though that helped anything. “Why in the world didn’t you call me?”

  I blushed all over again. “It’s… it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, Trixie,” I said. “But, well, this is my local, you know? People know me here. And anyway, well…”

  I tailed off helplessly, and sighed.

  “You think you deserve it,” Trixie finished for me. “Don’t you?”

  I leaned my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands. “I do deserve it,” I said. “He was five fucking years old, Trixie.”

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  I looked up at her through a dull haze of booze and guilt. “You don’t.”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “It’s my job to know.”

  “That job,” I went on, lowering my voice until I was sure no one else could hear us. “Vincent and Danny, the ones who had Wellington Phoenix as their insurance. They had… they had a grandson. A little boy, Trixie. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t. He was five years old. I sent screamers. They… He…”

  I realized I was crying, and I couldn’t stop. Trixie gave me a moment then reached out and took my hands in hers, gently pulling them away from my face and holding them tight. I could feel the hot tears running down my cheeks.

  “I forgive you,” she said.

  I stared into her bright blue eyes through a haze of tears. I was drunk and sore, my balls ached and the side of my head felt like there was an egg growing out of it, but I suddenly felt better somehow. I don’t know, maybe it was just something she could do. I mean, I’m afraid I don’t know much more about angels than anyone else does. The Burned Man had touched on them briefly in its early teachings but according to it there supposedly hadn’t been one on Earth in a thousand years so it had never expected me to need to know much about them.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  They say confession’s good for the soul, but it seemed forgiveness was a hell of a lot better. What little was left of the Catholic in me could relate to that, anyway. She squeezed my hands and smiled.

  “Like I said before,” she said, “I’m looking out for you.”

  I coughed with embarrassment, and gently took my hands out of hers. She was looking out for me. She had killed that bloke so I didn’t have to, because she was looking out for
me. And she was talking about doing the same thing to Wellington Phoenix.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, still sniffling a bit. “Sorry, I shouldn’t… I mean, this is my fucking mess, Trixie. I don’t want… I don’t want it to be my fault, you know?”

  “Pardon? Sorry, Don, you’ve lost me.”

  “Your fall,” I said. “I don’t want that to be my fault too. OK, so you’ve just slipped a bit, I get that, really I do, but… but now you’re killing people Trixie. For my benefit, at that. That… that can’t be doing you any good, can it?”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “Bless you for thinking of me, but it’s all right. I’m here to do a thing, and I will do it. Other things that may need doing along the way don’t matter, so long as the overall objective is met. I have to destroy the Furies. The next step towards that is to get them away from you, and if that means I have to make you be a good boy, then so be it. I’m a soldier, Don, and the Furies are my war. Nothing else matters.”

  The ends always justify the means, the Burned Man had said. I couldn’t help thinking that an “ends justify the means” policy might lead to some pretty questionable means, but was that really my problem? After all, if I couldn’t follow the Burned Man’s plan then I had no hope of standing up to Phoenix on my own. Why not just let her take care of it for me? Do I want to be responsible for the fall of an angel? I didn’t, but then I didn’t want to be dead either, and that was looking like it was pretty much the only other option right then.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “But… well, you’ve already killed two of them, haven’t you?”

  “Oh good grief, no,” Trixie said. “If it was that easy I’d have finished this task and gone home three thousand years ago. I’m afraid Megaera and Tisiphone aren’t dead, I’ve just kicked them out of this plane of existence for a little while. As soon as they’ve had a chance to lick their wounds and spin themselves some new bodies they’ll be back. We have danced this dance many times before.”