‘I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find you,’ he said.
‘You could have phoned.’
‘It’s late, Mrs Steadman. I didn’t want to wake you. And I need to practise my astral projection.’
She smiled. ‘You seem to be doing just fine.’
‘It’s taken me a long time to find you.’
‘Why Mr Nightingale, you know that time has no meaning here. And where are you exactly? Still in America?’
‘New York,’ said Nightingale.
‘And you have a problem?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘I need a sympathetic priest. Someone who can bless some equipment for me.’ He sat down next to her. The fog had thickened again. He could see her clearly, and the bench, but nothing else. Even the ground was hidden in the mist now, though he could just about see the tops of his Hush Puppies.
‘What have you got yourself into this time, Mr Nightingale?’
‘It’s complicated, Mrs Steadman.’
‘It always is, with you,’ she said. She patted him gently on the knee. ‘You’re working for Joshua Wainwright, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’m doing him a favour or two, yes. I have to. He protects me.’
‘Does he? Or does he put you in danger?’ She patted his knee again. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t think he has your best interests at heart.’
‘He’s all I have at the moment,’ said Nightingale.
She forced a smile. ‘So it’s a priest you want?’
‘A priest who won’t ask too many questions.’
Her smile widened. ‘If priests asked too many questions, they wouldn’t stay priests for long. You say New York, so you mean Manhattan?’
‘Yes. The island.’
‘I’d say the best person would be Father MacDowell. He’s in Brooklyn, but that’s easy enough to get to. His church is St Mary Of The Angels.’
‘Can you talk to him?’
‘Not on the astral plane, I’m afraid. But I can phone him first thing in the morning to let him know you’re coming.’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’
‘Give him my best.’
There was a loud knocking, off to their left, somewhere in the fog. He ignored it but it got louder.
Mrs Steadman smiled. ‘There’s someone at your door,’ she said.
‘I’m not expecting visitors.’
‘They sound insistent,’ she said.
‘I’d better go, then,’ said Nightingale.
‘I think that would probably best,’ she said. ‘Do be careful.’
‘I will be.’
‘I’m serious, Mr Nightingale. Take care.’
Nightingale woke up. He was lying on his back, his fingers interlinked over his chest. The banging was coming from the main door. He rolled off the sofa and padded in his bare feet through the main office to the reception area. It was Cheryl Perez wearing a long coat. He looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. He looked at her through the glass door. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We need to talk.’
‘I was asleep.’
She grinned. ‘I can see that,’ she said. She held up a bottle of wine. ‘I come bearing gifts.’
He realised he was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and a t-shirt. He unlocked the door and held it open. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll get changed,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ she said.
He had just started to turn when something hard smacked into the back of his head and everything went black.
CHAPTER 48
Nightingale came awake slowly, blinking and groaning. He tried to lift his hands but they were bound behind his back. He was sitting on a chair in the centre of the main office area. Perez was squatting down to his right, putting the finishes to a chalk pentagram, a five-pointed star surrounded by two concentric circles. It was different to magic circles he’d drawn in the past, with dozens of small symbols in the space between the two circles.
‘Cheryl,’ he said, his voice little more than a croak. She ignored him and continued drawing. Nightingale looked to his left. There was a black candle in a silver candlestick, There was another to his right. ‘You don’t know what you’re messing with.’
She twisted her head around to look at him. ‘Keep quiet or I’ll gag you. Or hit you with the bottle again.’ She had taken off her coat and was wearing a loose black shirt over black trousers. The top buttons of her shirt were open revealing a good helping of cleavage. She stood up. She was holding a piece of paper in her left hand. Nightingale caught a glimpse of a pentagram before she disappeared behind him.
‘This isn’t Eric asking you to do this. You have to know that.’
She appeared on his right side, drawing part of the five-pointed star within the circle.
‘How would Eric know how to construct a pentagram? How would he know about the black candles? Did he give you a sigil, Cheryl? His calling card?’
She stood up and glared down at him. ‘You need to shut up,’ she said. ‘He said you’d try to stop me. He said you’d lie to me.’
‘Who said?’
‘Eric.’
‘How did you talk to him?’
‘The Ouija board.’
‘On you own?’
She nodded. ‘He came straight to me. It’s him, it’s definitely him.’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘No it’s not. I guarantee it’s not.’
‘You don’t know him. You don’t know Eric. He wants to come back to me.’
‘Through me? Is that what Eric told you? Because it’s bollocks, Cheryl. It’s not Eric and if you do this, if you go through with it, then you’ll die.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘He said you’d say that it was dangerous. He said that you’d lie.’
‘Eric said that?’
She nodded. ‘He said I should ignore everything you say.’ Her gaze softened. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so wound up. He just wants to borrow your body for a while so that he can talk to me properly. When he’s finished, he’ll move on.’
‘That’s what he said, is it?’
‘He doesn’t want to hurt you. It would be so much easier if you do it willingly.’
‘Tell me what he said. Exactly.’
She took a step closer to him. ‘He said the Ouija board wasn’t a good way of talking. It takes too much energy, he said. It drains him. The best way of contacting him is through a circle like this. And a body that he can talk through.’
‘Me? He asked for me?’
‘He said he could talk to me through you. You won’t be harmed, Jack. He just wants to spend some time with me. He wants to be able to touch me, to smell me, to feel me. He can’t do that through the Ouija board.’
‘And he told you to take off your crucifix?’
‘He said jewellery gets in the way.’
‘It’s not the jewellery he doesn’t like. It’s the cross. He’s a devil, Cheryl. The cross would block him.’
‘You’re wrong, Jack. I was wearing the crucifix when we used the Ouija board.’
‘This is different. This is summoning him. He gave you a sigil, didn’t he?’
‘A sigil?’
‘A sign. We talked about sigils, remember? He would have got you to write it in blood. Your blood.’ He gestured with his chin at the Band-Aid on her left index finger. ‘Am I right?’
‘It’s necessary so that he can cross over. It’s his calling card, that’s all.’
‘People don’t have sigils, demons do. People have names. If you talk to someone on a Ouija board, you call their name. You don’t use a sigil. Google it if you don’t believe me.’
‘It’s just a way of contacting him, that’s all.’
‘Listen to yourself, Cheryl. he told you to take off your crucifix. He’s asked you to write his sigil in blood. Now he’s making you draw a pentagram and light black candles. Does any of that make sense to you. You’re a Catholic, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Eric? Was he Cath
olic?’
She nodded.
‘Think about it. Why would a Catholic want you to remove a crucifix and mess around with black magic?’
‘Who said anything about black magic?’
‘What do you think this is? A pentagram, black candles, writing in blood? Look, you need to focus. He’s influencing you, he’s muddying your thoughts. You’re not thinking clearly.’
‘You need to shut up now,’ she said. ‘I have to concentrate.’
‘Cheryl, if you do this, if you allow whatever demon it is to take possession of me, you’re dead. If the demon takes over my body, the first thing he’ll do is carve his sigil into your flesh. Then he’ll kill you. That’s what happened in the cases we’ve been looking at. A victim is selected. He or she performs this ceremony so that the demon can walk this earth. And the demon then kills the victim. That’s what you are. You’re the intended victim. You do this and you’ll be dead on the floor, just like the other victims.’
‘You’re wrong,’ she said. ‘You’ll see. This is just so Eric can spend some time with me.’
She finished drawing the pentagram, then compared it to the drawing she was holding. ‘That should do it,’ she said.
‘Don’t do this, Cheryl,’ said Nightingale, but he knew that he was wasting his time. She wasn’t listening to him.
She stood at the top of the pentagram and began to read from the sheet. Partly Latin and partly something else. Nightingale shivered as the temperature suddenly dropped. Perez continued to read from the sheet. ‘Osurmy delmausan atalsloym charusihoa,’ she said. Then she took a deep breath and continued to read the rest of the words. When she had finished she held the piece over the north-facing candle. As it burned she spoke again, her voice louder and more strident. ‘Come, Eric,’ she said. ‘Everything is ready.’
‘Show me the sigil Eric gave you.’
‘Be quiet, Jack.’
‘Sigils are for devils, Cheryl. They’re not for you or me or Eric. The sigil that you think Eric gave you, it belongs to someone else.’
‘Why would Eric lie to me? He loves me.’
‘Because it’s not Eric that you’ve been talking to.’
She ignored him and went over to one of the candles. She held the piece of paper over the flame. White smoke began to fill the room.
‘Don’t!’ shouted Nightingale. ‘I beg you.’
She ignored him. ‘I’m ready, Eric!’ shouted Perez. ‘Come to me now!’ She winced as the flames seared her fingers but she held on to the burning paper until it had completely burned.
There was a loud crack and a flash of light that was so bright that for a few seconds Nightingale was blinded. As he blinked away tears he saw there was a large figure standing in the smoke.
‘Eric?’ said Perez uncertainly.
Whatever had appeared wasn’t Eric, Nightingale was sure of that. It wasn’t Eric and it wasn’t human. It was reptilian with yellow eyes and a green forked tongue that flicked out from between razor sharp teeth. Nightingale cursed under his breath. Perez backed away from whatever it was, her eyes wide with horror.
Grey, leathery wings sprouted from the thing’s back as it threw back its head and roared in triumph. The floor and ceiling shook and the walls bowed out. Perez looked over at Nightingale. ‘What is it?’ she screamed. ‘What’s happening?’
Nightingale didn’t answer, he just stared at the creature which had begun to change. It shimmered and rippled and morphed into a dwarf with a mop of unruly black hair. He was wearing gleaming black leather boots with silver spurs and a scarlet jacket with gold button. In his right hand was a riding crop and he swished it from side to side as he sneered at Nightingale. ‘Long time, no see, Nightingale,’ said the dwarf.
Nightingale swore out loud.
The dwarf grinned cruelly. ‘And I’m pleased to see you, too.’
‘Who are you?’ said Perez, backing away. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Eric?’
The dwarf pointed his whip at Nightingale. ‘Do you want to tell her, or should I?’
Perez looked over at Nightingale. ‘What’s going on? What’s happening? Who is this?’
‘Lucifuge Rofocale,’ said Nightingale. ‘As nasty a piece of shit as ever walked out through the gates of Hell.’
‘But where’s Eric?’
‘Eric’s dead, Cheryl. You were never talking to Eric. It was always Lucifuge Rofocale. He was using you, to get to me.’
The dwarf threw back his head and laughed. ‘And it worked, like a charm,’ he said.
Perez screamed and charged towards Lucifuge Rofocale, her hands curled into claws. He waved his free hand in her direction, then pointed his index finger at her chest. There was a flash of light and a loud crack and Perez flew backwards and smashed into the wall.
‘Cheryl!’ shouted Nightingale, trying to twist around to see where she was.
Lucifuge Rofocale walked to the edge of the pentagram. ‘So are you ready, Nightingale? Are you ready to give yourself over to me?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘But you have no choice in the matter, you know that?’
‘I thought I had to agree. The possession had to be done willingly.’
‘Then you thought wrong,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale. He gestured at Perez with his whip. ‘It’s her permission I needed, not yours. She is the one who performs the ceremony.’
‘She’s not going to help you now, not now she knows who you are.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ The dwarf turned to look at Perez. ‘Apply enough pressure and people will do just about anything.’
Nightingale knew he had to act quickly. He closed his eyes and began to speak the Latin phrase that he had long ago committed to memory. He said the words loudly and clearly, knowing that any mistake, any deviation, would be fatal.
Lucifuge Rofocale realised what he was doing and he whirled around, raising the whip above his head. ‘No!’ he yelled.
‘Bagahi laca bacabe!’ shouted Nightingale at the top of his voice. He wasn’t sure if it would work, the pentagram was different and he hadn’t been able to use the herbs that were usually required for the summoning but he wasn’t in a position to be choosy. ‘Bagahi laca bacabe!’ he shouted again, even louder this time.
There was a loud cracking sound and the room vibrated then there was another crack and a flash and time and space seemed to fold in on itself and Proserpine was there, standing in the space between the two concentric circles that surrounded the pentagram. Her dog was with her, and it growled as it stared at Lucifuge Rofocale.
‘What have you done?’ screamed Lucifuge Rofocale.
‘I’ll treat that as rhetorical,’ said Nightingale.
Proserpine’s hair was shorter and spikier than the last time he’d seen her. She was wearing a long black leather coat that almost touched the floor over black shorts and a black halter top. She had no navel, he realised, her porcelain white stomach was completely smooth and featureless. Her lips were jet black and her eyes were featureless pools and around her neck was a black collar with a black upside-down pointed star at her throat. She smiled at Nightingale. ‘Bitten off more than you can chew?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t know who else to call,’ he said.
Proserpine turned to look at Lucifuge Rofocale and she sneered. ‘I should have known it was you,’ she said.
‘Should have, would have, could have,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale. ‘This is none of your business, Proserpine. You need to leave.’
‘What you are doing goes against the order of things,’ said Proserpine. ‘You need to return from whence you came.’
‘There is nothing you can do,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale. ‘I was invited. You were summoned. You are trapped within the pentagram. But I can do what as I wish.’ He grinned and strutted up and down to prove his point.
‘You have to stop this, Lucifuge Rofocale. You have to stop this now.’
Lucifuge Rofocale shook his head and pointed at her. ‘This is nothing to do with you
!’ he shouted. ‘You are a Princess of Hell. You have no authority here.’
‘You need to stop this before it goes any further.’
He shook his head. ‘Your sister was happy to come along.’
‘She will be dealt with in due course,’ hissed Proserpine. ‘But you are the more pressing problem. Go back now. Go back or you will pay the price.’
The walls juddered as Lucifuge Rofocale roared with laughter. ‘Did you forget, Proserpine? There is nothing you can do so long as you are trapped within the pentagram. You can watch if that’s what you want, but you can’t interfere.’
Proserpine glared at Lucifuge Rofocale, shook her head, then looked over at Nightingale. ‘Looks like the ball’s in your court,’ she said.
Nightingale nodded. He began to rock the chair from side to side, grunting with the effort.
‘You think you can escape?’ laughed Lucifuge Rofocale. ‘How stupid are you, Nightingale?’
Nightingale continued to rock from side to side. ‘I’m not trying to escape!’ he shouted.
Lucifuge Rofocale’s eyes widened as he realised what Nightingale was doing. ‘No!’ he screamed, but it was too late. With a final grunt Nightingale tipped the chair over and he crashed on his side. His head was just over the outer edge of the pentagram. The protective circle was broken.
Lucifuge Rofocale screamed with rage. ‘What have you done?’ he yelled.
‘He’s set me free, that’s what he’s done,’ said Proserpine. She stepped out of the circle. ‘And now it’s time for you to pay the piper.’
Lucifuge Rofocale took a step back, then he roared and his body seemed to ripple and it grew larger and then shimmered and became the scaly-creature with yellow eyes and fangs and talons and leathery wings. It opened its mouth and Nightingale retched from the stench of its foul breath. A claw lashed out but Proserpine swayed back and easily avoided the blow. ‘Did no one tell you it’s wrong to hit a woman?’ she said. She kicked him in the chest and he staggered back, his wings flapping frantically as he fought to keep his balance.
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