Night of Demons - 02

by Tony Richards

  I could see his point, even though it was damned frustrating sometimes. But I also knew that there was something else involved. This was the Sycamore Hill set closing ranks, the way they always did. The town’s elite looking after their own. They did it almost instinctively. And the judge, for all that he liked to present himself as a prudent and impartial man, was really no exception. It’s just the way that they are brought up, I suppose.

  Saul looked exasperated, working his jaw angrily. His eyes had become hot. I thought it best to butt in, before he said something he regretted.

  “But Millicent is connected to Raine,” I pointed out. “She visited him right after Lucas’s murder. Doesn’t that point to a conspiracy?”

  “Woodard Raine is quite beyond my remit,” Levin came straight back at me.

  Which was another standard mindset up here on the Hill. The Master of the Manor was so crazed and unpredictable, they did their level best to ignore him when they could. They certainly would not attempt to involve him in any kind of legal process. Once again, they had a point. I tried to imagine Woody in a witness box, and couldn’t.

  The judge gazed around at us, seeing nothing that appeared to impress him. Lauren seemed to sympathize with Saul completely, but was out of her depth and holding her tongue. And Cassie looked like she was wishing she had not come with us.

  Satisfied that he was fully on top of the matter, Levin tipped back in his chair.

  “Bring me some real evidence, people. Bring me hard facts, something I can grasp. Before I decide what to do, I have to understand where this is heading. And—as of this moment—do any of you have the first idea?”

  And he really did have the upper hand here. Because none of us replied.

  We gathered quietly outside, on the very neat front lawn. This was probably the most beautiful house in the whole Landing, wood-built and three stories tall. It had a conical turret in the roof. The weather vane up there was in a classic cockerel design. There were numerous eaves and gables, and the roofing tiles were scallop-shaped. Flower baskets hung around each window. In the borders, huge rosebushes grew, and there was honeysuckle draped around the porch.

  Beyond its outline, the sky was a pale blue, a dusting of white clouds across it. Down below, the town was trundling gently toward noon like a big old machine with several thousand moving parts. Traffic wandered in and out of Union Square. And I could see that a few youngsters were flying kites off in Crealley Street Park.

  You would have thought it was a normal day, except for the tension between us.

  “Something he can grasp?” Saul repeated angrily, taking a few heavy steps across the turf. “Has he ever tried grabbing hold of smoke?”

  But the fact was, we had very little choice. If magic couldn’t pin down Hanlon, and the law couldn’t be used against dear Millicent, then regular procedure was the only course we had. We’d simply have to do our normal jobs, and pray that something turned up. Griping wouldn’t help.

  “You need to put your guys on alert for anything unusual,” I told him.

  “Define that, in this town?”

  Which was a point, but I just turned to Cassie. “You too. You know what to look for.”

  She gave me a nod.

  “And me?” inquired Lauren.

  “Saul?” I suggested, looking back at him. “Okay with you?”

  He seemed to trust her fully, by this time. “I’d be glad of the company.”

  “And yourself?” Cass asked me.

  “I thought that I might stake out Millicent’s place for a while.”

  She looked surprised at that, her dark eyes widening sharply.

  “Trying to catch her up to something? Or do you think that Hanlon’s going to show up there?”

  The truth was, I’d been mulling it over ever since this whole thing had started. Why, straight after the murder, had Ms. Tollburn gone to Woodard Raine? The man wasn’t exactly known for giving good, level-headed advice. So what had she wanted from him?

  There was one explanation I could think of. One small fact that I had dredged out of my past. And as to Cassie’s question…?

  It might prove to be the case that Hanlon had no option but to go there. He may have made himself extremely powerful.

  But there were other kinds of strength in this town, some of them even more bizarre than the type that he’d acquired.

  CHAPTER 20

  I took a back route to Millwood House, avoiding Plymouth Drive, which I’d easily be spotted from. And wound up parked in the uncultivated space between a couple of smaller residences, behind a narrow row of trees across the main road from the mansion. I could see the top edge of the flat, brick-bordered roof through the branches. Otherwise, it was just high, spiked walls, and a gate woven into iron curlicues as thick as your wrist. Something could be going on in there, and I’d be none the wiser. But I suspected nothing magical was going to happen yet.

  One of the most important things to understand about witchcraft is that it works much better in the dark. Nighttime is the natural element for that stuff. So if anything was going to happen, it would most probably be at dusk or beyond.

  The days were growing shorter by this time of year, but it was still a good long wait. What was I doing up here so early, then? I wanted to get a feel for the place Millicent lived in. People’s homes tell you a lot about them. And I’d never examined this particular one.

  A stiff, cool breeze had sprung up. And it made the branches around me rattle, worrying at my hair as I got out. The edges of the leaves were already turning yellow. We’d be in the fall before too much longer. The sun was still visible, and bright enough, although it appeared very slightly distant. A flotilla of small clouds had started drifting across.

  I made my way between the trees, and then slipped quickly over Plymouth Drive. And wound up underneath the front wall. There was nothing to be seen from where I was, so I made my way to the gate itself. It wasn’t padlocked. I took note of that. Then I peered through, trying to keep out of sight.

  The house was rather plain-looking, in spite of its size. The windows were leaded, like at her grandfather’s place. Matching cages, was the thought that came to mind. There were a few trellises on the front wall, creepers hanging from them—their summer blooms had mostly dropped away. The portico had Grecian columns, just like Gaspar Vernon’s. And there was an iron weather vane on the roof as well, this one in the shape of a crow. I could hear it creaking faintly.

  The drapes had to be silk, since they had that kind of sheen in the clear light. But there was no movement at any of the windows. She had to be home—her car was parked outside. Except that there was no way to tell what she was doing.

  So far as I knew, she had no servants. She lived in the place alone. Kept it clean by magic, doubtless. Not the first time I’d encountered that.

  I doubled back, heading for the northward corner of the wall, then went around. The ground began to slope unevenly from that point onward. Where it dipped, it was still boggy from the previous night’s rain. So I did my best to avoid those spots.

  I’d never even been back here. Because of the surrounding trees, you couldn’t see it from the road. The wall descended, in graduated stages, almost half the way down Sycamore Hill’s gradient. It had those iron spikes at the top the whole distance along. There were no other entranceways that I could make out. No slightest interruption to the high brickwork. God, the place was like a fortress.

  Most folk on the Hill valued their privacy. But this was something more than that. This was somebody who preferred—needed?—to shut the world out completely, keeping it at a very far remove.

  There wasn’t any point that I could see in walking the whole way down, so I halted, gazing at the scene below me. I could make out the commercial district from here, its Victorian smokestack like an exclamation mark. Closer up, the entire town kept moving languidly. The flags on top of the Town Hall were being lifted stoutly by the breeze, and I could even see part of the massive, ornate clock above
the entranceway.

  When I turned around and looked back, I got further glimpses of Millwood House. It was still largely featureless, as plain as a length of bone. The home of someone who couldn’t decide exactly what she wanted out of life. How much, I wondered again, had her grandfather to do with that? What kind of childhood had she had? Lucas had been a respected figure in this town for decades, sure. But me…I simply wasn’t certain.

  I remembered what Cass had said to me a while back. “You always were a good cop. But these days? There’s this tight focus, this clarity, to everything you do. You notice things that other people don’t. You’re attuned to everything that’s going on around you.”

  And was that the case right now? I needed to have more to go on than just instinct.

  I started heading back. And as I did that, the wind changed direction by a few degrees, bringing a new odor to me. That of stables. So she kept horses back there. That was something else I hadn’t known before. Some folks like animals because they are softhearted, I reflected. Others? Because they can’t stand being around people.

  When I finally got back to the car, my stomach had started rumbling. Nothing seemed to be happening at the moment. So I came to a quick decision and turned the Cadillac around, headed quickly back into town.

  I got some takeout from a place I knew on Hawthorn Street, then drove back up and waited far more comfortably.

  Don’t remember falling into a doze. But I suppose I must have done.

  No dreams or visions came this time. And when I awoke it was with a sharp jerk, wondering why I was sitting up. Then I remembered where I was, and peered wearily around me. The windows of my Caddy had steamed up slightly.

  My surroundings had been drained of color. The sky had turned a leaden gray. I glanced at my watch. Evening was approaching.

  Staring at the distant woods beyond the edge of town, I could see a final shaft of golden sunlight cling to the horizon, and then shrink and vanish. The clouds went dark carmine. The shadows around me immediately grew deeper. I got out again, and walked through to the front edge of the tree line, although I didn’t step out into view this time.

  The stiff breeze was still blowing, making a low thrumming sound. Thin twigs lashed at me, driven by it. A raven landed on a higher branch, then noticed I was there and flapped away again.

  It was colder than it had been. But I was used to this kind of vigil, so I simply buttoned up my coat and remained where I was.

  A car went thrumming by. It was a big gold-colored Lexus. And I didn’t know to whom it belonged. There is never much traffic up here. The long, winding drive leads nowhere really, save the Gothic mansion at the very top.

  It’s not only the major adepts who have made their homes up here. There are several important lawyers—although only important, I’d suppose, in provincial terms. People whose families own tracts of land in town, commercial blocks. Business folk of every variety. Nearly all of them practice magic to some extent. Most folk in the Landing dabble with it sometimes.

  But the major adepts are a different prospect. They don’t merely do magic. They live it. They were mostly born to it, and have it in their blood.

  That included Millicent here. I’d do well to keep reminding myself of that.

  I edged along until I could see through the iron gates again. No lights had come on in the house. Its windows were murkily reflective, and then deepened until they were rectangles of black. But that proved nothing. She could be around at the back of the place, where there was no risk of being overlooked. The weather vane up on the roof made another grating sound.

  Lights were coming on in other houses around me. The nearest was about eighty yards away. Coach lamps gleamed in a couple of porches. And I could make out the edges of a chandelier through the window of a stone-built place on Privet Close.

  I glanced to my left again. Another shape was coming up the hill. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction, so I couldn’t hear what was approaching. But I assumed it was another car. Then I saw it had no headlamps. It was hard to tell in the gathering dimness, but the shape seemed to be wrong as well.

  As it drew closer, I took in the fact it had no proper outline. It was shifting constantly, amorphous. And it looked like a heavy pall of smoke, although the breeze was not affecting it. The thing was actually heading against the wind. I sank back a little further back into the trees. This was what Cornelius Hanlon had become. And if he noticed me?—I had no particular desire to wind up like Karl.

  The vapor continued on a dead-straight course. It moved up to the front gate, slipped in through the twisted metalwork, then headed for the front door. I already had an idea what had brought it here.

  It reached a keyhole, funneled in, and disappeared through that.

  I waited until it was completely gone before making my move. Hurried across to the big iron gates and shoved at them. They did not budge, despite the fact there was no padlock, nor a bolt. I could only imagine they were being held in place by sorcery.

  Climbing them wasn’t any kind of prospect. The ironwork was too tortuously woven. Which left the wall.

  I peered at the spikes on top. They were closely grouped in sets of three, and looked genuinely sharp at their tips. Not simply there for ornament, in other words. Like everything else about this place, they were designed to keep humanity out.

  I speed-dialed Cass as I jogged back to my Caddy.

  “Where are you?” I asked, as soon as she picked up.

  “Turling Street.”

  Which was in Clayton, a short way southwest of here.

  “Hanlon’s shown up. I need you here.”

  Which got an approving “On my way.” She sounded relieved to have something to do.

  I knew how fast she was on her Harley. She’d be here in a bare couple of minutes. I went around to the trunk and got two objects out. One was the old thick blanket that I always keep back there. The other was a sturdy six-foot towrope.

  I was recrossing the asphalt when a solitary headlamp appeared on the gradient below, then came hurtling toward me with breathtaking speed. Cass drew to a halt and killed the engine. And she did look energized, eager to get moving. Her dark eyes were gleaming, and the muscles of her bare arms bunched.

  The truth is, she is pretty damned attractive. A whole string of men had fallen for her hard-nosed charms. I’d had moments of temptation myself, the last couple of years. But there was still the matter of my missing wife. My conscience wouldn’t let me.

  As usual, she was in tune with me from the very outset. Seemed to understand what I was thinking. She looked at the objects I was carrying, then glanced at the wall and nodded.

  “I’m going first,” she said, keeping pace with me as we hurried over.

  “Like hell you are.”

  “You haven’t been up against this thing yet. But I have.”

  “And you’ve got the lumps to prove it,” I pointed out.

  But this wasn’t the time to stand around arguing. So we ended up doing as she’d asked.

  The rope went up ahead of her. She got a loop of it around a set of spikes. Then dragged herself halfway up on one arm and, with the other, pushed the blanket over her until it rested at the very top. It wouldn’t protect us completely, but reduced the risk of getting stuck.

  Cass hauled herself the rest of the way up. She spent only a second finding her balance before jumping down the other side.

  And I didn’t like watching her disappear from sight like that. Not under these circumstances. So I followed her over, as quickly as I could.

  CHAPTER 21

  She was still in the drawing room at the rear of her house. Had been there almost the whole day. Had not eaten, nor drunk a drop, such was the level of her anticipation. She’d smoked a few cigarettes, but that was all. Their odor lingered.

  As the last light fled, Millicent Tollburn went to the narrow glass and chrome desk at the back of the room, and picked up the object she had placed there. The Thieftaker. She returned to the
darkened window, cupping the device between her palms. Its facets shifted very gently as she moved, making the softest humming. There was a faint rasping motion on her skin. The thing seemed more like a machine than a jewel.

  Everything beyond the glass panes was reduced to a series of vague silhouettes. She could see thousands of small lights when she looked down at the town, but her gaze dropped from it. She was concentrating hard now. Woodard Raine had told her precisely what to do. She had memorized every action, every word, even the emphasis on certain syllables.

  She bowed her head. And held the Thieftaker as high as she could.

  Latin, he had told her. But no. This spell covered both the taker of the object, and the stolen thing in question. It would be better to address the wand in its own tongue, the way her grandfather always had.

  In French, she decided. And then she began.

  Thief, you are discovered.

  “Voleur, vous êtes découvert.”

  The hundreds of tiny facets shifted a bit more. And a small surge of energy seemed to pulse out from them, rushing through her hands. Millicent was not wholly surprised. Her family’s magic had always been mighty, and the sorcery of the Raines was notoriously strong. Combined, who knew what they might achieve? This was merely the start of it—of that much she was certain.

  Thief, there is nowhere to hide.

  “Voleur, il n’y a pas de lieu pour se cacher.”

  Return to me my property.

  “Rendez à moi ce qui m’appartient.”

  Your fate? The gods can then decide.

  “Votre destin? Les dieux puissent décider.”

  The shining, overlapping strands of the Thieftaker started to turn slowly, crisscrossing each other in patterns so intricate that she could not begin to make sense of them.