There were a dozen of us here. Half were cops, the rest were firemen and civilians. There’d been more outbreaks back the way we’d come. So groups like this were spread thinly across the whole eastern side of town.
An adept would be here soon—we’d been assured of that. The main thing was to simply hang on. Everyone around me looked exhausted and unsteady. I glanced across at Saul, who was perspiring heavily. But he didn’t lower his piece. He stayed alert. And, following his example, the rest of us did the same. That thing could come at us again in the blinking of an eye. And so we kept on staring off along the rooftops, waiting for another glimpse of it.
There was a sudden blur of movement from an alley to our left. We started to turn, but far too slowly. The thing went ramming into a uniformed cop, knocking him to the ground before we’d even taken in what was happening. It ducked its head over his throat an instant. And then it was gone, retreating back into the alley, leaving us with no time to react.
It had happened so terribly quickly. I took a glance at what the thing had done, then grit my teeth. The cop on the ground was Colin Trent, the brand-new rookie. And he wasn’t getting up any time soon.
Steam was coming from his open windpipe. I took that in, then looked away. Hobart dropped his head and swore. How many people had he lost in ways like this, during the years he’d been in charge? Yet another of his people reduced to a photograph in Sam Scott’s Tavern, next to Davy Quinn’s.
A second swiftly moving shape went past me, heading for the alley too. But it wasn’t any demon, this time.
“Cassie!” I yelled out.
She must have heard me, but she kept on running anyway. I took another deep breath, then went after her.
East Meadow was holed like a Swiss cheese with alleyways like this. It was only about four feet wide, and half filled up with trash cans. It smelled foul. Spilled refuse crunched underfoot. You couldn’t see the far end, since there was a right-angled bend halfway along, and that made the sense of being shut in even worse.
Something small and not too clean had died here recently—I couldn’t see it, but my nose made up for what my eyes were missing. The night sky was a narrow strip above us, and looked very far away, almost unreal.
Cassie was moving far more slowly by this time, her Mossberg out in front of her and her left arm suspended at shoulder height for balance. She was trying to walk quietly, but that was plain impossible in here. A rusted tin can spun away from her boot and something crackled when she stepped on it.
Our eyes were darting everywhere.
“Where’s Levin, by the way?” I whispered.
“Dealing with another one, out on the edge of Pilgrim’s Plot. And Gaspar Vernon’s shown up too.”
There was no love lost between me and that particular adept, but I still considered it good news.
“What are these things anyway?” Cass asked me.
“To sum it up, the darkest side of our own natures.”
At which point, she let out a groan that seemed to swell in the fetid darkness.
“You’re not serious?”
“Afraid I am.”
“Why can’t anything be simple round this place?” she complained, continuing to move forward.
“Next time,” I promised her, “I’ll try and find you some nice, uncomplicated monsters.”
Her head gave a tiny nod. “Appreciate it.”
Then our talk went out the window. Just as we were getting near another clump of trash cans, they exploded like a bomb had gone off in their midst. Lids and cylinders went flying everywhere. And what we’d thought was merely a shadow resolved itself into a now familiar shape, which came rushing at us again. It was snarling furiously, despite the fact it hadn’t made a sound before.
It was on me before I had time to move. One lengthy arm came swinging out. I tried to block it, but the thing was moving much too fast. Its knuckles caught me on the jaw. I flew back, slamming hard against a wall and scraping down it.
Then it turned on Cassie, and she disappeared beneath its jet-black silhouette. Its head ducked toward her neck.
I felt my heart almost stop in my chest. Had visions of her with her throat torn out, like Colin Trent’s had been.
I hadn’t counted on her resilience.
When the creature bit down, its fangs closed around her Mossberg. She had brought it up to shield her windpipe just in time. As its face pulled away, she swung the gun butt—really hard—into its cheek. The thing let out a yelp and staggered off from her.
She was back on her feet in the next moment, pushing herself after it. But it bounded away before she could hit it again. It bounced off the surrounding brickwork like a rubber ball and came caroming back. Both of its hands grabbed at her. But Cassie simply used its speed against it.
She swung her body around to the side as it made contact, pivoting from the waist. The beast lost its grip again, and went sailing past. Slammed into the wall behind her with a resounding smack.
Cass didn’t even pause. She aimed and fired from the hip. There was a cloud of dust, a hole appeared. But, once again, the demon had escaped before the charge struck home.
It picked up an overturned pail and came hurtling back at her. Swung its weapon forward and down, trying to smash her in the face with it.
Cassie simply fended off the blow, crossing her arms in front of her. And then lashed out with her right boot, kicking her attacker in the stomach.
It let go of the can and doubled over. At which point, she drove her knee into its chin.
The apelike thing went down, landing heavily on its back. She calmly stepped onto its groin. And when its mouth came open—which was pretty much inevitable—she shoved the muzzle of her shotgun into it, and put a slug into its skull.
The whole thing dissolved into a large swirl of vapor, drifting upward and then disappearing past the rooftops. I watched Cass’s body stiffen, and could almost feel the tremors of frustration rising off her.
“Goddamn it!” she protested loudly. “How’s that fair? I won!”
It wasn’t too much longer before I found myself doing battle in my own neighborhood…although not near Kenveigh Street, I’m glad to say. Some people were working as runners by this stage, resupplying us with ammunition, since everyone was getting low. We managed to defeat the creature there, but then were called down through Vernon Valley and West Meadow, almost to the edge of Marshall Drive, before being forced to turn around and head back the whole other way again. Why didn’t the attacks continue down the west side? Well, the Little Girl lives in Marshall Drive, so maybe that had something to do with it.
Most of the information I was getting, by that stage, was from other cops or from the babble on my radio. I learned that the rest of the major adepts had put in an appearance, and was relieved to hear that. But there was an even more significant development. Once news of what was happening had really got around, whole droves of ordinary people started showing up, armed as best as they could manage and eager to help.
I started passing them as I drove from one neighborhood to the next, the suburbs around me becoming a seamless blur. You couldn’t even call them a militia. It was too spur of the moment, too unplanned for that. But I watched them pitch in fiercely, throwing themselves into the fighting shoulder to shoulder with the uniformed guys. And it wasn’t just the men of this town either. There were women too. A few of the older cops tried turning them away at first, but simply got shouted down.
“It’s just as much our home!” was the constant yell I heard.
Cassie would have approved, but I didn’t see too much of her for quite a while after the alley. So much was going down that we kept heading off to different places. There was no choice in the matter. Creatures were appearing in a constant flow. And all through the small hours till the crack of dawn, we battled with new demons of every shape and size. There were a few more huge ones, including one so shapeless that I still cannot describe it. But a lot of them were man-sized, and as fast and deadly as
the first had been. Some of them were heavily scaled. Most had fangs and talons.
I spotted her again, and a lot of other people that I knew, during the very final battle of that night. We’d all got concentrated in one district—Pilgrim’s Plot again—since there were four separate demons roaming it. We beat each one, thank God.
The fighting started to die away around me as the first couple of shafts of sunlight leapt up at the far horizon. By which time, I was so weary I could barely think. Christ only knew what was keeping me up on my feet. But I remained in that position long enough to look around. And I did that bleakly, with a feeling of despair.
The full light of dawn revealed a very sorry state. Several plumes of smoke were rising—you could smell it everywhere. A few houses had caught when they’d been ripped apart; those had burned to cinders, since our fire department had been occupied elsewhere. Everywhere I looked, I could see damage. Roofs were crushed, walls had collapsed. A good number of cars were overturned, and some were leaking gasoline. Still, as Nick McLeish had pointed out, it was replaceable.
In fact, I could still see Nick McLeish, a long way from his own neighborhood. He was sitting on the curb about ten feet away from me, still in his undershirt, a hunting rifle across his knees. He had his head in his hands, his eyes closed. And he looked desperately chewed up and wasted. So did everyone around me.
A short way further up, a pair of college girls—dressed in faded jeans and brightly patterned T-shirts—had their arms wrapped around each other and were crying on each other’s shoulders. There’d been three in their group when I’d first noticed them. Damn. My heart went out to them, not least because I’d been to the place that they were visiting this morning. They had lost a friend.
Cassie had climbed back on her Harley, but only so she could sit down. She was slumped over the handlebars, and didn’t look like she was going to move from that position any time soon. Other people were wandering around, their mouths hanging open and their eyes completely glassy.
I was aching too, from the constant exertion, and my eyelids kept on rasping every time I blinked. But I wandered across to Saul, who was talking on his cell phone yet again. He’d been doing that continuously since the fighting had stopped.
“How’ve we done?” I asked him.
And he peered at me unhappily.
“Twenty-two dead, so far. Four of my people, and eighteen civilians. Not the worst night we’ve ever had in the Landing.”
And I knew exactly what he meant. Saruak and his creature, the Dralleg, had killed dozens more.
“But not the best one either. With how many more to come, I wonder?”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? I stared around again. The adepts had gone by this hour. The dead had been carried away, and the injured taken to hospital.
But something else was happening. I started noticing that as well. The people who’d been driven out of their homes were returning to them. Some of them started picking dismally through the wreckage. Others just sat down heavily in their litter-strewn front yards, their legs going out from under them. It was mostly shock, I knew. Give them time and they’d get over it.
But I hadn’t counted on the other townsfolk, those who hadn’t lost their homes. They began emerging from their own front doors and moving among their stricken neighbors. Blankets were being thrown over the shoulders of those who were still shaking. Others got offers of help, or simply reassuring hugs.
Then people started to emerge with thermos flasks and mugs. They began handing out coffee to those who’d spent the whole night fighting. A few hip flasks were being passed around as well. Cotton wool and bandages appeared, and minor wounds were dealt with on the spot.
That’s the thing about the Landing. It can be a pretty scary place to live in, sure. But what makes it bearable is its everyday inhabitants. I’ve seen them go through the worst the supernatural can throw at them, and still come bouncing back.
Watching the hushed activity around me, I felt pretty proud to live among them. Not that I had a lot of choice.
My own cell phone went off in my pocket, and I wondered what needed my attention now.
CHAPTER 29
I listened carefully as Judge Levin explained the new developments to me. The adepts were regathering at the McGinley place, to discuss what they ought to do. And they wanted me in, since I’d been useful in the past. But I decided to drop Lauren off at my house first. No one had forced her to stay here, or asked her to join in with the fighting. So it was the very least that I could do.
The only thing that seemed to be keeping her awake in the slightest was the memory of what had happened. Her skin was like bleached parchment in the morning light. Her eyes were marbled and glistening uneasily. She kept on rubbing her lips together, like she was struggling to remember how to speak.
“You live with this the whole time?” she asked me at last, gawking at me from the passenger seat.
I rounded a corner, going past a small truck that was headed back the other way.
“Of course not. How could that be true? Most of the time, the Landing is like Sticksville anywhere you’d care to mention. People mow their lawns and wash their cars and get on with their ordinary lives.”
She looked unconvinced. The sky was turning blue again. The air was warming up. But that was lost on her. She still appeared to be reliving the past few hours, and I couldn’t blame her. So was I.
“But sometimes?”
“Sometimes,” I conceded, “things come busting out at us. And then we have to deal with them, because running away isn’t an option.”
In the outside world, I knew, there was a whole big load of refugees. But the concept didn’t apply here. It’s not a term we ever use.
She lowered her head, trying to take that in. And then she stared at me again.
“Incredible though it might seem…” Her voice had turned to a dull whisper. “I’ve been doing some thinking. In the lulls between avoiding getting killed, you understand. And I’ve figured something out. Your wife didn’t leave you, did she? She couldn’t leave town. Is she…?”
I shifted in my seat. Although she hadn’t meant to, her words burned like acid. We were on Colver Street by this time, and entering Northridge. I stared out through the speckled windshield, trying to ignore the heaviness that had begun to pull inside my chest.
“How long ago was it?” Lauren asked.
More than two years, but I didn’t say that.
Instead I answered, “She’s not dead.”
Lauren looked genuinely surprised. “What, then?”
“I’m not really sure.”
Which didn’t help her.
“It was magic too?”
For all her numbness and tired disbelief, she seemed to catch on pretty quickly.
“Her and my kids. Two of them. Yes,” I said.
“And…?”
I still couldn’t look at her. I just kept staring at the outside world like it was a series of disjointed pictures.
“I’m waiting for them to come back.”
And I have to admit, I felt pretty awkward saying that. But it was the truth. I’d seen no proof that they had died. They had simply disappeared. And there were other planes of existence out there, other dimensions—I already knew that from the adepts’ talk. Was it possible that they were trapped in one of them? I hoped so, because the alternative…
Lauren’s face filled up with sympathy. She reached out to touch my arm. But then, looking at how rigid I’d gone, she decided not to.
The silent houses drifted by. None of them were damaged, here. Looking at them, you’d scarcely believe anything bad had happened. Except there was no one out on the sidewalk this morning. Even the little kids had stayed indoors.
The motor of the Cadillac continued its low thrum. And the unspoken question hung between us. If they don’t come back?
Lauren cleared her throat uneasily, then ducked her head again, glancing away from me.
The thing about
the McGinley sisters—Cynthia and Dido—was they put up a refined, genteel appearance, but were in truth nothing like that.
But the illusion was an impressive one. Who better to create such than a pair of sibling witches?
They occupied a massive Gothic residence at the far end of Billings Avenue from the judge’s house. And it might have looked grandiose and threatening, the way that kind of architecture sometimes does. Except they’d done it up like something from a happy fairy tale.
There were bright floral drapes at the windows, red, yellow, and blue. Nesting boxes had been nailed below the eaves—there was the constant stir of finches for part of the year. There were rows of huge sunflowers in the borders around the house. And the lawns were strewn with decorative statuary, all in animal shapes. The March hare romped. A tortoise ambled.
You’re always welcome, read the mat on the porch. That was a lie, and everyone knew it. Over to my right, a little plastic windmill whirred. You practically expected to see gingerbread in the walls if you stared hard enough.
The door itself was open, so I wiped my feet and then went in. And the truth of the sisters’ nature was revealed.
There were lights in the ceiling, attractive ones with frosted glass shades the shape of buttercups. And they were switched on. But they seemed to cast barely any glow. It was like moving through an early twilight.
The brass engravings on the walls were tarnished with age, darkened. On them—when I squinted—there were devils depicted. Creatures with the heads of bulls and stallions. Numerous satyrs, doing things to nymphs. There was something deeply unsettling about them, an unconcerned malevolence.
The carpet was dark too, and had that kind of overly intricate pattern that makes you unsure of your footing. What made it worse was that the wallpaper was the same. There were display cabinets on view, with all kinds of junk behind the glass. Ancient bones, with mold in their crevasses. Shrunken body parts, some of them not human. One shelf just had teeth on it, in various shapes and sizes.
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