Night of Demons - 02

by Tony Richards

  The last of the gray mist disappeared as we both watched. She had not only been fooled, this time. She’d been betrayed as well. She gave her wrists such a savage jerk they slipped free of my grasp again.

  Her shoulders hunched forward, like those of a cornered beast. And when she spoke again, she literally spat the words out at me.

  “Do you think that you can stop me? You forget what I am, even without the wand!”

  Millicent took a quick step back, and raised her flattened palms in my direction. Her lips formed around another word, a silent one this time.

  The air directly in front of me seemed to thicken, coalesce. It was still transparent but looked wrong, distorting the dim light passing through it. The woman looked misshapen on the other side, like I was staring at her through a poorly fashioned lens.

  Which was growing thick appendages, like stumpy limbs. I thought to move. But too late.

  It suddenly lurched at me and grabbed hold. Then it was folding across my shoulders like some vast amoeba, tightening around my head and pressing in against my face.

  Christ, it might have still been air. But it was so intensely thick that my lungs couldn’t draw it in. I couldn’t breathe. I struggled to push it off. But some of it slid further down my body, pinning my arms to my sides. I didn’t give up, shoving at it with my elbows. But it was like pressing them against foam rubber…the stuff merely sprang back.

  Blood rushed up into my head. I was still attempting desperately to fill my lungs, and couldn’t get so much as half an ounce of oxygen. I started to become dizzy, then went down on my knees.

  Couldn’t even shout for help. Where the hell were Lauren and Martha? A burning had started in my chest. My pulse was banging against my skull, and I was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t have been up there. I fought to get free again, but it was a much weaker effort this time.

  Through the distortion around me, I could see Millicent’s face. It was hanging above me, staring down as though from some enormous height. Totally out of proportion, centered around a prominent sharp nose.

  Her smile was a gloating one. And her pupils glittered with a cool, vicious delight. It occurred to me that I had brought this on myself. I’d pushed her much too far, and knew it.

  But it was all academic now. My vision started blurring. The whole room seemed to tilt abruptly, but it wasn’t that. It was me, going down on my side. The fire I’d noticed a few seconds before was really taking hold of my insides.

  My face didn’t go the whole way down against the floor. The hardened air around me kept it clear by several inches. And I was just beginning to pass out, when I heard a soft thump from above.

  The air promptly lost its density. My cheek banged against smooth wood. I hardly even noticed that. Just sucked in one of the most grateful breaths I’d ever taken in my entire life.

  It made a weird ratcheting sound, going down my larynx. But it felt really wonderful, so I decided to try another.

  The room started coming back to me as my head cleared. And I could see exactly what had saved me.

  Millicent Tollburn was lying on the floor not far from me. She was sprawled facedown, both arms flung above her head. Her left shoe had come off, which made her look rather less stylish than she’d been. Behind her was a pair of legs in charcoal pants. So I looked higher up.

  Lauren Brennan had her Walther in her right hand, and was holding it by the muzzle. She’d simply walked up behind Milly—who’d been too preoccupied to notice her—and cold-cocked the woman.

  A smile managed to work its way onto my throbbing lips. Magic can be impressive, yes. But sometimes, it’s the simpler methods that really make a difference.

  Martha came back through the door. Her expression grew quickly shocked when she saw that I was down, and she hurried over to me.

  “Are you all right?”

  I coughed. “I suppose I’ll live.”

  I struggled back up to my feet. Martha offered to get me a chair, but I told her no. My surroundings remained a little swimmy, but I returned my attention to the figure on the floor.

  She was motionless at first, then started coming around a little. Her teeth parted a small gap, and her sharply pointed fingers twitched. Lauren turned her gun around, and Martha drew her body straight, holding herself ready. If another surge of magic came, she’d do her best to counter it.

  But matters didn’t get that far. Because the woman only partially revived. A strange murmur escaped her throat, the kind of sound a child makes when it’s having a bad dream.

  Then her frame suddenly convulsed. She curled up into a tight ball, and began wailing in a high-pitched, anguished voice.

  “No, Poppy, please! Don’t make me into that again!”

  She whimpered.

  “I’ll be good, I really will! Just don’t use any more magic on me! Please don’t! I don’t like it!”

  So I’d been right the entire time. But it was still news to the other two. Neither of them looked pleased about it, as the truth sank in. Martha’s face especially was sickened.

  They were still looking grim when the cops arrived to take Millicent away. I suppose we all were. She was back on her feet by then, but still caught up in that half-dreaming state. Kept on murmuring to herself as she was led out through the doorway. And she no longer seemed conscious we were even there. God only knew what kind of hell her grandfather had put her through when she’d been small. Magic should never be used that way, and I felt genuinely sorry for her.

  “What’ll happen to her now?” Lauren asked me in a brittle tone. “Lock her up, throw away the key, and that’ll be that?”

  Which exasperated me, and I saw no reason to hide it.

  “We might not be big-city folk,” I told her, “but we’re not savages either. She’ll spend some time behind bars…no different from Boston, I’d suppose. But we’ve got good doctors, and she’ll get the help she needs.”

  Which made her back off a way and look apologetic.

  “At least we’ve solved half the problem,” Martha pointed out.

  But half wasn’t good enough. I understood that only too well. We still had a lunatic running around out there. One who had the power to do a lot of things he’d always wanted.

  And none of them involved world peace. We were still in an awful lot of trouble.

  CHAPTER 48

  Hanlon was back in Millwood House, and blissfully starting to absorb the fact that it belonged to him alone, as if he had inherited it. There were no other claimants left. No one remained to hold him back or tie him down. It was simply himself, his feverish plans, and the tremendous power that the wand imparted. When he genuinely thought about it, he could see the plain reality of what had happened. The Old Ones had wanted it this way the whole time, perhaps even conspired to make it come to pass.

  He felt vaguely sorry for the Tollburn woman. She had taught him so much, after all. Opened up new doors to him, showing him aspects of the world he had never previously known existed. But he had found it distasteful, to be quite honest, being connected with her so closely. He had begun to hear some of her inner thoughts. And there had been some very dark, unsettling stuff in there.

  Wasn’t that true of the whole human race? Yes, he could see it for a fact. Humanity had been around too long, had grown corrupted, and needed cleansing. Well, the End of Days would see to that.

  The wand in his grasp murmured to him quietly. Its voice was inside his head. It had been talking to him since he’d had it to himself. And finally, Cornelius understood.

  His eyes went very wide at first. And then his whole face became suffused with joy. He could see—at long last—what the Old Ones genuinely had planned for him. It wasn’t merely his job to survive the End of Days. No, his purpose was to bring it on.

  He held the wand between his palms, and could feel fresh power surging through them. The thing seemed far heavier than it had been, but his hands tingled and quivered all the same. He knew it with absolute certainty, by this time. With it, he coul
d do literally anything he wanted. He had the power in his grasp to crush this entire seething planet.

  He headed for the back of the house, several figures passing by. And they were not the kinds of wretches who’d been gathered here that first night. These were people of a stronger nature, even if they had a powerful dark side. Hell, there was even a cop among them, and he usually hated those.

  If he led them out there, as an army…? But no. Hanlon reconsidered that. They’d only get blown to smoke again. He needed a better plan.

  Something that could tear this place apart completely. And then, once that was accomplished, begin ripping down the very fabric of reality, allowing the outer darkness to come spilling in.

  He was back in the room where he had first met the Tollburn woman. Cornelius strode over to the window, gazing out. Only the gray barrier met his gaze.

  But then he heard a faint whinnying, and his eyes went to the stables. The wand spoke to him once again, a small but urgent voice inside his head. It was reminding him of things he knew. Suggesting where he took that knowledge.

  End of Days. The Apocalypse. That was his goal. And what precisely was supposed to herald them…?

  It came to him in another flash. Pure inspiration.

  Yes, of course!

  He went to fetch three of the others. Stood them side by side, then swept the wand across them.

  They started to transform, changing shape completely. And then, using the wand on himself, he followed suit.

  How was the Big Guy holding up?

  There hadn’t been a ten minute span—since he’d heard about the shooting—when he hadn’t spent a part of it thinking about his colleague Saul.

  Richard Vallencourt—called Ritchie by anyone who knew him—was brand new to the rank of Detective Sergeant. He’d only been promoted last month. Heidi, his wife, had shrieked and hugged him when he’d come home with the news.

  “The youngest ever? Hon, you’re kidding me?”

  And he had swelled up with quiet pride. “I’m not.”

  Some of the cops around him, let’s face it, were old enough to be his dad. And here he was, officially their superior. He could see what an honor it was, to have risen through the ranks so quickly. But it had its downside too.

  Some of the guys looked at him a little cockeyed before following his orders. “God, you’re nothing but a kid.” He could see it on their faces. And the fact that Big Saul was amongst the fallen only made things slightly worse. The lieutenant had commanded their immediate respect, attention. Those were qualities you earned. He hadn’t nearly got there yet. And now, the whole burden of this nightmare had fallen directly on his shoulders. He kept on wondering—did he have what it took to cope?

  Vallencourt was twenty-eight. Only five foot seven inches tall but built like a professional boxer. Brown-haired and almond-eyed. Darkly handsome and intense. He’d worn sharp suits since he’d been seventeen, and had a deep scar running through one eyebrow, which he’d gotten in a fistfight, long before he’d joined the force. He’d grown up in East Meadow, just a few streets from his wife. But they lived in Clayton these days.

  He mostly worked the west side of the town because of that. His own neighborhood and Marshall Drive were both peaceable districts, and didn’t cause him too many headaches. West Meadow was slightly worse. But the real problem was Tyburn, off to the extreme southwest.

  It had had a reputation as long as he’d known about it. Since he’d been a little kid, in fact. The area looked reasonably normal, but could turn into the weirdest place. It was one of the oldest parts of town, the streets narrow and heavily lined with trees, the houses tightly packed. Shadows clustered there in dense, long pockets, even on the brightest days. But it wasn’t just the district’s atmosphere. It was the folks who lived there.

  They’d evolved into a tight, enclosed community, almost a separate town within a town. Had their own ways of doing things that went right back as far as Regan Farrow. And—whereas most people in the Landing only used magic occasionally—they practiced it all the time. Which meant constant trouble for him. How exactly could it not?

  But he’d stuck with it for four whole years, the longest anybody had policed that part of town. And he’d earned his promotion. Lord, let no one be in any doubt of that.

  But look where it had brought him?

  He was up on the Plymouth Drive, outside what had been Millwood House. He’d heard the news about Ms. Tollburn’s arrest, of course. And a good thing too, Ritchie thought. Hell, he hated those rich nut-jobs. And so far as he was concerned, it was a relief to see one put out of the way at last.

  There were other people in the house, though. He’d been brought completely up to speed on that. He stared, frustrated, at the glistening gray barriers. Ever since they’d first appeared, a few cops had been assigned to staking them out. And they’d reported new balls of vapor entering the premises, not long after twilight had fallen. He still found it rather hard to get his head around, but…fresh recruits to Hanlon’s insane army, he supposed.

  Ritchie had a powerful hunch about this whole business. Everything that had gone down so far? Yes, it had been pretty awful. But he’d been on the job long enough to get the feeling that this wasn’t the whole story. This was simply magic flexing its muscles. Terrifying and impressive, surely. But the real battle? Well, it might be still to come.

  He sighed, peering around bleakly. He’d brought twenty people from the department up here, acting on that suspicion. They looked tired to the last, but were still in the game. And just as well. A greater challenge was awaiting them. He felt it in his bones.

  A breathless silence hung about the neighborhood. There were no other signs of life. All the houses in this district were deserted, he already knew. But it was more than that. Not so much as a night bird flitted. Everything had fled this place, acting on the self-same instinct he was feeling. Which made him even more apprehensive. What exactly was going to be unleashed on this already sorely battered community?

  And what would the Big Guy do? He constantly asked himself that. Saul Hobart was watchful, very patient. So the answer might be, wait and see…do nothing beyond that.

  Except that Ritchie found that very hard, preferring to keep on the move. He paced a lot, and his fingers kept on twitching. For want of anything better to do, he called a uniformed sergeant called McKendrick over, who’d been talking on his radio.

  “How’s it going in the rest of town?”

  “It’s starting to quiet down, sir,” the burly man with silver hair replied.

  His mouth said sir, but his eyes said sonny. Vallencourt was used to that.

  “Maybe we should do this in shifts, and give some of these guys a break?”

  The sergeant shook his head, looking a touch affronted.

  “Every one of these men is defending his community. They’ll stay here till it’s over, one way or the other. You can be sure of that.”

  Ritchie stared at the uniformed figures. They were spread out evenly along the drive, the whole length of the barrier’s frontage. Their faces were reduced to smudges in the dimness. Their hands were either on their hips, or hanging by their sides. Their expressions were wary, but determined too. And he felt a quiet pride when he saw that. A Raine’s Landing cop didn’t scare off easily.

  There was a sudden noise from behind the barrier. And that got a reaction from them. Side arms started being drawn and shotguns clacked. Ritchie’s gaze went darting around, hunting for the source of the sound. It had been extremely faint but…had he heard a scream, in there?

  No, it hadn’t been quite that. His mind was still struggling to identify it.

  The center of the wall began to shift before his very gaze, the sheen on it distorting. A small bulge appeared at about chest height, then spread out in the shape of a wide circle. Another followed, and then several more. They were concentric rings, like ripples. And they kept on coming faster as he watched.

  Ritchie drew a breath, then pulled out his Browning
.

  There was another, slightly louder, shriek. But definitely not a human sound. Given what had been showing up the last couple of nights, he reckoned that was hardly a surprise.

  A hole appeared at the center of the ripples. And, like them, it started spreading, growing vastly wider. He could see it was a portal opening.

  Well, here we go, Vallencourt thought.

  He thought briefly about his home and Heidi, and then put images like those aside. Gazed down his muzzle. Then his shoulders gave another jerk. More high-pitched sounds were drifting out, and he recognized them this time.

  It was whinnying. Horses.

  A clattering erupted, sharp and heavy. The beating of hooves. And it was getting swiftly closer.

  CHAPTER 49

  Maybe I needed to go into business as some kind of low-rent lawyer, the kind who chases ambulances. Because I’d been following sirens and flashing lights almost since this thing had started. And tonight was no exception.

  I was heading back to my car, Lauren right behind me, when a couple of them went howling past us, casting the whole of Plymouth Drive in pulsing shades of red. They were headed up the gradient, toward the richer sections again. And the last time they’d gone there it had heralded disaster. So I couldn’t see how it was going to be any better this time.

  I went after them, the headlamps of Lauren’s Focus bringing up the rear.

  My heart sank when I saw where the paramedics had drawn up. Another scene of devastation, right outside Millwood House. And the dead scattered around it were, to the last, wearing blue uniforms.

  But a few had made it through. The cops who were still alive were helping with the wounded. And there was a young plainclothes man sitting on a car hood, clutching at his upper arm. I’d only met him a couple of times, since I don’t go into Tyburn much. But this guy was something of a legend on the force. Detective Richard Vallencourt. Young and smart, and with an attitude like Cassie when it came to danger. I’d heard he’d been promoted recently, and so he had to be in charge. The expression on his face told me he wished he wasn’t. He was dressed in one of the nattiest looking suits I’d ever seen…or it would have been if it wasn’t damaged. A cream-colored shirt and a canary yellow tie. And as I watched, he slipped the jacket off.