by Lucy Banks
The others nodded, then parted company. Kester couldn’t help feeling rather excited by it all, despite the fact that his nose was already turning to ice and his fingers were agonisingly numb. They crossed the road, and dutifully positioned themselves by the park entrance, watching as thick snowflakes landed silently all around them.
“Ain’t no-one going to be out in this weather,” Luke announced cheerfully as he wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself. “Even the world’s most dedicated Thelemites wouldn’t bother coming out on a morning like this, would they?”
“What about the world’s most dangerous daemon?” Kester asked, with a wry smile. “I doubt a bit of cold would bother him.”
Luke nodded sagely. “Ah, but remember: when they enter a human body, they’re constrained by human limitations. That means he’d feel the cold, alright.”
Kester scratched his chin. “Why do they inhabit humans, then?” he asked. “I mean, what’s in it for them?”
Luke laughed. “Man, you really are green, aren’t you?” Seeing Kester’s expression, his expression quickly softened. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“That’s why I’ve enrolled on a course at the SSFE,” Kester replied stiffly. “I’m aware I’m still new to all of this.”
“I know,” Luke said placatingly. “Let me explain. A daemon, like any other kind of spirit, loves to be around humans. We don’t really understand why. They just do. It’s our energy, you see. They almost feed off it.”
Kester shuddered. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that idea.”
Luke waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing to worry about. All spirits have their weird little ways. Many are attached to specific places. Some attach themselves to certain types of people. Daemons fall into the latter category.”
“What sort of people do they like, then?” Kester asked.
“Ambitious folk,” Luke replied. “Daemons thrive on attention, and as a result, they search for people with similar dreams to their own. They offer those people the world, in exchange for . . .”
“For temporary residence?” Kester suggested.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what it is,” Luke concluded. “Most times, it’s a real harmonious relationship. Both the daemon and the human benefit from it.”
Kester coughed, sending a plume of icy mist into the air. “Would they ever enter a human without permission?”
Luke looked shocked at the mere idea. “No way,” he said adamantly. “It goes against their daemon code. They’re very respectful of humans.”
“Well, Hrschni seems to be breaking the code already, doesn’t he?”
Luke pondered the statement, eyes fixed on the clouds overhead. “I know he’s already acted strangely,” he said after he spat onto the snow below. “But I still can’t imagine any daemon entering a human without being allowed to. It’s just not their nature, period.”
“Why’s he suddenly acting so aggressively towards humans, then?” Kester pressed. He knew that Luke didn’t have the answers, but it felt good to get the questions out in the open and try to figure out what was going on.
“I guess he wants the world to embrace spirits again,” Luke replied simply. “Like they used to in the old days, before people like you and I started to control their movements.”
“Before science took the place of spirituality?”
Luke grinned. “Yeah, something like that.”
Kester said nothing. I still think we’re missing the bigger picture, he thought to himself as he shifted a pile of snow underneath his feet. The break-in at Infinite Enterprises, the secret lyrics in Billy Dagger’s songs, the sudden disappearance . . . none of it is adding up. And it’s driving me mad.
They waited, eyes sweeping restlessly up and down the street. Apart from the occasional passing car, the area was deserted— almost eerily so. A lone jackdaw poked around at the dustbin beside them, the only disturbance in the otherwise deathly silence.
Suddenly, their walkie-talkies crackled quietly in their palms. They raised the devices to their ears. To Kester’s surprise, Cardigan’s voice came through, clear as cut glass.
“Have either of you seen anything yet?” he asked, then added, “Over.”
Luke glanced at Kester. “Nope, nothing yet,” he replied. “It’s quiet as a tomb down here. Over.”
“I’ve just heard from Lili that Dr Barqa-Abu is on the upper floor of the building,” Cardigan continued. “She’s been in one particular room for a while now, we wonder if she’s discovered something. Over.”
Kester wrapped his arms across his chest and shivered. I swear it’s getting colder, he thought as he gazed longingly back in the direction of the hotel. I’d give anything to be snuggling up in bed watching a film right now. A figure in the distance suddenly caught his attention, walking slowly up the hill towards them. He nudged Luke and pointed.
“Hang on a minute,” Luke said quickly, pulling Kester back so they were concealed behind the wall of the park. “We’ve got someone coming towards us, up the hill. He’s a big guy though, not a small woman. Over.”
Kester watched the figure as he waddled closer, deliberate and ponderous as a bison. There was something about the way he was moving that seemed familiar, though he couldn’t think why. They waited patiently as the man lumbered to the top of the hill, then started to pace in their direction.
“He’s coming this way. Over,” Luke whispered, squinting at the man in question.
Suddenly, Kester gasped. He fumbled for his walkie-talkie, nearly dropping it in the snow as he did so. “Cardigan?” he muttered quickly as he squinted at the approaching figure. “Cardigan, are you there?”
There was a silence. Luke nudged him. “You’re meant to say ‘over’,” he whispered helpfully.
“Oh yes. Over!”
“What is it? Over.”
“I think I know the man! I mean, I’m not definitely sure yet, but I’m fairly confident I do. Over.”
Luke studied the man intently. “He doesn’t look familiar to me. You sure?”
Kester rubbed at his glasses, then nodded firmly. “I definitely do.” Directing his voice into the walkie-talkie, he added, “Cardigan, the man coming towards us is Barty Melville. I’m sure of it. I’d recognise his awful taste in clothes anywhere. Over.”
Cardigan whistled down the other end of the walkie-talkie. “As in Bartholomew Melville, who’s quite high up in the Thelemites? Over?”
“Yes, that’s exactly who I mean. I met him recently. Over.”
“Lili, are you listening to this? Do we need to get Dr Barqa-Abu out of there, over?” Cardigan asked tersely.
There was a crackle, then Lili’s clipped, cockney tones filled their ears. “Not if he’s unaccompanied by any daemons. He wouldn’t be able to detect Dr Barqa-Abu in a million years, don’t you worry. Over.”
They fell silent as Barty Melville wobbled closer. His expansive figure was covered by a voluminous black velvet coat, which fell about him like an oversized magician’s cloak. He looks shifty, Kester thought as he shrank further back behind the wall, making sure he was out of sight. I knew there was something about him I didn’t trust.
Barty coughed as he passed, a deep, baritone boom that disturbed the impeccable silence of the morning, echoing around the neighbouring beech trees. A few moments later, he’d proceeded up the street, pacing a slow, inexorable path towards the lodge. Kester exhaled and looked at Luke in bewilderment.
Luke shrugged. “The plot thickens,” he concluded, rubbing an anxious hand over his buzz-cut hair. “Why do you reckon he’s here?”
“I don’t know,” Kester replied as he pocketed his walkie-talkie. “But I bet you anything he’s involved in all of this.”
“Not good,” Luke said solemnly and kicked at a nearby pile of snow-coated leaves.
“Not good at all,�
� Kester agreed.
They continued to keep watch with renewed enthusiasm, confident that at least one other Thelemite member would join Barty at the lodge. However, the road remained resolutely clear, while the snow started to fall even more heavily.
Finally, Luke raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. “The weather’s getting pretty bad, guys,” he said morosely. “Has Dr Barqa-Abu finished up yet? Over.”
The line crackled. “I think she’s on her way out now,” Lili replied dryly. “She’s certainly on the move, if the thermal imaging is anything to go by. Over.”
Without waiting for further comment, Kester and Luke moved back in the direction of the van. The snow had soaked through Kester’s coat, trousers, and socks, leaving him bitterly cold all over.
“Your teeth sound like a rattlesnake’s tail,” Luke said with a laugh as they crossed the road, wading through the settling snow. “I don’t think they could chatter any more if they tried, could they?”
“I’m bloody freezing,” he replied grumpily, then swore as a piece of snow fell from the tree above, falling directly down his jacket collar. “If I get hypothermia, I won’t be happy.”
“Hey, you think you’ve got it bad; I’m used to Texan weather,” Luke reminded him as they approached the van, which was now parked further down the road. “This is like the Antarctic to me.”
They knocked quietly on the van door, which immediately flew open. Lili peered out, then pulled them in, frantic as a flapping parakeet. “Come on, come on,” she muttered. “Don’t take all day about it.” She pointed at their feet as they stood unhappily in the middle of the van. “You’re dripping water all over the place.”
“You try standing out in the snow for half an hour,” Kester grumbled as he brushed his coat down. He looked around. “Is Dr Barqa-Abu back yet, then?”
As soon as he spoke, the air beside the computer shimmered, solidifying into the shifting mist of the genie.
“She is indeed back,” Dr Barqa-Abu replied dryly, then weaved through the air towards him. “And she has discovered very interesting things, let me tell you. But we will wait until the others return.”
Kester grimaced. He hoped they’d hurry up. He was in desperate need of a steaming bath and a nice, warm, comforting drink.
A few minutes later, Cardigan and Ian returned, both looking as wet and irate as Kester felt. They stomped into the van, which felt immediately cramped with Cardigan’s large body and Ian’s bouffant mane taking up a considerable amount of the available space.
“So,” Cardigan said as he shrugged off his jacket. “Bartholomew Melville, eh? That’s an interesting development.”
“Did anyone else join him?” Luke asked.
Cardigan shook his head. “No. He was alone.” He turned to Dr Barqa-Abu. “What did he get up to when he was inside?”
The genie flitted back towards the ceiling, her eyes darting from face to face. “Something very alarming indeed,” she hissed. “But allow me to start from the beginning.”
They all waited expectantly. The genie shimmered an ice-blue for a moment before fading to a scarcely visible haze.
“I found nothing of interest on the ground floor,” she started, settling back into a misty, shifting cloud by the computer. “Apart from a large hall, a small office which I believe may be used by the British Legion, and some toilets. However, upstairs was rather more intriguing, to say the least.”
“What did you find up there?” Lili asked, wide-eyed as a child.
Dr Barqa-Abu exhaled, a long, vibrating noise that sounded like ball-bearings dragging over the floor. “The door to the upper floor was locked,” she continued. “But of course, this was no problem for me. In addition to this, every other door on the floor was also locked. In some cases, double-locked. Clearly, they take security very seriously. They also had sensors and alarms fitted in every room.”
Ian whistled. “That’s rather interesting. What are they protecting so passionately, I wonder?”
Dr Barqa-Abu’s face came into sharp focus. For a moment, Kester thought he detected a dry smile playing on her lips that faded as soon as it began. “Quite,” she replied, then continued her ceaseless circling of the narrow space. “Anyway, there was one room in particular that was very interesting indeed.”
The others waited, hardly daring to breathe.
“There was a complex strategy drawn up on one of the walls,” she continued. “Regrettably, sections were written in some form of code. However, it was clear to see what their goal was.”
“To open a permanent spirit door?” Cardigan prompted. “We know that much already.”
The genie shook her head, clearly nettled by the interruption. “Not just that,” she snapped. “To keep it continually open and in their control.”
Cardigan looked at Lili, then they both chuckled.
“That’s not possible,” Lili stated. “It costs Infinite Enterprises an arm and a leg to open it once a week, let alone all the time. We’re talking millions.”
Kester frowned. “Are there any other ways to create a permanent opening?” he asked.
“Only to create a sun-door, as they used to in the days of old,” Ian declared, casting his gaze dramatically upwards as though searching for signs of ancient civilisations on the metal ceiling.
“That’s never been scientifically proven,” Lili added practically.
“And even if ancient people did manage it, we have no idea how,” Cardigan concluded.
Kester scratched his head thoughtfully. “If Hrschni is so old,” he said slowly, “might he have an idea of how it was done?”
Dr Barqa-Abu solidified briefly, her razor-sharp features coming into sharp focus. “It is possible,” she said, moving closer. “I am as old as he, and I do not know how it is done, but daemons have ways of finding things out.”
“Let’s presume that sun-doors can be built,” Kester said, massaging his temples. “What would be the main advantage?”
“To allow mass movement,” Dr Barqa-Abu replied. “When a single spirit enters this world, it can take time, not to mention effort. A sun-gate enables faster travel between the realms. Much like the spirit doors that you create, Kester.”
I’m not sure mine have ever been big enough to let many spirits through at once, he thought, remembering the thin, shimmering openings he’d created in the past. Still, perhaps that’s because my skills aren’t terribly good.
“So,” he said finally, “it’s like the difference between walking down a narrow country road or speeding down a motorway?”
The genie sighed. “If one is going to put it crudely, then yes, I suppose so.”
“Probably more like comparing a sci-fi teleporter with an old Penny Farthing bicycle,” Lili added helpfully. “Quite simply, spirits much prefer taking the easy route to our world, via a proper door.”
“Did you find out anything else?” Ian asked as he rested against the nearest desk.
Dr Barqa-Abu nodded. “Names. I believe these were some of the key figures in the operation. But there is bad news, I’m afraid.”
“What’s that?” Cardigan asked, with a worried look at the others.
“They’re not all human.”
They groaned collectively.
“Please don’t say there are any other daemons involved,” Lili said, sitting next to Ian. “That would be terrible.”
“A few names I did not recognise,” the genie replied. “But one name was certainly familiar. Fylgja.”
Cardigan flinched. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Ian stood up, electrified into action. “Fylgja went off the radar years ago.”
“Over seventy years ago, to be precise,” Dr Barqa-Abu clarified. “I remember it well. The first daemon in years to fail to report for registration. And of course, no-one has heard from her since.”
“Christ, if she’s
joined the Thelemites, we’re in serious trouble,” Ian whispered.
“Excuse me,” Kester said, once again feeling like the only child in school who didn’t know the answer to a very easy question. “Who on earth is this Filljar person?”
“Fylgja,” Dr Barqa-Abu corrected, pin-prick eyes burrowing into his own. “Surely you have heard of her? It was a famous incident. It shook the supernatural world to its core.”
“Nope,” Kester replied. “It doesn’t even sound vaguely familiar.” He cowered under the weight of her obvious disapproval.
“Fylgja is a relatively powerful daemon,” the genie explained, flitting irritably from side to side. “Her most famous human inhabitation was inside a certain British queen, though most of the time, she chose to connect with people from the northern lands.”
“The northern lands? You mean Scotland?”
“No, I mean northern Europe,” Dr Barqa-Abu corrected irritably. “Even daemons favour certain parts of the world, from time to time.”
“Why is it so bad if she’s joined the Thelemites, then?” Kester asked.
“One daemon is bad enough. Two is virtually unmanageable,” Cardigan replied.
“There’s more news, I’m afraid,” Dr Barqa-Abu continued. She glided closer to Kester, solidifying into a form that was clearer than he’d ever seen her before. He fought against the urge to cower as he studied her skeletal face and hollow, haunted expression.
“What is it?” he squeaked, already knowing that it was something to do with him.
“It’s Barty Melville,” she said as she inched even closer. “And more specifically, what he was doing in the Thelemite lodge.”
“What was he doing?” Kester asked, even though he didn’t really want to know. The proximity of the genie, not to mention the overwhelming smell of burning coming from her, was making him feel nauseous.
“Among other things, he was reading through some files,” she said quietly, and for a moment, her features softened. In fact, she looked almost as though she felt sorry for him. “And those files were about your father and his agency.”
