Speak of the Devil - 05 Page 11

  Once evening had fallen, and with no apparent work for her to do, Lauren Brennan told the Raine’s Landing P.D. where she was going and then headed back to Cassie’s place to get some rest. God only knew, that was a commodity she normally got little of when she was visiting this town. There was always something going on. But she’d fixed herself a fruit tea in the kitchen – it looked like Cass was trying to lead a healthier lifestyle now that she was pregnant. And had gone through into the living room, where she was sprawled out on the cheap, frayed couch. Her surroundings were untidy, but that didn’t faze her.

  Photographs in different frames, dotted all over the room, stared back at her. Dozens of them. They were all of Cassie’s previous three kids, the ones she’d lost to magic gone askew. Christ, what did that have to be like, knowing they had vanished but not where or how? Knowing that they might still be out there somewhere, but not having the slightest inkling how to get in touch with them or bring them back? It had to be a whole lot worse than having had no family in the first place, an appalling kind of loneliness. She felt terribly sad for Cassie. Not least because Lauren knew a great deal about being alone.

  It had even made her go quite badly off the rails, some three years back. Not in the course of her work, of course. She’d never have let anything affect her professionalism. But in her off-hours, she had started hanging around bars and clubs and drinking way too much. And had wound up, some nights, going home with just any old well-muscled meatball. It was a period of her life she was very far from proud of.

  It had only lasted six months, and was largely remembered as a great big fuzzy blur. But then she’d stopped – just stopped it – without any help, understanding she was stepping closer to the edge. No more heavy drinking. No more nightclubs. That part of her life was over.

  But it didn’t change the fact that, deep down, she was not a happy person. Her folks were dead. She had no other family. The last relationship she’d been in had lasted barely two months, and had wound up with the fellow she was dating yelling, “Come on, tough guy, why don’t you arrest me?” at her before walking out.

  It was hard, being an honest and committed cop in the regular world. She had no genuine friends in Boston, only colleagues. All her friends were here, in fact. And – sitting in this house, listening to the woodwork creaking as it settled for the night – Lauren began to wonder.

  Maybe if she moved here?

  There was always bad stuff going down, but what was new about that? Bad stuff happened in the outside world as well, and plenty of it. All manner of supernatural scariness had thrown itself at her since she had first arrived here. She’d been terrified sometimes, but she had managed to live through it. There was satisfaction just in that.

  People here were kind to her, and grateful when she helped. Let’s face it, she was beginning to like Raine’s Landing. And when she took in that simple truth, a faint smile sprang up on her heart-shaped face.

  But then a mewling made it vanish. Cleveland – Cassie’s big old tabby cat – had jumped up on the far end of the couch and was staring at her with those dusky amber eyes of his. And she’d long ago decided that she wasn’t a cat person. But, hey, everybody needed company, so perhaps it would be better if she revised that opinion.

  She stretched out a hand at him and waggled her fingers.

  “Come on, kitty.”

  Cleveland began prowling over, with the obvious intent of settling on her lap. But a couple of feet before he reached her, he came to a dead, stiff halt. His ears jerked uneasily, and then he turned around, jumped off the couch and bolted through the doorway.

  What had scared him? Lauren sat up, her ribs going tight.

  The single lightbulb that was turned on in this room went down to half its wattage, though she had not touched the dimmer switch. And then a tall figure popped into view in front of her.

  Lauren began scrabbling for her shoulder holster, which she’d taken off. And had her Walther halfway drawn before she realized that this apparition had blond, shoulder-length hair and was dressed in blue jeans and a singlet.

  She had seen this guy before. She’d encountered him briefly the first time that she’d been in this house. This was Quinn Maycott, the ghost who Cassie was in love with.

  He didn’t even seem to notice she was there, at first. He dropped his head and hunched down on the floor, his elbows on his knees. His hands were at his temples, and he looked like he was having difficulties.

  Lauren stood up urgently. But then Quinn’s outline began flickering, which froze her.

  Was that supposed to happen? She had never really known a ghost before, and wasn’t certain what the deal was. But she felt pretty sure that there was something wrong.

  Her mouth went tight and dry.

  “Quinn? Are you okay?”

  His face started coming up, his brow furrowing. But then part of his right arm vanished for a few seconds before returning.

  “Hey, Lauren,” he mumbled.

  “You know me?”

  “You’ve been here a few times, haven’t you? And even though you haven’t seen me, I’ve been aware of your presence. Cassie talks a lot about you too.”

  His arm disappeared again, and took a good while longer coming back this time.

  “What’s happening?” Lauren asked.

  “Ross and Doctor Willets were in danger, so I used my power to pull them out. Except my power is the only thing that’s holding me together. Without it, my consciousness would melt into the ether.”

  He would leave this world for good, in other words. Lauren almost jumped when she heard that.

  “You’ve … drained your power? Can you get it back?”

  “I hope so.” Quinn tried to raise his face a little higher, but his neck went all misshapen when he did that. “I probably just need to rest up a while. If you don’t mind me being here, that is.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if you were with Cassie?” Lauren pointed out.

  But Quinn shook his head, his expression turning stubborn.

  “In the state she’s in? To worry her like that? Cass must never know about this. I need you to promise.”

  So she did.

  And then the landline telephone began to ring, which put an end to resting.

  Lauren deserved to be included in this. She’d helped to get us part of the way here, so it was right and fitting she was in on the conclusion. Christ, I hoped that this was the conclusion. Quinn had sent that demon packing, but who knew what else might be waiting for us when we made our move?

  But we’d cross that particular bridge when we came to it. That’s the way we work.

  “Everybody’s at the central station house,” I told her. “We’re ready to go. So how soon can you be here?”

  “Can you wait another ten minutes?” her voice came at me down the line.

  “I don’t see why not,” I grinned. “That frat house isn’t going anywhere.”

  When Lauren’s blue-green Focus drew up, it was to the edge of a massed sea of flashing beacons. More than half the squad cars in Raine’s Landing were here, and that’s a lot. Our home might have a small town feel to it, but it’s a whole load larger than it ought to be, and needs a sizeable police force.

  Ritchie Vallencourt was present. Half the cops were holding riot guns. Willets was right by my side, and Judge Levin and Martha had shown up. Like everybody else, they wanted this whole business over, done, and put behind us.

  Even Lauren looked impressed.

  “Preparing for D-Day, huh?” And then she nodded to me. “Thanks for holding on.”

  “I thought you’d like to see the look on Ryan Eastlake’s face when we show up a second time, in force. Master of the Universe my ass.”

  Hobart, who was wound up like a spring, broke in across us.

  “Enough of the chit-chat, people! Let’s get this thing moving!”

  He climbed into his Pontiac and the entire convoy headed off.

  We certainly had the manpower. But I still felt my
gut tightening as we headed on. If Eastlake junior could call a devil like the one that we’d encountered to him, what other horrors might he bring into existence?

  It was late into the evening, the bad weather keeping most people indoors. The occasional head swung round to track us as we went on by, and the occasional drape was pulled aside. But we were mostly out here on our own.

  Everything was glossy, the pavement and the sidewalks and the roofs of all the houses. And it reflected our headlamps, so that it looked like we were underwater, everything muted and a touch unreal. But then we cruised around the final intersection to the college.

  The iron gates were open and we pushed on through. The main building was dark, but there were still plenty of lights on in the dormitory blocks. Heads came poking out. Blank young faces studied us. These kids looked really puzzled as to what we were about.

  We’d checked a map, and already knew there was a wider lane in the direction of the Deth House, suitable for cars. So ours all began going down it, single-file. The trees were in the way, so that we couldn’t see the house itself.

  The cruisers up ahead of me were drawing to a halt, their occupants climbing out. Except the cops were simply standing there, their weapons hanging by their sides. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting.

  And when I saw Saul and Ritchie do the same, I pulled my Caddy off onto the grass, then made it on foot the rest of the way.

  Only to be brought to a shuddering halt. I could scarcely believe what I was looking at.

  Mostly because I was seeing very little.

  There was no frat house any more, not even the basement. The only thing still visible was a deep, square hole in the loamy, sodden dirt, the roots of nearby trees exposed. My head swam, and I could feel myself rocking on my heels for most of the next minute.

  By the time that I’d recovered, Willets had moved up.

  “Now that,” he grunted violently, “is what I call a vanishing act.”

  I wasn’t even sure that I was thinking straight. I simply started walking forward, partially aware that several of the other guys were coming with me.

  We stopped at the edge of the massive, crumbling, square-shaped pit. You could even see the severed pipe-work in its depths.

  And there was something else.

  Directly at the center of that empty space, the ground was glowing almost red. Heat was rising from it strongly, making the air waver.

  “Well, at least that explains why the weather has warmed up,” I could hear Willets saying. “That Eastlake boy has managed to open up some kind of doorway into Hell itself.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Most of us took a while absorbing that. I wasn’t sure how to react. But Lauren got the measure of it quickly, which is odd for somebody who wasn’t even born here. She was learning fast.

  “How do you suppose we close it?”

  “Beats me,” Willets shrugged.

  I still couldn’t believe we were discussing this thing seriously. But apparently, we were.

  “Let me get this straight,” asked Saul. “If this door is open, are you telling me that things from down there can come wandering through?”

  “I’d doubt that,” Willets said. “There are barriers in place that go way back to before this world was even born. I’d say, if anything came out of there, then it would need to be invited. Summoned.”

  “By the Deth House boys?”

  “By Ryan Eastlake specifically, since the rest are only patsies.”

  “And where do you suppose the frigging house has gone? And all its occupants?”

  I’d rarely heard Saul curse, but he was honestly infuriated.

  “I could say ‘beats me’ again,” Willets answered, “but I never like repeating myself.”

  And Saul turned that over, fuming.

  “Do you think that they can do us any further harm?”

  Willets’s graying eyebrows became knotted in a tight vee.

  “What part of ‘beats me’ don’t you understand, lieutenant?”

  Wow, this was a really big house. Rather coldly furnished, though. He wasn’t sure he’d like to live here. The floors were tiled, some kind of marble. Every time he took a step, it echoed.

  And since Patrolman Gus Hendry was on bodyguarding duty, and the adept he’d been tasked with protecting was presumably asleep inside his bedroom, Gus felt obliged to keep the noise down to a minimum.

  His partner, Joey Grimes, had no such problems. He was in a fancy chair directly outside Gaspar Vernon’s bedroom door, and had fallen asleep too. His faint snores rattled down the hallway. They were on the second story of the Vernon mansion. This was quite a place.

  It was several times the size of the Town Hall, and stood on the upper reaches of Sycamore Hill like some enormous barracks. Gus reckoned two hundred people could have lived here without any problem. But this entire house was occupied by just one man.

  And his staff, of course. Let’s not forget those. The gaunt, aging, and deeply snooty butler, Meadows. That guy was a peach. The kitchen staff who, when he’d asked if he could take a look around, had acted as if he was trying to delve into state secrets. The gardeners and other people who kept this place ticking over. Simply for one man?

  Old Gaspar had had a family back in the past. But his children had moved out, his wife was dead. Quite frankly, the guy ought to consider moving to a smaller home.

  Gus crossed over to the nearest window and stared out across the sprawling grounds. He believed that when privet bushes were cut into distinctive shapes that way, it was called ‘topiary.’ He could make out the dim silhouettes of a Minotaur, a phoenix, and what he thought might be a gorgon. Who would do those things to plants? This town might rely upon the adepts to protect it, but he’d never been up close and personal to one before. These guys were deeply spooky on some levels. He’d be glad when morning came, and he and Joe went back to their own neighborhoods.

  And then his partner’s snoring got a little louder. Oh, for Pete’s sake, he was not supposed to be asleep on duty in the first place, and at this rate he’d go waking up the adept. Gus turned around and headed back, still trying to make his footfalls as light as he could.

  A shadow trembled in the corner of his vision, and his gaze swung sharply to it.

  This whole place was full of fancy bits of artwork, antiquities in glass cases, massive ancient urns, and even life-sized statues. And it was one of those he’d thought had moved, a trick of the darkness and the moonlight.

  But then it shifted once again. And then a tall, cloaked figure stepped out from behind it.

  Gus went stiff except for his right hand, which started fumbling at his holster.

  “Joey!”

  He drew his gun. He’d been warned already that it might not fire, but hell, it was worth a go. He took in the fact that a second hooded figure was emerging, then he aimed and squeezed the trigger.

  His service revolver thundered in his grasp. But his hand was shaking badly and his aim was off. The pale head of the statue flew into a thousand pieces. Dammit!

  He could hear Joe running up behind him. Only there were three of the cloaked figures, now. And they were not taking the least little notice of the fact that he was armed. They formed up in a straight line and began advancing on him, their long daggers glinting.

  “Stop where you are!” he bellowed.

  But the intruders might as well be deaf. They kept on coming at the same unbroken pace.

  Gus aimed at the middle guy and fired again. He didn’t miss. Couldn’t, at this range. But the shot had no effect, and the three men kept getting closer.

  The next shot that he heard was Joe’s, from directly beside him, with the same lack of effect. The trio of intruders was within arm’s reach. Their blades were lifting, shattering the filtered strands of moonlight that were coming through the window.

  Gus could hear his partner yelling out with desperation.

  Then he started doing that as well.

  Gaspar Vernon ca
me awake immediately the gunshots started. He lay there stiffly in his huge four-poster bed, wondering if he was dreaming. Everything outside went quiet for a few lingering seconds. But then there was more yelling, and more shots. And so he threw his bedsheets back and hurried halfway to the door, barefoot. Maybe this was all over already.

  But the next thing that he heard was struggling, accompanied by frightened shrieks. Gaspar clasped a hand across his chest.

  When silence fell back over the house again, it was of an ominous kind. He tried to reach out with his senses, but discovered he could not. He’d been advised that that might happen.

  Gaspar waited for some footfalls to move closer to his door, but couldn’t hear a single one. The first thing that he knew was when the silver knob began to turn. There was no lock to it, and no bolt to the door. So Gaspar took a long step back.

  He watched with satisfaction as it only turned halfway, then stopped. It rattled, someone on the far side jerking at it frantically. But the idiot could do that all he liked. Before he’d gone to sleep this evening, Gaspar had sealed off this whole room with a Hallow’s Knot. There was no stronger form of protective magic.

  All he had to do, now, was to wait until these morons figured how they’d been outwitted and went scuttling off.

  Except a muttering had started up beyond the woodwork.

  “Arvis kleff. Matto shi deh. Ovromis. Klistano.”

  When the knob began to turn again, it kept on moving smoothly. Disbelieving fright surged up through Gaspar, and his first instinct was to transport himself to someplace else.

  When he tried it, though, nothing happened. All that he could do was stand there, stunned.

  The door was swinging open, three dark, huddled shapes beyond it coming into view.

  Gaspar went rigid, every muscle in his body tightening up. He couldn’t raise his arms. He couldn’t even work his mouth. Robbed of all his powers, he was helpless.

  There was a flash of yellow light beside him, and a fourth figure appeared. He swung around to face it, certain he was done for. But, instead of any cloaked and hooded murderer, he found himself staring at a tall, attractive woman with long, curly yellow hair and eyes of the same color.