Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (11 page)

Well, now I felt nothing, nothing at all. I was alone, with nobody to help or advise me.

A memory suddenly came to me: my dad standing in the farmyard, stamping his feet, spattering my breeches with manure and mud, facing the Spook with both bravery and impatience—the latter because he was eager to get back to the milking, the former because most people thought spooks were scary. This was our first meeting with the Spook. An agreement had been reached, and John Gregory had given me a month's trial as his apprentice. Little had any of us known that it would end like this.

What was it that my dad had once said?

“Heaven helps those who help themselves.”

Well, I'd done my best. I'd
tried
to help myself. But I wasn't getting any assistance in return. There was nothing to guide me, nobody to even offer advice. Entities from the dark banded together, sometimes in large numbers. And what did the light have? Just a few scattered spooks, helpless against the vast dark tide that would soon sweep all goodness aside.

I stared through the window. It was dusk, and the light was beginning to fail, but I could see a village in the distance. Through the trees was a church spire. Another church . . . either an empty shell like this one, or a place where deluded fools banded together to offer useless prayers that were never answered.

I felt a surge of bitter anger, and stepped out of the ruins onto the rocky ground. Advancing a few steps so that I could see the gray slate rooftops below the spire, I spotted something else. It must be quite a large village, I thought—a small town, even, for I could now see another church spire just behind and to the right of the first.

I went forward a few more paces. My heart was starting to beat a little faster as an understanding started to form inside my head. Then I retraced my steps, went back into the chapel, and looked through the window.

Once again I could see only one church spire.

That was because the other, more distant, steeple was hidden
directly
behind it.

They were in perfect alignment.

I spun through a hundred and eighty degrees and looked back in the opposite direction, through the window at the rear of the chapel. I could now see the tower, dark against the red sky above the setting sun.

My heart was beating even faster as I turned toward the churches once more; toward the east, where the sun would rise tomorrow, filling the world with light.

Four buildings stood in a straight line: the tower, the ruined chapel, and two churches. I knew what that meant. Churches and ancient buildings were often erected in such alignments.

They were ancient tracks, lines of power. Some called them ley lines.

I was actually standing on a ley line, and it ran directly through the dark tower.

I
had
been given help, after all. I had been shown what I could do.

I had thought myself alone and without any support. But this ley line changed everything.

I had a powerful ally, and the ley line would make it possible for him to reach me.

I could summon the Spook's boggart.

CHAPTER XIV

T
HE
S
POOK'S
B
OGGART

B
OGGARTS used ley lines to travel from one location to another, though they could not stray far from these ancient tracks that crisscrossed the County.

But this tower
was
on a line.

And so was the Spook's house at Chipenden.

The Spook's boggart had left that house after the fire, its agreement with my master at an end. But I had been sent to search for it and issue a new contract. That I had done, and it had since successfully defended the house and garden against an attack by Romanian witches. What I had not told my master was that the new agreement had been made with
me
, not him, and that it had been necessary to offer the boggart more in return for its services.

The boggart had scratched its demands on a piece of timber.

my price is higher this time.
you must give me more.

I'd had to think quickly, but then I'd had a moment of inspiration.

“In addition to killing dark things that try to enter the garden,” I'd said, “I have another task for you. Sometimes when I hunt out creatures of the dark, I find myself in extreme danger; then I will summon you to fight by my side. You will be able to slay my enemies and drink their blood! What is your name? I must know your name so that I can call.”

The boggart had thought for a long time before replying, and I'd wondered if it was reluctant to reveal its name to anyone. But at last it had scratched it on the wood.

kratch!

“When I am in danger, I will call your name three times!” I had told it, and so the pact was made. I had never used its services since because I did not like to leave my master's premises unprotected. But this was an extreme situation. I felt certain that the Spook would agree with my decision to summon the boggart.

It was then, still staring at the alignment of churches, that I reconsidered my fear of imminent attack by the Fiend. I started to think things through carefully, step-by-step, using the brain I'd been born with.

Back on Pendle, the witches had summoned the Fiend, but they had only been able to accomplish this at a very special time, when dark magic was powerful; they had been forced to wait for Lammas, one of the four main witches' sabbaths. Similarly, they couldn't now simply put head and body together and reanimate him. Our original plans for the ritual with Alice could not have gone ahead until a certain time of year; the witches too would have to wait to perform their own ceremony.

Mab was right, after all.

They would have to wait for Halloween!

Circling the tower, I returned to my original position. Now I was free to choose the moment when I would attack.

I was hungry and went to check my snares. I had set four, and all of them held rabbits. I retreated to my previous spot, out of sight of the tower, and lit a fire. I abandoned my resolve to follow my master's advice and just eat cheese before facing the dark. My plans would require energy and physical strength. So I cooked and ate one of the rabbits.

The moon was rising in the east, sending shafts of silver light down through the trees. The moment was right. I summoned the boggart.

First I just whispered his name: “
Kratch!”

The air had been very still, but as I spoke, I heard a faint rustle. A breeze was stirring the fallen leaves. I called the name again—but this time much louder.

“
Kratch!
”

Now the wind was whipping the branches, gaining in power. The last of the crisp autumn leaves fell to join the soggy brown mounds beneath the trees.

The third time, I shouted the name of the boggart at the top of my voice like a priest calling out to the faithful. I cared nothing for the fact that it might be heard in the tower. Now it was my enemies who would be afraid. My voice resonated through the air so that it seemed to ring like a great bell.

“
KRATCH!
”

In response, the wind surged in from the west, howling like a banshee and almost throwing me off my feet. I staggered back and covered my eyes with my arm to protect my face from the fragments of wood, mud, and stones that hurtled between the trees.

And then the gale dropped to nothing. There was silence, the air absolutely still.

Had the boggart responded? I wondered. Was it here?

The silence continued. I held my breath, listening hard.

Still there was nothing.

My heart began to sink into my boots. Had my summons failed?

But then I heard it: the very lightest of treads. Something was approaching from the west, moving very stealthily toward me.

I picked up one of the rabbits and cast it high in the air in the direction the sound was coming from.

I heard the low thud of the carcass hitting the ground. Then came a wet rending noise, as if flesh were being torn apart, followed by the crunch of bones being crushed by powerful jaws.

I heard footsteps approaching me again, louder now.

Pad! Pad! Pad!

Then I heard the swish of a big tail.

I tossed over the second dead rabbit. It was devoured even more quickly.

Again those heavy padding feet, coming toward where I waited—the approach of a confident and deadly creature that didn't need to tread softly. Now only one rabbit remained, and that too I threw.

Why had I given the rabbits to the boggart?

Its reward for answering my summons would be the blood of my enemies, but the rabbits were a first offering to mark our first meeting under the new pact. I had also acted out of fear. I was afraid that the boggart might turn on me. This could well be the final approach of a predator stalking its prey, the moment before it sprang. Perhaps I was the next thing on the menu.

I was scared, and my knees shook violently because we were no longer in the Spook's house or garden. The old pact had endured for many years, made safe by custom and repetition. Now we were out in the open; this was a new and dangerous beginning.

I was truly afraid.

All at once I heard a deep purring and felt a furry animal rubbing against my legs. At this moment, the boggart felt no bigger than a normal cat. This was the shape it assumed when carrying out its agreed domestic duties. Perhaps this was what suddenly made me feel brave. . . .

I should probably have just spoken to the boggart, telling it what I intended. Instead, without thinking, I did something very dangerous—something that would have shocked John Gregory.

He had always kept his distance from the creature.

But I acted from pure instinct.

I knelt down beside that cat-boggart and gently placed my hand upon its head. I could feel its fur, but the body was not warm like that of an animal. It was ice cold.

Then, very slowly, I stroked it from its head to the tip of its long tail.

In response, the boggart stopped purring and became very still.

Unable to help myself, one part of me watching in astonishment at what I was risking, I repeated the action. Once more I stroked it from head to tail.

This time the boggart gave a hiss; as I stroked it for the third time, I realized that its fur was standing up on end, its back arched.

What a fool I'd been. What had come over me? What madness had driven me to do such a thing? I remembered how irascible the boggart could be. On my first morning in the Spook's house, I'd come down to breakfast too early and had soon received a blow to the back of the head. My master had warned me that it could have been worse.

What would happen now? I needed the creature on my side.

Gradually the boggart began to glow in the darkness until I could see it clearly. A livid scar ran across its left eye: It had been blinded defending us against a demonic entity called the Bane. Its remaining eye was a vortex of orange fire.

Now it seemed to be growing larger. My sense of danger grew too. Salt and iron could be effective against such entities, but I had none in my pockets. I had left everything in my bag back in Chipenden. I had been pursuing witches, and my chosen weapons had been staff, sword, and dagger.

Suddenly the boggart struck me a terrible blow, and I fell backward. I was stunned, barely conscious, in pain. It was as if a shock wave had passed straight through me.

I was lying on my right side, my left hand stretched out in front of me. I sensed the boggart looming over me. Now it seemed much larger than I was.

Then it struck my left hand. I felt its claws rake my skin. Pain seared into the flesh, running up my arm and into my chest; I feared my heart would stop.

I was rigid with agony. My hand had surely been mangled, the flesh torn, the bones crushed. But I saw in the light of the moon that it was intact, but for a single scratch running across from my little finger to the base of my thumb. As I watched, dark blood welled up from the wound and began to trickle down toward my wrist.

Why had the boggart turned on me? How could I ever hope to understand the motives of such an alien entity? It seemed likely that this was a reaction to my audacity in stroking it—though its response could have been much worse. My hand was still connected to my arm. Perhaps our pact had survived my recklessness?

Suddenly I felt the boggart's huge, rough tongue begin to lick the blood from my hand. As it lapped, the pain receded from my body; I closed my eyes and fell into darkness.

I was dragged back to consciousness by a deep rumbling vibration that seemed to shake the ground beneath me. I was lying on my back, and there was a cold, heavy weight across my lower legs.

I sat up very slowly and saw in the bright moonlight that the boggart had laid its huge head and paws across my body. The rumbling was its purr—a sound that in a normal cat indicated contentment. For a long time I didn't dare move my legs, even though I was cramped; any movement that disturbed the boggart's comfort might result in another violent reaction.