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If Kevin was right, and who could doubt
him whilst in the grip of supernatural revelation, then he had the task of
locating the remaining stones which, according to Tiferet, were scattered
across the dimensions.  But he was not the only one involved in the quest. 
There was Alexander Lapski and Mitch Mitchell and the evil Beast of his
nightmares.  Who was he to fight such horrors?

Kevin, meanwhile, was recovering on a
bean-bag with Rob’s comforting arm around his shoulders.

‘I don’t know about you, my dears,’ he
said, returning to his normal mode of speech, ‘But I could really do with a
stiff drink.’

Jake could not help agreeing and Kevin
poured him a large scotch.

‘Now,
darling
, let’s see if we can
give you some protection from this nasty Beastie thingie, okay?’

Jake nodded.

‘You say they’ve got your cuff links as a
focus?  Well; what we need to do is deflect their efforts.

‘Jake, you’ll sleep on the couch tonight
with Rob and me standing guard.  I’m going to surround you with candles and certain
herbs that are a potent force against evil.  If anything is to happen we’ll be
ready.’

‘Hey, man; are you sure about this?’

‘Jake’s an old friend.  He needs me,
okay?’

‘But this is so-so dangerous.  I heard
you.’

‘Rob, you’re a real darling, I know, but
tonight I’ve got to be strong.  If you’re not up to it then you’d better go.’

Rob shook his head.

‘Okey-dokey, then give me a hand.’

…………………………………………

At last Jake was ready for bed.  He did
not know whether to laugh or cry at the elaborate measures that Kevin had
taken.  He felt like a refugee from a Dennis Wheatley novel as he lay there on
a couch in the centre of a chalk circle described upon the bare boarded
floors.  Ten candles surrounded him, each with the scent of a different pungent
herb only a few of which he recognised.  There was the inevitable smell of
garlic, of course, and even onion, but some of the spices were far more exotic
and purchased, according to Kevin, down the local Indian cash and carry.

At each candle a word in Hebrew had been
scribbled in chalk.  These were apparently the ten nodes of the Sefirotic Tree,
aspects of God according to the Zohar, the principal book of Kabbalah.  Jake
just had to hope that Kevin knew what he was doing.

At last they were ready and Kevin looked
down on him.

‘Good night, then.’

‘And you expect me to sleep with you two Charlies
standing over me?’

‘That’s up to you, my dear, but if you do
fall asleep, just remember that we’re here to protect you.’

But, to Jake’s complete amazement, he did
manage to drop off and was only awakened by a shout from Rob.

He opened his eyes and stared.

There was Kevin, haggard and drawn,
kneeling on the floor in a gesture of supplication.

‘Kevin?’

With a supreme effort his friend looked
up.

‘Jake.  Jake, is that you?’

‘Of course it's me.  What in God’s name is
going on?’

‘Don’t come closer.  It’s not safe.  I’ve
got it in with me but it’s been trying to escape.’

‘What, Kev?  What do you mean?’

‘Listen carefully.  It came to me whilst I
watched you.  It’s the thing of your dreams.  At first I thought it was just a
spirit but it was far more than that.  It can’t get to you so it’s using me. 
I’m a psychic; I’m just what it needs.  It’s trying to possess me but I’ve
trapped it within me.  I can’t hold it much longer.’

And suddenly Kevin’s eyes opened wide and
seemed to light up in his sheer terror at what was happening to him.  Jake
started forward and made to cross the white chalk line.

‘No, stay back!’ came the sharp retort,
‘It’s you it really wants.  It’s stronger than ever.  I can’t fight it.’

There had to be something he could do, but
what?  Within Kevin’s head a war was being waged between the man and the demon
that was trying to possess him.

And then it became obvious that the battle
was fought and Jake could see to his dismay that Kevin was not the victor.  The
psychic’s eyes glazed over, becoming blank and vacant and it seemed as if a
window into his mind had been closed forever.  Then the body that had formerly
belonged to Kevin Saint-George stood and faced the horrified watcher.

‘Jake Tranton.  Listen to me,’ spoke a
quite different voice from Kevin’s lips; but, as alien as it was, it was a
voice that Jake could not help recognising.  It was the same as in his dream. 
The Beast.

‘What are you?’

The other nodded.

‘I have no name.’

‘But.’

‘Silence.  Mortal.  You have something
that I want.  The stone upon your finger.’

‘I will not give it up.’

From the possessed man’s mouth came a
hollow laugh; mocking; evil.

‘You cannot fight me.  You, who represent
a world that has no right to exist.  I am the truth; not you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Give me your ring and I will spare you. 
Help me find the other stones and we will share my destiny.’

‘No!’

Again that unearthly laughter.

‘Fool, tonight I will have another stone. 
Then my servants will have four.  Soon the meddler’s stone will be mine and
then I will have yours.  With half the stones in my possession it will be
simple to find the others.  Already my slaves have more than you.  So why do
you fight?’

And Jake knew the answer.  Suddenly, he
understood.  It was a race.  He who held the majority of the stones would win
the war.  Yes, he could fight this Beast and, more than that, he could beat it.

He shook his head.

‘You have no power.  If you did you would
not take refuge behind this mortal facade.  Leave him.  Without the stones you
are nothing.’

And, from Kevin’s form came a bellow of
rage.

‘Powerless, am I?  Then see what I can
do.’

And Kevin was suddenly attacked by a fit
of violent coughing.

Jake could do nothing other than to look
on helplessly as his friend began to take long deep breaths.

But then a human twinkle returned to his
eyes.

‘Kevin?’

‘There is so little time.  Listen.

‘You can fight it, Jake.  Seek out the one
called Tifer...Tiferet...No…!’

And then Kevin’s face creased up as if in
agony.  Jake felt impotent and waited for him to speak again.

When at last he did it was obvious that
the effort was costing him dear.  With each word he was taking in a lungful of
breath that made comprehension almost impossible.

‘My...time...is...al...most...o...ver...I…am...sor...ry...I...can...not...fight...it...On...ly...you...can...de...feat...the...e...vil.’

And Kevin gave another grimace and sank to
the floor.

‘Wait.’

And there came an almighty scream.

‘No!’

And the body lay there on its back on the
floor; its mouth wide open.

‘Kevin?’

‘You... will...find...the...o...ther...stones...and...you...            will...win.’

And then the mouth closed and Kevin’s skin
turned grey.  Then, as if it was ancient paper, it began to flake away;
disintegrating into particles of dust. 

It was not long before Jake was alone with
Rob.  It was as if Kevin Saint-George had never existed.  The Beast had
demonstrated its power.

When Ben Tiferet arrived at the Hampstead
flat that morning he was furious.

‘A psychic.  He was the last person you
should have seen.  Now look what you have done.’

‘But, Professor...’

‘No, if you wanted someone to stay with
you I would have been glad to come but no, you thought that you could handle
this alone.  You understand nothing.  How many times must you be told?  I have
made a life-long study of these forces; your friend was a mere amateur.  It was
his psychic energy that gave the Beast power.  Frustrated that it could not
reach you it attacked in the only way it knew.  Fools, fools.’

‘But what is it?’

‘The Beast.  I think that I know but I
must be certain.  I suspect that it is one of the primordial forces of
creation.  What concerns me is that it says that its servants have one more of
the stones.  Somehow I suspect that it means the Isaacson boy has fallen into
their hands.  When I saw him yesterday he seemed frightened.  He did not say
anything useful.  He would not even show me his cup.’

‘But, what of Cherry?’

‘What?  You think she has gone over to the
enemy?’

‘No, of course not.  Just that they saw
her buy the cup yesterday.  She could be in danger.’

‘I doubt that.’

Jake looked at the Israeli in disbelief.

‘How can you dismiss the possibility so
casually?  You’ve seen what they can do for yourself.  Kevin’s dead because of
them.’

‘Yes, but only because his own psychic
abilities gave the creature the...’

‘No, Professor.  You don’t know.  You
can’t know.  Cherry’s a girl, alone, without the slightest knowledge of what is
going on.  They could be doing anything to her.’

‘Think about it, Jake.  What you suggest
is impossible.’

‘No.  You think about it.  You’re playing
with her life.  If you won’t do anything I will.’

‘Do what, boy?  She is in no danger, I
assure you.’

‘Fuck you.  I’m going to call her,’ he
turned to Rob, sitting there, lost for words since Kevin’s death, ‘Pass me my
phone will you?  It’s over there.’

………………………………………

That morning, as she sat there before the
part-covered canvas Cherry Linford felt completely in control.  This was her
own world, she had created it, and no-one would be able to intrude.

Here she could escape and consciously
forget about her past.  Here every one of her emotions could be translated into
a reality that was hers to command.  Here Cherry Linford found it easy to
express her desires in a way that she could never do using the spoken word. 
For, when Cherry Linford painted, she painted from deep within her soul.

Many did not like her works.  That did not
bother Cherry, she was not painting for them.  Others adored the depth of
expression she put into every stroke of her brush but, again that did not
bother the artist, she was not painting for them.  No, the works of Cherry
Linford had only one intended audience and that was she.

She sized up the sheet before her and made
up her mind.  Cherry knew exactly what she wanted to say.  She looked over to
the rack of oils and scanned the tubes.  Yes, that was it, some cadmium yellow,
a barest hint of cobalt and then the red, but which red?  The colour had to be
bold and vibrant.  It had to show anger.  Yes, that was it, an alizarin
crimson; ideal.  One of the most powerful reds you could find.  Now she
squeezed out the oils and carefully measured out the quantities of pigment she
required and mixed them together.  Now it was exactly the violent shade she
wanted.

Then, satisfied, Cherry dipped her
thickest brush onto the palette and attacked the canvas with colour.  In a
frenzy she threw the paint onto the sheet, swirling it in furious spirals,
letting the image that she wanted grow into the fullest expression of her rage
that she could find.

Perfect; exactly what she wanted.

Now, with a number 12 hogshair, she had to
soften the edges using all the slight variations of orange and yellow that she
needed.

Yes, this felt right.  The painting
communicated directly with her psyche and told Cherry that it was true.  This
was a work that could only ever have one name,
The Anniversary
; and it
would soon be ready to commemorate that dreadful day.

And then, once again, she saw it all.  How
Cherry wished that she could excise that memory but it was indelibly imprinted
upon her mind.  There it was; how could she ever forget?

That bastard, Sam; it was all his fault. 
How he could have done that to her when he had sworn that he would love her for
ever.  He had no right - none.  Cherry could have killed him that night;
easily.  Instead...

‘Cherry.’

The call brought the girl from her
reminiscences and she looked up to see her mother, Hester, standing there
looking miserable.

‘Mum, what is it?  You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.’

The older Linford shook her head. 

‘We’ve been burgled.’

‘What?  The alarms?’

‘They’re not working.  The kitchen
window’s unlocked.’

‘But, what’s been taken?

‘Nothing that I can see.  That’s the
strange thing.’

And a terrible thought crossed Cherry’s
mind

She rushed from the studio and soon
returned in a panic.

‘It’s gone.  The goblet I bought in the
auction.  That bastard’s taken it.’

‘What?  That nice young man who came to
see you yesterday?  No, surely not?’

‘Who else?  Mr bloody Jake Tranton.  I
should never have trusted him.’

‘But, Cherry.  You’ve no proof.’

‘Oh, come on.  Of course it was him.  Call
the police, Mum.  Let them get him.’

‘All right.  If that’s what you want.  Why
don’t you come downstairs and keep me company?  You’ve been up here all
morning.’

‘No, I’ve got to get on.’

‘But, what is it?  It’s just a mess of
colours.’

‘Mum!’ but Cherry knew that it was no use
trying to explain.  This was an old argument and one upon which the two of them
would never agree.

‘Look at it, though.  You used to paint
such lovely landscapes.’

With a shrug of resignation Cherry
responded.  What else could she do?  Mothers would always be mothers.

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘But they were so good.’

Cherry laughed, ‘That’s a matter of
opinion, isn’t it?  No-one ever bought one of my landscapes did they?

‘Anyway, that’s over now.’

‘But why?  They were...’

‘Listen, Mum.  Stop it will you?  I was
much younger then.  My tastes have matured.  Just accept that, please.  This is
my work now and it’s work I can sell.’

‘I know that, but...’

Cherry could see that she had won the
argument but she knew that Hester would never leave it at that.

‘Why don’t you listen to me for once in a
while?’

‘And?’

‘Stop painting this abstract rubbish.’

‘Oh, Mum.  Why should I?  This painting is
me, don’t you understand?’

‘All I can understand is that it’s
nonsense.’

‘Nonsense.  This nonsense sells.  You
don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.

‘Now, leave me alone and let me get on
with it.’

‘But, Cherry.’

‘Mum; just go, will you before I really
lose my temper?’

Cherry watched as her mother backed out
from the room.

‘And shut the door!’

She shook her head.  At least Hester had
not gone on about her other favourite topic.  Men!  It would come.

‘You should go out more, meet some
boys.’

One day, but only when Cherry was ready
for it.  Though, she had to admit, that Jake Tranton did give the impression of
being nice.  Bastard, bastard.’

And then she heard the phone ringing and a
few seconds later she was being called by Hester. 

‘It’s Jake Tranton.  He wants to speak
with you.’

She could hardly believe it.  The nerve of
that man.

‘All right,’ she resigned herself, ‘I’ll
take it.’

Cherry walked into the next room and
removed the receiver from its wall bracket by her bed.

‘Yes?’

‘Miss Linford?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Jake Tranton.  You remember.  We met
yesterday.’

‘Well?’  He sounded nervous.  Served him right.

‘I just; well it’s a bit awkward really.

‘Is everything all right?’

The sheer audacity of the man.  All right;
she would play along.

‘Is there any reason why things shouldn’t
be all right?’

He hesitated, ‘No, I mean yes. 
Well...look.  It’s your cup.  I’m not the only one who might be interested in
it.’

It was like a ray of sunshine.  Could he
really be innocent?  And to Cherry’s sheer amazement she really found herself
hoping that he was not the one.  Christ she was being stupid.  Surely she
hadn’t fallen for him?

‘What do you mean?’

‘Now listen.  Someone’s been after my ring
and I think they’re dangerous.  Are you sure everything’s okay?’

He sounded so genuine and Cherry really
wanted to believe him.  Without even thinking she found herself speaking.

‘No, actually it isn’t.  It’s the cup;
it’s been stolen.’

‘Stolen?  Oh no.

‘Have you called the police?’

‘No, not yet.  Mum was about to.’

‘In that case don’t.  Let me come over. 
I’ve got someone with me.  He knows all about the stones.  He’ll be able to
explain.  Call the police after.’

Cherry was in a quandary.  She did not
know what to do.  She desperately wanted to believe Jake.  And, logically, it
made no sense for him to be lying.

‘Okay.’

‘We’ll be along shortly.’

And, as she replaced the receiver she
wondered.  Was she doing the right thing?  She really did not know but it was
too late to back out now.