Mammon (3 page)

‘Ow! You're hurting me!'

He slung her across the hallway, her shoulder grazing the wall.

‘Ow!'

He slammed the door. Startled, Grace jumped. Her throat clenched, she swallowed hard. She leaned closer to the door. ‘Just admit it, Joe. You saw the shadow. You heard me in your head. And it's freaking you out!'

* * *

GRACE TOOK A
sip of juice, mingling it with the leftover custard taste from dessert. She put the glass down on her bedside table and gazed out at the night sky. She rubbed her shoulder, still tender from when Joe had shoved her out of his room.

‘Joe heard me. So did that boy.' Shivering, she kicked off her slippers as the shadow floated through her mind.‘But why? What
is
it? Why couldn't we see it before?'

The heat still hung in the air, although a very light wind whistled through the trees. Dinner had been quiet, uncomfortable, with Mum casting concerned glances between her two children.

Grace turned, folded her arms and stared at the wall.

Joe.

Joe?

Joe!

Reliably, a hard kick to the wall confirmed it. ‘Grace,
shut up!
'

‘Ha!' She peered around the doorway and then darted into Joe's room, shutting the door behind her. Still in his school clothes he lay on his side, arms folded, staring at the wall. An amber glow from the bedside table shone against his wall, which was papered with hot rods. A small ant colony had taken up residence in the dregs of a cola can. Socks, shirts and shoes were strewn about.

She grimaced. ‘You're such a slob.'

He grunted. ‘Stop yelling through the wall. I thought you stopped that game years ago.'

‘So,' she said, drawing a triumphant breath, ‘you heard me again.'

‘You yell so
loud
. What the hell?'

At least he wasn't angry anymore. She sank onto his bed and tapped her fingertips on the bedframe. ‘I wasn't yelling, Joe.'

Groaning, he buried his face in the pillow. ‘Oh, God. You
were
.'

Am I yelling now?

He sat upright, wild-eyed. ‘Stop it, Grace!'

She shrugged. ‘If I was only yelling, why would you freak out so much?'

‘You're being weird.'

She waited for his eyes to meet hers again.
I'm not yelling, Joe.

‘Don't,' he gasped, holding up a warning hand. His voice came slow and heavy. ‘I don't know what trick you're playing, but stop it.'

‘There's no trick.'

He stared. ‘Your lips didn't move.'

Grace nodded. ‘The thing is, I can't tell if you can hear me unless you say so.'

He shook his head rapidly. ‘Na. This is bull.'

She could tell his heart was pounding.

‘Go to bed, Grace.'

‘But Joe –'

‘I'm going to sleep now.' He curled away, nose to the wall again. Absently, she rubbed the fabric of the bedsheet between her fingers, staring at his back. With a deep sigh, she rose and plodded back to her own bedroom.

* * *

THE DREAM STARTED
like it always did – she was walking past the river. The first change she noticed was the strange light that surrounded the City. It was ashen . . . burned. She stood, caught by the scene around her: voices yelling, engines screaming, the smell of exhaust fouling the air.

She looked to her left; Joe looked back.

With a strange smile, he lifted his hands. A black circle appeared above him, rippled by lightning. It exploded in a cascade of brilliant white, releasing trails – black slivers of murky fog that swam through the night air.

She staggered backwards, holding her arms out as Joe stared at her, his eyes shining with a strange glow. His face, hair and body became invisible – everything fading into a dull grey against the brutal fire shining in his eyes.

He wasn't Joe anymore.

She beat her way out of the dream, clawing, crying – returning to consciousness, screaming in the darkness, breathing fast, hot tears gushing down her face.

THE BONAPARTE CLUB
– Mammon's favourite haunt in Border City – was crowded with politicians, merchants and other people of consequence. Halphas walked across the foyer – an oak-lined room where burgundy curtains billowed around arch windows that overlooked a terrace garden. A bust of Julius Caesar graced the inner wall; overflowing lily arrangements lent a light touch to the mahogany reception tables.

In the main dining area, the sunset gave a soft glow to the linen and glassware on the untouched tables. It was the aperitif hour. The elegant strains of a string quartet filled the air. Silent waiters moved among the crowd. This was a place where the rich did not wish to see them.

And Halphas knew they most certainly wouldn't want to see
him
.

But he definitely felt the prickling attention of the four young demons – Master's new Anointed Ones. His apprentices. Former scholars of business, politics and law, they'd fallen away from their studies and under Mammon's spell. All too easily seduced by his lifestyle.

Master had given these four the best gift of all.

Invisibility. These four could appear to the Sighted as ordinary humans. They could hide their true faces, their essences.

Just like Master.

It was as if Mammon intended to create younger versions of himself and shape them as he saw fit.

Andras, gifted with the power to influence, persuade and divide, stepped closer to Mammon and gave Halphas a critical stare. Halphas looked the young demon over: from the glossy shoes and black silk suit to the fresh linen collar, slick hair and whiff of subtle cologne, Andras had moulded himself into a perfect little clone.

The nerve of him. The nerve of them all! Upstarts, still possessing that aura of youth. Insolent pups. Halphas quietly seethed.

The other apprentices stood nearby. Haures, the shapeshifter, was enjoying an obscene amount of male attention.
Flashing a smile, she slid her fingertips through waves of ruby hair that cascaded over her pale, bare shoulders. With each stroke, the strands shone like fire. For Halphas, everything else started to melt away – except the urge to stroke her hair and press his mouth against her luminous skin.

Haures caught his stare. ‘Hello, Halphas!' She gave him a teasing smile and fluttered a Japanese fan in front of her face.

Halphas looked away. Dirty succubus.

The mind-reader Andromalius was pacing, ear pressed to a phone, cigarette in hand. ‘I know what you're doing,' he hissed. ‘Do not try to lie to me.' He drew a puff and pressed his fingers against his forehead, shoving aside his blond fringe. ‘I'll be at the docks myself, and if I see anything missing from the shipment . . . What? You don't like your cut? Consider yourself fortunate. The boss isn't usually that generous.'

The conjurer Zagan was staring at a vase. Halphas smirked at the young demon's choice of attire: jeans, rugby jumper and brilliant white runners. Topped by a shorn head, the young demon looked criminally rough, given the fine company in this club.

Zagan tilted his head, closed his dark eyes. The vase lifted off and floated above the stand. Halphas brushed past. ‘You're terribly underdressed, young man.'

The young demon opened his eyes with a start, lunged forward and caught the vase. ‘Watch where you're walking,
old
man!'

Andromalius flicked his cigarette on the floor and stared at Halphas through pinched blue eyes. ‘You're late, Halphas. You know he doesn't like to wait.'

How dare she try to tell him about Master. Halphas strode on, mimicking Mammon's effortless glide but lamenting the ache in his knees.

He recognised Master's companions as Senator Julian Ellis and Anton Van Beuren. Both men owed their fortune to Master, in one form or the other. They were red-cheeked and overly friendly; Master listened to their stories in a comfortable human stance: hands in pockets, smiling occasionally.

* * *

MAMMON GLANCED
lazily at Senator Ellis's wife. His eyes lingered on her neckline, where ruffles of purple satin blended into the shiny black curls that spilled over her tanned shoulders. A pleasing sight. His gaze trailed up her neck and face; with each centimetre he seemed to be marking his territory.

She gasped, pulse quickening. Her hand rushed up to touch her throat.

Smiling, Mammon took an appetiser from a floating tray: a square of lamb garnished with an asparagus spear. ‘The problem with your staff, Van Beuren, is that they don't know their place. You tell me they're all unionised. Well, I'm telling you that you can sack them all without fear of union reprisals, then replenish your workforce with a more compliant host of workers. Just ask, and it will be done.'

Halphas coughed – not to attract his master's attention, but rather to clear the dusty phlegm that had gathered near his windpipe. ‘Ready to set sail, Master?'

‘You're late.' Mammon finished his wine. ‘Well, gentlemen, the hour has come and gone. I bid you goodnight.'

He settled an expectant stare on the Senator's wife.

The Senator, whose eyes had dulled with the weight of acceptance, nodded, voice husky with regret. ‘Go on, Maria.'

‘Goodnight, Julian.' She took Mammon's arm; her pulse visibly pounding in her neck as he guided her into the sultry night.

* * *

HALPHAS PEEKED INTO
the rearview mirror and shook his head. Women. By the time they'd reached Mammon's yacht, Maria Ellis was giggling and letting Master kiss her neck. His eyes drifted across to the four apprentices seated in the back. With a quiet chuckle, he pictured her reaction if she found out just whom she was keeping company with.

As they boarded the yacht, the staff were assembled in a neat, white row. Efficient, silent, obedient – just the way Master liked them. The chief steward gave him a servile nod. ‘Sir. Wonderful to have you aboard again.'

Mammon guided the Senator's wife towards the stairs that led to the upper deck. ‘Show the lady to my stateroom and make her comfortable.' He stretched his arms and nodded at the captain. ‘Let's get to sea.'

The engine rumbled; several deckhands moved around the yacht, casting off the ropes. Above the bridge, a vast spotlight radiated across the water, bouncing off the smaller vessels that scurried aside, making way for the dark blue leviathan that was thundering away from the pier.

The yacht pierced through the waves, its mammoth hull merging with the blackened waters of the late evening. In the distance, the lights of Border City were a neon blur; above, a heavy moon hung in the velvet sky, its reflection catching the waves.

* * *

THE SMELL OF
roasted garlic and prawns filtered through the cabin, creating a dull ache in Halphas's stomach. His eyes wandered to the clock: it was eight-thirty. He glanced at the chambermaid, whose arms were beginning to sag under the weight of Mammon's shirts. ‘No, not that one!' Halphas reached over and yanked a dark grey garment from the pile. ‘Where's Master's ivory silk shirt?'

Wide-eyed, the maid shook her head. ‘I don't know, sir. I don't remember seeing it. I'm sorry, sir!'

‘Rubbish. It's on this boat. I told laundry to bring it aboard. Fetch the boy to me.'

The maid pressed an intercom button. ‘Bess, can you send William up to the boss's stateroom? Thanks.'

She released the button and staggered forward. ‘May I lay the shirts down, sir?'

‘And let them get rumpled and dirty? Absolutely not. Stay where you are.'

A light tapping and a tall, slender boy entered the room. The maid gave him a sympathetic smile. Poor lad. First time to sea and he was about to get a kicking.

Halphas eyed the boy. ‘Where is the ivory silk shirt that was brought aboard?'

William bit his lip. ‘I don't know.'

‘You brought the clothing yourself. I remember showing it to you, telling you it was one of Master's favourites, urging you to take care with it. Master wants to wear it tonight. So, I repeat, where is the shirt?'

‘What brand was it? Maybe I can remember . . .' the boy stammered.

Halphas sneered. ‘It was no brand – Master's clothes are all tailored! Now, I ask you for the last time – where is the shirt?'

‘I don't think we have it.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘I mean . . .' William cast a nervous look at the maid. ‘I think it's ruined.'

‘What?' Halphas wore a look of horror. ‘Where is it?'

‘I'll show you, sir.'

They made their way downstairs to the bowels of the yacht and the cramped service areas. The smell of pine filled the air as they passed a kitchen hand squeezing out a mop. Then they entered the oppressive moisture of the laundry, where a row of neatly dressed women folded tablecloths and napkins. No heads were raised on Halphas's entry. He shoved William through the door; the boy tripped and caught his balance on a benchtop.

‘Show me,' Halphas hissed.

With a forlorn limp, William moved across to a row of wastepaper bins. Silently, he reached in and fished out a crumpled piece of fabric.

Halphas snatched the garment and held it up. Patched across the fine fabric in the centre was an iron stain. Several small holes punctured the fabric. He turned and gave the boy a long, piercing stare. ‘You don't iron this, you idiot!' With the destroyed shirt in one hand, he grabbed William and shoved him towards the door. ‘You're going to account for this yourself, with Master.'

Mammon was waiting in his dressing room when Halphas pushed the boy through the door.

‘Why aren't my clothes laid out, Halphas?' Mammon stood in front of a full-length mirror. The carpet was soaked; he'd folded a towel around his waist and now stood, dripping, gazing at his reflection. He'd chosen well this time. A worthy vessel. Dark hair played across his forehead in a gentle wave. Skin that glowed with an olive warmth meant that he never looked tired or ill. A panther-like sensuality, a sexual confidence that simultaneously frightened and aroused those around him. Of course, it was his Shadow, his glorious essence that gave the body such alluring energy.

His eyes drifted to the old man, watching him in the mirror with a tense expression. To the boy, to the ruined shirt. ‘What's this?'

Halphas shoved William forward. ‘This boy burned your shirt, Master. The fool tried to iron it.'

‘Did he?' Mammon drew a deep breath. ‘And do I have another like it?' He took a handful of pomade and smoothed back his hair.

Halphas nudged the boy. ‘Answer him.'

‘No, sir,' William stammered.

‘Mmm. That's disappointing!' Mammon walked over and patted the boy's shoulder. ‘You need to learn how to do your job better, son.'

William held his breath; his heart pounded. He let Mammon walk him out onto the deck. ‘I'm sorry, sir. It was an accident.'

Halphas waited, his eyes glinting with the anticipation.

‘Mmm.' Mammon drew back and regarded the boy. ‘Well, would you be careful in future?'

William breathed out. ‘Yes, sir. Of course.'

Mammon smiled. ‘Of course you would.' He lunged forward and grabbed the boy by the throat, yanking him off his feet, carrying him towards the railing. William kicked his legs; a futile, pointless act – infantile. Below, the dark waters lay in wait.

‘Please, sir! Please don't!'

Mammon jutted out his chin, bared his teeth. ‘I liked that shirt.' He lifted the boy higher and threw him out into the air.

There was a brief silence, then William crashed into the water. Halphas watched the boy's head emerge and his panicked eyes snap left and right. The old man looked to the horizon, and he knew what William was thinking: there was no land in sight. The sun was disappearing behind the earth; sea and sky merging in a suffocating blackness.

The boy would never see home again. Within minutes he would be gulping water; the waves being so high and all. Without emotion, Halphas watched the boy become a dot in the distance.

Mammon drew a deep breath and rolled his neck from side to side. ‘God, I love the sea air.' He turned and made his way back into the stateroom. ‘Find me another shirt, Halphas.'