Mammon (7 page)

‘DANNY!'

‘Downstairs! Quick!'

‘Move! Now!' Grace felt herself dragged through swamping darkness, adrenaline numbing away the pain; Joe's heavy steps behind her. Ahead, a small light led the way. Grace squinted – the silver reflection told her it was a phone. ‘Just keep walking.'

‘Suse – your gunlight.'

A small click, and something brighter lit the way. The shadowy party made their way to the rear of the house.

‘Dad . . .?'

‘It's all right, honey. Keep walking.'

She heard the click of a door handle, and then she was being led again, step by careful step, slowly descending into the sweet, musty air of the cellar. Beneath a small window, which allowed dim light through, she could identify the outlines of Mum's pickling jars, standing in rows, and a lumpy shape poking its head up: a sewing machine, layered in swirls of fabric.

So they would hide here. Fine. She reached out, trembling hands searching for the soft comfort of the old armchair. She needed to rest her foot: the stabbing pain had started again.

A clunky creak filled the air, then a slam. Grace stiffened. ‘What's going on?'

‘Come on.' Dad's fingers pressed into her forearm. He led her a few steps away from the window light. ‘Step down, one leg first.'

Grace stared down into the unfamiliar void. ‘What is this, Dad?'

‘Just climb down.'

‘Are you serious? What's down there? You can't expect me to –'

Dad's voice was hard. ‘You never needed to know about it. Now, move.'

‘But my ankle!'

‘Do it!'

Grace winced, lowering her good ankle until she touched wood, then she gently brought her other foot down. ‘Okay . . .' Looking up, she gazed at Dad's face, silhouetted by the glow from Mum's gunlight pointed unnervingly in her direction. Even so, she felt the calm emanating from her father's eyes.

‘Good girl. There are eight rungs. One at a time, honey.'

‘I've got it.' Grasping the wooden sides, she stepped down again on her bad foot, wincing. Okay. Six to go. She felt the ladder give, lurching to the right as Joe climbed on.

‘Okay, son?'

‘All good, Dad. If Grace can just move her arse.'

She was on the final rung now. Joe's impatience hit her in waves; he was practically stepping on her. In her haste to get to the bottom, her foot swung past the last rung and hit hard ground.

She'd misjudged the distance – now her ankle felt as though a giant had stepped on it. Gasping, she hopped on her good foot, holding her sore ankle. A heavy click, and a hum filled the air. Steadying herself against a cold, rough surface, she glanced up at the cold light spreading across a ceiling that seemed to bear down on her.

‘Okay.' Mum swept over, pulling a plastic chair behind her. ‘Sit down, Grace.'

Dad shoved the ladder against a wall, yanked open the fuse box and snapped a switch. ‘Okay. EMF's back on.'

‘They had plenty of time to get inside, Daniel.'

‘I
know
.
They won't get in here, though.'

From her seat, Grace watched the intermittent flicker of the fluorescent light, humming and buzzing as though it were zapping flies. A bunker. That's what this place seemed like.

‘Why won't they get in here, Dad?' Joe folded his arms tight, leaned against the wall and swallowed hard. He cast a wary look around the room.

Grimacing, Dad snapped his phone shut. ‘Damn. No signal.' He rubbed his forehead. ‘God. We've done everything we were trained not to.'

From the centre of the room, Mum threw Dad a tense look. ‘Stop it. We did the best we could. We'll just have to wait, Danny. She told you it would be an hour – and that was how long ago?'

He sighed. ‘An hour, Suse.' He began to pace around the cramped room.

‘Everything will be fine, Danny.' Mum looked at her children: pale, terrified, vulnerable – and her fingers tightened around the gun.

Grace's eyes searched the room: over the grey walls, along the stubbly cement floor and up to the anaemic light, flickering and buzzing. ‘Why couldn't we just stay in the cellar, Dad?'

‘This room is armoured, Grace.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Demon-proof. In more ways than one. This room is a cage. Look at the walls.' He strode over to the fuse box and pulled a switch; the room fell into darkness again.

‘See?'

Grace peered at the walls, where a foreign script was splashed in luminescent blue paint. ‘What does it say?'

‘They're incantations. But that's not all.' Another click; the dreary glow crept through the room again as the fluoro lit up. Dad nodded at her, his hand still on the switch. ‘The part you can't see is the virtual cage that this room is. EMF-protected. Demons can't get in here.'

‘What do we do now, Dad?'

‘We sit and wait, son.'

* * *

MAMMON RUBBED HIS
palms together. ‘Soon. Very soon.' He gave Halphas a rare grin.

The old man returned the smile. A cloud was lifting overhead. Soon – very soon, indeed. Master was bound to reward him for this.

Andras frowned as an unwelcome rumbling hit his pocket. He fished out his phone. ‘What?'

‘They've gone into the ground,' the voice responded. ‘Past the cellar. There's a trapdoor, but it's deadlocked. We can't break it.'

Andras peered sideways; Mammon was staring at the sky, watching the darkness crawl towards the horizon. Andras turned away and hissed into the phone. ‘Listen, you bug! Draw them out. Do what you have to!'

‘Okay, sir.'

‘Remember –
do not
let the boy come to harm.'

‘Consider it done.'

Halphas's skin began to tingle. ‘The Line of Protection has been re-activated.'

‘I know. But it won't bother the humans, will it?'

For the first time, Halphas felt his demonhood a handicap, rather than a gift. He watched as one of the men struck a lighter, which brought a yellow glow to the house. ‘Get it right, damn you,' he muttered to himself.

* * *

‘HOW LONG NOW, DAD?'

‘Half an hour, honey. Won't be long.' Dad lowered his watch, giving Grace another reassuring smile. Mum tilted her head towards the ceiling. She gasped. ‘Danny!' Her eyes narrowed. ‘Can you smell that?'

‘I can see it, Mum!' Joe pointed to the trapdoor, where tendrils of smoke were gathering around its edges. Grace tensed on her chair, her fingers ached from holding the edges so tightly.

‘Here.' Mum ripped open a cupboard door and snatched out wads of blue cloth. She rushed over to a small metal sink and flicked a tap, which brought out a gush of water.

‘Hold this against your mouth.' Mum pressed a cool, wet square to Grace's lips. ‘Now, get down on the ground.' Grace bent her knees, steadying herself with one hand to sit next to Joe. She crossed her injured ankle over her knee and stared at Mum, who held a cloth to her own mouth, exchanging urgent stares with Dad. He glanced upward; she nodded. The tendrils had gathered to form a grey cloud. ‘There's an extinguisher in the cellar – if we can get that far.'

‘Doesn't feel as though there's enough heat for the fire to be in the cellar. No, it's further up. Someone's trying to smoke us out.'

‘Here.' Mum threw Dad a pair of goggles.

‘Cover your mouth, Joe.' Dad bent over a long metal chest, shoved tight against the wall. Yanking the lid open, he drew out a rifle and peered inside the magazine.

Joe held out his hands. ‘Yeah! Gimme . . .'

Dad shot him a warning look. ‘Only if you need to use it, son.'

Joe nodded. He motioned to the rifle. ‘Hand it over, Dad.'

Holding the rifle ready in front of his chest, Joe stood. ‘Come on, Dad! Let's go upstairs!'

Dad sighed. ‘Son. Listen to me now. You can't afford to be reckless. Stay here. Protect yourself. Protect Grace.' Dad nodded. ‘No matter what happens. Remember who and what you are – you can't take stupid risks.'

‘
This
isn't stupid, Dad!'

‘Joe! For once, do as you're told!'

Joe slumped. ‘Okay, Dad.' He pocketed the bullets and threw Grace a look. ‘Don't you think she should have a gun, too?'

Grace's head began to spin; the taste of smoke in the air made her heart beat faster with panic. She couldn't be trapped here with fire raging above. ‘Mum, let us go up with you. Please.'

Mum stroked Grace's hair back from her forehead, tucking loose strands behind her ears. ‘You need to stay here.'

Grace took shuddering breaths, blinked aching eyes, gulped air – as fresh tears burned. Mum's hands were comfortingly warm against her cheeks.

‘Honey. Promise me you'll try to stay calm while we're up there.'

‘I don't want you to go!'

‘Promise me.'

Mum didn't normally speak like this. Or hold her like this.

‘I will, Mum.'

‘Good girl.'

Joe kicked at the wall. Time was getting away, and he couldn't stop it. He speared his fingers through his hair. ‘This isn't right! I want to go with you!'

Dad's hand gripped his shoulder. ‘No. Stay here. Guard Grace.'

Joe paced uselessly; with a hard thump he banged his fist against the wall.

‘Son. Don't do that. Sit down.'

Joe pointed up. ‘No! I'm going with you!' He lunged towards the ladder; but Mum swerved in front of him, taking his shoulders. Firmly, she pressed him against the wall. ‘Son, we told you to sit down, and that's what you'll do.'

Joe drew in a sharp breath, staring past Mum's shoulders. He could charge up there now . . .

‘Do what your mother says, son.'

Joe sighed. He sank to the ground, arms folded. The rifle lay by his side. ‘This isn't right.'

Smoke had turned the sickly fluoro into a brownish grey. Mum threw Dad an urgent look. ‘We have to get moving.' Dad nodded. Together they began to climb the ladder with calm, purposeful steps.

‘Be careful!
Please!
'

‘Dad and I know what we're doing, Grace. Stay calm!'

As they disappeared into the smoke, Joe grabbed the ladder and slid it across the floor, resting it against the wall – all the while his gaze pinned on the hole above, where smoke had begun to escape, leaving a black spot in the ceiling.

Struggling to swallow, Grace's throat was dry and tight. What was coming to kill them?

Joe's fingers tightened around the gun. His heart drummed uncontrollably, adrenaline giving his mouth a bitter taste. He glanced at Grace, who was also staring into the open trapdoor. ‘We should've gone with them.'

She nodded. ‘I know.' In the distance, a door slammed.

‘Calm yourself. They'll be fine. Everything will be fine,' Grace tried to convince herself.

Who was she kidding? Even now, as residual smoke stung her eyes, and her throat clenched with a rush of tears, it was the heavy cloud of emotion that hit her hardest: her parents' fear, doubt and false confidence.

Dread washed over her in waves. She knew what was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

HER MIND WAS
torturing her. In her imagination, the world that was this little underground room vanished and she pictured the violence that was going on above. Mum and Dad dead on the ground. The sound of savage footsteps. Hard voices, murderous hands that would reach down into this place to kill her and Joe.

She drilled her fingers into her temples, trying to squeeze the horrors out. Holding her breath until it was all over, she huddled in the corner. She drew her knees to her chest and took a deep, shuddering breath.

A series of shots boomed above. Her eyes flew open. Sparks flashed in the distant darkness. She could smell smoke. Grace's chest grew tight, her fingers gripping the wall's bristly edges as her eyes wildly scanned the ceiling. What if it collapsed? The fire could spread. The thunder's echo left a strange buzzing sound. It was awful – nothing good could come of this.

And there was Joe, alert, watching the ceiling, ready to kill.

Grace closed her eyes, rocking slightly. She hoped more than anything that Mum and Dad were okay. And that it was the bad guys she saw.

After all, good guys always win – don't they?

She caught her breath: above, voices grew louder. Joe tensed up, aimed the rifle at the hole.

A shuffling sound above. Joe squinted. ‘Who is it?'

Fingers slid around the edges. A white face, startlingly pale against the engulfing darkness, peered down. ‘It's me, Diana!'

Joe dragged the ladder across, settling it beneath the trapdoor. ‘Where are Mum and Dad?'

‘Hold on!' A pair of black boots settled on the top rung, descending quickly to reveal a short, black-clothed woman with cropped dark hair and vivid blue eyes. Diana Callahan jumped off the last rung but then stopped, abruptly, and took stock of the situation.

Wedged into the corner was her niece, knees curled up to her chest, peering sideways; her nephew stood soldier-like, rifle cocked, eyes hard. ‘What's happened?'

‘Are you both all right?'

‘Where are Mum and Dad?'

‘Put down the gun, Joseph. Grace, come here.'

Joe lay the gun down. Tension was spreading through his stomach, a bitter taste seeping into his mouth. He saw the look on Diana's face; the truth was creeping towards him now.

‘Where are they?'

He heard the tremor in his voice, knew the futility of the question. Even as his aunt moved towards him, hands outstretched, he resisted, wanting to reject the kindness in her eyes, to destroy it so this wasn't real. Not Dad. Not Mum. No.

‘No – no they're not. No they're
not
!'

She clasped his shoulders. ‘I'm sorry, Joe.'

‘It's not true!'

‘If we'd got here just five minutes earlier . . . there were too many of them.'

‘Shut up! Don't you tell me that!'

‘She's right, Joe.' Grace watched a tear form in Joe's eyes. Shocked since the moment she saw Diana's face, she couldn't cry now if she wanted to. A numb calm had taken hold, as if she was watching the whole thing from the outside.

‘I want to see them!' Joe shoved past Diana and jumped at the ladder, taking two rungs at a time, plunging ahead through the now-lit cellar; behind, Diana helped lift Grace.

‘I hurt my ankle.'

Grace heard her own voice: dim, distant, disconnected. She hobbled across the cellar floor and up to the sound of low voices, mingling. She felt Diana's hand on her back. ‘Best if you sit down in the living room, dear.'

Grace shook her head. ‘No. I want to see them too.'

In a slow, surreal walk through the house, she saw them everywhere: men and women dressed in black, military-style clothes. She passed a small group standing around a laptop in the kitchen.

There were people outside too, dark, anonymous sentries, guns in hand.

Calm and clear, her mind had shifted gear, into a place where the horror couldn't reach her.

From the garage, Joe's voice filled the air. ‘No! Leave me alone!'

Grace ran through the garage door. Ahead, two paramedics were dragging her wriggling, red-faced brother out of the garage – and a third stood poised with a white sheet.

Mum lay closest, one arm sprawled over her chest, the other flung out to the side – the taser gun nearby. Staring upwards, Mum had a strange glass-like look in her eyes.

She couldn't see Dad's eyes, but saw the blood instead. And then . . . closest to the outer door, lay three other bodies.

She wandered closer.

A pair of hands grasped her arms, gliding her backwards and into a room filled with busy solemnity.

She sat, watching, the numbing protection of shock taking her deep into the netherworld. She couldn't even feel her ankle anymore.

Joe glared at her. ‘What's wrong with you? Why are you so calm?!' The fire in his eyes burned harder. He jumped up and pointed at the garage. ‘I could've done something!'

Diana came over. ‘Sit down, Joe.'

‘Let me up!'

‘You can't do anything now, Joe!'

‘Let me go! I have to do something!'

‘Listen to me.' Diana grabbed Joe's shoulders, forcing his attention. She stared at him, unshrinking despite the blistering rage in his eyes. ‘You will have your chance. I promise you.'

Joe shook his head. ‘I won't. It's too late. They're gone . . . I could've stopped it.' The tears came, diluting the rage in his eyes to a dull, watery red. He slumped back on the chair and pressed his face into his hands.

‘Diana?' A girl with short red hair leaned over. ‘The ambulance is here.'

‘Thanks, Maya.' Diana stood up and straightened her jacket while observing the window, where the ambulance stood, red lights flashing. Two young men descended from the cabin; each wore a green tunic and dark pants.

‘Are we taking anyone into custody?'

‘No, Maya. The ambulance is simply here to send a message. Two messages, actually. One to the public, who expect to see an ambulance whenever there's a tragedy. They can't see the incantations. To them, it's a normal ambulance. Makes for a good cover. Helps settle things back to normal quickly.' Diana scanned the neighbourhood. ‘Secondly, to any ghoulies who are watching – it's a reminder that we don't mess around, and that we have the means to drag them to hell, so to speak.'

Maya shook her head. ‘But this wasn't demon activity.'

‘I think it was. We just need to find out who did this.'

‘The neighbours are very curious.'

‘Of course they are. I'll deal with them. But first,' she said, checking her wristwatch, ‘we need to get these two moving.'

* * *

MAMMON WATCHED THE
ambulance pull into the yard, his face tense with anger.

‘You didn't do your homework, Halphas.'

The old man wound his fingers together and drew a deep, settling breath. ‘Perhaps if I'd had more time, Master.' He bit his lip against the retort that was bursting to get out: it's your fault, Mammon. You were in such a rush, weren't you?

‘I apologise, Master.'

‘I've heard enough from you now, Halphas. Andras –'

The young demon fetched an armchair and placed it next to the window. Mammon sat; his dark eyes rolled back and his Shadow essence soon spilled out of the body into the air.

* * *

‘I CAN WALK
okay. It doesn't hurt.'

‘Never mind.' Diana slung her arm under Grace's back. ‘Tread lightly.' She swung a glance backwards; Joe was trudging behind, flanked by her stern-faced team. Diana bit her lip. The poor kid. He was never going to be able to take a step anywhere without one of them watching his back.

Grace squinted – something bulky was ahead, but she couldn't tell what. As they drew closer, her eyes focused on the outline of a van; black and shiny, nearly invisible next to the red flashing lights. Diana reached in front of her and yanked open a sliding door.

She helped Grace into the van, lifting her ankle onto the bench seat. ‘Keep your leg up. We'll be moving in a minute.' She watched as Joe climbed in.

Grace stared out into the street, where Diana made her way across to the crowd.

* * *

MAMMON PACED ACROSS
the yard, twisting his facial features until they took on a comforting, reassuring expression. The paramedic's body felt unpleasant – squat and flabby. Not the calibre of vessel he was accustomed to.

Stopping a few feet short of the van, the paramedic shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded at the mercenary
. ‘
Hi.'

Maya responded with a sharp nod. ‘Dawkins.'

The paramedic glanced towards Joe. ‘This boy needs treatment.'

The girl grinned. ‘Not the type you normally dish out, Dawkins.'

The paramedic gave her a patient smile. ‘It doesn't take much to see he's in shock. At least let me give him some water and some aspirin, hmm?'

‘The girl has a sprained ankle.'

‘I'll bring her some aspirin too.'

Maya sighed. ‘Okay, but make it quick. We'll be on the move soon.'

The paramedic stepped in closer and led Joe away. ‘Come with me, son.' He flung open the ambulance's rear doors, wincing as the energy prickled his skin. To the human eye, this was a normal ambulance: white paint, red cross, blazing sirens. But the infernal scripting lashed all over the paintwork would have put a lesser demon on his back by now.

He gritted his teeth and reached into a plastic first-aid box. ‘Sit down, lad.' He fished out two tablets and peered around for a water source, catching Joe's eye in the process. The boy's jaw was tight, his eyes flashing. Inwardly, the paramedic smiled. A small wave of hope rose inside of him. Already, the signs of anger were showing. Very encouraging.

* * *

HALPHAS SMILED, OBSERVING
Mammon move about the ambulance. By now, the incantations must have been burning into his flesh. With begrudging admiration, he watched. Taking the body of one of
them
, undetected. Pure brilliance.

* * *

DIANA HELD UP
a badge. ‘I'm from central police. We are moving members of the family to protective custody. You all need to go home, now. We'll be in touch with some of you for witness statements in due course.'

Diana swept a firm, reassuring gaze around the crowd. Gradually, the people turned and made their way back into their homes.

* * *

THE PARAMEDIC WATCHED
Joe gulp the water. ‘You must be feeling pretty bad right now.'

Joe scowled. ‘Yeah, you think?' He crushed the cup and threw it away.

‘If that had happened to my parents, I would want revenge.' The paramedic gave him an earnest stare.

Joe breathed a deep, shuddering gulp. ‘I do.'

‘You should. But . . .' The paramedic lowered his voice to a whisper, throwing a cautionary glance around. ‘
They
won't let you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘All I can say is, if you want this problem dealt with, don't involve your aunt. Or any of them. They are systematic people and they follow certain rules. I've been in this business a long time, and I can tell you they choose their targets for certain purposes. No revenge jobs.'

‘I don't know,' Joe muttered, his eyes dim.

The paramedic reached into his pocket and slid a small white card into Joe's hand. ‘Here. This is a very exclusive, special contact. When you're ready, give him a call.' He leaned closer. ‘I promise you, Joe, that
he
will find the one who killed your parents. Then you can take your revenge.'

The paramedic smiled and gave him a firm pat on the back. ‘You're still in shock. Take it easy – rest. Just don't lose that card.'

Diana turned and walked towards them. The paramedic was now taking Joe's temperature.

‘I was thinking that we should get this lad to hospital for a check-up.'

‘That's not the place he needs to be right now, Dawkins.' She laid a hand on Joe's arm. ‘Thanks for your concern.'

‘He's suffering from shock. He could use a sedative. Let me take him for a proper examination.' The paramedic reached out and took Joe's other arm; the confused boy glancing from side to side.

Diana gave the man a long stare. ‘You're looking awfully sweaty, Dawkins. Perhaps you're the one who could use a check-up.'

The paramedic reached into his pocket and wiped the frost from his forehead. He would grind the insignificant woman into dust.

All in good time. But the boy! So near, yet so far. An angry hiss escaped his lips as he watched the Ferryman walk away.

With a final glance around, Diana closed the door and the van disappeared into the darkness.