The Arcanum (28 page)

44

ABIGAIL HUGGED THE rounded top of the engine car. Tarrytown was nothing more than points of light now, lost in the distance. An occasional punch of wind landed in the depths of her coat, threatening to fling her off the train. So, she wormed free of the garment and it flew away, cartwheeling across the train roof.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t shed the demon quite as easily. With a squeal of rage, it locked its hand around her ankle. Abigail tried to kick it away, but the demon pulled at her with unexpected strength, slowly dragging her closer. At the last instant, she wrapped her arms around the bronze bell set between the chimneys, clinging tightly. But far from deterring the creature, this only encouraged the demon to use her as a ladder, climbing up her body and onto the roof of the cab.

She couldn’t leap clear; the land dropped away sharply to either side of the tracks. And the train was moving too quickly.

The demon freed its sickle and clumsily swung at her. The blade clanged loudly off the bell. Keeping her grip on the bell, Abigail let her body swing down along the side of the train, then hooked the railing with her foot and used that to scamper up the other side of the bell. The demon was not so agile, and seemed reluctant to follow.

Abigail, however, had run out of train. Gouts of steam erupted from the chimney stack only a few feet from her head. The heat was unbearable, and the sound deafening as the train screamed down the tracks at ever-increasing speeds.

Abigail looked up at the stars. Though it went against all she had trained herself to believe, flight was an option. But to do so was an admission of her inhumanity. It threatened to burst wide a psychological dam, holding back two thousand years of abandonment and shame. Her wings were a reminder of what had been lost. The sky was not her escape but her prison. If she was to die, she would die human.

The demon raised its sickle again, and Abigail moved her hand just in time to prevent it from being hacked off. But the demon continued to target her handhold, forcing Abigail to switch hands and then, finally, to release the bell altogether. There was nothing to hold on to anymore. She was backed up against the chimney, hotter than any furnace. At the next burst of wind, she’d be thrown off the train.

The glowing eyes of another demon peered over the engine roof. It was less hesitant than its fellow, pulling itself onto the maintenance railing then climbing onto the roof.

Abigail could see more demons lining up on the narrow ledge outside the engineer’s cab, their robes whipping about like curtains in a storm, their keening squeals a victory cry. One by one, they advanced on her.

When the next set of gem eyes broke the plane, whatever crumbs of hope Abigail had left blew away in the winds. It writhed onto the roof, its robes like a cape of living shadow. It called to her like it knew her, gurgling in that spit-clogged voice, reaching out with long-bandaged fingers.

Abigail felt despair fill her. She’d done all she could to avoid them, but it seemed they wanted her to die more than she wanted to live. Because what was she, after all? She was neither human nor angel. She was the last of the Lost Tribe, an affront to God—as much a disappointment as the abominations of the Flood. And Abigail was tired. She stared at the approaching demons and imagined the killing blow, hoping that it would be fast and painless.

The closest demon reared back, and its sickle cut across the silver moon. Abigail could see the engineer’s blood still dripping off the steel. But as the creature leaned forward to strike, something pulled its robes, and the demon flew off the train and into the path of an oncoming telephone pole. Flesh met wood pillar with a sickening thud, and the demon fell away into the brush.

Houdini dragged himself up the side of the train and into the demon’s place. He took Abigail’s hands and locked them around the bell once more. “Hang on, sweetheart.”

Then Houdini spun around, balancing on his fingertips, and swept a leg into the knee joint of the next approaching demon, snapping its leg like kindling. It squealed and flopped backwards, inadvertently knocking the third demon from its feet. The wind did the rest. The third demon slid over the side, somersaulting over a dozen jagged boulders before vanishing over the side of the hill.

The demon with the broken leg sat up and took hold of Houdini’s shirt, yanking him forward. Houdini collided with the rear chimney, scalding his hands. The demon pulled Houdini down on top of it and they wrestled, rolling perilously back and forth near the edges. Houdini coughed and gagged as the demon stuck its fingers in his mouth, perhaps trying to tear out his soul. His stomach recoiled at the taste of its rotted hands. The keening demon scrambled on top of Houdini and dug its sharp nails into the flesh of his neck, pressing, strangling. Houdini clawed at the creature’s face, snatching one of its gem eyes and ripping it free. The demon wailed as the gem eye dangled from living veins and fabric strings.

Then Houdini curled into a ball, wedged his feet under the demon’s ribs, and launched it into the air. The demon’s robes snagged in a passing oak, and Abigail watched the body snap into a dozen shapes around the massive branches.

THE SILVER GHOST fishtailed out of the forest and onto a narrow strip of dirt road that ran parallel to the railroad tracks and the Empire State Express. The left-side wheels of the Rolls bumped over loose rocks, grazing the edges of a long trench that ran between the tracks and the road.

The train howled and burped smoke like an Abyssal dragon.

The driver’s door of the Silver Ghost swung open as Doyle pressed the accelerator to the floor, measuring the distance between the train and the car.

“What are you doing?” Lovecraft exclaimed.

“Howard, take the wheel,” Doyle commanded.

“Good God.” Lovecraft nervously grasped the wheel as Doyle turned to face the train, hands braced to either side of the car door.

“Arthur,
non!
” Marie pulled at his jacket, but he shook her off. He could see the frightened faces of the passengers pressed to the windows, beating with their fists for release. He knew the time had come to act.

Long weeds whacked the tips of his shoes as Doyle looked down into the rock-strewn trench as it flew by. The train was slowly passing them.

Then Lovecraft gestured frantically to him; the train was entering a tunnel, and the road they were on ended in a wall.

Realizing he could wait no longer, Doyle turned back to the train. A passenger car was pulling level with the Rolls, the hollow of the doorway steps as close as it would get.

Doyle stood up in the doorway of the Silver Ghost as Lovecraft slid into the driver’s seat. The car swerved, nearly pitching Doyle out, but he held fast. The wind whipped his jacket as he leaped for the passenger stairwell. He landed hard, knocking the air from his lungs, then slid down the stairs—stunned—and grabbed the edge of the railing just in time. His body bucked off the gravel on the side of the tracks. The ground tore at his clothes and stripped his skin. His legs bounced along the side of the train, slipping closer to the chewing wheels, as his arms pulled with all their strength.

Then slender hands wrapped around his wrists, and Bess Houdini appeared. “Arthur!”

The extra leverage gave Doyle the strength he needed to pull himself onto the steps. There he collapsed, panting, while Bess draped her body over his in relief.

LOVECRAFT SLAMMED BOTH feet on all three pedals as the Empire State Express vanished into the tunnel and the stone wall rushed up to meet him. The wheels locked, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and the car twisted and threatened to roll over as Lovecraft fought the wheel. Then the Rolls-Royce came to a squealing halt mere inches from the wall.

Lovecraft wiped the sweat from his brow, and sat back, exhausted. But Marie slapped his shoulder as she squirmed into the front seat.

“What you waitin’ for, Howard? Turn us around!”

AS THE EMPIRE State Express reemerged from the tunnel, Houdini lifted his head. He had been crouched protectively over Abigail, but now he saw the roof of the engine car was awash in demons. They advanced in small steps, using their numbers to shield them against the wind.

Houdini pulled Abigail to her feet, surveying the sweeping cornfields to the right and the woods up ahead.

A sickle hissed within inches of their faces, then another. Houdini yanked Abigail behind him, knowing that he couldn’t fight them all.

They wailed at him like a single organism: a wall of fluttering black with dozens of gleaming eyes.

Houdini turned and hugged Abigail tightly. “Close your eyes,” he told her, “and relax your body into mine. I’ll hold you.”

As Abigail sagged into Houdini’s arms, he scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other wrapped around her waist. He dodged a sickle, and it clanged off the chimney stack. Three more blades rose up as Houdini pulled Abigail close, then jumped off the train.

A cloud of dirt burst from the side of the hill as they landed, their bodies flopping and tumbling into a swaying sea of corn-stalks.

Houdini flew like a cannonball through the first several rows of stalks, crumpling, finally, into a bruised and battered heap. He tried to climb to his knees, but toppled back onto the ground—spent. When he called Abigail’s name, a fork of pain cut off the word. He looked down at his left arm lying weird and crooked on the dirt—dislocated. Wincing, he gripped his left biceps and jammed his shoulder back into its socket.

DOYLE PULLED BESS through train cars teeming with hysterical passengers. The sound of breaking glass occasionally punctuated the panicked screams, as some desperate souls attempted to dive out the window to safety. Bloody bodies lined the floor, marking the demons’ path.

The number of wounded increased as they arrived at the door to the engine car. In front of the door lay a bespectacled man, clutching his slashed face. He grabbed at Doyle’s pant leg.

“Some kind of monsters . . . don’t go in there.”

Doyle turned to Bess. “Stay here.”

“Please be careful, Arthur. They’re not human.”

“Yes, I know.”

Bess knelt down to tend to the wounded man as Doyle forced open the door, letting in the screech and howl of the winds. He shut the door behind him and clung to the rails of the small bridge above the couplers. The last door lay straight ahead. He crossed to it and wrenched the handle. The door slid open. Soot and steam filled the car, and it smelled heavily of blood. And no wonder, for there was a wide swath of it on the floor, and the engineer lay curled there—dead—though his stomach still hiccupped blood.

Doyle took a step forward, then ducked as a sickle sparked off the steel door. A demon lunged from the shadows, forcing Doyle back through the door, and together they plunged onto the wire bridge.

Under the force of their landing, one of the bolts of the bridge sheared off and the structure tilted wildly, one side dropping three feet onto the couplers. Doyle’s head dangled above the crushing couplers and the sawing wheels. The bridge shook at a dangerous, pitched incline. The creature flopped down atop him, its blade inching toward his throat.

As Doyle struggled to push it away, he spied the couplers beside him. Their curving jaws hooked together like the fingers of two hands, and were fastened by two pins attached to lifting rods. Doyle managed to free one hand and wrapped his fingers around the coupler pin as the blade inched closer to his flesh. Then he ripped the pin out, and the couplers detached. The wire walkway slammed onto the tracks, spitting sparks, bucking the demon violently off Doyle.

Doyle clung desperately to the walkway as it thrashed about. The demon had managed to swing its arm around and catch the tail end of the bridge; it squealed with rage and pain as sparks flew in its face. Behind it, the last passenger car faded into the darkness. As the demon held on to the wire walkway, its body bucking off the stones, Doyle pulled himself up and into the engine car, leaving the demon still wailing behind him. He climbed to the engineer’s chair, regarding the tangled forest of instruments, rods, hissing cranks, and dials in consternation.

Using his limited knowledge of the function of the Walscharts gear and his more general understanding of the principles of steam locomotion, Doyle took hold of the throttle lever and slowly eased it upward, cutting the flow of steam, then activated the air brake. The engine car jolted and slowed, wheels screeching on the tracks. Doyle turned. Within seconds the rest of the train surged out of the shadows to meet the engine car. Doyle applied the throttle and released some of the pressure off the air brake to avoid a more catastrophic collision.

The demon hanging off the walkway swung its head around, its gem eyes gleaming as the engine car slowed to meet the passenger cars. The demon wailed as it burst like a melon between the train couplers, their curved halves colliding and relinking through the mass of crushed demon.

Doyle sat on the engineer’s chair, shoulders sagging with exhaustion as he wiped the soot from his eyes and face with the back of his hand and the Empire State Express groaned its way to a halt.

HOUDINI PROBED ABIGAIL’S knee, pressing at the joints until she cried out.

“You tore something in the fall,” he explained.

Abigail nodded, wincing.

“Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.” She struggled to rise. He did his best to help, but when she put weight on the knee she gasped and shook her head.

“I need you brave now, Abigail, okay? We still have to make it to the woods.”

Abigail bit her lip and nodded.

Houdini threw her arm over his shoulder and swept the corn-stalks aside, making slow progress over the uneven ground. “That’s it. Good girl. You’re doing fine.”

But Abigail’s knee injury grew more painful by the step. Each time she moved, it felt like a nail was driven into her kneecap. She faltered, then her ankle twisted and she tumbled to the ground.

Houdini bent over to catch his breath.

“We have to keep going, sweetheart.”

Abigail just nodded, shutting her eyes against the pain.

AS HOUDINI ONCE again examined Abigail’s knee, a wail sounded on the wind. Haunting. Sad.