To Summon Nightmares (10 page)

"But what
is
the Guild?" he asked as Niall stood on a stool from the kitchen and pinned little straw men above the doorway to the ballroom. "I mean, are they just some big evil company that likes to kidnap magical children?"

"They're not a company," said Niall, jumping down from the stool. "They're an organization. Don't go in there, by the way, it's not protected." He gestured at the closed door. "And they're not evil, either. Just corrupt. The thing is, they're necessary, because they sort of... regulate the magical world. They keep the general population from knowing about magic and they stop people who know magic from manipulating the people that don't."

"So, they're like an Evil Ministry of Magic," said Cohen, crossing his arms.

"No, well yeah, I suppose. That's simplifying it a bit." Niall sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that from a theoretical point of view, they're good. At the lower levels they function well. Most magic practitioners never really interact with them much besides signing their contracts. As long as you sign the contract, you're protected by them. But... it also means they own you."

"Do they own you?" asked Cohen, and Niall nodded.

"That's why I have to put up so many wards, and be so careful. I can only use witchcraft, not my actual magic, because they'll be able to track it."

"How?"

 Niall fidgeted with one of the pins. "They have my blood. I signed in blood."

Cohen shook his head, starting himself back to reality. "This is all
insane
," he said. "Look, I don't believe you."

"It's all right." Niall put the pin back into his suitcase and closed it. Then he reached behind his head and pulled a long cord from around his neck. He handed it to Cohen, who took it automatically. A small wooden charm hung from it, carved with smooth notches in the polished wood. "You don't have to believe me," he said, looking down at the charm. "But at the very least, please wear this. It'll go a long way to keeping you safe from him."

"Him," said Cohen, shivering again. "You mean Jacky? If he's killed people, you should turn him into the police. Why is he trying to set you up?"

Niall's face tightened, and he turned away. "Because I'm trying to stop him."

"Stop him from doing what? From coming after me next? From killing more people?" When Niall didn't reply, Cohen continued. "It doesn't matter; if you turn him in, it'll stop him, and clear your name."

"And the Guild will get him back," said Niall, his voice quiet. "You don't know the things they did to him."

Cohen felt queasy. Whether or not Niall was crazy, he seemed to believe the things he was saying. If he had been kept in prison and tortured for five years, well, that was enough to make anyone crazy. And if he was telling the truth...

"And then I'd have to run again," said Niall, turning back to Cohen. "Before they find me, too." He reached out a hand, as if to touch Cohen, and then dropped it quickly, reaching for his coat and striding past him. "I shouldn't have told you so much," he said as Cohen followed him out into the foyer. "I'm probably putting you in more danger the more you know. Please, just wear that amulet, and keep those protections up."

"Why are you so worried about me?" asked Cohen, suddenly not wanting Niall to leave him alone. "Is it because you're afraid Jacky wants me out of the way? Because I provided you with an alibi? Am I safe here?"

"You're safer than most people," said Niall. "I told you before, you're protected from anyone doing magic on you. It's one of the things the Guild does, it puts protections on celebrities, famous people, to keep magical people from tampering with them."

"Are you serious?" Cohen felt faint. "I have magical protections on me?"

Niall nodded. "Jacky won't try to attack you with magic because if he does it will alert the Guild. You're very lucky."

"I'm very insane for believing all this," Cohen corrected him.

Niall gave him a long-suffering look. "Just wear the amulet," he said again. "Keep the protections up." He turned to open the door. Cohen wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid or intrigued or something else entirely, but he wanted Niall to stay. He didn't want to
ask
Niall to stay though, so he kept quiet as Niall turned around to shut the door. He gave Cohen a deadly serious look, the lines on his angular face hard, and his eyes glinting in the dim light from the chandelier. "Please be careful," he said, and the door shut heavily.

Cohen stood in the cold of the foyer, unsure of what had just happened. He had either just entertained a mad man, or else had gotten himself involved in something very, very complicated and bad. Or both.

He climbed the staircase in silence, suddenly feeling very grateful for the stupid dried plant protections and amulet. Then he felt a bit guilty. What would his aunt have thought? But he couldn't bring himself to take the amulet off. It was far too comforting.

Niall had done the upstairs while Cohen had finished eating, and Cohen noticed he had strung more plants along the bannister and on the windows in each room. When he at last entered the bedroom, he stopped short, another chill shooting through him to end this very long, cold day.

The white sheet that he'd pulled off the bed earlier and left crumpled up on the floor was no longer there. It was now draped over the large vanity mirror opposite the bed, carefully, so that not even a sliver of tarnished glass showed through.

The wind had picked up. It howled and rattled the window as Cohen stood unmoving, staring at the covered mirror for far too long.

Chapter Five

The moon was nearly half full. The pale silver light streamed down from the ceiling in a glinting beam, illuminating the murk of the cavern. Jacky sat in the dirt, his legs splayed and his eyes glazed over, dreaming of vengeance. His hands were clutched tight around the heart, the blood dripping from it as he squeezed. The slow, lazy patter of the droplets falling to the damp earth were the only sound. He hadn't known that hearts had so much blood in them before.

He roused himself, tearing his eyes away from the beam of moonlight and stood, clutching the heart carefully to his chest. It was time. He'd been putting it off, dreading the pain. But it had to be done before the full moon, and it was waxing fast...

He approached the dais, flinching a little in the moonlight. The place did not seem made for light; it had gone unlit and unknown for so long. When Jacky had found it and rashly removed the stone from the earth like a stopper from a bottle, the sunlight had streamed down into the temple below, and the statues had seemed to flinch from it. Their stone eyes were blind, but they followed him accusingly, even now. He didn't like them. He would destroy them, in the end.

But for now he had other things to attend to. Flies had found their way down into the temple and buzzed around the two decaying hearts. Jacky leaned forward to inspect them, brushing the flies away as he did so. Along the dais were set five clay bowls, carved in ornate detail. Two of the vessels held hearts, the other three still empty. The Child's heart was blackening now, the blood had dried and the meat was beginning to rot. Next to it, in the second vessel, sat the Father's, still new and rank. The flies favoured it. Jacky slid his free hand along the dust of the dais, over the three vessels still waiting. So many still. But now he had one more.

He brushed his hand over the carved words in the dust. Greek. Luckily Kathleen had known Greek. Her memories were so very useful.

Child. Father. Sage. Lover. Witch.

The dais was not as old as the thing below. The thing below had been caged there, never to escape. The dais had been made by those who feared the worst. Who believed that a time may come when reign over the beast was necessary, no matter how damning the sacrifices required. Useful memories. Kathleen had found the knowledge frightening, when she'd first read it. Now she was like Jacky, full of the knowledge that there were far worse things than Hell.

But he didn't like thinking that he was anything at all like Kathleen. He caressed the last vessel, and the Greek word,
Witch
. It was for her, he'd decided that first of all. He was so very impatient for that heart. But he only had two weeks until the full moon, and still two hearts to acquire.

He'd found the sage easily enough, and waited until the perfect moment to use it to his advantage. He could only hope it would be enough to get Niall out of the way. Of course Jacky knew better than to think Niall would ever try to stop him. He'd seen Niall's mind. Niall was too weak, too tied up in morality and fear to cause any problems. Getting Niall arrested wasn't about eliminating a threat; it was about making him safe. All Jacky wanted was for him to be safe.

But he couldn't think about that now. All that was important was that he knew this heart was a suitable sacrifice, and it was time.

He held the heart aloft, his body thrumming with dread. He didn't want to do this. It was going to hurt so very, very much. But it could never hurt as much as what they had done to him. He would pretend that it was them in pain, not him, that the Guild would finally be punished for what they had done to him and others like him. And he knew that they would. It would take his last breath, and perhaps it would damn him to Hell, but they would be punished. That he knew.

He took a deep breath and pressed the heart into the vessel. There was no bright light, no sparks or noises or smoke. This wasn't that kind of magic. There was only absence, as if he had never felt pleasure, or love, or seen light. Darkness and pain and hatred, hatred that ran so deep, he could not let go of it. He was looking into the very soul of the beast as it drew its power from him, through the heart, and through his pain.
You will be mine
, Jacky told the beast.
I will command you, and you will do my bidding.

The beast loomed in his mind, greater than all of his senses. Jacky was utterly insignificant. The beast drew breath, and smoke and fire and death bellowed forth from its glowing centre.
And I will do your bidding.

*~*~*

Cohen leaned forward over the steering wheel, his fingers white from their grip on the keys. The engine turned over again and again, the grating noise assaulting his ear drums, but refused to start up. He leaned back against the torn leather of the seat, sighing heavily, and brought his sore fingers to his mouth automatically to chew at his ragged thumbnail. Why couldn't anything go right?

He didn't know what he was going to do now. He'd eaten soup for breakfast and spent the morning clearing all the junk out of the kitchen, piled the boxes of trash into the back of the car and written himself up a nice grocery list, ready for his trip into town. And now he was stuck with a car that wouldn't start.

Desperate to distract himself from the stinging in his eyes, he jumped out of the car and walked around to the back, opening the rusted petrol cap to peer within. He was pretty sure it was empty. It made sense. The house had been locked up tight, but there was nothing to stop someone from coming by and syphoning all the petrol away. It had been so long, it might have just dried up anyway.

He spent several minutes searching the house and grounds for a can of petrol, but came up with nothing. Of course, that would have been far too easy. He thought of calling someone, but the only person whose phone number he had was Myrna's, and he was pretty sure she had better things to do than personally deliver him petrol. There was nothing else for it, he decided, hands on his hips and glaring at the useless vehicle. He'd just have to go into town and buy some petrol. He tried to remember how long of a drive it had been into town yesterday morning. Ten minutes, maybe? It couldn't take that much longer to walk.

The gloom had mercifully cleared up overnight, and the sun was shining warm overhead. Cohen had shrugged his coat off in his search for the non-existent petrol can, but he was forced to put it back on when he re-entered the house, the cold stone walls retaining their chill. He thought briefly about bringing his coat with him on his walk, but there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and it wasn't past noon yet. He'd probably just end up carrying it all the way. He trotted up the stairs and traded it for a hoodie instead.

With a bit of effort, he managed to push the bedroom window open, and stood, letting some of the fresh air and warmth in. A light breeze kicked up, stirring the strings of dried plants around. Cohen glared at them critically. Niall probably wouldn't want him walking to town himself, but the memory of Niall's strange claims and the depression of yesterday was fading quickly, and it was hard to feel too unhappy or frightened on such a beautiful day.

He grabbed his phone and wallet and took the stairs back down two at a time, whistling as he went. The walk would be a good time to think about the plot of his next book, he decided. He'd start writing it tonight. Or possibly tomorrow morning. But definitely one or the other.

Unfortunately, he didn't end up thinking about his fantasy world on the walk at all, but rather the very strange and potentially more real fantasy world he seemed to have ended up in instead. Niall had definitely made those beans explode last night. Cohen had scraped the last of the evidence off the floor this morning. Could it really be possible that magic was real? The thought made his head spin.

It was also incredibly frightening. If—and he was only allowing the consideration hypothetically—if magic really did exist, and there were people who could use it, that meant he was very, very unsafe. The police would be basically useless against someone who could change their appearance at will, open locks with magic, even control other people. He supposed that was where, according to Niall, the Guild came in. But if Niall was telling the truth, and the Guild had done such horrible things to him and Jacky... Cohen couldn't fathom the idea of such an unfair reality existing. He didn't want to think that the entire world might be under the control of an organisation that could do such terrible things.

But, he thought, kicking at the dirt on the side of the road as he walked, he didn't want to shy away from it either. He could easily pass it off as nonsense. It would be much easier to pretend that he'd never heard about any of it. But what good would that do? Wouldn't that be an act of compliance? Wouldn't that make him just as bad as them?