‘Hang on, why don’t you do this?’
Martin smiled wryly. ‘This is your path, your road to tread. I will be here beside you, but it is you that must make this happen.’
‘Why?’
He nodded with his head toward the cage, and she stared at mum for a moment. OK, fair enough. The urge to hug her was rapidly becoming the urge to shout at her, and maybe slip in a punch or two as well. She looked up at Martin. He nodded, and she lifted the book, and read the name.
The sound was like the creaking of an old rollercoaster, the squeal of tired metal and the screams of terror that accompanied it. The smell was far worse. It reminded her of the crow that had died in the chimney. She’d been really young, but she could still remember the men coming and opening up the old fire place and taking this body out, and as they knocked through the wall, the smell that came out had made her gag and shiver at the same time. This smell was like that, just nastier.
The figure that appeared was… slightly disappointing. When Martin had called it a demon, she’d expected horns and red and fire. He was tall, admittedly, and wearing the most ludicrous robe thing, like a bad Lord of the Rings cosplay, but his skin was pastey, and she thought he might fall over, given a hard push.
He stared at them, eyes fixed on the book in her hand. She tucked it into her belt and stared back. The fear she’d expected had yet to arrive. Which was nice. Then he spoke.
‘You are pretty like your mother, plenty of meat on your bones. Why are you here, little girl?’
He sounded like children, ripped from the womb, and falling bombs, and the land where illness so grievous had visited no one lived there any more, and where the hell was she getting these weird images from and why were her hands shaking? She had stepped backward, Martin now a few paces in front of her, and her hands were held out, palms out as though to block the demon.
Before she could blink, the person/demon/vampire wannabe took a step, and his hand flashed out. It struck Martin hard enough to lift him off his feet and send him flailing across the hall and into the wall. She shouted, hand covering her mouth, wincing.
Her protector raised his head for a moment, and then slumped down, unconscious or near enough for it not to matter. She took a deep breath, her gaze settling on her hands, still stretched out, and still shaking. God, he was going to kill her, here in this bloody horrible place, and no one would know. They’d be listed as missing persons and turn up on milk bottles and lampposts. She didn’t want to be on a lamppost. Why the hell was she here, what did she think she was going to do?
The demon took a step forward, and it took everything she had to not turn and run. Instead she stared at its eyes, at the sharp blackness hiding beneath thick brows, and bit her lip.
‘I’m here to take my mum home.’
Next instalment: Friday 1 November
