21 Cemetery Road Read online

  By this time, I had decided magic making wasn’t for me if I had to face something that lived in a pit. We heard a high tinkling of bells, and a voice called out, seemingly from the corner over the well.

  “What do you want?”

  What we heard faintly seemed to be that of a small child asking an adult a question.

  “That’s a child's voice,” said Liz.

  “What do you want?” Came the question again and I knew with chilling certainty, this as no child but also that it might, if handled correctly, be a way to increase our magical workings. We would have to be careful.

  “Well,” asked Thor. “Do we do this or stop now? We all looked at one another, and each slowly nodded.

  “What do you want?”

  “Spirit Power,” said Gordon.

  “Knowledge,” said Thor.

  “Moon Magic,” murmured Liz.

  “Whatever I need,” I said, thinking that would cover anything I attempted later on. Again there came the high voice.

  "Good, good, but for this, you must make payment."

  Gordon took a step back, the candle flames making his shadow dance on the stone walls behind him.

  “Woah man, we’re nearly broke. Do you know how much it costs to do up this house?”

  "I ask not for money but something more precious, your worship."

  I didn't like the sound of that.

  “Yeah, Okay, I’ll worship you,” said Thor, far too quickly.

  “And me,” said Liz and Gordon together, although I knew Liz was already worshipping Selene the Goddess of the moon and wondered if this would lead to complications. I kept my mouth shut and waited for the pay-off. The strange voice continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t joined in with its potential worshippers.

  "There will be a small sacrifice."

  “Will Liz do? “asked Thor.

  Liz kicked his shin hard

  “You dare, that’s not funny.”

  Thor rubbed his injured shin.

  “Look, it was a joke, Okay, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Guys,” said Gordon. “Look, we all have to live together, so be nice to one another.”

  "Yeah, well," said Liz. "This is serious stuff now, so no more joking."

  “Look I said I was sorry.”

  I had a feeling that whatever the thing was, its advantage was slipping away.

  “Guys, guys,” I said, desperate to get this over and get out. “Let’s find out what this thing is and what’s needed.” I turned to face the coiling blue-green shape hovering over the well's dark mouth, wondering if it minded being called a thing. "What's the sacrifice?”

  "Just a drop of your blood."

  “Oh,” said Gordon. “That’s not much is it ‒ that’s easy.”

  Too easy, I thought.

  “I’m not sure,” said Liz. Even in the candlelight, I saw how pale she was.

  “I can spare a drop,” said Thor. “All ceremonial magicians use it sometimes in their rituals.”

  By this time, my smooth mellowness had wandered off, and all I wanted was to be not here in the dark with a glowing thing hanging over a pit. Okay, I thought; now I ask the money question.

  “May we ask your name so that we address you properly?”

  "Oh, I have many names, that's not important."

  “Many names,” said Thor thoughtfully, “hmm.”

  “Lots of names,” said Liz, and I saw her eyes widen in shock.

  “Its names are legion.”

  I spoke without thinking and felt that someone had dumped ice water over me.

  As we all started to back away, a blood red shape formed over the pit, roaring, muscled and demonic with curling black horns that grazed the ceiling. Dirty clawed hands stretched out to us as Liz and I both made a dive for the cellar steps at the same time, then up, tumbling through the door into the kitchen followed closely by Thor and Gordon.

  “What was that all about?” shouted Gordon.

  “No. Will’s right,” said Thor, his voice shaking as he blew out his candle. “There's only one power that uses a lot of names.”

  “Legion,” whispered Liz, now shivering, the black candle dripping wax unheeded on the kitchen floor.

  “Yeah, the biggest, baddest of the lot,” I said. My brain hurt, and even though I was coming down from the high with a thump. Liz and I knew that down there in the dark, a creature had nearly reeled in four fools eager for a quick power boost.

  “Who then?” asked Gordon.

  “Satan,” said Liz and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “The Devil,” said Thor and glanced over to the open cellar door.

  “Lucifer, the fallen angel,” I said. “Well, not him in person, more a branch bank on the lookout for souls.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Gordon crossing his arms.

  “Okay, then, go down there and ask him if he is,” said Thor, pale and shaking. “But I wouldn’t like to see what would come up from that cellar after you have given that Power your blood. You, as a shaman, should know that once blood is given on a deal, the bond is sealed and from what I can remember from history, anyone who does this has a miserable time.”

  “He’s not called the great deceiver for nothing,” said Liz. “What are we going to do now? I don’t want to leave here just as we’ve moved in?”

  “I won’t sleep easy in my bed either," said Thor.

  “Look, everyone,” I said and hoped it was true, or else it would have come after us. “It seems that whatever that is, it has to stay close to, or in the well, otherwise it would be all over this house.”

  “Like a genie from a bottle,” said Liz.

  “We can always fill the hole with rubble and cement,” said Gordon, the ever practical.

  “Can we destroy it?” I asked Thor; after all, it was his business calling up and banishing spirits.

  “Not really,” he said. “It’s a form of energy, and we can banish it. I have a lot of information in my stash of grimoires on how to send it back to the infernal nether realms if it is a demon, but the problem is that unless we're cautious, we might free it and have it up here causing real problems instead of being holed up in our cellar.”

  "Okay," said Liz thoughtfully. "I get that it's a power of sorts, but I don't believe what it says, I mean, what is the Prince of Darkness, the main man in the Legions of Hell, the fallen angel cast out of Heaven etc., doing in a dark shitty pit next to a Cemetery? Sorry, it doesn't ring true."

  “I don’t think you can quantify the Devil ‒ like God, they are ineffable,” I said.

  “In effin what?” asked Gordon.

  “It means too big to get your brain around,” said Liz. There was a low growl from Gordon.

  “What do you mean my brain? Are you saying I’m thick?”

  I knew Gordon wasn’t the brightest of us, but I had to defuse this before angry words damaged our group.

  “Gordon, what Liz means is it’s so huge and mind-bending that no one can understand it, even a genius like me.”

  That at least raised a slight smile from the two.

  "Okay, fine, sorry, Liz," said Gordon, "I'm a bit on edge after seeing that thing in the cellar."

  Liz nodded as Thor cleared his throat, a sure sign of some words to come that he considered of some merit.

  "There is power in names, and that's why it wouldn't give us its name. We can't keep calling it the thing in the cellar; I suggest we name it and therefore have some small power over it, any suggestions?"

  “Yes, I’m going to make everyone a hot chocolate to ground us,” said Liz.

  We sat around the kitchen table until late sipping chocolate and coming up with names for the thing in the cellar then went to our rooms that night knowing that Trevor probably wouldn’t like his new name.

  WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT TREVOR

  After a restless night and a hangover to die of and with, I came down to breakfast with the others who were all looking worse for wear. Liz stared at her cereal
, pushing it around with a spoon.

  “Gordon, what was in that purple drink last night?”

  “Can’t remember, vodka and something I found in the kitchen cupboard.” He closed his eyes tightly. “And my head hurts.”

  Thor was staring at his toast as if it might jump up and bite him.

  “I suppose I have to eat this.”

  “It’s supposed to be the main meal of the day,” I said.

  “No, I’ll pass.”

  I took a deep breath, “Do I remember rightly that we called up a thing called Trevor in the cellar last night?”

  “I think so,” said Liz.

  “Yes,” said Gordon. “I have a feeling we did.”

  “Probably,” said Thor and slumped back in his chair. “And you do know what that means Gordon?”

  “Wot?”

  “We have to tell the Dark Council.”

  “Oh no,” said Liz.”

  Thor gave a grim smile.

  “I vote we keep it, but only if it can grant us extra powers.”

  “I’m not giving that damn thing any of my blood,” said Liz.

  “Nor me,” said Gordon. “And if the dark Council found out, we’d be screwed; I heard they have ways to make sure you don’t annoy them again.”

  I shuddered; our small magics posed no problem to them, and they had granted us licences to practise, but they rated Magicals using infernal agents as a terrible crime against life and the angels. We would have our magic stripped from us and worse.

  “If he wasn’t a demon, could we keep him?” asked Liz. “We’re too broke to have a familiar, but if he wasn’t a demon but a power and we registered him, would it be okay with the Council?”

  Thor cleared his throat.

  “Yes, if Trevor wasn’t a demon, he could be tested, and if he did past the test as a familiar, we would have him for a year and a day. After that, he’s free to seek employment elsewhere.”

  “And if he didn’t pass the test?” I asked, unclear on the workings of the Dark Council. They kept their secrets well and only seemed to appear when things got too demonic. There were rumours of suddenly successful magicians that quietly disappeared overnight, their rooms stripped bare, even down to the wallpaper and floor coverings.

  “If they don’t pass the test,” said Thor, “they are broken down to their constituent parts and dispersed back into the earth.” I had never bothered with familiars ‒ they could be unreliable, and nothing could kill magical workings quicker than a sulking familiar. I was a Chaos Magician, which meant I could use any form of conjuring I liked, but not familiars; they were too much fuss. It would be a preferred way of working for Thor with his ritual approach but wouldn’t suit any of the others. I was working now on sets of sigils for luck and optimism, and that kind isn’t easy to make, but I had regulars who paid good money for dependable, and powerful talismans; I didn’t need a familiar

  “How do we find out what he is Thor?” Liz asked. “Although it might be a she?”

  "I can command Trevor to tell the truth, but it's a pain and not without some danger, I'm going to need one other person with me when I do this to swing the thurible."

  I had my own – an intricately pierced Greek brass ball on three chains to hold the charcoal on which I burned my own mixture of Frankincense and other herbs. I didn’t use it much because in my last digs it set off the fire alarms.

  “Not me guys, sorry,” said Liz holding her hands up in horror. “No, I’m a witch, not my remit, sorry.”

  “Well?” Thor looked across at Gordon.

  “I could help with my drumming.”

  “No, no drumming.”

  “Sorry then, not my scene, too much-structured stuff.”

  All heads turned to me.

  “Okay, why not; one way or another we can’t leave it down there, those things live forever, and even if we got away, some other poor soul might not be so lucky.”

  “Fine,” said Thor, rubbing his hands, the hangover now forgotten, “this evening then.”

  “What do I have to do?” I asked, well aware that ceremonial workings always needed preparation.

  “Nothing, except no booze.”

  “No problem, Thor; my kidneys need a break from last night.”

  “And no sex.”

  “I wish.”

  After breakfast, I went to a little store ‘D Lights' in Cambden Lock. I had frequented as a student, now run by a grumpy old gnome called Willykins. It was a treasure house of junk and the occasional thaumatic equipment, most second hand, tested and in good working order. Inside, a magical worker could find everything they needed, and as an enchanted space that really did mean anything if it wasn't dark, blood-based or unregistered. Usually, I sold him my sigils for a reasonable price, but not today. Outside in the market street, tourists crowded the pavements window shopping, eating ice cream, bartering and buying tat and new antiques. If a Mundane entered the shop, all they would see a collection of collectables, trinkets and a grumpy old man. The shop bell gave a dull clonk as I stepped into a quiet incense-scented gloom. No sound came from the street outside; I was in a bubble of peace and quiet. All around the walls, I saw shelves stacked with boxes and pottery jars, never glass. I had once asked Willykins why.

  “I don’t use glass because I don’t want people to see what’s in them and I don’t want what’s in them looking out.”

  He rose, a dark shape from behind the counter that blocked access to the back of the shop where expensive items waited for discerning customers.

  “Ho Willykins, you're looking good,” I called out.

  He rolled his canary yellow eyes and spat.

  “I ain't seen you for a while. Where ya been, got yourself a job yet?"

  He scowled at me, turning his head away but keeping his eyes on me. “What you after, an' I don’t do student discounts no more. No shoplifting either.” I laughed; he hadn’t changed a bit.

  “Willykins, I have never shoplifted, and you know it. Now I want something unusual from you today.”

  “You still doing that Chaos Magic?”

  “Yup, we’ve got a small wannabe demon or something in the cellar, and I need this to persuade it to stop pissing around and either clear out or behave.”

  “So stop wasting my time yapping, what you want?” I told him, and I watched his eyes open and his mouth twist with disgust. “Gods. That is disgusting and sick, you sure?”

  “Yes, but wrap it up well, I don’t want anyone to see it, I’ll lose my street cred if anyone finds out.”

  “It’s your funeral.” He smiled, showing his fangs, “I mean it really could be your funeral.”

  SCREAMS IN THE NIGHT

  I passed the time until we descended into the cellar to face whatever it was by making and charged sigils on pale creamy parchment, folding then slipping them into their black light-proof envelopes. Once opened, they would activate, either on the holder or the general area, as required. One of the things I had learned at the School of Arts was that presentation is all, it sells. Raised gold stamped on black; the shimmering letters almost sold the packs on their own. I looked at the clock – the time had flown by. Time to go down.

  “I’m sorry, I really am,” said Liz, fidgeting around the kitchen. “It’s just that what you’re doing is dangerous and I don’t know what I can do to help you. Shall I make some tea?” We all shook our heads.

  “I have had two cups already thanks,” said Gordon, holding up his unfinished third cup of tea.

  “I have to stand in a Circle of Art, and I can’t just leave for a wee,” said Thor looking magnificent in his ceremonial robes of crimson and black. I had turned down the second cup for the same reason.

  “Right,” said, Thor, “time to get started, got your kit, Will?”

  “Right here.”

  I held up the case that had served me through the School of Arts ‒ it might look rough and scuffed, it but contained all I needed. It carried my wooden wand crafted from the old rowan tree in the back yard hol
ding within it the essence of the land, a bag of salt from Galilee as a weapon against dark creatures, and a wire music player.

  “Ready?” asked Thor.

  “Yup.”

  In the cellar, I placed and lit the five blue candles while Thor drew the Great Triangle of Holding next to the well’s mouth using a big stick of white that looked like chalk but glowed a pale turquoise. Next, we stood together, near the steps, as he drew the protecting double Circle of Art around us; he placed the candles, outlining symbols within the double circle, still muttering under his breath. He was still drawing when I noticed a pale cloud the colour of moonlight forming over the well's mouth and nudged Thor.

  "I can see it; he must be curious. I'm nearly finished." I lit the thurible and gently swung it. In the cloud of sweet smelling frankincense Thor stood tall and held his staff high as he chanted the names of powers, some I had never heard off and some I never wanted to hear again. The air thickened and breathing became difficult as the incense drifted around the dark cellar with a breeze from nowhere making the candle flames flare and filling dark corners with strange dancing forms. Thor turned to me, his face glowing, his eyes filled with stars.

  “Don't leave the circle unless I say so ‒ but you know that already don’t you?”

  “Too right,” I whispered; all of us at the School of Art had attended the memorials of those unfortunates that didn’t stick rigidly to the rules. Thor thundered on with the names of angels and powers conjuring the pale cloud from the pit into the triangle where it formed a slowly rotating column. I had a distinct impression it wasn’t bothered by the whole thing.