Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) (36 page)

Chapter 75

Walter Cargil’s office turned out to be unimpressive in the extreme: a small desk that looked as though it had been bought from Ikea, a couple of half filled bookshelves and a small seating area around a stained coffee table. The view of the river through the bay windows provided some compensation but this
was hardly the environment Alix had envisaged Cargil would work from.

“Isn’t
Cargil the perve who has all the affairs?” She took a seat opposite the desk, Cargil not yet having made his entrance.

Essentially, yes.

“Great. Why choose someone like him to share in the biggest secret the world has to offer?”

Because he is a fickle, materialistic, egotistical womaniser, and therefore has the attractive quality of being able to place his own personal gain and satisfaction above the significance of the information he is given.

“So he’s easy to bribe to keep quiet then?”

Something like that.

Alix found that thinking about things too hard gave her a headache. The last twenty four hours had been indescribable, something similar perhaps to being caught in a giant washing machine. She felt as though she couldn’t quite get a foothold, like everything was just out of reach.

“So I suppose that’s it then,” she said.

What’s what then? s
aid the Necromire, who so often sounded absentminded, a little like she imagined her subconscious really was. She wondered whether Anwick’s experience was any different.

“The answer to life and death and all the things in between.  The existence of God, the conflict of religion, the problem of evil. I know it all.
So much time was wasted, so much blood spilt, over nothing. Because it’s all an illusion after all.”

I rather suspect that
it’s more the case that one series of questions has been replaced with another. You never believed in God anyway, did you?

“No.
After he took Zara from me I knew there was no God.”

Because a
n omnipotent God wouldn’t let evil things happen?             

“No
. If there was a God, then He created free will, the power to make moral choices, which is a blessing far more important than evil itself, so evil is a necessary by-product of a greater gift. Or the rewards in Heaven outweigh the challenges on earth. Or the world has fallen into darkness. There are hundreds of possible answers all equally as unhelpful as the last. The point is that Zara’s abduction changed everything for me. I didn’t have a normal upbringing. My mother died and I didn’t have any sort of relationship with my father. He just seemed to resent me. So I spent almost my entire early life on my own, surviving, and in that time I educated myself, particularly about religion because I wanted to understand why Zara had gone. I didn’t have the resources to look for her but I thought I might at least understand more about evil.”

And God?

“God was always far too
human
to be believable, especially the God of the Old Testament. He required people to obey His rules, worship no other, offer sacrifices, prove worth. He was vengeful, jealous, forgiving, compassionate. If he didn’t like something, he’d destroy it. If he liked a particular individual, he elevated that person within his own community. He rewarded loyalty and punished disobedience. Those are all
human
traits. To me, He was just so obviously the creation of the minds of early man to be genuine. If there is a supernatural entity that created heaven, earth and everything else then he wouldn’t be like that. He’d be better than that and that made the God I learnt about implausible.”

Which is of course odd because now
you know the truth: that this World is one of many, created by such a supernatural being - not a God - but a creature with God-like powers at least.

“I know what you’ve told me. I don’t think I know the truth. I still could be mad. Or this could be a dream, or
a hallucination or sleep paralysis. I’m keeping an open mind.”

She sat quietly on the chair waiting for Cargil and it suddenly struck her how quiet it was. Everything had been so loud up to now. She closed her eyes, hoping the moment would last a little longer.

So while the other kids were out playing with Barbie dolls, you were studying theology,
said Azrael, whose voice was becoming as familiar to her as her own and who she no longer seemed to mind. She just seemed to be a part of her now.

“Sort of. And before you start I know full well the effect that that had on me. I’m not a psychologist by chance.”

I guess that’s why you have relationship issues.

“Obviously. As soon as I enter into the relationship I’m looking for a way to destroy it. The ending sends me back to being alone, which is where I’m comfortable, and reinforces the belief instilled in me by my childhood circumstances that solitude is what I deserve
and require. The endless cycle comforts me. Like a smoker who never really believes they’ll give up but keeps trying. It’s the
failure
they crave, not the nicotine or the giving up.”

Wow. You’re able to diagnose your own social disorder.

“Social disorder’s a little strong. I have, as you say,
relationship
issues like many women. The difference with me is that I know exactly why and if I was my own patient I’d probably be able to help me but I’m not. Like an accountant who’s bad with his own finances. Many are, you know.”

So this feeling of wanting to destroy relationships as soon as they start, that’s why you’ve never been truthful about your feelings for Ash, isn’t it?

She didn’t say anything but looked out of the windows across the water to the opposite bank. Night had descended and the light from the buildings danced off the river. If she wasn’t mad, then she soon would be. What was the difference between her and Anwick right now? She looked down and noticed her hand was trembling slightly.

Chapter 76

Keera drove slowly down the street assessing the houses on each side. She had only been to Ash’s house on a couple of occasions and couldn’t remember which one it was. It was a nice area. Lots of middle class professions bringing up young families, women scowling at her
behind netted curtains, waiting for their husbands to come home with the next wage slip so they could spend another afternoon playing online Bingo.

All the bloody houses looked the same
in the dark. Pale bricks and fancy guttering. Small plots crammed next to each other, picket fences and leylandii hedgerows, wheelie bins and “sod the dog beware of the kids” signs.

And one house with a garden full of gnomes.

Keera stopped outside. There was something about those gnomes. There was a rumour going round the canteen that Ash had some weird girlfriend who was obsessed with buying him gnomes. They were everywhere, strange little hand painted bastards. The Mitsubishi in the drive way was the other giveaway. Odd how she had seen the gnomes first. The neighbours must hate him.

She pulled up and made her way to the front door
. As she crossed the garden a flock of birds suddenly took flight from behind the house and scattered across the darkened sky. The noise of their wings flapping wildly startled her. There must have been thirty or forty of them! Did he keep an unofficial aviary at the back of his house? 

Her finger hovered over the doorbell but she hesitated. Next to the Mitsubishi was a Rover, perhaps fifteen years old,
rusty and outdated, abandoned haphazardly halfway across Ash’s drive and his neighbour’s. There was something about the way that it was parked, clearly blocking both driveways. As if someone was in a hurry. She studied the door and noticed the gap in the frame. She gently pushed and the door swung inward.

Keera resisted the temptation to call out. Something was clearly wrong. Ash was careless, but he wasn’t the sort of person who forgot to close his door properly. He also wasn’t the sort of person to hang around people who drove old bangers and couldn’t park very well. She had
imagined most of his friends were professors and members of the IAM.

Everything was quiet. She felt inside her coat pocket and fingered the pepper spray she
carried with her. At the end of the hallway, the lounge was accessed by two double doors, which were half open. She could see movement through the gap but it wasn’t clear what. Dark shapes, nothing more. She took the pepper spray but left her hand in her pocket and used her free hand to push open the door to the lounge.

Keera felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she took in what lay ahead of her but she resisted the temptation to cry out in alarm. The Soul Harvester - a mass of grey, fibrous skin wrapped tightly around a thin, angular body - was bent over Ash’s body, the syringe firmly inserted into his neck. Up its arms and across its back small, leaf shape feathers sprouted. They were a similar colour to its odious body, which seemed incapable of standing erect; its spindly legs were designed for hopping and not walking upright. A gaunt face appraised her through large, black eyes above a thinly cut mouth that protruded outwards like a beak.

“What the fuck-”

Beneath the creature’s claw-
like hands, Ash moaned softly. The Soul Harvester puckered its mouth and let out a low sound that was more like a bark than anything else. It seemed to take pleasure in watching Keera’s horrified face.

“’ave y’ com’ to arrest m’?” It seemed to find speaking difficult. The words were wheezed out, as if formed on an inhalation of air so that they were never properly finished.

“Ash,” said Keera, trying to work out whether he was drugged or unconscious. “Ash, don’t move. There’s a needle in your neck.”

“Wha-?”

At least he was awake. “There’s a needle in your neck,” she said carefully. “Stay still.”

“Please yr’ ‘er, woman. I needs anover’ skin. Yus’ will be perfct’.” The creature cackled, a horrible, chilling sound.

“Ash, can you move?”

“Head,” he said helplessly. “Head hurts.” She saw he had his eyes tightly shut, blissfully unaware of what it was that held him down.

“You,” Keera demanded, extending her finger toward the Soul Harvester but standing angled, so the creature couldn’t see her remove the pepper spray from her other pocket. “Take that thing out of my boss and back the fuck up against the wall so I can call the RSPCA and have you impounded.”

The Soul Harvester cackled again. The sound of its feathers rustling together as its shoulders moved was unnerving.
It was a sound that Keera would never forget.

“’es all mine, ‘uman. My sou’ t’ take. My gi’t from S-Sin. You’ll wat’ ‘im die.”

“And when you kill him, I’ll pluck those fucking feathers out of your back and choke you with them.”

The creature looked shocked for a moment; never had it witnessed such brazen behaviour from a human faced
with it in its true form. It laughed again unpleasantly. It seemed to have little control over its salivation and thick drool was forming around its chin ready to drop. Its face changed again and it bore a row of small, jagged bottom teeth. The ridges around the slits that passed as a nose accentuated as it contorted its features into a repulsive sneer.

“Arll’ en-joy wearin’ y’ ‘ead as a ‘at, wo-man.”

“You really are one ugly freak. When this is over I’m gonna’ put you in a cage and shove you down a mine to check for gas.”

“’ee careful ‘uman, th-is is-s-”

“Shut up!” Keera edged forward. The pepper spray was only good for up to six feet and she needed to close the gap. Whatever it was, it was responding to her. It wasn’t looking at the syringe but she needed to be careful it didn’t accidently inject the fluid.

“Do you like bird seed? I’ve got some right here for you, freak. Right here in my pocket.”

The Soul Harvester lowered its eyes and emitted a low, gargling sound from the back of its throat. Its entire body was coiled: a quivering jumble of grey skin and feathers around scrawny legs and arms that jutted out from hunched shoulders awkwardly, ready to strike. Its beady eyes were fixed on her. Keera sensed she had done just enough to distract Ash’s assailant from the syringe to allow her an opportunity. Her wrist ached from where she had been gripping the pepper spray so tightly. Slowly, she withdrew the canister and took another careful step forward.

“Here, birdy, birdy, birdy...”

She felt the sensation of something take her hand. Confused, she spun round but there was nobody there. She was looking at the pepper spray, staring closely at the ejection point, but she wasn’t sure why. She felt as though she had somehow been detached from the room; she was no longer there, replaced by a clone, a clone who had very deliberately raised the spray canister to her own face and whose finger hovered threateningly over the release trigger.

“What – the – fuck-”

In the distance, she could hear the Soul Harvester cackling devilishly, its free hand outstretched towards her, fingers curled over like talons. “We’s gots our own mag-ic, ‘uman, that’s us’d to m-make skin.”

The spray in the can was capsaicin, an extract from
chillies. At a modest range, a dose in the face would inflame and irritate the skin, cause difficulty breathing, induce coughing, impede airways and force eyes to shut involuntarily. But Keera’s eyes wouldn’t shut. Tears trickled down her cheeks, she could taste salt. She had lost control of her arms. They belonged to someone else now. Panic set in as she pulled and strained, trying to move the canister away, but she was helplessly caught in the grip of an unfathomable paralysis.

The spray was inches from her face.

When the canister discharged into her open eyes, it felt like someone had poured boiling water on to them.

As the Sou
l Harvester watched Keera kick and scream on the floor in agony, she thrust the syringe downwards and injected the poison.

Chapter 7
7

Alix had waited for over an hour by the time Wal
ter Cargil finally flung the office door open and collapsed into the chair behind the desk. He looked different in real life. His skin was blotchy and there were bags under his eyes. He wore a beige suit and dark green bowtie, complete with matching handkerchief protruding from the breast pocket. He was the sort of public-school-boy-politician that everybody loved to hate and, when he spoke, Alix was transported back in time to the days of old school masters patrolling dingy corridors with wicker canes, shouting at young boys with names such as “Carstairs” and “Ginger”.

Cargil produced some papers from a pilot’s bag and began shuffling through them. Alix waited patiently. What did all those women he had had affairs with see in him? she wondered.
Nothing more than power. He was hardly good-looking.

“N-now then” he said. “I-I see that you’re h-h-here-”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Do w-what?”

“Put on that fake stutter.”

“I... what did you say?” Cargil looked genuinely bewildered.

“The stutter. I’ve seen your early public appearances. You claim to be taking elocution lessons to remove it but over time it’s got worse not better and in a very early interview you don’t stutter at all so it’s clearly something you do to try and make yourself more appealing to the average voter, with whom you have absolutely no interest or connection, the sort of ‘flawed hero’ approach, it serves to not only make you appear more human than you actually are but also makes the affair rumours that dog your career slightly less believable because people generally associate people who have stutters with vulnerability and integrity rather than liars and cheats.”

Cargil looked at her dumbly, his bottom lip quivering slightly, his hands frozen over the papers.

“What on earth are you talking about? People don’t make that association!”

“When was the last time you heard of a disabled man committing fraud?”

“What? A disabled man committing fraud? What on earth has...”

“Nonetheless, you’ve stopped stuttering now.”

Cargil leant back in his chair and shook his head. He appraised the little lady who had strayed into his office. Right now, she was looking distinctly less attractive than she had at first sight.

“Why don’t we get this over with,” he said eventually.

“Please. I’m in a hurry. I need to register or something.”

Good work, Alix. Let’s mo
ve Home-Secretary-piss-take-time along.

“Quite. Now, the government has no official position with regard to the possible existence of demons or entities who claim to deliver unto us from a parallel dimension to possess our citizens
but there are limited channels through which information regarding your... your
kind
, passes.”

Alix raised an eyebrow. She had no idea what to expect from this odd little man but, given his position, even the suggestion of an acknowledgement of what was happening to her was surprising. But it was more than that. It was more evidence that what was happening was actually real. She hadn’t had time to process those thoughts yet, the thoughts about what this all really meant for her. She was putting that off for another day.

“Frankly,” continued Cargil, “it’s all bullshit to me but there are higher powers that have some sympathy for people like you. For now.” He leant forward over the desk and sneered unpleasantly at her. “If it were up to me, I’d round you
all
up and lock you in Innsmouth and throw away the key. But it isn’t, for now. So the best I can do is remove as much dignity from you as I can by assigning you a number and a code which you must keep with you at all times. I note that you have already signed the Official Secrets Act, doctor Franchot, so no doubt you won’t object to signing it again.”

He pushed a document in front of her, bound with blue string and b
earing the Official Seal of the Crown. She took it and he threw a pen across the table at her. She caught it neatly between her fingers in mid air, limiting the spillage of ink. Seemingly satisfied, Cargil fell back into the chair again and stared at her. She put a squiggle at the bottom of the page,

Alix Franchot &
Azrael

And pushed the papers back to Cargil. He took it and placed it in a plastic wallet.

Alix,
Azrael spoke earnestly in her head,
there’s something wrong.

“So, doctor Franchot, what will you do now? Time to save the world?”

“What? No, I-”

I think we need to be leaving now.

“I saw you on the television, by the way.”

“Yeah, Harker already mentioned that.”

Why do you never do what I tell you? Haven’t I always been right about leaving places quickly?

“Quite a stunt, I’d say. Very impressive. Made quite a stir,
as well. I had a personal call from the Prime Minister asking if the ‘Necromire’ problem had raised its head again.”

“Really, that’s fascinating. I best be going now. Thanks for the code thingy.”