Dawn of the Demontide (10 page)

‘You were there. So was Dr Saxby and Dr Holmwood. You were arguing about magic and demons. And a weapon.’ Jake smashed his fist against the kitchen door. ‘Tell me the truth, Dad! Tell me about the witch and the demon that killed my mum. Tell me about the machine she built. Tell me about what will happen at the Demontide!’

Adam gaped at his son. He looked frightened, guilty, and careworn—all at the same time. Suddenly, he reached out and drew Jake into a hug. Jake could feel his father shaking. In that moment, his fury vanished.

‘It’s all right, Dad. We’re going to be OK.’

Adam gave a shivery laugh. ‘I should be the one telling you that. The truth is, I don’t think we
are
going to be OK, son. Not any more. Not unless … ’

Adam released Jake and rushed into the hall. He pulled on his coat and grabbed his car keys from the pocket.

‘Stay here,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t move from this house until you hear from me. There are some things I have to take care of at the Institute. Then we’re leaving. Pack some clothes, just a small bag. We travel light.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘I don’t know yet. Somewhere far away. The States maybe, or the Far East.’

‘But the Demontide,’ Jake said. ‘You have to be here to stop it. The weapon—’

‘It’s too late for that. Saxby was right—the weapon will never work. And if we stay … ’

Dread washed across Adam Harker’s face.

‘What is it, Dad? What does Dr Saxby want to do? I heard you arguing at the party last night. He said something about being prepared to kill.’

‘That’s enough. Get packed.’

Adam dashed down the corridor. The front door slammed shut.

Nine o’clock, and there was still no sign of his dad. Jake heated up some takeaway pizza and sat nibbling pepperoni slices in front of the TV. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Maybe he could call his dad’s mobile or try his private line at work. He managed to resist. An instinct told him that, at this stage, the mighty Hobarron Institute might be as dangerous to him as the mysterious Coven.

Eleven o’clock. An hour of wearing a hole in the lounge carpet and midnight arrived. Jake swore as the first chime rang out from the clock in the hall. He could cycle over to Hobarron; tell Brett at the gate that he was dropping something off for his dad. He’d give Adam another hour and then he’d have to do something.

He picked up an old comic from the bookcase and dropped into an armchair. He hadn’t read any horror since his mother’s death. He didn’t need to.

‘I’m living my own horror story now,’ he murmured.

Maybe he’d just dip into this one, for old time’s sake …

The sand was soft beneath his boots, the air damp on his face. He moved with stealthy, catlike strides, always alert for signs that he was being watched. His gaze swept the clifftops. Content that only the moon tracked his progress, he continued across the bay. The wind had died and the night birds stayed songless in their nests. The sea, as tranquil as a millpond, did no more than whisper against the shore. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting to see if he would fail. If he did, then the Age of Man was over. In a few hours, a new and terrible dawn would break across this land—across all lands. From the mouth of this little bay, the Demontide would begin.

As if in response to this vision, a blue flame crackled between his fingers. It was not enough. Digging deep into himself he tried to summon the full extent of his powers. Thoughts of Eleanor filled his mind. Pretty Eleanor, his childhood sweetheart, who had promised to be his when all this was over. They would be married in his father’s church in the village of Starfall. Ever proud of his son, the old preacher himself would conduct the ceremony.

He went on imagining, conjuring pictures of his and Eleanor’s life together—their first home, the birth of their children, birthdays and Christmases. God willing, these things would come to pass. But if he faltered now then there was no future for him and Eleanor. No future for his father and mother, or for anyone else in this beautiful and miserable world.

Power surged into his arm. The flame roared.

He began to climb the rocks on the far side of the bay. The large cavern loomed overhead. There was a superstition in the village that this cave had a voice. Lying awake in his room at the tavern, he had heard it himself: a low moan that called out from the bay. He was steeped in superstition and believed many impossible things. Within the pages of his diary, he had recorded his encounters with dozens of unholy creatures and, upon his body, the story of his magical life could be read in a hundred scars and burns. However, as an occult expert, he was convinced that the so-called ‘Voice of the Cave’ was nothing more than the echo of the wind. In fact, this was one of the few natural phenomena that he had observed since coming to this accursed place. Every other strange thing had been the result of magic …

The darkest he had ever known.

He stood now in the mouth of the cave, the flame dancing between his fingers. Blue light licked up the cavern walls and shimmered across the stalactites. It was not cold but still he drew his cloak close about him. Hairs on the back of his neck bristled to attention. Every fibre of his being felt it, thick upon the air: Evil. He had been aware of it all his life. Evil like an icy hand upon his cheek, like a freezing fist clasped around his heart. To feel the presence of true, demonic Evil was a gift, his father had said, and he must use it wisely. He must seek evil out and, with the help of God, put an end to it.

As a boy, his ability had been a curse, and he had done all he could to ignore it. Only in this last year had he truly used his gift. He had seen the cruelty and the injustice meted out to the poor folk by people like Matthew Hopkins and the other witchfinders. Men who saw witches everywhere and lined their purses with blood money. His father had encouraged him to follow these men wherever they went and to challenge their work. The irony was that he had been confused with them, and labelled a witchfinder, too.

The latest outbreak of witch-hunting had started in a little village by the sea. From the moment he had stepped into the community, he had felt Evil everywhere. In the streets and houses, in the river, even in the church. It had choked the air and poured out of every doorway.

Here was a place where real witches thrived.

Now, standing in this cave, he felt it stronger than ever. Pure Evil. He touched the enchanted glass ball that hung around his neck …

A man came forward out of the darkness. Behind him floated a tall black box.

The Coven Master smiled.

‘Welcome, Witchfinder.’

Jake woke with a start. He looked down at his hands, half-expecting to find the blue flame flickering between his fingers. He had never had a dream so vivid, so
real
. It felt as if the dream had come to him in the same way the memories of his mother’s murder had returned. A sudden flash emerging from a hidden part of his mind, but what did it mean … ?

The front door slammed shut. His father’s voice rang out—

‘Where are you?’

Jake ran out into the hall. Adam, his face drawn with fear, his clothes muddied and torn, raced to meet his son. Thick files stuffed with paper spilled out from under his arms. His words came in panicked snatches.

‘They’re—almost here—go upstairs—now!’

‘Who’s almost here?’ Jake could hear panic in his own voice.

‘Holmwood—Saxby—
her
. Go. If I can, I’ll explain later.’

A thunderous crack sounded from the front of the house. Splinters appeared in the door. Adam pushed Jake down the hall and towards the stairs.

‘Get into bed,’ he hissed. ‘If they start questioning you, play dumb. Don’t try to call the police. They have eyes everywhere. Whatever you hear now, whatever you see, stay upstairs. Promise me.’

‘But, Dad … ’

‘Promise!’

Jake gave a reluctant nod.

‘OK. Now, go … ’

The door gave way.

Jake caught a glimpse of Dr Holmwood and a dozen white-coated men on the lawn. He didn’t think Holmwood had seen
him
. Obeying his father, he ran to the stairs.

A torn sheet of blue paper caught Jake’s eye as he hit the first step. It must have fallen out of his dad’s files. He scooped it up, stuffed it in his pocket and bounded upstairs.

Noise—clamour—swearing. The sound of Adam Harker being dragged to his knees. Questions—
What have I done? Where are you taking me?
No answers. Adam’s heels kicked against the floor and he was bundled out of the house. Sick with fear, Jake crossed the landing and slipped into his bedroom. From the window, he watched the white-coated men force his father into a waiting ambulance. The doors closed, the engine started and the ambulance drove out of the street. Adam’s abduction was over in the space of three minutes.

Footsteps on the stairs. Jake scooted under the duvet and closed his eyes. The door eased open. A few seconds later it clicked shut again. Muffled voices throbbed through the floor. As quietly as he could, Jake left his bedroom and crept downstairs. A crack of light shone through the living room door. Jake tiptoed to the door and peered into the room.

Dr Saxby paced up and down. Dr Holmwood sat on the sofa and smoked a cigarette. There was a third person in the room but Jake could only see the top of her head poking over a chair back.

‘ … sound asleep,’ Dr Holmwood said.

‘So, where have you taken Adam?’ Saxby asked. ‘Back to the Institute?’

‘Surely even
you
wouldn’t want Adam to be held in the Institute cells like some common conjuror!’ Holmwood snapped. ‘Dr Harker is not our enemy—his only crime was to love his son. For now, I will keep him at Green Gables. My house is comfortable, but it is as secure as any prison.’

The woman coughed. The eyes of the men turned to her.

‘What about the boy?’

There was something familiar about that deep, raspy voice. Jake had heard it before, many years ago.

‘Surely he
must
go to Hobarron’s Hollow,’ Saxby said.

Holmwood hesitated. ‘I—I can see no other solution. Yes, the boy must go. I will notify all Hollow residents to expect him. We don’t want anyone talking about the Demontide and frightening the child away. Not when a sacrifice is our only hope.’

‘We are sure then, that the weapon will not work?’ the woman asked.

‘It has been tested and does appear to be useless.’ Holmwood sounded defeated.

‘A grand scheme that came to nothing,’ Saxby sighed. ‘It was always a foolish dream … ’

‘My brother is not a fool!’

The woman turned her face to Saxby. Jake almost cried out in surprise. He ought to have known! He had heard her name mentioned the night of Dr Holmwood’s party. He had not seen her for almost ten years, but now he recognized Aunt Joanna, his father’s sister.

‘I was there that night in Hobarron Bay,’ she said, spitting the words at Saxby. ‘I saw what was done to Luke.’ Her eyes flickered towards Dr Holmwood. ‘My brother and I stood on the clifftops and watched as the boy’s throat was cut from ear to ear. You may be an Elder, Saxby, but have
you
ever witnessed the murder of a child?’

‘No,’ the doctor admitted.

‘Then keep your mouth shut about my brother. Adam grew up reliving that sight, night after night in his dreams. And he swore that he would never allow such a thing to happen again. He would find another way. His “grand scheme”, as you call it, his great weapon, could have saved us all. Instead we cart him off like a madman and prepare, once again, to kill an innocent child.’ She turned to Holmwood. ‘I will bring Jacob to Hobarron’s Hollow. To my home … ’

Joanna Harker got to her feet.

‘We
will
stop the Demontide, gentlemen, as we always have. But mark my words: one day we will burn in Hell for these things we do.’

Jake tiptoed across to his desk and turned on the reading lamp. By its light, he studied the paper his father had dropped in the hall. A fragment of an engineer’s blueprint, it looked as if it had been torn from a larger sheet. The central design was of a box, a metre in length and fifty-three centimetres in width and depth. Cables snaked out from the base while the casing itself seemed to be transparent. The title of this strange contraption had been stamped above it, although the last word had been partially torn away:

So
this
was the weapon his mother had created! The machine she had devised to stop the Demontide! But what did it do? After ten minutes or so staring at the drawing, Jake gave up trying to work it out. He turned off the light and went to the window.

The moon blinked between the clouds. Silver shadows danced across the garden.

Jake eased open his bedroom window and climbed out onto the sill. Teeth gritted, he slid down the clattering drainpipe. With one eye on the dark windows of the house, he crossed the garden and took his BMX from behind the shed. The squeal of the gate sounded unnaturally loud in the early morning stillness.