Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) (35 page)

Chapter 7
3

A plump face curled round the door and stared dumbly at Alix. The simp
licity of the features that stared at her forced Alix to do a double take and check that the essentials were there: two eyes, a nose, a wide, fat lipped mouth and flappy ears that stuck out awkwardly from a mop of wiry, dark hair.

“Yes, sweet’art, can I ‘elp you?”

“Harker sent me to register.”

The plump face, whose body was still hidden behind the door, blinked a few times as he looked her up and down.

“Wait a minute,” he said, a sudden beam broadening across his face. “You’s that girl I seen on the telly! What they callin’ you? Miwicle Giwrl!”

If you could say something to let us in quickly before the whole of London knows we’re here, perhaps?

“So, I’m here to see Walter Cargil, I think.”

“Of course you is! You’s betta’ be commin’ in then, miss.”

The door opened and Alix got a good look at her host. His body was extraordinarily wide and that plump head was squashed deep into his square shoulders. It was a miracle he had managed to extend his non-existent neck around the door so ably and she could only imagine it must be tied to his spine with an extendable coil. But despite his odd appearance he seemed very pleased to accommodate her.

“Wow you’ve ‘ad a bit of a time, I’ll bet, miss,” he remarked happily as he led her down a gloomy hallway and through to
a sitting room where he showed her to a large green armchair. She sat down and looked around. Everything was dated and worn. The chair had several tears up one side and the colour obviously faded. There was an open fire crackling in the corner and several other non-matching pieces of old furniture haphazardly placed in front of the fire. There were frames on the walls but not one picture. Alix imagined that the sort of Old-World gentleman who owned this property would have some ridiculous Dickens-style name such as Cuzlewort or Generychop.

“So, you seen Amanda ‘arker, did ya’? Wow! Did she do that thing with the tea with ya’?”

“She gave me cold tea, yes.” Alix smiled pleasantly. It made a change from people looking at her like she was from another planet.

“She a right one that, A-man-da ‘arker, miss, ain’t she? Nawty girl, she is really, you know. Shouldn’t give you tea, really. Even decaf. You see, even decaf tea got a
little, tiny bit of caffeine in it and it’s not much mind but might be enough to, you know, interfere with your new friend, if you know what I mean!”

He winked at her and made a big deal of touching his finger to his nose.

“Anyway, ‘oo ‘ya got in there, miss? Darda’il? Eremiel? Surely not mi’ ol’ friend Lucifer?”

“Her name is
Azrael,” she said politely.

“
Azrael? Naw’ fuckin’ way? Azrael! Well I’ll be blessed. You all right in there, Azrael?”

He peered over her head and looked down on her, as if there might be some way into her brain that she wasn’t aware of.

Tell the simpleton that I’m fine and if he doesn’t get Cargil quickly I’ll burst his balloon-like-head with a pin.

“
Azrael’s fine. He says hi.”

“Great, great. Now then, miss, my name’s Manson but you calls me Mancy. That all right?” He grinned at her. He had approximately three teeth, although she couldn’t be sure because one may have been a part of his lunch stuck to his gums.

“That’s fine. Hello, Mancy. My name’s Alix.”

“Alix. That’s a lov-ely name, that. Alix. Yeah, saw you on telly, did I say that? I thought it was great, all them cars going kaboom and all that runnin’ around. Oh, back in the good ol’ days I was for a bit, make no mistake. I watch a lot of telly, me, ‘coz I can’t go outside. If I goes outside, Alix, I gets an allergic reaction that makes my skin burn off and I dies! Imagine that!” He laughed loudly. The floorboards complained beneath his feet.

“Anyways it’s not easy is it, miss. The whole Necromire thing, it’s not easy for you and me, is it? You just make sure you’s stays away from caffeine and alcohol. You don’t want to end up like me now, do ya’?”

“Well you seem very nice, I’m sure,” she said, not really sure what else to say.

“You think so, miss?” Mancy gasped and clutched his hand to his mouth. “You’s thinks I’m nice? Well that’s the bestest thing anyone’s ever said about ol’ Mancy and it’s a pleasure to ‘ave you ‘ere, miss, it really is. Oh my blessings, I’m over-fuckin’-whelmed. I’ll go and get the ‘ome Secretary without no further botherins’ for ya’, miss, and thank you’s for your kind words.”

He bowed as best he could over his fat stomach and backed out of the room.

“So he’s...” Alix said when Mancy’s footsteps had stopped shaking the floor.

A Host, yes. But not a very successful one. There is a Necromire in there, somewhere, but I’m afraid he’s right: that’s what happens when you have too much caffeine. Sad really. Anyway, it’s nice that you’re BFFs with him.

“It’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t think I’m a freak or otherwise wishes me harm.”

Mancy returned a few moments later, hauling his giant ball-like body round the door and propping himself unsteadily up on the arm of one of the many arm chairs, one that was in fact quite an astonishingly ugly pink colour with faded yellow stripes.

“Walter’ll be right over to see you, miss,” he said, obviously pleased with himself.

“The Home Secretary-”

“In Par-liament, miss, yeah, but soon be ‘ere.”

One of the few perks,
Azrael explained.
Registration can’t be delayed so, as one of the very few non-Hosts who know about the existence of the Void, Cargil’s obliged to register you immediately, no matter what he’s doing.

“It’s the second door on the right, miss. Mind the step as you go in.”

Chapter 74

Ash found himself at home but he couldn’t for the life of him recall anything of the drive or even the thought that led him
there. Everything was blurry. In the top right hand corner of his eye, a gaping black hole grew larger and larger, eating into his vision. The pain hadn’t come yet but he knew it would soon cripple him.

His sofa was gone: just a rectangular patch of fresh carpet where it once stood. There didn’t seem to be any evidence that Penny was around but he was past caring. If she was in the house she was unlikely to get much sense out of him as the migraine drew nearer.

In the bathroom he squinted into the mirror at his tired face. Bloodshot eyes and six o’clock shadow, shirt sleeves rolled up, waistcoat half undone and tie hung school-boy-like from his neck. He reached into the cabinet and found a couple of ibuprofen which he swallowed whole without water, not that they would be any match for the imminent ravishing his brain would take when the migraine hit home. The inevitability of it was the worst part, like being tied to the railway tracks waiting for the on-coming train.

There was a strange sensation near his heart and for a moment he thought of something worse than a migraine but he quickly realised it was his phone vibrating. He studied the caller ID for what seemed like ages, trying to make out the figures
. Finally, he concluded it wasn’t Alix and the phone dropped to the floor.

The black hole grew larger and the pain began to ride over him in waves, like someone had taken a cheese grater to his brain.

She was waiting in the lounge for him as he staggered to the remaining arm chair. He couldn’t really see her but he knew she was there and that smell was everywhere, that weird hospital smell he could never quite understand. It made him feel sick.

“’sher ... with y’ ... find you like ...” her voice was muffled, drifting in and out of his head so he only caught certain things.

“Penny,” he moaned. “Not now. Not Now.”

“
...find your key ... don’t appreciate m’... all I’ve done ... what’s wrong?”

He lay down on the floor and felt the warmth of the carpet across his cheek and somehow it was comforting. She was still talking but he couldn’t decipher any of it. If he just lay
there, everything would eventually regularise itself and the pain would subside but for now he had to ride it out.

He closed his eyes and all he could see was
Alix’s face.

*

Keera strode out through the car park to an unmarked BMW truck on the other side. She clicked the keys and the car responded. She slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. The whole place had gone crazy. Baron had finally lost it, Ash had gone AWOL and they had let the only link to every fucked up event slip through their fingers.

It was time
someone
sorted this God-forsaken mess out.

The engine roared into life and she wrenched the gear to drive. She paused, foot on the
brake, to answer her phone.

“Keera?”

“Speak.”

“It’s Maurice. I’ve been trying to get hold of
DI Fielding but he isn’t answering.”

“Ditto.”

“It’s about the hair sample I found on George Bricken. I think I have a match and I wanted to speak to him urgently.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m not willing to say over the phone. It’s... complicated. Can you find DI Fielding and come over straight away?”

“It
’d better be good, Reid.” She hung up. Ash didn’t live far from here. It was worth trying his house first.

Foot off the break and the rear wheels struggled to gain traction before the truck careered off into the street.

*

She bent down close to his body and brushed her hand up his arm. He moaned softly as she rested her fingers on his shoulders. His hands were quivering slightly, cupping his head as if he was shielding himself from her. She listened to his voice. He was murmuring about... about light. It was too bright. She leaned over him and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his clothes
before gently resting her head near his. Like a vulture playing with its food.

She lifted her head and a giant snowflake fell onto Ash’s back. She brushed it away hastily
but another took its place. Her time in this body was almost over and she could feel the skin cracking and peeling like old paint. She put her hand to her face and part of the Masque fell away, her fingers brushing past the cold, leathery film beneath.

One by one more flakes fell and she could feel her true form creeping to the surface to replace Penny’s evaporating skin. Just as well that he was so powerless and unaware. It would have been unfortunate if he had been conscious
enough to witness her emancipation from the body of a feeble woman to her true, terrible self but the moment would not have been without its charm for her. It was a pity that she had not experienced him as she had intended but that was just the way things had gone. She would have liked to have felt what it was actually like to have been taken in human form but there was no time for that now. The Harbinger had employed her to remove an obstacle and, with callous indifference, she was happy to oblige; not that the Cause had any interest for her. If Sin wanted the Ether for Himself then He was welcome to it. There were other Worlds that were far more fertile for the Soul Harvesters. But there were some things that interested her and she was very close to achieving one of those things.

From underneath her coat she produced a syringe armed with a clear liquid which she brought close to her face
to inspect. Her eyes took time to adjust to the loss of Penny’s lenses. One hundred and twenty milligrams of Potassium Chloride, enough to instantly stop the heart from beating. A marginally less dose was used in lethal injections in the States but they of course used other ingredients as well. Pancuronium bromide to paralyse the respiratory muscles to hasten death. Sodium thiopental to induce unconsciousness. But she had no interest in such humane distractions.

She fumbled with the syringe, her hands now more like the claws of a giant bird: rigid and ill-designed to wield instruments precisely. She felt restricted, oppressed by something and, realizing what it was, discarded the syringe and began tearing at Penny’s clothes, removing layers in shreds around her with squawks of relief and satisfaction. When she had rid herself of the remainder of her human Masque she clumsily retrieved the syringe, ruffled the feathers that lined her arms, and pulled Ash’s hand from his face. He struggled for a moment but he was barely awake, drifting in and out of awareness as his body struggled to cope with the crippling pain. Nothing more than a wounded animal. Pathetic really.

She had the side of his neck exposed, the blue channel of blood prominent and inviting. She wanted to say something profound before she sent his soul to the Inter-World for her to collect later but a few indecipherable croaks was all she could manage. A small, thin tongue flicked around her lipless mouth as she sensed the kill was near. The needle slid easily into the vein with only a minor objection from her victim. There were other more entertaining ways for a Soul Harvester to kill, of course, but she had been given specific instructions to ensure that death was immediate and absolute.

Outside,
scores of birds had gathered in the garden, nestling amongst the gnomes, drawn to the window to watch the show.