Fire Girl (10 page)

Hazel ran her finger over the leather spines, reading the titles.
A History of Witchcraft
;
Malleus Maleficarum
;
Famous Trials and Executions
;
The English Witch
Plague
;
A Wonderful Discovery of Witches
.

‘Some of these books were written by Titus,’ she said, glancing over at the snoring old Witch Finder. ‘
Spells and Charms – A Study of Benevolent Magic
;
The
Trial and Acquittal of the Opperley Witches
;
The Persecution of the Wise and Cunning Throughout History
.’

‘I know,’ David said. ‘Hard to believe he was capable of such a thing, isn’t it? I’m afraid you’ve met him when he’s rather past his prime.’

Titus twitched, muttered and rolled on to the floor. There was a moment’s silence and then he began snoring again.

‘See what I mean?’ David said. ‘The book you need is called
Demonology
by Theodore Dreisler. It’s the big black one with the gold foil, next to
Le Dragon
Rouge
. That’s the one.’ Hazel pulled it off the shelf and nearly fell backwards under the weight. ‘Careful, it’s heavy. Come on through the hatch and sit next to me.
Bring the book.’

Hazel glanced at Titus. ‘What about . . . ?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll be asleep for hours yet.’

Hazel handed the book to David, gave Samson a goodbye scratch behind the ear, then clambered through the hatch and sat down on the driver’s seat. Her breath misted in the air. Bramley
curled up at the nape of her neck, radiating heat. She pulled an apple out from her bag and offered it to David.

‘Hey,’ Bramley squeaked. ‘That’s
mine
!’

‘No, thank you. I can take or leave apples,’ David said. ‘Now, if what you saw really was a demon—’

‘I’ve told you – it was.’

‘Then perhaps you’d like to look through
Demonology
and see if you can identify it?’

Hazel laid the book on her lap. The smell of foxed paper wafted out as she opened the front cover. A piece of parchment framed with gold had been stuck to the front page:

Hazel hoisted the book up and pointed to the page. ‘Titus met the King?’

‘He
worked
for the King. Titus was one of his closest courtiers,’ David said. ‘But that was before the Witch War and the King’s execution.’

Hazel didn’t want her ignorance of what was probably common knowledge to arouse David’s suspicion, so she dropped the subject and read on. The title page was printed in a bold gothic
font:

Intrigued, Hazel turned the page and saw a picture of a hideous creature, carefully outlined in black and coloured with delicate ink washes.

‘Beautiful penmanship, isn’t it?’ David said. ‘Dreisler was a genius. The way he made such ugly creatures look so luminous. Marvellous.’

Hazel didn’t think the frog-like creature with the bloated throat looked luminous; she thought it looked terrifying.

The heading on the page –
Shabriri – daemon-minimus –
was followed by some introductory text:
Shabriri are mischievous toad-like demons that wait near uncovered
water. They strike blind and eat those that drink of the water.

She turned the page. A beast with crooked horns and a scorpion’s tail grinned at her.
Azazal. Daemon-mediocritas. An insidious demon that invades the hearts of the virtuous, turning
their will to its own ends.

Fascinating, frightening, but not the demon she was looking for. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she leafed through one page of horrors after another.

‘We need to pick up the demon’s trail as soon as we can. Can you direct us to where the abduction took place?’

‘No, you can’t,’ Bramley whispered. ‘That horrible hedge is in the way, remember?’

He’s right
, Hazel thought.
Besides, how can I explain that I spent all my life until yesterday living in a magical Glade protected by an enchanted hedge?

After a moment’s thought, she said, ‘I’m not sure I can. I got lost in the forest and I don’t think I can find my way back.’

‘Pity,’ David said with a frown.

‘Ma never let me go far alone because of Boggarts and wolves and suchlike. So I don’t really know my way around.’

‘Never mind, I’m here to help now,’ David said with an indulgent smile. ‘If you can identify the demon, we can try to work out where he’s most likely to be hiding.
Keep looking.’

Flushed with relief, Hazel continued to turn the pages.

‘You and your mother lived alone in the forest?’ David asked.

‘Yes, just the two of us.’

‘A hard life to choose. It must have been lonely.’

‘No, not really. We had each other. And a few friends too,’ she added hurriedly, thinking of Mary and hoping she was safe.

‘Careful, Hazel.’ Bramley squirmed his way closer to her ear. ‘Remember
what
David is. Don’t give too much away.’

‘And what of your father?’

David’s voice was light, but Hazel heard the curiosity in it. Bramley was right – she needed to be careful.

‘He’s dead,’ she said, surprised at how easily the lie came to her. ‘Killed in the war. I never knew him.’

‘The Witch War?’ David said, looking sidelong at her. ‘Interesting. Did he side with the King and his witches, or Lord Cromwell?’

Hazel felt as if she was walking on a tightrope. One false move and she’d topple to her death. She decided to hedge her bets. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, as smoothly as
she could. ‘Ma never spoke about it. She always said the subject was far too painful.’

David nodded and squinted up the dark road.

She turned the next page and started in surprise. It was a picture of a demon,
the
demon,
her
demon, crook-backed and skinless. Caught in the light of the swinging lantern the
image seemed to swell, as if drawing breath. Gripping the book to stop her hands from shaking, she read on:

If it can smell magic, does that mean it can smell me?
Hazel thought.
Perhaps the smell of the enchanted hedge hid my scent back there in the forest? Next time I might
not be so lucky.

‘I’ve found it,’ she said, passing the book to David.

‘Excellent. Take the reins, would you? Don’t worry, the horses will walk on.’ He frowned at the picture. ‘Are you sure this is the one? It’s a
daemon-mediocritas
–
which means it’s in the mid-ranks of the demon hierarchy. It would take a Wielder of enormous skill to summon it and keep it bound.’

‘I know what I saw,’ Hazel said, her voice shaking. ‘If we’re going to work together you need to trust me.’

‘All right, I believe you. It’s just unusual, that’s all.’ David scratched his chin. ‘You know, I’d prove myself to be a Witch Finder to be reckoned with if I
captured a
daemon-mediocritas
.’

‘I’m paying you to help find my mother, not improve your reputation.’

‘I know, I know,’ David said hurriedly. He took another look at the picture. ‘I’d better tell the boss about this. This demon is too much to handle on my own.’

‘Shall I wake him?’ asked Hazel.

‘Probably best to wait until he wakes up, er . . . naturally,’ David advised. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’

Hazel bristled. ‘I don’t need looking after. What I
do
need is to know how we’re going to find this horrible creature.’

David tapped his nose. ‘We Witch Finders have our methods.’ He reached back inside the hatch and retrieved a polished wooden box. ‘Take a look in there,’ he said, handing
it to Hazel and taking back the reins.

Hazel opened it. Nestling in the frayed, red velvet lining was a pair of silver goggles, with thick glass lenses and a leather strap. Each eyepiece had several adjustable focusing wheels and
brass levers etched with writing. Hazel lifted them up and was surprised by how heavy they were.

‘What are these for?’ she asked.

‘Hunting demons, of course,’ David said with a grin. ‘The boss designed them himself.’

‘How do they work?’ Hazel fiddled with one of the rotating wheels. It clicked solidly as she turned it.

‘Well, when a demon is summoned from Dryhthelm – that’s where demons come from – they begin to decay.’ He took the goggles from her and adjusted some of the wheels.
‘For a demon like Rawhead, being in our world is a slow and painful death sentence.’

‘You mean he might already be dead?’

‘I doubt it. It would take a long time for a demon like Rawhead to wither away – and there are ways they can prolong their existence in our world.’

‘Like what?’ asked Hazel, both fascinated and horrified.

‘They feed.’

Hazel’s stomach churned. ‘On what?’

‘Animals . . . people . . . whatever they can find – as long as it’s fresh. They’re particularly partial to children.’

‘Ask him about dormice,’ Bramley squeaked.

‘The advantage for us is that the decaying demon leaves a trail behind,’ continued David.

‘Like a slug?’ asked Hazel.

‘Almost exactly!’ He put the goggles around Hazel’s head and adjusted the strap to fit. Hazel tried to stifle a giggle as she felt Bramley wriggling his way under the neck of
her cloak to avoid David’s clumsy fingers.

‘Demon trails are invisible to the naked eye,’ David went on, ‘but that’s where these Entropy Goggles come in handy. Comfortable?’

Hazel nodded, the weight of the goggles making her head feel unbalanced. ‘But I can hardly see—’

‘I’ve adjusted them to show Rawhead’s trail. Everything else will be indistinct.’

Hazel pushed the goggles up her head and blinked her eyes back into focus. ‘How long do the trails last?’

‘It depends on the demon. A lesser demon’s trail – a Boggart’s, for instance – may only last a few hours, whereas a more powerful demon leaves a more indelible one.
The boss says you can still see traces of a greater demon summoned by a Grand Magus in the Hebrides, and that was five hundred years ago in eleven sixty-three.’

‘What about . . . Rawhead?’ Even saying the name brought the taste of blood to Hazel’s mouth.

David tapped the cover of
Demonology
. ‘Our chap is of middle rank. I’d say his trail could last for several days.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘A
daemon-mediocritas
. This could be the making of me.’

Hazel closed the book, shutting her nemesis away. The fields on either side surrendered to rocky scrubland dotted with a few stunted bushes. A stream bubbled somewhere in the darkness. She
peered ahead as a dark shadow grew from the fog.

Wychwood
, she thought with a thrill of fear.
Where the demon might be
.

‘The King is defeated. The Witch War is over.

It’s time to exterminate the rats.’

Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell