Influence (22 page)

‘Convince
me then, what is it that makes you so sure?’ said Void, his head shaking
involuntarily from side to side.

‘There’s a
bunch of reasons, but mostly it’s my friend’s own words, in his journal. He was
terrified of the Council, of your beloved Curate and the fact he was gathering
scrolls, he said it was a fatal mistake.’ Void’s brow furrowed.

‘What
scrolls? What did he say exactly?’

‘I don’t
remember
exactly
, but there was something about the Lockwood Scrolls and
that Sully was gathering them together. I’m telling you he was afraid of him.’ Void
removed his hands from Lizzie’s touch, he slouched back in his chair, thinking.
He took his time to respond, his face displayed an intense concentration.

‘Are you
absolutely sure he said Lockwood?’ he asked, pronouncing each word slowly and
clearly.

‘Pretty
sure, why?’ there was another pause. ‘Void what does that mean?’

At last he
looked up into her eyes.

‘I don’t
want to believe it Lizzie, but you might be right, this could be bad, really
bad,’ Void rubbed his eyes and took a breath. ‘The Bodleian library houses a
lot of important texts as I mentioned, one famous, or infamous, one is a
manuscript called The Key of Solomon. This manuscript is a mixture of good and
bad occult practises, depending on your intention and interpretation. So many
of our successful experiments have been adapted from it, but it doesn’t all
work, particularly the part about conjuration.’ It was Lizzie’s turn to furrow
her brow, confused. ‘I’m afraid’, Void attempted to explain, ‘that this is one
of those parts of magic that could be deemed black. You see it describes how to
summon spirits or demons, with the idea being that you bind them to yourself to
do God’s will. The problem is that once summoned you could conceivably do
whatever you liked with them, Godly or otherwise. Thankfully the conjuration
rites don’t work, or at least not in the way they’re supposed to. Some people
believed that the book was accurate enough, but it was protected against the
unworthy by a glamour which makes the words appear out of order and renders its
teachings worthless, another theory is that the rites in the Key of Solomon
were themselves copied from an older source and the glamour was placed on that
older source meaning that when they were copied over they were inaccurate but
would appear to the copier to be a perfect facsimile.

But some
time ago a noted collector of occult texts, Sebastian Lockwood, died leaving
his collection to his sons making them promise not to sell them or expose them
to anyone. Of course when his sons found out what they were worth they were
auctioned off for a small fortune almost immediately. Among the collection were
some very dark texts, and some seriously old ones. Some of the collection was
purchased by the Bodleian including three untitled scrolls. Nobody knows
exactly where they came from, or exactly how old they are, but they believe it
predates the Key of Solomon by hundreds of years. They’re written in an early
Latin hand and the important thing is that they include large sections of what
was later reproduced in the Key of Solomon, but get this, the invocations are
written largely the same as in the Solomon manuscript, but here and there words
are rearranged changing the rites only very subtly. Some people believe that
whoever wrote the Key of Solomon was himself under the influence of this
glamour and that’s why it doesn’t work. It’s really hard to gain much
information about the scrolls beyond that as they were deemed extremely
dangerous, but a sort of legend has formed around them now. Anyone who’s at all
interested in these matters has heard it. It goes like this: The three scrolls
pertain to three sections of a larger rite, or conjuration.

The first
is the main summoning ritual and would serve to open a portal to some other
realm giving access to a certain level beyond our own world. The second scroll
describes the act of binding where the summoner would gain control of the
spirit or demon that was brought through by the first. The third scroll is
probably the most important and describes the act of banishment, in other words
how to get rid of the thing you brought through. Individually they’re important
but there is a theory that when they are brought together they gain a far
greater power and can give much deeper access to whatever place the first
scroll opens up. So with that in mind they were separated and removed to
different locations to protect against anyone who might want to use them for
their own purposes. The rumour is Lockwood’s death was as a result of him
trying them out for himself in his old age, I guess he just couldn’t resist.’ Void
looked ashen faced and his hand trembled around his coffee cup. Lizzie reached
over again and gripped his hand.

‘Is it
possible that Sully might have needed my friend to interpret the scrolls once
he’d gathered them together?’

‘Yes, it’s
possible. But Sully isn’t stupid and he makes it clear to anyone joining the
Council that any interest, or effort to put into practice, anything considered
black in nature, means instant expulsion. I can’t believe that he would want to
mess with this stuff.’ Void was utterly crestfallen. Lizzie squeezed his hand
with reassurance.

‘I like him
too, and I also feel betrayed Void, but you have to face facts. When is the
next meeting?’

‘Next
Friday,’ said Void curling his fingers around Lizzie’s.

‘Don’t go.’
She said ‘Promise me.’

‘Lizzie, if
we’re going to get to the bottom of this I think-’

‘I mean it.
Promise me.’ She squeezed his fingers to the point of pain, her eyes were wide
with resolve.

‘I promise,’
Void conceded with a smile.

‘Good,
because I’m going to the Police with what I have and let them take over, I
don’t want you anywhere near him in the meantime, understood.’

‘I
understand, do what you have to do,’ said Void.

‘All right,
now just one more question, and this is really important,’ said Lizzie, Void
leaned in with full attention.

‘Is your
surname really Darling?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Are you
kidding? Don’t apologise, I can’t remember the last time I had someone round to
the house. Well, strictly speaking this is the first time I’ve had somebody
round to this particular house, since we’ve not long moved in.’

‘Thanks
Hilary, although strictly speaking-‘

‘Yeah yeah,
I know, you’re here to see my dad, but since he’s not home yet I’ll just take
it as a personal victory,’ Hilary laughed taking Lizzie’s coat from her. ‘Do
you mind hanging out for a while? He shouldn’t be too long, just been held up a
bit.’

‘Of course
I don’t mind,’ said Lizzie, ‘I guess that must happen a lot?’

‘Dad
getting held up at work? Yeah all the time, you just sort of get used to it you
know?’

‘I can
imagine. Listen, I hope you didn’t mind me getting your number from Vic? And I
didn’t really mean to come to your house to see your dad, it would have been
fine to meet him at the police station.’

‘I don’t
mind at all, and it was Dad’s idea for you to come here, I think maybe he did
it for my benefit. Are you here to talk about what happened to you or what
happened to Vic’s brother?’ Lizzie hesitated to answer, not really sure where
to begin. ‘God sorry, it’s none of my business, forget I asked.’

‘It’s okay,
really. I guess I need to discuss everything with your dad, hand over some
stuff I found out and hopefully put all this behind me.’

‘It must
have been really hard this year? I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.’

‘Yeah,
well, what can you do?’ Lizzie gave a glib shrug of the shoulders, nonchalantly
sliding from Hilary’s statement. ‘So are you going to show me around?’

Hilary’s
house was the epitome of middle class suburbery. The new-build detached house
sat in a labyrinth of identical homes with only the merest variation in cars
sitting in monoblock driveways to prevent the street becoming a hall of
mirrors. Lizzie had found the street without any problems but the seemingly
chaotic house numbering system had her wandering the déjà vu cul-de-sac for
nearly half an hour. Whatever happened to number two coming after number one?

‘There’s
not much to see really,’ said Hilary leading Lizzie through the downstairs.
‘Our last house was much more interesting, old with dark cubby holes and draughty
windows. This place isn’t horrible or anything but it just doesn’t feel like
home really, at least not yet.’

‘Do you
have to move often? Is that something your dad’s job
makes
him do?’

‘No, this
is the first time. I think he was quite keen to move away from London, and our
old house. It reminded him too much of Mum.’

‘Shit, I’m
so sorry, I didn’t realise,’ said Lizzie, suddenly ashamed that she knew so
little about this girl. ‘When did she pass away?’

‘Oh no,
she’s not dead, just shacked up with another guy. It was a long time coming I
think, they’ve been unhappy forever, but it still hit Dad pretty hard. I’ve
always got on better with Dad and I’m a bit pissed off with Mum about it all so
when dad said he was moving here it wasn’t a difficult choice to come with him.’
Hilary’s tone was light, despite the obvious personal turmoil, but Lizzie
couldn’t help feel utterly intrusive, standing in her home and hearing her
history. ‘I keep telling him he needs to get on with his life, but he just
wants to look after me and he throws himself into his work,’ said Hilary. She
flicked a light switch on revealing a pristine kitchen so white it hurt the
eyes.

‘And what
did you think about the move?’ asked Lizzie.

‘I was fine
with it,’ said Hilary filling the kettle. ‘To be honest I didn’t have that many
friends in London, and I was more than happy to leave that school I was in.’

‘Your dad
mentioned you had been having problems, how do you think you’re going to like
Queen’s?’ Hilary shrugged.

‘I think
it’ll be great. It’s a good school, and I guess you just can’t avoid the
idiots, you’re going to get them wherever you go, and besides I have Vic.’
Hilary’s face lit up with a beaming smile, she turned to the kettle to hide it
and filled two mugs. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before,’ she continued. ‘Are
you going out with anyone?’ Lizzie paused. Recent developments had to be
considered.

‘Not
exactly,’ she said, squinting her eyes while assessing the definition.

‘What does
that mean? “not exactly”’

‘It means,
it’s complicated, or too early to say. But moving back to you, I take it things
are going well with Vic then?’

‘Yeah,
really well, apart from the sneaking around and lying to Dad, which, by the
way, is almost impossible.’

‘He told me
about his super power, or maybe warned me, I’m not sure which.’

‘Ignore
him, he’s a pussycat really, but would you mind not saying, you know about
Vic?’

‘Of course,’
said Lizzie. ‘I remember, not a word to DCI Dad, don’t worry.’ Hilary handed a pungently
fruit scented mug of herbal tea to Lizzie and continued the tour of the house
leading her through a series of rooms which had leapt straight from the pages
of an IKEA catalogue ending at a minimalist styled living room.

‘He does
frustrate the hell out of me though,’ said Hilary taking a seat on a white sofa
and pulling a white cushion into an embrace. Lizzie sat opposite her on a
wicker armchair.

‘Vic? Why?’

‘He’s such
a closed book you know? I keep trying to get him to open up to me, I can see
that he’s hurting but he goes out of his way not to talk about anything
remotely personal. We’ve had a few arguments about it actually, it just gets to
the point where I want to slap it out of him.’

‘I’m no
expert,’ said Lizzie, ‘but I think you need to be careful. As far as I can see
people just deal with things differently, and trying to force
your
way
onto someone else doesn’t work. If you care about Vic, and I can see that you
do, you just need to let him know that you’re there for him if he decides he wants
to talk. But I guarantee if you push him, he’ll just push back, and it will
become this wall between you. Nothing good can come of it.’ There was a silence
while the advice settled, then Lizzie continued. ‘You have to understand that
what Vic’s been through is beyond anything you or I can fully appreciate, and
I’m not just talking about his brother, it’s his folks too. That sort of shit
will twist you up deep. To be honest I feel sorry for the person who he
does
finally open to.’

‘I’m sure
you’re right,’ said Hilary with a look of resignation, ’and what
is
the
deal with his parents?’

‘I’m sure
if you guys stay together long enough you’ll find out, but it’s a bit of a
mess.’

‘I should
probably stop talking to him about what’s going on with my parents huh? It
probably just sounds selfish compared to what he’s dealing with.’

‘I don’t
think you need to worry about that, I’m sure he’s happy to listen, and to help
if he can, knowing Vic. I can tell he’s really into you.’ Hilary beamed, and
then blushed.

‘That’s
good to hear,’ she said, ‘but it’s not just what’s happened to him he’s
reluctant to talk about, it’s everything, like stuff to do with the future. Do
you know he hasn’t done a thing about what he’s going to do next year?  He says
he might go through clearing and get a spot at a university somewhere, but
that’s all he’ll say and for all I know that could be at the other end of the
country and where does that leave us? God I really am being selfish aren’t I? I
just can’t understand someone who doesn’t have plans you know?’

‘You mean
you’ve got your future all worked out? Because if you do you’ve got one up on
most of us,’ said Lizzie.

‘Well I
don’t know about all figured out, but I do have a game plan, of course I do.
The thought of stumbling forward blindly would scare the hell out of me. Do you
mean you don’t know what you want to do?’

‘When I
grow up you mean?’ Lizzie laughed, she couldn’t remember the last time she
thought further ahead than next year. ‘I can honestly say that I have no clue.’

‘Doesn’t
that terrify you? I mean how do you know what subjects to study if you don’t
have a goal to aim for?’ Hilary’s face bordered on disgust.

‘I’ll be
studying English next year, that’s about all I know, for now,’ said Lizzie
defensively. ‘I’m studying English because I love it. As for the rest, I’m just
hoping it will all sort itself out in due course. So what’s this grand plan of
yours then?’

‘Like I
say, I don’t have it
all
worked out,’ said Hilary casting away her
cushion and sitting forward in her chair, ‘but I do know I want to do what my
dad does.’

‘You want
to be a cop?’ Lizzie tried to hide her incredulity, as much as she liked
Hilary, and as much as she seemed bright and capable she didn’t exactly have
the physique for crime fighting.

‘No, well
actually yes, but that’s not going to happen.’

‘You lost
me Hilary’

‘It’s like
this, I want to be a cop, I mean I would love to be a cop, but there is no way
on God’s green earth Dad would allow me to join the force. I know that sounds
bad, like he’s an overbearing monster, but it’s not like that. I could talk my
dad into absolutely anything, and he would support me one hundred percent with
anything I decided to do, even if that meant running away to join the circus.
But it’s sort of an unwritten law that he doesn’t want me following him into
the police, and as much as I don’t like to be told no, it would break his heart
if I did, so it’s out of the question and off the table.’

‘I guess I can
understand that,’ said Lizzie. ‘So what then?’

‘Forensics.’

‘Forensics?’

‘Forensics,
yes.’ The look on Lizzie’s face was one of a girl needing more information. ‘Look,’
said Hilary, ‘come with me I’ll show you.’ Hilary jumped up enthusiastically.
She led Lizzie into the hall where she locked the front door.

‘Should I
be worried?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Oh no,
this just buys us a few minutes if my dad shows up, I’ll hear him rattling
around with his keys.’ Hilary ascended the stairs and Lizzie followed. A series
of framed photographs hung on the wall, all of them of Hilary at various ages.
It was like walking back through time. Hilary recently with a Hollywood smile
in school uniform; Hilary a few years ago opening Christmas presents; Hilary
astride a horse, maybe ten years old. By the time they reached the upper
landing Hilary was a babe in arms. She led Lizzie along the upstairs hall.

‘Which
room’s yours?’ asked Lizzie.

‘My room?
Oh right, it’s this one.’ Hilary opened a door to allow Lizzie to push her head
in, she was met with a riot of boy-band posters, barely an inch of wallpaper
could be seen between oversized pictures of the Backstreet Boys, Take That and
Hanson. Lizzie recoiled like a vampire with a crucifix thrust in its face.

‘But this
isn’t where we’re going, come on.’

‘Shame,’
said Lizzie, ‘So where are you taking me?’

‘Dad’s
office.’ Hilary stopped at the last door in the hall and reached up to the top
of the door frame and produced a key.

‘You know
for a policeman you’re dad’s a bit slack with the old security.’

‘I know. He
never used to lock his office at all until he caught me in here one day.’
Hilary turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open for Lizzie to step
through. A flick of the light switch revealed a disappointingly ordinary room.
Lizzie had been expecting, or perhaps hoping for, walls filled with photographs
with pieces of coloured string webbing relationships and connections to master
criminals. Instead she got an office from the same IKEA catalogue.

‘So what
are we looking at exactly?’ asked Lizzie, her curiosity fizzling out quickly.
Hilary picked up one of the many cardboard boxes sitting on the floor. Each had
either “Case against” followed by a surname or the description of a crime and a
place, presumably where they had yet to identify the person responsible,
written in black marker on the side. The box Hilary had selected was titled “Armed
Robbery, Dagenham Heathway. 1991”. She placed the box on her dad’s desk in the
corner of the room and lifted the lid. She removed files and a pile of small
plastic bound books.

‘So, with
becoming a copper out of the equation I’m going to become the next best thing,’
said Hilary.

‘A
forensics… person?’ said Lizzie, not knowing the appropriate terminology.

‘Yeah,
although I’m not sure yet if I want to be a forensic scientist, or work in the
field as a scene examiner. Look at this stuff.’ Hilary pushed various things
around the surface of the desk. Fingerprint lifts, books of scene photographs,
witness statements, and scribed on aerial photographs showing approach and
egress routes, quickly covered the desktop. ‘Don’t you think it’s fascinating?
I’m drawn more and more to the photography aspect of it,’ said Hilary opening
one of the small bound books. She handed it to Lizzie. Within were a series of
photographs, most of which seemed to be of broken glass, but now and again a
shoeprint or piece of dropped jewellery appeared with a metal ruler captured
beside the item for perspective. Lizzie flicked through the book, failing to
take any of Hilary’s delight from the images.