San Francisco Night (31 page)

Nightingale took a deep breath. “Claudia, open the trunk!” he shouted at the top of this voice. He listened, but heard nothing.

“Have you tried pushing it?” asked Chen.

“Yes,” he said tersely. He groped in his pocket and pulled out the silver penknife. He managed to get it open and was just about to insert the blade into the lock when the trunk sprang open. Claudia Wolfe was standing there, her face blank. Nightingale rolled out of the trunk and helped Chen up.

“Where do you go from here?” Nightingale asked Wolfe. “How do you get ready for the Sabbat?”

She pointed at a door. “The changing room is through there, down the corridor. Only one person is to go in at a time. There is a switch. When you are changing, you put the switch on and there’s a red light outside the door. If the red light is on, you mustn’t go in.”

Nightingale looked across at Chen. “We’re going to have to hurry, there’ll be others arriving shortly.”

“What’s your plan, Jack?”

“You’re not too different from her, size-wise. Under a robe and mask, no one will know.”

“And you?”

“I’m not sure. There’ll be twelve Apostles and Abaddon. Let’s hope no one does a head count.” He put his hand on Wolfe’s shoulder. “Claudia, I need you to climb in the trunk and lie down.”

Wolfe did as she was told. Nightingale helped her in and she meekly lay down and curled into a foetal ball.

“Now I need you to close your eyes and go to sleep, Claudia.”

The woman’s eyes closed.

“Are you serious? You’re going to lock in the trunk?” asked Chen.

“Can you think of a better idea to keep her out of the way?”

“She could suffocate.”

“Trunks aren’t airtight. And she’s tiny. She’ll be fine.” He looked down at the woman. “You’ll be fine, won’t you, Claudia?”

“Yes.”

“See?” He slammed the trunk shut. “Now come on before anyone else arrives.”

Brett’s courage had run out. He knew he would never be going home, and he couldn’t be bothered going along with the woman’s lies when she came to take him upstairs. He knew she was lying but he didn’t care anymore. He just let her take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs.

She took him to a bathroom where water was already running into a big tub. “Get into the bath, Brett,” she said.

He shook his head. “You’re a stranger. Mummy says I shouldn’t take my clothes off in front of strangers.”

She bent down and slapped him hard across the face. “Do as you’re told!” she shouted at him.

Tears sprang from his eyes and he took off his shirt. There was a livid red mark on his left cheek, clearly showing the imprint of her hand.

“Bloody kids, why can’t you just do as you’re told,” she muttered as she picked up an earthenware jar containing a mixture of herbs. She poured the contents into the water and stirred it with her hand. The boy was staring at her, wide-eyed, holding his shirt up to his neck. “Get a move on, we don’t have all day,” she said.

He hesitated and she raised her hand again. “I swear I’ll knock the shit out of you,” she said.

“I know you,” he said. “You’re  Suzy Brook. I’ve seen your videos. You’re famous.”

“Yeah, I’m famous. Now get your trousers off and get into the bath or I’ll really lose my temper.”

Tears ran down the boy’s cheeks but he did as the woman said.

Nightingale and Chen walked slowly down the paneled corridor towards a single oak door. Above it was a red light bulb, but it was off. Chen’s hand was hovering over the butt of her gun. Nightingale reached for the handle and pushed the door slowly. It opened, as Wolfe had said, into a changing room. It was paneled like the corridor, with a line of large black metal lockers to the left and to the right a run of hooks hanging from which were black Satanic robes and masks. At the far end was another door.

They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. The room was illuminated by a dozen large black candles. There was a light switch to the left of the door. Nightingale flicked it on, then opened the door to check that the red light had come on. It had. He closed the door again. Chen was examining the robes and masks. “One size fits all, by the look of it,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

“You put on a robe and mask and pass yourself off as Claudia Wolfe. You’re not far off her size.”

“And if they talk to me? What then? I sure as hell don’t sound like her.”

“The mask will muffle your voice.”

“And what about you? If you robe up then there’ll be one Apostle too many.”

Nightingale grimaced. She was right. “Okay, Plan B,” he said. “We wait for the next Apostle to arrive. We overpower whoever it is, shove him in one of the lockers and I take their place. We find the kids, we call the cops.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Amy, we’re in the house. That was the hard part.” He flicked the light switch off and motioned for her to stand behind the door.

They stood in silence for almost ten minutes before the door opened silently. The candles flickered as a draft blew in from the corridor. Chen was standing behind Nightingale and he felt her stiffen. He was holding the barrel of his gun in his right hand and he held it high as the figure walked into the room. It was a man, medium build with dark hair. The man stepped into the room, his back to Nightingale. As he turned to close the door he spotted Nightingale and opened his mouth to shout but Nightingale slammed the gun against his temple and he went down without a sound. Nightingale caught him as he fell and lowered him to the ground as Chen closed the door and flicked the light switch to illuminate the red bulb.

“Cuffs,” said Nightingale, holding out his hands.

Chen gave him her handcuffs and he pulled the man’s arms behind his back and cuffed him.

“We need something to gag him with,” said Nightingale.

Chen looked around. “We could take a belt from one of the robes.”

“It might be noticed,” said Nightingale. “Are you wearing tights?”

“Tights?”

He pointed at her legs.

“You mean pantyhose? Yes.” She realized what he was getting at, kicked off her shoes and turned her back on him while she pulled them off. Nightingale used them to gag the man. “Help me get him into a locker,” said Nightingale. They dragged him over to the lockers and Nightingale held the man up as Chen opened one. The both forced the unconscious man inside and banged the door shut. There was a key attached to a small black rubber wristband. Chen locked the locker and slid the band onto her wrist. “I hope he can breathe in there,” she said.

“I don’t care either way,” said Nightingale.

They pulled on robes. Chen put her mask on. It was long and pointed with small holes for the eyes, hiding her head completely. On the back was an inverted pentagram, a match to the one on the front of her robe. “What do you think?’ she asked.

“No one will know it’s not her,” said Nightingale. “And the voice is muffled. You might try lowering it a bit, but the best option is to avoid speaking.”

“Says the man with the English accent,” she said.

“Trust me, I don’t plan on saying a word,” he said. “Look, I’ll go first. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that door so we can’t exit together. I’ll go, you give it five minutes and then switch off the red light and follow me.”

“Okay.” She sounded scared and Nightingale flashed her what he hoped was a confident smile.

“You’ve got your gun, Amy. They’re not expecting us. This is going to work out just fine.”

She nodded. “I hope so.” The uncertainty was still her voice. Nightingale pulled on a mask, adjusted it so that he could see through the eyeholes, and opened the door.

The door opened into another corridor, also wood-paneled and lit by black candles. There were framed oil paintings on the wall, scenes of torture and dismemberment that seemed to come to life whenever Nightingale focused on them. It was the effects of the flickering candlelight he told himself and forced himself to stare straight ahead at the double doors ahead of him. There were two handles and he grabbed them with both hands. The doors opened towards him to reveal a large room that looked as if it had once been a private chapel. At the far end of the room was a stained glass window that at first glance could have been from a church but as he stared at it he realized that there main figure had horns and a tail and the only crucifix in the scene was upside down.

Nightingale pulled the doors shut. The walls were bare stone and the ceiling was timbered with black wood.  In the center of the room stood a huge black marble table, and at the far end was a stone altar with a giant inverted crucifix hanging over it. The table was in the center of a magik circle, with
triangular points radiating from it at the eight cardinal points of the compass. Each point held a painted symbol and the circle itself had symbols every forty-five degrees. The table stood in the exact centre of the circle, running north-south.
Four robed figures were busying themselves at the table, adjusting a set of thin chains that Nightingale figured would be used to hold down the children. There were small black candles burning in brass holders set into the wall, and bigger candles in the corners of the temple and at the four cardinal points of the circle there was a rough wooden table to his left and on it was a selection of musical instruments including tambourines, various rattles, drums and a lute. Another Apostle was standing at the altar using a black cloth to polish the various items that were displayed there – a knife, a sword, and two ornate brass bowls. There were upturned crucifixes at either end of the altar.

There were brass crucibles of smoldering herbs in between the candles and on the table next to the musical instruments was a large brass bowl containing herbs.  Nightingale picked it up and went from crucible to crucible sprinkling herbs from his fingers. He kept his back to the other two figures wherever possible as he worked his way slowly around the crucibles, keeping anti-clockwise.

A door opened in the wall to the left of the altar and another robed figure appeared. The figure went over to see what was happening at the table. “Good, good.” It was a woman. Nightingale took a quick look over his shoulder. The woman’s robe was different to the ones he and the Apostles were wearing. There was a pentagram on the chest but there was a line of other insignias below it. And her mask was shorter than the mask he was wearing and had two long horns curving upwards from the forehead. It could only be Abaddon. She turned and went back through the door.

Nightingale continued to walk around adding herbs to the crucibles.

The four Apostles finished whatever they were doing with the chains and walked past Nightingale to the wooden table by the door. One of them picked up a tambourine and began to shake it.  The other held the lute and started to strum it and the remaining two picked up drums. They walked back to the circle and began walking around the circumference making as much noise as they could.

The door from the corridor opened and Chen came in. At least Nightingale assumed it was Chen because in the robes and mask she looked exactly the same as the other Apostles. She closed the door behind her and looked around. Nightingale carried his bowl over to the table, put it down and handed her a rattle. He picked up a tambourine and motioned for her to join the others walking around the pentagram.

On their third circuit of the pentagram another robed figure entered. And five minutes later another. The Apostle who had been cleaning the altar picked up a small drum and joined the procession around the pentagram. There were seven Apostles in the room now, plus Nightingale and Chen. Nightingale had lost track of time. He was finding it hard to breath as the air was now thick with fumes from the burning herbs and his eyes were watering.

The door opened again and another robed figure entered the chapel. The figure picked up a lyre and began playing it, falling into step with the rest of the Apostles. This went on for another ten minutes or so, then the door by the altar opened and Abaddon appeared again. She walked over to the altar and raised her arms.

The Apostles stopped playing their instruments. Abaddon drew a pentagram in the air with her left hand. “Praise be to Satan!” she shouted.

“Praise be to Satan!” echoed the Apostles, who then began to chant “Satan, Satan, Satan” over and over.

Nightingale did a quick count. There were eight Apostles standing around the circle, plus him and Chen. That made ten which meant that two were missing.

The Apostles began to play their instruments as they chanted and Nightingale joined in, vigorously shaking his tambourine.

After two minutes of ear-shattering noise, Abaddon turned away from the altar and threw her hands in the air. The Apostles went silent and fell to their knees.

“My Apostles,” she said, with the reverential tone of a priest. “Finally the culmination of years of work, secrecy, dedication and faith. Tonight we will perform the Ritual of Bimoleth, free him from his exile and incarnate the demon himself in my body. Soon I shall be a creature of limitless power, and be assured, you will all be well rewarded for your efforts and loyalty.”

Nightingale frowned behind this mask. So that was how the ritual worked. Abaddon’s body would serve as a vessel for the demon.

“Concentrate, Apostles. this is a great work and we must make no mistakes.”

She invoked the four crowned princes of Hell, then turned around three times and praised Satan again. “In Nomine Dei Nostri Satanas, Luciferi Excelsi.


In the Name of Satan, Ruler of the Earth, The One True God, Almighty and Ineffable, Who hast created man to reflect in Thine own image and likeness, I beseech the Forces of Darkness to bestow their infernal power upon me,” she said. “I invite you to open the Gates of Hell so that Bimoleth can come forth to greet me as his sister and friend.”

“Praise be to Satan, and Bimoleth, our savior!’ shouted the Apostles.

“Peter, the scrying-glass,” said Abaddon.

One of the Apostles stood up and carried what looked like a large mirror from the side of the temple inside the magik circle, placing it next to the marble table. Nightingale recognized it as a dark mirror, the back would be unsilvered, but painted with human blood. Historically sorcerers would have used it to try to see the Unknown. Nightingale had once looked into one and nearly lost his soul. Peter adjusted the mirror so that it was facing the chain that lay across the table.

“James, the Powder Of Coranzon,” shouted Abaddon.

Another robed figure took a gold flask and sprinkled a dark power from it onto the flaming crucibles in the magik circle. Instantly the flames roared up, shedding a blue light on the room and giving off a fetid stench.

Abaddon walked into the circle and stood facing the mirror. “The ritual is prepared, Oh Bimoleth,” she said, raising her hands above her head. “We beseech you to accept this sacrifice, and to use the souls of the two innocents as your passage to this world. Praise be thy name!”

“Praise be thy name!” repeated the Apostles.

Something moved deep within the mirror. Something large and shapeless.”

“Praise be thy name!” shouted Abaddon again. “Thy domain is ready!”

The door by the altar opened and the remaining two Apostles appeared, robed and masked. They were leading the two children, Brett Michaels and Sharonda Parker. The children were naked except for black collars around their necks that were similar to the one that Proserpine had been wearing when Nightingale saw her on the beach. The children were shaking with fear but any fight had long gone out of them and they shuffled forward meekly towards the magik circle.

“The sacrifices are prepared, Oh Bimoleth,” said Abaddon. “Thy will be done.”

The two children were led to the table. The Apostles who had led then into the chapel lifted them up and began to fasten the chains around their arms and legs.

“Judas, the dagger,” said Abaddon.

Nightingale stiffened. Judas? Claudia Wolfe was Judas and Chen had taken her place.

“Judas, the dagger!” repeated Abaddon.

The Apostles began to look around, muttering.

“Judas, make yourself known!” shouted Abaddon.

Everyone was looking around, clearly wondering what had happened to Judas.

Abaddon hurried out of the circle and picked up a sword off the altar. It had a hilt in the shape of a snake’s head and the long blade was twisted, almost like a corkscrew. She raised the sword above her head and surveyed the Apostles. “Step forward, Judas, and reveal yourself.”

Chen tossed away her mask and then pulled her gun out from under her robe. “Let the kids go!” shouted Chen. “Let them go now!”

There were gasps from the Apostles.

Abaddon turned to face Chen. “So we have a traitor in our midst!” she shouted.

“Put down the knife,” said Chen. “And put your hands in the air.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Do you think bullets can hurt me, Amy? Can you not feel my power, do you think for one minute that your gun can hurt me?’

Abaddon took a step towards Chen. She still had the sword in her hands.

Chen was blinking as if she was having trouble focusing. “I’ll shoot you!” she shouted, but Nightingale could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

So could Abaddon. She reached up with her left hand and slowly took off her mask as she kept the sword pointed at Chen’s face. Nightingale recognized her immediately – Margaret Romanos. The woman who ran Pagan World.

“Keep looking into my eyes, Amy,” said Romanos. “Don’t look away. And don’t be afraid, everything is going to be fine. You’re among friends here, Amy. No one wants to hurt you. We’re here to help you.” She slowly lowered the sword, keeping all of her attention focused on Chen.

“We’re your friends,” chanted the rest of the Apostles, shuffling slowly towards her.

Nightingale could see that Chen was having trouble focusing. She was blinking rapidly and the barrel of the gun had started to drop so that it was pointing at the floor.

“Give me the gun, Amy,” said Romanos. “You’re among friends. We’re here to help you.” She had both hands gripping the hilt of the sword.

Even though the woman’s words were aimed at Chen, Nightingale found himself being pulled in. He felt relaxed, at peace with himself and the world. His arms fell to his side and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He just wanted to sleep.

“That’s a good girl, Amy,” said Romanos, holding out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

Nightingale shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. For a second the fog that was clogging his mind cleared and he cursed. He pulled off his mask with his left hand as he groped in his pocket for the Beretta with his right. The robe made pulling out the gun difficult but after struggling for a few seconds he managed it. Abaddon was staring at Chen and she began to raise the sword. “That’s a good girl. Amy, you keep on looking at me.”

Nightingale flicked off the safety and fired at Romanos. He fired one-handed and the shot went wide, taking a chunk out of one of the wood panels behind the altar.

The sound of the shot was deafening in the confined space and it jolted Chen out of her trance. She fired her gun twice and both shots smacked into Romanos’s chest. She stared at Chen, her eyes wide in surprise, then she staggered back and collapsed against the altar.

A robed figure picked up another knife off the altar and charged towards Chen. Chen turned and fired two more shots, both in the chest. The figure pitched forward and hit the ground, shuddered once and went still.

“They can’t shoot us all,” said one of the figures. A man. Nightingale took two steps towards him and shot him in the chest at point-blank range. The man collapsed without a word.

“Yes, I can,” said Nightingale. “Just in case anyone is wondering, I’m holding a Beretta Storm. It has a clip that holds thirteen rounds. So I have one bullet for each of you, which is convenient. But my very attractive colleague there has an SFPD police-issue Glock 22 which I believe holds 15 rounds in the magazine. So between us we have more than enough bullets. And knowing as I do what you were planning to do to those kids, I’m more than happy to shoot each and every one of you here and now.” He took a deep breath, then bellowed at them “Now all of you now, down on your knees!”

The robed figures stayed where they were. They were either too shocked or scared to move. Or maybe his speech hadn’t impressed them and they thought he was bluffing.

Nightingale pointed the gun at the left leg of the figure closest to him and pulled the trigger. The round smacked home just above the knee and the figure screamed. It was a woman. She collapsed on her back, blood spurting from the wound. The robe rode up around her waist revealing that she was naked underneath.

“More than happy to shoot anyone who doesn’t want to kneel!” shouted Nightingale. “Now, turn and face the wall there and kneel. I’ll count to three. One…”

The figures turned and knelt.