invitation. Julia made no objection, but closed the door behind her.
Only now did Kirsty feel the chill. She stood in the hallway and shivered.
"You look terrible," said Julia plainly.
"I was here this afternoon," she blurted. "I saw what happened, Julia. I saw. "
"What was there to see?" came the reply; her poise was unassailed.
"You know."
"Truly I don't."
"I want to speak to Rory..."
"Of course," came the reply. "But take care with him, will you? He's not feeling very well."
She led Kirsty through to the dining room. Rory was sitting at the table; there was a glass of spirits at his hand, a bottle beside it. Laid across an adjacent chair was Julia's wedding dress. The sight of it prompted recognition of the lace swath in her hand: it was the bride's veil.
Rory looked much the worse for wear. There was dried blood on his face, and at his hairline. The smile he offered was warm, but fatigued.
"What happened...?" she asked him.
"It's all right now, Kirsty," he said. His voice barely aspired to a whisper. "Julia told me everything...and it's all right."
"No," she said, knowing that he couldn't possibly have the whole story.
"You came here this afternoon."
"That's right."
"That was unfortunate."
"You...you asked me..." She glanced at Julia, who was standing at the door, then back at Rory. "I did what I thought you wanted."
"Yes. I know. I know. I'm only sorry you were dragged into this terrible business."
"You know what your brother's done?" she said. "You know what he summoned?"
"I know enough," Rory replied. "The point is, it's over now."
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever he did to you, I'll make amends-"
"What do you mean, over?"
"He's dead, Kirsty."
("...deliver him alive, and maybe we won't tear your soul apart.')
"Dead?"
"We destroyed him, Julia and I. It wasn't so difficult. He thought he could trust me, you see, thought that blood was thicker than water. Well it isn't. I wouldn't suffer a man like that to live..."
She felt something twitch in her belly. Had the Cenobites got their hooks in her already, snagging the carpet of her bowels?
"You've been so kind, Kirsty. Risking so much, coming back here..."
(There was something at her shoulder. "Give me your souls " it said.)
"I'll go to the authorities, when I feel a little stronger. Try and find a way to make them understand..."
"You killed him?" she said.
"Yes."
"I don't believe it..." she muttered.
"Take her upstairs," Rory said to Julia. "Show her."
"Do you want to see?" Julia inquired.
Kirsty nodded and followed.
It was warmer on the landing than below, and the air greasy and gray, like filthy dishwater. The door to Frank's room was ajar. The thing that lay on the bare boards, in a tangle of torn bandaging, still steamed. His neck was clearly broken, head set askew on his shoulders. He was devoid of skin from head to foot.
Kirsty looked away, nauseated.
"Satisfied?" Julia asked.
Kirsty didn't reply, but left the room and stepped onto the landing. At her shoulder, the air was restless.
("You lost," something said, close by her.
"I know, " she murmured.)
The bell had begun to ring, tolling for her, surely; and a turmoil of wings nearby, a carnival of carrion birds. She hurried down the stairs, praying that she wouldn't be overtaken before she reached the door. If they tore her heart out, let Rory be spared the sight. Let him remember her strong, with laughter on her lips, not pleas.
Behind her, Julia said, "Where are you going?" When there was no reply forthcoming, she went on talking. "Don't say anything to anybody, Kirsty," she insisted. "We can deal with this, Rory and me-"
Her voice had stirred Rory from his drink. He appeared in the hallway. The wounds Frank had inflicted looked more severe than Kirsty had first thought. His face was bruised in a dozen places, and the skin at his neck plowed up. As she came abreast of him, he reached out and took her arm.
"Julia's right," he said. "Leave it to us to report, will
Only now did Kirsty feel the chill. She stood in the hallway and shivered.
"You look terrible," said Julia plainly.
"I was here this afternoon," she blurted. "I saw what happened, Julia. I saw. "
"What was there to see?" came the reply; her poise was unassailed.
"You know."
"Truly I don't."
"I want to speak to Rory..."
"Of course," came the reply. "But take care with him, will you? He's not feeling very well."
She led Kirsty through to the dining room. Rory was sitting at the table; there was a glass of spirits at his hand, a bottle beside it. Laid across an adjacent chair was Julia's wedding dress. The sight of it prompted recognition of the lace swath in her hand: it was the bride's veil.
Rory looked much the worse for wear. There was dried blood on his face, and at his hairline. The smile he offered was warm, but fatigued.
"What happened...?" she asked him.
"It's all right now, Kirsty," he said. His voice barely aspired to a whisper. "Julia told me everything...and it's all right."
"No," she said, knowing that he couldn't possibly have the whole story.
"You came here this afternoon."
"That's right."
"That was unfortunate."
"You...you asked me..." She glanced at Julia, who was standing at the door, then back at Rory. "I did what I thought you wanted."
"Yes. I know. I know. I'm only sorry you were dragged into this terrible business."
"You know what your brother's done?" she said. "You know what he summoned?"
"I know enough," Rory replied. "The point is, it's over now."
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever he did to you, I'll make amends-"
"What do you mean, over?"
"He's dead, Kirsty."
("...deliver him alive, and maybe we won't tear your soul apart.')
"Dead?"
"We destroyed him, Julia and I. It wasn't so difficult. He thought he could trust me, you see, thought that blood was thicker than water. Well it isn't. I wouldn't suffer a man like that to live..."
She felt something twitch in her belly. Had the Cenobites got their hooks in her already, snagging the carpet of her bowels?
"You've been so kind, Kirsty. Risking so much, coming back here..."
(There was something at her shoulder. "Give me your souls " it said.)
"I'll go to the authorities, when I feel a little stronger. Try and find a way to make them understand..."
"You killed him?" she said.
"Yes."
"I don't believe it..." she muttered.
"Take her upstairs," Rory said to Julia. "Show her."
"Do you want to see?" Julia inquired.
Kirsty nodded and followed.
It was warmer on the landing than below, and the air greasy and gray, like filthy dishwater. The door to Frank's room was ajar. The thing that lay on the bare boards, in a tangle of torn bandaging, still steamed. His neck was clearly broken, head set askew on his shoulders. He was devoid of skin from head to foot.
Kirsty looked away, nauseated.
"Satisfied?" Julia asked.
Kirsty didn't reply, but left the room and stepped onto the landing. At her shoulder, the air was restless.
("You lost," something said, close by her.
"I know, " she murmured.)
The bell had begun to ring, tolling for her, surely; and a turmoil of wings nearby, a carnival of carrion birds. She hurried down the stairs, praying that she wouldn't be overtaken before she reached the door. If they tore her heart out, let Rory be spared the sight. Let him remember her strong, with laughter on her lips, not pleas.
Behind her, Julia said, "Where are you going?" When there was no reply forthcoming, she went on talking. "Don't say anything to anybody, Kirsty," she insisted. "We can deal with this, Rory and me-"
Her voice had stirred Rory from his drink. He appeared in the hallway. The wounds Frank had inflicted looked more severe than Kirsty had first thought. His face was bruised in a dozen places, and the skin at his neck plowed up. As she came abreast of him, he reached out and took her arm.
"Julia's right," he said. "Leave it to us to report, will
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