you can.”
Fisher nodded, not even blinking at her hair-veiled face and lips that didn’t move when she spoke.
Mr. Jones reached into his coat and pulled out a bundle of sticks wrapped in silk. Reciting to himself, what sounded like Latin to my church-trained ears, he unwrapped the sticks, draping what looked like a ceremonial stole, russet-red embroidered in silver with eyes and astrological signs, over his shoulders. The sticks unfolded to socket together into a narrow rod with measured notches and numbers.
He kept reciting. I couldn’t call it chanting—he wasn’t doing it for us—and my Latin was bad but I kept catching what sounded like a name: Umibael . I looked at Shelly and she shook her head. Fisher cocked an eyebrow at me, looking amused. I found myself holding my breath.
Then the sound changed. Any ear can tell the difference between indoor and outdoor sound; outdoors there’s no reflection, no echo. We stood in a mid-sized luxury apartment, and my ears told me the walls were gone, that infinite space had suddenly moved in with us. I blinked, and blinked again. Shelly had become transparent, remote, and Fisher looked… gray-toned. Like a film-noir gumshoe on the silver screen.
Now Jone’s words had an underbeat of bells, a distant Greek chorus counterpointing every phrase. Fisher shook his head as a heavy odor filled the room. Musky, old.
And then infinity filled with something else . A cloud of flesh-rags shrouding scaled arms ending in steel-edged claws. Far too many arms and too many claws. The horror, immaterial and distant while floating right in the middle of the circle we’d naturally created, spun, searching its own infinite horizon. Jone’s eyes snapped open and he gripped his rod. He started to shout something, and then infinity collapsed and it was here.
I froze. Orb screamed, her sphere flaring up and spreading out into a foil-thin shield between her and the horror we all saw now. Artemis swore and drew her pistols. Jones threw the rod and the nightmare thing caught it, reducing it to bits no bigger than my fingertips with a shredding sound. I gagged on the reek of old death as ribbons and tatters of flesh billowed around it.
A bundle of arms whipped out, razor-claws spearing Artemis as she unloaded both pistols into it. Blood sprayed as it punched through her chest and stomach, nailing her to the wall. Fisher methodically emptied his pistol into its center-of-mass from the other side and started reloading.
I screamed Jacky’s name and finally unfroze, throwing myself at the nightmare. Stinking flesh wrapped around me and I gagged, retching. I broke bundles of arms like rotten twigs, trying to grip it and pull it off my friend, but I couldn’t find its center, it seemed to go in forever, and I couldn’t breathe the putrid air, the miasma of sulfur and decay as claws ripped at my costume, grasped, sliced and drew blood as I struggled with rising panic. I couldn’t grapple it, couldn’t pull back, couldn’t fight…
And then Mr. Jones spoke .
One word, and I heard it in my bones, a golden sound like the deepest chord of a cosmically amped base guitar, like a planet had just sung a note. The foul thing screamed, the horror of its ululating voice distant and faint beneath the world-filling sound of the Word.
Then the room was empty, of infinity, of the nightmare, and I lay retching on the floor. I felt something wet and, reaching up, found that my ears were bleeding. Along with lots of other parts of me. Climbing to my knees, I looked to see Artemis, slumped to the floor still holding her pistols. Jones and Fisher crouched over Orb. Blood covered her from coiffed head to Jimmy Choos , and she wasn’t breathing. Fisher started CPR, but each push brought more blood, soaking the new carpet.
No. Oh no. I began to shake.
“Fisher,” I whispered, pulling myself up. I could fly her to the hospital.
He looked up and shook
Fisher nodded, not even blinking at her hair-veiled face and lips that didn’t move when she spoke.
Mr. Jones reached into his coat and pulled out a bundle of sticks wrapped in silk. Reciting to himself, what sounded like Latin to my church-trained ears, he unwrapped the sticks, draping what looked like a ceremonial stole, russet-red embroidered in silver with eyes and astrological signs, over his shoulders. The sticks unfolded to socket together into a narrow rod with measured notches and numbers.
He kept reciting. I couldn’t call it chanting—he wasn’t doing it for us—and my Latin was bad but I kept catching what sounded like a name: Umibael . I looked at Shelly and she shook her head. Fisher cocked an eyebrow at me, looking amused. I found myself holding my breath.
Then the sound changed. Any ear can tell the difference between indoor and outdoor sound; outdoors there’s no reflection, no echo. We stood in a mid-sized luxury apartment, and my ears told me the walls were gone, that infinite space had suddenly moved in with us. I blinked, and blinked again. Shelly had become transparent, remote, and Fisher looked… gray-toned. Like a film-noir gumshoe on the silver screen.
Now Jone’s words had an underbeat of bells, a distant Greek chorus counterpointing every phrase. Fisher shook his head as a heavy odor filled the room. Musky, old.
And then infinity filled with something else . A cloud of flesh-rags shrouding scaled arms ending in steel-edged claws. Far too many arms and too many claws. The horror, immaterial and distant while floating right in the middle of the circle we’d naturally created, spun, searching its own infinite horizon. Jone’s eyes snapped open and he gripped his rod. He started to shout something, and then infinity collapsed and it was here.
I froze. Orb screamed, her sphere flaring up and spreading out into a foil-thin shield between her and the horror we all saw now. Artemis swore and drew her pistols. Jones threw the rod and the nightmare thing caught it, reducing it to bits no bigger than my fingertips with a shredding sound. I gagged on the reek of old death as ribbons and tatters of flesh billowed around it.
A bundle of arms whipped out, razor-claws spearing Artemis as she unloaded both pistols into it. Blood sprayed as it punched through her chest and stomach, nailing her to the wall. Fisher methodically emptied his pistol into its center-of-mass from the other side and started reloading.
I screamed Jacky’s name and finally unfroze, throwing myself at the nightmare. Stinking flesh wrapped around me and I gagged, retching. I broke bundles of arms like rotten twigs, trying to grip it and pull it off my friend, but I couldn’t find its center, it seemed to go in forever, and I couldn’t breathe the putrid air, the miasma of sulfur and decay as claws ripped at my costume, grasped, sliced and drew blood as I struggled with rising panic. I couldn’t grapple it, couldn’t pull back, couldn’t fight…
And then Mr. Jones spoke .
One word, and I heard it in my bones, a golden sound like the deepest chord of a cosmically amped base guitar, like a planet had just sung a note. The foul thing screamed, the horror of its ululating voice distant and faint beneath the world-filling sound of the Word.
Then the room was empty, of infinity, of the nightmare, and I lay retching on the floor. I felt something wet and, reaching up, found that my ears were bleeding. Along with lots of other parts of me. Climbing to my knees, I looked to see Artemis, slumped to the floor still holding her pistols. Jones and Fisher crouched over Orb. Blood covered her from coiffed head to Jimmy Choos , and she wasn’t breathing. Fisher started CPR, but each push brought more blood, soaking the new carpet.
No. Oh no. I began to shake.
“Fisher,” I whispered, pulling myself up. I could fly her to the hospital.
He looked up and shook
Similar Books
