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  ‘Make sure you have an escape route.’ That was one of the first things my boss had ever taught me. ‘All you have to do is pick a spot where reality is open to suggestion, protect it, grab it, fold it and then tear through the layers.’ He’d demonstrated and, with a grin and a wave, just seemed to vanish. I’d been surprised at how easy it was. Within an hour I could pretty much get to wherever I wanted to go. I’d watched him leave then, flushed with overconfidence had attempted my first ever solo trip. In my haste to prove myself, I’d forgotten one vital step and hadn’t bothered to cast the necessary protective circle before creating my “door”.

  It didn’t take me long to find out why that circle was an integral part of the process. Like ripples from a tossed pebble, the tear I’d created just hadn’t wanted to stop. Spreading out in all directions, I’d watched in horror as trees, bushes and local wildlife disappeared into a cloudy pool of sickening nothingness which had spread outward at an alarming rate. It had taken four angels to catch it, reverse it and then seal it up. I, of course, had been verbally kicked from here to forever and had spent years doing cover-up work. By the time I got my travelling privileges back I was sick of abominable snowmen, yetis, sea monsters and other low-level pests that occasionally need to be escorted back to where they came from. The only reason that the boss had granted me permission to use doors again was that I’d turned up in his office, covered in stinking yeti phlegm and had stained his carpet. He’d been laughing so hard I swear he would have agreed to anything.

  Smiling at the memories and lost in thought, I almost missed the small sign above a darkened shop door. “The Cosy Cauldron”, the cutesy name made my teeth ache. Nestled beneath the sagging overhang of a bulging black-and-white Tudor building, it looked the very place to find hemlock or a new cauldron.

  I glanced around the silent street before knocking gently. A light flicked on and a face appeared, making me jump. Dark eyes glared at me from beneath heavy black brows, which in turn squatted beneath long greasy hair.

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was clipped and deep.

  Ignoring my suddenly hammering heart I smiled as best I could. ‘I’m here to pick up a present for my wife.’ The script I’d been sent had been very precise.

  The woman, her livid lips extreme in a pale face, looked as though she could have a pretty good part-time job at being Morticia Addams’ stunt double. She glared at me for a moment then gave a rapid nod. Pulling back the bolts I was ushered into the shop, hardly gaining entrance before the door was slammed and locked behind me.

  ‘You’re late.’ She scowled as I made apologetic noises then raised a hand to shut me up. ‘Whatever, just stay here and I’ll get it.’ The skirt of her long dark dress swished in time to the tinny chimes of her jewellery as she walked away.

  ‘Friendly and welcoming: customer service at its best,’ I muttered.

  Feeling nervous and out of sorts, I meandered about the shop studying the stock: tarot cards, oils and incense were arranged artistically in a little nook. Books on witchcraft, demonology and a hundred other distasteful subjects lined the shelves, stacked into every available space. Crystal balls, scrying mirrors, cauldrons and even handmade brooms and staffs. I’ve visited a lot of these places ­– this one was very well stocked.

  These shops have a lot to answer for. They create frauds and give the hopefully deranged somewhere to congregate, somewhere to tell their lies and enhance their fantasies; fantasies, I might add, that would cheerfully render them into component body parts if they ever actually got what they yearned for.

  Leaning on a display of small packets and vials I rubbed at my neck again, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that threatened to lock my spine. My skin felt tight and I had a headache brewing behind my right eye. After my time spent among the garbage, the smell of mixed incense was overwhelming and my stomach churned as I tried not to breathe too deeply. Picking up a packet of “Graveyard Dirt”, obviously an essential in their voodoo collection, I read the instructions:

  Mix GRAVEYARD DIRT and SULPHUR POWDER with an enemy’s private bodily concerns, put the mixture into a bottle with nine pins, needles and nails then bury under the enemy’s DOORSTEP or put GRAVEYARD DIRT into an enemy’s shoe. Mark a trail to the nearest graveyard, sprinkling a pinch at every CROSSROADS to lead the enemy to take that path.

  I grimaced. That sounded a little too specific for my taste and I really didn’t want to think too hard about “bodily concerns” … I read on and then laughed aloud at the final part of the sales pitch:

  We do not make any supernatural claims for GRAVEYARD DIRT, and sell it for interest only.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice sounded close to my ear. I jumped again.

  ‘Eh? Oh, nothing.’ I put the small plastic packet back on its peg. ‘Just looking.’ I took a deep breath trying to calm my racing heart. If Bakeneko’s ridiculous warnings had been designed to make me nervous they were working. Maybe it was time to cut down on the coffee.

  ‘Well, don’t.’ Holding a purple carrier bag out toward me, she drew her heavy brows together, her dark lips thinning. ‘Just take this and go.’

  ‘That bad, eh?’ I peered into the bag. Nestled at the bottom was a small white wooden box, with protective symbols painted on each surface. I reached in and placed my hand on the lid. It was hot – very hot – and I drew my hand out quickly, shaking it to get rid of the sharp burning pains that touching a warded object always produced. I sighed with relief; obviously it was this that had set all my senses tingling.

  ‘Just go.’ Morticia grabbed my arm with a shaking hand and, after steering me to the door, thrust me out into the street.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m going.’ I pulled my arm from under her hand. ‘Look …’ I began to give her the normal spiel about forgetting she’d met me and to just get on with life but stopped to stare at her as she stepped into the light. She looked ghastly, her face clammy like the skin on a pale frog. Red, broken veins sketched lines across her cheeks and chin. Coupled with the dark shadows under her eyes, she reminded me of a junkie, albino half-demon I’d once met. Not a good look for anyone.

  Obviously holding this “thing” had been hard on her – I certainly wouldn’t want it around me for very long. ‘I’ll take this away,’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t have any more problems.’ I watched as a bead of sweat slowly emerged from beneath her lank fringe. Taking what seemed an age, it ran down her sagging face, trickling along tissue-paper creases until it finally slipped into the corner of her mouth. She stared at me in silence, her dark eyes were wide, the pupils shrunk to pinprick holes.

  ‘Just make sure you tell him I kept my end of the bargain,’ she said. Her voice was gasping and rough as though she was having trouble finding oxygen to fuel it.

  ‘Tell who?’

  ‘That evil, bottom-feeding scum-sucker you work for.’ She coughed once then turned back toward the shop. Slamming the door behind her she turned out the lights then peered at me, her pale face pressed once more against the glass; obviously she wanted to be absolutely sure I left.

  I wondered for a moment who she thought I worked for. There were many words I’d use to describe my boss: short, fat, cheery, possibly alcoholic and endlessly sarcastic but “evil scum-sucker”? I snorted a laugh as I tucked the plastic bag safely into one of the big pockets of my leather jacket. She was obviously either drugged or a sociopath. I really didn’t care which, just as long as I didn’t have to deal with her again.

  To irritate her I yawned and stretched, wasting time. Then, checking my watch, I decided that was it for the night’s work; the sun would soon be up and I really wanted to be in my bed before it was. Giving her a last grin and a cheery wave I turned away.

  I had only taken a few steps when an explosion of breaking glass accelerated my heart rate once more. I twisted around wondering if the woman had fallen or fainted. She really hadn’t looked well.

  She was nowhere to be seen but the door appeared to have been punched outward. Splinters of wood an
d cubes of safety glass were scattered across the street. Confused, I hesitated. Dreadful anticipation was measured out in splatters by the broken metronome of my own stuttering heartbeat; each surreal second was stretched Dalí-like into grotesque proportions before the illusion of passing time was shattered by the tinkle of late-falling fragments of glass.

  A dark and contorted figure, bending low to clear the doorway, stepped through the glittering shards. Freed from the confines of the shop it straightened up to about seven foot, taller still when it extended its long neck – the better to sniff the air. It turned toward me with an odd yodelling cry, its tall ears twitching and circling, nostrils flaring.

  ‘RUN!’ The woman’s white face appeared at a window and then disappeared as the demon whipped around to hiss at her through the devastated shop door.

  Shit! This wasn’t some pathetic little cat demon; this was a living, breathing nightmare. I did as I was told and, swearing as expressively as a merchant seaman with every step, I hurled myself into a run and headed down the street.

  A Drekavak demon: hell’s muscle. Powerful heavy legs, thick lower body and long prehensile tail; all of these segued upward into a lean stomach, skinny chest and upper arms. These demons are often described as being brown, or grey but, chameleon-like, the tiny scales that cover their body can change colour to match their surroundings and, when lifted, create a thousand tiny points that blur their outline, adding to their camouflage capabilities. I just prayed that I could get away. I’d fought off Drekavak on a couple of occasions; they were formidable hunters and merciless killers. The huge eyes gave them excellent night vision and they also had superb hearing, long reach and incredible strength and, just in case that wasn’t enough, they’re armed with retractable razor-sharp claws.

  This was supposed to be an easy job, I thought as I belted down the street. If that thing caught up with me it was going to rip me limb from limb, which would hurt. All this and more raced through my head as I pounded along the pavement.

  ‘Stupid, stupid, bloody stupid.’ I huffed as I searched for somewhere to hide.

  Hidden behind a car, I squatted down against the wall, pausing for a moment just to work out how much shit I was in. Cautiously sticking my head around the wheel, I could see the demon standing in the middle of the empty street. Its skin glistened, changing colour as the scales reflected and mirrored the street lights. Lifting its long triangular head, the creature slowly turned in a circle, the twitching nostrils working overtime, then, snapping its head toward my hiding place, it barked a laugh. I could see cars, shop window displays and my white, shocked face perfectly reflected in those solid black eyes.

  Stumbling and swearing I ran again. Should I open another doorway? No, I discarded that idea almost immediately. I still had one open at the crossroads and the chances of some innocent ending up inside it tomorrow morning were all too possible. I’d honestly rather be ripped apart than try and sort out the mess that would cause. I glanced over my shoulder. Despite the Drekavak’s alleged speed this one didn’t seem to be moving that fast and I was pretty confident that I could make it to the portal before it caught up with me.

  Reaching into my pocket to check the package, I didn’t break step as I careered back down Friar Street. I could feel my doorway just ahead and, trying to ignore the panic-induced images of claws about to thrust themselves through my ribs, threw myself into the rift leaving Worcester’s demons far behind.

  There was a moment of confusion and then, still trying to run, I stumbled out into Muntz Park in the suburbs of Birmingham. Disoriented and blinded by the sudden change from lit streets to full dark, I tripped over some unidentifiable object in the grass and tumbled gracelessly to the ground where I lay for a moment, covered in leaf mould and panting like a fat poodle that had been chasing cars.

  But there was no time to lie about. I slammed the doorway closed and, without following any sort of ritual, banished the protective circle. The energy, originally drawn from my life force and denied any time to gracefully dissipate, looked for the nearest living thing through which to return to its original state. Unfortunately it was me and I yelped as the sharp pins and needles sensation of returning energy flooded through me. Heaving and retching, I leant against the reassuring rough bulk of a tree and, between painful breaths, waited for the nausea to subside. Using a low branch as a crutch, I clambered to my feet. ‘Fuck!’ I whined at its uncaring trunk. ‘That really hurt.’

  Outside the park and over the road, I could see the hall light shining through the stained-glass panel above my front door. ‘There’s no place like home,’ I muttered then laughed. I was actually going to finish the evening alive.

  A heavy weight landed across my shoulders and, as I hit the ground, I realised that the damned demon had been right behind me. It had followed me home and I really didn’t want to keep it.

  It pulled me upright with one paw. Huge eyes studied me as though I was some sort of interesting bug. The creature slowly, so slowly, extended its claws, then, totally expressionless, whipped them across my face.

  I yowled as ebony scalpels cleaved my forehead, nose and cheek. As a rush of blood blinded one eye, I pawed at my face with dirty fingers.

  Placing both hands flat on the monster’s slim chest, I pushed as hard as I could. It laughed with an odd and grating sound. While it was busy being amused at my puny efforts I raked the edge of my paraboot down its shin and got ready to run again. Every living creature has fragile shins. As it shrieked I rolled away then dragged myself, pain drunk, to my feet.

  Obviously the wretched thing had been merely strolling in the city because now it was incredibly fast. Within seconds it was ahead of me, warbling its doleful cry. The bloody creature actually appeared to be enjoying itself. As it turned, claws fully unsheathed, I tried to feint away; I failed and those long claws sank deep into my buttock as it snagged the back of my jeans. The demon leant away pulling me off my feet. I fell back and rolled over, raising my arm to ward off that deceptively small mouth. It really didn’t matter how big it was when it was filled with row upon row of tiny, sharp white teeth. Hissing, the demon casually ripped chunks from my sleeve as it attempted to bite my face. Finally, it slipped past my arm and nuzzled the side of my face for a moment, making odd sniffling sounds; there was a moment’s silence before it sniggered and tore into my ear.

  I wondered who was screaming then realised it was me. Having removed what felt like a fair amount of my ear and cheek, it hovered over me, fetid breath bathing my face. Holding me immobile, it lifted its head and gave another coughing laugh. ‘Take a message, lickspittle.’ Its speech had an odd inflection. Obviously that tiny mouth wasn’t designed for English. ‘We know what’s going on.’

  That was the second time I’d been asked to take a bloody message and I was fed up with it. While the Drekavak was laughing I had been reaching out. Desperately fumbling around in the grass, I was hoping to find a fallen branch like they always did in films. Obviously, there was nothing that even remotely resembled a weapon. Finding a natural shillelagh capable of braining a seven-foot demon in suburban Birmingham would have been a little unlikely. Groping around desperately I searched for something – anything – that could be used to fend it off. I flinched as I realised that I’d stuck my hand into a pile of the inner city’s most lethal weapon. Trying not to think too hard of what I was doing, I brought my hand up and forced a mother lode of dog shit into the demon’s face. I was aiming for the small, open mouth but was happy to smear it hard into any feature I could reach.

  It had an amazingly human reaction. Retching and heaving, the tall creature threw itself backwards. Taking the only opportunity I was likely to get, I managed to get a hand into my pocket and slip on a single knuckle-duster. I didn’t, however, have time to get up.

  Grabbing me once again the demon held my face into the dirt with one hand while it used its other in an attempt to get rid of the stinking mess I’d created. Eventually it gave up and leant down toward me. I could feel its
spit on the back of my neck. The combined smell of demon and dog crap was overpowering to say the least.

  ‘You are disgusting.’ It released one arm. ‘All humans are disgusting. Don’t worry about delivering the message – I’ll send an email.’

  There was excruciating pain as I felt its teeth close on the back of my neck. I felt the wet suck and pull as a mouthful of flesh and muscle left my neck. With another scream, I reached back and smacked the demon lightly on the thigh. Tucked under my heavy assailant I was at an awkward angle so it wasn’t much of a punch but, with the ’duster lending me a huge amount of strength, the demon was flung away to roll across the grass. It landed with a grunt against the base of a tree.

  Heaving myself to my feet, I staggered over to where, obviously rattled, it was shaking its head. Reaching back I ran my fingers over the warm hardness of bone – that bite had been deep. Reaching further between my shoulder blades I drew my knife. It was about time I stopped messing about.

  ‘Hey!’ I could hear a voice over the sounds of the winded Drekavak grunting as it tried to stand. ‘Who’s there, what’s going on?’

  I looked round at the figure. Backlit by a streetlight on the road beyond the park, I couldn’t see the face but there was the silhouette of long hair and the tinkling sound of tiny bells. In my confused state I wondered if it was Santa.

  Taking advantage of my distraction, the demon, which had finally dragged itself upright, leapt toward me. It took my head in a firm and loving grip and gave it a vicious twist. I heard bones grate, then snap and couldn’t seem to raise my arms. Through the sudden red mist, I watched bemused as the dark figure took a step forward. The last sound I heard was the demon’s hunting cry and then, even though I fought it with everything I had, the darkness became complete.