Nightfall

65

‘That’s impossible,’ said Jenny, staring at the scan in horror.

‘Yeah, that’s what the optician said.’

‘It’s a pentagram.’

‘Isn’t it just.’

‘On the back of your eye?’

‘Apparently. He did the scans twice, thought there might be a problem with the machine.’

‘Jack…’

‘I know.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’ He raised the bottle in salute. ‘Now you understand why I’m drinking. It’s Wednesday morning. Tomorrow night at midnight… blah, blah, blah.’

‘That’s your plan?’ said Jenny in disgust. ‘You’re going to drink yourself to death?’

‘My plan is to talk to Proserpine. I just can’t work out how to do it. I’ve been trawling the Internet but there isn’t much about her.’

‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m making you a coffee whether you want it or not.’ She went over to the machine. ‘Is that what you’re doing, looking for an email address for Proserpine?’ She forced a smile. ‘Hotmail, probably.’

‘Ha ha,’ said Nightingale. ‘The guy I saw at the airport yesterday said it’s all true, that you can sell souls and there are devils out there who’ll buy them.’

‘Then he’s a loony,’ said Jenny, sitting on the edge of his desk.

‘A very rich loony, who gave me two million euros for one of the books in my father’s library. He wants me to give him an inventory of the rest.’

‘Get away,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m serious. I paid the money into the bank – here’s the credit slip if you don’t believe me.’ He held up a piece of paper.

Jenny took it from him and stared at it with wide eyes. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said again. ‘Who is this guy?’

‘According to Google, he doesn’t exist,’ said Nightingale. ‘Young guy, looks like a rap star, flies around the world in a Gulfstream jet when he’s not on the astral plane, and he reckons that if I have the mark, the pentagram, then my goose is well and truly cooked.’

‘Jack, it’s nonsense and you know it.’

‘That’s what I thought until I saw the pentagram.’

‘There are no such things as devils and demons, Jack. Same as there’s no Father Christmas or Tooth Fairy. Waiting for a devil to come and claim your soul is as stupid as sitting by your fireplace waiting for Santa to bring your presents.’

‘I don’t have a fireplace.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Exactly? What does my not having a fireplace prove?’

‘This isn’t about Father Christmas,’ said Jenny. ‘Stop changing the subject.’

‘You brought him up.’

Jenny groaned in frustration. ‘As an example – as a way of showing how ridiculous you’re being by even entertaining the idea that your father did a deal with the demon.’ She saw him opening his mouth to speak and held up a hand to silence him. ‘A devil,’ she corrected herself. ‘A female devil. It’s all in Mitchell’s diary, how he thinks he called up this Proserpine and did a deal with her.’

‘Yeah, it’s a pity we don’t still have it because I need to talk to her.’

‘I made notes,’ she said.

‘They didn’t take them? Mitchell’s men didn’t take your notes?’

Jenny went over to her desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. She took out an A4 ring-backed notebook. ‘They only wanted the diary. This was in my bedroom.’

‘You wrote down everything?’

‘The bits I’d read.’

‘Including how to call up Proserpine? You wrote that down?’

Jenny nodded. ‘There’s a few words I need to look up, but I got most of it.’

Nightingale took the notebook from her. ‘You’re a star, Jenny. An absolute star.’

‘It’s nonsense, Jack. The ramblings of a deranged mind. Mitchell is as crazy as your father was.’

‘Does that mean you don’t want to help me?’ asked Nightingale.

‘Help you?’ asked Jenny. ‘How?’

‘Help me talk to Proserpine. Help me find a way out of this.’

‘Jack…’

‘It’s my only chance, Jenny. ‘He tapped the scans. ‘This proves that my father was telling the truth. He did sell my soul. Tomorrow night at midnight a devil is going to come to claim it and I’m damned if I’m going to let that happen.’ He smiled without warmth. ‘Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Now, will you help me or not?’