Nightmare

73

Nightingale took a deep breath and began to read from the paper. ‘Osurmy delmausan atalsloym charusihoa,’ he said. Then he took another deep breath and continued to read the rest of the words, taking care not to make any mistakes. When he finished he held the parchment over the north-facing candle. As it burned he spoke again, his voice louder this time. ‘Come, Lucifuge Rofocale,’ he said. ‘I summon you.’

The burning parchment singed his fingers but he ignored the pain. It had to burn completely while he held it. If he dropped it the spell would be broken. Grey smoke began to fill the room, far more than could have been produced by the parchment alone. It began to whirl around in a tight vortex and as Nightingale stared at it he felt himself begin to fall so he quickly closed his eyes and steadied himself. ‘Come, Lucifuge Rofocale!’ he shouted. ‘I command you to appear!’

When he opened his eyes again what was left of the parchment had crumbled to ash between his fingers and thumb and he rubbed his hands together, blackening them. The room was full of smoke and he could barely make out the walls and ceiling. The vortex was spinning faster and faster and the centre of it had turned black. Nightingale held up his hands. ‘Appear before me, I command you!’ he screamed.

There was a loud crack as if a tree had split down the middle and a flash of light that was so bright he could feel it burn his flesh. For a few seconds he was blinded and there were tears in his eyes when he blinked. As he put the palms of his hands over his eyes he heard a roar so deep that his stomach vibrated. Nightingale took his hands away from his eyes. There was a large figure standing in the smoke, something reptilian with grey scales and yellow eyes and a forked tongue that flicked out from between razor-sharp teeth. ‘You are Lucifuge Rofocale and I command that you speak the truth!’ shouted Nightingale.

Grey, leathery wings spread out from its back and waved to and fro, disturbing the smoke, then it threw back its head and roared. Nightingale took a step backwards and almost tripped. The floor began to shake violently and then there was another loud crack and the figure rippled and morphed into a dwarf wearing a red jacket with gold buttons and gleaming black boots. The dwarf waddled towards the pentagram on bow legs, his silver spurs jangling with each step. In his right hand he was carrying a riding crop and he ran his left hand through unkempt curly black hair as he glared up at Nightingale.

‘How dare you!’ screamed the dwarf. ‘I’m not some underling to be summoned on a whim!’ He lashed out with his riding crop but Nightingale didn’t flinch. The crop swished back and forth but it didn’t cross over the pentagram. So long as he stayed inside it, Nightingale knew that he couldn’t be harmed. ‘You’ve no idea what I can do to you, Nightingale! The pain I can put you through!’

‘I have a deal for you,’ said Nightingale.

The dwarf snorted contemptuously. ‘You’ve nothing I want or need.’

‘My soul,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m offering you my soul.’

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’

‘That’s the last thing I’d take you for,’ said Nightingale.

‘I don’t believe you,’ said the dwarf.

‘That’s why I’ve summoned you.’

‘You’ve done nothing but fight to keep your sad little soul,’ said the dwarf. ‘Why are you so keen to surrender it now?’

‘Because. ’ Downstairs there was a loud thump, the sound of an enforcer being slammed against the front door. The door was solid oak and it would hold for a while. ‘Because there’s something I want more than my soul,’ he finished.

There was another loud thump and the dwarf turned towards the bedroom door. ‘What is that?’ he asked.

‘The police,’ said Nightingale.

The dwarf turned back to look at him. ‘You think they can help you? Against me?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘They’re not here to help; they’re here to arrest me.’

‘For what?’

‘Murder.’

The dwarf chuckled. ‘So who did you kill, Nightingale?’

There were two more loud thumps from the enforcer.

‘It’s a long story and we don’t really have time for it now.’ His eyes were watering from all the smoke and a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Do you want my soul, or not?’

‘That depends on what you want in exchange.’

There was a much louder thump followed by the sound of splintering wood.

The dwarf chuckled. ‘You want to escape, is that it? Like your sister?’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘Sort of,’ he said.

‘That’s the deal, then? I get you out of whatever predicament you’ve got yourself into, and in return I get your soul?’

‘I want more than that,’ said Nightingale.

There was another loud bang downstairs followed by shouts outside and the crackle of radios. And in the distance, the siren of an ambulance. The police were anticipating casualties, Nightingale realised.

‘I’m listening,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale.

‘I want to go back.’

‘Back where?’

‘Back to that day when Sophie died. Everything that’s happened to me stems from that day. If Sophie hadn’t died then I’d still be a cop and Jenny would still be alive.’

‘And you think you can change that?’

‘I can try.’

The dwarf laughed again, then looked at Nightingale with narrowed eyes. ‘That’s your deal? You go back to that day and I get your soul?’

‘That’s what I want.’

The dwarf jutted his chin up. ‘Then it is agreed,’ he said. ‘The deal is done.’ He grinned triumphantly and folded his arms.

Nightingale stared at him in silence for several seconds. ‘You planned this, didn’t you? Right from the start.’

The dwarf tilted back his oversized head and laughed. The walls of the room vibrated and dust showered down from the ceiling.

‘This has been all your doing, hasn’t it? You’ve been letting Sophie contact me because you wanted my soul. You were using her to get to me.’

‘You’re flattering yourself, Nightingale. You think I care about you? You think you occupy my thoughts for even one millisecond?’

Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘I think you’re a vindictive, nasty little shit. I think you did whatever you had to do to get one over on me. You wanted my soul and you didn’t care who you had to destroy to get it.’

The dwarf grinned. ‘Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look,’ he said.

‘You used Fairchild, didn’t you? Maybe it was Proserpine who pulled his strings but she works for you. And everything that happened was to get me here, wasn’t it? So that you could get my soul?’

‘And now I have it,’ said the dwarf. He pointed at Nightingale with his right index finger. The nail was long and yellow and as sharp as a knife. ‘I have a special place for you in Hell, Nightingale. Ready and waiting.’