Vicious Circle

“I wanted to be sure this time,” he murmured. “The child’s spirit ought to complete the summoning, and free my dread lord from this . . . place. But just in case, I thought it would be best to have a hecateum—a three-way offering, covering living and dead, male and female, spirit and flesh.”

I took another step toward him and actually poked the barrel of the gun into his chest. This time he gave, slightly, and his back bumped against the altar rail. I was gratified to have gotten some kind of reaction out of him at last.

“Show me,” I suggested.

“No. Put the gun away.”

I held his gaze and said it again, with a very final emphasis. “Show me. Or you and me are both going to hell a little earlier than we expected.”

Fanke turned to glance across at the woman. “Bring them forward,” he said, the command sounding as negligent and world-weary as he could make it. He’d seen in my eyes that I was ready to shoot, and he’d changed his mind about bluffing me. That was something.

There was a bustle of activity as robed figures ran to do his bidding. If I were going to join a cult, I’d want to go in at officer level: there’s fuck all job satisfaction at the bottom of the tree.

I followed the proceedings out of the corner of my eye. Pen and Juliet weren’t even in another room, they were just in the shadows under the pulpit, laid side by side on the ground. Juliet was still in her coma/trance/whatever state, and didn’t react at all as she was carried forward and laid down just behind and to the right of Fanke. Pen was bound, gagged, conscious, and mad as hell. She managed to kick one satanist in a part he’d probably already consecrated to the dark lord: he doubled up with an unmanly yelp and dropped her legs. Two other men stepped in and completed the task of hauling her out for my inspection. They laid her down to Fanke’s left-hand side, so that from my point of view he was bookended by comely hostages.

Then, with a consummate sense of theater, he held out his clenched fist to me as if in salute, before opening it wide to show Peace’s locket—on a new chain—dangling from his index finger. “Veni, puella,” he murmured. Abbie’s ghost materialized around his hand, very abruptly, looking startled and terrified. She cast her eyes from side to side, from face to face, taking in the massed ranks of the satanists surrounding her, and me facing her across the magic circle. On me her eyes rested for longest, big and wide and full of hate.

“I don’t lie for effect, Castor,” Fanke said, speaking to me through her translucent body. “I lie to achieve specific goals. In this case, as you can see, I’ve told the truth. Now put the gun down—unless you think that my death is a fair exchange for Pamela’s. Because my death is all you can hope to achieve: the ceremony will go on, and will be completed, in any case.”

“Where’s your male?” I demanded, still buying seconds.

Fanke actually smiled. “I don’t have one,” he admitted. “I’d decided to use your zombie friend—Nicholas Heath. Yes, I know about him. I know everything there is to know about your life: I’ve been close to you for a long time, after all. But when my people went to fetch the zombie, they found this other creature, and I yielded to temptation. My lord doesn’t favor the succubi. There’s something appropriate about feeding one of that kindred to the flame to set him free.”

His eyes stared into mine, mocking and malevolent: the eyes of a man who was damn sure he was holding all the cards.

“A male would still be useful,” he said, “for the sake of balance. But it’s up to you. You can play out this film noir pantomime, if you like. Or you can take Pamela Bruckner’s place and die inside our circle. I’ll allow that. If you put the gun down right now, and aplogize to me for your disrespect.”

I hesitated. He was lying, of course, but then time was what I was playing for here on a lot of different levels.

“Where’s Nicky now?” I demanded, buying a few more seconds. I guess the wax on that candle was thicker than I thought; I guess Basquiat hadn’t called in to check her messages; I guess my luck was running pretty much true to form, after all.

Fanke frowned. “Your dead friend, I believe, is still extant,” he said. “But the details get a little abstruse. He locked himself into a room on the first floor of the cinema. When my people tried to open the door—” He stopped, seeing I was grinning. “Well, perhaps you already know about his security arrangements. In any case, the succubus made a more than acceptable substitute. Hiring you was the best decision I ever made, Castor. At the time I thought I was just keeping things in the family—but it brought so many incidental benefits. But now we’re delaying proceedings, and they’ve been delayed too long already. Please—your decision.”