Demon Storm (7 page)

The old lady nodded. ‘He will be most welcome.’

Knight patted Ben reassuringly on the shoulder before leaving by a door at the back of the stage area.

‘You can sit at the front here with the children who are willing and ready to learn,’ Madam Sosostram told Ben. ‘Or,’ she added, her glasses twinkling in the light as she turned, ‘you can sit at the back with those who mistakenly think they know everything.’

Ben looked up at Maria, who was inspecting her fingernails.

‘I’ll sit with Gemma and Rupam,’ he said.

Madam Sosostram smiled. ‘I think you’re going to get on very well here, Ben. Welcome to the School of Night. Our subject for today is contemporary witchcraft …’

I
T WAS GETTING DARK AND THE MIST CLUNG TO
the ground as if it was seeping out of the earth itself. Tombstones emerged from the grey as if they were floating in the mist. The church was a dark pencil sketch, vague and insubstantial. It was strange to find such a place in the middle of a modern city. Tower blocks of concrete and glass rose up either side of the cemetery. Monuments of a very different kind.

There wasn’t room for three of them in Knight’s Morgan, so they’d come in a modern saloon car. Ben sat in the back with Gemma. Gemma spent the journey staring out of the window and biting her bottom lip.

‘Nervous?’ Ben whispered after over an hour.

Gemma forced a thin smile. ‘Always. Schools are OK – just children and the Judgement Box. But a mission …’ She turned back to the window.

‘So where are we heading? What are we going to do?’

She shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

Ben looked at Knight and found the man was watching him in the rear-view mirror as he drove.

‘I like to get Gemma’s first impressions,’ he said. ‘That’s why I don’t give her the details. We’re nearly there.’

Standing by the car at the gate into the graveyard, Ben knew what his own first impressions were. ‘Spooky,’ he said.

‘That’s the point,’ Gemma told him.

‘Gemma, you come with me and we’ll see if we can work out what’s going on.’ Knight raised a finger to Ben to stop him following. ‘You can wait here for the Reverend.’

Ben watched the two of them make their cautious way into the graveyard. Soon they were swallowed up by the gathering mist.

‘Ben Foundling!’ The voice was deep and gruff, right behind Ben.

He gave a yelp of surprise and whirled round.

A dark-cloaked figure stood beside the car. A hood covered the figure’s head so that its face was wreathed in darkness.

‘Are you a ghost?’ Ben stammered, taking a step backwards.

The figure advanced towards him. It raised a pale hand and pushed back the hood of the cloak. ‘Good gracious me, no.’ Beneath the hood was a very ordinary-looking man with a round, ruddy face. ‘I am the Reverend Alistair Growl. Mr Knight called me to say he was bringing a new chap with him. That must be you. How do you do?’

Relieved, but with his heart still pounding, Ben shook hands with the man. Beneath the cloak, he saw that Growl was wearing a black cassock and clerical collar.

‘Gone to take a look, has he?’ Growl asked.

‘Yes. With Gemma.’

‘Good, good.’ Growl stared off into the misty evening. ‘She’s nothing too complicated. A couple of well-chosen prayers should see her off.’

‘Gemma?’ Ben asked, confused.

‘The Grave Lady. That’s what the locals call her anyway. She’s been sighted on and off since the seventeenth century, according to the parish records and local gossip. But she’s become a bit more of a nuisance recently. Appearing more often, frightening people. Walking through the walls of the offices over there.’ He gestured to the vague shape of an office block. ‘The head of the accountancy department is in hospital, you know
– weak heart, poor chap. Can’t have that. Oh dear me, no, no, no.’

They stood together, staring into the deepening fog.

‘Are you one of the School of Night?’ Ben asked at last.

‘I am indeed, for my sins. I don’t know that I have a title as such, but I am a sort of visiting teacher of exorcism. I’m looking forward to teaching you, Ben.’

‘Mr Knight told you about me?’

‘A little. Did he tell you about himself?’

‘Himself?’

Growl nodded. ‘I thought not. You know, a little honesty and openness can go a long way. Knight used to see things, as I think you do now.’

Ben didn’t correct him. ‘You mean, like ghosts and stuff?’

‘I mean like ghosts and stuff,’ Growl agreed, amused. ‘Oh, Dirk Knight doesn’t see ghosts any more. But he used to, when he was a child. So he knows how terrible, how malevolent, some of them can be. Not our Grave Lady, she’s strictly an amateur compared to some. But there are ancient powers, monstrous creatures, ghosts and demons struggling to break free and wreak havoc.’

‘What happened? Why doesn’t he see them now?’

‘He grew out of it, just as everyone does. Well, almost everyone. I have a certain … facility,’ he admitted. ‘Though it comes at a price.’

Before Ben could ask what he meant by this, Growl went on, ‘Knight lost the Sight in his early twenties. Until then he fought the darkness and he banished the spectres. But then his abilities deserted him.’ Growl raised his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. ‘He grew up. Occupational hazard, I suppose.’

‘I suppose.’

‘But he knows that children – some children – have an affinity with the unnatural and paranormal. It’s a rare gift in a child. Even rarer for the child to retain that gift into adulthood.’

‘And so now he trains those who still have it,’ Ben said, remembering what Knight had told him earlier.

‘He has dedicated his life to learning all he can about the ghosts and demons, creatures and spectres. No one alive knows more than Dirk Knight. No one alive is better qualified to arrange the exorcism of the malevolent forces. If only he can find them.’ Growl put his hands on Ben’s shoulders and stared deep into his eyes. ‘If only he
can track them down. If only he can
see
them. So that’s why he trains children with the Sight to be his eyes. He trains them to seek out and exorcise the demons and spectres.’

‘Yes, he told me a bit about that.’

‘So now you know,’ Growl said. ‘There seem to be more of the unquiet and undead than ever these days. The authorities have finally come to realise that it’s Dirk Knight they need to call in when there’s a problem. A haunted office block, a possessed cat, or –’ he turned to gesture at the misty landscape – ‘sightings in a graveyard. Whatever it is, the police, the army, even the museums and the physicians discreetly send for Dirk Knight.’ He leaned forward so that his round face was all that Ben could see. ‘Are you sure you’re ready to go with him?’

Ben wasn’t sure at all, but before he could answer Growl straightened up again. ‘Not a word,’ he whispered to Ben. ‘I only just got here, all right?’

As he spoke, the dark shapes of Knight and Gemma materialised out of the mist in front of them.

Gemma looked happier and Ben guessed that she was less nervous now she knew what they were facing.

‘You know what’s going on?’ Knight said to Growl as they shook hands.

‘Oh indeed, yes, yes, yes. Seems straightforward enough. I really didn’t need you to come all this way.’

Knight nodded. ‘A poor restless soul who craves sleep. Gemma could see her easily enough just now. I’m sure you can manage very well on your own.’

‘But there do seem to be a lot of them about,’ Growl said seriously.

‘Something drawing them out, you think?’

Growl nodded. ‘Possibly. What do you think, Gemma?’

‘There’s more of everything,’ she said. ‘I see more every time I come out. Maybe there’s no room left in Heaven and Hell.’

No one seemed to want to speculate on that suggestion. After an awkward pause, Knight said, ‘Right, let’s get this over with, then. We can talk afterwards about … other things. You sure you’re up to this, Alistair?’

The clergyman sighed and nodded. ‘Did she die violently?
It
seems more drawn to the violent deaths.’

Ben wanted to ask Growl what he meant, but a warning glance from Knight silenced him.

‘Plague,’ Gemma said. ‘She caught it from her brother. He lived, but she died. I could see the resentment and the bitterness. And the sweat from the fever on her face.’

‘Ladies don’t sweat,’ Growl said quietly. ‘That’s for men and horses. Ladies perspire.’

They had started walking, following Gemma deep into the graveyard. The girl was looking round constantly, staring into the misty distance.

‘She’ll be here again soon. I can feel the chill of her coming.’

The mist seemed to swirl, as if a large shape was pushing through and blowing it aside. But Ben couldn’t see anything.

‘There she is,’ Gemma said, pointing.

‘I can see her,’ Growl said. His voice seemed even deeper, gruffer and less friendly.

‘Will she manifest?’ Knight asked. ‘The locals have seen her, so she must become tangible, surely. Can you see her, Ben?’

As he spoke, the gap in the mist seemed to solidify into a shape. A woman. Ben had expected her to be old and hunched. But she was young, walking upright, carrying a small bunch of withered flowers.

‘Yes – yes, I can,’ Ben said, his voice husky with fear.

Knight nodded. ‘Me too. A complete manifestation. Anyone else watching will get a shock – she’s come right through into the real world. A proper ghost, if you will.’

The young woman’s face was as pale as her dress and her expression was completely blank, stony as a statue. She looked at Ben as she approached. He thought that actually she had a kindly face – innocent and unblemished.

Then the face changed. In a moment it was a snarling mask of rage and fury. The mouth opened impossibly wide and the woman howled. It was a noise filled with anger and despair, loathing and hatred. Her fingers stretched out like talons as she hurled herself at Ben and the others.

‘Time you were going,’ Growl said, stepping in front of the shrieking woman.

‘Are you sure …’ Ben started. Despite his fear, he didn’t like the idea of leaving the kindly old man with this creature.

Growl turned and his transformation was every bit as extreme as the woman’s. His face was twisted in anger. ‘Just go!’ he roared. ‘Leave us!’

‘Us?’

Gemma grabbed Ben’s arm. ‘Leave him,’ she said. ‘He can manage.’

Ben stumbled after Gemma, with Knight following close behind. He glanced back and through the mist he saw the Reverend Alistair Growl raise his hand, like a monk giving a blessing.
He could see the old man’s lips moving, though he couldn’t hear what he was saying. The air was filled with the cries and screams of the ghostly woman as she twisted and writhed and clawed the air.

The air seemed to explode, exactly where the woman had been. The mist closed round the figure of Growl and then there was silence.

They waited for about ten minutes by the car before Growl joined them. His cloak was caked in mud and he looked exhausted.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think that’s all sorted out now.’ He beamed at Ben, as if his earlier angry outburst had never happened. ‘You’d best go and check,’ he said to Gemma. ‘Just to be on the safe side. Your sensitivities are so much better tuned than mine.’

‘Go with her, Ben,’ Knight said. He helped Growl to the car, opening the door so the old man could sit inside.

Ben followed Gemma back into the graveyard. ‘Has she gone?’

‘Oh yes,’ Gemma said. She too seemed to be back to her normal, carefree self. ‘Growl just wants a minute alone with Mr Knight.’

‘Why?’

Gemma grinned. ‘Probably to talk about you.’

‘Oh, thanks … Really?’

‘I don’t know, do I? But Mr Knight wanted to talk to Growl.’

‘So what was wrong with him?’ Ben asked. ‘Why did he get so angry?’

‘You didn’t do as he asked.’ She was serious again now as she turned to look at him. ‘You mustn’t upset the Reverend when he’s working.’ More than serious, she sounded scared. ‘Never upset him. Not ever.’

Seeing Ben’s worried expression, Gemma’s own softened. She took his hand. ‘You’ve got loads to learn. It’l be such fun. I’m glad you’re here. Come on.’

She led him back through the misty graveyard, forever looking from side to side. Ben could sense that she was seeing the spirits of the dead at every step. He could see nothing himself, nothing out of the ordinary. But he shuddered at the sight of the glistening tombstones sweating in the mist.
Fun
was not the word he would have chosen.

I
N THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, BEN WOKE
WITH
the horrifying face of the screaming woman imprinted on his dreams. The duvet had slipped off the bed and he lay for a while shivering and listening to the moaning of the wind outside. The windows rattled and rain scattered across them.

He pulled the duvet back on to the bed and snuggled underneath it. Knight had told Ben that tomorrow he would start his education. Mrs Bailey would set him English and maths and ‘ordinary’ schoolwork. But alongside that, he would have other lessons and lectures. Ben was conscious that his life had changed. He hoped it would be for the better.

He hoped it would help him discover what had happened to Sam.

But how much would Knight help – how much
could
he help? Tired and confused, Ben drifted back into sleep.

In the event, Knight had already left by the time Ben joined the other children for breakfast the following morning. Over the next few days, Knight was hardly at the house. Sometimes Gemma went with him and once he took Maria as well. But usually he went on his own.

‘He’s a busy man,’ Mrs Bailey told Ben. ‘You were lucky he was here when you arrived. More often than not he’s away on business. But he has arranged for you to stay with us here. That’s all sorted out officially now.’

The lessons with Mrs Bailey were similar to others Ben had had at a variety of different schools. But now it was just him with Rupam and Gemma. Maria rarely joined them, but Ben saw her sometimes out on the lawn with Mrs Bailey, training in martial arts or with a sword. Maria’s sword strokes were practised and elegant. But however fast she moved, Mrs Bailey’s sword was always faster. It was as if she could anticipate every move that Maria made before it actually happened.

Ben, Rupam and Gemma had workbooks rather than swords and Mrs Bailey spent time with each of them in turn. Ben was about to ask her if she was really a teacher when she told him she was actually trained as one. ‘A long time ago,’ she added, smiling. Though Ben didn’t think she looked that old.

Interspersed with Mrs Bailey’s lessons, Ben learned about the world he could not see – ghosts and spirits, demons and other creatures. Some of the sessions were in the lecture hall where he’d first met Madam Sosostram. Others were in a small classroom with a video camera recording whoever was in charge of the lesson.

‘There’s a special website,’ Rupam told Ben, ‘where students can view the lessons. Some of the School of Night sessions are actually video-linked in real time to other places too.’

‘Like where?’ Ben wondered.

‘After-school clubs, youth centres,’ Gemma said. ‘All over.’

‘It’s stored on DVD,’ Maria said. ‘You can watch any lesson again if you need to.’ She didn’t make it sound as if this was something she wanted to do herself. ‘Just ask Webby and he’ll set it up.’

‘Who?’

The Reverend Alistair Growl, who was running
this session, cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows for silence. There was no hint at the angry temper he’d briefly displayed in the churchyard, however, and soon he was enthusiastically explaining the finer details of different types of exorcism and when to use them.

Having lessons with Rupam was both amusing and frustrating. He seemed to absorb the information immediately and he remembered
everything
. Everything he read, everything anyone said – he could replay it as if he was reading or hearing it again.

When Ben couldn’t tell Growl the gist of the particular type of exorcism he’d just explained, the clergyman sighed and asked Rupam, ‘What did I just say?’

Rupam didn’t look up from his work. But he recited the whole speech Growl had just delivered. Word perfect. Then he looked up and grinned at Ben. ‘Easy. Don’t know what it means though,’ he added.

‘How does he do that?’ Ben whispered to Gemma as Growl continued.

‘Rupam can remember anything,’ Gemma said quietly.

‘He’ll remind you of your most embarrassing
moments at the most embarrassing time,’ Maria whispered from across the table.

Growl clapped his hands together for silence. ‘Children,’ he chided, ‘this is actually important. It could save your life. Or your soul. Now, Ben, can you tell me why bell, book and candle are so powerful when used together for exorcism?’

Ben couldn’t. But Rupam knew.

Only Mrs Bailey – and Knight, when he was there – lived at the house with the children. Ben assumed that the groundsman, Pendleton Jones, whom he’d met when he first arrived must live close by.

Occasionally he met the man outside when he went for a walk. The children were all under strict instructions not to leave the grounds of Gibbet Manor without permission. Remembering his narrow escape from the shadowy creature when he arrived at the gates that first evening, Ben was happy to heed the warning.

It wasn’t Pendleton Jones whom Ben looked for outside in the grounds. It was Sam. He hoped she would turn up again, though he didn’t really expect it. More and more he wondered if he’d imagined meeting her by the lake.

Ben helped Pendleton Jones set spirit traps near the outer wall. They were small boxes made from polished wood with a pentagram of mother of pearl inlaid in the lid. One side of the box was a dark wire mesh.

‘It’s like a mousetrap,’ Jones explained. ‘The spirit can get through the mesh to see what’s inside. It can smell the wood, which has been smoked with incense to attract it. But once it’s in, a powerful binding force holds it there and it can’t dissipate enough to get through the mesh and escape.’

‘Then what do you do?’ Ben asked.

‘Depends. If it’s harmless, just a sprite, then I take it out of the grounds and release it.’

‘And if it’s dangerous?’

‘If it falls into the trap, then I seal the box in wax and bury it. But the more dangerous ones tend to be more clever too. They can sense the traps and avoid them. You need to take drastic action to keep them out, if they ever come looking.’

‘I should be getting back,’ Ben said as they set the last of the spirit traps. ‘I’ve got a lesson with Madam Sosostram this afternoon.’

‘Virginia Gibbs,’ Jones said, nodding.

‘What?’

‘Madam Sosostram is the most accomplished
witch in the south of England. Maybe in the whole of Britain. But her real name is Virginia Gibbs. Better not let on that I told you, though. In fact,’ Jones continued as they walked back to the small hut where he stored his tools and traps, ‘better not tell any of them you’ve spoken to me. They’ll only worry what I might have told you about them. It can be our secret, all right?’

Ben was late for the session with Madam Sosostram. He slipped into the back of the lecture hall and sat close to Maria, who was scowling as usual. She didn’t say much and when she did it was usually snappy or terse.

‘She’ll get over it,’ Rupam had once told Ben.

‘No, she won’t,’ Gemma had told them both.

Maria glanced up at Ben as he sat down and there was the barest trace of a smile of greeting. He grinned back at her and she looked away.

‘As I was saying …’ Madam Sosostram said loudly, banging her stick on the floor and staring up at Ben as she spoke. ‘The last witchcraft act in Britain wasn’t repealed until the middle of the twentieth century. There is still a stigma attached, an underlying suspicion of the supernatural. Oh,
many people are happy to read their horoscopes and some even believe what they read. But there’s an assumption – a flawed assumption – that there must be some sort of scientific rather than magical basis for predicting the future with charts and star maps.’

She gave a little snort of what might have been outrage. Her spectacles, dangling on a silver chain round her neck, bounced on her chest in sympathy.

‘Might as well consult the entrails of a goat,’ she went on. ‘To understand astrology, alchemy and the other arts we must acknowledge that they are based on a science that the modern world no longer understands or accepts …’

Rupam and Gemma were laughing together as they left the lecture hall, imagining Madam Sosostram stirring a goat’s entrails in a large cooking pot. Ben paused outside the door, trying to get straight in his mind some of the things Madam Sosostram had been talking about.

‘Did you get the homework?’ Maria asked, following him out.

‘Homework?’

‘Thought not. Madame Sosostram handed it out at the beginning of the session. Worksheets.’ Maria pulled a photocopied sheet from her notebook and
flashed it at Ben. ‘Boring or what? But you’d better go back and get one. Apologise for being late at the same time,’ Maria added. ‘She’ll appreciate that.’

‘Thanks,’ Ben said. But Maria had already turned away.

Ben went back into the lecture hall. It was empty. He’d missed her – Madam Sosostram had already gone. So he hurried down the aisle past the rows of seats and out of the door at the back of the stage.

There was still no sign of Madam Sosostram. He ran down the corridor, knowing it led past the drawing room and back to the main hallway. As he turned a corner, he saw a figure ahead of him.

But it wasn’t the ample and elderly form of Madam Sosostram. It was a young woman with long blonde hair. She seemed to sense that Ben was watching her and turned. Her hair spun, catching the light. Ben almost gasped out loud when he saw her face, she was so beautiful. When she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but grin back.

Then the woman walked on down the corridor. She reached another corner, pausing to glance back at Ben through cat-like emerald eyes.

Ben ran after her. He turned the corner – and the corridor ahead was empty. He stopped, confused, and found himself standing outside the drawing-room
door. She must have gone inside. Perhaps she would know where Madam Sosostram was.

The fire was burning lazily. A figure sat in one of the armchairs facing it. She turned as Ben entered the room, looking round the wing of the chair.

‘Hello, Ben,’ Madam Sosostram said.

Ben frowned. ‘Are you … Did someone … I thought I saw …’ he stammered.

‘I’m sorry, did you want something? My hearing’s not what it was, I’m afraid.’

Ben shook his head, confused. The young woman must have hurried on down the corridor. Maybe she’d wanted to avoid him – whoever she was.

‘I didn’t get the homework sheet,’ Ben said. ‘And I wanted to apologise for being late for your class.’

Madam Sosostram smiled, her face wrinkling up like an old apple. ‘That’s quite all right, young man. But don’t make a habit of it, will you?’ She took a worksheet from the low table beside the chair and handed it to Ben. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?’

Ben assumed she meant about the class. But there were so many things he wanted to ask he didn’t know where to start. So he shook his head and hurried away.

The next day, Ben got his phone.

It was the first time he had seen Maria smile properly. She found Ben reading in his room late in the afternoon. Rupam had lent him a book of ghost stories by M. R. James. It was a large hardback book with black-and-white drawings – moorland, old buildings, a man lost in a garden maze. He found it quite hard going, even with the pictures.

‘Captain Morton is here,’ Maria said. ‘He wants to see you. In the drawing room.’

‘Who does?’ Ben asked, putting the book down.

That was when she smiled. ‘Captain Morton – come on.’

More puzzled by Maria’s sudden good humour than by the thought of another mysterious visiting teacher, Ben hurried after her.

Captain Morton was not like any of the other teachers. In bearing and manner he was similar to Knight – who was standing with the Captain, talking quietly, while Gemma and Rupam sat near by. The two men were similar in height and build. But Morton was wearing army uniform. His cap was on one of the side tables.

‘Ben, come and meet the Captain,’ Knight said.

Maria walked with Ben, as if making sure he didn’t get lost on the way across the drawing room.

‘James Morton,’ the soldier said. His voice was clipped and efficient. ‘I guess I’m the quartermaster for Mr Knight and his associates. Delivery boy and storeman rolled into one.’

‘Far more than that,’ Knight said.

‘Did you bring any new equipment?’ Maria asked.

‘Boffins at Purton Point are working flat out, but nothing at the moment. Except this.’

He took a mobile phone from his jacket pocket. It looked the same as the one Ben had seen Knight use before, only with a blue case rather than a black one. Morton handed the phone to Ben.

‘Maria will show you how to use it,’ Morton said. ‘Star pupil, she is.’

Maria was grinning. ‘I had a good teacher.’

‘We all have phones like that,’ Rupam announced. ‘Though Gemma doesn’t really need hers. Those of us who aren’t so gifted find them useful.’

‘What for?’ Ben said. ‘I mean, I can see it’s a phone. But so what? Who are we going to call?’

‘Ghostbusters,’ Morton said.

Rupam grinned, Knight gave a wry smile and Maria actually laughed.

‘Among other things, it will help you see,’ Knight said. He took the phone from Ben and flipped it open. ‘This operates the camera.’

He pressed a button below the main number keys. It was labelled with a simple white square. The screen lit up at once and an image appeared on it – Morton’s amused face as Knight aimed the phone at him.

‘There are various settings,’ Morton explained. ‘Infrared enhancement, digital zoom, two hours’ recording time for audio and video, and five levels of psi detection.’

‘Of what?’

‘The phone can show things that are invisible to most human eyes,’ Morton said.

‘It shows something of what is happening on the ethereal plane,’ Knight explained, still pointing the phone at Morton. ‘Not always, but often. It will show shadows and flickers – hints of ghosts and demons, creatures and monsters, as well as the supernatural aura that often surrounds a child gifted with the Sight. Things you might not pick up even if you do have the Sight.’

Knight handed Ben the phone. ‘It’s set to auto-detect. Morton has no ability, any more than I do, or than you seem to – even at level 5. I guess your ability comes and goes. We need to train that, so you can call it up at will. But try Maria, Rupam and Gemma.’