Fire Girl (28 page)

Hazel’s courage ebbed away, leaving her utterly wretched. She sank to her knees, tears scorching her eyes as she stared at her familiar through the shimmering barrier. ‘Please, let
us go home. I just want to
go home
.’

Murrell looked down on her, his face softening. ‘We’ve all lost things we loved. It’s part of life.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Rawhead!’

The demon sat up like a begging dog. Murrell dangled Bramley over its gaping mouth.

Titus knelt and put his arm around Hazel. ‘Don’t look,’ he whispered.

A black hole of panic opened inside Hazel. She tore herself from Titus’s grasp and threw herself at the barrier, fire sluicing from her fingers. The barrier bent outward as cracks of
shimmering light appeared and began to widen.

The witches chanted louder, reinforcing their magic and closing up the cracks. Hazel’s feet slipped. Her magic ebbed, threatening to burn out, but still she forced it to flow until despair
gripped her and her flames fluttered and died.

Through her tears she saw the little patch of white under her familiar’s chin; the whiskers around his nose; his little, kicking legs.

Murrell opened his fingers. Bramley fell. Rawhead snapped its jaws shut and swallowed.

Hazel sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably and unable to even gather the strength to cry out his name.

‘It’s over,’ Murrell said. ‘Soon you will have forgotten all this. Baal will free you of pain, grief and memory. In a few—’

Rawhead choked and a plume of smoke gushed from its mouth. The demon shook its head, looking as surprised as a creature with no eyes could manage.

‘What—’ Murrell said.

The demon retched so hard all the muscles stood out around its neck, and then a squealing fireball shot out of its mouth, sailed through the air and landed by the door leading to the belfry.

‘Bramley!’ Hazel cried.

Before Rawhead could give chase, the little dormouse found his feet and disappeared up the spiral staircase – his glow fading as he rounded the first turn. The demon bounded after him,
black tongue lashing the air.

‘Leave it,’ Murrell ordered. ‘I want you here.’ He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scars on his arm. ‘Brothers, sisters – it is time to call forth our
patron.’

Wrapped in a daze, Hazel clambered to her feet and staggered over to Titus and David. The old Witch Finder was looking at the carved marks on the floor, his face pinched with concentration.

‘This is not the peaceful retirement I’d hoped for,’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought it would come to this?’

Murrell’s voice cut through the chant, each word ricocheting around the circle like a musket ball. Eldritch light flickered along the lines of the circle and the air filled with the bitter
smell of burned almonds. White mist seeped up from the ground, gathering in a swirling ball in the centre of the circle.

Here it comes
, Hazel thought, backing away with Titus and David as the mist separated into three tentacles.

‘Murrell,’ Titus yelled. ‘My dog is in the wagon. Do one thing right in your miserable life and look after him, will you?’ Without stopping his chant, Murrell nodded.

The tentacles probed closer. Hazel pressed herself against the barrier and closed her eyes. And then a familiar voice cut into her mind.

‘
Hazel
,’ it whispered. ‘
Look out. And look up!
’

She sensed a shift in the air directly overhead, as if something huge was moving towards them. Acting on instinct, she threw herself at Titus and David, pushing them towards the edge of the
magic circle – just as the ceiling exploded.

She clapped her hands to her ears as the great church bell plummeted from the darkness of the tower in a hail of nails and smashed floorboards. The air vibrated. A trail of orange fire streaked
from the top – it was Bramley, clinging on with both paws, eyes tight shut.

Hazel was sure that the world would split in two as the edge of the brass bell struck the magic circle dead centre, sending a fountain of sparks into the air. The floor bucked, knocking Murrell
and several witches from their feet and slamming Hazel, Titus and David through the dissolving magical barrier and out of the circle.

The ground split open. Cracks spread, destroying the magic symbols. The world trembled again as the bell toppled on to its side and rolled in a cacophonous curve.

Bramley, his fur still aflame, leaped from the bell where he’d burned the mounting through, and scampered over to Hazel. With her ears still ringing, she gathered him up to her chest,
feeling his heart beat fast against her own.

Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her backwards towards the altar. It was Hecate – she was shouting something – but Hazel couldn’t hear the words over the howl of the
wind rushing up from beneath the cracked church floor.

The smashed stone floor under the bell sagged. Powerful otherworldly magic flashed from somewhere deep below the church, casting a sickly light over everything.

The disintegrating magic circle continued to crack and split – until the bell tumbled into the black pit, tolling dolefully as it fell. The panicked witches and their familiars ignored
Murrell’s orders and fled for their lives, casting terrified glances at the gaping, jagged hole in the floor, which now stretched across the width of the church.

We’re trapped
, Hazel thought.

‘
I don’t face death.
It
faces
me.’

Witch Finder Captain Titus White

H
azel and Hecate cowered on the cold stone floor behind the altar. Tom prowled at their feet, hackles raised. The clamour of splitting rocks and
fizzing magic died away. The air throbbed, as if pulsing in time to the beat of a malicious heart.

Bramley trembled. ‘I’m so sorry, Hazel. This is all my fault.’

‘You saved my life, my clever little mouse,’ Hazel replied. ‘And Titus and David too. You did what you had to do.’ Keeping hold of her mother’s hand, she peered
around the edge of the altar.

The church looked as if it had been struck by a meteor. Pews lay scattered and shattered all over the floor, and a multi-coloured carpet of broken stained glass covered the paving stones.

A crevasse, many feet wide, split the floor like an evil grin. The air over it shimmered and gasped, as if some huge creature was breathing from its depths. Shadows backlit by hellish light
swept across the church roof.

The woodsman, the witches and their familiars had gone – fled in terror, or lost into the abyss. Only Murrell remained, crouched on his knees, staring into the darkness with a face masked
in shock.

‘Look – there’s Titus and his boy,’ Hecate said. ‘They’re hiding in the pulpit.’

Bramley appeared behind Hazel’s ear and sniffed the air. ‘Something’s coming,’ he said. ‘From
down there
.’

He was right. Hazel felt its approach like a sickness. She wanted to back away and hide, but she forced herself to watch as a vast red appendage unfurled from the crevasse. Muscle rippled,
moisture dripped; it looked like a giant quivering tongue reaching up to lick the ceiling.

‘What is it?’ Bramley squeaked.

Murrell gazed up, his face slack with fear.

He knows
, Hazel thought.
He’s seen it before.

‘Look,’ Hecate breathed. ‘Something’s happening to it.’

There was a wet tearing sound as a split opened at the tip of tongue and ran down both sides. Hazel felt sick as the two halves peeled away, revealing the head and shoulders of a wizened old
man. Pallid skin stretched tightly over bones, and only a few strands of hair clung to his scalp.

Hazel thought he must have been long dead, until he opened his mouth and took in a long, rattling breath.

Murrell cowered behind an upturned pew.

The man worked his jaws up and down, left and right, as if he had not used them for years. When he spoke, his voice was dry as bone dust.

‘I am he . . . who was once the man called Petrov. I am he . . . who is bound to Baal. I am he . . . who is the Voice of Baal. I speak for Baal to those unworthy of listening.’

Hazel felt Hecate’s grip on her hand tighten. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
Three days ago I was picking apples
, she thought.
Now I’m face to face with a
demon’s envoy.

The appendage swept the once-man Petrov around the edge of the circle. ‘Baal demands to know what has happened to his circle,’ he said. ‘Baal demands to know why his gift has
been squandered. Show yourself, the one called Nicolas Murrell. Show yourself to Baal, for Baal knows you are near.’

‘Perhaps the demon will take Murrell and leave us alone,’ Bramley said
.

‘Baal would speak with you.’ Petrov’s voice hardened; there were shards in the bone dust now. ‘Come out, Murrell, if you want to keep your skin.’

The pew creaked as Murrell levered himself up. Petrov swivelled towards him. ‘Baal sees that the circle gifted to you is shattered. The souls promised to Baal have not been delivered. The
bargain struck with Baal has been
dishonoured
.’

Murrell bowed his head. He was shaking and his words came in a whispered rush. ‘I prostrate myself before Baal the Destroyer and ask that he forgives his most loyal and humble
servant.’

‘Baal does not feed on excuses.’ Petrov swooped, stopping inches from Murrell’s pallid face. ‘Baal is hungry for what was promised to him.’

‘Please, I know I have failed, but if Baal would give me one more chance . . .’

‘Your soul is ruined, Murrell, bitter, worthless and not pleasant to eat. But Baal is hungry
now
. Baal
will feed
.’

‘There are others here.’ Murrell wept, grovelling on the floor. ‘Take them as penance for my failure.’

‘The rotten tell-tale,’ Bramley hissed.

‘There
are
others here – Baal can smell them. But they are not yours to bargain with.’ Petrov swept back up into the rafters, sniffing the air and forcing Hazel to duck
back. A shiver ran through him. ‘Ahh,’ he rasped. ‘
Wielders
.’

‘I have communed with the Great Beast.

He will come for me when it pleases him.’

Grand Magus L. G. Petrov