The Maelstrom

“What is it?” hissed Miss Boon.

“The mirror!” he gasped. “Rolf—”

Sitting forward, David gestured furiously for them to be silent. Glancing at Rolf’s corpse, Max saw that it was still lying on the table, its arms neatly folded. Sitting back, Max tried to calm himself. He was sweating now; the room’s silence and the mounting tension were nearly unbearable. Closing his eyes, Max counted to sixty. Opening them, he peered at the mirror. It showed nothing more than the reflections of Ms. Richter, Miss Boon, and himself sitting in a row beneath the moonlit windows.

Grendel began to growl. The Cheshirewulf bared its teeth in a jagged grimace as the animal’s ears pricked forward. One by one, the candles began to gutter, as though a breeze was eddying about Rolf’s body. From the corner of his eye, Max saw David point a finger at the circle.

A footprint had appeared upon the talc—a hideous, four-pronged print that might have belonged to a man-sized bird of prey. A second footprint appeared, slow and cautious, as though whatever was in the circle was creeping about its perimeter. David stood.

“We know you are here. Reveal yourself.”

Nothing happened.

“Tempus volat hora fugit—time flies, the hour flees,” David said testily, seizing the talc shaker and striding over to the circle. Throwing its remaining contents into the air, he stepped back as the cloud of particles plumed and settled around the invisible demon, revealing a glimpse of its silhouette. For an instant Max could perceive a tall and horned shape, hunched and gangling with arms that nearly reached the floor. There was a hiss as it realized what David had done. A second later it vanished.

Rolf’s body gave a spasm, as though receiving an electric jolt. To Max’s horror, the corpse sat up, the coppers falling from its eyes as it swung its legs off the table. Grimacing, the corpse eased onto unsteady legs and examined the circle’s inscriptions. It spoke in a chilling chorus of intertwining voices, young and old, male and female.

“Coddle, hobble, gobble the codding kiddie,” it muttered, stooping to peer at a sigil. “We’ll gorge upon his bell, book, and candlezzzz.…” Three times, the demon repeated the strange verse, ending each with a gurgling, flylike buzzing. When it appeared satisfied by the circle’s merits, it turned to David.

“What dost thou want, sickly spawn of moon and womb and mandrake?”

“Mortui vivos docent. The dead must teach the living,” remarked David with a wry smile. “But first, tell me your name.”

The demon laughed, its voices jingling like change from within Rolf’s bandaged throat.

“Flee to your grandsire’s shadow,” it tittered. “ ‘Cower all the moanday, tearsday, wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till the fear of the Law!’ ”

Walking over to his table, David struck the silver bell again. Its note rang out in the dark room, clear and true. With a moan, the corpse clapped its hands over its ears and shuffled to the circle’s farthest point.

“Apparently, you know who I am,” said David. “So I’m going to forgo the niceties. I will have your name and you will answer my questions or I’ll have you bound within a pig of iron and cast to the bottom of the sea. Salt and iron for all eternity, demon. Most unpleasant. So tell me your name and answer my questions and perhaps we’ll let you make amends.”

“I am Namalya,” replied the corpse, speaking in a woman’s voice. “And I am punished unjustly. Even now the poor boy’s family is searching for the body of their son. How they wail and cry and gnash their teeth! They shall curse your name forever, David Menlo. You desecrate the dead!”

The sorcerer was unmoved.

“My friend was desecrated when you possessed him. And you lie. Namalya is not your name.” Pivoting upon his heel, David made to strike the bell. With a hiss, Rolf’s corpse rushed forward, stopping only at the circle’s edge. Its voice became a deafening baritone.

“I AM MOLOCH!” it bellowed. “Great Moloch, swollen with the blood of innocents!”

When the corpse’s eyes went white and blank, David actually laughed.

“This is not my first summoning,” he said, shaking his head wearily. “Do you think to frighten us with carnival tricks? You are small in power but great in mischief. Your actions have caused my friend’s death. I will have your name and the truth or I will break you.”

The corpse swiveled its head toward Max and spoke in Rolf’s own voice, as though the boy’s vocal cords had not been severed by Umbra’s spear. “It is you who are to blame for my death. If you had only surrendered to the Atropos, none of this would have happened. What will you tell my mother, Max? Will you tell her that I had to die so you might live?”

In his heart, Max knew there was truth in the demon’s words. He had not struck the blow that killed Rolf Luger, but he might as well have. His classmate was dead because of him. His grief must have shown, for the demon smiled and turned its attention to Miss Boon.

“We have your man,” he sniggered. “He cries out for a merciful death, but we shall not give it to him. Have you ever seen someone on the rack? Your man is strong, but no one is that strong.…”

Miss Boon remained silent, but her hands were shaking, worrying at the ends of her sleeves.

“You can help him,” the demon hissed. “This son of the Sidh is all that stands between you and the one you desire. All your life, you feared that you’d never experience love, Hazel Benson Boon. You thought your books would make you happy, but there you sit with a hollow heart in a scholar’s robes. Do not throw away your only chance at happiness.…”

“David,” warned Ms. Richter. “I think you must silence him.”

“You have nothing to fear, Gabrielle Richter,” cackled the demon, flicking his eyes to her. “I know better than to think I can move one so cold as you. After Rowan recruited you away from your nothing life in that nothing town, you never went back, did you? Naturally, you were ashamed of your father’s drinking and the way decent folk scorned your mother. A pity they died in that fire before you got a chance to say goodbye. I’m sure you were the last thing on their minds, beautiful and brilliant Gabrielle who went off to a something life in a something town and never looked back. I’m sure they’d be proud. I know you must be.…”

“Are you going to silence this thing, or must I?” Ms. Richter snapped, glaring at David. Her voice was steel, but Max saw that her eyes were bright with tears. Reaching over, he took her hand. She gripped it fiercely and took Miss Boon’s in turn. David appeared unmoved by her plea. Within the circle, Rolf’s corpse had climbed back atop the table where it sat idly dangling its legs and leering at them.

“Your name,” David commanded, thoughtfully examining the bell. “I won’t ask nicely again.”

“We shall have each of you,” the demon hissed, speaking with many voices. “Koukerros for all and for all a good night!”

“As you will,” said David, marching swiftly toward the circle.

The corpse’s smile faded. “H-haven’t you forgotten your little bell?”

“You had your chance.” David pointed at the circle. “Sol Invictus.”

Unconquerable sun. It had been the motto of Solas, the ancient school of magic that Astaroth had broken long ago. As soon as David said the words, the powder that Mina had sprinkled about the circle burst into purple-blue flames. With a shriek, Rolf’s corpse flipped over onto the table, screeching and scrabbling madly at the wood as though the circle’s flames were coursing through every bone and nerve.

“Graeling!” it screamed in a little girl’s voice. “I am called Graeling!”

“A lie,” replied David, folding his arms.

The demon moaned and writhed, its eyes going black. When next it spoke, Max realized that Graeling’s voice had been stripped from the chorus. So had the voices of Moloch and Namalya. The corpse spun around, staring at David as though every vein and capillary would burst.

“I am Legion,” it panted, hugging itself and rocking while the circle’s flames blazed with sparking, phosphorescent intensity. “Legion with a thousand faces, a million faces …”

The sorcerer shook his head and the demon sobbed pitiably. The rest of the names came quickly. When David declared them false, the corresponding voice was stripped away. Soon, only one voice remained—the wheezing rasp of an old man.

“Ghollah is my name. What is it you wish to know?”

The flames died away, retreating into the floor so that they shimmered like violet coals within the etched