reached the pentagram he unscrewed it and carefully poured wine into the chalice. He put the top back on the bottle and put the bottle on the floor by the wall, then he picked up the chalice and held it above his head. ‘Servo nos,’ he said. ‘Protect us.’ He sipped the wine and then passed the chalice to his left, to Joanne.
She held it high and said, ‘Servo nos. Protect us,’ then drank. She passed it to her left and everyone took it in turns to drink from the chalice. Finally Ronnie handed it to Nightingale. He held the chalice above his forehead, said the words in Latin and English, took a sip and then gave it to Miller.
Miller spoke in Latin again and then put the chalice next to the brass bowl on the altar. He used both hands to pick up the black candle and he placed it on the altar between the bowl and the chalice.
He turned back to the group and held out his hand. Joanne took it. He led her onto the purple cloth and into the centre of the pentagram and then helped her lie down, her head towards the altar. He nodded at Martin and Ronnie and they moved into the pentagram and knelt down on either side of the woman.
‘Jack, please join Martin. Make sure that you remain inside the pentagram at all times.’
Nightingale knelt down next to Martin.
Miller moved to stand by Joanne’s head and he crouched down carefully. Joanne had closed her eyes and was breathing softly. Miller began to gently massage her temples. ‘Joanne, your eyes are getting heavy and you are going into a deep, deep sleep,’ he said quietly. Joanne breathed deeply and then went still. ‘You see in your mind Sophie Underwood and her mind is like an open book to you and we ask that you read it to us.’
Miller nodded at Martin and Ronnie and they extended the first and second fingers of both hands and moved them under Joanne’s body, one under her shoulder, one under her hip.
‘Jack, use two fingers under each leg,’ whispered Miller. ‘See how they’re doing it? First and second finger only.’
Nightingale moved around so that he could put two fingers under each knee.
Miller put his hands under Joanne’s neck and then he nodded again. They all lifted her into the air. She was surprisingly light, Nightingale realised, and with no effort they lifted her three feet off the floor.
‘Sophie Underwood,’ said Miller.
‘Sophie Underwood,’ repeated Martin.
Ronnie said her name and all three men looked at Nightingale. He swallowed. His mouth had gone so dry that it hurt. ‘Sophie Underwood,’ he croaked.
The men slowly lowered Joanne back onto the purple cloth. Miller stood over her, looking down at her face. ‘Sophie Underwood, can you hear me?’ he said.
Joanne took a deep breath.
‘Sophie. Are you there?’
‘Where am I?’ said Joanne. Nightingale froze as he realised that it wasn’t the woman’s voice. It was the voice of a young girl.
‘Sophie?’ he said. Miller flashed him a warning look.
‘What are you doing, Jack? Where are you?’
‘You are Sophie Underwood?’ asked Miller.
‘Who are you?’ said Joanne. Nightingale was now sure that it was Sophie’s voice.
‘We’re here to help you talk to Jack,’ said Miller.
Smoke from the candles was beginning to swirl around Miller and Nightingale was finding it hard to breathe.
‘Jack, you don’t know what you’ve done.’
The smoke was thicker now and all the men were coughing. Martin wiped his eyes.
‘Run, Jack,’ said Sophie, her voice shaking. ‘Run before it’s too late.’
Lightning flashed, even though Nightingale knew that was impossible because they were indoors. It was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder that shook the house. Dust showered down from the roof. The candles were flickering and the smoke was now whirling around in a grey vortex.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Ronnie. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Miller, his voice trembling.
‘Jack, run!’ screamed Sophie, and then Joanne arched her back and her whole body went into spasm.
There was another bolt of lightning and a loud crack and then something appeared in the vortex, something big, its skin glittering as if it was covered in scales. The figure took a step forward and the floor shuddered.
Martin was backing away, his mouth moving soundlessly. Miller had crouched down next to Joanne and was holding his hands over his face. The woman was still in spasm, her feet and hands drumming on the floor.
The creature, whatever it was, roared and the foul stench made Nightingale gag. Martin took another step back, his arms flailing.
‘Stay in the pentagram!’ shouted Nightingale but Martin wasn’t listening.
Ronnie went down on his knees and buried his face in Joanne’s lap.
Lightning flashed again. Martin stumbled backwards and stepped out of the pentagram. He managed to twist around and regain his footing and then he ran to the hatch. He threw himself to the floor, his hands grasping for the handle.
‘Martin, no!’ shouted Nightingale.
Miller was coughing and spluttering. Joanne’s spasms had stopped and she had opened her eyes. Ronnie was murmuring the Lord’s Prayer, his face still buried in Joanne’s lap.
The smoke was so thick now that all Nightingale could see was a massive shape moving slowly towards Martin. Martin turned, his mouth wide open in panic.
‘Martin, get back here now!’ shouted Nightingale. ‘It can’t cross the pentagram!’
Martin tried to get to his feet but then something flicked through the smoke and struck him across the throat. Blood sprayed across the attic wall and Martin fell back, hitting the floor hard.
‘Stop!’ screamed Nightingale. He pushed the hood back off his head and pointed at the massive shape, now just a dark blur in the choking fog that filled the attic.
There was a deafening roar from within the fog and a wall of heat washed over Nightingale. The floorboards creaked as it moved towards Nightingale and he caught a glimpse of glistening scales and a claw with curved talons.
Ronnie took a look over his shoulder and began to scream the Lord’s Prayer at the top of his voice before burying his head in Joanne’s lap again.
The air was so thick and acrid that every breath burned Nightingale’s lungs and tears were running down his cheeks.
Hot foul-smelling air blasted across his face again and whatever it was roared so loudly that the sound seemed to push against his chest and force him back. His right foot caught against Joanne’s hip and he struggled to regain his balance.
Nightingale took a deep breath and then screamed at the shape in the fog. ‘Reverto per pacis quod per totus festinatio ex unde venit!’ The shape froze, then what passed for a head turned towards him. Nightingale felt another blast of heat across his face and he threw up his hands up to protect his eyes. The shape growled and moved closer to the pentagram. Nightingale pointed at the shape and screamed again. ‘Reverto per pacis quod per totus festinatio ex unde venit!’
The creature, or whatever it was, threw back its head and roared, then space folded in on itself and it was gone. Nightingale went down on one knee, gasping for breath. His ears were ringing and his eyes were filled with tears. His lungs were burning and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. The smoke was already starting to clear.
Martin was lying against the wall near the hatch, his hands clutched to his throat. Blood was trickling between his fingers. He tried to speak but frothy blood spewed down his chin. Nightingale hurried over to him and knelt down by his side.
Miller appeared at Nightingale’s shoulder. ‘Get me a piece of cloth,’ Nightingale said to him as he gently pulled Martin’s hands away from his neck. Blood immediately began to spurt and Nightingale pressed the hands back to stem the flow.
‘Keep your hands there until we get a dressing,’ Nightingale said to him. Martin didn’t appear to hear him but did as he was told.
Joanne got up on her hands and knees and began crawling towards them.
