He padded naked into the bedroom. The pentagram was already prepared, with large black candles at the five points, and the herbs he needed were in a brass crucible in the centre, along with the parchment.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the magic circle. He picked up his cigarette lighter and began to light the candles, moving anti-clockwise around the circle.
72
The armed response vehicle came to a halt between the MGB and the stone fountain and the four cops piled out. Three already had their MP5s at the ready and they rushed up to the front door. The first to reach the door was a sergeant. He tried the handle but the door was locked and bolted. The driver hurried around to the boot, opened it and pulled out the orange metal battering ram that they called ‘the enforcer’.
Chalmers arrived just as the driver was running up the steps to the door. He got out of the car and walked over to the MGB, still holding his iPhone. He pulled open the driver’s door and peered inside. ‘Sergeant, over here!’ he shouted. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of purple latex gloves. He picked the gun off the back seat and took it out just as the sergeant ran up. He sniffed the weapon and wrinkled his nose at the acrid tang of cordite. Chalmers held out the revolver so that the sergeant could see it. ‘If this is his only gun then he’s in there unarmed,’ said Chalmers.
‘Understood, sir,’ said the sergeant.
Chalmers looked up at the upper floor as the driver began to batter the enforcer against the lock. There was a light in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was flickering.
Chalmers pointed up at the window. ‘See that, sergeant? Candlelight. That’s where he is.’
The sergeant stepped back, looked at where Chalmers was pointing, and nodded.
‘Go right up there, soon as you’re inside,’ said Chalmers.
‘Sir, procedure is to clear the lower floor first.’
‘Screw procedure. He’s upstairs. I know it.’
The sergeant nodded and jogged over to the door. It was made from solid oak but on the fifth strike the wood began to splinter around the lock.
73
Nightingale took a deep breath and began to read from the paper. ‘Osurmy delmausan atalsloym charusihoa,’ he said. Then he took another deep breath and continued to read the rest of the words, taking care not to make any mistakes. When he finished he held the parchment over the north-facing candle. As it burned he spoke again, his voice louder this time. ‘Come, Lucifuge Rofocale,’ he said. ‘I summon you.’
The burning parchment singed his fingers but he ignored the pain. It had to burn completely while he held it. If he dropped it the spell would be broken. Grey smoke began to fill the room, far more than could have been produced by the parchment alone. It began to whirl around in a tight vortex and as Nightingale stared at it he felt himself begin to fall so he quickly closed his eyes and steadied himself. ‘Come, Lucifuge Rofocale!’ he shouted. ‘I command you to appear!’
When he opened his eyes again what was left of the parchment had crumbled to ash between his fingers and thumb and he rubbed his hands together, blackening them. The room was full of smoke and he could barely make out the walls and ceiling. The vortex was spinning faster and faster and the centre of it had turned black. Nightingale held up his hands. ‘Appear before me, I command you!’ he screamed.
There was a loud crack as if a tree had split down the middle and a flash of light that was so bright he could feel it burn his flesh. For a few seconds he was blinded and there were tears in his eyes when he blinked. As he put the palms of his hands over his eyes he heard a roar so deep that his stomach vibrated. Nightingale took his hands away from his eyes. There was a large figure standing in the smoke, something reptilian with grey scales and yellow eyes and a forked tongue that flicked out from between razor-sharp teeth. ‘You are Lucifuge Rofocale and I command that you speak the truth!’ shouted Nightingale.
Grey, leathery wings spread out from its back and waved to and fro, disturbing the smoke, then it threw back its head and roared. Nightingale took a step backwards and almost tripped. The floor began to shake violently and then there was another loud crack and the figure rippled and morphed into a dwarf wearing a red jacket with gold buttons and gleaming black boots. The dwarf waddled towards the pentagram on bow legs, his silver spurs jangling with each step. In his right hand he was carrying a riding crop and he ran his left hand through unkempt curly black hair as he glared up at Nightingale.
‘How dare you!’ screamed the dwarf. ‘I’m not some underling to be summoned on a whim!’ He lashed out with his riding crop but Nightingale didn’t flinch. The crop swished back and forth but it didn’t cross over the pentagram. So long as he stayed inside it, Nightingale knew that he couldn’t be harmed. ‘You’ve no idea what I can do to you, Nightingale! The pain I can put you through!’
‘I have a deal for you,’ said Nightingale.
The dwarf snorted contemptuously. ‘You’ve nothing I want or need.’
‘My soul,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m offering you my soul.’
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’
‘That’s the last thing I’d take you for,’ said Nightingale.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said the dwarf.
‘That’s why I’ve summoned you.’
‘You’ve done nothing but fight to keep your sad little soul,’ said the dwarf. ‘Why are you so keen to surrender it now?’
‘Because. ’ Downstairs there was a loud thump, the sound of an enforcer being slammed against the front door. The door was solid oak and it would hold for a while. ‘Because there’s something I want more than my soul,’ he finished.
There was another loud thump and the dwarf turned towards the bedroom door. ‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘The police,’ said Nightingale.
The dwarf turned back to look at him. ‘You think they can help you? Against me?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘They’re not here to help; they’re here to arrest me.’
‘For what?’
‘Murder.’
The dwarf chuckled. ‘So who did you kill, Nightingale?’
There were two more loud thumps from the enforcer.
‘It’s a long story and we don’t really have time for it now.’ His eyes were watering from all the smoke and a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Do you want my soul, or not?’
‘That depends on what you want in exchange.’
There was a much louder thump followed by the sound of splintering wood.
The dwarf chuckled. ‘You want to escape, is that it? Like your sister?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘Sort of,’ he said.
‘That’s the deal, then? I get you out of whatever predicament you’ve got yourself into, and in return I get your soul?’
‘I want more than that,’ said Nightingale.
There was another loud bang downstairs followed by shouts outside and the crackle of radios. And in the distance, the siren of an ambulance. The police were anticipating casualties, Nightingale realised.
‘I’m listening,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale.
‘I want to go back.’
‘Back where?’
‘Back to that day when Sophie died. Everything that’s happened to me stems from that day. If Sophie hadn’t
