Fatal for whom? I wanted to ask, but at that moment Roberta took the stopper from the second bottle. She applied several droplets of the clear liquid to the mesh cap on her father's head, then stoppered the bottle and passed it back to me. I, meanwhile, was studying the professor intently for any change in his condition. Or, indeed, any sign that the two liquids were anything other than dye and plain water respectively. In the back of my mind I still wondered whether this was part of an elaborate hoax, but what would be the point? I was a penniless bookkeeper, not the sole heir to a wealthy estate.
In the next few moments my lingering doubts would be erased for good, and the events I was about to witness would change my life for all time.
It began with tendrils of purplish smoke, which trickled from under the cap on the professor's head and ran down his body like rivulets of blood. The smoke pooled on the rug at his feet, spreading out rapidly. Roberta ignored it, and was soon ankle-deep in the foul-looking fumes, while I, far less daring, backed away rapidly.
"You must stand still!" cried Roberta. "Do not flee now!"
Standing still was the last thing I wanted to do, but her manner brooked no argument. Unwillingly, I let the smoke roll over my shoes, watching it rise almost to my knees, and at the same time I sensed a cold, unpleasant tingling in my ankles and calves. I wanted to break free of the smoke and leap onto the nearest chair, but my legs felt immobilised and I was no longer certain movement would even be possible. "I—is this… a spirit?" I whispered, and I was convinced my eyes were as round as saucers.
Roberta shook her head. "This smoke is merely the result of a chemical reaction."
I took heart from her casual acceptance of the situation, even though the urge to step out of the rolling waves of purple smoke was strong. As the seconds passed and my legs failed to dissolve, or even vanish into thin air, I grew more accustomed to the smoke, and the feeling of panic subsided.
Meanwhile, the spreading pool of smoke had now reached the circle of metal discs Roberta had laid out. Here, the advancing waves reared up like a living thing, before falling back on themselves. Then, with a flash that seared my vision and a bang that made me jump two feet in the air, a bolt of lightning shot out of the cap on the professor's head. It struck the nearest metal disc, then jumped to the next, and the next after that, until the circle arced with high-powered electricity. Tendrils of pure light crackled and sparked, illuminating the room with the power of a thousand photographic flashes, and through squinting, shielded eyes I saw that all of the circle was joined apart from the one missing disc at the window. Nearby, stray bolts of light jumped out at random, connecting to metal objects all over the room, and I saw candelabra and engraved metal cubes knocked flying by the force of the discharge. The smell was intense, like seared metal, and the noise indescribable. Through all of this, Roberta and I were untouched, but then I remembered the source of this wild, uncontrolled power, and I turned to the professor in concern.
He sat in the chair with his eyes wide open, his jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the armrests as though he were trying to crush the wood with his bare hands. I could see him convulsing, helpless, and I was about to leap forward to help when Roberta raised a hand, stopping me. "Let it run its course!" she shouted. "It's the only way."
"But you're killing him!" I protested.
"You have to trust me," Roberta shouted back.
Even as she spoke, the writhing bolts of electricity changed colour, turning a deeper shade of blue. They also lessened in intensity, and the professor stopped shaking quite so much. I wondered whether the process was complete, but now Roberta took the odd-looking wrench from her belt and waded through the smoke to the professor, moving closer until she could reach out and touch the tool against the metal cap. Before it got close, I saw a ball of red energy oozing from the mesh enclosing the professor's head, as though his very life force were being squeezed through the fine metal. This red energy stretched out towards the tool in Roberta's hand, growing in size and intensity as it fastened onto the prongs. The bulk of the glowing, iridescent shape was already attached to the wrench, but a fine strand remained, connecting the tool to the mesh cap. Then, with a deft motion reminiscent of an angler, Roberta whipped the wrench backwards, drawing the final remnants of glowing red energy from the professor's being. I stared in fascination as the energy writhed and twisted on the device, mere inches from Roberta's hand, the glow bathing both her and the professor in baleful red light. I had no doubt this was the evil energy — the spirit, if you will — that had taken refuge in the professor's body, and I wondered how he'd survived the hosting of such a being.
I watched, heart in mouth, as the baleful red energy struck tendrils out in several directions. In turn it met the sparking electrical current and the metal net Roberta and I had strung across the room, and each of the questing tendrils were forced back to the parent, thwarted in their escape.
I wondered what would happen if it slunk down the tool and transferred itself into Roberta. I would have no chance of helping her,
