71

When Nightingale walked out of the bathroom in the robe, Sylvia was waiting for him with two of the heavies. They escorted him to Mitchell’s room. He was in exactly the same position as he had been when Nightingale had last visited, though this time he was wearing royal blue silk pyjamas. Sylvia made Nightingale stop ten feet away from the edge of the pentagram. He nodded at Mitchell. ‘You got your diary back, then?’ he said. ‘You only had to ask, you know. I would have given it to you.’

Mitchell pulled the oxygen mask away from his face. ‘What do you want, Nightingale?’

‘I get asked that a lot these days.’

‘Haven’t you got better things to do? You’ve got, what, an hour before she comes for you?’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘There’s nothing I can do, Nightingale. I told you that already.’ He began to cough and he pressed the mask over his mouth.

‘I’ve found a way,’ said Nightingale, ‘to stop Proserpine.’

Mitchell shook his head, still coughing. He regained his composure and took the mask away from his mouth. ‘She can’t be stopped. She has too much power.’

‘Do you know Joshua Wainwright? American guy. I get the feeling he’s embraced the dark side.’

‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Mitchell.

‘Wainwright owes me a favour.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Mitchell.

‘I sold him a book he’s wanted for years. My father snatched it from under his nose but I got it back to him.’ Nightingale grinned. ‘I made a tidy profit, but he was still grateful – grateful enough to help me.’

‘No one can help you,’ said Mitchell. ‘One minute after midnight and it’s all over for you.’

‘Not according to the book Wainwright’s lent me.’

Mitchell was coughing again. He dabbed at his lips with a tissue, then threw it into the bin by his side. ‘What book?’ he said.

‘It was written by an Iranian Satanist back in the eighteenth century, but he only showed it to a few people. When he died it went missing but it turned up in Paris in the 1930s and was translated into French. There are only three copies in English, and Wainwright has one, which he’s lent to me.’

Mitchell frowned. ‘This book, what’s it called?’

‘It has no name, no title,’ said Nightingale, ‘but it has a chapter on killing devils.’

‘You can’t kill a devil,’ said Mitchell.

‘Not so much kill as destroy,’ said Nightingale. ‘There’s a spell that ends them.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mitchell. He coughed again and spat bloody phlegm into a fresh tissue. ‘Proserpine sits on the left hand of Satan. She’s beyond all attacks.’

‘The book tells of a spell that weakens a devil’s power. Then you can use a dagger. A dagger that has been given but not thanked for.’

‘And where did you get the dagger?’ asked Mitchell.

‘Have you heard of the Order of the Nine Angles? Nasty little group that goes in for human sacrifice? My father was a member.’

‘The Order gave you a dagger?’

‘And I didn’t say thank you. How rude was that?’

‘So why are you here? Why not just do it?’

‘I need your help,’ said Nightingale.

Mitchell shook his head. ‘I’m not leaving the circle,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Nightingale.

Mitchell put the mask over his mouth. He continued to stare at Nightingale with unblinking eyes as his chest heaved.

‘Here’s the thing,’ said Nightingale. ‘I can’t summon Proserpine to do this. That won’t work. For the spell to be effective, she has to come of her own accord and she has to be in human form. And at midnight, she’ll come for me.’

‘How do you know she’ll be in human form?’

‘Because I’ve already summoned her.’

‘And she came?’

‘My assistant, the girl your heavies terrorised, made notes from your diary, including the section on summoning Proserpine.’

Mitchell chuckled. ‘And you performed the spell?’

‘Couldn’t find a magic sword, but we made do with a birch branch.’

‘And when she came, what form did she take?’

‘A girl. With a dog.’

Mitchell nodded. ‘He’s always with her. Her protector.’

‘Seemed like a regular sheepdog to me.’

‘They choose their appearances, Nightingale. But she came to you the same way that she appeared to me.’

‘But don’t you see? That’s her weakness. She appears as a human, and when she’s in human form, she can be killed. With the dagger.’

‘So why are you here, Nightingale? Why don’t you just do it?’

‘Because when she comes, she’ll be focused on me, which means I won’t get the chance to get close to her. But you’ll be a distraction. And when she’s distracted, I can get to her.’

‘I’m not leaving the circle,’ said Mitchell.

‘I already told you, you don’t have to,’ said Nightingale. He pointed at the terrace outside the french windows. ‘I’ll do it there. She’ll come at midnight. You keep the lights off until you see me reading the spell from the book. As soon as I close the book, you turn on the lights. She’ll see you, and that’s when I’ll do it.’

Mitchell coughed. ‘You’re mad,’ he wheezed.

Nightingale shook his head. ‘No, I’m not mad,’ he said. ‘I’m desperate.’

72

Nightingale walked out of the bathroom. He had changed back into his suit and had on his raincoat. Sylvia was waiting for him with the metal suitcase. Two of Mitchell’s heavies were standing behind her. ‘If you do anything to compromise Mr Mitchell’s security, you will be dealt with immediately,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, Sylvia, I’ve his best interests at heart,’ said Nightingale. ‘Once I’ve dealt with Proserpine, he can go back to living a normal life.’

Sylvia flashed him a cold smile. ‘Mr Mitchell’s life has never been normal,’ she said. ‘We will walk around the house to the patio,’ she said. ‘Mr Mitchell says that I am to give you anything you need.’

Nightingale patted the suitcase. ‘I’ve got everything I need right here.’

They went outside and around the house, flanked by the two heavies. The gardens were illuminated by floodlights and beside the wall Nightingale saw another heavy walking with a Rottweiler on a leash.

When they reached the terrace, he put down the case and lit a cigarette. Sylvia looked at her watch. ‘It’s half an hour until midnight,’ she said.

‘I know,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I figure that the condemned man deserves a last cigarette.’

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