The Burning Man

9

Caledfwlch glowed brightly in the gloom of the guest-house stairs as Church and Shavi cautiously made their way down.

‘We need to find the others, regroup somewhere till we find out what’s happening,’ Church said.

‘Those fires may not signify any threat,’ Shavi cautioned. ‘They may simply be random events, signs of this Great Dominion awakening.’

‘After two thousand years of doing this shit, I’m not inclined to agree. The Pendragon Spirit attracts bad like nothing else on Earth.’

The stairs opened onto a cool living area with a tiled floor. Large potted ferns and screens surrounded a few items of furniture. There was no sign of the owner.

‘If we seal the perimeter, we could hold out here until the others get back,’ Church suggested.

They both started as they rounded a screen. Tom sat on a long, black sofa, smoking.

‘Jesus Christ, you sacred the living daylights out of me,’ Church said. He put a finger to his lips before Tom could respond. Church and Shavi continued towards the front door, which hung open. The smoky, dusty aroma of a Cairo night drifted in on the breeze.

‘Just Laura and Hunter now,’ Church whispered. ‘Lock the door and we can try to reach them on their mobiles.’

‘This counts as an emergency?’

‘My call. Yeah, I know Hunter said only use them once and discard them in case the GDSSI are monitoring calls and track our location. But I’d rather we were together now.’

When Shavi had locked and bolted the front door, they instantly felt more secure. Church dialled Laura first, but the call went straight to voicemail. Only instead of the abusive message Laura had left earlier, there was now an insane shrieking.

Hunter answered immediately. ‘I was just going to call you,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way back. Lock the doors until I get there.’

‘Already done. You saw the fires?’

‘Yeah, and I’ve seen what comes out of them.’ The signal kept breaking up so Hunter sounded miles out at sea. ‘… threat.’

‘I didn’t get that,’ Church shouted. ‘What comes out of the fires?’

‘Djinn.’ The word was loud enough for Shavi to hear. His eyes widened. ‘Some sort of shape-shifting demons,’ Hunter continued. ‘They can become anything to get under your guard. Major threat level. Don’t approach them until I’m there. Even with your big sword.’

‘They can become anything?’ Church repeated.

He didn’t hear the reply. His attention was caught by Shavi’s expression. A shadow had fallen across his tranquil features, his eyes fixed somewhere over Church’s shoulder.

‘Tom,’ Church said.

He had a fleeting glimpse of Tom sitting on the couch, smoking. Something was wrong with the scene that he would have noticed earlier if he’d paid attention. Tom was hollow-eyed, his irises red-rimmed, and there was a quality to his expression that was mean-spirited, his shoulders hunched like an animal waiting in its lair.

As soon as Church registered this, Tom was gone, the couch empty, a ghost of smoke drifting in the air.

Church dropped the phone. He could hear Hunter barking questions on the other end. He knew the djinn was still in the room, but he couldn’t see it.

‘Over there,’ Shavi called.

Some peculiar aspect of the djinn’s nature was fracturing Church’s vision; his mind’s eye held an image, and then a good second passed before a new image replaced it in his head. A jagged flash: an indiscernible shape halfway across the room near the right-hand wall.

Another flash: the shape, like a hunched man seen through dense fog, on the opposite wall.

Church began to swing Caledfwlch. Too late.

With the third flash, the sword slipped from his hand and clattered on the tiles. He was forced to bend backwards at the waist by something he hadn’t yet seen. Fog closed across his vision and in it two red eyes glowed hatefully. Dimly, he heard shouting, but the words were lost to him.

In those eyes was his world, and in them he was younger, and living in London with Marianne, the woman with whom he had thought he would spend the rest of his days. His life spooled before his eyes at rapid speed, heading relentlessly towards the terrible inevitable: boxes appearing in the empty flat, contents spewing out to fill shelves and cupboards and to stack up around the now lived-in rooms; Marianne’s birthday, the surprise party he had arranged with all her friends; the expensive bottle of red wine he had spilled on the lounge carpet, desperately trying to scrub it out before she got home.

And then, with his new eyes, he saw something that threw him off-kilter. The spreading stain formed the shape of a man on fire. No randomness, no mistake; it was as clear as if he had drawn it himself.

How long had the dark force been wrapping around his life, prodding him, pushing him towards mishap? How close was it to everyone, the Invisible Hand that shapes us and the things we do?

And then everything in his vision span out of control: coming home, finding Marianne dead, her blood spreading into the shape of the Burning Man, too, a detail he’d never noticed before, now chillingly clear.

Back then he’d thought it was suicide, and cursed himself to the point of dissolution for not seeing the signs and helping her. He later learned it was murder but still cursed himself for not preventing her death. What kind of hero was he if he couldn’t save those who loved and relied on him?

The vision wouldn’t break. It was going places that pulled madness from the depths of his mind. Marianne sat up, soaked in her own blood, and pointed one red, accusing finger at him. ‘You did this,’ she said, and her love turned to hate. Lurching awkwardly, she came towards him, red teeth bared. ‘You didn’t love me enough.’ It was the blade that he always feared. Her arms clamped around him, and he could feel the sticky soddenness of her clothes, smell the iron of her blood. She was red, all over, for red was the colour of the Burning Man.

Marianne would never let him go. He would be looking into those eyes for evermore, whether his own eyes were open or closed. His sanity became a brittle thing.

Ruth will save you.

The words came from nowhere. It was Shavi’s voice, distant but clear.

The desolate sense of horror shifted on unsteady ground. Church lost sight of Marianne, and once again saw the dense fog within which the red eyes burned.

Before the djinn could reassert its control, he was grabbed and thrown backwards. Hunter was there with an Egyptian man. Still locked into the fading remnants of his vision, he needed Shavi’s help to get to his feet.

‘You all right?’ Hunter barked.

Church nodded.

‘The djinn can drive you mad. And they’re all over the city.’

Church cleared the last vestiges of haze from his head and reclaimed Caledfwlch. As the Blue Fire rushed into him, he instantly felt stronger. On the periphery of his vision, the djinn left trails of movement, already gone by the time his gaze settled on them.

They backed to the door and slipped through it just as Church sensed the djinn launching another attack. What sounded like a frenzied jungle beast thundered against the just-closed door, shrieking cries, making their blood turn cold.

Church caught Shavi’s arm. ‘Thanks.’

Shavi smiled shyly. ‘Instinct. I am glad it worked.’

Searching the street, Hunter cursed loudly. ‘What’s the point in looking for something you can’t see?’

A familiar figure weaved towards them, keeping close to the buildings. Tom came to a halt and doubled up, wheezing from his exertion.

‘How do we know if he’s the real thing?’ Church said.

‘Stick your sword in him. See if he squeals.’ Hunter had already made his mind up.

‘Very funny,’ Tom snapped. ‘While you’re having your fun and games, one of your own has been taken.’

He proceeded to tell them about Laura. ‘I waited, but she never came out. And when I went in after her, the room was empty. No prisoner … no Laura. Only this.’

He held up a key with a handle in the shape of a jackal’s head.

‘A mortuary key!’ Fayed took it in awe. ‘I have not seen one of these outside the museum. They are ritual objects used to unlock the Night Door, when the dead are taken to the mortuary complex for the final judgment.’

‘Where’s the mortuary complex?’ Hunter asked.

‘Imentet, my ancestors called it — west, the traditional direction in which the dead travel, towards the dying sun.’ He indicated down the street where they could see the searchlights shimmering on the Great Pyramid of Khufu. ‘Also known as kher neter, the Necropolis. The Land of the Dead.’