9
The Gate in the Crate
“Miranda, your suitcase is chirping,” announced Mephisto.
“Quiet, pal, someone will hear you. Ma’am, haven’t I told you before you should turn that dratted thing off when on a stakeout?” Mab muttered, exasperated.
“Relax, Mab, we’re in a sealed car. No one is going to hear us. Only, I don’t think I can reach the phone. Could you answer it, please?” I asked.
Mab grunted and reached into the backseat of yet another rental car. As he opened the carrying case and answered the phone, I kept a lookout on the warehouse door across the parking lot.
It was early evening of the following day. We were in Landover, Maryland, parked in front of the warehouse that was the last known location of Mephisto’s staff. As soon as the warehouse employees cleared out, we were going in to have a look around.
After leaving Theo’s, we had driven back to the airport without incident. Once at the plane, I had wanted to hurry on to Logistilla’s, in hopes of reaching her before the Three Shadowed Ones did. Mephisto had refused to give us any additional directions, however, claiming we were not taking the hunt for his lost staff seriously. In return, Mab had offered to bash him with a lead pipe.
Since it was quite late in the evening, we had found a hotel for the night, where we could discuss the matter civilly. Eventually, we reached a compromise. Mephisto told us Logistilla lived in the Caribbean. In return, since Maryland was en route to the Caribbean from Vermont, we agreed to pause and check the warehouse where Osae had brought Mephisto’s staff and see if it might generate any additional leads. Once this was done, Mephisto promised, he would give us the exact location of St. Dismas’s Island, where our sister Logistilla lived.
So now we sat in the car, hunched down under a blanket, waiting in silence for the warehouse employees to depart. At least, we had sat in silence until my phone rang.
Mab spoke softly into the telephone. “Hello? Miranda Prospero’s answering service. Chicago, eh? What can we do for you? Really, you don’t say? Wait, I’ll ask her.” He covered the receiver with his hand, “Miss Miranda, it’s that kid from the Chicago office, Simon? He says there’s a gentleman at their office asking to see you, a Mr. Di Napoli. Mr. Ferdinand Di Napoli.”
This was unexpected.
“Any suggestions?” I barely managed to keep my voice from coming out as one long squeak.
“I know!” Mephisto bounced up and down, his hand raised. “Set up a meeting with him, then don’t show!”
“How the heck did he find us?” Mab growled. “Might not be a bad idea to hear what he has to say, ma’am. I, for one, wouldn’t mind asking him a few questions. Would you like me to go speak with him?”
Mab’s tone of voice evoked images of single chairs positioned beneath unbearably bright spotlights. I laughed, despite my dismay. My palms were slick with sweat. I wiped them on my Irish Setter-ripped coat.
Meeting Ferdinand would cause a delay, and I was eager to carry out Father’s request, warn my family, and return to the business of running Prospero, Inc. On the other hand, I did not feel the sense of impending doom that had oppressed me before our encounter with Osae the Red. My sister must be warned, but it could probably wait a day. Besides, the unlikeliness of Ferdinand reappearing in my life now was too great to be a coincidence. I wanted to discover the relationship between his reappearance and the Three Shadowed Ones.
“Let’s meet him, then. I’ll come, too.” The thought of sending Mab was appealing, but I could not run from my past forever. “Where?”
“Better make it some public place, ma’am.”
“I’ve never lived around here. I don’t know any public places.”
“Everybody knows public places in D.C., and that’s only a few miles from here,” Mephisto said. “What about the Capitol building, or the Lincoln Memorial?”
“Very well,” I replied. “You may tell Simon we’ll meet Mr. Di Napoli tomorrow at noon at the Lincoln Memorial. If he can’t make it, so much the better.”
“Tomorrow, at noon, at the Lincoln Memorial. Gotcha.” Mab repeated the information into the cell phone. He hung up and looked at me. “You gonna tell your brother that this Ferdinand joker is going to be here?”
I sighed. “No. Theo would blast him before we got a word in edgewise. I think we should hear what Ferdinand has to say.”
Besides, the whole point had been to get Theo to leave his farm and interact with the world. That would hardly happen if I did his legwork for him.
Mab hung up and poured himself a cup of hot coffee from a Thermos which he, like all good detectives, kept with him in the car along with a wide-mouthed jar. He offered a cup to Mephisto and me, but we both shook our heads. It was growing dark, and we could barely make out the two figures who came out of the warehouse, waved to each other, and climbed wearily into their cars. The lights came on in one car and then the other. Both cars pulled out and drove away. We were left alone with two trucks, a Dumpster, and the warehouse.
“That’s the truck I chased in the cab! I recognize the numbers.” Mephisto popped out from under a blanket and pointed over my shoulder at one of the two green-and-blue sixteen-wheelers. He frowned. “Or maybe it was the one over there. Anyway, they’re gone. Shall we go in?” Darting from the car, he started forward.
Mab leapt after him and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hey, punk, where do you think you’re going?”
“Get your hands off me. Into the warehouse, isn’t that the plan?” Mephisto shrugged free of Mab’s grip.
“If you want to set off the alarms and notify the police,” Mab said.
“They didn’t have any alarms when I was here before,” Mephisto said.
“That was before the place got trashed, by you. If they’re not bonkers or bankrupt, they’ve upped their security since then.” Mab squinted, pointing through the gloom at the warehouse. “See that sticker by the door? That tells us they have a security system. Hand me the binoculars, ma’am. I’ll see if I can read it despite the dimness of the light.”
I reached into the backseat and picked up the shoulder bag into which I had stowed equipment we might need. The gear Ariel had packed for us included a pair of binoculars, my laptop and portable scanner, a starlight scope, several LED headlamps with battery packs. Last night, we had added some bright-orange foam earplugs, the kind used at shooting ranges, for Mab’s ears.
Climbing out of the car, I handed Mab the binoculars. “Check it out, Mab. Tell us what you can find out.”
Mab peered through the field glasses. “Thomson Security Co.; I’ve run into them before. No motion detectors, usually, but the system is tied into a phone line which calls the security company and the police.”
Smiling, I picked up the shoulder bag and handed the neon-orange earplugs to Mab. Then, I took up my flute. “You gentleman see to the locks. I’ll take care of the alarms.”
I went forward, whistling softly. Across the parking lot, three brick steps led to a heavy steel door. Climbing the stairs, I touched two fingers to my lips, then tapped them lightly against the door, just next to the doorknob.
“Spirits of lightning,” I intoned, “deviate not one iota from the paths of your dance!”
Then, sitting down upon the steps, I raised my flute and played the tune I had been whistling. Upon my lips it had been a cheerful march. When voiced by the flute, it became something grander, rousing and yet solemn, bringing a tear to my eye even as it lifted my spirits.
As I played, Mab and Mephisto came hurrying across the parking lot, Mab glancing carefully backwards to make sure no one was in sight. Convinced we were alone, he pulled out locksmithing tools and set to work. Meanwhile Mephisto, who had not climbed the stairs, went over to the warehouse’s windows and tried vainly to peek between the closed slats of the Venetian blinds.
The lock clicked open. I kept playing. As Mab swung the door open, a tiny line of blue fire continuously leapt the path between the tongue of the doorknob and the metal plate on the lintel.
Mab ducked under the stream of living current and stood blinking in the darkness on the far side. I followed more slowly, maneuvering so as to enter without disturbing the lightning or my flute playing. Then, I was within the small hall beyond the door, my back pressed against a coatrack, and only Mephisto remained outside.
Mab called to my brother, who came meandering up the stairs. Upon seeing the open door, with its blue-white flickering arc, Mephisto let out a cry of delight.
“Oooo! Look at that, Miranda! How pretty! Can I touch it?” He raised his hand.
In horror, I watched my brother reach for the live electricity. The amount of current necessary to keep up this unnatural arc was far greater, by several magnitudes, than normally flowed through these wires. I wanted to shout at him, but if I stopped playing, the alarm would go off. Of course, my brother disrupting the current by electrocuting himself would also set off the alarms. Desperately, I kicked at Mab, who had turned away and was gazing into the inside of the warehouse.
Mab saw Mephisto. With the speed of a striking snake, he grabbed my brother’s shirt and forced him down, away from the deadly blue-white arc.
“Are you crazy?” Mab’s voice was unusually loud, as he still wore his earplugs. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
Mephisto’s eyes fixed on the electricity, and his face turned ashen. Swallowing fearfully, he squatted to the ground and duck-walked through the open door, far beneath the blue arc of the electricity.
Once Mephisto was inside, Mab slammed the door shut. I played another measure or two to insure the current returned to its natural path. Then I lowered the flute and waited, holding my breath.
No alarm sounded. We had made it safely inside.
The narrow hall opened into the great cavern of the warehouse. To our right was a loading dock with openings to two truck bays. Before us stood six towering rows of shelves, each some twenty-five feet tall. Large wooden crates sat on the floor beneath the lowest shelf, which stood the height of a tall man. The upper shelves held electrical equipment, furniture, and boxes marked INVENTORY or UCS. These shelving units stretched off into the darkness, toward the back of the warehouse, some tenth of a mile away. The middle four were accessible from both sides. The first and last units stood against the side walls.
A noise in the darkness startled us, and we ducked among the giant crates. The cause of our distress turned out to be the dripping of one of the great pipes running across the ceiling. Relieved, I reached into my shoulder bag and handed out the headlamps.
We split up according to our pre-agreed plan. Mab and Mephisto crept away to search the warehouse. They moved down the narrow corridor between two rows of shelves, the light from their headlamps falling upon the crates and causing shadows to leap and dance before them. Donning my own lamp, I set off as well. Since I was familiar with the running of Prospero, Inc.’s warehouses, my task was to find and check the records.
I found offices on either side of the warehouse. The office tracking incoming goods was neat and orderly, while the one tracking outgoing shipments was a disorganized mess. It stank of burnt coffee grounds, and beverage stains discolored the piled papers. The computer directories and file cabinets in the outgoing office were in better order. Luckily, they did not require passwords to get past the screen savers, and only one cabinet was locked. Mab paused his search long enough to come and jimmy it open for me, revealing personnel records and miscellaneous reports.
A quick search revealed the date of the break-in. Hooking up my laptop, I scanned copies of all files for that date and those of several days to either side. A few of the filthier pages I ran through the warehouse copy machine first, so as to avoid smearing some unknown substance on my scanner.
A perusal of their computer records confirmed that a shipment had gone to Chicago on the eve of the break-in. The street number of the destination point differed by two digits from the one Mephisto recalled. I scribbled the correct address on a piece of paper and stuck it in my pocket to pass along to Mab.
As I worked, my thoughts returned to the warehouse door. Opening locks was another of the Six Gifts of the Sibyl, and commanding lightning was a third. Had I been a Sibyl, the precious minutes of attention-drawing flute music could have been replaced by a word and a touch. We could also have avoided the game of electric limbo. I sighed. If only I could discern my Lady’s mind and discover what held me back from achieving this final honor. But upon this matter my Lady remained mute.
By the time I finished, Mab and Mephisto had nearly completed a circuit of the warehouse. Mephisto climbed over the boxes and stored couches, the shadows cast by his headlamp bobbing wildly. Mab moved slowly from box to box. Sometime, he dusted for fingerprints. Other times, he stopped and sniffed.
As he came to the end of one of the narrow passageways, he approached me. “There’s something strange here, ma’am,” he said. “An odd scent. I’ve smelled it before, but I can’t recall where. It’s nothing natural, I can assure you that. Nothing good.”
I sniffed. I detected a faint, dank odor mingled with the scent of cardboard, but nothing that struck me as clearly supernatural.
From the back of the warehouse, Mephisto called. “Do you think they’re storing magic in these boxes? Like in Raiders of the Lost Ark?”
Mab snorted. “Your harebrained brother has seen too many movies. Whatever it is, it’s strongest in the middle row. Over where Mephisto is now.”
As he spoke, I heard an odd noise from over in Mephisto’s direction. My brother called, “Hey, you guys, come look at this box. I think there’s something alive in it.”
“Alive? What makes you think so?” Mab began striding quickly in Mephisto’s direction. I followed rapidly.
“It’s making knocking noises. Wait a second, I’ll open it up,” Mephisto responded.
“Mephisto! No!” Mab and I shouted together.
“It’s okay. I’ve almost got it . . . Oh-oh!” said Mephisto.
Mab and I ran. Our headlamps lit a semicircle of concrete floor before us, sending shadows scurrying to either side. Two rows over, Mephisto’s noise of dismay turned into a scream. We ran faster. The screaming continued, mingled with growls. Then, there was a loud angry bellow, and Mephisto fell silent. The light of his headlamp rose high into the air and then clattered to the ground.
Mab and I sprinted through the darkened warehouse. I would have pulled ahead of him, but he grabbed my arm, holding me back. The corridor we ran down was separated from Mephisto’s by a single unit of shelving. Ahead, a break in the shelving allowed access to the next passage. As we approached it, Mab stopped behind some large cardboard boxes and pulled out his lead pipe.
Slowly, we peeked around the boxes and down the passage beyond. The shadows cast by our overlapping headlamps swayed and leapt toward us . . . and kept on coming.
Slavering hounds of shadow and smoke, dark fangs bared, rushed silently toward us. Behind them, further down the corridor, rested a large wooden crate, the top of which had been pried open. More shadow dogs were swarming out of the open crate.
There was no sign of Mephisto.
“Barghests out of Limbo,” Mab spat. “Jiminy Cricket! But I hate those shadow puppies.”
From the pocket of his trench coat, Mab brought out the handful of leftover rock salt, which he tossed into the midst of the loping hounds. The lead dogs yowled and drew back, dropping to the floor to paw at their noses and eyes. Those behind leapt over their prone leaders and kept coming. They began to howl, an eerie sound that froze the marrow in one’s bones.
Mab raised his pipe and backed away slowly, keeping his body between me and the barghests. He said softly, “You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking this is the perfect environment for our shadowy teleporter. There’s not much we can do against barghests. Our lights aren’t strong enough to keep them away. By Setebos, I wish I hadn’t thrown that stuff! We could have made a protective circle and stood in it until the sun rose. Let’s get out of here. Where’s your good-for-nothing brother?”
“Mephisto?” I called. There was no answer. “His headlamp is behind the crate there. Perhaps he’s fallen.”
“Perhaps he’s dead,” Mab growled. “We’ll be dead, too, if we stick around to find out. Isn’t there anything you can do with that accursed flute? I got my earplugs.”
“I could call down the electricity that runs the warehouse, but it would disrupt the alarm circuit and warn the police.” I backed up uncertainly. The thousand-folded fan of Amatsumaru might be able to damage these semi-substantial foes. Then again, it might not.
“Do it! Better to be arrested than dog meat!” Mab stuck in his earplugs.
The hounds leapt, mobbing Mab. He struck them with his pipe, but no thud came. Mab’s arm sank slowly through their substance, doing them little damage. Where their sable fangs closed about his wrist and shoulder, however, Mab’s trench coat tore with a loud rip. Red blood welled up where they bit him.
The hounds nearest the wounds lapped at Mab’s blood. The ruby liquid seeped into their smoky bodies. Their eyes grew as scarlet as blood. Their fangs paled. Their coats became a silky coal black. Their claws began making ghostly scampering noises against the concrete floor.
As the dogs leapt upon Mab, I drew back and hid among the boxes. Touching two fingers to my tongue, I pointed first at a light socket high overhead and then at the barghests. Raising my flute, I played the capture of the wolf from Peter and the Wolf. The melody surged from my instrument, rising and crashing and drawing my spirits along with it. Above, in the ceiling, the sockets began to hiss and buzz with curling blue fire. Almost immediately, a loud alarm blared.
The tongues of blue-white fire drew together to form a javelin of lightning, which leapt from the ceiling and fell among the barghests. The battle became too bright to behold, as a deafening crash ripped the air, and the smell of ozone filled my nostrils.
In the glare, it looked as if an electric white horse with a spiral upon her brow reared above the dogs and pierced them through with her hooves and horn. Then the sparks flickered and fled away. In the returning dimness, I could see Mab, rising slowly from where he lay upon his back. His blood seeped through the rents in his trench coat.
I approached him, glancing down the corridor toward the crate. The light of my lamp fell on scorched concrete beyond which cowered shadowy shapes. Of the more substantial blood-fed beasts, only one had survived. It slunk back among the boxes now, whimpering plaintively. Farther down the corridor, however, fresh barghests poured from the opened crate. My heart grew cold. I could not pull that trick again. Every fuse in the building would be blown. There was no electricity to call—unless I went outside and summoned a storm, a process that could take half an hour.
Oh, if only I were a Sibyl and could call lightning!
Mab wiped the blood from his eyes and looked toward the crate.
Taking out his earplugs, he said. “We better split, ma’am! Some of the dogs are gone, but more are coming out of the box. Oh-oh, we have company!”
Standing in the darkness between the two rows of shelves, illuminated by the light of Mephisto’s fallen headlamp, was a vast bat-winged shape. The creature was nearly ten feet tall, with a smooth and well-fashioned body, as if a black marble statue had sprung to life. Huge wings spread from its back, and many curling horns crowned its head. Tattered rags fluttered from its arms and legs. A surcoat clothed its body. In the darkness, I could not make out its device.
The demon stepped forward.
Mab rose haltingly to his feet and took a limping step back. “Run, ma’am! Save yourself. I’ve got to try to close that crate. I’ll follow you if I can.”
I fled.
Halfway to the door, I looked over my shoulder. Over the incessant shriek of the alarm, I could hear the slavering growls of hounds, and Mab’s curses and groans. There were no barghests following me, and the demon had not followed, thank goodness! I was nearly to safety.
Mocking words my brother Erasmus spoke years ago returned to me: “How easily our haughty sister extinguishes the lives of men, like so many flaming moths.” Following close on its heels rang Theo’s more recent statement, “Sometimes I think Erasmus is right about you.”
My relief turned to shame. I was leaving my best man back there. Worse, one of my brothers lay fallen. What if he were still alive? It took a lot to kill one of us. Had not I set out upon this odyssey specifically to avoid losing any more siblings?
I ran back toward Mab, gripping my war fan tightly. When I was nearly there, I turned off my lamp, crept back to the boxes we had originally hidden behind, and peered around the corner.
Mab had made it about a third of the distance to the crate. He was again being mobbed by the smoky hounds. They slavered on his arms and legs, licking at thin fountains of blood. Mab’s face, suddenly dear to me, was slick with sweat, or was that blood, too? Beyond him, I could see the demon looming above the box.
Whispering a silent prayer to my Lady, I ran into the fray.
A skinny, lanky hound scented me. It growled and leapt. I slashed at it with my moon-colored fan. As the glimmering crescent of pale silver struck its dark body, the creature yowled. Thin streaks of gold appeared in its smoky fur where the silver blades wounded it, but it kept coming nonetheless.
Its pale gray fangs could not penetrate my enchanted gown. But the teeth of its mate found the flesh of my hand. I screamed.
“Damn it, ma’am! I thought I told you to beat it,” Mab growled, but the hope in his eyes told a different story. Pushing through the shadowy bodies of the hounds, I reached Mab and put my back to his.
“It’s ‘all for one, and one for all,’ now,” I replied bravely, recalling only belatedly Theo and Titus’s rather unpleasant experience with the real French Musketeers. “We’ll make it together, or we’ll fall together.”
“Idiotic strategy,” Mab growled, but he kept fighting.
Slowly, we gained ground, drawing closer to the crate and the demon. The barghests snarled and leapt at us, their snapping fangs dripping with our blood. Mephisto’s headlamp illuminated the scene from below, making shadows larger, and the hounds harder to see. Mab’s curses grew audible above the blaring alarm. He cursed himself for being caught without chalk and holy water. He cursed Osae for making him leave it behind. Then, he cursed Mephisto for holding up the cloak and attracting Osae’s attention in the first place.
The lead dog leapt forward, seizing Mab’s arm in its jaws. Mab struck it repeatedly with his pipe, accomplishing nothing. But by the fifth blow, the dog had imbibed so much of Mab’s blood that its body offered resistance, and the heavy length of lead bounced off its head with a resounding thud. Mab struck the beast on its sensitive nose, and it released him and went crying off toward the crate.
Its fellows drew back, circling Mab with raised hackles and stiffened legs. Then, all together, they rushed forward and fastened their jaws upon his limbs. Their fangs found his face and legs. Blood ran into his eyes. Mab fell to one knee.
I was having troubles of my own. I chased off the first three barghests that came my way with a quick slash across the face with my fan. While I swung at a fourth, two others slipped in and found my unprotected ankles. Sharp needle-like pains shot through me, causing me to stumble. As I did so, a more substantial shadow dog, perhaps one that had fed on Mab, leapt upon my back, knocking me over. I went sprawling across the floor, my fan flying from my hand and rattling across the cement.
One of the dogs at my feet yowled and started to writhe. Handmaiden blood had some of my Lady’s virtue. I had slain a vampire once, just by letting it drink some. The barghests seemed able to lap up my blood in small amounts, but this one had drunk too much. It twisted and jerked in pain, getting in the way of its fellows and giving me a chance to pull my legs under me. I reached back and grabbed the heavy beast on my back, throwing it from me, though not before it savaged my wrist and hands. This sent a frisson of fear through me. If my hands were damaged too badly, I would not be able to play my flute!
Scrambling to my feet, I ran for my fan, knocking aside three dogs with my enchanted-gown-covered shoulder as I went. Picking up the fan again, I slashed from right to left. Golden ichor hung in the air like a ribbon before the barghests broke, howling. From the corner of my eye, I saw the glowing sapphires of the demon’s eyes grow closer. I turned to face it. Perhaps the demon’s flesh would be vulnerable to the bite of my fan.
Raising a powerful arm clothed in black tatters and tipped with claws of ruby, the demon slashed. The blow caught two barghests, rending their shadowy substance. The smoky hounds screeched and yowled. Steaming golden ichor spilled from their wounds. It had a hot, sweet, metallic smell.
“Geesh! Look at that!” Mab gasped weakly. “The demon is attacking the barghests!”
The pack of inky barghests slunk down and began growling at the dark intruder. The demon smiled a terrible smile and slashed again. More dogs flew. Lowering its head, the demonic fiend impaled two dogs on its many curling horns, tossing them screaming over the shelving unit to its left. More dogs turned away from us and began circling it.
“Quick, it’s distracted the dogs. Let’s shut that crate,” Mab hissed. We ran rapidly forward, circling about the demon toward the open crate.
The demon lifted its many-horned head. From within its chiseled face, deep-set eyes the color of sapphires fixed upon us, ignoring the hounds. The creature spoke in a deep and melodious voice.
“Quickly now. Our retreat must be fleet of foot. Cowardly barghests have run crying through the gate in this crate to warn their hellish masters. Whatever will next emerge may not be so easily dispersed.” Spying our confusion, the fiend frowned. “What troubles you, sister? Do not you recognize me?”
The demon, tall and majestic, came closer, kicking aside the smoky barghests that yapped at its knees. It stepped into the light of Mab’s headlamp, which illuminated the device on the surcoat: a fleur-de-lis upon a field of sapphire.
“Mephisto?” I asked.
“Merciful heaven!” exclaimed Mab.
“Shall I aid your flight? The steps your short legs take are puny compared to my great stride,” the demon said, stepping toward us and extending his hand.
“The crate! Shut the crate!” Mab shouted above the blaring alarm.
The great dark shape of my brother leapt toward the box, a single beat of the wide black wings carrying him over the snarling barghests. He lifted the lid and slammed it into place.
The smoky hounds growled and yapped. Mephistopheles lifted his ruby-clawed hand and reached toward them menacingly. They slunk back slowly, blending into the shadows until all that could be seen of them was the gleaming red eyes of those who had supped on blood.
Launching into the air, the demon Mephistopheles came sweeping along the corridor between the towering shelves. He swooped down and seized us both about the waist. A second beat of his powerful wings, and we were aloft, tossed under his arms like so many naughty children. Peering around the bulk of his back, wings, and sleek barbed tail, Mab and I met each other’s gaze. As we were rushed through the air away from the yapping barghests, Mab shrugged.
The heavy steel door of the warehouse was before us. Our rescuer landed lightly, curling his wings like a paraglider. Stepping up to the door, he kicked, striking the door at chest height. The heavy steel door popped free of its hinges and slammed outward, falling over the three-step brick staircase beyond like a steel ramp. Maneuvering us through the doorway, Mephistopheles beat his enormous black wings again and sailed through the darkness, crossing the parking lot to land beside our car.
As soon as we were back on our own feet, Mab and I backed away from the imposing hulk of my-brother-the-demon. The sky was overcast, and the only light was coming from Mephistopheles’s glowing jewel-like claws and eyes. I wanted to question him, to ask him why he looked so uncomfortably like a fiend of Hell, but there was no time. Above the blare of the alarm came the wail of rapidly approaching police sirens.
I prayed to my Lady to protect us and dove into the car.
Mephistopheles stiffened and sniffed the night air. He turned his head very slowly until the glow of his eyes came to rest on my face. An eerie glint kindled in their sapphire depths. Something in the gaze unnerved me. Instinctively, I shut the car door between us, though I opened the window. He spoke.
“Do I disturb you, sister? Perhaps I have remained thus long enough. I return now to my puny and lackwitted form. Adieu.”
Mephistopheles bowed his many-horned head and crossed his arms, grasping black muscular biceps with ruby-tipped fingers. He seemed to collapse inward, growing shorter and paler. Then, Mephisto stood before us dressed in his surcoat, the pink of his flesh showing between the black tatters of his ripped shirtsleeves and trousers. He stared about him, his eyes vague and wide with dazed confusion.
“Wha-what happened?” He rubbed his bare arms, chafing them against the cold autumn wind.
“Get in the car!” Mab pushed him bodily toward the backseat and dove in after him. “We’ve got to get out of here. Not only are the police coming, but also the barghests will soon be after us. Once they have tasted our blood, they can track us anywhere. Our only hope is to outrun them until we can get the components we need to banish them, or at the very least establish a ward. What are you waiting for?” This last was directed at me. I sat motionless in the front seat, waiting for guidance.
The parking lot had two exits. The one we had entered by led to the main road, down which I could see the police cars approaching. Their sharp blue lights, painful to the eyes, cut though the darkness. Our car would not be visible to them yet. As soon as their headlamps fell on the parking lot, however, they would see us. My only hope was to reach the other exit and get my car behind a copse of trees growing along the country lane there.
The night was black as pitch, and I recalled a Dumpster sat somewhere between us and the far exit. If I turned my headlights on now, the police would surely see us. If I drove in the dark, I might hit the Dumpster.
Of course, that was what starlight scopes were for.