Darren Shan - Demon Thief

I’m sitting on the floor in the small living room of the apartment which we’re renting. I rise and walk to the bathroom. Take the marbles out of my pocket, the orange marbles which I’ve carried ever since Art was stolen. I look down at them then hold them up, standing before the mirror. Place them in front of my eyes. Watch them twinkle. I try directing magic into them. Take my fingers away, telling them to hover in the air.

They fall. Roll away. I hurry after them before they disappear down one of the holes in the old floorboards.

Back to the living room, remembering how magical I was in that other place, the things I could do, the power I had. Sitting on the couch, I study the marbles again and recall what Sharmila said to me in the field before we parted. I think I know now what she was hinting, the secret she suspected. It’s an impossible, wild and crazy theory. I’m sure it can’t be right. But if it is…

Trying not to worry too much about what that might mean, I put the marbles away. As I stand, I notice some of the lights around me pulsing slowly. I stare at them numbly. It’s like they’re calling me, trying to suck me back into that realm of madness.

I turn my back on them and stride around the tiny apartment, looking for something to distract me. End up in my Mum and Dad’s bedroom. Not much bigger than mine. A bed they can only just fit into. I let my eyes drift. It’s untidy, clothes thrown about the place, dirty socks and underwear. The rooms were never like this in our previous homes. Mum was house-proud. Dad too. Always cleaning and tidying away. But not any more.

The mess upsets me. I turn to leave, but spot the corner of something sticking out from under a pillow on the bed. I edge over and slide it all the way out. It’s a photograph of me and Art. I haven’t seen it before. I’m holding Art over my head. He’s laughing. I think I’m laughing too. But it’s difficult to tell. Because Mum has scrawled all over my face with a pen. Line after line of black ink, obliterating my features, scratching me out of existence.

I put the photo back in its place. Cover it entirely. Return to the living room, my stomach hard and cold. The lights are pulsing around me, lots of them, faster than before, like they used to in the Demonata’s universe. I think about Beranabus, what Sharmila said, the bitter look I sometimes get from Mum and Dad, the photo.

As a single tear trickles down my cheek, I reach out like a robot and start slotting the patches of pulsing lights together.

Beranabus is waiting in a surprisingly scenic spot, lying on a pile of deep green grass next to a waterfall, beneath the shelter of a leafy tree. The only hint that this is another universe—blood, not water, flows from the waterfall.

“I thought you might come looking for me,” he says, sounding more sad than smug. “I decided to rest here a while.” He looks around. “I come here often. My mother liked this place. I feel close to her here.”

“Was your mother a magician?” I ask.

“Not as such.” He stares at the waterfall, stroking the petals of a fresh flower which he’s pinned to his jacket. “She died not long after I was born. I used magic to find out about her later—that’s how I learnt about this spot—but I never knew her when I was a child. As for my father…”

He snorts, then says with unusual softness, “I know what it’s like to be lonely. To have no family. To feel out of place in the world. I hate myself for what I did to Nadia and for what I’m asking of you. I know how wretched her life was and what you’re suffering now, because I’ve felt that way myself. I’d have spared you both if I could. But the universe demands sacrifice and pain of its champions. When there’s no other way… when the fate of billions hangs in the balance… what choice do we have?”

I stare at the ancient magician, not sure how to answer. Before I can think of something to say, he barks a laugh, pushes himself to his feet and smiles, more like his old cynical self. “Come to be my assistant, have you? Couldn’t fit in with the folks at home? Normal life not for you any more?

“You knew I’d return, didn’t you?” I accuse him.

“I’ve lived and seen enough to know how difficult it is to settle for a small life when you’re destined for greatness. The universe created you for a reason, Kernel Fleck, and it wasn’t to waste your time in an ordinary job, among everyday people. Destiny is a determined opponent. Not many get the better of it.”

“So what now?” I ask. “Do we go after Cadaver?”

“I don’t think so.” Beranabus frowns. “I’m angling more towards the idea of re-tracing the route he followed when he was on his way to Lord Loss’. Maybe we’ll find something on one of the worlds he visited, or on a world we bypassed when you opened the window directly to him.”

“Or maybe…” I stop, not wanting to say it. The window behind me has faded, but I could easily build another if I wanted. Find my parents. Try again. It’s not too late to change my mind. But if I tell Beranabus of my suspicions, I can never return. I’ll be his—the universe’s—for life.

Beranabus studies me with one eyebrow raised, smiling as if nothing I say can take him by surprise, like he’s waiting for me to make a suggestion so that he can say he’s already thought of it.

I chew my lower lip, trying to make up my mind. I think about the photo again. Shiver then straighten up and put my theory to the test.

“I’m picturing Cadaver inside my head now,” I tell Beranabus then look around. “Dozens of lights are flashing. I could open a window to him if I wanted.”

I clear the demon from my thoughts and think about Beranabus. “Now I’ve got you in my head.” My stomach sinks when I check the lights and my worst fears are realised. “Nothing’s happening. No lights are pulsing.”

“Of course not,” he snorts. “I’m here with you. There’s no need to open a window to find me.”

“Right. Now I’ll think about a waterfall on Earth—Niagara Falls.” I concentrate. “Lots of pulsing lights again. But when I think about that waterfall of blood… nothing.”

Beranabus is frowning. “What are you—”

“Picturing Sharmila,” I interrupt. “Dervish. Shark. Lights pulse for all three of them.” And for Nadia too, though I don’t tell Beranabus that. “Now I’m thinking of myself—no flashing lights. And now… now I’m thinking about the Kah-Gash.” I give it a full minute. Two. Five. Eyes shut, focusing hard, saying the word over and over. When I finally open my eyes, none of the lights are pulsing, and Beranabus is staring at me, trembling slightly.

“Nobody knows what the Kah-Gash was,” the magician says softly, “or what sort of parts it was broken down into. I’ve always assumed the pieces would be power-charged stones or other objects of energy, but I guess they could be hidden in anything. Even in…”

“people.” I finish, then take a deep breath. “The piece of the Kah-Gash… the weapon that can destroy universes… We’ve been close to it all along. Too close to recognise it. It’s here now. It always has been.”

Beranabus shudders, then steels himself. “Am I the one?”

“No,” I say sadly. “I think it’s me .”