Darren Shan - The Demonata 1-5

Tears roll down my cheeks unchecked. “I don’t want to lose you,” I sob.

“But you must,” he smiles. “At least for a while.” He finishes healing himself and stands, groaning loudly. Turns to Lord Loss. “The cure?”

Lord Loss sneers. “I had not forgotten.” He floats across the room to the cage. Bill-E backs away, snarling fitfully, but at a gesture from the demon master he flies across the cage and thrusts his arms through the bars. Lord Loss wraps two of his own arms around Bill-E’s and slides the other six through the bars of the cage, encompassing the struggling werewolf. He exerts pressure, until Bill-E goes stiff, then presses his face forward, places his lips over Bill-E’s and exhales heavily, as though giving the kiss of life.

Bill-E’s fingers fly out rigidly, then curl up into tight fists. His legs shake fitfully, then go slack. After ten or twelve seconds, Lord Loss breaks contact and releases Bill-E. He floats backwards, coughing and spitting. Bill-E teeters on his feet a moment, then crumples to the floor.

I start towards my brother, concerned. Dervish stops me. “Wait. He’ll be OK. There are things I must tell you before we say goodbye.” I face my uncle, who speaks quickly. “You know where the forms, credit cards and contact numbers are. Use them. Act swiftly. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help. And don’t let the authorities take you away from here. They might interfere when they discover the condition I’m in, seek to separate you from me. Don’t let them.” His face is grim. “Lord Loss has threatened you — that’s serious. He can’t harm you in Carcery Vale — as long as you stay out of this cellar — but you’re vulnerable elsewhere. In time you’ll learn spells to protect yourself — friends of mine will help — but for now you mustn’t leave the Vale.”

“What can I do to stop them?” I ask.

“Stand up to them. Sic my lawyers – your lawyers — on them. Be brave. Prove you’re fit to live independently. Don’t give them any excuse to take you away. Meera will help — if she recovers — but you’ll have to do a lot of it yourself.”

Lord Loss has drifted to the edge of the cellar while we’ve been talking. He’s floating in front of a thick bank of webs, gesturing at them with all eight arms, muttering something inhuman. Artery has crept up beside his master and squats sullenly next to him.

As I watch, the webs shimmer, then twist in a clockwise direction, winding and wrapping together. The centre of the web pulses outwards a couple of times, then stretches backwards at lightning speed, cutting a path through the layers of webs behind it, creating an impossibly long, rotating funnel from the cellar to some indefinite point beyond.

“Take care of Billy,” Dervish says. “He won’t remember any of this. It’s up to you how much you tell him. I won’t advise you one way or the other on that point. If you start to change…” He hesitates, then presses on. “Meera and one of my other friends might challenge Lord Loss on your behalf. If you want to make a fight of it, ask Meera, and she can–”

“No,” I interrupt softly. “I won’t put anybody else through this. It wouldn’t be fair. If the curse hits me, I’ll abandon myself to it, or call in the Lambs. But I won’t ask anyone to face Lord Loss for me.”

Dervish smiles wanly. “You might lose some of those noble ideals when you get a bit older.” His smile softens. “But I hope not.”

“It is time, Dervish Grady,” Lord Loss says. The spiralling funnel he’s created glows redly, the webs revolving rapidly. Artery leaps on to the web at the rim of the funnel. He’s sucked into it instantly. Spins around several times, head over heels, then vanishes down the funnel’s maw, never to be seen in these parts again — I hope.

“Must you go?” I sob, clutching Dervish’s hands.

“Yes,” he answers simply. “If I refused, he could bring his hordes of familiars through and destroy us all.”

“How will I know… if you’re… successful?” I gulp.

“As long as I’m fighting, I’ll be an emotionless shell here,” he says. “If I lose, that won’t change, and you’ll never know — I’ll simply die of old age. But if I win…” He winks. “Don’t worry — you’ll soon find out!”

Dervish faces Lord Loss and the funnel. Takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out nervously. “Remember, Grubbs,” he mutters. “Don’t give up on me. No matter how much time passes — even if it’s decades — there’s always hope.”

“I’ll look after you,” I promise, weeping uncontrollably.

“Your mum and dad would have been proud of you tonight,” Dervish says. “Gret too.”

With that, he turns his back on me and marches to the funnel. Lord Loss bows politely as he approaches, then unfolds all eight of his arms and strikes for Dervish’s throat. Dervish ducks swiftly, avoiding the demon master’s lunge. “Uh-uh!” he laughs. “You won’t make that quick a finish of me!”

Leaping over the demon, he grabs hold of a thick strand of web, spins around, hollering wildly, then disappears down the funnel, becoming a speck, then nothing.

Lord Loss floats towards the opening. Glances back at me, eyes cold and hateful. “In the past, I’ve respected those who bested me,” he snarls. “But you belittled both the game and me. I will be keeping a close watch on you, Grubitsch Grady, and if you ever–”

“My name’s Grubbs,” I grunt, cutting him short. I step forward, wiping tears from my face. “Now sod off back to your own world, you motherless scum, and save your threats for those who care.”

For a moment it looks like he’s going to abandon protocol and rip me to shreds. But then he snarls, whirls away from me and hurls himself into the funnel of webs. There’s a flash. The world turns red, then black. The webs fade. The funnel blinks out of existence. Walls and ceiling slowly return.

It ends.

→ Working numbly. A quick trip to the house to fetch new candles. Then I sweep debris — broken chess boards and pieces — out of the way. Methodical. Chasing every last splinter and shard. Stacking them neatly against the walls. Need to keep active. Not dwelling on the game or the fight — or Dervish.

His body rematerialised as reality returned. But only his body — not his mind. He stands by the wall to my left, vacant, unresponsive, eyes glazed over.

Bill-E regains consciousness — and humanity — as I’m coming towards the end of my big clean-up. “Where am I?” he mutters. “What’s happening?” He stands shakily and stares at the bars of the cage. His voice rises fearfully. “What am I doing here? Where’s Dervish? What’s–”

“It’s OK,” I shush him, fetching the key and unlocking the door. “Dervish is over by that wall. There’s no need to be afraid.”

Bill-E stumbles out of the cage and glances nervously at the eerily motionless man in the candle-lit shadows. “What’s the story?” he asks. “The last thing I remember is following Dervish — then nothing.”

I haven’t thought about what I’m going to tell Bill-E. So I say the first thing that comes into my head.

“We were right — Dervish was a werewolf. He knocked you out and brought you here. I tracked him and fought with him. He recovered. He was grief-stricken when he realised what he’d done — the change had never affected him this way before. He gave me a book with a spell in it and told me to cast it.”

“What sort of a spell?” Bill-E asks, edging closer to Dervish.

“A calming spell,” I improvise. “He’d been saving it for an emergency. It stops him from turning into a werewolf — but it also robs him of his personality. He’s like a zombie now. He can’t speak or respond. I don’t know how long he’ll stay that way — maybe for ever. But if he recovers, he’ll be safe. He won’t change again.”