Watford Tales

Blue Pentagrams

Baz

It's almost too easy to blast our way out the door. Simon grabs my hand and the power pours through my whole body and out my homemade wand like an electric charge. The door is just a smoking hole. I don't even need to use a spell. I grab Mordelia's hand and Simon puts his arm around Penny. She leans against him weakly and we creep up the stairs, quiet as we can. There's no guard, thank Merlin. We're in a dark unkempt, dusty space. The old hotel kitchen. Pots and pans and broken china scattered on the floor. A huge cold fireplace. Broken tables and chairs. Outside it's dark. Night has fallen while we've been locked in the basement.

I see the door to the outside and start herding our limping group toward it. We're almost there, when the harsh overhead light snaps on and I feel it instantly. The dry suck, the pull on my skin. I hear the bounce of a rubber ball. Mordelia gives a high terrified whimper and her arms go around my waist.

"Hello, big brother," says a high childish voice. A voice I remember from seven years ago. Simon's voice. Simon's voice from when we were still little boys. The Humdrum.

We turn around as one person. There's absolutely no resisting that pull. Once we're facing him, there's no moving. We're caught in that magnetic field. It's so strong, I feel like my guts are being wrenched out. My fangs pop again, of course. I feel Simon's hand go to the small of my back, and I know he's using every ounce of strength he has to do it. Mordelia's arms are still around my waist. My hand is on the homemade wand in my pocket.

The humdrum looks at us and laughs. He looks the same as ever, and I have the same irrational urge I always get, to kick him in the shins. Like any eleven year old boy does, when his enemy shows up. Unfortunately, I can't move. He's eating an enormous sandwich messily, with relish. Like he's never had anything that good. The way Simon used to eat, when he first came to school. I used to think he was so pathetic.

Bits of meat and vegetable are falling out of the sandwich onto the floor and there's a dribble of sauce coming out of his mouth and down his chin. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, but it doesn't do much good. He stands there and eats the whole sandwich, then wipes his hands on his grubby jeans.

"Dee - licious," he says and leans back against the grimy counter, watching us.

"What do you want?" says Simon, with great effort. I'm not even sure how he can move his mouth to speak.

"Good question, big bro," says the Humdrum. He's clearly enjoying himself. "It's not so much about what I want. It's all up to Dad. He wants you upstairs."

"He's not your dad," says Simon. "I'm not your brother. This has nothing to do with him. It's between you and me."

"Oh, he's kind of my dad," says the Humdrum, a twisted grin on his face. "He made me, just like he made you. He made you what you are, with all that crazy power. You wouldn't have those great wings and that awesome tail without it. Still wish I could get those, like you, big bro."

"I'm not your brother," Simon says again.

"Same dad. That means you're my brother. It makes sense." And without taking his eyes away from us he pulls a gold iphone out of his pocket and presses a button. Then, he laughs again, and starts bouncing his red rubber ball.

There's a thunder of feet on the stairs. A whole group of goblins flood into the room, green skin, yellow teeth, black tuxedos. Dressed to kill. And behind them, Gideon Petrokov, dagger in hand, fangs popped. He gives me a nasty grin. I yearn to spit at him, but I can't move.

It's short work for them to truss us in sticky blue ropes and carry us upstairs. They take us to an old fashioned hotel lobby. It's grimy and decrepit like the rest of this place. Huge dirty cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. Broken furniture with the stuffing coming out in grubby white tufts. A grandfather clock with the door half off and gears hanging out. A large, plate glass window, looking out to the black sea beyond, streaked with dirt. There's a wooden counter against the wall for the guests to register at, with slots for mail behind it. The Mage and Nico are sitting up there, their feet dangling. Gideon Petrokov hops up onto the counter, on the other side of the Mage. The Humdrum stands in a corner and bounces his ball. We're all still in his power field. None of us can move.