The Gates (Samuel Johnson vs. the Devil #1)(8)

“Let’s get out of here,” said Mr. Renfield. He began bustling his wife toward the stairs, then stopped as a movement in the corner of the basement caught his eye.

“Eric,” he said.

Mr. Abernathy was too concerned with the whereabouts of his wife to pay any attention.

“Evelyn?” he called again. “Are you in there, dear?”

“Eric,” said Mr. Renfield again, this time with more force. “I think you may want to see this.”

Mr. Abernathy turned and saw what Mr. Renfield and his wife were looking at. As soon as he did so he decided that, all things considered, he might rather not have seen it, but by then, of course, it was too late.

There was a shape in the corner of the cellar, rimmed with blue light. It resembled a large, Mrs. Abernathy-shaped balloon, although one that was being filled with water and then jiggled by some unseen force so that it bulged in all the wrong places. In addition, its skin, visible only on its face and hands where they emerged from the now tattered and bloodied cloak, was gray and scaly, and the fingernails of each hand were yellow and hooked.

As they watched, the transformation was completed. A tentacle, its surface covered in sharp suckers that moved like mouths, coiled around the figure’s legs for a moment, and then was absorbed into the main body. The skin became white, the nails went from yellow to painted red, and something that was almost Mrs. Abernathy stood before them. Even Samuel, from where he watched, could see that she wasn’t the same. Mrs. Abernathy had been quite pretty for someone his mum’s age, but now she was more attractive than ever. She seemed to radiate beauty, as though a light had been turned on inside her body and was glowing through her skin. Her eyes were very bright, and some of that blue energy flickered in their depths, like lightning glimpsed in the blackest night.

She was also, Samuel realized, quite terrifying. Power, he thought. She’s full of power.

“Evelyn?” said Mr. Abernathy uncertainly.

The thing that looked like Mrs. Abernathy smiled.

“Evelyn is gone,” she said. Her voice was deeper than Samuel remembered, and made him shiver.

“Well, where is she?” demanded Mr. Abernathy.

The woman raised her right hand and pointed her finger at the glowing circle.

“In there, on the other side of the portal.”

“And what is ‘in there’?” said Mr. Abernathy. To his credit, he was being rather brave when faced with something that was clearly beyond his experience and, indeed, beyond this world.

“In there is . . . Hell,” said the woman.

“Hell?” said Mrs. Renfield, entering the conversation. “Are you sure? It doesn’t sound very likely.” She peered into the hole. “It looks a bit like that place on the moors where your mother lives, Reginald.”

Mr. Renfield took a careful look. “You know, you’re right, it does a bit.”

“Bring Evelyn back,” said Mr. Abernathy, ignoring the Renfields.

“Your wife is gone. I will take her place.”

Mr. Abernathy regarded the thing in the corner.

“What do you want?” asked Mr. Abernathy, who was cleverer than Mr. and Mrs. Renfield, and all the little Renfields, had they been there, put together.

“To open the gates.”

“The gates?” said Mr. Abernathy in puzzlement, then the expression on his face changed. “The gates . . . of Hell?”

“Yes. We have four days to prepare the way.”

“Right,” said Mr. Renfield, “we’re off. Come along, Doris.” He took his wife’s arm and together they began ascending the steps from the basement. “Thanks for an, um, interesting night, Eric. We must do it again sometime.”

Mr. and Mrs. Renfield got as far as the third step when what looked like twin strands of spiderweb flew from the glowing blue hole, wrapped themselves round the waists of the unfortunate pair, then plucked them from the steps and dragged them through the portal. With a puff of foul-smelling smoke, they were gone. The portal grew larger for an instant before the blue rim seemed to disappear entirely.

“Where is it?” shouted Mr. Abernathy. “Where has it gone?”

“It’s still there,” said the woman. “But it’s better that it should remain hidden for now.”

Mr. Abernathy reached toward where the circle had been, and his hand vanished in midair. Quickly he pulled it back again, then held it up before his face. It was coated in a clear, sticky fluid.

“I want my wife back,” he said. “I want the Renfields back.” He reconsidered. “Actually, you can keep the Renfields. I never liked them anyway. I just want Evelyn back. Please.” Mr. Abernathy might not have been fond of his wife, but having her around was easier than being forced to look after himself.

The woman merely shook her head. There were twin flashes of blue behind her, and two large hairy things moved in the shadows of the basement. From where he crouched, Samuel glimpsed black eyes glittering—too many eyes for two people—and some bony, jointed limbs. While Samuel watched, the shapes gradually assumed the forms of Mr. and Mrs. Renfield, although they seemed to have a bit of trouble finding somewhere to store all their legs.

“I won’t help you,” said Mr. Abernathy. “You can’t make me.”

The woman laughed. “We don’t want your help,” she said. “We just want your body.”