Part 6

Crispin had been helped back to his apartment much the worse for wear after being encouraged to have a few more drinks and he seemed happy enough face down on his magically-aquired bed. Loud snores sounded out from the human demon and Anar promptly vanished into his own room under the pretence of sleep. Guen swiped a massive paw playfully at his ankles from the panther's favourite spot under his mattress and he coaxed him out with fussy noises. The cat was going to be useful, Hell's security systems and protective measurements had no effect on the Astral creature yet his claws and teeth could render a minion to shreds very easily.

Crispin had already said that Frank Matlock's house was pretty much a fortress, it would have the top level of protection offered by the Underworld's security services seeing as he was a Director. Poor Crispin's dad had lost all his defences thanks to his imminent demotion; Hell liked to let you know when you had messed up. It was all a bit similar to a mafia scheme – you made yourself useful and did as you were told and they looked after you for it. Once you started to cause any problems for them they withdrew that promise of safety pretty damn smartish.

The cat wasn't all he had up his metaphorical sleeve. There was a good reason why it was so difficult to bring in anything from Upstairs like pets and cars and other mortal-bound objects; Hell had no authority over them. The act of signing paperwork in triplicate wasn't just a formality for the filing system, it meant you had agreed to the fine print. Demons loved fine print. They found a deep sense of joy in long drawn-out Terms and Conditions. You wanted to bring it with you? You had to agree to the T's and C's. It would be Bound and Restricted. There were Rules it would abide by whether you liked those rules or not and breaking those rules would be simply impossible. Your pure-bred doberman could come into Hell with you registered as 'Hell-Hound 1134-239-B' but unlike back in the mortal realm it would be unable to roam wherever it pleased, unable to cock a leg up the street lighting and as much as it wanted to it would be unable to bite the postfiend. It would be very confused about all this the poor thing but rules were rules and it would have no choice in the matter. Anar was the proud owner of a great many things that did not follow the Rules.

Once he was satisfied that all was quiet and nobody was still up he crept out, flanked by his trusty feline guardian and he carefully picked up The Bag from its spot on the floor where it had sat all evening. He didn't bother putting the pile of office paperwork back in, after all what was the point? He did take a glance at the photocopied page of the Book of Warlock before placing that back inside, though, as he had been rather excited to have it translated for him even if it hadn't made a lot of sense and probably created more questions than it answered. One day he could tell his uncle all about his adventures down in the land of the dead and how he had made a friend who could read draconish. Hopefully that would be very soon. Bag slung on his shoulder he opened the apartment door and stopped.

“I told you,” Rap said, standing to one side of the door out in the communal hallway.

“Yeah, you were right. He's up to something,” the big dinosaur sniffed.

Anar sagged, “am I really that predictable?”

They both nodded.

“You must think we're daft,” Rap laughed, “now where are we going?”

“There could be trouble...”

“Mate, you are nothing BUT trouble! We come anyway. So, where are we going?

“Matlock's place. I'm going to get that virus disk back for Crisp.”

Rave looked confused, “why are you helping that wet blanket?” he asked. “He couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. He's absolutely useless.”

Anar smiled, “exactly! He needs me. Do you not remember the whole conversation about his dad's demotion, the demotion that's scheduled for Monday morning?”

A realisation dawned, “ohhh, is that what all this fuss is about? Honestly some people get upset over the smallest things!” Rave shook his long dark green head.

“Yeah, well Crisp's dad is upset over it enough to be bloody thankful when I turn this all around for him by giving him back the disk so he can present it to the Directors and earn some Brownie points instead of getting pushed down into the basement and forgotten about.”

“Ok, I'm all caught up now, let's go and... what are we doing exactly?”

Anar and Rap gave each other a dispairing look and headed down the many stairs to the front door.

“Hey, hey! Wait! Wait for me,” Rave bound down and shoved his way out into the night chill, “I know what's going to happen next and I'm not having it,” he growled, “it's Big Ear's turn on the back seat!” Rave yanked open the Ferrari's door and shoved his rather surprised aardvarkian friend onto the rear bench that served as a seat in the fancy sports car. The raptor landed at the driver's wheel with a thud and slammed the door.

“It's my flipping car!” Anar protested, his voice muffled as he was folded in half trying to get himself the right way up in a space the size of a postage stamp. He knew he shouldn't have let him have the sofa, the power had clearly gone to his head! “Don't you dare turn that key!”

The vehicle lurched forward, engine screaming, the dash lighting up as Rave tapped at buttons. “I'm gonna do donuts,” he squealed, grabbing at the handbrake.

Rap clapped his hands in agreement.

The red Ferrari spun giddily upon the sand, leaving trails.

“You know this runs on dead dinosaurs? It'll run on you when I'm finished with you...” but his words were drowned out by revving engine and Fatboy Slim booming through the speakers.

Eventually Rave got bored of playing and they actually set off for the Ridge and the posh fancy well-guarded abode of one Frank Matlock.

They came to a slow stop just at the turn-off for the gated residences. The music was turned down and the dinosaurs turned to their mammalian friend who was still not quite upright and did not look happy, “ok, so, for real. What exactly are we doing? Like we know we're getting a disk but... how?”

“I am going to kill you...”

Rap rolled his eyes, “yes dear, but before you do that, how about we do this thing that's so important to you? Yes? Now, I can see the glow of those protective wards from here, Anar, we can't just knock on his door and ask nicely. There's runes and sigils all over the place.”

“I am aware.” Anar kicked out his feet and finally found himself in some sort of comfortable sitting position. He blew at his hair which was dangling down scruffily. “I don't just wing everything you know. We're going to drive through the gates, you're going to take on whatever kind of security force he's got working for him and I'm going to sneak in and turn the place over. Easy. See? A plan.”

Rave frowned, “I don't like plans, they never work. But that was a very vague plan indeed so I suppose I can go with it. Now, when you say we're going to drive through the gates...”

It was a cool and quiet night. Well, as cool as Hell can get anyway. The glow from the pit was dim and the roar of the generators a mere gentle background hum. Being the Underworld it was wise to be prepared for any amount of trouble at any time but after ages untold of relative peace and order in the necropolis security really wasn't the priority that it should have been. A few shielding charms here and there, a protective rune or two and maybe a curse for good measure was all the reassurance that a demon needed to sleep soundly in their massive beds at night. The recent incident of Natural Magic had sparked paranoia however and a few more Hell Hounds were registered to patrol residential grounds just in case but just as suddenly as the excitement had appeared it had gone again. There was even rumours that it had been a false alarm, or a mere testing of the system.

Frank Matlock was sure that something had happened out of the ordinary as his well-paid ruffians who he had sent to keep the Huttgart brat out of his hair hadn't come back. All he had to do was sit tight until Monday morning's Board meeting and his goals would finally be achieved. He never could stand that Jez fella – oh sure he'd been amiable enough to him when they had been on the Trojan Horse project together. He needed the demon's coding know-how. But he was such an insufferable git. Always boasting about something or other. It was a good thing they were all such wimps in that family. He'd made sure to take extra precautionary measures just in case he did get any funny ideas involving revenge. The runes on the front gate had been refreshed, extra Ressurected's had been posted to guard the grounds and no amount of tomfoolery was going to allow anyone access to his private space.

So he was rather alarmed when he was awoken by the almighty crash outside of a car ploughing straight through his gate.

The Ferrari was in a right state as it skidded round the water fountain still trailing glowing pieces of metalwork and scattering bricks this way and that. The Resurrecteds wandering about the place immediately swarmed down to the invading vehicle ready to pick apart whatever was inside. Unfortunately for them, that was Rap and Rave.

There were more than just Demons residing in the Underworld. After all, every society (even an undead one) needed a lowly workforce to carry out the menial chores that nobody else wanted to do. Overworked, underpaid and underappreciated, 'Ressurrected' was simply a fancy way of saying 'zombie' and the shambling creaky creatures were handy to have around; they never needed feeding or rest. They would steadfastly carry out commands without break or complaint. Wonderful for security positions due to an inability to feel boredom. Notoriously tricky to dispatch too, parts simply broke off and they carried on regardless. Minions really did not like the smelly creepy things, treating them poorly whenever opportunity arose and in return they were not very loyal to their demonic overlords.

As Anar made a dash for the back door his dinosaur friends acted as decoys and led Matlock's security team away from the house, their shambling and groans following them out to the lawn while a sparkling starry shadow bound into view. He slid into the unlit hallway as feline growls filled the air.

Well, that had gone smoothly. The Ferrari was probably not going to be on speaking terms with him after all that damage to the front wing and rear panel but he could live with that. The protective rune on the metalwork had been ineffective as predicted but had still managed to melt some of the paintwork as they'd hit it. He wondered if his uncle would be happy to foot the bill when they got back. He was so close! This was it. Fort Matlock. And if the daft thieving bugger had any sense he'd have scarpered by now but you couldn't guarantee a Demon had the sense they were born with could you? He reached inside The Bag and pulled out a cricket bat. If in doubt blunt trauma was the way to go. He needed to find the home office; maybe the disk would be stashed away in a filing cabinet or even a safe. Possibly a hexed chest if Matlock was old school. One flimsy floppy disk and his nightmare would come to an end. One disk full of virus code and the mortal realm's nightmare would begin. But if he was Upstairs he could at least do something about it, if his secondary plan failed. The secondary plan that he wasn't even daring to think about too deeply at this point. He still had to pull this one off. His heart thudded in his chest. The house was silent. All the noise was outside as he crept around on thick luxury carpet. So many rooms, each the size of a single flat back home. Filled with the kind of junk bought purely for showing off and fancy upholstery that nobody ever sat on. Anar's ears were long. They were sensitive. They strained for the merest hint of movement within the walls. His eyes glowed dully, illuminating his way around the gloomy residence. Through a diamond-paned window he could see Rap leading the Resurrecteds in yoga while Guen played sheepdog, slinking around the gathered creatures to keep them all together. It would have been a hilarious sight and he would have watched longer if not for a distant keening wail that signalled the impending arrival of the real Infernal Security Services. These would not be zombies with bits of missing limb – these would be Law Enforcement Wraiths permitted in the use of enchanted weaponry and Anar did not want to have to deal with them. They were the big boys. They had mortal machines and mortal firepower and they were trigger-happy enough to use them without good reason.

He should have known it would have been like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But he did have luck on his side, if only it would hurry up. He closed his eyes and tried to connect with his gut feelings. There was no time to get it wrong. Like searching for a lost item that you've turned your room inside out trying to find - it was only upon ultimately giving up that your eyes would rest upon its obvious location. He darted into the corridor and through the door to the left. He mustn't think, just do. If you thought about where to look it wouldn't work, all it took was a blank mind and a fall of the hand.

The sirens blared louder. They were drawing close. His grey hand grabbed at an ornate trinket box. Perfectly disk sized. A keyhole to the front. Dare he let his luck lead him to the key? Did he have time?

Footsteps descended the stairs. The soft thump thump of a tail following behind. Matlock was coming to greet the Wraiths. Anar's friends were still outside doing goodness only knows what with the Ressurecteds. Even if he did find the key he had to bundle everyone back in the Ferrari and miraculously evade the Enforcement vehicles. A swishing flash of blue swept around the room. No time. They were here. He whirled round to scurry out of the hallway and a shadow fell across him.

“Who the bloody Hell are you?!” Matlock demanded. Whoever he had been expecting, Anar was not them.

“Tooth fairy!” and with a swing the cricket bat clonked the fiend around his ugly head and he stumbled backwards clutching his skull as Anar fled outside to round up Rap and Rave. Guen could vanish, he was fine, but they weren't so lucky. He waved and hollered madly to get the attention of the dumb dinosaurs. Lights had come on in the neighboring houses as nosey Demons craned their saggy necks to get a good peek at the free entertainment.

“We don't have time for this!” Anar stressed as the Ferrari limped back around from the rear looking remarkably sulky for a slab of metal.

Enforcement Range Rovers rolled through where the gate would have been if they'd not obliterated it earlier and came to a halt. He could leave them. He could jump in the driver's seat and drive off without them. If he was a real Demon he'd be gone already. Why did Rap have to do these things? Probably took pity on the undead workers in his misguided innocence and decided a bit of stretching was just what their rotting corpses needed to make them feel like new fiends. He gave a groan of long-suffering, pulled open the red vented door and turned the key to regain manual control. Gripping the wheel he drove over the nice stripey lawn leaving narrow tyre tracks and spinning mud everywhere to retrieve his friends who were only just catching up to recent events.

“In! In!” he yelled as they ducked gunfire from real genuine firearms that pinged off the already battered Italian sports car.

Rave made no grumbles about being folded up in the back and Rap took hold of the pretty box as Anar drove straight at the Wraiths gritting his teeth. He could see the blue glowing aura of their permitted powers and in slow motion he watched them lower their guns and raise their ghostly hands. Just as he had flung pool tables, they could fling the car with them in it and leave them as mush. He held his breath and shut his eyes, hard. He could hear Rap panicking and Rave loudly declaring Anar to be a few digestives short of a biscuit tin.

The Ferrari was giving him an itemised bill for repair. A very long itemised bill. A very expensive itemised bill.

Everything turned blue. His blood didn't just bubble it became a boiling liquid within his veins.

All they left behind were two bright blue burning tyre tracks and some very surprised looking Law Enforcement Wraiths. Well, they'd found their rogue Demon all right. Behind them in the city the Natural Magic-detecting sirens blared.

Anar's hands trembled upon the wheel as they came to a stop outside the high rise tower block. Rap patted him on the shoulder soothingly, also visibly shook. “I'll make us a nice cup of tea,” he said, more to himself than anyone.

“Are we dead?” Rave grumbled from the back. “I saw a light. My life flashed before my eyes. It was very disappointing.”

“We're fine, dear. We're home. Come on...”

Anar waited for Rap to unfold his partner from the back of the car and sucked madly on a Marlboro while he was at it. That was close! You knew shit was serious when you had the Wraiths on your heels. He'd battered Matlock with a cricket bat, used his magic in front of law enforcement and restole a stolen item. At least his luck had come in useful. If the box did contain the missing disk. If not... no it wasn't worth contemplating. And he mustn't worry about the keyhole and absence of key, neither. That was tomorrow's problem. Rave held out a claw and Anar offered the half empty pack of cigarettes. It was the least he could do after what Rave had done for him. They trod the many steps back to the apartment and the kettle.

Rap brewed up herbal tea which was utterly revolting but Anar had no energy left to object. He sat on his new recliner chair cradling it in his hands with his eyes fixed upon the pretty box. His mind replaying recent events over and over. It was now so late that it was early and a faint glow peeped at the window from the distant light. It wasn't real sunshine. It was all a sham. A trick. The same with time; it ticked and it tocked but it didn't really exist Downstairs. The computers synched with the mortal realm, they all carried out their duties and they worked their contract time but when it was all finished they would reappear without having aged at all physically. It was one of the biggest bonuses of it all. Anar's contract had been forcefully extended to twenty years and twenty years would indeed pass by Upstairs but once his contract had a big 'fulfilled' stamp on it and he was waved through the Abyssal gate he would lose his demonic appearance and be the fresh-faced nineteen year old that had just passed his exams. He could properly enjoy being a young adult. There was so much he wanted to do! Spending time under the real sun was just one of those things. Working for his uncle was another. One day he would be running Warlock Court and he would have the Book of Warlock translated and maybe some of the mysteries of his heritage would be solved. It would be nice to round up the last of the Nightmares too, wherever they may be hiding.

A warm dampness at his lap caused him to fling his tired eyes open and for a moment he honestly thought he'd gone and pissed himself before realising that, no, he wasn't desperate for a toilet break, he'd just nodded off and spilt some of the foul plant tea that Rap had assured him would combat free radicals and burn stomach fat. Yeah, right. Time for bed. If they came for him while he slept, he'd had a good run. He was too tired to perform any more magic today, they could take him away and pull his fingernails out one by one after he'd passed out accordingly.

“Coo-ee!”

Anar was fast asleep, his snout pushed into his pillow causing him to snore noisily.

Crispin awkwardly hopped from one foot to the other. It was normal to want a lie-in, but lunchtime was pushing it, even for a Demon. He wanted to wake him but didn't want to face the consequences. Anar had said he wanted to help his dad, wanted to get back the stolen disk but time was getting on and all Anar had actually done was drink beer and lounge around. Not that there was anything wrong wth those activities on any other day. Maybe he could simply wave his hand around and magic the disk back? Yeah. Could be possible. Anything was possible with that kanga- aardvark. Including it all being a massive wind-up. Troublemakers couldn't be trusted and Demons most certainly couldn't be trusted. It was an exceptionally untrustworthy combination. It was only because Anar had gone and riled up the Enforcement department enough to get himself (albeit anonymously) on the news and brought Crispin to his secret abode that he reserved hope that Anar would actually do as he'd offered. Otherwise he'd be certain that he'd been led down the garden path.

He kicked the bedframe. It didn't move. It did however hurt his foot and he yelped, causing Anar's long ears to shoot up and his curious friend mumbled something about being ready to die.

“You want coffee, mate? Yeah? Get you some coffee and start the day?” he asked carefully in hushed tones.

The grunts that followed sounded as good as a 'yes' and Crispin went into the kitchen where the magical cat was curled up by the refridgerator. Everyone was sleeping in today! The toothy lizards weren't around neither. He politely asked Guen to move and was met with a beady yellow eye. Anar just bossed it about but then Anar tried to boss everything about. It worked for the most part. Crispin wrung his hands wretchedly. Black coffee it was then.

He placed it down on the new coffee table and contemplated sitting on Rave's sofa. Thinking better of it he sat on one of the recliners and gazed out the window at the stretching wasteland. Now, don't mention Anar's father, be nice but forceful, don't make him mad. Just say 'hey mate, what about this idea of yours then?' or 'what's your brilliant plan to get us out of the doo-doo?' if you're feeling brave you could even threaten to tell Rave about the furniture and where it really came from. No, don't do that. Anar will feed you to the cat.

“Morning.”

“Actually it's technically afternoon.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Morning,” Crispin gulped. “So, mate. Pal. Buddy. Me ole mucker-”

“You talk too much,” Anar rumbled slurping the hot caffeinated beverage gratefully. He didn't seem to mind the lack of cow juice.

Crispin fidgeted. “You said something about getting my dad's disk back? You know – the disk with his masterpiece on that is the culmination of his life's work and will secure him a place in the inner circle until the Apocalypse?”

“Mmm, that disk. Yeah.”

“So I was just wondering, purely out of interest and with no pressure at all whatsoever mind you, I was wondering when you were planning on doing that? As it's Saturday lunchtime,” Crispin coughed, twiddling his thumbs, “and we need it before Monday.”

He shrunk back at the aardvark Demon's glare. He gulped again. It was difficult being a coward. “Sorry,” he squeaked.

Anar picked up a square trinket box from in front of him and turned it round in his large grey hands. It sparkled and glittered with tiny gemstones that may or may not be genuine. It had thin bands of metal wound round it like trailing ivy in a pretty pattern. It absolutely did not look like the sort of thing that Anar owned. Unless it was a magic trinket box that could turn you invisible or some shit. He gave it a shake and it rattled. “Did I ever tell you about my luck?” he asked.

Crispin shook his head. If he had, he'd forgotten already. But then this last week had been the most eventful in his short life so far. Couldn't remember everything.

“Whatever had happened to my ancient ancestor on that battlefield with Nisgarant left some unusual traits behind that crop up in the family from time to time. I don't just have a hidden magical power, I have luck too. Things- people even- that I need or need me gravitate towards me. It's not coincidence that you just happened to be put under my care on Floor twenty two. It's fate. Destiny. I was sat with you waiting for you to reveal your purpose. I'm not about to let you down, and you know why? Because I'd be letting myself down too. I've got the rest of my mortal life riding on that disk. And I think it's in here.”

Crispin sat a moment. He wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean exactly, 'think it's in here'. It either is or it isn't. It wasn't Schrodingers disk. He wanted to insist that Anar open it right there and then. The hope was almost too much. The look on his friends face wasn't giving him complete confidence though.

“I broke into Matlock's house last night while you were busy dreaming. It was... eventful. I didn't have a lot of time and I let my luck guide me. It led me to this.” He turned it over again. “It's got a keyhole but I'm not convinced it has a key.”

“Eh?” Of all the wacky things his new pal had spouted, that seemed the most cuckoo yet. “Wave your hands about!” Crispin hissed impatiently. “Do your... stuff.”

Anar shook his long grey head, “it looks too innocent. You don't just put a vital item in a dainty case that a screwdriver could prise apart or a burst of magic could overcome. You yourself stressed how important it was.”

“It has a keyhole! Of course it needs a key. You could – could pick it! If you don't want to use your magic,” he was beginning to lose his cool now, regardless of how much Anar intimidated him.

Anar frowned and placed the box back down again. “I know I didn't pay all that much attention in class at Holy College but something about this is ringing bells.”

Crispin grabbed at it and with a sudden pull found himself on his stomach on the rug with a knee in his back.

“You're exactly the sort of dimwitted dunce that a trick like this would fool, you know that? You ever heard of 'mimics'?” Anar growled as his friend stammered beneath him. “Matlock's really going to just put that disk in a little box on a desk in his office without a care in the world? You ever been hexed? Cursed? Hmm? It's time you started treating Hell with the contempt it deserves. You trust nobody and nothing. Not even me! I certainly don't trust you. You're a mate, and I've got your back; quite literally right now... but that doesn't mean I'm not keeping one eye on you. If your dad's virus is in there I'm not giving it back until that appointment has been scheduled are we clear? You are not touching that box! Fuck knows what could happen if you do. Absolute idiot!”

“He's in good company, then,” Rave said brightly, sitting down on his comfy sofa completely unfazed by what was going on. “Don't mind me,” he grinned toothily, “as you were.”

Rap trotted to the bathroom in a towel, waving as he went by.

“I've lost my thread now...”

“I'm not touching the box. It could be a mimic,” Crispin's voice was muffled by rug fibres.

“Right. Yeah. So sit your ass down and let me work it out.” Anar got up and pulled his human pal to his feet.

“What's a mimic?” he asked, rubbing his back with a wince.

“Monsters disguised as treasure chests normally,” Anar explained draining his cup. “Like I say, Matlock's not going to risk losing an item like that. It's going to be well protected and the flimsy box it's in is a ruse. If it is the item inside that we think it is, and I'd rather treat it like an unexploded bomb and find it's harmless than to zap it with my power and find that it absolutely isn't.”

Crispin looked sheepish, “you gotta point, yeah. Hell really is all tricks and backstabbing huh?”

Rave laughed, “are you only just working that out? Blimey.”

Crispin nodded. Anar really had taught him so much in such a short time. He would have grabbed the box and tried to smash it on the table or prise his long nail into the lock or break the hinge without a second thought. Hexes, curses, monsters... all things he was aware of but Hell filled you with a sense of security with its rules and Enforcements and limitations and familiar daily routines until you blundered along in a vegetative mental state that left you vulnerable to the untold terrors that lurked within. He exhaled. Anar had straight up told him to his face that he shouldn't trust him, but right now what choice did he have? He sat and flicked through a tarot deck that presumably belonged to Rap to pass the time while Anar continued to stare at the mysteriously innocent-looking box some more. It could be a long afternoon indeed.