“I am Namalya,” replied the corpse, speaking in a woman’s voice. “And I am punished unjustly. Even now the poor boy’s family is searching for the body of their son. How they wail and cry and gnash their teeth! They shall curse your name forever, David Menlo. You desecrate the dead!”
The sorcerer was unmoved.
“My friend was desecrated when you possessed him. And you lie. Namalya is not your name.” Pivoting upon his heel, David made to strike the bell. With a hiss, Rolf’s corpse rushed forward, stopping only at the circle’s edge. Its voice became a deafening baritone.
“I AM MOLOCH!” it bellowed. “Great Moloch, swollen with the blood of innocents!”
When the corpse’s eyes went white and blank, David actually laughed.
“This is not my first summoning,” he said, shaking his head wearily. “Do you think to frighten us with carnival tricks? You are small in power but great in mischief. Your actions have caused my friend’s death. I will have your name and the truth or I will break you.”
The corpse swiveled its head toward Max and spoke in Rolf’s own voice, as though the boy’s vocal cords had not been severed by Umbra’s spear. “It is you who are to blame for my death. If you had only surrendered to the Atropos, none of this would have happened. What will you tell my mother, Max? Will you tell her that I had to die so you might live?”
In his heart, Max knew there was truth in the demon’s words. He had not struck the blow that killed Rolf Luger, but he might as well have. His classmate was dead because of him. His grief must have shown, for the demon smiled and turned its attention to Miss Boon.
“We have your man,” he sniggered. “He cries out for a merciful death, but we shall not give it to him. Have you ever seen someone on the rack? Your man is strong, but no one is that strong.…”
Miss Boon remained silent, but her hands were shaking, worrying at the ends of her sleeves.
“You can help him,” the demon hissed. “This son of the Sidh is all that stands between you and the one you desire. All your life, you feared that you’d never experience love, Hazel Benson Boon. You thought your books would make you happy, but there you sit with a hollow heart in a scholar’s robes. Do not throw away your only chance at happiness.…”
“David,” warned Ms. Richter. “I think you must silence him.”
“You have nothing to fear, Gabrielle Richter,” cackled the demon, flicking his eyes to her. “I know better than to think I can move one so cold as you. After Rowan recruited you away from your nothing life in that nothing town, you never went back, did you? Naturally, you were ashamed of your father’s drinking and the way decent folk scorned your mother. A pity they died in that fire before you got a chance to say goodbye. I’m sure you were the last thing on their minds, beautiful and brilliant Gabrielle who went off to a something life in a something town and never looked back. I’m sure they’d be proud. I know you must be.…”
“Are you going to silence this thing, or must I?” Ms. Richter snapped, glaring at David. Her voice was steel, but Max saw that her eyes were bright with tears. Reaching over, he took her hand. She gripped it fiercely and took Miss Boon’s in turn. David appeared unmoved by her plea. Within the circle, Rolf’s corpse had climbed back atop the table where it sat idly dangling its legs and leering at them.
“Your name,” David commanded, thoughtfully examining the bell. “I won’t ask nicely again.”
“We shall have each of you,” the demon hissed, speaking with many voices. “Koukerros for all and for all a good night!”
“As you will,” said David, marching swiftly toward the circle.
The corpse’s smile faded. “H-haven’t you forgotten your little bell?”
“You had your chance.” David pointed at the circle. “Sol Invictus.”
Unconquerable sun. It had been the motto of Solas, the ancient school of magic that Astaroth had broken long ago. As soon as David said the words, the powder that Mina had sprinkled about the circle burst into purple-blue flames. With a shriek, Rolf’s corpse flipped over onto the table, screeching and scrabbling madly at the wood as though the circle’s flames were coursing through every bone and nerve.
“Graeling!” it screamed in a little girl’s voice. “I am called Graeling!”
“A lie,” replied David, folding his arms.
The demon moaned and writhed, its eyes going black. When next it spoke, Max realized that Graeling’s voice had been stripped from the chorus. So had the voices of Moloch and Namalya. The corpse spun around, staring at David as though every vein and capillary would burst.
“I am Legion,” it panted, hugging itself and rocking while the circle’s flames blazed with sparking, phosphorescent intensity. “Legion with a thousand faces, a million faces …”
The sorcerer shook his head and the demon sobbed pitiably. The rest of the names came quickly. When David declared them false, the corresponding voice was stripped away. Soon, only one voice remained—the wheezing rasp of an old man.
“Ghöllah is my name. What is it you wish to know?”
The flames died away, retreating into the floor so that they shimmered like violet coals within the etched designs. Max sat forward.
“Are there other assassins at Rowan?” inquired David.
“Of course.”
“Who are they?”
“I do not know.” The corpse grinned maliciously at Max. “I was summoned and I served. I may have failed, but the Atropos will not. The son of the Sidh will not escape them.”
“Where are William Cooper and Ben Polk?” asked David.
“I do not know.” The demon shrugged. “My summoner only gave me the scarred man’s knife.”
Miss Boon stood. “S-so you never saw William on the rack,” she stammered. “It was just a lie.”
“If you like,” the demon chuckled. “I’ve seen the rack.”
“Why did they arm you with William Cooper’s blade?” asked David.
“It is the kris of Mpu Gandring,” replied the demon. “Its blade is accursed. My masters fear no ordinary weapon can slay the Sidh prince.”
David paused at this. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Do the Atropos know Max’s geis?” he asked softly.
“No,” replied the demon. “But they are searching, scrying, lying, pining for it. They care not whether they slay the Hound of Rowan or he slays himself. They care only that he dies.”
“What were the terms of your service to the Atropos?” asked David.
“Nothing fancy,” the demon tittered. “Ghöllah was to get close to Sidh boy and murder him. If Ghöllah succeeds, he is free. If he fails, he must report back.”
“Where specifically?”
“A grotto,” the demon hissed. “A grotto in the sea cliffs north of Rowan’s outer walls. A day’s ride. Last question, vile sorcerer, before our bargain is fulfilled.”
“Certainly,” said David. “Can you detect if another being is possessed?”
“Of course we know our own,” the demon scoffed. “Mortal flesh is a flimsy cloak.”
“Excellent,” said David, walking over to a bookcase and opening a carved wooden box upon its topmost shelf. Fishing inside, he selected a silver ring. Rolf’s corpse watched him, its eyes dark and mistrustful. When the sorcerer returned, the demon hissed and retreated to the table’s edge.
“You shall warn my friend of peril,” said David, holding up the ring. “For seven years, you shall inhabit this and warm its metal to a scald whenever you detect your own kind nearby. You shall serve faithfully and true. In seven years, your service shall end and you will be free to go. I give you Solomon’s Pledge. The choice is yours, Ghöllah—you can wear silver for seven years or a pig of iron for all eternity.”