The Ash Murders. Edmund Glasby
wrong people and became a leading occultist, a disciple of the Dark Arts. He must’ve sold his very soul to Pazuzu in order to become a conduit for the efreeti. Speaking of which—” Smith turned his gaze to one side as the vengeful, evil spirit reappeared on the edge of the circle. With a savage cry it smote its weapon off some kind of invisible, unyielding, mystical barrier.
Sparks flew as it hacked down again and again.
For a moment, Dryer once more found himself mentally wrestling with the reality of all of this. It was absolutely insane, his pragmatic, rational mind shrieked at him. It had to be. He closed his eyes, willing the ghastly vision to fade away, but when he opened them, it was still there.
The efreeti, obviously reaching the conclusion that savagery and brute force would not bring down the barrier, had now resorted to making foul gestures that were directed at them. It seemed to be relishing in the fact that it had them trapped.
“Why doesn’t it just set the room on fire? Burn everything around us?” asked Dryer.
“It can’t. As yet, it lacks a true physicality. It’s unable to interact directly with the real world unless via another form of magical power. The Pazuzu heads, this protective circle or my door guardian, for example. According to the research I’ve done over the years, this is why it is specifically after the heads. I believe that once it has ‘reclaimed’ all of them, by immolating those who own them, it will be able to assume a true physical presence. This would spell utter disaster. It would enable the Daemon God to reawaken from the imprisonment the ancient Babylonian priests forced upon Him. Chaos and destruction would spread over the world on an unprecedented level. And yet...maybe that is the only way of ultimately defeating it.”
“What do you mean?” asked Harris. “We can’t allow it to—”
“My old friend, it may be our only means of imprisoning it once more.”
“So what can we do?” asked Harris, concernedly. There was fear stamped across his face. “We’re cursed with these damned heads. No matter how many times I’ve tried, I just can’t get rid of it. If only that Arab fool hadn’t stolen them in the first place.”
“We were all guilty of greed, back then. One can’t just lay the blame on him. We all took our share of the heads, knowing full well they were archaeological relics. Admittedly, we only took one each, unlike some of the others. It was Weidenreich who ultimately deceived us all.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” shouted Dryer. “Just how the hell are we going to escape? Can’t your djinn or whatever it is do something?” He cast a curious eye at the tall, silent figure. It had stood, motionless, like a statue, throughout their time in the circle. It was clear to him that there was a considerable amount of turbulent history between all three of them; Smith, Harris, and the German. Dark deeds had been done and darker promises and oaths broken, of that he had little doubt, but ruminating over the past was not going to get them out of this problem.
“I’ve had another idea,” said Smith, stroking his goatee. He gave Harris a firm but friendly pat on the shoulder. “What I do now I do in the hope that it will save both you and the Inspector.” Before the other could make offer any resistance, he shouted something to the djinn. Instantly, the tall entity vanished.
“What are you doing?” cried Harris.
Grasping his talisman, Smith, ignoring the protestations of the others, stepped outside the circle.
Dryer stared in shock and disbelief as the efreeti moved to intercept Smith. It seemed to grow in stature, becoming a flame-wreathed shadow that reared over the man, its vicious weapon raised in readiness to strike, to bring those lethal blades snapping shut.
And then, with a sharp tug, Smith broke the chain that held the Seal of Solomon and dashed it to the floor.
What happened next was to remain with Dryer for the rest of his life. For in that instant, the efreeti did bring the twin blades together, scissoring them shut with a terrible finality. Accompanied by a thick jet of blood, and a horrified scream from Harris, Smith’s head was lopped off and went spiralling into the air. It landed with a sickening thud on the floor. And then, the dark shadow seemed to engulf its victim, transforming the headless body, which still stood upright, into a blazing pillar of fire, a human candle.
Like some bizarre flaming sacrificial effigy, Smith’s body remained standing as the flames turned from red to deep orange to green and then blue. This was a mystical fire, heatless; even as Dryer stared fixedly, he was startled to see that Smith’s arms were still moving, weaving strange patterns in the air.
A dense, deep blue cloud seemed to gather around. The cloud became a fog. There came an unearthly scream and the room was suddenly filled with an appalling stench like that of a corrupt, cremated soul.
Through the cloud, Dryer saw the headless body crumble. One moment it was there, the next it just seemed to disintegrate. The cloud dissipated. And in that instant, there was an almost tangible reduction in air pressure and he knew that the power of the magic circle had also gone. All that remained of Smith was now a heap of slightly glowing embers. Resting atop them was one of the fused, molten, bronze heads.
There was no sign of the efreeti.
“What? What happened?” asked Dryer, eyes staring wildly from his head. Everything seemed so terribly fantastic, nightmarish. There was a whirling, raging chaos within his brain that threatened to pull him apart. He grasped his head in his hands and with wooden steps staggered from the circle.
“Be not alarmed.”
Dryer and Harris turned. The voice had come from Smith’s severed head, which now lay in the centre of a pool of dark blood, which had stained the thick carpet. There was a bright blue intensity in the eyes.
“The efreeti is bound once more. By permitting the djinn to possess me I have been able to contain it, force it back to the realm from which such beings come. Alas, I can feel my power waning. Farewell, Doctor Harris, my friend...and goodbye to you too, Inspector.” The bright sparkle in the eyes dwindled and then went out as though extinguished.
“I...I don’t—” Dryer stumbled to one side, managed to support himself on a cabinet.
Harris reached into his pocket and removed the one remaining Pazuzu head. He hesitated for a moment, examining it once more as though noting something strange about it. It was as he was doing so that it began to melt, the bronze flowing like super-heated wax despite the fact that it emitted no heat. The liquid bronze became rivulets that ran between his fingers before dripping to the carpet and disappearing, signalling that the thirty-year curse was finally over.
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