Daemons Are Forever

He was my uncle Jack, and I would have died rather than disappoint him.

“I can’t stay long,” he said abruptly, scowling fiercely about him in his usual ma

“Only pretty sure?” said Molly. “Now he tells us…”

“It worked fine,” I said. “I’ve put the Bentley into the Armoury for some minor repairs.”

“What? What?” said the Armourer, bristling. “What do you mean, minor repairs? What have you done, Eddie? What have you done to my lovely old Bentley? You crashed it, didn’t you? You crashed the Bentley after I told you I was only loaning it to you!”

“No, I didn’t crash it,” I said calmly. You learn to keep your calm in conversations with the Armourer, on the grounds that he’ll be emotional enough for both of you, and one of you has to be calm and it certainly isn’t going to be him. “I just picked up a few very minor dents and scratches, during a trip through the side dimensions.”

“I’m going back to the Armoury.”

“No, you’re not!” I said quickly. “We have important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters, eh?” the ghost of Jacob said brightly. “That sounds important.”

Jacob tried hard, but he just wasn’t as focused as he used to be. When he lived, or rather existed, in exile in the old chapel around the back of the Hall, he used to sit around quite happily in his ghostly underwear, watching the memories of old television programmes on a set with no insides to it. Most of the family wouldn’t talk to him, but he and I had been good friends since I first sought him out as a child. (Because I knew I wasn’t supposed to.)

Now that he was officially a part of the family again, and had moved back into the Hall, Jacob had made something of an effort to smarten himself up. He still looked older than death, his face full of wrinkles and his bald pate graced with only a few flyaway silver hairs. But he had refined his ectoplasm into a smart tuxedo, even if the material tended more to navy blue than black, and he kept forgetting about the collar. But as a ghost of long standing, or at least a stubborn refusal to lie down, only his concentration held him together. And of late his thoughts had shown a distinct tendency to wander. Which was why every now and again he’d suddenly be wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt over baggy shorts, and a heavy red sash bearing the legend Mortally Challenged. He also left long trails of pale blue ectoplasm trailing on the air behind him when he made sudden movements.

Jacob the ghost was falling apart, body and soul, and he knew it.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms glared at Jacob. He disapproved of the old ghost’s very existence, and didn’t care who knew it.

“Why don’t you find yourself a nice grave and settle down?” he said pointedly. “You know you shouldn’t be here. Family policy on ghosts is very clear. Any ghost that shows up here gets sent on its way sharpish. No exceptions. Otherwise we’d be hip deep in the things by now.”

“I’m exempt,” Jacob said firmly.

“On what grounds?” said the Sarjeant.

“Because I say so, and don’t you bloody forget it. I’m exempt from anything I damned well feel like, on the grounds that I’ll kick anyone’s arse who says otherwise. Being dead is very liberating. You should try it, Sarjeant. Preferably soon.”

“Behave yourself, Jacob,” I said. “Remember, I’ve still got that exorcist on speed dial.”

“We need to talk about the witch’s presence here,” Pe

“No we don’t,” I said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Molly. “Let’s talk about your presence here, Pe

Pe

“Are you going to introduce just anyone you want into the Circle?” said the Sarjeant. “Don’t we get a say in the matter?”

“If you’ve got anyone else in mind, suggest them,” I said. “I’ll take all the help I can get. I’m only ru

“Are you saying you haven’t been happy since you met me?” said Molly.

“You are the only good thing in my life and you know it,” I said. “So stop fishing for compliments.”

“Blow me a kiss right now,” said Molly. “Or I’ll tell everyone where you’ve got a fu

“We need to discuss Jacob’s position in the family,” insisted the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “He’s moved back into his old room in the Hall, the one he used to live in back when he was alive. He frightened the proper occupant so much he ran out screaming, and has refused to go back.”

“I know,” said the Armourer. “We’ve got the poor lad down in the infirmary. I don’t know what you did to him, Jacob, but he still hasn’t stopped twitching. And he can’t go to sleep unless someone holds his hand.”

Jacob sniggered. “He shouldn’t have been playing with himself when I materialised. And I am here because I’m supposed to be here. I like being back in the Hall, if only because it a

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but why are you still here, Jacob? I thought you only hung around as a ghost so you’d be here to help me save the family from the Heart.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Jacob, scowling. His eyes disappeared, leaving only deep, dark pits in his face. “But something is still holding me here. Some force…like an undischarged promise. My job here isn’t over yet, dammit. Something is coming, Eddie. Something good, something bad…something.”

We all waited, but he had nothing else left to say. I decided it was very definitely time to change the subject, and since I wanted to remind everyone that I was in charge, I went with something that had been bugging me for some time. I stared sternly at the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

“What is your name? I can’t keep calling you Sarjeant, and I’m damned if I’ll go back to calling you sir, like when I was a kid.”

“Call me Sarjeant. It’s my title.”

“I could have Molly rip it out of your living brain,” I said. I was bluffing, but he didn’t know that. If the Sarjeant was so determined not to tell me, I wanted to know even more. It had to be something good. The Sarjeant sighed, just a little.

“My name is Cyril.”

Sometimes things are just too good to be true. I think the only thing that kept the whole Circle from collapsing into gales of hysterical laughter was our extensive knowledge of the Sarjeant’s brutality, and that he could summon weapons out of thin air when he felt like it.

“Cyril?” I said happily. “Bloody Cyril? No wonder you grew up to be a thug and a bully, with a name like that. You must have loved your parents.”

“They were fine, upstanding people,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “Now, if I may continue my report on the transgressions of the ghost, Jacob?”

“Oh by all means,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you, Cyril.”

“There have been numerous reports of Jacob haunting the ladies’ showers and changing rooms.”