The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls by F E Higgins Page B

would have died
if Folly had not come to his rescue.
    Vincent was annoyed with himself when he realized that he had allowed the Puca lights to distract him again and that Folly’s manuslantern was no longer visible. Without her to guide him,
he was now in the dark. The moon was merely a smiling sliver at this stage in its cycle and the stars shed poor light on the treacherous marsh. He dug in his pocket for his own light, but before he
knew what was happening something solid pushed hard against the flat of his back and he staggered forward on to his knees. An area of the soggy ground in front of him lit up and when he raised his
head he recognized the cut of Folly’s black leather coat and her heavy-soled boots.
    ‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘No need for all that.’
    ‘I thought it was you,’ she said coolly. ‘Why are you following me?’ She held out a hand and helped him up. He brushed down his cloak, trying to think of an excuse, then
thought, Why bother?
    ‘I could ask you a few questions too. Where are you going? And why are you on your own? What about the Pluriba?’
    ‘I have my Blivet,’ she said simply. ‘And that is why I came alone. You don’t have a good enough weapon. Or the experience.’
    The last comment rankled but Vincent held his tongue. He was beginning to understand how to win Folly round and it wasn’t with temper outbursts. ‘Are you going to see
Axel?’
    Folly didn’t answer.
    ‘You told me that once a Lurid has been returned to its resting place it can’t be summoned or embodied again. Was that a lie?’
    Folly’s expression was as impenetrable as ever. ‘I told you what I thought was true at the time.’
    ‘And now?’
    ‘As usual in this game, things aren’t as simple as I thought. It’s all to do with the blood connection. Axel is my brother, which means there are some things I can make his
Lurid do that others can’t. But tonight I just want to invoke him, to talk to him. It might not come to anything. Are you sure you want to see him again?’
    ‘Can he leave the pit?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then I’ll come with you.’
    ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘I know it’ll do nany good trying to stop you. But be prepared . . . for anything.’
    Vincent couldn’t tell whether or not she was pleased to have him along. ‘You mean more Pluriba?’
    ‘Who knows?’
    Folly took off at a brisk pace and Vincent fell into step at her side. ‘So you do have one.’
    ‘One what?’
    ‘A bone from Axel. You need one to summon him.’
    ‘I’m not summoning him; I told you, I’m invoking him. There’s a difference. And I don’t need a bone for that, just a simple incantation and a few drops of my own
blood.’
    They had reached the edge of the Tar Pit now and Folly stopped and took a deep breath. One good thing had come of the fire: the poisonous gases had been burned off. For now the atmosphere was
breathable, though hardly pleasant, without a gas mask.
    Vincent, who hadn’t been to the Tar Pit since the Ritual of Appeasement and the raging inferno that had taken hold of the lake and shore, whistled softly. ‘Domne, what a
mess!’
    The ground was black with ash. The salt pillars stood like charred tree trunks. The tar itself was rapidly thickening with the change in the weather. It still bubbled and popped like a black
porridge, but the oily skin that stretched across its surface was less giving. Here and there plumes of smoke swirled upward and drifted to join the mist over the lake. The ubiquitous Lurids,
however, were as reliable as ever; out on the centre of the tar they huddled in a luminous mass droning monotonously.
    ‘They don’t come over these days,’ said Folly. ‘It’s as if they are scared.’
    Vincent found it hard to believe that these wailing Superents could be scared. ‘Of us?’
    Folly shook her head grimly. ‘Not us, but someone, something.’
    She stood with her feet firmly planted on the blackened shore.
    ‘My brother the murderer,’ she said