The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp 2)

“The Words of Constraint.”

That particular spell went on for half a page. Even on my best days, I was horrible at memorization. I looked over at him.

Ask him, a voice whispered inside my head. Ask and hear his answer!

It didn’t surprise me, hearing the voice. The whispering had been going on for a while, but I had been able to ignore it for the most part. Now it was louder, more insistent. I didn’t wonder whose voice it was. I’d heard it before. It was the voice of Paimon, the voice of the demon king.

I cleared my throat. “I know this whole thing is my fault . . .”

It is thy fault, worthless carcass!

“And probably since I’m the one who screwed things up I should fix them, but wouldn’t it make more sense if you did it?”

Now listen as he abandons thee!

“I mean,” I added when he didn’t say anything, “you already know these spells, right?”

Op Nine didn’t look at me. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

See? Thou art alone. There is no one to help thee.

I rubbed my temples and said, “They’re talking to me. Inside my head. Do you think they know what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t know, Alfred.”

“Because if they do, they know what the plan is and there’s no hope.”

He echoed me, nodding. “No hope.”

“Well, at least this way I’ll never be lonely,” I said, trying to make a joke, but he didn’t laugh.

“I hear them too, Alfred,” he said quietly. “But I do not think we are possessed in the layman’s sense of the word. I believe what we are hearing are our own doubts and fears, amplified tenfold.”

“What the heck does that mean?”

“What we fear,” he said. “Our own voice of despair. The secret gnawing doubts we all have. They turn them upon us.”

Stupid, pathetic, disgusting loser! Dost thou believe we can be overcome by the likes of thee? Before Time was, we have been and shall always be! Who art thou disgusting mound of rotting flesh to challenge our dominion!

The fog was thicker than ever. With no points of reference, it didn’t seem as if we were moving at all.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” I said. “So let’s just pull to the side of the road and wait for the end.”

“Alfred,” he started, and th

en stopped. Something up ahead had caught his attention.

A hole had appeared in the fog, its sides perfectly smooth and round, the opening about twice the width of the car. It looked like the mouth of a tunnel.

Come to us now, carcass. Bring us the Seal.

“They’ve decided to help us,” I said.

He grunted and didn’t say anything. He had put back on the old Op Nine expressionless mask.

“Hit it,” I said, and Op Nine floored the gas.

We hit the tunnel at 230 mph and the fog in the “walls” spun and twisted with our passing. I looked behind us and saw the tunnel collapsing, closing us off.