Delirium (London Psychic) by J.F. Penn

Author:J.F. Penn [Penn, J.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-07-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Blake ran along the track towards the main road, the Galdrabók heavy in his coat pocket. He needed to get away from the house, from the creatures that dragged his father's soul down to Hell, from his own memories of abuse. Part of him knew he should stay and comfort his mother, be the son she needed, but he couldn't face her perfect memory of the man he now knew as tainted. The images of dark creatures gnawing at his father's body kept looping round his mind and the edge of desperation was making him crazy. The need to drink was overwhelming, and Blake clenched his fists to hold back the anxiety the craving brought with it.

He walked towards the nearest town, keeping his thumb out as cars passed. Rain began to drizzle down and soon a car stopped.

"You alright, son?" The man was older than Magnus had been, his eyes a welcoming warm brown. "Not a great night to be hitching. Where you going?"

"Train station, if that's OK."

It wasn't far and the man seemed happy to chat with nothing more than a few grunts from Blake in return. At the station, Blake waved the man goodbye and looked at the ticket office, the entrance almost obscured by the now-pouring rain. In Britain, the nearest pub was never too far away and Blake caught sight of one just behind the car park, lights in the window promising beer and warmth. He needed the oblivion that only alcohol could bring right now, even in this shitty little corner of England. Maybe especially here.

The Bear and Staff was teetering on the edge of rundown, with old stools and wooden tables flawed by ring marks, overlaying each other through years of use. There were a couple of people drinking inside, a group of men who looked like they kept the place going with their custom, and several clearly waiting for the train. The bartender looked up with expectation as Blake walked in, smiling as he approached the counter.

"Two tequilas please, and …" Blake looked at the wide selection of ales on tap. "Two pints of Abbeydale's Black Mass."

The British penchant for exotically named ales seemed strangely appropriate given his visions, but already Blake doubted what he had seen. There was no way he could verify the facts of the Scandinavian murders quickly, and the black creatures could have been a result of the pain-relief drugs Magnus had been on. Somehow Blake's visions must have tapped into that perception, because of course, there was no such thing as demons.

The barman nodded. "Coming right up. You waiting for someone?"

He put the tequila shots on the bar, glancing down at Blake's gloved hands.

"Something like that." Blake downed the shots one after the other. The burning in his throat anchored him to this place, in this time, a physical sensation that he had never felt in any vision and helped him center with reality. The immediate rush took the edge off his craving, but oblivion had become harder to reach of late.

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