It could only have been one person speaking to him, doing it now, for the first time, when there was no longer any time to question the hows and whys of it. For Harry had felt the child’s restraints falling from him like broken chains, leaving him free again. Free to will his incorporeal mind into the safety of the Möbius continuum. He could have gone right there and then, leaving his baby son to face whatever was coming. He could have gone — but he couldn’t!
Bodescu’s jaws had yawned open like a pit, revealing a snake’s tongue flickering behind the dagger teeth.
Go! little Harry had said again, with more urgency.
You’re my son! Harry had cried. Damn you, I can’t go! I can’t leave you to this!
Leave me to this? It had been as if the infant couldn’t follow his reasoning. But then he did, and said, But did you think I was going to stay here?
The beast’s taloned hands were reaching for the child in his cot.
Yulian saw now that Harry jnr was. . . was more than a child. Harry Keogh was in him, yes, but it was even more than that. The baby boy looked at him, stared at him with wide, moist, innocent eyes — and was totally unafraid. Or were those eyes innocent? And for the first time since Harkley House, Yulian knew something of fear. He drew back a fraction, then checked himself. This was what he was here for, wasn’t it? Best to get it done with, and quickly. Again he reached for the baby.
Little Harry had turned his small round head this way and that, seeking a Möbius door. There was one beside him, floating up out of his pillows. It was easy, instinct, in his genes. It had been there all along. His control over his mind was awesome; over his body, much less certain. But he’d been able to manage this much. Bunching inexpert muscles, he’d curled himself up, rolled into and through the Möbius door. The vampire’s hands and jaws had closed on thin air!
Yulian strained back and away from the cot as if it had suddenly burst into flames. He gaped — then pounced upon the cot’s covers, tearing them to shreds. Nothing! The child had simply disappeared! One of Harry Keogh’s tricks, the work of a Necroscope.
Not me, Yulian, said Harry softly from behind him. Not this time. He did it all for himself. And that’s not all he can do.
Yulian whirled, saw Harry’s naked figure outlined in glowing blue neon mesh, advanced menacingly upon him. He passed through the manifestation, found himself tearing at nothing. ‘What?’ he gurgled. ‘What?’
Harry was behind him again. You’re finished, Yulian, he told him then, with a deal of satisfaction. Whatever evil you’ve created, we can undo it. We can’t give life back to those you’ve destroyed, but we can give some of them their revenge.
‘We?’ The vampire spoke round the snake in his mouth, his words dripping like acid. ‘There’s no “we”, there’s only you. And if it takes me forever, I’ll —‘
You don’t have forever. Harry shook his head. In fact, you’ve no time left at all!
There was a soft but concerted shuffling of footsteps on the landing and up the stairs; something, no, a good many somethings, were coming into the flat. Yulian swept out of the tiny bedroom into the flat’s main room and skidded to a halt. Brenda Keogh no longer lay where he had tossed her, but Yulian barely noticed that.
The Keogh manifestation, suspended in thin air, moved after the vampire to watch the confrontation.
A policeman, his throat torn out, was leading them. And with steps slow and staggering, but full of purpose, they came on. You can kill the living, Yulian, Harry told the mewling vampire, but you can’t kill the dead.
‘You . . .‘ Yulian turned to’ him again. ‘You called them up!’
No, Harry shook his head. My son called them up. He must have been talking to them for quite some little time. And they’ve grown to care for him as much as they care for me.