Free Night & Demons by David Drake

Howard,” the little man said with a sad smile. “ I guess this is hard for a handsome young man like you to understand, but . . .”
    He turned his head away and wiped his eyes fiercely.
    “Hey, that’s all right, Wally,” Howard said, patting him on the back. “ Sure, I’ll take care of that if there’s, you know, any way to do it. No problem.”
    Compared to the rest of the assignment, that was the gospel truth.
    “Thank you, Howard,” Wally said through a racking snuffle. “I’m, well, I’m lucky to have met a real hero like you in my time of need.”
    Only faintly audible through the heavy doors, another big truck was pulling up outside. A relay clicked and the machinery began to rumble again.
    “I feel sure we’re going to succeed,” Wally added. “If we have to double the field strength, well, that’s just what we’re going to do. No matter what!”
    Wally sounded a lot more cheerful when he made that promise than Howard was to hear it.

    With the six new transformers in place, the line almost filled the outside wall. On that side only the curtained-off corner—they were already drawn—didn’t have machinery squatting on it. Howard could still smell burned insulation. He’d never thought he’d be thankful for a stink like that, but it covered other possible reminders of the afternoon’s experiment.
    Wally looked at Howard and tried to force a grin. His expression would’ve been more appropriate for somebody being raped by a Christmas tree.
    “Hey, buck up, buddy,” Howard said. “We’re going to be fine!”
    Funny, but telling the lie made Howard feel that the words might possibly be true. Logically he knew a lot better.
    The door hidden behind the curtain opened. Howard heard a clink over the hum of machinery as something hard brushed against the raised lintel. He wondered what animal Strange was bringing in to sacrifice this time. Howard had expected a heifer or maybe an elephant, but Strange would’ve had to raise the vehicular door to bring in animals that big.
    Strange stuck his head out between two curtain panels. “Are you ready to proceed, Master Popple?” he asked. He held the curtains together so that all Howard could see was the throat of his garments. He seemed to be wearing the same silver-marked black satin as in the afternoon.
    “I believe—” Wally said. He caught Howard’s terse nod and continued, “Yes, we’re ready, Mr. Strange. It’ll take ninety seconds from whenever we start to build the field.”
    “Start now, then,” Strange said curtly. He drew the curtains tight behind him and began to chant. His words had considerable musical power despite being complete gibberish. That was also true of opera, of course, so far as Howard was concerned.
    Wally tried to smile again, then busied himself with his keyboard. The mica window looked onto the glade, empty save for trees and the flitting passage of a bird whose plumage was as purely blue as the summer sky. Howard watched the scientist, and he watched images on the mica; but more compelling than those, he listened through the curtains at his back to the sound of Robert Strange’s voice chanting.
    Howard felt the hairs lift from his body. Where those of his chest touched the loose caftan they tickled like the feeling at the back of a dry throat that you can’t seem to swallow away. Violet haze blurred the air beyond the mica.
    Genie Strange screamed.
    Howard turned. The door to Genie’s room was closed—closed and latched. The drapes around Strange and his activities bulged outward.
    Genie hopped through and fell, dragging a section of the velvet down. The scarf used to gag her had slipped out of her mouth; it was the only garment she was wearing. Her wrists and ankles were tied together behind her back, but she’d managed to undo the cord that’d bound her to the drain.
    Robert Strange, his face as hard and contorted as that of a marble demon, stepped out behind her. He grabbed a handful of Genie’s black