GAMEFIC: Lammas Night, Part 1
Everyone's asked a lot about how Thomas Pryce got into the Martin's Passage Hellmouth in the first place. What follows is that story.
August 13th.
Thomas Pryce had not slept well since the death of Enid Healy. Alice leaving for Summer term at Bangorshortly thereafter had not helped matters, particularly with the mess that had been made of this. That _he_ had made of things, not to put to fine a point on it. Though her father hadn't helped matters. Sometimes rolling over and counting punches to that smug bastard's face helped him get to sleep. Like counting sheep, but with bloody noses.
It wasn't helping tonight; something was wrong with the light. For one thing, it was coming up from under the door. And it was a bright orange. That was new.
Rolling out of bed, Thomas pulled the pistol out from under the pillow and the ghurka knife out of the wall before heading down to see just who or what had decided to pay a visit.
The light receded as Thomas followed it up a flight of stairs, then down two more: Rational layout had not been favored by the Parrishes, and Thomas was fairly sure that the layout actually changed when he wasn't paying attention. But the direction was now fairly steadily 'downward', so Thomas stopped by the weapons room on the way to what he now suspected was the source. The pistol was replaced by a Tommy gun, with every tenth round in the drum made of blessed silver; his own version of the tracer principle. So armed, he proceeded to the one room in the house he almost never visited.
It had been a root cellar, at one point, or so he surmised; the floor was bare earth and the walls were plain boards.
And there it was, a crack in the ground. Glowing orange.
Nothing had come through just yet, so Thomas lowered the submachine gun and sighed. "Right. Punching him will have to wait. I'm going to need his help for this."
August 14th.
Thomas didn't sleep that night at all; he just stayed up watching the crack. Subsequently, the Thomas Pryce that arrived on the front porch of the old Healy Farm was a slightly haggard one...but at least he wasn't clutching the Tommygun.
As soon as the door was opened, he began with very little preamble. "We have a problem. The thing in my basement is opening soon, and I'm going to need every hand to close it. I've got some binding spells to use, but they're risky to cast alone." Inhaling, he added, "I could use the help. Please."
If Jonathan Healy had looked just a bit more smug when he let Thomas inside, he might well have gotten punched in the face right there, and this story would have a much different ending. Instead, he ushered the Watcher in with a concerned-but-bothered expression, and closed the door.
"We may not have -many- neighbors, but let's not air this on the front porch. What's going on?"
Rubbing his eyes, Thomas answered, "The Hellmouth is starting to open. It's almost a decade ahead of schedule, so there's no telling what caused it or how long we have before it's all the way open and we have to offer a friendly goodbye to Maine."
Jonathan frowned. Thomas took this as a possibly good sign. "And you've got a binding ritual, and you need help."
"Precisely. Most of these spells can be cast alone, but the litany's a threefold chant, and time may be of the essence. I can manage it with two, so if Alexander's not here..."
Jonathan held up his hands. "Look. I don't know what you've been led to believe, but I don't have the magical training you need, Mr. Pryce. My father would be best. As soon as I see him I'll let him know."
Thomas stared a moment, and then wiped his brow. "Right, then. Tell him I'll be at the house. I don't know how long we have, so I'll be starting by sundown; it almost certainly won't happen in mid-day. The forces of darkness have an overdeveloped sense of melodrama."
Jonathan shut the door on Thomas. It sounded as though the Watcher could handle things, though he would tell Alexander. If he saw him. That was unlikely, however. Since Enid's death, Alexander Healy couldn't stand the house, and spent most of his time in the woods or in the library. And Jonathan had no real plans to leave today.
By the time Thomas got home, the crack in the basement had doubled in size.
August 13th.
Thomas Pryce had not slept well since the death of Enid Healy. Alice leaving for Summer term at Bangorshortly thereafter had not helped matters, particularly with the mess that had been made of this. That _he_ had made of things, not to put to fine a point on it. Though her father hadn't helped matters. Sometimes rolling over and counting punches to that smug bastard's face helped him get to sleep. Like counting sheep, but with bloody noses.
It wasn't helping tonight; something was wrong with the light. For one thing, it was coming up from under the door. And it was a bright orange. That was new.
Rolling out of bed, Thomas pulled the pistol out from under the pillow and the ghurka knife out of the wall before heading down to see just who or what had decided to pay a visit.
The light receded as Thomas followed it up a flight of stairs, then down two more: Rational layout had not been favored by the Parrishes, and Thomas was fairly sure that the layout actually changed when he wasn't paying attention. But the direction was now fairly steadily 'downward', so Thomas stopped by the weapons room on the way to what he now suspected was the source. The pistol was replaced by a Tommy gun, with every tenth round in the drum made of blessed silver; his own version of the tracer principle. So armed, he proceeded to the one room in the house he almost never visited.
It had been a root cellar, at one point, or so he surmised; the floor was bare earth and the walls were plain boards.
And there it was, a crack in the ground. Glowing orange.
Nothing had come through just yet, so Thomas lowered the submachine gun and sighed. "Right. Punching him will have to wait. I'm going to need his help for this."
August 14th.
Thomas didn't sleep that night at all; he just stayed up watching the crack. Subsequently, the Thomas Pryce that arrived on the front porch of the old Healy Farm was a slightly haggard one...but at least he wasn't clutching the Tommygun.
As soon as the door was opened, he began with very little preamble. "We have a problem. The thing in my basement is opening soon, and I'm going to need every hand to close it. I've got some binding spells to use, but they're risky to cast alone." Inhaling, he added, "I could use the help. Please."
If Jonathan Healy had looked just a bit more smug when he let Thomas inside, he might well have gotten punched in the face right there, and this story would have a much different ending. Instead, he ushered the Watcher in with a concerned-but-bothered expression, and closed the door.
"We may not have -many- neighbors, but let's not air this on the front porch. What's going on?"
Rubbing his eyes, Thomas answered, "The Hellmouth is starting to open. It's almost a decade ahead of schedule, so there's no telling what caused it or how long we have before it's all the way open and we have to offer a friendly goodbye to Maine."
Jonathan frowned. Thomas took this as a possibly good sign. "And you've got a binding ritual, and you need help."
"Precisely. Most of these spells can be cast alone, but the litany's a threefold chant, and time may be of the essence. I can manage it with two, so if Alexander's not here..."
Jonathan held up his hands. "Look. I don't know what you've been led to believe, but I don't have the magical training you need, Mr. Pryce. My father would be best. As soon as I see him I'll let him know."
Thomas stared a moment, and then wiped his brow. "Right, then. Tell him I'll be at the house. I don't know how long we have, so I'll be starting by sundown; it almost certainly won't happen in mid-day. The forces of darkness have an overdeveloped sense of melodrama."
Jonathan shut the door on Thomas. It sounded as though the Watcher could handle things, though he would tell Alexander. If he saw him. That was unlikely, however. Since Enid's death, Alexander Healy couldn't stand the house, and spent most of his time in the woods or in the library. And Jonathan had no real plans to leave today.
By the time Thomas got home, the crack in the basement had doubled in size.