Books of Blood by Clive Barker Read Free Book Online

dimmed, despite its complaints;
    it still flickered on the bedroom wall like a midsummer thunderstorm. For the third time tonight - once on 83rd Street, and again on  the stairs of the Bernstein place - Harry  hesitated. If he went back to help Valentin perhaps there would be worse  sights to see than ever Wyckoff  Street had  offered. But there could be no retreat this time. Without Valentin he was  lost. He raced back down the landing and flung open the door.
    The air was thick; the lamps rocking. In the middle oi the room hung  the Castrato, still defying gravity. It had hold of Valentin by his hair. Its other hand was poised,
    first and middle fingers spread like twin horns, about to stab out its captive's eyes.
    Harry pulled his .38 from his pocket, aimed, and fired.
    He had always been a bad shot when given more than a moment  to take aim, but in extremis, when instinct governed rational thought, he was not half bad. This was such an occasion. The bullet found the Castrate's neck, and opened another wound. More in surprise than pain perhaps, it let Valentin go. There was a leakage of light from the hole in its neck, and it put its hand to the place.
                       40Valentin was quickly on his feet.
    'Again,' he called to Harry. 'Fire again!'
    Harry  obeyed  the instruction. His second  bullet pierced the  creature's chest, his third its belly. This last wound seemed particularly traumatic; the distended flesh, ripe for bursting, broke - and the trickle of light that spilled from the wound rapidly became a flood as the abdomen split.
    Again the Castrate howled, this time in panic, and lost all control of its flight. It reeled like a pricked balloon towards the ceiling, its fat hands desperately attempting to stem the mutiny in its substance. But it had reached critical mass; there was no making good the damage done. Lumps of its flesh began to break from it. Valentin, either too stunned or too fascinated, stood staring up at the disintegration while rains of cooked meat fell around him. Harry took hold of him and hauled him back towards the door.
    The Castrate was finally earning its name, unloosing a desolate ear-piercing note. Harry didn't wait to watch its demise, but slammed the bedroom  door as the voice reached an awesome pitch, and the windows smashed.
    Valentin was grinning.
    'Do you know what we did?' he said.
    'Never mind. Let's just get the fuck out of here.'
    The sight of Swann's corpse at the top of the stairs seemed to chasten Valentin. Harry instructed him to assist, and he did so as efficiently as his dazed condition allowed. Together they began  to escort the illusionist down  the stairs. As they reached the front door there was a final shriek from above, as the Castrate came apart at the seams. Then silence.
    The commotion  had not gone unnoticed. Revellers had appeared from  the house opposite, a crowd oflate-night pedestrians had assembled on the sidewalk.
    'Some party,' one of them said as the trio emerged.
    Harry  had half expected the cab  to have deserted them,  but he  had  reckoned  without the driver's curiosity. The man was  out of his vehicle and staring up at the first floor window.
    'Does he need a hospital?' he asked as they bundled Swann into the back of the cab.
    'No,' Harry returned. 'He's about as good as he's going to get.'
    'Will you drive?' said Valentin.
    'Sure. Just tell me where to.'
    'Anywhere,' came the weary reply. 'Just get out of here.''
    'Hold it a minute,' the driver said, 'I don't want any trouble.'
    'Then  you'd better move,' said Valentin. The driver met  his passenger's gaze. Whatever he saw there, his next words were:
    'I'm driving,' and they took off along East 61st like the proverbial bat out of hell.
    'We  did  it, Harry,' Valentin said when  they'd been  travelling for a few minutes.  'We  got him back.'
    'And that thing? Tell me about it.'
    'The  Castrato? What's to tell? Butterfield must have left it as a