Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [83]
Carnacki and I were on our feet now. Professor Westen reeled closer, and attempted to cross the protective lines. As his foot hit the outer garlic barrier we made to grab him and haul him into the pentacle, but he staggered back as if struck and our fingers slid from him.
Westen stood quite still a few feet away, looking in at us with an odd, bewildered expression, his eyes unfocused in a way that made me think he could not really see us, despite the light. Then he tilted his head as if listening to something, a sound, or a voice that only he could hear.
“Yes,” he said. A moment later he began to choke, his face turning purple, spittle flecking his lips, his tongue beginning to protrude.
“He’s choking!” I cried and tried to move forward to help, but Carnacki thrust out a muscular arm, barring my way.
“No, Doctor! You mustn’t cross the lines!”
Before I could even begin to struggle or protest, Holmes was upon Westen and with a mighty shove propelled him across the pentacle. We had him in our grasp in an instant, but it was as though we were pulling the man out of the Grimpen Mire. The resistance was simply incredible. After some seconds struggle, utilizing my weight and Carnacki’s strength, we wrenched Westen forward and the power holding him outside gave way so suddenly that we stumbled back. Much to my relief the Professor immediately lapsed into a bout of coughing, which cleared after a few seconds, and I knew he was breathing normally again.
“Hallo, it’s Thomas Carnacki,” the Professor said, smiling bemusedly at his old acquaintance. “What are you doing here?” He glanced about. “What has happened? What is The Sigsand Manuscript doing on the floor? Why am I in my night-shirt?” He then swung around to find me standing at his elbow and with a look of frank astonishment said, “And who the deuce are you, sir?”
“He is my colleague Dr. Watson and I am Sherlock Holmes,” said my friend, stepping forward with the lantern.
“The detective? What crime has been committed?”
“Only the strangest case of attempted theft I have ever come across. What do you last remember, Professor?”
“It is important we know,” Carnacki said, soothing Westen’s obvious indignation at this questioning.
“Well … I was working here in the library,” he said. “That was a few minutes ago.”
“It was in fact some days ago,” said I.
He glanced at me doubtfully, then continued. “I turned and saw someone at the library door, which I thought odd as I’d not heard any of the church doors open, and I was locked in at any rate, and then … and then you three were suddenly here.”
“You were induced by hypnosis to steal The Sigsand Manuscript,” said Holmes. “But you resisted to a degree, so that you were able to hide it, although the trance still held you fast as you struggled to resist so that you lay in your room in a kind of mental limbo for some days. I was sure another attempt to steal the book would be made when we feigned defeat.”
“And we were not a moment too soon,” said Carnacki. “It seems you finally succumbed to the will commanding you, and having failed you would have destroyed yourself in obedience to the controlling mind. Indeed it may still be active. You should stay within the pentacle until morning. You will still be in peril until then.” Carnacki paused, glanced to the side and added, “And so are we all.”
“From what, pray?” said Holmes.
“From that.” He pointed to the library doorway where stood a small shifting, rippling column of translucent white mist, vaguely human-shaped and watching us with two dark pits where the eyes should have been. It shimmered as if seen through a heat haze, though I felt the room go distinctly chill. As I looked, part of it sloughed off to drop silently to the floor as a horizontal bar of mist, which, as I continued staring, began to shape itself into some indistinct crouching beast.
It growled, a sound part tiger, part wolf, and most horribly … part human.
“Get ready, Watson,” said