The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,83

Enosh. The right to challenge Death for your soul. Remember?”

Gabriel’s eye twitched so violently this time it made his whole head shake. Satan let out a low groan.

Zac frowned. “What? You mean you can really challenge Death? I thought that was just in movies.”

“No!” laughed Angelo. “It’s real. It’s real, isn’t it, Gabriel?”

Gabriel glared raw hatred at Angelo. “Why, yes,” he said, through his fixed smile. “The Right of Enosh. How could I have forgotten? Those who request it may be given the opportunity to challenge Death to a game of chess. Win and you will be restored to life.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then you will be cast into Hell.”

Zac shrugged. “Well, I’ll do that, then.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’m already going to Hell anyway, so yeah. Why not?”

“Well, yes, there is that,” admitted Gabriel. “But if you lose you’ll... go for longer.”

“What, longer than all eternity?”

There was a pause. “Yes,” said Gabriel through gritted teeth. He was trying to hold his smile in place, but it was a losing battle.

“Let’s give it a bash anyway,” said Zac, and he saw what little remained of Gabriel’s grin fall away.

“Right, fine,” Gabriel snapped. He clicked his fingers. There was a soft pop, and a school desk appeared in the middle of the living room. Zac recognised the boy sitting behind it as the one he’d met in the shed in Limbo. Drake looked up from the sheet of paper in front of him.

“Um. Hi,” he said.

“I give up,” mumbled Phillip, whose already slender grasp on reality was being tested to the limit.

Drake looked at the faces staring down at him. “Hey, you’re that guy with the book,” he said, recognising Zac.

“That’s me,” Zac replied.

Drake smiled weakly. “You all right?”

“Yeah, not bad, not bad,” Zac replied. “Dead, though.”

“What, properly?”

“Yeah.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. Listen, we were wondering, can you play chess?”

Drake shook his head. “Nah.”

Gabriel tutted sharply. “Well, can you learn?” he demanded.

“When for?” Drake asked.

“Now, ideally.”

Drake looked down at the paper in front of him. “Not really,” he said. “I’m doing a maths test. Actually, that’s a point. Does anyone know what the square root of—”

Gabriel clicked his fingers and the desk vanished again. “Right, you win,” he sighed. “Your life is restored, the messy remains you left on the pavement will be disposed of and no one will ever remember finding them.”

“And Angelo stays here,” Zac reminded him.

“Yes, yes,” said Gabriel vaguely. He made a cryptic gesture with his hand, and reality parted a few dozen centimetres. “Come, Michael,” he scowled, “we must return and continue our search for the book.”

“That you off, then?” asked Phillip. He still had no idea what was going on, but he knew where his manners were. “Safe journey home.”

Gabriel paused at the gap in space. He turned and gazed at Phillip. For a long time, he just gazed.

“Indeed,” he said at last, then he stepped through the gap and Michael stepped through after him. There was a sound like a zip being done up, and the hole closed over.

“I suppose I’d best be off as well,” said Satan brightly. “Getting a new kitchen fitted this afternoon. Right bunch of cowboys doing it. Don’t trust them as far as I could throw them. Although I could actually throw them quite a long way if the wind was right.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?” Phillip asked vaguely. Satan gave a throaty chuckle and winked at Zac.

“Never changes, does he? No, I won’t bother. Some other time, maybe.”

He looked Angelo up and down. “Shame,” was all he said, then he clicked his fingers and vanished in a puff of red smoke.

And with that, silence fell on the living room.

“Right, then,” said Phillip, finally breaking the spell. “Let’s have that cuppa.”

Zac, Angelo and Herya stood in the kitchen, their mugs in their hands. Phillip was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Does he know?” Herya asked.

Zac watched his grandfather. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think he’s... forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” asked Angelo.

“How do you forget something like that?” continued the Valkyrie.

Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he forgot on purpose. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.”

“Remember what?” Angelo quizzed. “What are you on about?”

“Can he do that? Can he make people forget?”

“I suppose he can do anything.”

“Don’t be daft,” Angelo said. “Only God can do anything.”

Zac and Herya exchanged a glance. They all sipped their tea.

“So, what now?” Herya asked.

Zac shrugged. “Dunno. Get a job, I suppose.”