“I thought you didn’t need it?” Adira asked.

“The symbols: I didn’t read them all. I skipped most of them. I couldn’t understand them so they were useless to me – that was then. It’s like some sort of Rosetta Stone, converting the language of the Old Ones into a physical form. These things respond to sound, and the words when spoken create that sound.”

“The Celestial Speech; the language of the gods?” Abrams asked.

“Not of our god. This is what Abdul Alhazred found out. He also managed to decipher the words. There are the words of worship that smooth its path and let it know that now is the right time for it to rise, and…feed again. There are also mystical locks, and words are the keys.” Matt wiped at his brow, feeling like he had a fever coming on. “There must also be words that do the opposite. Tell it that it’s not time – they must be there.”

“And these words can send it back?” Adira asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but if it can be called, then it can somehow be denied. Alhazred must have said something to stop Cthulhu rising.” Matt grimaced. “But by now, we might be too late to send it back. It has almost broken through, and once it does, then it’s all over for us.”

Abrams raised his gun, ejecting the clip, checking it, and then smacking it back in before re-holstering. “If the Book can help, then let’s go get it.”

“Wait.” Matt felt more images slide greasily into his mind. “Drummond is waiting for us…and he’s not alone.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Drummond is just another slug.” Adira looked along the barrel of the HK-MP5N, as though lining the businessman up in her sights. She pointed. “That way.” The light from Hartogg’s barrel-mounted flashlight illuminated huge glyphs carved into the curved stone lintel of a train-tunnel sized archway. Adira lowered her gun and looked to Matt.

“What does it say?”

“I am forever.” Matt snorted. “Worship me.”

“Not fucking likely,” Abrams said.

Adira smiled humorlessly. “Hmm, vanity? A mortal weakness we perhaps can use.” She headed for the tunnel, gun held loosely in her arms, her finger on the trigger. “Let us meet these vain gods, and introduce ourselves.” She turned to Abrams, her face severe. “But remember, Charles Drummond is mine.”

Chapter 27

Captain Gerry Hensen looked up at the sky, feeling tears dry on his cheeks. The moon, huge and yellow, had risen, and was only a few hours from reaching its zenith. The darkness and the pull of the celestial convergence were reshaping the world – tides were lower than they’d ever been, the ground was hot to walk upon, the air smelled weird, and there was a gentle tug he could feel at his metal fillings and even on the bones in his body – it all felt wrong.

He looked along the dark street – it was all so quiet now. The intial wave of panic had overwhelmed police stations, councils, hospitals, and anywhere else that could possibly provide protection or refuge. But there was no such thing any more.