Books by Clive Barker Galilee Forms of Heaven Sacrament ...

profoundly.
"I must summon one again," he'd said, "and speak with it," to which Chant had replied that if they were
to attemptsuch a summoning they had to be ready next time, for void-ers were lethal and could not be
tamed except by Maestros of inordinate power.
The proposed conjuring had never taken place, Sartorihad disappeared a short time later. In all the
intervening years Chant had wondered if he had attempted a second summoning alone and been the
voiders' victim. Perhapsthe creature now coming after Chant had been responsible.Though Sartori had
disappeared two hundred years ago,the lives of voiders, like those of so many species from theother
Dominions, were longer than the longest human
span.
Chant glanced over his shoulder. The whistler was insight. It looked perfectly human, dressed in a gray,
well-cut suit and black tie, its collar turned up against the cold, its
IMAJICA 33
hands thrust into its pockets. It didn't run but almost idled as it came, the whistle confounding Chant's
thoughts and making him stumble. As he turned away the second of hispursuers appeared on the
pavement in front of him, draw?ing a hand from its pocket. A gun? No. A knife? No. Some? thing tiny
crawled in the voider's palm, like a flea. Chant had no sooner focused upon it than it leapt towards his
face. Repulsed, he raised his arm to keep it from his eyes ormouth, and the flea landed upon his hand. He
slapped at it with his other hand, but it was beneath his thumbnailbefore he could get to it. He raised his
arm to see its motion in the flesh of his thumb and clamped his other handaround the base of the digit, in
the hope of stopping its fur?ther advance, gasping as though doused with icewater. The pain was out of
all proportion to the mite's size, but he held both thumb and sobs hard, determined not to lose all dig?nity
in front of his executioners. Then he staggered off thepavement into the street, throwing a glance down
towardsthe brighter lights at the junction. What safety they offered was debatable, but if worst came to
worst he would throw himself beneath a car and deny the voiders the entertain?ment of his slow demise.
He began to run again, still clutch?ing his hand. This time he didn't glance back. He didn't need to. The
sound of the whistling faded, and the purr ofthe car replaced it. He threw every ounce of his energy into
the run, reaching the bright street to find it deserted by traffic. He turned north, racing past the
underground sta?tion towards the Elephant and Castle. Now he did glancebehind, to see the car
following steadily. It had three occu?pants: the voiders and another, sitting in the back seat. Sob? bing
with breathlessness he ran on, and—Lord love it!—a taxi appeared around the next corner, its yellow
light an?nouncing its availability. Concealing his pain as best he could, knowing the driver might pass on
by if he thought the hailer was wounded, he stepped out into the street and raised his hand to wave the
driver down. This meant un?clasping one hand from the other, and the mite took instant advantage,
working its way up into his wrist. But the vehi?cle slowed.
34 CLIVEBARKER
"Where to, mate?"
He astonished himself with the reply, giving not Esta-brook's address but that of another place entirely.
"Clerkenwell," he said. "Gamut Street."
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