Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“I think you should look out of the window.”
Another five or so seconds I don't really have elapse as I lever myself out of my chair and go to the window.
“Dear God.”
“Nothing out there is of God.”
The gates of Hell have been thrown open. An army is approaching, one comprised entirely of demonic entities and enemies. The sky is cracking with thunder and lightning, the day dark. I can see wildlife fleeing before the rolling menace making straight for the abbey. One might wonder how I missed all of this, and one would be forgiven for wondering. The truth is, evil comes upon us faster than we expect. It works its work swiftly, and without warning. They say good things take time. They are right. The corollary to that is bad things take no time at all.
Cursing under my breath, I realize I should have seen this coming when Craig made his first incursion. We have been sighted. Nina has been located, not just by our order, but by those who fall in shadows. They are coming for her, to destroy her, and perhaps us.
This is how true wars begin. There is no warning. No diplomatic nonsense. There is peace and then there is unexpected chaos descending on the heads of the unwary. I am sorry to say we have been the unwary.
“Call the brothers! To arms! To arms!”
There is a flurry of activity, with all the Brotherhood out to arm themselves. Most of us choose holy steel, but Steven is content with his bible. His incantations, chants, and prayers will create a barrier of protection that will slow them down a little — a very little.
By now, there are demons surrounding the abbey, a thousand of them at least. The Brotherhood is not prepared for an assault of this magnitude. That will not dissuade them. An attack of this intensity offers no options for retreat.
In the kitchens, Mrs Crocombe is baking up a storm. The clash of pans is accompanied by puffs of steam as they attempt to create sufficient food to nourish a small army. She has the uncanny instinct that every good chef has. She knows when food is about to become less of a luxury and more of a weapon.
“Are you ready, my brothers? The laity will call this the storm of a century, but we know what it truly is.”
“Fuck, yes!” Cosmos is ready, sword in hand. Every weapon in my army is made of the most potent blessed steel, consecrated over generations. It will kill a man, and it will banish a demon for a thousand years. What happens after that thousand years is presumably designated as somebody else’s problem.
Nina is refusing to get out of bed, according to Crichton, saying if she is to be slain by demons she may as well be comfortable. A mixture of laziness, hedonism, and pure stoicism that is quite admirable when viewed in certain light.
“How many are there?” Elvin has never done battle this way before. I am debating sending him back to Mrs Crocombe. The way his fingers tremble around the pommel of the sword he’s chosen does not bode well. It is too big. Too long. Far too heavy.
“An endless, infinite supply,” Thor responds.
“How do you beat an endless, infinite supply?" Elvin asks.
“One at a time,” Cosmos offers.
We are moving out from the abbey and through the front garden. If this battle is to be won, it will be won on manicured lawns, not in my drawing room.
Thor has a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He pulls them from his face and hands them to me.
“Punch me if I’m wrong. But there's a red-headed boy out there who looks lot like Nina.”
I put the glasses to my eyes and play with the focus. It takes far too many seconds of wasted time zooming in on random hedges before I find the demon horde. Then I need to swing down the line, and…
“See him? Red-headed boy?”
It's not just a red-headed boy. It is Jonah. Riding on a horse of flame. At the head of the demon army, leading it to my doors. That is not the action of a damned soul. And it is not the action of any man. Or anybody who was ever a man at all.
“CRICHTON!”
Crichton appears obligingly at my elbow. “Yes, Master?”
“Why didn’t you mention Jonah was a demon when I killed him?”
“I thought you knew, master.”
“I did not know,” I growl. “All this time I’ve… get back in the house.”
“Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”
Crichton disappears again.
“That's the thing with working with demons,” Thor says. "They assume fucked-up things as a matter of course. They’re not good at getting inside the human mind, no matter how much they may be able to ape it.”
The foibles of my service demon aside, we have an army of evil to fight and defeat. Preferably before anybody notices and sends a film crew to stand in the pelting rain that is beginning to fall while blades flash behind their unwary heads.