Simon Green - Daemons Are Forever

“I am of Hell,” he said, “and I carry it with me everywhere. So I’m never far from home. I just sent your girlfriend to Hell, Eddie Drood. Damned her forever, to eternal suffering, to the lake of flames and the torments of the Pit, just because I felt like it. How do you feel about that, Eddie Drood?”

“After I’ve killed you, I will go down into Hell and bring her back,” I said. “Whatever it takes, whatever it costs. But first I will break your body with these golden hands, and make you scream, and after all the terrible things I do to you, falling back into Hell will seem like a relief.”

“Wow,” said Molly. “Hard core, Eddie.”

We all looked around, startled, and there she was, standing untouched and unharmed where the hole had been. I ran over and took her in my arms, and we held each other tightly and nothing else mattered.

“I really thought I’d lost you,” I said.

“You really think I’d go anywhere and leave you behind?” she said.

When we finally broke apart and looked around, Roger was staring at us incredulously. And for all his Infernal presence, he didn’t look half as threatening anymore.

“You can’t be here!” he said. “You can’t! I sent you to Hell!”

“Been there, done that,” said Molly.

She snapped her fingers crisply and a hole opened in the high ceiling above us. A celestial light slammed down through the hole, shouldering its way into the mortal world like a holy spotlight, transfixing Roger where he was like a bug on a pin. He screamed horribly, thrashing helplessly in agony in the grip of that Heavenly light, and we all had to turn our heads away. The light was just too dazzling, too pure, for human eyes to look on. Just being in the same room with it hurt, as though it was burning away my imperfections. Molly snapped her fingers again, and the light snapped off, the hole in the ceiling gone in a moment. Roger fell to the floor and lay still, breathing harshly. He looked like just a man again. Harry hurried forwards to kneel beside Roger and take him in his arms. He rocked him back and forth like a hurt child, murmuring soothing words. Roger’s face was blank with shock and suffering and an indescribable horror. I looked at Molly.

She shrugged. “I’ve been around. You’d be surprised at who owes me favours. Really.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” I said. “Everybody else okay?”

I looked around. Sebastian and Freddie were huddled together in a far corner, trying to climb into each other’s pockets. The Sarjeant-at-Arms looked pale and shaken, but not even the sight of Heaven and Hell could break his composure. Jacob the ghost had disappeared. And Giles Deathstalker…was grinning widely, as though he’d just watched a really good show.

While I was still considering that, the Sanctity doors flew open and a whole bunch of Droods came running in, led by the thugs who used to guard the doors. They seemed to have got their second wind and, emboldened by reinforcements, they were back to teach us all a lesson. Unfortunately, they made the tactical error of bursting in unarmoured. Giles was off the spot and heading right for them the moment they appeared, moving impossibly quickly for someone who didn’t have Drood armour. He didn’t bother to draw his sword, just slammed into the newcomers, stopping them in their tracks, and taking them all down with swift, almost clinical precision. He struck about him with amazing skill, and every blow sent a man flying. In just a few moments he was the only man standing, surrounded by moaning and unconscious bodies. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Now that is what I call a fighter,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. I’d never heard him sound impressed before. “You did well, Edwin. This is exactly what we need.”

“Thank you for not killing them,” I said to Giles. “They’re family.”

He nodded briefly. “I know. I saw the collars around their necks. I only kill when necessary. And these poor specimens definitely weren’t worth it.”

“That is partly why you’re here,” I said. “I need you to train my family, turn them into warriors, to fight a war against impossible odds and the most powerful enemy even you’ve ever seen.”

“I can do that,” said Giles. “I’ve made armies out of worse. I can take the most unprepossessing material and turn them into fighting men. I am a Deathstalker. We win wars. It’s what we do. How long have I got?”

“Good question,” I said. I looked at the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “Talk to me, Cyril. I need to know exactly what’s been happening while I’ve been away. Just the high spots, for now; I’ll pick up the details later, as we go along.”

The Sarjeant nodded slowly. “Welcome back, Edwin. The family has missed your…decisiveness. You have to understand; Harry had the support of the Matriarch. I had no choice…”

“Just tell me what happened,” I said. “We can spread the blame around later. You can start with, how did everything go so wrong? When I left we were winning. Sort of.”

“Manifest Destiny had some of their people at the Nazca site,” said the Sarjeant. “Long before you and your team arrived. Truman wanted to keep a close eye on his new allies. But everyone he sent there ended up possessed, or infected, by the Loathly Ones. They returned to Truman, to spread the gift that keeps on giving. They infiltrated his organisation and penetrated his new base, infecting others in their turn. They became his closest advisors and whispered poison in his ear. They persuaded Truman to support the establishing of new nests, and fund the building of new towers.

“Backed by Manifest Destiny’s resources, and under Truman’s protection, the Loathly Ones spread their influence across the world, embedding their infected agents in organisations and governments in every country. Ostensibly they spoke for Manifest Destiny, representing it as an alternative to Drood rule. Of course, once they were invited in, they quickly moved up to high positions and set about spreading chaos and indecision, dividing humanity from within. There are nests everywhere now, in every country, often hidden away inside ghoulvilles to hide the building of their towers. Once these have reached a specific number, known only to them, the great summoning will begin and the Invaders will come through.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “They haven’t infected Truman himself? Why not? Then they’d run his organisation.”

“It seems they can’t,” said the Sarjeant. “After all the operations he’s carried out on his brain, it would appear he is immune to their touch.”

“Maybe we can use that,” I said. “If we could reach him, make him see the truth… we might even learn from him a way to make everyone immune…”

“Perhaps,” the Sarjeant said kindly. “If I might continue…”

“Oh yes, you go right ahead, Cyril. Don’t let me stop you.”

“We know that those infected by the Loathly Ones become Loathly Ones,” said the Sarjeant. “They work together like insects, a hive mind, where each of them knows what every one knows. The nests communicate, ghoulville to ghoulville, in a way we can’t understand or intercept. We invade and destroy every nest we locate, and burn down their towns, but they’re better at hiding than we are at finding. We’re winning the battles, but losing the war.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Strange, “but the War Room has just received a significant communication. Callan is on the line; he says he’s finally located Truman’s new base of operations. Shall I patch him through?”

“Damn right,” I said. “First good news I’ve heard…Callan! This is Edwin Drood; I’m back. What have you found?”

“Well it’s about bloody time,” said Callan, his unmistakable voice emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. “You picked a hell of a time to go on vacation. Did you bring me back a present? No one ever brings me back presents. Look, I’d love to chat but I don’t know how long I dare remain in contact. Truman’s new base is crawling with security people, and some things that very definitely aren’t people. You wouldn’t believe the layers of protection he’s put in place.”