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  ‘Parity.’ The tall man, his unstyled dark hair awry and his glasses askew, pulled out the chair beside her and settled astride it, his arms resting on the back. ‘You just push it all the time, and I’m the one that has to pick up the pieces.’ He frowned and was obviously about to carry on with his lecture when Belial held up a hand.

  ‘Children, if you please,’ he said.

  Parity and Farr both looked a little guilty. ‘This is Joe.’ Belial extended an elegant hand toward me.

  Ignoring her brother, the small woman turned to me. ‘Hi.’ She gave me a huge beaming smile. She had bright green eyes, one of which was hidden under the shocking red wave of fringe that flopped over her forehead. Farr nodded as he resettled his glasses, his face as closed as his sister’s was open.

  With her mad hair, leopard print tights, huge boots and short skirt, Parity was an enigma – her appearance totally at odds with her reputation. Unfortunately, I didn’t really have time to consider this as three figures appeared in the open doorway. Taking a deep breath I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up in order to talk to the new arrivals.

  Keril was followed in by Alice who was carrying Arden. They all approached slowly, each eyeing me with the same blank look. I walked over to meet them and held out my hand to Alice. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked. Arden whimpered and hid his face in his mother’s shoulder.

  ‘Fine, thank you.’ Alice spoke in a dead voice. Staring at me, she ignored my hand.

  I took a deep breath. If I didn’t get this off my chest now, I doubted I ever would. ‘I’m sorry, really very sorry.’ I licked my lips – they’d dried up and my throat felt slightly restricted. I tried not to look at Keril who was looming over his sister obviously waiting for me to make one false move.

  ‘I’d been lied to. I didn’t know what was going on.’ I didn’t know what to say; there was either too much or just not enough. ‘I’m sorry.’ I shrugged. It was a lame finish but it was the best that I could do.

  Alice looked at me for a moment, her long face expressionless. The only hint of her feelings was broadcast by her scales as they rippled and changed colours in quick succession. Eventually she shook her head and allowed a small smile. ‘It was almost worth being stabbed just to feel like I do now,’ she said. ‘What did you do to me? I feel 60 years younger.’

  Carly smiled at Alice and then tickled Arden who giggled into his mum’s neck. ‘I think Dad’s waiting to get on,’ she said.

  Belial nodded and stood up. ‘This is a very quick meeting.’ He gave a mock glare at the brother and sister who sat pointedly ignoring each other. ‘Very quick, so no arguments – we’ll do all that later.’ There were nods around the table. ‘I’ll hand you over to Melusine to tell you what’s going on.’

  The sultry businesswoman stood up and walked over to stand behind Belial. ‘As you’ve been told, we have to make this quick. He,’ she pointed at me, ‘needs to steal something from Metatron and we need to get “The Voice” out of the way.’ She paused. ‘Really simple, really effective. I need suggestions.’

  ‘Attack Heaven?’ Parity drawled with a laugh. ‘That should bring the mouthpiece out of his hole fairly quickly.’

  Melusine shook her head. ‘Thanks for that, Parity, but I’d really like an option where every citizen of Hell and the surrounding worlds don’t actually end up as dust before the gates of Heaven.’ She looked around then began walking around the table. ‘Come on, people, we only need him out of his office for a short amount of time.’

  Keril frowned then looked around the table. ‘Are we really just going to trust him?’ He nodded toward me. ‘Just like that – no ifs, buts or maybes?’

  Belial shrugged. ‘You ask that knowing that there really isn’t any choice.’ He pushed his chair away from the table then began to wander around the room. ‘Metatron has Lucifer’s vessel and is currently trying to work out ways of getting him out of it. We only have a very limited time before he realises that he’s not as well equipped as he thinks he is and then he’s going to come looking for the last thing he needs. We have, at the most, about 12 hours before he starts taking his failure badly.’ Belial slumped back into his chair and stared down at his nails.

  Parity huffed a short laugh. ‘Release Gabriel?’ she suggested. ‘That would get The Voice’s attention.’

  Melusine sniffed. ‘If we knew where he was we just might. However, I thought we’d established with your last suggestion that we didn’t all want to die in new and fascinating ways.’

  Parity just stared, straight faced, at the other woman. ‘Well, that wouldn’t bother me now, would it,’ she said.

  Farr looked up from where he’d been drawing perfect circles, freehand, on a piece of paper. ‘The host have just been here for the talks, haven’t they?’ he said.

  Melusine nodded. ‘Just a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Have we signed the accords for this period yet?’ He chewed nervously on a clean fingernail.

  ‘Not yet,’ Belial said.

  ‘What if we needed to argue over a big point?’ Farr pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head when it flopped back. ‘Make a stand – a stand on some issue that only God can pass a judgement.’ Farr shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. ‘For that we’d need The Voice, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Why would he come?’ Parity studied her nails. ‘Why should he?’

  Belial jumped up with a snort. ‘Because he can’t afford not to.’ He grinned at Carly. ‘As far as he’s concerned we have no idea what’s going on and he really needs to keep it that way.’ Getting to his feet, he slapped Farr on the back. The necromancer winced. ‘I knew that geeky exterior of yours hid real brains.’ He trotted over to a tall bookcase and drew out a leather scroll case which, after extracting the contents, he tossed casually aside. ‘I think I know just the clause.’ He looked around at everyone as he unrolled the scroll. ‘As we keep saying, we need to do this now.’ He pointed at me again. ‘Mr Latimer doesn’t have much time.’ We’ll pick up this meeting again when Joe’s collected the artefact in question.’ He paused and looked over at Carly.

  ‘You have one hour, then get him over there.’ He shrugged. ‘After that we’ll just keep The Voice occupied as long as we can.’ He smiled around at everyone again. ‘Isn’t this exciting! Come on, people, let’s go and argue petty points of order, shall we?’

  Greatly daring, I gave a sort of half-hearted wave in Belial’s direction.

  He raised his eyebrows at me.

  ‘Aren’t we already too late? It’s been hours since I left.’

  Belial shook his head and walked over to me. ‘He’s still alive, although he probably wishes he wasn’t. If Metatron kills his Host, Lucifer might move on but as there are no further descendants of that line he could end up anywhere and he’d have to start the search again.’ He looked around. ‘Good luck, people – let’s go.’ He stared at me for a moment. ‘Don’t let us down, Joe. I know you can do this and, if you don’t, billions are going to die. No pressure.’ He gave me a huge grin then slapped me on the shoulder. He was much, much stronger than he looked and it took everything I had to nod and grin around the pain.

  Everyone trooped out leaving Carly and I alone in the office. ‘I’m not sure I can do this.’ My legs felt shaky and I sat down in a rush.

  Carly sat on the edge of the table and looked down at me. ‘You have to get Graham Latimer away from Metatron.’ She held my face firmly by the chin and shook me slightly. ‘If Metatron succeeds in separating the Morning Star from his protective body, we are all finished. The world is finished – in fact, let’s be honest, all the worlds will be finished.’ She frowned and gave me a slightly embarrassed look. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say it really will be the end of everything until that time as Metatron, who will be God, decides to remake it all again to his plan. Of course, by that time it will be far too late for the billions of creatures who will have been swept away into the utter negation of some voidi
c melting pot. They’ll just simmer away and wait to be reformed into something this new God finds acceptable.’

  ‘Oh.’ I swallowed hard and stood up. ‘Why me?’ I leant on the table and stared at my hands. ‘I can’t do that. I’ll just mess it up – there’s got to be thousands of people that can do this better than me.’

  Carly slid off the table and grabbed my face with both small hands. ‘It has to be you.’ She stared at me. ‘You’re the only one that can get into Metatron’s office.’

  ‘Then you’d better send someone with me.’ I pulled my head out of her hands and waited for my sudden wave of nausea to subside. ‘Preferably someone with intelligence, common sense and a good fighting ability, because I’m beginning to think I don’t have any of those things.’

  ‘You’ll do just fine.’ Carly grabbed my hand and pulled. When I was upright she kissed me surprisingly hard. ‘You know, we were getting on really well that day I made dinner and I feel like we missed an opportunity, don’t you? We never really got to finish that date successfully.’ She pressed herself against me and kissed me again, then stood back with a look of disappointment. ‘When all this is over …’ She left the promise dangling enticingly.

  As far as certain parts of me were concerned, the end of the world had suddenly become a trivial issue.

  Back at Carly’s rooms we repacked my rucksack. Reaching over she removed my mobile before I could stow it away. ‘You won’t need that any more.’ Dropping it casually to the floor she stamped on it. There was a loud crack, a spark of red light and the phone disappeared leaving a gently smouldering spot on the carpet.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘So how exactly am I supposed to move around now?’

  ‘You don’t need it, you great goof.’ Carly tapped me with one stiff finger right between the eyebrows. ‘Everything you need is in there. All the Host can just move from one place to another on a thought – and so can you.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to do all the stuff they can do.’ I coughed. I hate it when my voice comes out in a whine.

  ‘Bumblebees, remember?’ Carly leant over to give me a kiss then slapped me hard around the back of the head. ‘Don’t think about it, don’t analyse it, just bloody well do it.’

  I gulped and nodded. She made it sound so easy but I felt hot and had difficulty taking a breath. To my knowledge I’d never had anyone show that much faith in my ability to do anything; I wasn’t sure I liked the feeling.

  ‘I reckon you’ve got two hours at the most.’ Nessus brought a heavy hand down on my shoulder and looked surprised when I shrieked. ‘Good luck.’

  I swallowed, hard. If a nine-foot horse-man-thing could sneak up on me I was fairly sure I was doomed. I nodded again and, with a last look at Carly, I closed my eyes and told myself, very sternly, I was somewhere else.

  CHAPTER 6

  METATRON’S OFFICE WAS DESERTED. I took a deep breath. This was probably the last time I’d ever see this place and I wandered about, gently running my fingers over the desk. Metatron’s mug still stood in pride of place on his blotter. World’s best boss. Well, there you are – can’t believe everything you read on mugs. I could hear the ducks quacking as they swam around the pond behind “that” window, the happy sound completely at odds with the cool, reflective peace of the office.

  ‘Come on, think.’ I spoke to Lucifer’s painting. Had that changed? I didn’t remember his face being so devoid of emotion. Expressionless, his eyes seemed to follow me around the office; it was unnerving.

  As the ducks finally fell silent I could hear a soft sobbing, intermittent and sporadic as though someone were trying hard, but ultimately failing, to restrain themselves. I walked slowly around the walls, trying to trace the sound. It was a terrible thing to hear – each gulping sob sounded as though it were being ripped physically from the weeper’s lungs. There would be silence for a moment then another sob or a small moan would erupt to disturb the silence.

  After what seemed an age, I finally decided that the sound was a little louder on one side of the room. I hovered by an innocently blank wall and listened hard. Placing both palms flat against its surface I rested my ear between my hands and closed my eyes.

  ‘Please.’ A sob, a grating breath. ‘Please, God help me.’ A gurgle as though someone were trying to breathe through water, then another small whisper. ‘Please.’

  Bumblebee time. Closing my eyes I concentrated then, knowing that I was leaning on a door that would lead to that terrible sound, I reached out blindly for the handle. It would be just to the right of my hand. Ah yes, there it was – just grasp and turn. With my eyes still shut, I pushed open the nonexistent door and stepped through.

  When I opened my eyes I wished I’d kept them closed. There are times when a sight is so vast, so dreadful, so utterly abhorrent that your brain just shuts down and sits in the corner of your skull with its eyes closed and its fingers in its metaphorical ears shouting, ‘I can’t see this, I can’t hear this, la, la, la.’

  I’d stepped into a world of pain.

  In the centre of the room a large crucifix had been raised, its wood old and blackened. In the neon glare of the overhead tubes the whole scenario looked like a film set. Hanging from the cross was a man, naked except for a pair of once white boxer shorts.

  My mind gibbered on and refused to accept what my eyes were seeing. I had a sudden flash memory of a similar scene. A cross on a hill, women weeping and a man begging forgiveness for those that had done this to him – no doubt from some film I’d watched. My stomach joined forces with my brain and refused to work, churning over and over like a washing machine set forever to spin. I pushed the image away. Thanks for that, Hollywood, I thought, I think I can see the similarities without needing it in glorious Technicolor as well.

  Staggering toward the agony, I felt as though my legs were being controlled by a trainee puppeteer. So when I tripped over a chair that had been placed before the cross, obviously a ringside seat, I wasn’t really surprised. Beside the chair was an open tool roll which held a hammer, some long iron nails and the “knife”, all of which were covered in blood giving hideous testament to how much they’d been utilised. Blood dripping and spraying had made strange patterns of sweeps and lines across the floor. The dark liquid had pooled around the bottom of a coffee mug which read: Don’t piss me off, I’m running out of places to hide the bodies and had an inch or so of coffee at the bottom – still warm. I was honestly surprised not to find an empty popcorn box; obviously Metatron had been enjoying himself. Finally, I forced myself to look up at the man on the cross. I couldn’t imagine how long he’d been there, nor how he was still alive.

  Hearing me gagging, Graham Latimer moaned. ‘I don’t know what you want.’ He sobbed and tightly shut the one eye that wasn’t a swollen red and purple mess. Even this small effort was obviously too great a strain and, as his head slumped forward onto his chest, his sweat and blood-soaked hair flopped forward to cover his lacerated face.

  ‘Jeez!’ I hurried toward him, not really noticing the irony of my exclamation.

  Tears had washed lines of blood away from his cheeks and down his chest. His underpants were soaked with blood and urine; there were pools of both on the floor beneath his crossed and impaled feet. Huge iron nails had also been driven through his palms and blood trickled from his hands. I watched, almost mesmerised, as it ran down into his armpits then travelled slowly down his body to drip onto the floor. Each drip echoed in the otherwise silent room. I couldn’t stand it. I had to get him down.

  I tried to study him objectively. There were two deep wounds in his chest and one in his thigh – it was so close to the artery that a couple of centimetres to the side and he would have bled out within seconds. How wonderful that Metatron was so well versed in the art of torture – another small skill of his that I knew nothing about.

  Unable to bear the smell and the taste of the air any more I spat to clear my mouth. Then, realising time was running out for us all and not just the poor soul up o
n that wooden monstrosity, I dragged the chair over to the bottom of the cross. A second trip armed me with the hammer and a pair of large pliers. ‘Sorry, mate,’ I muttered to the nearly unconscious man. ‘This is really going to hurt.’

  The extraction of the first nail caused him to scream so loudly that the sound brought a mouthful of bile up my throat and I had to swallow hard to clear it. However, after that first scream he passed out and became, mercifully, silent. Working as swiftly as I dared, I ripped out the other nails leaving him hanging only by his wrists tied securely with rough twine around the wood.

  Throwing the hammer and pliers away I took a deep breath. I wasn’t strong enough to lower him down gently – all I could really do was hope to steady his fall. I cut the first set of ropes. Thrusting my shoulder into his chest I pushed him up against the cross while I prepared to cut the other.

  As we fell, I gripped him hard and decided that we were at home.

  It wasn’t a graceful landing and we rolled, a cartwheel of arms, legs, blood (his) and curses (all mine), across the floor. Desperate to disengage myself from the tangle of limbs I pushed him away and staggered to my feet. Everything was as I’d left it: my open weapons box was still sitting by the sofa and all else seemed to be intact. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief.

  A drawn-out groan reminded me that I had a guest – a guest who was currently making a severe mess of my carpet. Thick, dark blood oozed from the deep wounds in his hands, feet, his side, his leg and his left eye. It had mostly scabbed over the hundreds of cuts, scrapes and scratches that had been systematically placed to cover his entire body. They were shallow wounds, specifically placed to cause maximum pain and discomfort yet minimum blood loss; it seemed that when these had failed to elicit the required response, only then had Metatron moved on to inflicting more direct pain.