Author: Ellis Everley; Ellen South
Date: 2017-12-08 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy
Description: Inner Demons - Short Story. A prequel to the Brimstone and Blood short story series. Demons are on the loose in a city-center high-rise; a perfect opportunity for demon-hunter trainee Cait Murphy to sharpen her skills. She and her mentor, Simon, an experienced exorcist, arrive and find blood sigils painted on doors and hoodies with glowing eyes, what's going on? They have to find out fast because peoples lives are at risk. But demons aren’t Cait’s only problem, Simon's been urging her to learn the academic side of demon tracking, and he has a list of questions as long as your arm - if only she
Publisher: Everley South
Rights: All rights reserved (#1456331771219432)

Inner Demons

Ellis Everley

Ellen South

Inner Demons

A Brimstone and Blood short story.

Copyright © 2017 Ellis Everley and Ellen South.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents

Inner Demons

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Inner Demons

Typical, it was super sunny weather, and there’s not much of that in Glasgow, even in high summer, and I was stuck in a tiny library in the basement of the Metropolitan Cathedral, and it was freezing. Must be the thick stone walls or something, but my strappy vest, hot pants, and wedge sandals certainly weren’t keeping me warm. I’d been trapped in there for a couple of hours, tasked with reading up on prophecy and divination. Yawn. I didn’t really see the point in knowing what some long-dead bloke hallucinated hundreds of years ago, but Simon, my mentor, deemed this a pivotal part of my training.

“Demon hunting’s not just about using your natural intuition,” he’d lectured me once. “Knowledge is your most powerful tool when it comes to battling evil.” That wasn’t an opinion shared by most of the other priests. Other ‘handlers’ trained Homalus like me the traditional way. My job was sniffing out and sourcing demons using combat skills and animal instincts. Other priests didn’t see the point in a Homalus being learned in theology and demonology, and, right at that minute, shivering away in that cold room trying to digest some guff about a guy called Ezekiel having some mad dream about a temple, I kind of felt the same way.

“Come on now, concentrate,” Simon tapped my book in annoyance as my foot juddered. But I couldn’t concentrate, and it wasn’t just because of the temperature. I needed a hit and Simon knew it; he was just being mean. I was about to complain when Father McCrae chapped on the door and shuffled into the room. If dithering was an Olympic sport, this guy would win gold every time.

“Something for you to look at Simon,” he said, passing him a slip of paper. “Our contact thinks it might be worth our time. It won’t be of course, but it’s a shame to waste a nice day like this sitting indoors.” That’s the spirit, I thought. The only thing most of the old priests around here got excited about was watching ‘Songs of Praise’ on a Sunday afternoon with an aged malt in their hands. Simon, on the other hand, was always game for a challenge, and me, well, if it meant the chance to get some sunburn, I wasn’t saying no.

“Knightswood?” Simon read the address.

“A rough area I believe. Don’t take any valuables,” McCrae raised an eyebrow.

“Finish up, Cait,” Simon grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and I was out of that room like a rat out a trap. We jumped into Simon’s old Ford Fiesta instead of taking the bus. No fear of that old banger being broken into. It still played cassette tapes; there was a pile of them in the glove compartment: Monteverdi’s Vespers, Bach, Dire Straits, and the Bee Gees. So, usually I’d do anything rather than listen to that stuff, except today when I’d gladly have listened to any 80s cheese I could find. Simon was using the short drive as an opportunity to give me another critique. “You’re falling behind in your academics,” he started.

“I didn’t realize there was an exam at the end of all this.”

“Enough of the cheek. It’s all very well being able to track a demon, but knowing what type they are, and how to defeat your quarry, is another.”

“Thought that was your job. You’re the exorcist.”

“And if I’m not there? I wish you’d stop holding yourself back like a petulant child. You have so much potential,” he said, making me feel guilty.

“Who are you trying to kid? You’re like my shadow. You’ll always be there.”

It was mid-afternoon when we reached Cheviot Court; a high-rise block of flats on the east edge of the city. There were too many kids hanging about for my liking. This was a school day after all. Simon nodded at the main entrance. Something had been painted on the doors in thick black paint. A sigil.

“Recognize it?” he asked, putting me to the test. I’ll loosely describe it as an upwards-pointing triangle with wings, so it wasn’t difficult to guess.

“An angel,”

“Yes, but which one?” he looked at me expectantly. I shrugged. I had no idea. Simon wasn’t pleased.

“This is why you need to pay attention to your studies,” he held the door open for me. “You can’t see vital clues right in front of you.” Inside was dank with graffiti scrawled on every surface.

“Which floor?” I asked, praying for a low number.

“Fifteen,” he said, checking the address. The elevator doors opened, but there was no way in hell I was stepping in. The stench of piss was overpowering and I’m pretty sure there was a lump of dirty nappies among the litter cluttering the floor. “Stairs it is then,” Simon grimaced. Unfortunately, the stairwell wasn’t much cleaner. I didn’t want to stay there long enough to check, but sometimes it was hard to tell if some of the graffiti had been written with paint or blood. The higher up we went, the worse the place looked, but, eerily, the place was empty. Silent.

We arrived on floor fifteen. I was out of breath but, at the same time, trying not to breathe. The place was stinking. Heading along the corridor, every door we passed had the same angel sigil painted on it.

“So, which angel is it?”

“Athenaeum,” Simon prompted me and soon gave up with an exasperated sigh. “Archangel Michael protects me,”

“Protect me from what?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” and we stopped outside someone’s front door. Simon pressed the doorbell and I heard footsteps shuffle.

“Who’s there?” an old man’s voice asked, threateningly.

“Mr. Kelly?” Simon read the name from the slip of paper Father McCrae had given him. “I’m Father Simon. I’m here to discuss a recent complaint you made to the police. Perhaps I can help.” There was a pause before the clunks and clicks of several locks being opened. Mr. Kelly opened the door, clocked Simon’s dog collar and a big smile erupted on his face.

“Bless you father. Please, come on in,” and he motioned for us to enter. The hallway was dark, but at least it was clean. “Go on through. Jean’s through there in the living room,” he said, while relocking the vast array of security devices attached to the door. The can of black paint on the floor didn’t do much to make me feel any more at ease either. A hanging crucifix was on the hall wall. Simon and I made the sign of the cross as we passed, and found an elderly lady sat on the sofa in the living room, in which more Catholic iconography adorned the walls. She smiled at seeing Simon enter.

“Don’t get up, please,” Simon ushered her to remain sitting.

“Make yourselves at home,” Mr. Kelly brought up the rear and we all sat down. “This is my wife, Jean. Jean, this is Father Simon, and?” he looked at me warily.

“This is my assistant Cait,” was all that Simon offered. He’d learned a long time ago not to divulge my real purpose. The wife wanted to make us a cup of tea; Simon wanted to get straight to business. “Tell me what’s been happening,” he asked. The old couple looked at each other. Mrs. Kelly subconsciously started to play with the crucifix on her necklace.

“There’s a group of youths, always with their hoods up and scarves over their faces, boys and girls,” and he nodded at me for some reason, “They’re terrorizing the block, running around, screaming and shouting, destroying the place. Oh, I know, you get kids everywhere doing the same thing, but this is different, these kids are running around like they’re possessed,” he looked nervous.

“Can you give me any specifics? Help me understand,” asked Simon.

“I… I… well, Jean here’s scared to leave the flat. They’re violent, disturbed. I’ve never seen anything like it. I saw one of them, a girl,” and again his eyes darted towards me, “She was hurting this poor dog out in the stairwell. I heard its cries. Bloody awful.” He shifted awkwardly, realizing he had just sworn in front of a priest, “’Scuse my French, Father,” he said, looking at Simon, who nodded for him to continue. “I found her trying to set the poor beast on fire. Well, I couldn’t stand and do nothing. I confronted the lass, she was right aggressive, I don’t know how it all transpired, but I shoved her. In defense, you understand, the lass fell down a full flight of stairs. Landed in an awful crooked way. I was petrified. Thought I’d killed her. But she just got up, like nothing had happened, and ran off laughing. It scared me Father; there’s something unnatural happening in these flats.”

“Tell them about Agnes,” Mrs. Kelly interrupted.

“Aye, Mrs. Low, she lives directly above us…”

“I haven’t seen her for weeks,” Mrs. Kelly wanted to tell the story herself it seemed “And that son of hers, he’s no good that one; he’s right in the midst of all of this, if you ask me.”

“You have concerns for this Mrs. Low?” Simon asked.

“The son, Billy, tells me she’s away on holiday. Well, that’s a lie in itself. Agnes would’ve told me. We’re good friends me and her. She already admitted that she was terrified of him. Him and his cronies are up all night, music blaring, boozing, or taking drugs probably. She was at her wits’ end, and now she’s suddenly vanished. He’s not bothered, and neither were the police when we spoke to them…”

“It’s the work of the Devil, Father,” Mr. Kelly cut in briskly. “You’ll have seen the seals I painted on everyone’s door.”

“That was you?”

“Aye, just doing my duty as a Christian soldier, Father. They don’t all go to church like us, but I had to do something to protect me and the neighbors.”

“You should go and speak to that Billy. Ask him where his mother is,” said Mrs. Kelly.

“Sounds like a good place to start,” Simon politely agreed.

“He’s a slippery character mind,” her eyes narrowed.

Simon thanked them and we left them to whatever it is that old people do. The corridor wasn’t empty this time. Further down, two big lads had a small boy pinned against a wall; it looked like they were trying to shove something into his hand. Simon couldn’t stop himself, and charged towards them with me tottering in my heels to keep up.

“What’s going on?” Simon interrupted the bullies and all focus was on us. Seeing an opportunity, the young boy slipped out of the guys’ grip and bolted down the corridor towards the nearest exit and was gone. The two hoodies were immediately on the guard, but they didn’t confront Simon, it was me they had their eyes on.

“Alright darlin’, think I’ve got somethin’ you might like,” the cockier of the two sauntered towards me, all swank.

“Not if it was the same thing you were trying to give the wee fella there, ‘cos he sure didn’t seem to like it.” Never act like a wilting doormat in front of guys like this. You gotta show no fear or they’ll walk all over you. It worked; he laughed and winked at me, which is another problem. If you give an immediate feck off, jerks like this think they’re in with a chance.

“Tell your old man to get tae fuck and let’s talk business, if y’know what I mean.” Disgusting really, but, if these were the same guys that the Kellys had been complaining about, this could be a way in. I gave Simon a ‘beat it, I can handle it’ look, and, as much as it bothered him, he agreed, and hung back towards the stairwell we’d used to come in. The creep put his heavy arm around my shoulders and walked me further down the corridor. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. I told myself to keep cool. “I see you’re already on the hard stuff,” he indicated the track marks on my bare arm. Damn hot weather! It’s so easy to forget they’re there. “But I’ve got somethin’ that’ll completely mellow you out. This stuff really eases the comedown,” and he pulled out a small bag of grass and handed it over, bold as brass, not even caring that Simon or anyone else might see. I opened the package and took a big sniff, pretending to be interested as well as trying to make it look like I knew what I was doing. I got a whiff of something I wasn’t expecting from it, demon!

“How much?” I looked up, the guy’s eyes looked jaundiced and yellow. It could’ve been the light, maybe the fella was ill, but my tracking instincts told me otherwise.

“For you, darlin’, nuthin’. Call it a free sample. C’mon with us for a smoke, eh?” He stood close, his pal circling in too.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Maybe later, where can I find you?” I tried to sound casual, not terrified.

“This is a now or never offer, sweetheart.” The dealer grabbed me by the wrist, not firm at first, but when I tried to pull away, it tightened.

“Never it is then,” and Simon was suddenly there, looking very serious, he pulled me out of the dealer’s grasp. His weedy pal stepped forward and Simon whipped out an extendible baton, jerking it to full length.

“Whoa there old timer,” The dealer put his hands up and backed off. “Looks like the Sally Army’s been weaponized,” he’d noticed the dog collar. Simon dragged me back down the corridor away from flying jeers and insults.

“I can look after myself,” I said rather ungratefully, as he frog-marched me up the next flight of stairs.

“I know you can. Nothing wrong with a little bit of team work, is there?” he smiled, “Learn anything?”

“Other than finding out you carry an illegal weapon?” I gave him a cheeky smile back, “Yes, the drugs he’s pushing are tainted with demon somehow, and his eyes, sickly yellow; he’s infected with something alright.”

“Yellow eyes, what does that mean?” it was another test. I looked at him blankly and, disappointed at my lack of knowledge, he filled me in. “A yellow glow is commonly associated with lesser demons being under the control of a more powerful one. You should know this stuff by now, Cait.” He was right. “If the Kellys’ accounts are to be believed, we could be talking dozens of minions. A real demon infestation could be taking place. This makes it all the harder to pinpoint the ringleader. Your tracking skills better be on point.” We reached floor sixteen. It seemed even darker and fouler than the one below, if that was even possible.

“Don’t worry about me,” I reminded him, at which point he held out his hand.

“I’ll have it tested at the Met later,” and I reluctantly gave him the grass. “If you’re offered more, under no circumstances should you take it. Understand?” I eye-rolled, “The infected drugs have clearly got something to do with this. They’re possibly making users more susceptible to possession; a weakened mind is an easy target for a demon. And, just because you’re part demon, doesn’t mean you can’t be possessed too, remember that.” It’s not something I was likely to forget. I’d been living with the permanent feeling that there was a whole other person inside of me, clawing to get out, since I was thirteen years old. That was a long six years ago now.

We reached Billy Low’s flat. No sigils painted on this door, what was left of it, it looked like it’d been kicked in numerous times and was all scratched and battered. We were nearly about to turn and leave—it took that long for someone to answer—but Billy did eventually open the door. He was a scrawny, unkempt man in his late forties, wearing a baggy, gray tracksuit. His eyes darted all over the place, paranoid, distracted, high? The sound of laughter and young voices came from inside. He had visitors.

“We’re from the local parish, looking for Agnes, she’s expecting us,” Simon lied. Guess priests aren’t like Superman after all.

“She’s no here, dinnae come back,” and he slammed the door in our faces. A little further down the corridor and out of earshot from Billy’s flat, I revealed that I’d sensed demon.

“I felt it before he even opened the door. It was strong,”

“From him? It sounded like there were a group of them in there,”

“I think he’s our man,” I hesitated, doubting my abilities, “Maybe.”

“In that case, we’ll need to stake the place out,” he ambled towards an electrics cupboard further down the hall. It was unlocked. Great, I thought, sunniest day of the year and I’m gonna be stuck standing in a cramped janitor’s cupboard in a pissy block of flats, waiting for a middle-aged man to have a demonic episode.

Except Billy didn’t leave his flat. We stood in that cupboard for ages, nothing to sit on, shifting weight from one foot to the other. With the prospect of achieving any semblance of a healthy sunburn faded, that creepy dealer bloke and his mate entered the floor, heading for Billy’s flat.

“Time to make a move,” Simon whispered. “I’ll cause a distraction, draw them out of the flat.”

“What about me?”

“They come out, you go in.” Blimey, things were suddenly a lot more serious. Simon slid out of the cupboard, following the two druggies who were now standing waiting for Billy to open up. I peeked through the slat in the hinge and watched, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Billy stepped out, greeting his mates before noticing Simon approach.

“Aw, no’ you again; listen, I told you, she’s no in,” The dealers also recognized Simon.

“Watch this one, mate…” but before he could finish whatever insult he was about to spew, Simon pulled something out of his suit jacket. Was he gonna tackle three guys or more with that baton? Thankfully, no, Simon had another trick up his sleeve. Holy water. A quick spritz and he’d doused all three of them, their skin bubbled and smoked. Simon didn’t hang about, he turned and sprinted past me, Billy, the two druggies, and the contents of the flat were hot on his heels. Simon was no spring chicken; I could only hope he wouldn’t get caught.

I caught my own breath and waited for silence before creeping out of the cupboard towards the open door to Billy’s flat. The place reeked like a proper drug den and I wafted through a smoky haze. On my own adrenaline buzz, I knew I had to be quick. I ducked into the living room; it was a tip. Empty lager cans, takeaway rubbish, drug paraphernalia, and was that blood? There was a dark-red substance spattered over walls, carpet, and furnishings. At first, I thought it was an elaborate ashtray, but I quickly realized I was looking at a fire bowl, with a hefty amount of ash at the bottom. Burnt out candles adorned the room. A fire hazard waiting to happen. Some scrawls written in ash, not words, but symbols, like you’d see on a rune stone. And bones, animal bones I hoped, charred but not all clean, some still had flesh attached. There was a computer in the corner. I was loathe to touch that foul-looking mouse, but I had a quick look through Billy’s internet history. Pages and pages of references to Asmodeus. I didn’t recognize it—all those demon names blend into one with me—but I took a mental note; this could be the demon responsible. A quick scan, it’s amazing what you can learn on Wikipedia these days, told me this demon’s strength lay in its minions. That made sense. His weaknesses were Celtic sea salt. Homework done, I heard Billy and his gang coming up the corridor!

There was only two ways out of a high-rise flat: one was the front door and the other was the window. Neither were an option. I ran to the nearest door, it was the kitchen. Even more unhygienic than the living room, but no place to hide. Next door revealed a room full of marijuana plants! Billy was growing the stuff, and this wasn’t just your one or two plants for personal consumption. This was a full-blown crop! They were entering the flat; I ducked in behind the tall foliage and shut the door. Music was turned up loudly in the living room. The walls were paper-thin; I felt sorry for anyone who had to live there and put up with neighbors like Billy.

Trying not to make a sound, I held position. Maybe they’d all get high and pass out. I could be in here all night. Wondering what had happened to Simon, I was distracted by the plants. Some were weak and sickly looking, while another batch was strong and healthy, but there was something off about it too. The leaves were mutated, warped, curling even. Something glinted in the soil, something metal, a ring? I brushed away the dirt and to my utter disgust, found it was still attached to someone’s hand! It was old and wrinkled, wait. Was this Agnes Low? I felt ill. The stakes had just been significantly raised. Had the demon killed Billy’s mother or had Billy killed his mother as a sacrifice to summon the demon? Either way, I was trapped in a flat with murderers. How the hell was I gonna get out?

Then BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! The ear-splitting sound of the building’s fire alarm shot through my skull. I still wake up in the night thinking I can still hear that deafening noise. I had to cover my ears, that alarm sounded for feckin’ ages. And did Billy and his mates leave? No, they must have been tripping, cos they just sat about and partied over the ringing alarm. Until that is, the fire brigade chapped on the door and ordered them out. I waited till the flat was empty before sneaking out, too. I found Simon sat in his car in the car park, surrounded by annoyed residents and fire engines.

“I just started a small fire in the bin store, nothing serious,” he announced. I nearly made a joke about him going to Hell for that, but held it in. Instead, I told him everything I’d seen, starting with old Mrs. Low fertilizing the marijuana in Billy’s back room.

“I think Billy’s possessed with Asmodeus,” I was trembling, “There was definite evidence of sacrificial activity. Do you know anything about him?”

“An ancient force sometimes referred to as the King of the Nine Hells, has aversions to, what is it now?”

“Celtic sea salt,” I surprised him. He looked pleased, proud even.

“Yes, and plenty of it,” he added. “I’ve got my kit in the boot.” He meant his exorcism kit. It wasn’t anything magical or extraordinary, just a cross; rosary; holy water; and, you guessed it, a hard-backed copy of the New Testament. Oh yeah, and his copy of the exorcism rights; a book full of incantations and conjurations. “I’ll read from white mercy,” he said as an afterthought. “So, how do you think we should proceed?” This was another test.

“Wait till they’re back in the flat, grab our gear, and go in gun’s blazing,”

“No,”

“Catch them by surprise and wallop…”

“There’s too many of them, we’d be overpowered in an instant. Engage your brain, “he said tapping his own temple, “Always be a step ahead of the demon, or they’ll be a step ahead of you.”

After the fire brigade had given the all clear and everyone had dissipated, Simon got out of the car and grabbed his tools from the boot, alongside a huge sack of salt that he made me carry up all of those bloody stairs.

“You haven’t told me our plan yet,” I complained, following him to the main doors. He just smiled. We arrived back at Mr. and Mrs. Kelly’s.

“You were right, Mr. Kelly. I’ve seen the Devil’s curse with my own eyes,” the old couple seemed overjoyed that their mad idea was actually true.

“What can we do to help?” Mr. Kelly asked.

“That paint can of yours, any paint left in it?” Mr. Kelly nodded ‘yes’ and let us into the flat.

“Is it that Billy? I’ve always thought he’s nae good,” Mrs. Kelly said.

“Billy is indeed the source. But don’t blame him Mrs. Kelly, there’s an insidious demon at large. You were right to bring it to our attention,” Simon was great at giving out the spiel. Fact was, they hadn’t come to the church, it’d been our source at the police who’d asked us to investigate. But Simon knew it was better to validate Mrs. Kelly’s beliefs, make her feel that she was helping, that it was her and her husband alone who solved this problem. In other words, Simon needed their help with something, but I couldn’t figure out what.

“It’s not just Billy, his friends are under the spell as well. We can’t tackle them all at once, so I need to contain them in a trap,” Simon indulged the old couple.

“How d’you do that?” asked Mrs. Kelly blinking in wonder.

“We need to paint something on your ceiling, would that be okay?” he already knew the answer as Mr. Kelly handed him the paint can and brush. “Similar to the protective emblems you drew on your neighbors doors, Mr. Kelly, I’m going to draw a decipula, a demon web, to trap them. If I’m right, Billy’s living room is directly above yours,”

“It is!” Mrs. Kelly agreed, “That awful music’s been driving us off our heads,” and as if they’d heard her talk, heavy footsteps from above followed by the loud music being turned on. Her face soured.

“It’s okay Mrs. Kelly, that’s what we want. It means they’re all likely sat up there now.” Taking a chair, Simon began to draw out a large circle on the ceiling above. Trying to be careful at first, the inevitable black splatters of paint got all over the place, much to the old wife’s annoyance. Simon drew a pentagon inside the circle, alongside various symbols or emblems inside each segment outside the star. “Once the decipula is activated, it’ll trap everyone above it inside this circle. That’ll give us time to exorcise the ringleader, Billy, while they’re all contained,”

“But what if Billy or one of the others is in another room?” I asked.

“Pray that they aren’t,” and he slapped on the last line on the sigil. Whooomph, the black paint was replaced by a cool, glowing, blue light. Mrs. Kelly grabbed onto her husband, this was hard-core religion like she’d never seen before.

“Don’t touch it,” Simon advised, then pointed at me as he grabbed his gear and headed for the front door, “This isn’t a test anymore, Cait. Do exactly as I ask,” and we rushed upstairs.

Simon kicked the door of Billy’s flat in like a proper 1980s detective, spouting exorcism verses, and his cross held firmly out in front of him. I brought up the rear, salting the entrance, and sprinkling handfuls of the stuff in every direction possible. Simon headed for the living room; the blue circle was emanating through the floor, creating a light-blue force field containing all of the gang, who were pretty riled up at their newfound prison, shouting obscenities, spitting at the wall, hitting bottles and stuff off it. They were all there, except for Billy. Where the hell was Billy?

Using my senses, I traced him to the growing room. It was locked. “What now?” I asked.

“Like you said, all guns blazing,” and Simon kicked the flimsy door in. Billy immediately rushed towards us; a spray of Celtic sea salt in his face from me was enough to stun him long enough for me to upend him with a roundhouse kick. Jumping on top, Simon pressed his crucifix into Billy’s forehead, making it sizzle. It also brought Asmodeus flying to the surface. Billy’s already sweaty and beefy face flushed red, the pupils of his eyes became cat-like slits.

“Hic non habes potestatem, Asmodeus,” Simon grabbed the salt bag, pouring a hefty circle of it around a spitting and hissing Billy. “Derelinquas illum…” and Simon began an exorcism, the details of which I’ll have to go into some other time. Let’s just say, it’s a long and lengthy process with a lot of kicking and screaming, occasional vomiting. Once Billy was freed from Asmodeus, he broke down and confessed to killing poor Agnes as a sacrifice. Asmodeus had promised Billy a successful and potent crop of grass, something that he’d failed at time and time again. As usual, it was greed and ambition that had driven this sad, middle-aged weirdo to Devil worship. Doesn’t anyone believe in hard work anymore? Of course, Asmodeus lied. He possessed Billy and used his demon-tainted drugs to recruit more minions. People seem to think that you can just summon a demon and make it do your bidding without giving anything in return. They just don’t get that demons will always use their subordinates for their own gain. Anyhoo, we tipped off our contact at the police, and Billy and his pals were arrested.

We thanked the Kellys, who were more than pleased to have peace and quiet again, although not grateful enough not to send a cleaning bill to the Metropolitan the week after. “We need to head back,” Simon checked his watch. He was right. There was an itch I needed to scratch. My fingers began to tingle, becoming pins and needles in my arms and legs as we drove back. “You did good today, Cait,” he complimented me. “I was impressed. We make a good team, you and me,” but his praise fell on deaf ears.

“Just get to the Met please,” I was on edge. There was only one thing in the world I wanted to hear now, and that was the sweet sound of Brimstone being pumped into my veins.

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Acknowlegements.

A big thank you to our friend Rosalyne Cowie who proofread this short and for her encouragement and feedback. Thanks also to our cover designer Ravenborn who can be found on facebook.