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 do notice that the priest we’re going to live with must have money. He’s not just got a butler; this car is nice. Really nice. You don’t see many like these where I’m from. Back home if you have money to spend on a car, it’s a nasty beast with sharp lines and a low profile. This car looks like a thundering, growling bull of a thing, mean round lines and ample body. The interior is flawless leather and some kind of wood I’m not classy enough to recognize on sight.
Taking my attention away from the car, I reach forward around the seat and smack Jonah in the back of the head.
“Thanks for getting us arrested, asshole.”
“Hey, what the fuck!” He sits up and scowls at me, as if he doesn’t know why I’d be pissed at him. Jonah has to be the most self-centered asshole on the planet.
“I just spent a week behind bars because of you, jerkwad.” I smack him in the back of the head again. He tries to hit me back, but the seat is in the way and this is a big enough car that I can lean back and get out of his range.
The driver chimes in about then. “If the two of you would like to compose yourselves before we arrive at the master’s home, I’d highly recommend it. The master has little patience for tomfoolery.”
“So tell me about this priest. He’s old, right? Some old friend of my mom’s?” I say.
“Indeed,” Crichton says. “Father Bryn is a firm man, but a fair one. He will not tolerate these shenanigans, so you might like to compose yourself and learn to keep your hands to yourself, young lady.”
That’s me told. Eyeroll.
“Father Bryn. Blech.” I stick my tongue out. “He sounds lame.”
“This is going to be boring as fucking hell,” Jonah says.
I agree with him for once. I couldn't hate this country more if I’d been imprisoned here for a lifetime. It’s always raining and it's always damp. Even when it’s dry, it’s damp. English people are basically swamp dwellers who think very highly of themselves because of their ultra-cool accents — which I have to admit are ultra-cool. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think. Maybe going directly from Heathrow to prison has put me in a bad mood.
“Is it a nice house, at least?” I lean back against the door and swing my legs around to spread out comfortably on the back seat.
“Direview Abbey has been in Father Bryn’s family for several generations. I imagine the amenities will suffice for the two of you, being rather more well-appointed than the average prison cell. Now, put your seat belt on and be quiet.”
Well, snap. He’s a sassy butler. I like him already.
Chapter Two
Bryn
“Barthas, destroyer of souls, put the spoons down.”
There is a lava-eyed wraith in the drawing room playing merry havoc with the teaspoon collection. I have instructed it to stop immediately, but it insists on attempting to show me how it can do Morse code with two antique teaspoons, neither of which have any equal or replica in all the land.
“See? SOS,” it breathes out in sulphureous fumes. What they don’t tell you about true evil is that it smells like the rankest flatulence one ever put nostrils to.
“Does that come up a lot in the demon realm?” I am bored, or rather, simply not interested in the minor torments of lesser imps. I am anticipating the arrival of someone a lot more special.
“YOU’LL NEED IT WHEN I REND YOUR SOUL FROM YOUR FLESH!”
Demons are easily triggered. Piqued into a sudden fit of temper, the thing comes toward me with every intention of doing just what it threatened. The claws on its hands are sharp enough to pull flesh from bone. It is a physical manifestation of pure evil, made to torture humanity. It is no more able to determine its actions than a cloud is able to choose where it will rain. I don’t take this personally. A demon of this age and power is capable of dragging a human down to Hell intact. It would not be an enjoyable journey.
Rrmmm rmmmm….
I can hear the car in the driveway. I am about to have company.
“Time to go, Barthas,” I say, holding up a silver crucifix. It’s not powerful enough to actually stop a demon on its own. It is enough to give this one pause for thought, however. He stops and twitches his tentacles.
“Aww, is the little girl coming back wearing new skin? Younger flesh for you to prod with your rod?”
Demons are crude.
“Get out of here. Now.”
“Oh, let me stay and watch,” he wheedles. “I want to see if you work the trick out, or if you are as foolish as all the others, blinded to what you can see.”