Teaser

Here's a short extract from the book's start:

Prologue

She hated this world. Merla journeyed to this place rarely, but not rarely enough. The air was thin and dead; it was always her charms rather than her wings that kept her aloft. But this world’s dislike for magic was visceral. She felt her age.

She tucked a wing in close to wheel around a corner, following the automobile. She was stealthed; wrapped in harpy enchantments to protect her from human eyes. Actually, from any eyes; colliding with confused pigeons was a real problem. Music was blaring out of the vehicle’s rolled down windows, the driver singing along; Merla had no idea what an orinoco flow was, and didn’t intend to learn.

As the car slowed, Merla swooped to perch on a lamppost. The engine and music stopped; a man got out of the car, and walked up the path, humming, a Woolworth’s carrier bag battering against his leg. Not a human man, although he passed well enough. This was Jack, the exiled knight; Merla wished her handler would let her kill him, but apparently he was useful to someone. It was the artefact in the bag that she was following, anyway.

Jack threw his cigarette on the pavement, ground it under his heel, and walked up to a perfect suburban house.

One of the residents had clearly been keeping watch; he opened the door as Jack was only halfway up the path and hurried out to gesture him in. He wore a cheap buttoned-down shirt compared to Jack’s stylish polo neck jumper.

Merla swooped down, relying on her invisibility enchantment. It was tricky, squeezing through the ajar door; she bumped it open somewhat, but it went unnoticed. Merla quickly stood to the side of a coat rack, and the two men came in past her, and into a sitting room. Merla edged towards the open door. The room was trying to be modern; cheap furniture and paper globe lampshades. A television warbled to itself in the corner; the vertical tracking going off as they entered, and the picture skewing, snow-struck.

“Have you got it then?” said the man, without preamble. He was virtually vibrating with excitement.

“Sure,” said Jack. “You got the cash?”

The man hurried to a sideboard, returning with a thick envelope.

Jack peeled back the plastic bag, and moved some crumpled newspaper to show the contents. The dagger, Vexillum’s Skewer, wasn’t that impressive by demonic blade standards; no black glinting metal, nor glowing red runes. It had a narrow blade of something steel-like, and a handle of droughtwood. The blade was silvery; the hilt was stained in layers of dark, dull red. To Merla’s senses, it stank of magic, slightly bending and speckling her vision.

The man seemed to sense it also, to some degree at least. “Can I hold it?”

Jack shrugged, tossing bag and dagger onto a table, and taking the envelope out of the man’s hand. “Aye, it’s yours now,” said Jack. “Do what you like.”

From upstairs there was the sound of a baby crying. Jack winced.

“Our son,” said the man. “My wife is with him.”

“Yeah?” Jack said, disinterestedly. “I’ll be off then.” Merla had to scurry back from the doorway, as Jack strode by. The man didn’t see him out to the door; he was already lifting the dagger, turning it in the light.

Merla moved again; a woman was coming down the stairs, awkwardly carrying a Moses basket.

“I’ve had to bring him down, Trevor, he’s very fussy,” she said. “Was that the dagger, love?”

“Yes,” the man, Trevor, said. “The Skewer.”

“Makes me think of doing a kebab on it,” the woman said, with a chuckle. “Ooh, it’s pretty though.”

The simplest thing, Merla thought, would be just to kill them. Then turn the dagger in to her bosses. But Merla’s handler had been definite about not killing humans, for some stupid reason. She would have to withdraw and see what her superiors advised. She began calling the apportation spell to mind. Maybe she could return later, in the middle of the night, and steal the dagger then.

“You know, Helen, we should perform the ritual now. Why wait?” said the man.

Fucking hell, thought Merla, don’t do that, that would be very inconvenient.

“You think?” said the woman, Helen. “I wanted to watch Wogan tonight, that actress I like is on.”

“Gordon Bennett! I thought modern women were supposed to be ambitious? Plenty of time for ruddy Wogan when we are Lord and Lady of the cleansed Earth,” said the man.

Shit, thought Merla, what stupid idea had these humans picked up? Her bosses had clearly underestimated the seriousness of the situation. Still, it would probably go nowhere, she thought, humans were bad at magic. I just have to observe. Maybe they will spread themselves over twelve dimensions.

The man pulled back a large goatskin rug, revealing a magic circle, carefully carved into the floorboards. It was old-fashioned, thought Merla, circles within circles, but surprisingly competent.

“But right now, Trevor?” said Helen.

“We’ve put up with that brawling brat for long enough,” said the man, still gripping the knife. “I’d have thought you’d have been keener; you had to carry the little squirt for nine months. And you still haven’t regained your figure.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said the woman, crossly. “But now is as good a time as any, I suppose.” She went and lifted the baby from the basket.

Merla tutted, under her breath. Humans made a mistake in choosing not to lay eggs. Unsurprising that they did not love the naked, scrawny, raw-born chicks.

... to be continued