Hell Holes 3: To Hell and Back

By Donald George Firesmith

The beautiful young photojournalist, Aileen O'Shannon, is not who she seems. For centuries, she has been a demon hunter, a sorceress who has tracked and killed small bands of demons that occasionally crossed into our world. But that changed when she joined Dr. Jack Oswald's expedition to study one of hundreds of huge holes that mysteriously appe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donald Firesmith
• Release date: Oct 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087921068

Donald George Firesmith

A geek by day, Donald Firesmith works as a system and software engineer helping the US Government acquire large, complex software-intensive systems. In this guise, he has authored seven technical books, written numerous software- and system-related articles and papers, and spoken at more conferences than he can possibly remember. He's also proud to have been named a Distinguished Engineer by the Association of Computing Machinery, although his pride is tempered somewhat by his fear that the term "distinguished" makes him sound like a graybeard academic rather than an active engineer whose beard is still slightly more red than gray. By night and on weekends, his alter ego writes modern paranormal fantasy, apocalyptic science fiction, action and adventure novels and relaxes by handcrafting magic wands from various magical woods and mystical gemstones. His first foray into fiction is the book Magical Wands: A Cornucopia of Wand Lore written under the pen name Wolfrick Ignatius Feuerschmied. He lives in Crafton, Pennsylvania with his wife Becky, and his son Dane, and varying numbers of dogs, cats, and birds. You can learn more about the author by visiting his website: http://donaldfiresmith.com His magical wands and autographed copies of his books are available from the Firesmith's Wand Shoppe at: http://magicalwandshoppe.com

Book preview

Hell Holes 3:

To Hell and Back

Donald Firesmith

Hell Holes 3: To Hell and Back

By Donald Firesmith

Copyright 2020 by Donald G. Firesmith

First Edition: October 2020

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.

1. Paranormal 2. Action-Adventure 3. Horror 4. Fantasy 5. Apocalyptic 6. Science Fiction

You may purchase autographed copies of this book by contacting the author via:

Magical Wand Press

20 Bradford Avenue

Pittsburgh, PA 15205

This book is typeset in Times New Roman and Mortis.

Book cover design and layout by

Ellie Kay Bockert Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios

http://www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com

Interior design by Donald Firesmith

Editing using Grammarly® and ProWritingAid®

Praise For the Hell Holes Series

"Immersive and thoroughly engaging, Hell Holes 3 brings the trilogy to a spectacular end."

Mark Nutter, author of Sunset Cruise on the River Styx

"Chilling, thought-provoking, fast-paced masterpiece Hell Holes: Demons on the Dalton is an edge of the seat, thrilling novel that hooks the reader on the very first page to the Highway to Hell and its army of demons! Firesmith’s storytelling excites and horrifies you at the same time making you want to turn the page to find out what’s in store for its characters!"

Jenne E. Nicassio, author of From the Sky Saga

I couldn’t put this book down! I started it just after breakfast and finished it around eleven that same night! I loved the way Mr. Firesmith combined science and a bit of paranormal to tell his story. James Rollins watch out!

Lori Beasley Bradley, author of The Ruby Queen

I really really loved it. It flowed so well, I was never bored. Overall a fast and exciting read that I would recommend to all fantasy and sci-fi readers. The danger element is always there, and one scene that I found to be written exceptionally well was when they were driving through a wall of fire. I could almost feel the heat while reading it. I wanted book three even more than I had wanted book two, and I really can’t wait to get to read it. Overall, a fast and exciting read that I would recommend to all fantasy and sci-fi readers.

Aoife Marie Sheridan, author of Hunters

Amazing story! I was on the edge of my seat the whole way through. I couldn’t put it down.

Renee Scattergood, author of Shadow Stalker

This book was a fantastic read. I like any story that I can envision being a movie or TV show. Aileen O’Shannon is an interesting character, who has a very intriguing past that I hope to learn more about in the next installment. I recommend this book to anyone.

Michelle E. Lowe, author of the Legacy series

What a great read!!!

G.M. Sherwin, author of Immortalis

I enjoyed my time in Firesmith’s world. I did not want to leave. I really got a kick out of it, and would happily come back for more. Recommended.

MJ Kobernus, author of The Guardian series

a quick, enjoyable read. Full of action and fraught with danger "Another Winner in the Hell Holes Series… Hell Holes: Demons on the Dalton is another action-packed battle/race with demons that were introduced in the first book…. the story moves pretty steadily with liberal amounts of action and suspense… There are some other new elements in book 2, but I won’t spoil it for those who have yet to read it. If you like action/adventure, this book will not disappoint you. I’m looking forward to book 3."

Dave Robertson, author of Strange Hunting series

The book is an easy and quick read and an action-filled one that you’ll imagine as a TV series or a movie with no difficulty.

Olga Núñez Miret, author of Escaping Psychiatry

Your book is excellent. As for the ending, … it leaves the reader wanting/needing more. I’d absolutely love to read more…

Patty Beaty, author of Sunshine in the South

That was amazing! I greatly enjoyed reading this book and cannot wait to find out what happens next.

Samantha C. Fischer, author of Love and Self Discovery

I enjoyed the mayhem… a rousing read that leads breathlessly into the next book

Mark Nutter, author of Sunset Cruise on the River Styx

I was genuinely surprised how engaged I was with this story. I expected it to be a bit of fun and maybe an easy way to kill and afternoon. It was both, but also had a professionalism and maturity that, for me, took it to the next level.

Official Online Book Club review

"Overall, Hell Holes: Demons on the Dalton was a wonderfully written book that had my heart pounding from beginning to end. A thriller through and through."

Brian’s Book Blog

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: Coming Together

Chapter 2: The Vault

Chapter 3: You’re in the Army Now

Chapter 4: Playing Soldier

Chapter 5: Preparing the Bombs

Chapter 6: Bring Out Your Dead

Chapter 7: Facing Our Demons

Chapter 8: Preparing the Plague

Chapter 9: Practice Makes Perfect

Chapter 10: The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 11: The Pre-Mission Briefing

Chapter 12: Hellbound

Chapter 13: Into the Pit

Chapter 14: Abandon All Hope

Chapter 15: Revenge from Above

Chapter 16: Escape from Hell

Chapter 17: Leaving Eielson

Chapter 18: Washington, D.C.

Chapter 19: Rome

The Humans

The Aliens

Author Notes

The Siberian Holes

Acknowledgments

Dedication

A Thank You to My Readers

Other Books by Donald Firesmith

About the Author

Cataloging-In-Print Data

Prologue

I am Curatrix Maxima Aileen O’Shannon. Yes, that Aileen O’Shannon.

Ever since Armageddon, I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. I’m constantly harassed by reporters and pestered by paparazzi. I get hounded by prospective biographers, and more than one publisher has offered me obscene amounts of money to tell my story. Everywhere I go, I’m continually interrupted by people wanting my autograph, wanting to take a selfie with me, or just wanting to shake my hand.

Frankly, all I want is to be left alone… That’s the real reason I have written this book. By answering the questions I’m constantly being asked, this book will hopefully help me regain some of the anonymity I enjoyed before the invasion.

But before I tell you about the minor role that I played in ending Armageddon, let me tell you a little about myself. There are so many fantastic stories going around, I feel the need to set the record straight. The truth is strange enough.

This is only the briefest of summaries, so you can understand who I am and how I came to take part in the decisive war for our world. Someday, I may write my full memoir, but not now. The retelling of my entire life would take years and fill several bookshelves.

To begin at the beginning, I was born a little over 1,700 years ago during the pivotal reign of the Roman emperor, Constantine the Great. Yes, I know I look like a young woman barely into my twenties—but that’s merely an old woman’s vanity. To survive, I must take a powerful youth potion every few days. Even then, my body’s actual appearance is that of an elderly woman in her nineties. What people see is only the glamour spell I cast each morning: a beautiful young woman with the typical red hair and smattering of freckles of my native Ireland.

I was born and raised in a tiny village surrounded by a vast forest in what is now the county of Ballinasloe. For a great many years now, both the hamlet and forest have existed only in my memories. My father was our blacksmith and the strongest man in our village. He protected us from wolves in the winter and fended off roving bands of brigands throughout the rest of the year. I thought he could (and always would) defend us from anything, but I was wrong.

When I was twelve, a marauding pack of hellhounds attacked our village. The demons killed many that night, including my mother and father, my uncles and their families, and several others whom I no longer remember. But Fortuna (the Roman Goddess of Fortune), both good and bad, took pity on me. Two guardians had been hunting the hellhounds. They killed the demons and saved me from certain death. My saviors were curators of the Tutores Contra Infernum, or Guardians Against Hell, an ancient secret order that has for millennia protected our world from demon incursions.

Back when I was a child, it was a struggle for villagers like us just to survive each winter, and an orphan’s chances were grim indeed. Thankfully, one of the guardians took pity on me. He pulled me up onto his warhorse and let me sit behind him as we rode back to his regional headquarters in London, or Londinium as we called it during the Roman occupation. He took me as his novice, and I was initiated into the Order four years later. As a member of the military arm of the Order, I have been hunting demons ever since.

…

For the two years before Hell Day, I lived in Fairbanks, where I was ostensibly working as a reporter for the local newspaper, the Daily News-Miner. Secretly, as a curatrix, or warrior-sorceress of the Tutores Contra Infernum, I was responsible for protecting Alaskans from marauding demons. Then, on that fateful night, hundreds of huge cylindrical holes appeared in the frozen arctic tundra around the entire globe.

My friends and fellow survivors, geologist Dr. Jack Oswald, and his climatologist wife, Dr. Angela Menendez, have documented the events of the next three days in their books: Hell Holes 1: What Lurks Below and Hell Holes 2: Demons on the Dalton.

Photos and descriptions including backstories of the characters in this book are found in the following appendix in the back of this book: The Humans.

Chapter 1: Coming Together

I dreamed of demons.

Thousands of them. Hellhounds and gargoyles, imps and devils poured out of their hell holes like enraged bees from their underground hives. The military’s bombs rained down like hailstones, turning the huge holes in the frozen tundra into blazing infernos. The explosions produced showers of dirt and sent body parts flying, but our onslaught barely slowed the flood of invaders. Streaming from their holes, the endless demonic reinforcements trampled over their dead and dying in their mad rush to join the battle.

I cast one killing curse after another, but each spell drained a little more of my energy, weakening the following curse. Like a rising tide, the waves of demons crept closer. Soon my spells would become too weak to do much more than stoke their rage and bloodlust. I retreated step by step as they forced me backward, slowly at first, then faster as I frantically tried to keep out of their reach. If only I could have survived until our reinforcements arrived. But it was not meant to be. I tripped over the body of a fallen comrade, landing hard on my back. With the wind knocked out of me, I struggled to get up, but I was too slow. A hellhound lunged forward and bit my arm, dislocating my shoulder as it shook its massive head. My amulet flew from my grasp. The neurotoxic venom from the hound’s finger-long fangs burned through my veins on its way to my brain. After the hellhound dropped me on the cold ground, a gargoyle swooped down from the sky. It landed next to me, biting into my belly and slashing it open.

Strangely, I felt no pain. I looked up past the gargoyle’s vaguely catlike head and translucent black wings. A devil stood over me, making that strange coughing sound I’d come to recognize as demonic laughter. No matter—in a few seconds, I would be dead and unable to see or hear it. How sad, I thought, realizing that these would be the last sights and sounds I would ever know.

I woke up groggy with the terrible images of my nightmare replaying through my mind. At first, I expected to find myself still in my tent up on the North Slope next to the hell hole we were there to study. But that couldn’t be right. I was lying in a soft, warm bed rather than in my sleeping bag on the cold hard ground. Perhaps I was in the bunkhouse of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System’s Pump Station 2, where our team had sought sanctuary in the night after the invasion. But that too was wrong. I opened my eyes to find myself in a nondescript hotel room.

Then I remembered. I was in my room at the Goldrush Inn, the hotel at Eielson Air Force Base just southeast of Fairbanks. It was my new home and refuge until we launched our counterattack against the demon homeworld. Since that would almost certainly be a suicide mission, this drab little hotel room was likely to be the last of the countless places I’d called home over the centuries since I became a curatrix.

I glanced over at the nightstand. The alarm clock read 6:09 a.m., less than half an hour before I’d set it to wake me. I groaned, pulled back the covers, and sat up on the side of the bed. Its overly soft mattress whispered in my ear, just a quarter-hour more. But I knew better than to go back to sleep so soon before needing to rise. Instead of being more rested, I knew I’d only find myself more bleary-eyed when the alarm rang. I reached over, turned off the alarm. Sitting up, I immediately retrieved my amulet from its handy hiding place under my pillow and placed its sturdy chain around my neck.

After taking a quick shower, I looked in the large mirror covering the wall over the sink and counters. The old woman I had become stared back at me. She was covered in age spots and countless wrinkles, her thin gray hair did little to hide her scalp, and her long flat breasts lay like empty wineskins on the sagging mound that had been firm and flat stomach the night before. It reminded me of why I only had a small hand mirror in my bathroom at home. Still, I thought, I didn’t look that bad for a seventeen-hundred-year-old woman.

After using my amulet to recast the glamour spell that had faded during the night, I briefly admired the beautiful young woman gazing back at me from the bathroom mirror. My hair was thick and a radiant red, my skin was smooth and flawless, and my breasts had filled and risen like hot air balloons over a Kansas cornfield. I smiled, thinking, what use was mastering the mysteries of magic if one couldn’t use them to brighten one’s day and make one’s life a little better? And if that was insufficient justification, I could always rationalize my little spell by the many times my beauty had made my work easier. Men so enjoyed helping beautiful women, and there was always so much that needed to be done. Old woman’s vanity, indeed!

I dressed in the clothes that I had worn the previous three days. I had washed them in the sink the night before, and although I had hung them up to dry, they were wrinkled and slightly damp in spots.

I was about to hide my amulet by sliding it under my sweater when I realized that the time for such secrecy had passed. No more hiding… I would wear my amulet proudly, just as I did when safe in the Order’s hidden headquarters. I let it fall, hanging for all to see: a proud symbol of my membership in the Tutores Contra Infernum and the source of my magic powers.

Walking back into the bathroom, I brushed the little hair that still remained on my age-spotted scalp. I cast my glamour spell, returning my apparent age to my early-twenties, an age I hadn’t seen since Constantine the Great ruled the Roman Empire from his new city of Constantinople. Then picking up my room’s keycard, I headed downstairs to face the new day.

Leaving through the hotel’s back door, I walked down Kodiak Street past the gas station and entered the Yukon Club, the hotel’s closest restaurant. I strode up to the buffet line where the cook dished up my order of bacon, scrambled eggs, and breakfast potatoes. I poured a cup of coffee that I hoped was strong and got into line at the cash register.

That will be seven dollars and fifty cents, the sleepy cashier said after ringing up my meal.

That was when I remembered that my money and ID were in my purse, which was back at our abandoned camp next to the hell hole. I had completely forgotten it in our rush to escape the hellhounds that had formed the initial wave of the invading demons.

Uh… I paused, unsure of what to do next. Then I remembered my money belt. The confused cashier watched as I removed it and unzipped its hidden pocket. Her confusion changed to surprise when she saw the glint of the row of large one-ounce gold coins I always kept safely stashed inside. Reaching behind the coins, I removed one of the crisp new bills, unfolded it, and handed it to her.

This is a hundred-dollar bill, she complained, stating the obvious with a tone of mild annoyance. Don’t you have anything smaller?

Sorry. Just hundreds.

She held the bill up to the light. Apparently satisfied that it wasn’t counterfeit, she counted out my change. Do you need a receipt?

No, thanks, I replied. Maybe it was different for the civilian defense contractors who visited the base, but the Order placed a great deal of trust in its members. Many of us have been with the organization for centuries, long enough to no longer require receipts for our expense reports—at least not for things as trivial as meals and lodging.

I smiled to myself, remembering the time back in the early-1930s when I unexpectedly had to charter a seaplane from New York to the picturesque town of Trondheim, Norway. Our minister of finance was not amused, but what could I do? I was the only curatrix available who could put an end to a band of marauding imps attacking neighboring farms and kidnapping their children. Anyway, that is a different story from a time before commercial aviation shrank the world to where I could use regularly scheduled flights to reach most of the globe in less than a day.

I didn’t see anyone I recognized among the airmen and civilians filling the main part of the restaurant, so I headed to the room in the back where I’d eaten a late dinner the previous evening.

I was mildly surprised to see Dr. Jack Oswald and his wife, Dr. Angela Menendez, already there, sitting in a corner away from the others in the room. I was also pleasantly surprised to see that they had left their rifles back in their hotel room; apparently, they were finally beginning to feel safe after our dangerous drive down the Dalton. They were apparently deep in discussion, their breakfast barely touched. I walked over to join them.

Good morning, Jack, Angela, I said. I glanced at my watch. You two are up early; our eight o’clock meeting won’t start for over an hour. Mind if I join you?

Have a seat, Jack replied, smiling briefly as he gestured to the empty chair in front of me. In his mid-forties, he was a handsome man with dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, and the lean body of a man who spent his summers doing fieldwork up on the North Slope.

I placed my tray on the table, sat down, and looked at the two scientists who had been my constant companions during the three days since we left Fairbanks on our ill-fated expedition. It was clear from my new friends’ expressions that neither was happy with the way yesterday’s meeting between the military and the members of the Order had ended.

Are you two okay? I asked. Jack, the petroleum geologist who had initially led our team, looked grim and determined. However, Angela, his climatologist wife, managed to look angry, afraid, exhausted, and resigned—all at the same time. She had dark rings under her bloodshot eyes, though I couldn’t tell whether that was from lack of sleep or crying.

Yes, Jack said with a tone that belied his statement.

No! Angela replied simultaneously, frowning as though I’d just asked one of the dumbest questions imaginable.

Now, Angie… Jack began.

Don’t you ‘now Angie’ me, Jack Oswald, she interrupted. "I may understand why you believe you have to go on this crazy mission. Hell, I might even intellectually agree with you. But don’t you think for one second that I’m going to be okay with it. I’m not. I’m just not. Mark, Bill, and Kowalski are dead, and we still haven’t been able to get in touch with Jill since we arrived back in Fairbanks. For all we know, she may be dead, too. And now, you’re going to Hell on a suicide mission, which has about as much chance of success as a snowflake in a bonfire. She turned from her husband and looked me straight in the eyes. So, Aileen, don’t you ask me again whether I’m okay because I won’t be unless and until you bring Jack back home to me."

I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her that, of course, I would take care of Jack, keep him safe, and return him to her. But I knew my words would ring hollow, given our mission’s minuscule chance of success. Okay, Angela, I eventually replied. I won’t insult your intelligence by making promises I might not be able to keep. I have my own doubts about whether we’d be successful, or even whether a single one of us will survive. But I can promise you this. I will do everything in my power to protect Jack, and if I can, I’ll bring him back to you once we’ve completed our mission.

Angela stared into my eyes for several long seconds before replying. Aileen, I’m going to hold you to that promise. And if you can’t, you damned well better make the demon bastards pay. If I have to lose the love of my life, it had better be to save the world. Anything less, and the price will be far too high.

After that, we ate a while in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help thinking about all the things that could go wrong. What if we couldn’t open a portal to Hell? What would we find at the other end? Would we arrive undetected or in a vast hall full of demons entering portals to Earth? Could we immediately launch the plague UAVs, or would we have to find our way outside of an enormous facility? The list was essentially endless.

A little later, my close friend and protégé, Tabitha Freeman, walked up with her breakfast tray. This seat taken? she asked, setting her tray down before anyone could respond. Typical Tabitha: outgoing, friendly, and never shy about joining any group. How’s the food? It looks good, certainly better than I expected, given that it’s military chow. I half expected to see nothing but soggy scrambled eggs, fried Spam, and shit on a shingle.

What? Angela asked, surprised at the unexpected phrase.

Creamed chipped beef on toast. Used to be pretty popular during World War II. I actually developed a taste for it, though I can’t say it was ever any good for my girlish figure. She beamed, brilliant white teeth shining like sails upon a dark chocolate sea. Her smile was infectious. Even Angela managed a brief grin. Tabitha turned to me and asked, So, did you hear about the change in this morning’s schedule?

What change? I asked as she shoveled a large fork-full of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

Consula Romano talked to General Robertson, Tabitha replied. Told him members of the High Council needed to hear your official report before our combined meeting with the military this morning. The general postponed his meeting until 10:30 and gave us one of the training rooms in Amber Hall. She pulled out her phone. Damn. It’s a quarter to eight. We’d better get a move on.

I turned to Jack and Angela. I guess I’ll see you two later.

Yeah, see you then, Jack replied.

Angela merely nodded before pulling out her phone. I’m going to try again to reach Jill. Hopefully, she made it back last night and was merely too tired or emotionally drained to answer her phone. Her husband, Mark, was our first casualty on the North Slope. She was devastated when we sent her south with a family fleeing the demons’ attack on Deadhorse and the oil fields around Prudhoe Bay.

Tabitha took a final bite of her eggs and grabbed a piece of toast to eat on the way. We stood up, bussed our trays, and zipped up our jackets.

With the sun hidden below the horizon and the eastern sky covered in clouds, it was still dark as we stepped outside. Walking south along Wabash Avenue, we turned right at the base’s bowling alley and arrived at Amber Hall, the salmon-colored headquarters building of the 354th Fighter Wing.

Dressed in camouflage uniforms and carrying sidearms strapped to their hips, the two airmen standing guard outside the front door were expecting us. One glanced at a clipboard and checked off our names after finding our faces on a page of photos of attending members of the Order. Good Morning, Miss O’Shannon, Miss Freeman. He handed us each a lanyard holding a simple paper badge with our names and pictures on them. After lunch, someone will pick you up and take you to the ID Card Processing Office to pick up your CACs.

CACs? Tabitha asked, confused as I was by the unfamiliar acronym.

Common Access Cards, the guard replied. Official ID cards for military personnel, defense contractors, and others such as yourselves who require access to military facilities. Meanwhile, you’ll need to wear these temporary badges at all times.

Once we had placed the lanyards around our necks, he continued, The other members of your group are already inside. Senior Airman Mathews here will escort you to the training room where your meeting will take place.

The airman opened the double doors for us. Once inside, he led us through a small atrium and up a second, shorter flight of stairs. However, this time he didn’t take us straight back to the wing commander’s conference room, where everyone had gathered the previous evening. Instead, he turned right and escorted us down a long corridor. Just before the end of the hall, he turned left and led us toward the back of the building.

The airman opened one of the doors lining the hallway, and we entered a small nondescript classroom. I was surprised to see that the room was more than half full.

Three members of the High Council sat behind a long table placed across the front of the room. Consula Alessandra Romano (the head of the High Council) sat in her rightful place at the center, while Consul Bertrand Bedeau and Consul Liam Blakeslee sat to her right and left. At either end of the table, two empty seats made it clear that Consula Romano expected additional members of the High Council.

Consula Romano, Consuls Bedeau and Blakeslee, please forgive our tardiness, I apologized as Tabitha and I entered. I only just learned of this meeting.

Consula Romano acknowledged my excuse with a nod but remained silent as I quickly took an empty seat in the front row. Tabitha, as a lower-ranking curatrix, sat down in the chair behind me. While waiting for Consula Romano to speak, I glanced around the room and quickly considered what I knew about each person present.

Besides Tabitha and me, six other members of the Order sat at small tables facing the front of the room. Highly experienced warriors all, I recognized each one and had hunted with most of them. As befitting our rank, Curator Maxima Wang Cheng, Curatrix Maxima Faustina Giordano, Curator Maxima Milos Castellanos, and I sat in the front row. Curatrix Anala Archer, Curatrix Ceana McClelland, Curator Arthur Davies, and Curatrix Tabitha Freeman sat behind us.

Among all the curatrixes and curators of the Order, the High Council had chosen the eight of us to join the U.S. military’s assault on Hell itself. I couldn’t help wondering how any of us would survive. Would any of us, or were we all going willingly to our deaths?

Consula Romano waited until the airman closed the classroom door and headed back to the front of the building, before rising to her feet. All eyes turned to her as she said, Now that Curatrixes O’Shannon and Freeman have finally graced us with their presence, we can begin.

Consula Romano stepped away from the head tables. Taking her amulet from its hiding place beneath her blouse, she lifted its chain over her head. Slowly at first (but quickly growing ever-faster), she swung it in a large, vertical circle, stooping slightly at the bottom of each swing so that the amulet nearly grazed the floor. "Portal ad partum a Sancti Petersburg. Portal ad partum a Sancti Petersburg. Portal ad partum a Sancti Petersburg!"

As she intoned the incantation, bright red sparks poured out of the amulet’s devilstone, tracing a large vertical circle that floated motionless beside her. The air inscribed by the sparks began to shimmer. A second later, the ring of sparks transformed into a portal, revealing an impressively decorated office in the Order’s Saint Petersburg office.

A grim-looking man