Sam Spallucci: Fury of the Fallen

By A.S. Chambers

Things just never seem to go right for poor old Sam...

Having just defeated a cabal of power-hungry werewolves, you would think that the poor guy would be able to catch a break, but no, fate has other ideas. In his latest set of adventures, we see his five minutes of peace and calm rudely int

• Language: English
• Publisher: Basilisk Books
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781915679031

A.S. Chambers

A.S.Chambers resides in Lancaster, England. He lives a fairly simple life of walking in the countryside, gazing at mountains and rescuing his cat from the net curtains.  He is quite happy for, and in fact would encourage, you to follow him on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, Pinterest and Twitter. There is also a nice, shiny website: www.aschambers.co.uk

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Sam Spallucci:

Fury of the Fallen

A.S.Chambers

Copyright

This story is a work of fiction.All names, characters and incidents portrayed are fictitious and the works of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

This edition published in 2022. Copyright © 2022 Basilisk Books.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A.S.Chambers asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Cover art © 2022 Liam Shaw.

ISBN: 978-1-915679-03-1

Dedication

For all my Patreon and Kickstarter supporters who helped me financially and emotionally in the creation of the book.

With special mention to the following:

Gemma Innes, Nadine Shinfield, Lee, Ron Chick, Rebecca Armstrong, Simon Brindley, Paul, SteamGoth Debs, Rohanna.

Also by A.S.Chambers

Sam Spallucci Series.

The Casebook of Sam Spallucci - 2012

Sam Spallucci: Ghosts From The Past - 2014

Sam Spallucci: Shadows of Lancaster – 2016

Sam Spallucci: The Case of The Belligerent Bard - 2016

Sam Spallucci: Dark Justice – 2018

Sam Spallucci: Troubled Souls - 2020

Sam Spallucci: Bloodline – Prologues & Epilogue 2021

Sam Spallucci: Bloodline - 2021

Sam Spallucci: Lux Æterna - Due 2023

Short Story Anthologies.

Oh Taste And See – 2014

All Things Dark And Dangerous – 2015

Let All Mortal Flesh – 2016

Mourning Has Broken – 2018

Hide Not Thou Thy Face - 2020

If Ye Loathe Me – 2022

Out of the Depths - Due 2023

Ebook short stories.

High Moon - 2013

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun – 2013

Needs Must - 2019

Novellas.

Songbird – 2019

Child of Fire - Due 2023 Child of Light - Due 2023

Bobby Normal Series.

Bobby Normal and the Eternal Talisman - 2021

Bobby Normal and the Virtuous Man - 2021

Bobby Normal and the Children of Cain - 2022

Bobby Normal and the Fallen - Due 2023

Omnibuses.

Children of Cain - 2019

Macabre Collection Volume One - 2022

Macabre Collection Volume Two - Due 2023

Sam Spallucci Omnibus: Volume One - 2022

Sam Spallucci Omnibus: Volume Two - Due 2023

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to the very knowledgeable Gregory Wright for his information on the wonderful Lancaster Castle and for agreeing to appear in person in the The Case of the Ghostly Guide. Also thanks to Phil Martin for polishing up my knowledge regarding Lady Anne Rothwell and her decapitated statue in the Priory churchyard.

A thank you to the team of LuneTube for their informative video regarding Thomas Edmonson and his invention of the train ticket.

Plus a shout out for two of my bibliophile friends. Thank you Tony for allowing me to use the best book shop in the north west of England and agreeing to appear as a cameo whilst reading one of my favourite books of surrealist Scottish prose. Thank you Stuart Reynolds for allowing me to portray you as I did.

Finally, a huge thank you to Liam Shaw for his amazing cover art and to Robyn Parr for agreeing to model for the fallen angel Asherah.

Prologue

One of the most misquoted sayings of modern times is probably, Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. This was originally stated by the writer and philosopher George Santayana and was his succinct way of saying that history will inevitably repeat itself. He suggested that we are creatures of habit and, if we don’t study and meditate upon our previous mistakes in history, we will consequently re-enact them over and over again.

War will follow war.

One blindly arrogant foreign policy will follow another.

The poor and lower classes will continually be trampled upon for the benefit of the rich. Whilst one family starves, trying to eke out the meagre wages of a zero-hour contract job, another will buy clothes that they never wear, consume food that they do not need, holiday in the far-flung reaches of the globe as their carbon emissions burn the planet to a crisp.

If the common person continues to do as they are told without question, believing erroneously that their lot in life is set in stone, if they do not look over their shoulder and see how their social superiors have always used the poor as fuel for the fire that keeps their entitled posteriors warm, then Average Joe or Josephine will continue to be oppressed, incarcerated in a jail of social convenience.

In short, without a knowledge of history, the populace of the world is condemned to a brutal cycle of repetition.

But what of the world fantastical? Is a universe populated by angels, vampires, genies and poltergeists (but, no longer any werewolves…) also subject to the same inevitability? When the inhabitants of that world have greater longevity, one would expect them to understand, to fully comprehend, the consequences of their actions. They should progress, strive for perfection, rather than continue to hit their heads against a metaphysical wall in the hope that it will move to one side and let them pass.

In short, they should not continue to repeat the mistakes of their long, long lives.

Well, you would think so…

The Case of the Ghostly Guide

So, as those of us of a certain age are aware, there is an absolute classic of a children’s book that is entitled The Tiger Who Came To Tea. This 1968 masterpiece by Judith Kerr follows a somewhat simple (and completely surreal) premise that a tiger visits the house of a young girl named Sophie. The chaotic feline proceeds to cause culinary havoc, thus prohibiting Sophie’s mother from cooking the evening meal. Dad comes home after work to find no food and they all go off (tiger included) for a jolly nice slap-up meal.

Now, I have actually mentioned my thoughts on this storyline before in a previous book. The cynic inside of me suggested that Sophie’s mum was, in fact, a bit of a lush who had imbibed far too much gin and thus hadn’t managed to cook anything due to a state of deep inebriation. She had then blamed the whole kerfuffle on an imaginary tiger. Dad, not wanting to make a fuss or anger his sozzled and clearly disturbed wife, decided to do the only thing he could: take them out for a meal.

I still stand by this theory. At the end of the day, most children’s older classics have this darker side to them, whether it be obvious or implied: Hansel and Gretel abandoned by parents; Snow White poisoned by stepmother; Little Red Riding Hood…

Yeah, after the events of Bloodline, I’m not touching Red and her lupine acquaintance right now…

So, when you dig that touch deeper into the modern classics, you start to see undercurrents of similar darkness. Little Rabbit Foo Foo scoots through the forest on his bike, assaulting all manner of woodland creatures; in Not Now Bernard, the poor titular child turns into a monster in a dramatic attempt to gain the attention of his oblivious parents.

But, anyway, I digress. Back to Sophie and that visiting tiger.

So, when this alpha predator rocks up and starts eating all their food, what does Sophie do? Not a lot really? Let’s face it, the oversized feline doesn’t exactly act like the Indian man-eater that he should be, consuming sandwiches, buns, milk, all their tinned produce and even Daddy’s beer. There should be the tension in the air that this wild creature is going to pounce upon them and rend them limb from limb before feasting upon their torn flesh.

In short, when a dangerous character intrudes in one’s house, one should have the feeling that one should require a new set of underwear rather than head out the next day to buy a big tin of tiger food.

The sort of feeling that I was experiencing as I watched the fallen angel Asmodeus seated upon my sofa, deadly electricity crackling across his taut knuckles.

It had been a long few weeks. The lycanthropic Bloodline of Abel had ravished my city; the mother of my son had betrayed me; my best friend had died. It was safe to say that I wasn’t at the peak of my game. Not to mention that I had just downed a large tumbler of Jack Daniel’s and the nearest clock proclaimed that it wasn’t even ten in the morning.

My mouth moved but no words emerged.

I said, the angel glowered, I believe you have something that is mine. His dark, fiery eyes tracked across behind me to my dining table. Give it to me.

I knew what it was that he wanted; at what he was looking.

There was no way that I could give it to him. Handing over the hemispherical green stone that was about the size of a human fist would have been somewhat akin to handing Adolf Hitler a nuclear bomb.

The problem was that this intruder into my already disputed peace and quiet could just walk right through me, leave my charred corpse on the floor, and walk off with the prize.

Sitting somewhat innocently on my cheap, self-assembly dining table that I had picked up about thirteen months ago after sorting out a messy business with a genie, sat the Potency. It was half of a sentient artefact that the personification of rage in front of me had fashioned in Heaven about the time that the Physical Realm had been created. It was a tool that the Bloodline of Abel, a cult of murderous werewolves, had used to let them walk outside the light of the full moon. That was until it turned on them and wiped them out in an incredibly public fashion.

And, if those little factoids weren’t enough, it was destined to give the power to a shadowy individual known only as Kanor that would enable him to raise an army of clay golems called constructs which would then decimate humanity and bring about the apocalyptic event known as the Divergence.

So, yeah, I wasn’t that keen on letting it out of my sight right now. There would, most likely, be unfortunate repercussions with Yours Truly inevitably caught up smack bang in the middle. However, at that moment, I was an ill-equipped noob facing a seriously over-powered end of level boss. I had not yet taken enough trips to the village armoury for my encounter to be anywhere near successful.

Which meant relying on my wits.

You know, I can actually hear you groaning…

I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, I grinned as welcomely as one can to a furious, homicidal fallen angel. I thrust out my right hand. I’m Sam. Asmodeus, I believe?

The angel frowned and the crackling voltage on his hands stuttered for just a second before resuming its deadly knuckle dance. What the hell is this?

I’m being sociable, I explained as my stomach tried to crawl down inside my intestines and hide somewhere back behind my spleen.

"Sociable? You know who I am?"

Oh indeed, I nodded, Asmodeus, late of Heaven. Left for a better life with partner Asherah. Tinkered with early human civilisations until they saw him as a god. I left out the bit that the Bloodline had bested him in Ancient Egypt and had chopped him up into small bits. Having one’s failure pushed into one’s face tends to make one a bit tetchy. You single-handedly masterminded the building of Solomon’s Temple by using your vast powers to command an army of constructs.

The electricity calmed down somewhat. So, he had an ego. Useful.

"I was rather proud of that, he nodded. A fine achievement and, like you said, all my own work."

I can imagine it was an incredible sight to behold.

The fallen angel relaxed back into my sofa. The sparks on his fingers disappeared as he gesticulated in the air in front of him with an erudite magnanimity, his mind travelling back almost three thousand years. It was the wonder of its time. You should have seen the polished stone rising from the ground. There was no other structure to match it for miles around. A true thing of beauty.

I can’t begin to imagine how much guile must have been needed to pull Solomon under your sway.

Asmodeus gave a small shrug and studied his fingertips. "Well, you know, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn a trick or two. He was putty in my hands really. I heard he’d got this guy in from Tyre to do the donkey work, but he was struggling to keep up with what Sol (that’s what his closest friends call him) actually wanted. Can’t say I was surprised, really. I mean, have you seen Phoenician structures? He uttered a snort of disgust. Mud bricks rising from the dirt, that’s all. How he was supposed to craft something of such magnitude, I’ll never know. Personally, I think he was just trying to get his political foot in the door, so to speak."

Amazing. And how long did it take you?

A wide smile grew across his face. A week. Just seven days. I would have preferred six, but well, we can’t have everything, can we? No, my constructs, once you tell them to do something, they’re relentless.

I thought about my own encounters with constructs and couldn’t help but agree. Relentless was a perfect description, as were the sweet little adjectives brutal, murderous and devastating. I studied the being in front of me. His eyes were far off, reliving the glory days, and he was sat like an old man regaling those around him with fabulous tales of his youth.

Something struck me. He knew things, things that others were keeping hidden from me. Ever since I had taken up my career as a paranormal investigator, certain interfering individuals had jerked my chain this way and that, using me as a little lapdog to do their bidding without fully telling me why. Alec, my mysterious lodger, had recently returned from spending quality time with his sort of angelic mother. Both of them kept telling me that it wasn’t safe for me to know more than I already did. The fallen seraph Lucifer seemed to delight in inhabiting my dreams and leading me on various phantasmagorical tarantellas. None of them really gave a damn for the mundane world around me. They would waltz in, wearing superior dancing shoes, pirouette their own brand of chaos around my city, then tango out leaving Yours Truly to pick up the pieces.

However, right now, right here in front of me, was a being who was easily their equal and was willing to talk, if only to voice what he felt were his own superlative achievements. If I played my cards right, I could start to fill in some gaps.

And of course, you had Asherah tagging along for the ride.

Asmodeus gave a frustrated groan at the mention of the female fallen angel and self-styled Canaanite goddess. That woman is more trouble than she’s worth. Can you believe she almost ruined the whole gig I had going with Sol?

She didn’t! I gasped with mock shock.

"She damn well did! Rocking up with an entourage as she did. Queen of Sheba my arse! All she had to do was sing that little song of hers and he was completely enrapt. It wasn’t too long before there were bamot practically on every street corner and asherim in the Temple itself. Believe you me, the high priest was not happy about that. Not one little bit."

I can imagine. How did you manage to sort it out?

Tact and diplomacy of course, he sniffed. That and twenty thousand volts. Sometimes it pays to take direct action.

Of course. Just like you did with Malcolm Wallace.

A wicked sneer crept across the fallen angel’s face. Yes, of course, he said. You were there, weren’t you?

Indeed, I had been. I had travelled back in time to stop Wallace from becoming the sociopathic cult leader that had sent my son to Beyond. I had confronted my former university acquaintance in a Luneside University of some fifteen years previous, opened a portal to Beyond myself, then pushed him through. Wallace had been in the process of clawing his way back to this realm when Asmodeus appeared out of the shadows and shot him, causing the wannabe bringer of the apocalypse to fall back into the portal.

May I ask, why did you use a gun, not your, I pointed to his fingers, power?

The angel shrugged. I like guns. They look cool. He paused. The thing I can’t work out about that night was what that little lapdog of Asherah’s was doing opening a portal to Beyond behind himself. A real dumb move. He shrugged. Ah well, he’ll be suffering for it now, I guess.

I swallowed. So, you think he’s not dead then?

A dark chuckle rose from his throat and I felt my skin pale. The rules in Beyond are so very different to this Physical Realm. It is a place between life and death. You have been snatched from one and crave the other. He will be there, suffering for eternity. His fiery pupils danced in his eyes with malicious glee. I don’t think I’d want to be in your shoes should he ever escape, after you messed up his little game.

My stomach lurched. I recalled the time that I had tried to send Kanor to Beyond and failed miserably. He had just stood there, amusement radiating out from under his dark, all-enveloping cowl and had explained that once one had escaped Beyond there was no going back. Was he Wallace? Was his interference in my life my old university acquaintance’s way of tormenting me before he brought about the thing that I had prevented him from achieving once before: the Divergence?

But then, there was another candidate for the identity of old dark, cloaked and menacing, wasn’t there? When I had previously crossed swords with Malcolm Wallace, as punishment, he had sent my son John to Beyond. I had watched helplessly as the portal had formed behind him and dragged him away to that hellhole. What if John was Kanor? I hadn’t exactly been successful in finding a way to rescue him, had I, what with distractions from vampires, werewolves and other such creatures from the shadowy world of the paranormal. Was he brewing hatred for his dear old dad, conjuring up all manner of crazed reasons in his head as to why he had been forgotten and abandoned? Had my inactivity in the matter led to that place twisting a sweet teenage boy into a deranged bringer of the apocalypse who would devastate the planet and reduce humanity to a pitiful remnant?

How could I live with myself if that was the case?

I didn’t need to consider that right now. I needed to stay on task.

"So, tell me, why did you leave Israel? Surely you were living the high life with dear old Sol under your spell?"

The dark shadow that fell across Asmodeus’ face informed me that this was probably not one of his favourite memories.

"Because of him! he snarled, pure venom snapping from his tongue. Him and his brat boy. He’s always been so superior, so… condescending to the rest of us. Just because he was in Heaven first; just because he was more powerful; just because he was allowed to spend his time in the very heart of the Presence."

My mind flicked through my angelic Rolodex and there was only one individual that could possibly fit that description. "You’re saying that Lucifer ruined everything for you?"

Asmodeus leapt up from my sofa, his black coat flapping behind him and electricity sparking from his clenched fists. Don’t mention his infernal name in my presence! he raged. "He destroyed all that I had worked for. He opened that pathetic human’s eyes and showed him what we were up to. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, he broke my Potency in two. How dare he? The arrogance of the being. He just gripped it in his hands, twisted it and snapped it into two halves. All I could manage was to grab one of them and snap out of there before he did the same to me.

I buried it deep in the ground, in a shrine that would serve as its resting place until it was safe for me to use it again. However, it was dug up, stolen and defiled by that disgusting company of wolves. His eyes left me and tracked across to the green stone on my table. But right now, I’m going to take it back. I’m going to use it to put myself where I rightfully belong.

And where would that be?

As the god of this pathetic little excuse of a civilisation.

The fallen angel lifted his right hand and, as he drew it back, a haze of static showered down to the floor. I did the only thing I thought possible. I ducked just in time as forked lightning crackled above my head. The angel screamed in frustration as he pulled his fist back to charge another volley. My options were now seriously limited as I was crouched down on the floor. If I stood, I would lose my head. If I tried to run, I would probably fall over in a heap.

Things did not look good.

Then I felt a calm hand on my shoulder.

The hell? screamed the angel.

I turned my head as I stood up and looked into the face of my lodger, Alec. His finger was to his lips and I nodded. In all the excitement of the encounter with Asmodeus, I had forgotten that he was here, smarting at my anger over the events of the last few days. He had obviously turned his mojo up to eleven and had been standing in plain sight, disguising himself from our senses and had now decided that it was time to intervene.

Asmodeus was standing seething in the middle of my living room, his electric fists clenching and unclenching in rage. I know you’re still there, Spallucci, he glowered, "and I’m guessing you have a little friend. I have to say, I didn’t expect that, not at all." He cocked his head to one side, listening intently. I turned and frowned at Alec. When he had performed this little party piece before, there had never been any need for silence; no one had been able to hear us as we had moved around. But then, no one had been an irate being from the beginning of time.

My guess was that the rules were slightly different on this occasion.

Asmodeus huffed. It seems like your powers have improved since we last met, boy. I’d love to know who’s been instructing you. But right now, I have to go. His face swivelled towards the dining table and he smiled. "I may not be able to see my Potency, but I should still be able to pick it up."

Alec’s face became a mask of horror as the fallen angel stalked over to the table.

I did the only thing I could think of to save the situation. I snatched up the green hemispherical stone before Asmodeus could lay his hands on it.

Everything turned white.

I heard a light clattering noise. Looking down at what seemed to be the floor in the all white, no way is up area in which I was now standing, I saw a small token come to rest at number six on a crudely drawn hopscotch grid.

I peered closely at the token and my stomach lurched, wishing that I hadn’t.

It was a finger bone.

The physical manifestation of the Potency, a small girl wearing a white dress who had long green hair and bright green glowing orbs for eyes, came hop, skip and jump down the grid, nimbly scooting around the macabre toy. Reaching the number ten, she pirouetted around on one foot, clapped her hands together in glee and called back down the length of the roughly chalked numbers, Your turn, now!

I watched in bemused terror at the sight in front of me.

A fully formed construct stood at the start of the grid. Atop its neckless head was fastened a yellow bonnet that was patterned with pink flowers. Not the usual attire for the clay killing machines of Kanor. I was guessing that the Potency had been having some quality dressing-up time with its mute playmate. The murderous golem leant forward in a monstrous mimicry of someone studying the hopscotch grid. Its eyeless face appeared to study the path in front of it as its thick black tongue whipped out and scented the air.

Don’t be nervous! the weird little girl called out. You can do it!

Nervous? Since when could a creature that was destined to almost eradicate humanity be nervous?

The construct took a tentative step forward onto number one.

Thud.

The Potency jumped up and down, clapping her hands with extreme enthusiasm.

Thud. It stamped onto number two.

Thud, thud, thud. It stood precariously on one trunk-like leg atop number five.

That’s it! Now go around the next one.

Crack! The golem’s foot came crashing down onto number six, pulverising the human bone beneath its massive weight. A true metaphor for humanity’s future: I thought to myself as I reached into my pocket and fished out a packet of Luckies.

The weirdling gave a deep sigh of childlike frustration, waved a hand vaguely in front of her and the construct dissolved into nothingness, leaving just the hopscotch grid and the obliterated bone. She walked disconsolately over to the broken token, crouched down and studied it. I guess I was expecting too much, she pondered to herself. I just thought it would be easier than skipping. Her vivid green eyes flicked up at me as I lit the tip of my Lucky. "Have you come to play with me?"

I blew two streams of rich smoke out of my nostrils. In the real world, a psychotic fallen angel was gunning for my blood, probably tearing up my flat at 15a Dalton Square in an attempt to seize control of a small, green hemispherical stone that could be used to bring about an apocalypse. In this world, wherever the hell it was, there seemed to be, at least for the moment, a relative calm.

I nodded. As long as it doesn’t involve anything fatal.

My little host frowned. Well, that’s a very odd thing to say.

"I just prefer games where nobody dies. Let’s say Monopoly where you have get out of jail free cards rather than mindless golems murder your family cards. You know the thing?"

But, Sam, she said as the world around us dimmed, everything dies. Well, almost everything.

And suddenly, I was stood in space, or rather out of space, looking in. Stars and galaxies glimmered brightly in the darkness. And there, in their midst stood a fiery titan, his arms outstretched across time and space itself. In his hands, he grasped the Cup and the Blade.

Dread churned around inside of me as a terribly familiar lilting three-note refrain echoed around the galaxies that twinkled before me like glow worms.

The Potency wrapped her fingers into my trembling hand. Everything will eventually die, she said, "apart from them."

The fiery being lifted the Blade and performed the impossible. He pierced the heavens themselves. The tip of the weapon rent a ragged hole in the very fabric of existence and gleefully singing waters rushed into the Physical Realm. As they did, the three-note tune crescendoed and I felt as if I were being buffeted by a tornado that wished to snatch me up into its unforgiving embrace. Everything around me began to twist and warp. Galaxies and stars seemed to stretch out towards the infinite as all reality swirled and contorted, entwining itself into a single strand and collapsing down into the bowl of the Cup as if dropped unwanted by some unseen giant.

And high above me, the titan opened his mouth to sing in accompaniment to the living sea. His words joined in with the familiar three-note refrain with a voice older than time itself:

We are one. We are one. We are…

…one!

I opened my eyes with a start, not truly aware of where I was or what was happening. My arms thrashed around like one who has awoken from the deepest of dreams, but I did not find crumpled bedding twisted around me, soaked with the night-time sweat of the emotionally terrified. Neither did I feel any of the familiar furniture of my flat.

Instead, I found the hard wooden surface of a park bench.

Easy. Easy. Breathe.

Trees. I was aware of trees. Tall trees, the smell of wood and undergrowth.

A steadying hand was settled upon my arm and feelings of calm were teasing at my fraught subconscious.

I did as instructed and started to breathe. My lungs juddered at the cold winter air and snapped me back to the here and now. I turned to see a concerned pair of blue eyes. Alec?

My lodger nodded.

Where… where are we? I managed. What happened?

You were completely out of it as soon as you touched the Potency. It took all my power to get you walking out of there. I brought you up here. Somewhere relatively safe.

My ears heard the splashing of water from a fountain and the curious quacking of mallard ducks. I nervously glanced around and noted a curving pond surrounded by tall trees. Williamson Park?

He nodded again.

Asmodeus?

Alec gently closed his eyes and stilled his breath before nodding to himself. He opened his blue eyes. He’s gone, for now. He has a very short attention span and if he doesn’t get what he wants first time, he tends to give up for a while. He’s more a creature of erratic impulse rather than planned strategy. You’re okay, for now.

For now…

Then something struck me. The Potency. Where is it?

Alec raised his eyebrows and let out a short puff of breath. Yeah, about that. His eyes left me and travelled down to the edge of the pond where a small girl was talking happily to the ducks. Nothing unusual about that, you might say. Well, except for the fact that this small girl had bright green hair and shining emerald eyes.

I groaned. This day was just getting better and better.

I made to stand up but my legs had about as much strength as a centenarian after they have run a double marathon. I slumped back down onto the dew-dampened bench, my hand resting on the familiar wooden slats of the seat. For a moment I could feel every single knot, grain and cut in the wood. I ran my fingers over the surface, my mortal hands revelling in the beautifully mundane sensation.

Mortal hands, not crazed destructive fiery titan hands that were destroying the universe.

Everything dies. Well, almost everything… What the hell had I just seen? That damned tune. I had heard it so many times before in nightmares. It had never accompanied anything good, but this certainly topped every little phantasmagorical terror that had screamed at me in my disturbed slumber.

The end of the universe.

T.S.Eliot had famously proclaimed that the world would end, Not with a bang but a whimper. It appeared that he was going to be somewhat disappointed on that eschatological matter.

I felt nausea rise in my gullet as my tinnitus started to scream unabated within my ears. I was aware of the colour draining from my face as my blood pressure dropped and I bent forward preparing to vomit.

Whoa! Careful, Sam. Alec placed a hand on my back and I felt a soothing warmth flood through my body, all sickness dissolving like the fizzing mist off the top of a glass of Alka Seltzer. He had apparently upped his little mind tricks on his sabbatical with his mother. You were really out of it. You need to rest. He paused, unsure as to how he should phrase his next words. Where were you, exactly?

I closed and reopened my eyes as my body started to feel relatively human again. You mean to tell me, you didn’t have a peep?

I respect your privacy.

Or, you didn’t have a chance?

The teenager looked like I had slapped him. Sam… he began.

I held up a hand. No. Don’t. I don’t want to hear all those banal little platitudes. We’ve known each other now, how long? Four months or so? A third of a year?

He nodded.

And what have I learned from you about all of… I shrugged, "…this? Next to nothing. You gave me a crash course on angelology and a few vague hints about your parenthood. Yet, I spend five minutes or so with a murderous fallen angel that I have only ever seen in passing once before and he can’t stop talking about the wondrous things he’s done. Things which include our little guest over there," I glanced across as the Potency who now appeared to be cuddling a somewhat confused duck against her pristine white