From Hell With Love: A Secret Histories Novel by Simon R. Green Page B

off a Yeti, on the grounds that he got mean when he was drunk. The big hairy creature slouched out of the pub, sulking, shedding hairs all the way.
    We found Carys Galloway sitting tucked away in a corner, on her own, next to the window, so she could see anybody coming. She looked us over coolly before gesturing for us to sit down facing her. The chairs were very helpful. The Waking Beauty was a small delicate creature with a personality so powerful it almost pushed me back in my chair. She had a pointed chin, prominent cheekbones, a wide mouth and more than a hint of ethnic gypsy in her. Dark russet hair fell to her shoulders in thick ringlets, and her eyes were so huge and deep you felt like you could fall into them forever. And she smiled like she already knew everything you had on your mind. She had long bony hands, with heavily knuckled fingers, weighed down with gold and silver rings set with unfamiliar polished stones. Bangles on her wrists made soft chiming sounds with her every movement. She wore traditional Romany clothes, and wore them well. She could have been any age from her twenties to her forties, but even sitting there at her ease, her gaze hit me like a blow. She burned, she blazed, with a fierce unwavering intensity, like nothing human.
    I let Isabella do all the talking. I know when I’m outclassed.
    “Word is, you’re connected,” Isabella said bluntly. She waited for a moment, to give the Waking Beauty an opportunity to confirm or deny, but there was no reaction, so Isabella pressed on. “You’re supposed to be the oldest person in this town. In fact, there are those who say you’re older than the town. You draw your power from the many ley lines that cross here, and from never sleeping. Are you the oldest living person in this town, Carys Galloway?”
    “Well,” she said, “There’s Tommy Squarefoot. But he’s a Neanderthal.”
    “Are you immortal?” insisted Isabella.
    “Who knows?” said the Waking Beauty. “I just haven’t died yet, that’s all. There are those who call themselves the Immortals, but I’m not one of that family.”
    “Some say you made a deal, for long life and power,” said Isabella. “A deal you would like to break, if you dared. How am I doing so far, Carys Galloway?”
    “I’ve killed people for knowing less than that about me,” the Waking Beauty said calmly. “Fortunately for you, I’ve mellowed these last few years. And I always did have a soft spot for Hecate’s children. Witches know how to have fun. So, Isabella and Molly Metcalf. Where’s Louisa?”
    “Walking in the Martian Tombs, last I heard,” said Isabella, which came as something of a surprise to me.
    “Why have you come to talk with me, my sisters?” said the Waking Beauty. There was a trace of warning in her voice, that made it clear we’d better have a really good reason.
    “Our parents were murdered by the Droods,” said Isabella. “We were always told they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there have been . . . suggestions, that there may have been more to it than that.”
    “We think they were killed deliberately,” I said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Someone in the Droods ordered their deaths. We want to know who, and why. And, whether there’s any connection with the death of Eddie’s parents.”
    “Ah,” said the Waking Beauty. “I always knew that would come back to bite the Droods on the arse. Droods killing Droods . . . secrets within secrets, lies within lies to hide a terrible truth . . . But first, you need to know about the Apocalypse Door.”
    Isabella and I looked at each other.
    “We do?” I said.
    “Unfortunately, yes, you do. Follow the trail, oh my sisters, from the Door to Doctor Delirium to the Immortals. And if you’re still alive at the end of it, you’ll get your answers. Quite possibly more answers than you can comfortably deal with. The Apocalypse Door is one of the thirteen true entries to Hell in the material