conflict with Heaven. He headed for the door leading to the fallen angel’s basement apartment, and immediately sensed that his friend was not at home. He pulled open the door anyway, but the silence confirmed his suspicion.
No matter. He’d hook up with Francis later. Instead, he turned his attention to the second bird. He was in need of a magick user, and Francis just so happened to have one living in his building.
Angus Heath wasn’t the most pleasant of individuals. A former member of a band of sorcerers interested in the acquisition of supernatural knowledge and power in order to influence the world, he and Remy had recently been forced to work together in order to stop a renegade member of his former cabal.
Heath had since claimed an empty apartment on the third floor, and Remy quickly took the stairs two at a time to reach his destination. It was surprisingly cool outside, and the steam heat in the long hallway hissed like a snake, as if in warning.
Remy rapped on the door with his knuckle, listening to see if he could hear anything inside. Thinking that he might have heard movement, he knocked again.
“Angus,” he called. “It’s Remy Chandler. I need a favor.”
There was movement behind the door, and Remy stepped back on instinct as it came open to reveal not at all who he was expecting to find.
“Hey, Remy,” the creature named Squire said. His arms were filled with items as if he’d just come from grocery shopping, but they’d run out of bags. Squire was attempting to hold on to a loaf of bread, a jar of mayo, multiple packages of cold cuts, and a king-sized bag of potato chips.
“Did I knock on the wrong door?” Remy asked, checking the number.
Squire now lived in the building, too, after helping out with the same case that had introduced Remy to the sorcerer, Heath. Squire was a hobgoblin from an alternate version of Earth where something really horrible—something that he wasn’t too keen on sharing—had transpired. He had the ability to use shadows as a means of transport. He was also pretty good in a fight.
“No, you’re good,” the hobgoblin said, closing the door behind him, but dropping the loaf of bread in the process. “As you can guess Angus isn’t home.”
“Which is why you’re helping yourself to his food,” Remy said.
“Exactly,” the squat, homely creature said. “Could you grab that bread for me?”
Remy bent and picked it up, watching as Squire headed down the hall to an apartment on the other side.
“It’s unlocked,” he said, motioning with his chin for Remy to open his door.
Remy turned the knob and pushed it open, Squire heading in first.
“Make yourself at home,” the hobgoblin said as he walked into the kitchen area, putting his plunder down atop the counter. Remy tossed him the loaf of bread as he looked around.
The apartment was practically empty, except for a leather couch and a beat-up old recliner. There was a large, flat-screen television hanging on the wall.
“Can I make you a sandwich?” Squire asked. He had torn into the packages of cold cuts and the bread and was making a monstrosity of a meal. “I got roast beef, provolone, and ham.”
“No, I’m good,” Remy said. He watched the goblin construct his lunch in awe, multiple pieces of meat and cheese creating a sandwich at least five inches thick. And since he didn’t appear to have any silverware, he just dipped his chubby fingers into the jar of mayonnaise and smeared it on the meat and bread. He then placed some whole pickles and a handful of potato chips onto the heap of cheese and meat.
“There, that oughta hold me for a bit,” he said, proudly placing the other piece of bread on top and pushing it down with a muffled crunch.
Squire grabbed the huge sandwich off the counter and started toward the living room.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I forgot to see what Angus had in the liquor cabinet,” he said, hopping up into his recliner. A cloud of dust shot up into
No matter. He’d hook up with Francis later. Instead, he turned his attention to the second bird. He was in need of a magick user, and Francis just so happened to have one living in his building.
Angus Heath wasn’t the most pleasant of individuals. A former member of a band of sorcerers interested in the acquisition of supernatural knowledge and power in order to influence the world, he and Remy had recently been forced to work together in order to stop a renegade member of his former cabal.
Heath had since claimed an empty apartment on the third floor, and Remy quickly took the stairs two at a time to reach his destination. It was surprisingly cool outside, and the steam heat in the long hallway hissed like a snake, as if in warning.
Remy rapped on the door with his knuckle, listening to see if he could hear anything inside. Thinking that he might have heard movement, he knocked again.
“Angus,” he called. “It’s Remy Chandler. I need a favor.”
There was movement behind the door, and Remy stepped back on instinct as it came open to reveal not at all who he was expecting to find.
“Hey, Remy,” the creature named Squire said. His arms were filled with items as if he’d just come from grocery shopping, but they’d run out of bags. Squire was attempting to hold on to a loaf of bread, a jar of mayo, multiple packages of cold cuts, and a king-sized bag of potato chips.
“Did I knock on the wrong door?” Remy asked, checking the number.
Squire now lived in the building, too, after helping out with the same case that had introduced Remy to the sorcerer, Heath. Squire was a hobgoblin from an alternate version of Earth where something really horrible—something that he wasn’t too keen on sharing—had transpired. He had the ability to use shadows as a means of transport. He was also pretty good in a fight.
“No, you’re good,” the hobgoblin said, closing the door behind him, but dropping the loaf of bread in the process. “As you can guess Angus isn’t home.”
“Which is why you’re helping yourself to his food,” Remy said.
“Exactly,” the squat, homely creature said. “Could you grab that bread for me?”
Remy bent and picked it up, watching as Squire headed down the hall to an apartment on the other side.
“It’s unlocked,” he said, motioning with his chin for Remy to open his door.
Remy turned the knob and pushed it open, Squire heading in first.
“Make yourself at home,” the hobgoblin said as he walked into the kitchen area, putting his plunder down atop the counter. Remy tossed him the loaf of bread as he looked around.
The apartment was practically empty, except for a leather couch and a beat-up old recliner. There was a large, flat-screen television hanging on the wall.
“Can I make you a sandwich?” Squire asked. He had torn into the packages of cold cuts and the bread and was making a monstrosity of a meal. “I got roast beef, provolone, and ham.”
“No, I’m good,” Remy said. He watched the goblin construct his lunch in awe, multiple pieces of meat and cheese creating a sandwich at least five inches thick. And since he didn’t appear to have any silverware, he just dipped his chubby fingers into the jar of mayonnaise and smeared it on the meat and bread. He then placed some whole pickles and a handful of potato chips onto the heap of cheese and meat.
“There, that oughta hold me for a bit,” he said, proudly placing the other piece of bread on top and pushing it down with a muffled crunch.
Squire grabbed the huge sandwich off the counter and started toward the living room.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I forgot to see what Angus had in the liquor cabinet,” he said, hopping up into his recliner. A cloud of dust shot up into
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