EXCERPTS FROM MY LATEST BOOK

Dead Declan Book 1

Out of Hell

CHAPTER 1

Fire.

Brimstone.

And a seven-foot-tall demon with a whip.

Just another day in hell.

My name is Declan O’Brian and I’m dead.

I’ve been stuck down here in the netherworld for sixteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-two days and six hours. Not that I’m counting, mind you.

How much longer will I be here?

Oh, let’s see. About another … how long is infinity? Yeah. That long.

I picked up another red-hot rock, searing the flesh from my hands as I did so. Throwing it into the pit of lava I cursed under my breath.

‘Stupid fecking work.’

Stopping and stretching, I stood for a few seconds to let the burned flesh grow back. That’s the thing, you see, in hell you suffer the pain of death and dismemberment, but you always heal up real quick, so as they can tear you apart again. And again.

Belal, the said seven feet high demon I pointed out earlier, strolled over and lay down a few casual lashes on my already blistered and bleeding back.

‘Argh, give me a break, you fecking SOB,’ I yelled at him. ‘I’m just letting me hand grow back.’

‘No slacking,’ he answered in his usual growling baritone. ‘Anyway, O’Brian, you’re wanted at the office. Boss needs to speak to you.’

‘Tell him I’m busy.’

Belal smiled. An expression that was marginally more terrifying that his usual default snarl.

‘What’s with the cheerful expression?’ I asked. ‘Got some more cruel and unusual punishment lined up for me?’

‘Quite the opposite, O’Brian. Looks like you’re being sprung. Word from the top is that you’re getting a second chance. They’re going to give you a shot at redemption.’

I thought about that for a few seconds and then shook my head. ‘No. If it’s all the same to you, I think that I’ll just stay here. Do my time, don’t you know?’

Belal looked puzzled. ‘What? You saying you don’t want out? Why?’

‘I don’t deserve to leave,’ I explained. ‘Too be sure. You see, I’d done some terrible things. No, really – I truly acted the maggot, I did. I’ve murdered the innocent, broken most of the commandments and I’ve pretty much partaken of all of the seven sins … and I never sorted my trash into piles for recycling – not once.’

‘You think this is some sort of a joke, you Paddy wagon riding, pot licking, bog trotting, Irish Provo?

‘Hey,’ I objected. ‘What’s with all the racist monikers, ye gods dammed demon piece of crap. And anyways, yeah, I reckon I’m fecking hilarious.’

‘Well, you got no choice in the matter, O’Brian. And lucky for me, the boss didn’t say what condition you had to be delivered in.’

I could only watch as Belal raised his cat-o-nine-tails high and brought the leaded ropes down on my back, swinging as hard as he could until I eventually passed out from the pure agony of it.

CHAPTER 2

I opened my eyes.

Bright light.

Consciousness.

Looking around me I saw that I was in a waiting room. White leather sofas. White carpets. White walls. No windows. Crappy background music, some sort of pop goes the classics. Deplorable.

Across the room from me sat a receptionist. Behind a white desk. She was wearing a white dress.

The lack of color was starting to give me a migraine. And that set off the pain in my back to perfection.

‘Ah, I see that we’re awake,’ said the dolly behind the desk. ‘The Watcher will see you now.’

‘What the … where am I?’

‘Please, mister O’Brian, the Watcher is on a very tight schedule.’ She gestured at the only door in the room.

It was white.

I stood up, staggered across the reception room on stiff legs, grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

Thank the lords, this room wasn’t like the inside of a ping pong ball. Not that it was a riot of color neither. A large desk, single guest chair. Muted wood tones. Old fashioned filing cabinets, a faded Persian rug. No windows.

Behind the desk sat a man. White suit. Neatly trimmed white beard. Shoulder length white hair. Eyes like backlit diamonds.

He was shuffling a pile of papers in front of him. Without looking up he pointed to the chair.

‘Sit,’ he commanded. His voice was strange. Unearthly. Like it had been double tracked and then run through a compressor of some sort. Somewhat robotic.

I sat. The chair was oddly off kilter. One of the legs shorter than the rest. I had to perch on the edge and slightly to one side to avoid sliding off.

‘Mister O’Brian,’ said the man in white. ‘Declan. Banished to hell for all eternity. I see, I see.’

‘Dat’s me,’ I concurred.

‘So,’ he continued. ‘How are you?’

I thought that was a right stupid question. I’d just spent the last sixteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-two days and seven hours getting roasted, beaten, dismembered and sliced and diced. How the hell did he think I was?

‘This chair has one shorter leg,’ I informed him.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘No, mister O’Brian,’ he refuted. ‘I think that you will find that it has three longer ones.’

‘Whatever. Who are you?’

‘Me? I am the Watcher. Capital W.’

‘Oh. And who the very feck is the Watcher, capital W, when he’s at home?’

 ‘Watch your language, mister O’Brian.’

‘What? Feck? Dat’s not swearing.’

‘It’s the intent, not the word itself.’

‘Fuck you, mister white suit asshole man,’ I snapped. ‘Now you see, dat’s swearing.’

The man in white scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands and shook his head. ‘Why does he always choose such antisocial, aggressive idiots?’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Look. Mister O’Brian,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to cut to the chase. As Belal informed you, you have been chosen to be given a second chance.

‘Every so many years a sinner is lifted from the fires and given the opportunity to redeem themselves. These persons are sent back to Earth and appointed as Guardians. There they spend their time atoning for their sins, doing good deeds and generally following all of instructions given them.

‘As long as they stick to the rules and do all that is demanded of them, they stand every chance of being redeemed. So, lucky you, well done and so forth. The receptionist will show you to the departure point and, good luck.’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

The look on his face would have been comical if I was in any sort of mood to laugh. But I wasn’t.

‘What?’ he gasped. ‘You would turn down a chance for redemption?’

‘I do. You see, Watcher with capital W. What I did, it’s inexcusable. I don’t deserve to be redeemed. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. And even dat’s not long enough, I tell you.’

‘Good Lord, man,’ exclaimed the Watcher. ‘Just what is it that you consider to be so heinous?’

I stared at the man in white. Bejaysus, obviously he knew. Why would he want me to relive it all again?  ‘The bomb,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen. You see, when we set it up on that road outside of Derry, it was to take out a convoy of British soldiers. But one of their APC’s broke down so they pulled over to the side of the road. And when they did … they let a school bus overtake them.’

I felt the tears welling up inside me again. Every time I thought about what I had done it left me a blubbering wreck.

‘I swear to you, mister Watcher, I tried to stop them. I ran from our hide as fast as I could. Screaming and shouting and waving me arms. But before I could get to them, the Brits saw me. They saw that I was armed. And they took me out. Shot me to pieces they did. Fecking bastards. So, the kiddies died.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I deserve to rot in the depths of hell for all eternity.’

The Watcher frowned. ‘They never told you,’ he stated.

I said nothing. I could hear that it was a statement, not a question, so I simply sat and waited, trying my hardest not to start blubbing like a little girl.

‘The bus stopped,’ he continued. ‘They saw you running at them and the bus driver pulled over. The bomb blew out the windows, that’s all. There were a few minor injuries but the only casualty was you.’

The wave of relief that washed over me threatened to take my breath away. And to my shame I could no longer hold back the tears. But for the first time they were the cleansing tears of relief. Not the burning, bitter tears of self-loathing and guilt.

‘Well that’s a good thing,’ I said when my embarrassing bout of emotion had passed. ‘But tell me then, Watcher, why did I still go to hell?’

The man in white raised an eyebrow. ‘Because you’re a murdering, psychotic terrorist. A walking human disaster area.’

I nodded. No use arguing there. ‘Fair enough,’ I admitted. ‘I resent that statement. But I surely don’t deny it, although I prefer the term, Freedom Fighter. So why the reprieve then?’

‘The big boss has decided that you aren’t all bad. He sees potential in you. Plus, the role of Guardian calls for a certain amount of ruthlessness. So, are you in?’

‘Like a foot sliding into a well-worn Wellington boot, me auld Watcher fella,’ I confirmed. ‘Take me away.’

CHAPTER 3

The first thing that I noticed was the distinct lack of brimstone. The air smelled clean and fresh and vaguely of flowers.

Oh, and also, I was lying on a huge, feather mattress as opposed to a bed of red-hot stones. Which was nice.

I had no recollection of how I had gotten here, or even where here was. So, opening one eye I checked out my surrounds. Pale green walls. High ceiling. A large picture window running alongside the one wall. Two wingback chairs, a small table with another two chairs. A huge television. Built in wardrobes and an open door leading to an ensuite bathroom.

I sat up and looked out of the window. Buildings. A park of some sort. Looked like New York, although I couldn’t be sure. After all, apart from hell, I’d never left Ireland before.

As I was perusing the view, the door opened and a man walked in. Maybe in his seventies. Old but spry looking. Clean shaven. Close cropped gray hair. Navy three-piece suit complete with watch fob. Small round eyeglasses.

He was carrying a large tray that he placed on the table.

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Yeah. Who you?’

‘Mister Soames, sir. I am your manservant.’

‘Don’t need no fecking man servant. I’m not Prince Charles.’

‘No sir. Of course not.’

He removed a couple of silver cloches from the tray and the smell of fried bacon, sausage, mushrooms and eggs assailed my nostrils. The smell almost made me swoon. After all, I hadn’t actually had anything to eat for over forty years now, what with there being no room service in the underworld.

‘Shall I draw you a bath, sir, or would you prefer to shower. After you break your fast?’

‘Shower,’ I mumbled as my mind tried to catch up with my current circumstances.

‘Fine, sir. I’ll be leaving now, but I shall lay your clothes out whilst you ablute. Anything else?’

‘Cigarettes?’

‘Of course, sir. Any particular brand?’

‘Camel. Are you serious, I’m allowed to smoke?’

‘Naturally, sir.’

‘Cool.’

I climbed out of bed, noticed that I was naked, walked over to the table and sat down. To his credit, the manservant didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘So, mister Soames. Got a first name?’

‘Most certainly not, sir.’

‘Fine then. Thanks.’

Mister Soames left as I grabbed a knife and fork and set too, shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could, pausing every now and then to either take a deep breath or let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

Hungry as I was, I still couldn’t finish the vast portion of food that had been served up to me. After begrudgingly admitting defeat, I got up and went through to the bathroom. The shower was a thing of magnificence. Three shower heads, enough water pressure to sting like needles and plenty of hot water. I stayed in there for almost half an hour, reveling in the joy of being clean for the first time in over four decades.

Eventually I got out, toweled myself dry and went back into the bedroom.

Laid out on the bed were a pair of cotton twill trousers. Black. Underwear. Black linen shirt. Combat boots and a long black leather trench coat.

It all fitted like it had been tailored for me. Which I suspect it had been.

I grabbed the pack of Camels that mister Soames had kindly provided. Flicked the accompanying Zippo and lit up my first cancer stick in forty years.

Bliss.

After a couple of deep drags, I opened the bedroom door and went through to explore the rest of the apartment.

CHAPTER 4

The rest of the apartment was huge. I mean, small county in Ireland huge. I could have started a subsistence farm in the place and I would still have space to home about a hundred more people.

Truth be told, I had actually given up exploring after but a few minutes. And I had concluded that the place was bigger than was physically possible without it actually occupying an entire city block. So, rather than hurt my brain trying to figure out how that was possible I decided to simply ignore the fact. There, one less thing to worry about.

‘Okay, mister Soames,’ I said. ‘What now?’

‘Now, sir,’ replied the manservant. ‘I show you to your study. This way.’

I followed the old man down a corridor to a set of double doors. He opened them and ushered me in.

It was a study. Wood paneled, Large window. Larger desk. Leather Chesterfield chairs and sofas. A wet bar along the one wall and a huge globe of the world to the one side. I took a closer look at it and was amazed to see that it wasn’t simply a globe. It seemed to be an actual 3D facsimile of the world itself. Tiny clouds, floated over the surface, storms raged silently and waves crashed endlessly onto miniature shorelines. Fascinating.

But much more fascinating was what was laid out in the desk.

‘Your weapons, sir,’ explained mister Soames as he picked up each object in turn and presented them to me.

‘Firstly, two Desert Eagles chambered for the .44 magnum round. Extended magazines capable of loading ten plus one. Try them, for size, sir.’

I took the two semi-auto pistols from him and hefted them a couple of times. They were large but well balanced. Holding them up and sighting against the wall I could tell that they pointed well and they sat comfortably in the hand. ‘Nice,’ I stated as I handed them back to him.

Picking up a box of ammo from the desk, I slid it open to check it out. It was unlike any ammo I had ever seen before.  Each cartridge was covered in tiny black symbols and the slug itself had a sharp point and loads more sigils and words carved into it.

‘Weird,’ I commented. ‘What gives with this ammo?’

‘The ammunition has been runed, sir. Covered with spells, laced with silver and inside each slug is a tiny reservoir of holy water and a tungsten needle. They will penetrate body armor and put down just about anything that walks.’

‘Cool.’

‘Yes, sir. Very cool. You have also been issued with two Schrade needle point boot knives. And three 44 magnum Derringers in two shot capacity. One for each boot and one for small of the back carry. Plus, a double shoulder holster with six extra mags. Here, try the rig on, sir.’

I shrugged my trench coat off and slipped on the shoulder holster rig. Like my clothes, it fit perfectly. I slipped in the magnums and the extra magazines.

‘Nice.’

‘Very, sir. And finally, your swords.’

Soames held out two Japanese short swords. I didn’t know much about bladed weapons, but as I took hold of them, even I could tell that they were of exceptional quality.

‘These swords are Japanese wakizashi. Made by the priest Goro Masumune in 1670AD. Most likely the premier of their kind in the world. A great treasure, sir.’

‘These I can use,’ I said as I patted my pistols ‘But those pig stickers.? Not sure about that. Never swung a sword in my life, not being a fecking Samurai.’

‘Not to worry, sir,’ confided Soames. ‘You shall find that you are a more than adequate swordsman.’

I chuckled. ‘I don’t think so, mister Soames. We Irish are not well known for our swordplay. And I can assure you, if I was a master swordsman den I would most likely know about that.’

I drew one of the swords from its scabbard and gave it an experimental swing, slashing back and forth a few times. Oddly enough, the weapon felt right. Familiar. Like I had grown up with a blade in my hand. I drew the second one and discarded the sheaths.

Then, without conscious thought, I started to go through the forms. Staring with Ippon-me through all ten kata finishing with Kodachi No Sanbon-Me. Bejaysus, I even knew what the katas were called

‘Feck me,’ I blurted out. ‘I’m a bleeding samurai. Dat’s awesome.’

‘I’m sure it is sir.’ 

‘Well what now. Mister Soames?’ I asked as I passed him the blades to re-sheath. ‘I wander around the city at night, fighting crime? Or do I wait for some sort of bat signal?’

‘Hardly, sir,’ answered the manservant. ‘First you need to be made au fait with the structure of the magical side of society that you will be dealing with, as well as the customs and mores thereof. ‘

‘Huh?’

‘You need instruction, sir.’

‘Cool. Instruct away.’

‘I’m sure that is not my job, sir. You have a specialist for that.’

‘Okay, whatever. Who?’

CHAPTER 5

Okay…maybe she wasn’t the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. But let me tell you, she was fecking close.

She was also a complete and utter cold-hearted bitch of the first order. Just my luck. Forty years in hell and the first woman I meet hates me like turkeys hate Christmas. Luck of the Irish be dammed.

Her name was Perdita. She had no discernable accent, long red hair, eyes like emeralds and a body that could have been triple A rated by Hugh Hefner himself. You know, the Bunny Girl stamp of approval. Misogynistic much? Sure, give me a break. You spend sixteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-two days and seven hours in the company of naught but demons and hellfire and see how modern-day metrosexual you become.

Anyway, she thought that I was a complete douchebag. Which I most likely am, so, perceptive girl.

‘Pay attention, O’Brian.’

‘Call me Declan, sweetheart.’

She sneered at me, lips curling down like a was a pile of doggy-doo. Cripes, even her look of scorn was a thing of beauty. Get a grip, fella.

‘Look, Mister O’Brian, I have been tasked with instructing you. That I will do to the best of my abilities, but if you don’t start concentrating and assume a professional attitude, I swear that I shall put the hurt on you so badly that you will take the next twenty-four hours to recover. Understand?’

I smirked. ‘Tough talk, sweet thing. You forget, I’ve been through hell in a handbasket. Literally. So, if you’re going to get all shirty over a bit of banter and make empty threats, then maybe you ortta pack up and send someone a little more senior to do the job.’

Yeah. I thought to myself. That’s telling her. I may be a murdering, psychotic asshole but I didn’t need no shite from a slip of a girl whom I could quite easily bend over my knee and spank if the urge took me.

She smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Then she raised her right hand and unleashed some sort of lightning bolt or something. Whatever it was, it picked me up and smashed me against the wall like I was a rag doll in a tsunami.

‘What the feck was that?’ I croaked.

‘That, sweetheart,’ she answered sarcastically. ‘Was soulfire.’

‘I see,’ I nodded.

Then I passed out.

CHAPTER 6

‘Right, mister O’Brian, should we start again?’

I nodded. Fair’s fair, the little lassie had right put the wind up me with the whole, soulfire thing. Put me in my place, as it were.

‘You know, sometimes I just can’t help acting the raw prawn,’ I admitted. ‘Character flaw. Sorry, Perdita. Let’s proceed and I’ll try my best to be civil Can’t be making any promises, though. Good enough?’

She nodded. ‘It’ll have to do. Sit down and concentrate, mister O’Brian, this is going to be quite the information dump. I’ll precis it down as much as possible, any questions, wait until I’ve finished then go ahead.’

I sat down at the kitchen table, leaned back and lit up.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’ asked Perdita.

I shrugged. ‘Wasn’t really a difficult choice. Fire and brimstone for all eternity, or this.’

‘I understand, but what I meant is, do you know the actual reason that you are here? Your purpose.’

‘The Watcher with a capital W mentioned something about being a Guardian. Following orders. Repenting. All I know is I woke up, got given a shit load of weapons and seemed to have magically acquired the ability to go samurai on everyone’s ass. Fact of the matter is, as long as I can stay out of the eternal flames, I’ll pretty much do whatever I’m told to do.’

‘Firstly,’ said Perdita. ‘There’s a lot more to being a Guardian than simply following orders. Actually, it’s much more about giving orders. Let me start from the beginning. How much do you know about gods? I’m talking old school here.’

‘You men like Greeks and Romans and that shite?’ I asked.

The redhead nodded.

‘Less to even less,’ I admitted. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t much of a scholar. Reading, writing and a tiny smattering of maths, dat’s about it. Left school when I turned eleven, spent the rest of my life causing trouble and kicking ass. So, classical studies rank a bit low on my agenda. I do know that they’re mythical, and that’s about it.’

Perdita sighed. ‘This is going to be harder than I thought.’

I shook my head. ‘Not unless you make it so,’ I argued. ‘Trust me, just because I don’t have much education doesn’t mean dat I’m thick. You instruct and I’ll listen. Believe me, I’ll do okay.’

‘Fine. Well, firstly, they’re not mythical. The gods, all of them, they exist.’

I could feel my jaw drop, mouth hanging open like a red-top fly catcher. ‘You be shitting me,’ I said. ‘No, really, you taking the piss?’

Perdita frowned. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I’m telling the truth. This isn’t some sort of high school pranking session, mister O’Brian. This is deadly serious.’

I held my hands up in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Calm down, sweetheart. Sorry, I mean, Perdita. It’s just that, I’m a good Catholic boy and as far as I was taught, talk of other gods is blasphemy.’

Perdita snorted. ‘Look, O’Brian, I’m not here to discuss theology. But let me just throw a few facts at you.

‘Psalm 82:1-2. God has taken his place in the divine council; in the midst of the gods he holds judgment: "How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked?”

‘And in Exodus He predicts that He will execute judgments “on all the gods of Egypt”

‘That said, He also commands that we worship no gods but Him. So, as long as you stick to that rule, I wouldn’t worry about the whole blasphemy thing. After all, He is most forgiving.’

I nodded my acceptance. ‘Fair enough. Go on then.’

‘The pantheons of gods are real. And, on the whole, they reside here, in the new country. America. Now, here’s the bit that’s a bit difficult to get your head around. They also, simultaneously live in Europe, Africa and Asia. Don’t ask me how, they’re gods. But, whatever happens to them here, or there, happens to all of them. Get it?’

I nodded again. ‘I think so. What you’re saying is, I kick a god in the teeth here and he feels it wherever and whenever he is.’

Perdita smiled. A tiny twitch of the lips, but a smile nevertheless. Nice one, O’Brian, I thought.

‘Exactly,’ she confirmed. ‘Now the thing with the gods is, they’re not as strong as they once were. Obviously. A god’s power is directly proportional to the amount of worship they receive.’

‘Hold on,’ I interjected. ‘How do they survive at all then? I mean, no one worships the old gods anymore.’

‘Not true,’ contradicted Perdita. ‘Many still do. And most of them don’t even know that they’re doing it.’

‘Explain,’ I demanded.

‘Most superstitions are based on old forms of worship,’ answered my instructor. ‘Walking under ladders was originally said to offend the Egyptian trio of gods. Knocking on wood was a call to Zeus. Toasting with a glass of wine was a tribute to Dionysus. The list is endless. And every time a person unknowingly performs one of those myriad superstitious acts, a little more worship trickles through to the old gods.’

‘Seems tenuous at best,’ I declared.

‘Perhaps,’ admitted Perdita. ‘But they take what they can get. And make no mistake, although they aren’t what they used to be in the days of human sacrifice and full on worship, they are still incredibly powerful beings. And therein lies the problem.’

‘Carry on,’ I prompted.

‘Basically, because worship is no longer giving the old gods the vast amounts of power that it used to, they seek to gain power through more conventional means.’

‘Conventional means?’

‘Yes. Mainly physically. They tend to the darker side of humanity. Organized crime, protection rackets, slavery. And worse. The old gods aren’t known for their morality. Quite the opposite, actually.’

I nodded.  I was starting to see where I fit in with this whole thing. ‘So, as the Guardian, I assume that it’s my job to stop any major excesses.’

‘In a nutshell, yes. They go too far, you put the brakes on.’

‘And who decides when they have gone too far?’ I asked.

‘On the whole, you do,’ answered Perdita. ‘The Watcher will also have input. As will I.’

‘Great,’ I sighed. ‘Playing policeman to a bunch of gods. Sounds like a hiding to nowhere. Man, it’s not as if I’m some sort of superhero. I can’t fly, teleport, use x-ray vision. Or can I?’

Perdita shook her head. ‘No. Sorry. You’re not Superman.’

‘Bugger.’

‘But you are faster and stronger than any normal human. Plus, they can’t exactly kill you. After all, you’re already dead.’

‘What if they chop my head off?’ I asked. ‘Or burn me to a crisp, or rip me to shreds. What then.’

‘I recommend that you avoid those sorts of situations,’ advised my instructor.

‘So, what you’re telling me is that my only superpower, as it were, is that I can take inordinate amounts of punishment and keep going?’

‘Sounds correct.’

‘Do I still feel pain?’

Perdita nodded.

‘Well, that sucks,’ I snapped. ‘What about that soulfire thing that you zapped me with? Can I do that?’

‘Sorry. No. You have to be pure of soul to do that.’

‘Argh, bejaysus,’ I yelled. ‘That rules me out, to be sure. This sucks. Can I do any sort of magic?’

The redhead held her hand out and wobbled it back and forth.

‘What’s that mean?’ I asked.

‘Apparently some Guardians have been capable of conjuring. But it’s extremely unusual and we won’t know until you’ve done a lot of training. Any more questions?’

‘Loads. Like, who exactly are all of these gods? As I said, I didn’t go large on studying as a kid. And where do they all live? And when do I get to meet them?’

‘There are seven major factions,’ explained Perdita. ‘I don’t want to overload you with info right now so I’ll give you a short run down. Okay, the Voodoo gods control the area from Louisiana through to North Carolina, including Mississippi.

‘The Norse gods, Odin and his cronies, have their HQ in Seattle Washington. But they spend a lot of time in Canada and Alaska.

‘The Greek gods, Zeus, Hades and the like, are here in good old New York.

‘Las Vegas is controlled by the demon Mammon.

‘There’s a smattering of various European gods, Celtic, German etcetera in Kentucky and New Hampshire.

‘The Fae folk, fairies, goblins, orcs and such, live in Underhill. That’s a different dimension accessed through a magical portal.

‘Finally, you get the human supernaturals. Magicians, witches, vampires, werewolves and other shapeshifters. They pretty much live wherever they want and are arguably more trouble than the old gods.

‘Got it?’

I shook my head. ‘Not even vaguely,’ I admitted. ‘I mean, where’s Kentucky? Are there really vampires and do they burn up in the sunlight? Why does Mammon control Vegas? Fairies? Really?’

Perdita sighed. ‘I know, it’s a lot to take in. But just keep calm and it’ll all become clearer over the next few days. I think the first thing that we should concentrate on is the physical side of your training. After that we can look at the more esoteric things. Magic and so on. Agreed?’

I nodded. ‘Suppose so. Let’s go for it.’