The Apocalypse Codex (Laundry Files, #4)

by Charles Stross

There are many types of self-identified witches. The common or garden variety is generally harmless—women of a certain age who wear purple disgracefully, have two or more cats, run a new age shop, recycle fanatically, and sometimes believe in fairies at the bottom of the garden.

seen one of these before?” I squint at it. “A photo album. Yes?” “Exactly.” Traviss looks glumly satisfied.

And the cosh—” “Any sufficiently advanced lingerie is indistinguishable from a lethal weapon.”

“There are two types of people in this world,” Pete volunteers helpfully, “those who think there are only two types of people in the world, and everybody else.”

“You underestimate Mr. Howard, his rap sheet’s nearly as questionable as yours. People underestimate him: that’s his game.

Eventually I drift off to sleep, at first to dream of burning goats checking my time sheet for accounting errors,

She adjusts the bracelet again: What Would Leeroy Jenkins Do? It’s Johnny’s little joke, dating back to an experiment with World of Warcraft as a global conferencing system for the Network. The intel team that raids together stays together.

“Let’s see.” She fiddles with her terminal and the room card reader. “You’re in 403 and 404. Have a nice day.” I hand Persephone the Forbidden Room card and keep Room Not Found for myself.

She’s wired on something, and I wonder for a moment if she’s sourced some nose candy, then I realize: this is what she lives for. Field work: that’s why Lockhart was able to get her out here. Persephone is addicted to danger.

“What have you been up to?” “I got you a laptop.” She gestures at the back seat. “And I bought ammunition at Walmart.