The Fall of the House of Cabal (Johannes Cabal, #5)

by Jonathan L. Howard

Thus steeled in his intent, he hazarded an attempt at this exciting new conversational form. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he said, and rested from his labours.

Cabal’s expression was uncertain; he had seen a molten puppy once, and it hadn’t been that adorable.

If any harm befalls her and it was in my power to protect her, you need not hunt me at all, for I shall already have died in her unsuccessful defence.’

‘And we don’t like chaos,’ said Zarenyia firmly. ‘It’s full of fish, isn’t it, Johannes?’

When the enemy—and enemy they were, he felt sure—were finally encountered, it would be to his advantage to be able to see them properly, and to theirs to be done away with by a man with tidy neckwear, if only from a sense of terminal satisfaction.

If you wish to emphasise speech, may I suggest speaking emphatically.’

‘Shit,’ said Cabal.

lickspittles.

‘I really punched Satan.’ Horst was considering getting himself an engraved pewter mug to commemorate the fact.

She nodded sagely. ‘Deferred gratification. I’ve heard about that. So this is what it feels like. Hmmmm.’ She considered this new sensation. ‘It’s slightly irritating.’

It was a bunch of Britons with fangs and a grievance, and there is no more terrifying sight in creation.

Miss Smith leaned forwards and snatched it from his hand with a speed and precision that would have made vipers applaud, if only they had hands and a sense of graciousness.