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

by Jonathan L. Howard

That was an entity of awful malevolence that had sought on several previous occasions to bring the apocalypse to earth, that loathed Johannes Cabal with a savage intensity, and that couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Leonie watched him complacently. ‘You’re adorable when you do that, you know? Your injured-pride face would melt a puppy.’ Cabal’s expression was uncertain; he had seen a molten puppy once, and it hadn’t been that adorable.

‘How about him, then?’ She nodded at Horst. ‘Are you and he lovers?’ Even Cabal was taken aback by this. ‘Hardly, madam. That’s my brother.’ The creature looked at Cabal for some seconds as if expecting further clarification. ‘And?’ she said when it was not forthcoming. ‘I draw the line at incest, quite putting the vexed subject of homosexuality to one side.’

‘And how did you happen to meet Johannes?’ ‘He tried to steal my soul,’ said Leonie with more force than she had intended. ‘Really?’ Zarenyia glanced at Cabal and then back at Leonie. ‘And they say romance is dead.’

‘Very well,’ said Cabal. The very definition of ‘a losing proposition’ was to try to imbue Zarenyia with any sense of gravity or seriousness. ‘No more explanations.’ ‘Unless I ask. And then make them snappy with lots of hand gestures so I don’t suddenly pass out.’ ‘That is hardly me, madam. You describe an Italian.

‘Will it be a “reconnaissance in force”?’ said Zarenyia, employing the index and middle fingers of each hand to scratch quotation marks into the air. ‘Your somatic punctuation dismays me, Madam Zarenyia. If you wish to emphasise speech, may I suggest speaking emphatically.’ ‘I could do that, yes, but I’m terribly tactile. Anyway, I wished to suggest some irony in the term.’

‘No. Well, yes, but don’t call him that. Yes, he’s a sort of wizard, and worse.’ ‘Worse?’ Minty said it breathlessly. In a city of horrors, it took quite a lot to impress her these days, but Horst was managing it. ‘Uh-huh. He’s a scientist.’

Cabal went to stand by him, removing his cap as he did. He did not care to be in military uniform of any kind, but chafed at the sheer showiness of grey. He felt like a fashion model.

Feeling more British than he had ever done before in his life—after all, what could be more British than leading a shock force of vampires on a raid into the ruins of Buckingham Palace, short of doing the same but wearing bowler hats?—Horst led the charge.

It was no platoon of feral creatures that had once been humans that fell upon the Mirkarvian guards patrolling the rear wall of the palace at Grosvenor Place, nor was it a horde of ancient decadents somehow stirred to concerted action. It was a bunch of Britons with fangs and a grievance, and there is no more terrifying sight in creation.

When they saw it was the sort of excitement that involves a body count (including fractions), they found sensible things to do some distance away, where they could take cover, point rifles, and give the impression that they were watching developments in a professional and soldierly manner as opposed to cowering like undertrained conscripts. Perish the very thought.

We are in danger. Of course we are afraid. Welcome back to the human race, Johannes Cabal. We were beginning to wonder if you’d received your invitation.’

This hardly surprised him; it was necessary for the conclusion of the Five Ways that they meet, for what adventure does not conclude with the protagonist and antagonist face-to-face?

Very meta.

And for Cabal? He could not even begin to guess how many lives he had caused to be lost or ruined directly or indirectly since he had begun his great project. On the other hand, he had certainly saved the world at least once so, on balance, he was fairly sure that made him the hero. Flawed, certainly, but he seemed to recall that both Ulysses and Jason of ancient legend could be utter arses when the mood took them; he was probably some sort of paragon in comparison.

Cabal began to wonder if he was supposed to have been issued a script, because he was damned if he could think of anything else to do but raise his pistol and kill her. Then she spoke, and he was saved the anticlimax.

She shook her head, then hesitated, her chin tilted up in thought. ‘I had not considered matters that way. Perhaps so. Your celibacy may well have consigned thousands to death or the threat of death. Really, Cabal, it’s only a dick. Why did you have to be so damned possessive?’ Cabal’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. He blinked foolishly, his eyes denoting confusion and discomfort. ‘I admit, madam, I was not expecting this interview to unfold in quite such a manner.’

Ace! Rights!