“What do you think of this? The Beast of Berkeley Square.” “More like the Pest of Piccadilly.” “Or we could go with something simpler. Like Doom. Or the Raven.” “I suggest Gnat. Or the Measle.” “Maybe the Doom-Raven?” Ash shook his head. “Jove that thunders, you are a menace.” “Wait. That’s brilliant. I’ll be known as”—he swiped one hand before his face, as if tracing a broadsheet’s headline—“the Menace.” Oh, indeed you will be.
