Read Online For Heaven's Eyes Only by Simon R. Green - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon R. Green
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Fallen Star Associates. The main front for the nineteen thirties Satanist conspiracy. These people are back, and this time they mean business. They have a plan, and I want to know what it is.”
“Okay,” I said. “All very interesting, and possibly convincing, but I don’t see anything in this office to back it up. The papers on the desk are boring to the point of bland, and it’s not like there’s a knitted sampler on the wall reading, ‘I Love Lucifer.’ Are you sure this isn’t paranoia and scaremongering? We see a lot of that in the Droods. In fact, it’s pretty much business as usual.”
“If Iz says there’s evil here, there is evil here,” Molly said firmly. “No one knows evil better than Iz. She’s never wrong about things like this. Except when she’s wrong.”
“Molly, do me a favour,” said Isabella. “Stop trying to help. Look, the evidence is here somewhere! I just haven’t found it yet. They’d hardly leave it lying around, would they? The trail I followed led me to this floor, and this office. Orders come from here, and payments, and even a few not very discreet threats.”
“If this really is as big a conspiracy as you believe,” I said, “I don’t think we should do anything to let them know we know. I think we should all return to Drood Hall and discuss a more . . . organised response.”
“Put myself in the hands of the Droods?” said Isabella. “Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen! Never trust a Drood!”
“Why not?” I said, genuinely taken aback by the anger in her face and the venom in her voice.
“Your family killed our parents, remember?” said Molly. “Isabella isn’t as forgiving as I am.”
“I still don’t know what you’re doing with this one,” said Isabella. “I mean really, Molly, a Drood?”
“He’s different,” Molly said stubbornly. “He’s . . . special.”
“You always say that,” said Isabella. “And you always end up sleeping on my couch, crying your eyes out. You have the worst taste in men. . . .”
“Molly and I have something in common,” I said. “It’s possible that my family was responsible for the death of my parents, too.”
Isabella looked at me sharply and then shook her head. “None of this is important. The truth is here, and I will find it, even if I have to tear this whole office apart.”
“Oh, not again . . .” said Molly.
Isabella glared at both of us. “Get out of here. Both of you. Go back to your precious Drood Hall. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want you here.”
“Too late,” I said cheerfully. “I’m intrigued now. The return of the Satanists! It’s all so very Dennis Wheatley. . . . Molly, my dear, do you think you could keep a lid on any booby traps I might set off by persuading this computer to talk nicely to me?”
“Don’t see why not,” said Molly. “Silicon sorcery’s always been a specialty of mine.”
“You haven’t gone back to cloning credit cards, have you?” said Isabella.
“Of course not!” said Molly. “I’m into a much higher class of lawlessness now.”
“If you could concentrate on the computer, Molly . . .” I said.
“Oh, sure! No problem!”
I half expected her to work some dramatic chaos ritual over the computer, or sprinkle fairy dust on it, but she sat down before the machine, fired it up and worked some subtle magic through the keyboard, until the computer dropped its pants and showed her everything it had. Molly pushed back the chair, grinned at me and got up so I could take her place.
“There you go. Ask it anything you want. I’ve got the security systems eating out of my hand. You could pry this computer open with a crowbar and piss in the back, and it wouldn’t shed a single tear.”
“You always did have a delicate touch,” I said.
“Later, lover,” said Molly.
I subvocalised my activating Words, and sent a tentacle of golden armour racing down my arm from my torc, until it formed a gleaming golden glove on my
“Okay,” I said. “All very interesting, and possibly convincing, but I don’t see anything in this office to back it up. The papers on the desk are boring to the point of bland, and it’s not like there’s a knitted sampler on the wall reading, ‘I Love Lucifer.’ Are you sure this isn’t paranoia and scaremongering? We see a lot of that in the Droods. In fact, it’s pretty much business as usual.”
“If Iz says there’s evil here, there is evil here,” Molly said firmly. “No one knows evil better than Iz. She’s never wrong about things like this. Except when she’s wrong.”
“Molly, do me a favour,” said Isabella. “Stop trying to help. Look, the evidence is here somewhere! I just haven’t found it yet. They’d hardly leave it lying around, would they? The trail I followed led me to this floor, and this office. Orders come from here, and payments, and even a few not very discreet threats.”
“If this really is as big a conspiracy as you believe,” I said, “I don’t think we should do anything to let them know we know. I think we should all return to Drood Hall and discuss a more . . . organised response.”
“Put myself in the hands of the Droods?” said Isabella. “Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen! Never trust a Drood!”
“Why not?” I said, genuinely taken aback by the anger in her face and the venom in her voice.
“Your family killed our parents, remember?” said Molly. “Isabella isn’t as forgiving as I am.”
“I still don’t know what you’re doing with this one,” said Isabella. “I mean really, Molly, a Drood?”
“He’s different,” Molly said stubbornly. “He’s . . . special.”
“You always say that,” said Isabella. “And you always end up sleeping on my couch, crying your eyes out. You have the worst taste in men. . . .”
“Molly and I have something in common,” I said. “It’s possible that my family was responsible for the death of my parents, too.”
Isabella looked at me sharply and then shook her head. “None of this is important. The truth is here, and I will find it, even if I have to tear this whole office apart.”
“Oh, not again . . .” said Molly.
Isabella glared at both of us. “Get out of here. Both of you. Go back to your precious Drood Hall. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want you here.”
“Too late,” I said cheerfully. “I’m intrigued now. The return of the Satanists! It’s all so very Dennis Wheatley. . . . Molly, my dear, do you think you could keep a lid on any booby traps I might set off by persuading this computer to talk nicely to me?”
“Don’t see why not,” said Molly. “Silicon sorcery’s always been a specialty of mine.”
“You haven’t gone back to cloning credit cards, have you?” said Isabella.
“Of course not!” said Molly. “I’m into a much higher class of lawlessness now.”
“If you could concentrate on the computer, Molly . . .” I said.
“Oh, sure! No problem!”
I half expected her to work some dramatic chaos ritual over the computer, or sprinkle fairy dust on it, but she sat down before the machine, fired it up and worked some subtle magic through the keyboard, until the computer dropped its pants and showed her everything it had. Molly pushed back the chair, grinned at me and got up so I could take her place.
“There you go. Ask it anything you want. I’ve got the security systems eating out of my hand. You could pry this computer open with a crowbar and piss in the back, and it wouldn’t shed a single tear.”
“You always did have a delicate touch,” I said.
“Later, lover,” said Molly.
I subvocalised my activating Words, and sent a tentacle of golden armour racing down my arm from my torc, until it formed a gleaming golden glove on my
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