For Heaven's Eyes Only by Simon R. Green Read Free Book Online Page A

none of which she ever returned. You went out with her for a while, didn’t you, Cedric?”
    We all looked at the Sarjeant-at-Arms, but he had nothing to say.
    “If we could stick to the matter at hand, people,” said Roger. “You don’t think what I’m doing is easy, do you? The body is already starting to fall apart. Anything else you want to ask, ask quickly. He won’t last much longer.”
    We all looked at the dead Immortal. His skin was blotched and cracking, thick fluids seeping out of him as Roger’s dark blood burned him up from the inside out. His eyes had sunk right back into their sockets, nothing but a mess of black jelly now. The corpse moved his head blindly back and forth.
    “Don’t leave me like this. Please. Don’t leave me here, trapped in a decaying body.”
    “Why not?” said Roger. “You deserve it.”
    “No,” said Molly. “Let him go.”
    Roger looked her and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Mercy, from the wild witch of the woods?”
    “No,” said Molly. “Not mercy. Why keep him from Heaven’s judgement, and Hell’s punishments, one moment longer?”
    “Hard-core,” said Roger, smiling.
    “You tried to murder my Eddie,” Molly said to the dead man. “Burn in Hell.”
    I looked at her, disturbed by the savage and uncomplicated hatred in her face and in her voice. I liked to forget that my Molly had her own dark side, like Roger; but sometimes she wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t my sister the Immortals had used.
    Roger straightened up and stepped back, snapped his fingers lightly, and just like that the dead man was simply a corpse again. We all watched it carefully for a while, but it lay there, cracking slowly open, leaking all kinds of unpleasant fluids and stinking the place out. The Armourer sniffed loudly.
    “You haven’t left me much to dissect, Roger.”
    I looked at Molly. “The Immortal lost most of his family. I think it was grief that moved him, as much as revenge. God has mercy.”
    “I don’t,” said Roger. He was still maintaining his demonic aspect, defying any of us to say anything. Perhaps because it felt so good not to have to pretend anymore. He smiled widely at Harry, showing rows of pointed teeth. “This . . . is who and what I really am, Harry, my dear. It’s as real and as relevant as the human face I usually wear to show the world.”
    “We all have our dark sides,” Harry said steadily.
    “Not like mine,” said Roger.
    He took on his human aspect again, resuming the dark, sardonic and lightly mocking face he’d always shown before. And then he turned his back on all of us, including Harry, and walked away to be on his own. Where he’d been standing, his cloven hooves had scorched deep hoofprints into the wooden floor. Smoke curled slowly up from them, and on the air there was the smell of blood and sulphur and sour milk. The stench of Hell.
    “Damn,” said the Armourer. “I’ll have to get the industrial sander out again.”
    It’s hard to impress my uncle Jack.
    “All right,” I said. “What now?”
    “An attack on you is an attack on the family,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “I’ll have the family psychics run some tests on you, see if they can pick up some traces of who or what might have been threatening you in Limbo.”
    “Later,” I said. “I’m tired.”
    The Sarjeant sighed heavily. “You’ve never had any faith in the family psychics, have you, Edwin?”
    “Well, they didn’t predict my bloody death, did they? I wouldn’t trust that bunch of poseurs and wannabes to guess my weight!”
    “Later, then,” said the Sarjeant, entirely unfazed. “In the meantime, I will organise the family’s resources to search for the missing Isabella Metcalf. We have people everywhere, Molly. We will find your sister for you.”
    “Eventually,” I said.
    The Sarjeant didn’t actually shrug, but he looked like he wanted to. “It’s a big world.”
    I looked at Molly. “Do you have any better