The Glass God by Kate Griffin Read Free Book Online Page A

he deeply suspected were toned and rippling chest and shoulder muscles; the fine posture, the excellent speech, the educated tones ringing through, and felt a surge of itching all the way to his eyes and nose.
    “A minion, huh?” murmured Sharon, trying out the sound. “Cool. So, uh… you’re an Alderman, right?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “And I’m guessing you have mega-useful skills, in case guns and death start happening?”
    “I wouldn’t say mega- skills,” offered Miles. “I can score five perfect hits with a handgun at thirty paces, have a Brown Belt in taekwondo and a Purple in judo, practise fencing every Sunday and have been rated ‘superior’ on my evocation and abjuration exams by leading members of the Westminster Coven of Wizards; whether any of that will be appropriate, who can say?”
    Sharon’s eyes met Rhys’s, unable to hide a flicker of alarm. “Cool,” she mumbled. “So, uh… do you know where to get a cuppa coffee round here?”

Chapter 8
    Nothing Is Impossible
    Two hours and several doughnuts later, Sharon sat with her head in her hands and tried not to whimper. In her time spent in Swift’s office, the only definitive conclusion she’d reached was that this was a man for whom the notion of multicoloured highlighter pens and neatly labelled ring binders was anathema.
    At her feet, Rhys squatted in one of the few clear patches of floor, evidently fascinated by the contents of a folder.
    “Did you know,” he said, “that wyverns have a kerosene problem?”
    Sharon looked up from the depths of her despair. “Do they.” The ice in her voice could have liquefied nitrogen, but Rhys was too enthused to notice.
    “Apparently their second stomach is the perfect environment for cracking hydrocarbons – wyverns could be very useful in the petrochemical industry, couldn’t they?”
    “Anything about one of them eating sorcerers?”
    “No. It’s mostly long-chain alkenes. Sorry.”
    Sharon glared about her in frustration. Miles had somehow found a stool and, impressively, somewhere to plant it. He was likewise engrossed, in a report on the sanitary conditions of the kelkie nests at Twickenham. His feet were balanced on a pile of books, the top one of which was entitled Black Grimoires – The Cautious Approach . Sharon’s gaze swept back to Swift’s desk. Through a great deal of cursing, and some subtler encouragement from Rhys, they’d coaxed Swift’s computer into turning on, only for the entire system to spend fifteen minutes auto-updating with no regard for Sharon’s blood pressure. Now it was whirring like an asthmatic motorbike, with a screen laid out for her confusion that was almost as messy as the floor itself. She flicked through spreadsheets detailing annual expenditure on wands, wards, exorcists and transport; scrolled aimlessly through a guide to the latest techniques in three-circle summoning spells; then stared with furrowed brow at a news report from the Archway Chronicle detailing the disappearance of yet another one of its trusted readers, sometime around three in the morning on Tuesday last.
    She hesitated, then clicked through to the full article.
     
Darren Clarke, digital rights executive, left the King’s Head, Islington, at one a.m. on Tuesday morning, heading for his home in Highgate. Friends reported that he was sober and appeared to be in good spirits. When he didn’t show up for work the next morning, colleagues attempted to contact him and, receiving no reply, went round to visit his abode. There was no sign that Darren had made it home. Police report the investigation as ongoing, but as this was the fourth resident to vanish from within the north London area in the last two weeks, speculation is mounting that there may be a criminal organisation at work. No bodies have been found, and police say that it is too early to speculate as to the fate of Darren, and others like him. 
    Sharon looked up from the computer. “Anyone got anything generally