The Man From U.N.D.E.A.D.'s Christmas Carol by Darren Humphries Read Free Book Online Page A

diagrams as well, ” I replied.
    “ David was my son, ” she revealed. After a few moments she added “ Our son. ”
    Though I had been expecting something like that it still came as a blow because of the word...
    “ Was? ”
    “ He died, ” Veronika reported sadly, but with an edge of anger that you could have used to cut timber. “ In the early days after the cells were opened the Agency set up protective zones. The one we were in was attacked and... Well, he died and I got this, ” she ran a finger along her scar. “ There isn ’ t a day ... ”
    “ No, there isn ’ t, ” I interrupted her, not being able to bear seeing her like this. I have seen many of her moods and felt the strength of her spirit on more than one occasion, but I had never thought to see her soul so crushed. I couldn’t take away her pain (and she wouldn’t want me to if I could), but I could at least stop reminding her of it. Though I could rationalise that this wasn ’ t real, that it was all some sort of play created by Yule to make me dance to his tune, the flood of feelings t hat was crashing through me was only too real. , “ and there won ’ t be another , I promise . I would have liked to have see n him. ”
    Veronika reached into the breast pocket of her fatigues and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. It was an inkjet printout of a mobile phone photograph. The quality wasn ’ t great, but I could clearly make out the face of the young boy shading his eyes from the sun and smiling at whoever took the picture. He looked a very great deal like the boy who I had met backstage so very recently (or such a long time ago) . How was it possible for me to feel astonishment, delight, pride, loss … each one distinctly and yet mashed together in a terrible tsunami? One thing I did know, though, was that these emotions were leading me to hate and my hate was very definitely going to lead to someone else’s suffering.
    “ He was very much like you, ” Veronika said fondly, folding the paper back up and putting it back into her pocket. “ And if what you say is true he may well be so again. ”
    I did not know what to say. I had no words to convey the whirl of emotions that seeing the boy ’ s face had stirred up in me. There was no unfeeling quip for a moment like this. It isn ’ t often that a man gets to look on the face of the son he may one day have ( at least not outside of television science fiction shows wher e it happens all the time ).
    “ Thank you, ” was all I could manage and it seemed so very little despite how much I invested in it .
    Veronika turned all serious and businesslike, the moment of intimacy past, “ You need to know about the Horned One. ”
    “ I do, ” I agreed and allowed the flame of hatred to burn coldly , “ If I am to kill him. ”
    The Horned One, she told me, was Yule himself, the Winter God of Northern Lands. Of all the demons t hat had been loosed upon the worl d in this little shadow play , he was the most powerful. There was not a w eapon that had been able to touch him. When he had waded into battle with his troops , nothing had been able to stand against him. Eyewitnesses had described him as a giant with the head of a stag. H e was crowned with antlers and walked on the cloven hooves of a deer, but he fought with the hands of a man. He wielded magic, however, with the power of a god.
    Which was a bit of a problem.
    It has to be said about jetpacks that as a mode of transport they ’ re pretty rubbish. For one thing, when you put them on they ’ re really heavy. For another, they make more noise than a crowd of Spurs FC supporters cheering an Arsenal own goal. They corner with the ease of the average comet and have the same braking characteristics as a cannonball. They are, however, enormous fun and the closest that the human race has come to unaided flight. Many attempts have been made at spells that allow people to fly, but they all suffered roughly the same design flaws as