Thy Fearful Symmetry Read Online Free Page A

to wish the pain to nothing, and saw the words carved into the surface of his desk.
    Huntley's muvva sukked my cokk.
    As he stared at the words, wondering how long they had been there, he heard the soft thud of a tennis ball bouncing absently off a student's desktop.
    Clive lost time then, and was aware only of an incandescent, joyous fury lighting deep inside him and surging through his muscles and mind.  
    When he next had a cogent memory, he was in the back of a police car, trying to get the two officers in the front to explain why his aching hands, now handcuffed at the wrists, were torn and bloody.

CHAPTER THREE

    Malachi Jones pushed the door back hard, slamming it against the wall and anybody who might be standing behind it. Having been on the hunt for two hours, there was little point in feigning subtlety now. Leaning briefly inside, he felt the wall for a light switch, found one, and flicked it. There was the tinny snap of a light bulb reaching the end of its natural life. The brief flash that went with it showed a large room packed with beer kegs, crates of wine, and other daily essentials for the running of the pub upstairs.
    Orloch was waiting in there with something Malachi intended to have. It had taken months to track down a demon working in Newcastle, but the end was finally in sight. Over the course of his quest he had identified at least two angels in the area who might also have had the information he required, but the way he intended to extract it would have been a mortal sin on one of their kind, and he couldn't afford to damn himself.  
    Yet.
    Standing in the cellar doorway, not overly concerned that Orloch might rush him, Malachi allowed his eyes to adjust. Silhouetted against the dim light filtering into the grimy passage from upstairs, he knew he was an intimidating sight; six foot two of lean muscle wrapped in a long, dark trench coat, his waist length hair tamed by a succession of elastic bands binding it into a rope-like ponytail. If he were facing a true demon given physical form, he would not present himself as such an easy target. As humans went, he had made himself powerful and dangerous. Compared to the preternatural strength and speed of the otherworlds though, that would be meaningless in a direct confrontation. Fortunately, Orloch was a possessor of humans. By taking on a human's body, it took on a share of human weakness at the same time. While it was stronger than the host body should allow for, Malachi could probably handle it.  
    Grunting with annoyance at the limits of his own senses, he realised that his eyes had adjusted as much as they could. Inside, the darkness had congealed into patches of thick blackness nestling within larger pools of gloom. There were no windows in the cellar, so if the door closed behind him even these tiny distinctions would vanish entirely.
    Best get it over with then. Malachi stepped inside, and shut the door with a bang. Fumbling only slightly, he slid the bolt home. The only other exit was the street level steel trapdoor used for making deliveries. According to the proprietor upstairs, a padlock kept that secure.
    The darkness was near to absolute.
    Malachi held his breath, trying to ignore the calm, steady thump of his pulse and the faint drone of morning traffic outside, letting his other four senses stretch out and see what they might find.  
    The air was damp and warm, swirling lazily around him in stagnant currents, heavy with mould spores that clung to the back of his throat like dust. Stale beer fumes dominated the room, but underneath them lay a trace reek of sweat and fear. The body Orloch had chosen, while well suited to creating maximum chaos within the Department of Work and Pensions where it worked, was not built for the chase.
    The air shifted, stroking Malachi's cheek. All of a sudden, he heard the soft, anxious hitching of a heavy man, out of breath but trying to make no sound. With his eyes still closed, Malachi focussed down,