From Hell With Love: A Secret Histories Novel by Simon R. Green Page A

traitor, hailed as a saviour, known as a failure and the man who saved the whole of Humanity from the Hungry Gods. The family owes me everything, and a lot of them still resent me for hauling them out of their old complacency. Some nod and smile when they see me coming, while others make a point of stalking by with their noses in the air. But, since Droods are notoriously hard to impress, either way, most ˚ just nod briskly and keep going. Which suits me fine.
    Two large and ostentatiously muscular fellows were standing guard outside the doors to the Sanctity, where all important meetings are held, and all the decisions that matter are made. These guards had clearly been chosen for their brutal menace rather than their intelligence, because they actually tried to block my way. I gave them my best hard look, and they stepped reluctantly to one side, scowling like I’d just stuck a thorn in their paw. I had to open the doors myself. So I kicked them wide open, stalked into the Sanctity like I was thinking of renting it out as a Roller Derby rink, and nodded briskly to the small group of people sitting round the table in the middle of the great hall.
    The Sanctity was suffused with a rich warm rose-red glow that filled every corner of the massive room. That was Ethel, manifesting herself in the material world. The light was calming and bracing at once, like a spiritual massage; it encouraged calm and composure and clear thinking, but since only Droods ever came here, it had a lot of work to do. The Matriarch sat at the head of the table, stiff and straight backed as always. Martha Drood was a tall, slender and entirely formal personage in her late sixties. She wore smart grey tweeds, elegant pearls, and her long blond hair was piled elegantly up on top of her head. She’d been a famous beauty once, and it still showed in her poise and her fabulous bone structure. We’ve had Queens that looked less royal. I have actually seen photos of Martha smiling, in her younger days, or I’d never have believed it possible. She glared at me steadily as I approached, for having dared enter the Sanctity without waiting to be invited in.
    The Advisory Council sat on both sides of the table. The family Armourer, my Uncle Jack, nodded cheerfully to me. He was tall but heavily stooped, from years of bending over workbenches in the Armoury, devising really horrible surprises to throw at our enemies. He was still wearing his stained and scorched white lab coat, suggesting that he’d been dragged away from his beloved Armoury against his will, just when things were getting seriously interesting and/or dangerous. He was middle-aged now, and looking like he’d worked hard for every year of it. He had a gleaming bald pate, with grey tufts sticking out over his ears, bushy white eyebrows, and steel grey eyes. Under his lab coat he wore a grubby T-shirt bearing the legend WHICH PART OF FUCK OFF AND DIE DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? Uncle Jack smiled easily at me as I approached the table. He’d always had time for me.
    “Eddie, lad! About time you turned up! Come and see me afterwards; I’ve got some great new gadgets for you to try out.”
    That was always going to be a mixed blessing, given that so many of his new gadgets had a tendency to go boom! when least expected, but I smiled gamely.
    “Thank you, Uncle Jack. You always have the best toys.”
    Harry Drood, cousin Harry, looked at me thoughtfully from his chair set at the Matriarch’s left hand. Harry always liked to be as close as possible to power. He’d actually run the family for a time, while I was away, and a right dog’s breakfast he’d made of it. He was a pretty good field agent in his own right, but he’d only ever seen that as a means to an end. Harry believed in Harry much more than he ever believed in the Droods. Still, put him with his back to the wall and no way out, and he could be as brave and heroic as needed. His father was, after all, Uncle James, the legendary Grey