Bone Gods

here I am, Daniel bearding the lion in her den.”
    “Please,” Pete said. “You’re about as much a man of faith as Graham Norton is a Cub Scout.”
    “My faith is as vast as my wrath,” Morningstar said, with that small, calm smile that seemed to constantly play across his crooked mouth. Pete wondered how many different times Morningstar had gotten his face bashed to make him quite so asymmetrical. “Have you what I’m looking for?” he said. “Or am I going to be forced to use more direct persuasion?”
    “Sorry, Ethan,” Pete said. “You’ve been bumped to the back of the line as far as threats and menacing.” She pulled out her key and shouldered past him to open the door. “But do take it up with Nick Naughton down in Southwark. In fact, I think you two twats would get on famously.”
    Morningstar grabbed the collar of her jacket and yanked her back down the steps to face him. “I’d really hoped I’d talked some sense into you last time, but I can see there’s only one thing you’ll understand.” He reached inside his jacket, but before he could draw his pistol Jack spoke.
    “Fuck me!” He pointed at Ethan. “Was trying to place those enchantments you’ve got riding on you, but you’re the real article, aren’t you, mate?” Jack extended the point into a poke, prodding Morningstar’s arm. “Petunia, look. A witchfinder in the flesh.”
    “We’ve met,” Pete said, struggling against Morningstar, who still held on to her as he would a naughty puppy.
    “Oh, top notch,” Jack said. “Never thought I’d see one of you blokes up close. Thought you died out about the time we stopped putting leeches on sick folks and tossing villains in the stocks.”
    Ethan drew his spine straight. He had a few good inches on Jack, and thickness as well, but amusement was no longer crawling across his face like a snake across furrows of earth. “You lay a hand on me again, Mr. Winter, and I guarantee I’ll take your filthy index finger off and carry it home for my mantlepiece.”
    Jack grinned at Morningstar, showing all his teeth. “Now that is impressive. No magic, nothing but a commanding presence and a dashing hat, and you’ve got me pissing in me knickers.” He clapped Morningstar on the shoulder, and Ethan did pull the pistol from his coat then, holding it down in the fold so that passersby would never notice it.
    “One warning, Winter,” Morningstar rasped. “That’s all I give. Petunia here still has a shot at salvation. Maggots like you are beyond hope. Go back in the gutter with your junkies and perverts and heathens, before you press my good nature any further.”
    “You did,” Jack agreed. “You did warn me, mate. You were very clear.” In the next moment, Pete heard the familiar snick of Jack’s flick knife, and the silver was in his hand. His other grabbed a fistful of Ethan’s coat, backing him into the brick wall of the flat hard enough to dislodge chips of paint and a shower of brick dust. “Now let me tell you something,” Jack said, in the same pleasant and oily tone. “You ever come near Pete again, you so much as look at her crossways or think about her during one of your little tent-revival wankfests, and I am going to shove your own balls so far down your throat you’ll think you’ve immaculately conceived the second coming of Jesus Christ Himself.”
    Jack pressed the blade into Ethan’s cheek, leaving a dent in the fat of his jaw that Pete watched trickle a little crimson. “I’ve never seen a witchfinder, but I’ve seen what they leave behind,” Jack said. “Their fucking so-called morality that does nothing but put the facade of God’s will on your torture squads and your hate crimes. I wager you’ve probably put the screws to a few friends of mine, mate.” Jack turned the knife, so the point pierced Ethan’s skin and blood flowed in earnest. “And unlike you,” he said, “I never had any good nature to speak of, so why don’t you jog on before I decide I’m not really in a forgiving mood?”
    Ethan managed to smirk, and Pete had to be a little impressed. Even with a knife at his neck and Jack glaring at him with witchfire behind his eyes, Ethan wasn’t even sweating. “You wouldn’t cut my throat on a street full of people in broad daylight, Winter. You’ve got an ego the size of Westminster but you’re not stupid. The Order’s got files on you that would curl hair.”
    Jack leaned in, mouth almost against Morningstar’s ear.