Finally the rain stopped. The branches and twigs on the trees and bushes were still dripping when a figure moved amongst the first glow-worms up on one of the hill of the Oxfordshire plain.
It was carrying what at first glance looked like a theodolite. That alone would not have been an odd phenomenon, as after the war the destruction of the countryside had become far more systematically with excavators and building troops instead of bombers and short-sighted pilots.
But no surveyor would be out and about at midnight.
In addition to that, then, at second glance what figure was carrying looked like a theodolite with some twigs and crystal pendulums strapped to it. Which was what it was.
Anathema Device rammed the contraption's legs into the ground and went on making some notes and doing some calculations. Now that it had finally stopped raining she could also take out a map and a pen and a ruler and do the rest of what she had been out for in such weather. After a moment she sighed, smiling at the lines she had drawn onto the map with an unamused smile. Unamused, but no without satisfaction. She collapsed the theodolite again and carried everything back down the hill, the wet ground making nasty squelching sounds under her heavy boots.
She loaded everything onto her bicycle, swung into the saddle and made her way back to the town. It was mostly downhill, which was goodm as categorising Anathema's bike as 'ancient' was easier to do than categorising it as 'bicycle'.
The biggest disadvantage of it, however, was that it had no light ever since the batteries had molded over. If Anathema's assumption that she was the only one out tonight would have been correct, it would have been no problem. But they weren't.
There was a crash and two strings of enraged muttering as she ran straight into someone on the dark and muddy road.
"Hello?", Anathema scrambled back onto her feet, pulled a torch from her cloak, shining the light at the other person.
Said other person was a man, tall, thin and currently shielding his eyes from the light with his hand.
"Mind not shining that light directly into me eyes? Ye already hit me with yer... That's a bicycle, innit?"
"Yes. Yes it is." Anathema lowered the torch a little, "What were you doing here at midnight?"
"Could ask you the same questions," the man said and stood, unfolding like a deckchair made from toothpicks.
Anathema drew a face, and for a moment stared up at the tall figure. The man was thin and deadly pale, but he smiled.
"If you have to know -ouch- I am trying t' clear me 'ead.", the man said, wiping mud off his grubby old mac. "What about you? Young women like yerself should not be out and about at this hour."
Anathema huffed.
"It's my business, is it not?" she said, "And I'd like to inform you that I have a breadknife." She shone the torch onto the ground. "Somewhere."
"Me lass, I bloody well assure you I'm not interested in that." The man bent back down and picked up some items. "I think these are yours," he said, handing Anathema a map and a thermos flask.
"Yes, they are. Thank you," said Anathema. This man struck her as odd. But she couldn't put her finger on it. She found herself, however, reminding herself that if anything bad would happen to her, Agnes would have mentioned it.
"Y'could of put on a light", the man complained further. "And dun say you didn't expect anyone to be around, again. There's other things out at night."
"I only ran into you, now didn't I?"
The man huffed, stretched and stared at Anathema for a moment.
"What?", she said with an air of annoyance after he did so for a moment too long for her taste.
"Just memorising yer face in case the coppers ask me for it."
Anathema had enough. Without another word she picked up her things and pushed her bike past him, heading straight for the cottage she had rented for the time being.
"Well, Good Night then, Miss," she heard the man call.
He didn't follow her, which was a good thing.
What wasn't a good thing was that he was very likely already far gone when Anathema, after emptying her basket on the table in the cottage, found that a square-shaped bit of empty air had taken the place of The Book.
.~+~.
Keruvael clung to Phelan, his chin resting on the demon's shoulder.
"I think I saw a signpost," he said.
"What did it say?"
"I don't know, it flashed by so quickly."
Phelan frowned and stopped the bike.
"You're not really helping."
"I thought you had been here before."
"Yes. Eleven years ago."
Keruvael sighed. They had spent the past several hours riding around the countryside without finding anything, and he didn't know if it was Phelan's lack of sense of orientation or if the demon was trying to find the route again he had taken eleven years ago. In any case they were now standing in the middle of nowhere with no one to ask for directions. In the distance there were scattered lights of slumbering villages, but you couldn't just go and wake people up to ask. Well, Keruvael couldn't because he was an angel. Phelan might.
"We could ask someone for directions?", said the angel then.
Phelan gave him a long cold look over the rim of his glasses.
"At this hour?"
"You're a demon. Mild inconvenience is in your job description."
The demon frowned and looked around. It was dumb but the last straw. The closest set of lights was to the right, so he started the engine again and drove towards it. Both he and Keruvael missed a signpost pointing the same direction saying 'Maison de Plaisirs'.
Eleven years ago, there had been a fire.
It had been started by a lightning bolt and had accurred the night after the latest patients had left the hospital. It had taken down an entire wing, destroyed the archive and in the long run killed two nuns of the black sisterhood. After that the sisterhood dissolved, as their work was done, but Satanist isn't really an education you could go very far with, and one had to eat. So not everyone left. Those that stayed found themselves with a huge, empty mansion. There was a number of things one could do with it, if one thought about it. They decided on one that was needed.
The last war was over, and even if they knew a new one was ahead, they also knew what people needed:
Love.
In the definition more common in the world than any other.
Phelan whistled trough his teeth. This was seriously unexpected.
"Is this the right place?", asked Keruvael, getting off the bike after Phelan had stopped on the gravel at the front door.
"It is, I remember the stone lions at the gate."
"This doesn't really look like a hospital."
"Oh, I'm pretty certain there might be nurses in there, you know."
Keruvael gave him a disapproving glance.
"You have a dirty mind," he said.
"It's my job. And you've seen the name. I tell you, it's a brothel."
He secured Molly and entered the building alongside the angel.
"Phelan, this is rather..."
"'House of Delights', Keruvael. Do you think it's a sweet shop?"
He sniffed as they stood in the wide and exquisitely furnished foyer.
"Yes, definitely a brothel."
Keruvael crossed his arms.
"Not much of a surprise there from your lot. Satanic sisterhood or not, turning a convent into a -"
"We got the idea from your lot, actually. In the thirteenth century, remember?", said Phelan, with a trace of smugness. Keruvael fell silent.
And so did Phelan as a woman in far too tight and far too shiny clothing swayed towards them.
"And what 'ave we 'ere?" She purred in what likely was meant to be a seductive, pseudo-french accent.
Phelan scratched the side of his nose, not really knowing how to react here. Which quickly unnecessary as the woman seemed to focus on Keruvael.
"Oh, I see," she said, winking at Phelan, "We know exactly how to treat lads like you."
She then hooked her arms under the angel's and wandered off, dragging him behind. Helplessy, Keruvael looked back at Phelan, who only gave an equally helpless shrug.
As the two were out of sight, the demon frowned. He had an idea what was going on. And it bothered him that he couldn't be there to see what would come of it. Angels are sexless, unless they really want to make an effort. And there wasn't that much virginity to take to begin with. So Phelan shrugged again and snuck off to see what he could find.