From here, things get a little confusing.
For some, it was a torched McMansion.
For others, it was a very expensive car without a VIN number wrapped around a tree.
And for five, it was oblivion.
"I see." Mr. Tepes said and terminated the call before leaning forward, elbows planted upon the black mirror of his Art Deco desk, absently testing the points of his fangs. "Thank you for informing me."
As with angels, demons left trails of destruction in their wake when interfered with.
Until tonight, it suited Tepes to look the other way: let it get what it came for and leave.
But not without witness.
The uncrowned king of Salem rose. "Golda," he said with just the barest trace of a Rumanian accent, "Arrange for my private helicopter to pick up my daughter and then myself. There are matters to attend to at Lake Augua Clara."
"Of course, sir." Chirped Gilda, the tiny golem resembling an antique porcelain doll in a power suit from the corner of his desk. She blinked, adding, "ETA less than fifteen minutes if the break in the weather holds."
"Indeed." Mr. Tepes said, pulling on his heavy, velvet overcoat.
Gilda cocked her head, numbers flashing behind her eyes. Funtom Corporation just released an industry changing toy in time for Christmas. Jihad was declared in some Middle Eastern backwater nobody ever heard of. A major power invaded a lesser power. Prices fell and refugees fled– destabilizing governments along the way. Gilda invested for Tepes as well as herself while arranging for Ms. Schmidt to land on the helipad overhead: Golda, her daughter, was graduating with honors and Harvard wasn't cheap.
Mike paused along the fiery trail of Charlie's flunky, shaking his massive upper torso to settle the contents.
This time Charlie wasn't going to win.
He would make damned sure of that – their years of wandering homeless, of hiding in plain sight, of waiting for the knock on the door, wouldn't have been for nothing.
Cop or not, he wanted to tear Charlie's head off, but that wouldn't do.
It had to be right.
It had to be tight.
Load settled Mike lumbered through the burning remains of Lake Agua Clara's carefully preserved fringe of timber shieldi,ng the homeowners from the horrible sight of Interstate traffic.
Up ahead the house he'd done a partial demolition on earlier in the day blazed against the evening sky.
Mike grinned, exposed metal underframe reflecting red – Charlie or not, the son of a bitch messing with his family was going to pay.
Josie skidded sideways, landing hard on the dirty ice of Lake Agua Clara in a swirl of snowflakes and blue feathers as a helicopter thudded overhead.
Wheezing, she crouched on the slick surface as Bekka's expensive cheaply built house slowly toppled sideways in flames as the thing that looked like a man strode across the ice towards her in a billow of sparks, feet not touching the ice.
Smiling.