Steph put an arm around Jess.  “Come on, sweetheart.  We should get ourselves downstairs in front of the barrel fire now that we don’t have to worry about him.  The fire in here’s about to go out anyway and that broken window is going to freeze us to stone.”

Jess agreed.  “Plus, Old Graham will be wondering what’s going on.”

Steph’s eyes suddenly widened.  “I forgot all about Old Graham.  Hopefully he’s drunk enough to not have heard any of this.”

 ”We best get down there,” Jess said, turning with Steph, towards the bar.  She took two steps and then stopped.  “Shit!  Are you okay?”  Damien was doubled up against the bar, taking in long, laboured breaths.  “You’re still bleeding?”

He waved a hand dismissively and Jess saw that it was soaked with blood.  “Just a flesh wound,” he said and then laughed.  “I always wanted to say that.”

“It’s not a joke, Damien.  Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.  Just a bit sore.   The blood is probably to be expected after getting stabbed and everything.  Like I told you though, it isn’t deep.”

Steph didn’t seem convinced.  Jess wasn’t either, but what could they do?  Jess was thinking that maybe the wound was worse than he was letting on, but having never seen a stab wound before there was a chance she was just overreacting.  If Damien said he was fine then all they could do was believe him.  “Let’s go downstairs,” she said finally.

The three of them gathered candles from the bar and entered the rear corridor.  The air seemed no warmer inside, which was strange as earlier it had been filled with a warm air current flowing up from the stairs.  Now it felt as cold as the rest of the pub.  Steph took the staircase first; Jess and Damien followed.  When they reached the bottom together, darkness greeted them and Jess realised the fire had gone out.

“Oh no,” said Steph, lighting the room with her candle.  The image of Old Graham shone into view, still lying on the floor where they’d left him.  Even in the poor light, Jess could see the waxy blue tinge that travelled the lines of the old man’s face and, particularly, his lips.  Old Graham was dead.

Steph leapt down onto her knees, dropping her candle on the cement floor where it quickly extinguished. In the darkness, Jess and Damien had no choice but to listen to her scream.

###

Outside it was as Harry had feared.  They were surrounded.  In all directions, the tall, hooded figures loomed over them, standing motionless, shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of towering bodies.  In front of them the hounds sat obediently.

“What do we do?” asked Harry.

Lucas shoved him forward.  “Just swing for the first bugger that comes for you.  Kath and I will handle the hounds.”

Harry willed his legs to take him forward and after several false starts got himself moving.  The monsters remained in place but watched him with great interest.  Harry felt like a lowly ant beneath their stares.  A low growl emanated from the hounds but they made no attempts to attack, heeled to their hooded masters and waiting for commands.

Harry got closer and wondered what to do.  Did Lucas really expect to take on this army with just a broom and some salt shakers?  They were going to die; any other outcome seemed impossible.  Still, Harry wasn’t going down without a fight.  If they wanted him, they would have to take him down, biting and screaming.

Once he was within a dozen metres of the hooded figures, the hounds at their feet became agitated, hackles rising as they paced back and forth.

“Ready with the salt?” asked Harry.

“Bring it on,” said Lucas, taking hold of Kath and bringing her forward.  Together, the two of them hurled salt into the air.  It caught on the wind and dispersed in a thousand directions, disappearing into the blizzard.

Harry watched and waited as nothing happened.  Then hounds began to squeal, their skin smoking and burning, dripping into the snow and turning it a dark, mottled brown.  The beasts began to edge away, colliding with their masters who were still unmoving.  After a few moments, the hounds managed to weave between the hooded figures and flee into the night.

Satisfied, Harry looked at Lucas, who nodded at the broom he was holding.  Really?  Should he really be so willing to trust his survival on a domestics implement?  Harry decided it was time to find out.  The three of them lined up and marched forward, meeting their attackers head on.

Harry raised the broom like a pike, images of naked women fluttering in the wind.  The hooded men remained motionless, their seven-foot frames like stone statues.  When one of them finally moved, Harry thought he was going to soil himself.

The tallest figure, at the centre of the wall, stepped forward and flung out a hand.  Harry curiously noticed that the creature’s outstretched arm was human, yet twisted and talon-like.  It pointed at Lucas as its owner hissed the word, ‘WORMWOOD’.

Harry turned to Lucas who was grinning ear to ear, not out of good nature, but seemingly out of defiance.  Lucas winked at the figure addressing him.  “How you doing there, Mickey?  Been keeping well?”

“You know this…this thing?” asked Kath, the disgust in her voice not even slightly hidden.

“Aye, but now is not the time.”

“It never is with you,” said Harry.

“Harry,” Lucas whispered over his shoulder, “now would be a good time to sweep up the trash.”

Harry didn’t understand at first, until, finally, a light bulb went off in his head.  He rammed the broom forwards, aiming for the hooded man’s head.  The blow missed by a mile and that seemed impossible.  The intended victim had gone from motionless stone to dodging the blow in an unearthly blur of speed; a glowing wisp of light that didn’t actually seem to move so much as simply disappear and reappear somewhere else.

Harry cursed out loud.  “Damn it!  I missed.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Lucas.  “Get your bloody arse moving.”

Harry realised that his attacker’s evasion had left a gap in the wall of hooded bodies.  The three of them ran, stumbling through the deep snow and almost having to claw themselves along.  Despite their early lack of movement, the hooded men were now giving chase, screeching and wailing as they did.  As one got close, Harry swung out with the broom.  It blinked out of existence and reappeared out of harm’s way just as his brethren had before.  Harry didn’t mind if the swings were making contact or not, they were warding off the danger regardless.

As he clambered through the snow, Harry came side by side with Lucas.  He turned and looked at him.  “What the hell are they, Lucas?”

Lucas looked back and smiled.  “Angels.”  He said it casually, as if the explanation was not completely insane.

Harry almost fell, just about managing to right himself with his next steps.  “Angels?”

“Like I said, Harry Boy.  Now’s not the time.”

The three of them continued making their way forward, not really knowing where they were heading other than away from danger.  As Harry looked back, he saw that they were no longer being pursued.  The ‘Angels’ were apparently in no rush to get their ‘sinner’.  But, despite the lack of pursuit coming from behind, Harry could clearly make out something ahead of him.”

“Something’s up ahead,” said Kath.

Harry nodded.  “I know, I can see.  Ready with the salt?”

“Yes.  Ready with broom?”

The three of them slowed down (not that they were making particularly great speed anyway).  The shape in the distance began to come clearer into view.  It was a person, heading towards them quickly.

Kath stated the obvious.  “They’re coming right at us.”

Harry focused as much as he was able to in the blustering snow.  “It’s…”

“Nigel!”  Kath shouted the word gleefully.  “Are we glad to see you!”

Nigel came up to them, huffing and puffing.  Harry noticed that the man had dried blood on his clothes as well as terrible burns on the left side of his face.  He looked like something out of a horror film.