Demon Bound: The Battle for Anastasia Aaronson (The Realm of False Gods Book 5) by Steve Higgs

Demon Bound: The Battle for Anastasia Aaronson (The Realm of False Gods Book 5) by Steve Higgs

Author:Steve Higgs [higgs, steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-30T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter 18

It said a lot about the state of the planet that most people didn’t even bother to look at me as I walked through Rochester. The grounds between the castle and the cathedral are always full of tourists. They flock there from all over the world but most especially from Europe as it is so close and the transport networks so easy to use. Charles Dickens lived here for most of his adult life, so every building, bar, restaurant, and tavern boasts a seat that he supposedly once sat in. The High Street is filled with Elizabethan architecture, narrow alleyways and oak beams. Most of the buildings have been standing since before America was found by Christopher Columbus. What I am trying to say is that Rochester had a lot to draw people to it, and there were thousands of people around me, taking pictures and gawping at the ancient castle. However, none of them thought the scarred, one handed, filthily clothed girl with no shoes deserved any attention.

It suited me of course. Getting ignored was far better than having to politely decline offers for help every few yards. I did pause to graciously accept a ten pound note when it was offered though, the middle-aged woman fishing it from her purse clearly believing me to be homeless. Losing my purse and phone to the police last night meant I didn’t have any money and no way of getting any either. Now I had enough to buy something to eat. Hurrying on, I was heading for home where I had a business card I needed to find and a wardrobe of clothes. I needed to get changed and properly dressed, clean myself if I had the time, and I wanted my can of spray lubricant for my prosthetic hand because it was starting to creak and grind. Most of those tasks were secondary; I wanted the card.

I couldn’t find it, of course.

The entrance to my small flat was taped off with crime scene tape, but the spare key Sarah insisted upon because she had a habit of getting drunk and losing hers, was still in its hiding place. I stepped carefully between the pieces of tape rather than disturb them and closed the door quietly behind me. I didn’t want to hang about in case a neighbour saw me. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit for one of them to think ratting me out was a good idea, they probably all thought the strange, scarred girl killed her flatmate anyway.

My right foot was filthy; I hadn’t had shoes since the police confiscated them at the station last night but the rest of me wasn’t much better, so when, in frustration, I gave up looking for the stupid business card, I stripped off and went for a very quick shower.

Someone, most likely an energy conscious cop, had done the decent thing and turned the hot water boiler and heating off. Why heat the water for a dead girl and a



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