The Chosen Seed
The Forgotten Gods: Book Three
The tables have turned, and now Detective Inspector Cass Jones is a wanted man on the streets of London. Framed for murder and hunted by his former colleagues, Cass needs every ally he can get—including a very unexpected figure from his past.
While detectives Hask and Ramsey search for the killer behind the lethal Strain II virus, Mr. Bright continues to pull strings from the shadows, and there are dire warnings of a final battle that could tear everything apart.
As he searches for his kidnapped nephew while eluding his own pursuers, Cass is determined to find the answers—even if he has to confront the darkest secrets of the history of humanity to do it.
He pulls his coat tighter around his thin frame and tucks his chin into his chest. The year is starting to die and its bitterness at that fact is clear in every bite of the wind that attacks him. The young woman in the doorway gazes up, her eyes already bleary. There is a mixture of awe and confusion in her expression. Soon, he is sure, there will be something else.
“For this is the word of your God,” he says, smiling softly. “Spread it.”
She opens her mouth for a moment but he turns and walks away before she can blurt out whatever it is she wants to—there will not be anything original to hear. The muttered thanks of the junkie doorway- dwellers is always the same; he’s seen enough of them to know that, this night, and the one before, and the one before that. He has been busy spreading his word in the alleyways and under the bridges, where the invisible congregate. It gives him a quiet sense of satisfaction that eases his own bitterness.
He leaves her—high, and now dying—and strolls through the city streets. It’s creeping towards midnight, but the capital never sleeps. He watches the smiling, bright faces around him. Perhaps now is the time to spread his word a little wider.
A couple laugh and lean in to each other. The man is smoking, which is why they are out in the freezing night rather than enjoying the warmth within, but the cold doesn’t appear to affect them. Both wear wedding rings, but he doubts they are wedded to each other. There is a flush of a drunken office flirtation surrounding them, and he can see in the woman’s face that her own husband is a million miles from her mind. This man’s hands and touch and charm are all she wants tonight. She’s feeling young and sexy again, herself, not just a mother and wife.
He goes inside and buys himself a drink, the same brand of beer that the woman is drinking, and stands behind them. No one pays him any attention. It’s late and the world appears to be filled with good cheer. Here and there he sees a flicker of gold, but the Glow is so weak it’s almost an embarrassment. The woman and man have none.
Their drinks are sitting on the windowsill of the pub and it takes barely a second to do what needs to be done to her beer. He waits patiently, and after a moment her companion goes inside to find a toi- let and she reaches for the bottle. He watches her swallow and then comes alongside, smiling as if he too is having the time of his life, which perhaps, in some perverse way, he is.
“Happy Hallowe’en,” he says, and clinks his bottle against hers. She smiles and then drinks.
“For this is the word of your God.” He doesn’t smile, and her own expression wavers. “Spread it.”
“What did you say?”
He doesn’t answer but turns and walks away, dropping the half-full beer bottle in a bin as he does so. He feels satisfied. He’s found a new market.
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