A Madness of Angels: Or The Resurrection of Matthew Swift by Kate Griffin

By Kate Griffin

For Matthew fast, this present day isn't like every different day. it's the day on which he returns to lifestyles. years after his premature demise, Matthew rapid unearths himself respiring once more, mendacity in mattress in his London home.Except that it is now not his mattress, or his domestic. And the final time this sorcerer used to be visible alive, an unknown assailant had gouged a gap so deep in his chest that his loss of life used to be irrefutable...despite his physique by no means being found.He does not have lengthy to mull over his resurrection even though, or the adjustments which were wrought upon him. His basically predicament now's vengeance. Vengeance upon his massive killer and vengeance upon the one that introduced him again.

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Example text

By the end of everything, I missed the calm of those hours in Dulwich. I had fifty stolen pounds in my pocket. I sat on a bench until dawn, a slippery grey turning from monochrome to colour crawling up from the east. I didn’t have to wait long. Sleeping was out of the question; we wouldn’t let our mind stop, wouldn’t shut our eyes, although I so wanted to sleep. At sunrise, I took the first bus that came along, to the first tube station I could find. The man behind the counter couldn’t see my bare feet, so didn’t ask; but I knew I still smelled and looked wild because even through the plastic glass that separated us, he recoiled when I approached.

The shrill call wasn’t a challenge or an expression of pain – it was a call for reinforcements. So much for this. I looked around the street for a source of heat and found a fragment clinging to the wet surface of the chemist’s bright green and white shop sign. Raising my left hand, I dragged it into my fingertips, crunching it down into a small penny shape between my fingers. The light, sucked dry of its energy, flickered and whined in indignation. I turned to the litterbug. It sensed my intentions, shifted uneasily, rose up a little, flexing the metal shards of one of its paws and emitting puffs of smoke.

I leant against the wheelie bin and half-closed my eyes, struggling to retain control. We were tired, in pain, and angry. We had not come here for this; this was not how things were meant to be, the wrong kind of living. Everything, we realised, but everything, was wrong. I was too tired to care. We opened our eyes. The world was bright blue in our vision; electric fire. We stepped forward through the swirling remnants of dirt and monster. We opened our arms and let the blue fire spread between our fingers.

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