Every lab has its own unique smell. As Jonny stepped through the door in the company of professor Forest he took a surreptitious sniff. There was no mistaking the slightly rank smell of E. coli which fragranced just about any microbiology lab but was out of place here in a physics department.
“We make our own channel proteins in house.” Forest commented waving a hand towards one end of the lab where a shaker incubator thrummed. “Jenny is our bio guru, we poached her from Biochemistry last year.”
Jonny regarded the short bleach blond woman who looked up at her name.
“Jenny this is Jon Zbydniewski, he’s taking over Phil’s grant.” Forest introduced them.
“Hi, you Polish ?” She enquired with a smile that made her blue eyes twinkle most appealingly.
“A generation or two ago.” Jonny replied. “Most people just call me Jonny Zee, easier on the tongue.”
“Cool. When do you start ?”
“I can start whenever you want.” Jonny answered her but directed the response at Prof Forest.
“Well, HR will have to issue you a contract and get the wages sorted, I think we can have a start date of next Monday if you are fixed for accommodation.” Forest said after a brief pause.
Jonny knew that HR would be unlikely to be able to issue a letter of appointment within a month, let alone a week, it was just the way things were in universities; too many chiefs, not enough Indians.
“I have friends within commuting distance, Mondays fine.” He grinned.
“Great because I have protein backing up like you wouldn’t believe.” Jenny said brightly. “See you later Jonny.”
“Bye Jenny.” Jonny smiled and trailed after Prof Forest as he opened a door onto a darkened room.

“This is where we have our STM setup.” He commented with a note of pride. “The only system capable of measuring under physiological conditions.” He added over his shoulder as he groped for the light switch.
The fluorescent lights flickered on with a low buzz and illuminated a surprisingly spacious area with a very substantial optical bench at its centre that was, unsurprisingly, littered with boxes of gloves and tissues, half used boxes of pipettor tips, plastic beakers and other assorted detritus.
“Sorry about the mess, we have a student from another lab who comes in to use the old puller system, he spreads onto every horizontal surface rather than clean up.” Prof Forest said in a half apologetic and half annoyed tone. “I did ask Craig to have a clean up but he’s been dragged off to RTP for the week.”
“Craig is…?”
“Oh, Craig Stevens, my student. He’s got a parallel project, trying to insert the channels into Langmuir Blodgett films for prototype devices. I’m hoping you can help him out with that when it comes to imaging.” Prof Forest explained and looked at Jonny hopefully.
“I haven’t done any imaging on LB films but I’m sure I can get somewhere using tapping mode.” Jonny replied confidently as he gazed around the scruffy room.
“That’s great.”
“Homebuilt ?” Jonny asked as he moved a two litre plastic beaker full to overflowing with tips and tissues to reveal the very modest little apparatus.
“Yes, our workshops are still up to the job, no thanks to our head of department.” Prof Forest replied with a sour note. “He thinks we should have just people on external money, he can’t get his head around the need for core expertise to be supported.” He paused and smiled weakly. “Sorry, personal hobby horse.”
“No problem.” Jonny shrugged, he had met enough of the same type of heads, intellectual anorexics who thought that technical staff were superfluous, except their own technician of course.
“What tip system are you using ? Carbon nanotubes ?” He continued his exploration of the optical bench uncovering more of the STM apparatus.
“Yes, we have in house fabrication of nanotube tips that we then have to insulate and etch back, Phil wrote out a protocol, just have to locate it.”
“Was Phil working on 2D crystals exclusively ?”
“No, no. He was developing a protocol for using the channels in the membrane. Have a word with Jenny about that, she was over-expressing the proteins in a mutant strain of E.coli that had patches of almost pure channel.”
“Pretty lethal for the cell wasn’t it ?” Jonny queried.
“I don’t really know much about that side of the work, Jenny got it together somehow but I gather it wasn’t easy.”
Jonny nodded, stuffing a membrane full of channel proteins was usually a recipe for premature cell death, just like a colander letting water flood out through the holes.

“I think I’ll need a week to read up on Phil’s notes and talk to Jenny about the latest experiments, then…” He paused as a small dusty patch on the floor caught his attention. “…then I’ll get the STM fired up for some test runs.”
He turned about and carelessly knocked a box of tissues off the bench onto the floor, just beside the dusty patch.
“Ooops.” He murmured and bent down to retrieve the box.
His hand swept over the dust, one finger dipping down into it before he scooped up the box and deposited it back on the bench.
“Excellent.” Prof Forest beamed. “Any other questions ?”
“Not that can’t be sorted after I start.”
“Good, good. We can take a quick spin through the department to get you oriented.”
As they neared the main entrance a short figure in a dark grey suit turned around from the pigeon holes and looked at them a little quizzically.
“Hello Gordon, who is this then ?” He enquired, his little eyes twinkling in a round cherubic face that was sagging a little into jowliness under a thinning mop of tousled mousy blond hair.
“Hi Dave, this is Jon Zbydniewski. He’s taking over Phil Turners grant.” Prof Forest replied courteously but not happily.
“Jon this is Dave Oryzca our head of department.”
“Pleased to meet you Jon.” Prof Oryzca said effusively as they shook hands. “Have we met before, maybe at a conference ? You look familiar.”
“I don’t believe so.” Jonny answered him easily. “Not the same field.”
“No, of course not.” Prof Oryzca replied sunnily. “Well must dash, meeting with the VC about funding allocations.”
With that he walked away rapidly and purposefully, the very image of a man in charge.
“Heart of an accountant.” Prof Forest grumbled. “Only got his chair by becoming head of department, about as much creativity as a casio calculator. I can never understand how he gets his grants, luck of the devil.”
Jonny kept a discrete silence as Prof Forest had his little rant, he now had two alarm bells ringing loudly in his head and an urgent need to check them out.
“Thanks for the tour Gordon.” He said cheerily as he held out his hand to Prof Forest.
“Oh, no problem. Well, I’ll see you on Monday then Jon.”
“Bye now.”
“Bye.”

Stepping outside into the bright sunshine Jonny found a quiet bench under a stand of trees and sat down to regard his left hand, his index finger in particular, where flecks of dust blackened his pale skin. He brought the finger up to his nose and smelt it, then dabbed it on his tongue. His face wrinkled in disgust at both smell and taste, no doubting the origin of the dust, burnt human flesh. But not just cremated, a human incinerated by brimstone left a unique trace, the taste of a demon.
“We’ve come to the right place Artemesia.” He murmured as he rubbed the dust off onto his hankerchief.
“Am I ever wrong ?” A soft voice answered him petulantly.
“No Mesi, you’re never wrong.” He laughed quietly and turned to his right where the solemn angelic face gleamed back at him in eldritch light that only he could see.
“Something else troubles you Jon.” She prompted him.
So perceptive his Artemesia, but then nothing in the human heart was hidden to an angel, even a fallen angel.
“Right again Mesi.” He sighed and thought back to his brief meeting with Professor Oryzca.
The unnaturally youthful features for a man of his age, the air of complete confidence and command, the arrogant swagger in the walk, the luck of the devil.
“I think we have a possessed too.” He said with a frown.
“Think.” Artemesia said with a heavy hint of sarcasm. “He stinks of it.”
“The tests must still be applied Mesi.” Jonny answered her sarcasm with authority.
“Yes.” She replied obediently and dropped her penetrating gaze obsequiously.
He would have reached out and stroked her cheek had she been corporeal but instead he let his love for her do what his flesh could not and her eyes lifted to regard him happily. It was a sight that could melt the hardest heart, she desperately needed that love and her achingly beautiful face, often so cold and lifeless, was now truly radiant.
“We have a weekend before I start Mesi. Where shall we go ?” He asked her.
“Quiet, lonely.” She replied softly and he nodded, their retreat.

Parking around universities was always fraught, delivery vans, gate Gestapo jobsworths and now that every other student running some old banger meant a bus or taxi ride was essential to get past the ring of parked steel around the main campus. Jonny ambled down to the main road with Artemesia floating beside him, she had recently eschewed the traditional angelic form of feathered wings and long drifting robes of white and adopted something like a minidress but diaphanous to the point of invisibility. He realised that she was reacting to the presence of so many young women on the university campus, which invariably drew his roving eye. He smiled a little sadly, an angel should be above such trivia but Artemesia had been seduced by the sensual delights of the world and committed the unforgiveable crime of possession in order to experience them. He hailed a black cab and settled back for the ten minute ride to his car. Artemesia ‘sat’ opposite him basking in his love for her, a shimmering vision completely invisible to the cabbie who grumbled about the state of the roads, the state of other people’s driving, the state of the country. It was amazing how much griping could be fitted into ten minutes Jonny considered idly as he paid the man.
“Cheers mate.”
With the cab receding he crossed the road to the silver grey car that was parked on this quiet side street, he blipped the key fob and the car gave him a couple of cheery blips back as it disarmed. It looked a little like a TVR but it was a custom built machine that incorporated some very unusual design features. For one thing it was entirely silver coated on the inside, very handy against were-beings as well as the average demon, every orifice that led to the interior carried a cross across it and the head up display was via a periscope system of mirrors, handy for ‘spotting’ vampires.
Easing himself into the leather driving seat he opened the passenger door and allowed Artemesia to float inside, technically she was a demon and she could not cross the silver barrier. The casual observer always looked at him quizzically when he did this but Jonny didn’t care about such things, for him this was normal, everyday, even mundane, well if you can call demon hunting mundane.

The engine turned over almost silently and he put it into gear with a finger touch on the column gear paddle before sliding out into the traffic and starting the long journey to the west.
It was nearly eleven at night as the fat tyres crunched to a halt on the gravel drive, apparently the end of the road on a lonely clifftop. He silenced the burbling engine exhaust and sat for a minute, listening, but not with his ears. So many years of demon hunting had led to Jonny developing something like a sixth sense for the harsh grating of the demonic life force as it moved through the physical world. Normally there were too many other distractions to use this sense in a city or town, but out here where there was only the sea before him and the nearest village was over twelve miles distant, here he could ‘hear’ demons. Nor was this an idle game, the demons all knew Jonny Zee and they hated him with almost as much zeal as they hated the angels ranged against them; they would kill him if they could. There. To his right was a patch of darkness that was blacker than the surrounding night, a silent one, powerful, wary, dangerous.
Artemesia was looking anxious, she could see the demon clearly.
“Anyone I know Mesi ?” Jonny asked her lightly.
“No.”
“Anyone you know then ?”
“Yes.”
Her monosyllabic answers did not bode well, the demon had to be high order if she was afraid of it, capable of consigning her to the far rings of Hell.
“It is an arch demon, Vrathh.” She informed him after a long pause.
Jonny raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, an arch demon, very bad. No ordinary banishing would take care of this one, he would need to use a malediction, fighting demon fire with demon fire and that meant getting uncomfortably close.
“Okay let’s do it.” He muttered and opened his door.

He sensed the demon shift expectantly, it had planted itself right beside the path to his front door ready to ambush him. Before Artemesia could leave the car he slammed the door shut and blipped the alarm as though she was not there, then walked languidly towards the waiting demon. Feigning tiredness would hopefully fool it into manifesting too soon. Just one pace short of it the blackness was shredded and an infernal vision that would twist a less resilient mind into madness barred his way.
“Zbydniewski…” It rasped, beginning the curse.
“By bell, book and wheel begone !” Jonny yelled back at it.
A silent detonation of etheric energy lit up the night in evil reds and ghastly greens as the banishing spell battered the demon but did not send it spiralling away through the planes to Hell.
Its harsh gurgling laugh rent the night as the demon took the one fateful step forward to claim Jonny as its victim and carry him off as a plaything for all time, but even as its reached out its slender spiny arm a warm hand sped past the claws and clamped onto the bony chest ridge.
“Vrathh, bender of souls, perverter of lives, by the bell called, by the book bound, and by the candle burned.” Jonny chanted even as the surprised demon opened its mouth to begin its curse anew. “Bye now.”
It let out a long wailing howl that ascended up until it became a scream, a screech, a nerve scratching ultra sound. Eldritch flames flared out from Jonny’s hand and rendered the manifestation down to a putrid ash in seconds so that he stood in a ludicrous position, reaching out into empty air as the sea breeze blew the last traces of the demon away.
There was more scratching in the night air but this was not a cause for concern, it was the retreat of the lesser demons who had gathered to see his demise and now scattered in dismay. Silence.

He blipped the key fob again and went back to open the passenger door so that Artemesia could leave her silver prison and swiftly scout the perimeter of the house for any lingering malcontents before returning fiery eyed and raven winged to his side.
“Home Mesi, no need to look so malevolent.” Jonny chided her softly, he found her near demonic appearance deeply unpleasant.
The hard lines of her face softened and the jet black wings with edges as cruel as a stiletto faded into white feather as she resumed her angelic form.
“Better my love. Come inside.”
He held his hand out to her and she advanced swiftly, eagerly, to him.
Leaning down Jonny grasped a lever that lay in a shallow depression at the end of the path and pulled it upright. With a soft swish the ground lifted before him to reveal a heavy cast iron door its surface a maze of symbols and sygils, just one layer of defence against the marauding demons. A dark hole punctured its centre and Jonny thrust his left hand into it to depress the hidden keys in sequence and release the lock. Hydraulics withdrew the rams that held the time black door shut and then slowly opened it inwards to allow him to enter the one place where he could truly relax, his sanctuary from the world, both physical and metaphysical. The wood panelling inside was veneered with holly and silver and beyond it lay inches of cast iron rendering the entryway proof against all but the most powerful of the demon hordes. Descending the spiral stairway he heard the slow hiss and well oiled sigh of the hydraulics as the entrance sank back into the ground leaving no visible means of access. His hand felt the smoothness of the cast iron rail as he stepped downwards, his solitary metallic footsteps the only sound. This place had been built by Victorian craftsmen, massively engineered yet full of delightful artistic touches, from the cast birds and flowers that adorned the many pillar capitals to the intricately patterned light fittings that responded to his passage by glowing brightly then dimming away behind him. This gothic subterranean mansion was a mix of those durable Victorian elements and high tech circuitry that was out of date almost as soon as it was installed.

Jonny carefully hung his jacket on a wooden hanger and placed it inside the dim cloakroom alongside many other garments for fair weather and foul. A scent of cedar wood pervaded the cloakroom, a fresh scent that often had to vie with the stench of brimstone or the vile exudations of demonic attack. Some coats still had such odours clinging to them years after the original contamination, washing didn’t work, only time and this sepulchral calm dispelled the noxious vapours.
In the vaulted kitchen he opened the door of a vast American fridge freezer and rummaged for a few moments before removing a plastic container and peeling the lid off it.
“Something I prepared earlier.” He laughed softly and thrust it into the microwave.
As it hummed and heated he lifted the heavy oak trapdoor in the floor and descended into the cool of the wine cellar where bottles lay in racks from floor to low ceiling. He turned a few bottles through 180 degrees as he searched for a suitable wine to accompany his meal and more importantly, his mood. He was at this moment content, he felt Artemesia’s comfort like a fur wrap about himself, she too was content. He selected a merlot, it felt mellow enough.
The microwave beeped at him annoyingly and he made a mental note to have the modern signal replaced with a more Victorian substitute, a small brass bell with a high clean note. He nodded, that would be far more in keeping with the kitchen with its huge central wooden table and mountainous black range, above which pots, pans, griddles and all manner of cooking paraphernalia in old copper and modern stainless steel hung like shiny bats from the many racks. If he had had more time he would have prepared himself a banquet big enough for at least four and gorged himself on much of it before freezing the rest away for nights….nights like this.

His meal steamed in the plastic tub and he poured the thick venison stew into an earthenware bowl before opening the wine and pouring a large glass of the dark red mauve liquid.
“Dinner is served.”
Jonny ate in the study, probably the room he most often occupied in the vast house, sitting at his desk while music gently wafted from hidden speakers, masquerading as pictures, a big log fire burning to one side casting almost the only light save the brass and green glass desk lamp. Books ranked around the other three walls were the leathery witnesses to his solitary meal until he finished eating and picked up the still half full wine glass and approached the books facing him across the desk and its beize green blotter.
“Ahh, yes.” He murmured and extracted the thick tome to take it to the high backed chair beside the fire.
An intricately punched brass catch held the book closed and his fingers lightly caressed the detailing before flipping it open and laying the book in his lap to leaf through it until he found a blank page. Almost unconsciously he reached over with his left hand to the little dark mahogany table that stood beside the chair and found the silver fountain pen that always resided there.
“Vrathh.” He mused, writing the demons name and a description of it on the amber tinted parchment.
He felt Artemesia stir anxiously as he concentrated upon his task.
“Rest my love.” He told her and she relaxed and was still once more.
Having completed his entry Jonny closed the clasp and returned the book to its place on the shelf, then selected another to briefly consult, and raised his eyebrows as he read the entry in the crabby hand of the long dead alchemist Theophilus Dreade.
‘Ye arche daemon of ye name Vrathh be ye torturer of angelles that hast fallen from theyre place on highe…’
Little wonder that Artemesia knew that particular monster and feared it too. He closed the book softly on the disturbing knowledge and put aside all thoughts of demons past and future. He would enjoy the now, free of concerns, free of fear, free…no, not quite free, but perhaps free enough.

Settling back in the chair he sipped the wine and allowed its soporific effects carry him off in a daydream as he watched the flames leap and gyre in the grate. He remembered a field of flowers so vast it seemed to go on forever under a cerulean sky studded with gleaming white clouds. It was a memory from his childhood when everything had been so full of colour, so full of wonder, so full of life, before.
The old clock on the mantelpiece chimed its little tune and then struck a single time, one in the morning. The last dregs of wine still lay in the glass cradled in his right hand but he didn’t want any more of it and set it down on the little table beside the pen.
The hidden door swung open as he pulled out the book that was in reality a handle, he could no longer read the title on the spine it was so worn down, another little task for him this weekend. Walking along the long corridor he didn’t look up at the paintings and portraits that hung upon the wood panelled walls, he knew them all so very well, and they disappeared into the gloom behind him as the ornate gold and crystal chandeliers extinguished themselves with his passing. He passed five doors on his left and four doors on his right before stopping at the fifth and grasping the knob to open it.
Soft yellow light brightened as he entered the oval shaped room, its walls and ceiling hidden behind swags of yellow chiffon, a deep pile carpet of citrus yellow under his shoes. He drew in a deep breath of the pale lemon scent that fragranced the air, yes, the yellow room would be their resting place tonight. Advancing upon the hidden bed he teased apart the hangings and sat down on the soft bed, mechanically removing his tie, shirt, shoes, socks, trousers, boxers and leaving them heaped around his feet before he crawled across the big eiderdown and insinuated himself under it.
He lay on his back looking up at the star shape that the chiffon swags made as they were all gathered in over the bed, the light gently permeating them, and closed his eyes.
“Rest my love.” He sighed and knew that Artemesia rested peacefully within his bosom.