The pump at the BP (British Petroleum) garage chugged into life as Ember began fuelling up the Corsa for the drive ahead of them.

Crispin twiddled with the radio, moving from the snoozefest that was Radio 2, past Heart F.M. - whatever that was, and settling on Radio One where The KLF were announcing their departure to Moo-Moo land. He leaned his head over to assure Ember that he was covering the bill and would be grabbing snacks while he was at it.

"I'm fine," Ember retorted, the pump handle clicking as the small petrol tank was completely filled to the brim. "I got this."

"No, no, I insist. I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

"You're a demon!" the half-elf declared, huffily. "You are as far from a gentleman as I am from Pamela Anderson!"

Crispin sat back in the seat with a sulky thud and folded his arms. "You'd let Anar pay. I earn more than him. What is it with you and funny grey rodents, anyway?"

Ember allowed herself a smile. "Fine. You buy the snacks. Aardvarks aren't rodents, by the way."

They walked into the fuel station’s shop, Crispin still giving her a jealous look. "I've got a trust fund, you know."

"I'm not interested in the benefits package of dating you."

"Oh? Monster squad pays ok, does it? You don't fancy something better than a two-bed two-bath in some crummy town nobody's heard of?" he picked up his Monster Munch and bottle of Pepsi. "I have a flat in Mayfair, you know."

"It might not be much, but it's mine," she replied, firmly. "I've got a decent Council pension to look forward to and I get to use magic for my job. I'm still young, plenty of time to move up the seniority ladder."

Crispin handed over cash for his refreshments along with Ember's Hula Hoops and Lucozade. "That's what I'm talking about! Promotions and pay rises and perks. They need to be worth it. What's the point of turning up to work every day if you don't get fair compensation? Krakens are dangerous! Your whole work sector is dangerous! You might not live long enough to cash in that pension. If it's even worth anything at that point."

Ember paid for the fuel and thanked the cashier, something Crispin wouldn't stoop to do. "Are you trying to sell me a career in the Underworld? Because you are not going to succeed, Crisp."

"Money..." he said, as they opened the car doors.

"Is the root of all evil, yes," ember smiled as she sat down and turned the key. With a loud chug, the engine turned over.

He rolled his demonic eyes, "money makes the world go..."

A boom like a thunderclap filled the air and everything turned orange, red and HOT.

"What exactly is going on out there?!" the Senior Mage brought his palm down upon his desk with a slap. "We've got disappearing krakens, demons driving off with staff members and now one of my supervisors has been bitten by a fiend and is in the medical centre covered in lumps full of God-knows-what! Who's in charge of these demons, anyway? They all have bosses too, right? That's their thing, yes? Rank and order? Don't say Lucifer!"

His two colleagues stammered and stuttered.

"Our resident demonologist is the one involved with this, Sir."

"We have a description of the minion that apparently dealt with the kraken, Sir. The imps who assaulted Philip were vaporised on the scene by a third party, currently unknown."

The Senior Mage sighed, "sure, give me what you got. I'll run it through our databases. I'm not excited at having to contact an outside occult specialist for this, you know. Why do we only have one demonologist? Bloody devils, coming up here, causing a ruckus."

"Demons aren't exactly known for wandering our plane willy-nilly, Sir. Usually, they are summoned and returned following standard practice procedures and there's no issues. None we have to step in to deal with, at least. This does seem to be a most unusual incident."

Rowan took the paper offered, with a fuzzy scry-shot printed upon it of the Hell resident who had approached Ember at the scene of the kraken’s attack upon the bay bridge.

He made a strangled sound in his throat.

His hand shook, making the sheet of paper flap.

"Sir?"

"Are you... alright?"

"Hnnng... Hrrrkk..." the Senior mage was shaking and colour sprang at his cheeks.

"Shall I call in a healer? You don't look so good, Sir."

Rowan's teeth clenched together, tight, his wrinkled brow furrowing in great folds. "It's... it's..."

The two mages nodded to each other, opening a communication channel to the medical department with urgency. The Senior Mage was clearly having an episode of some sort. He had begun bleeding from his nostrils.

"It's that fucking aardvark!" he roared, rattling the vase of flowers upon the windowsill that gave him a splendid view of Salisbury Plane. He slapped the paper down in front of him repeatedly, gnashing and snarling, until finally the pale green robes of a First Aid team swooped in to cover him in a calming aura that sunk into his frothing form. He slumped in his chair, slurring to himself as his chest rose and fell in huge shudders, muttering about warlocks and dragons and sceptres.

Peregrin began to fall down, his legs buckling, his hand dramatically reaching to touch his grey, horned brow. He exhaled with a whimper. "I always knew this day would come. Take me! Lock me up! Drag me to the basement. It's more than I deserve."

The security chief flicked his gaze to the gathered company, assessing their reactions. He hadn't expected the Director to actually hold out his wrists for the enchanted cuffs but that was what it looked like he was doing. Looks could be deceiving though.

Azratheth 'awwwww'ed in disappointment. He’d hoped for more violent outbursts.

Aleister Crowley puffed out his grossly distended, pudgy chest with pure glee painted on his pale fat face. Others weren't so sure, neither, and shuffled with second-hand embarrassment at the bad acting before them. Peregrin had a chance for a monologue and any demon who knew what they were about would be taking full advantage right now.

"It's true my son has escaped from his binding contract."

Gasps predictably followed.

"I don't know how. I don't know where he is. I only wanted to bring him back, but certain fiendish characters hindered me before I had the chance. My son caused all this destruction. All this disruption. My son is more powerful than any of you could imagine. He has done the impossible. He has unleashed his magic upon you, magic that you had no idea he had. I... only wished to speak to him. To talk to him one more time. I had a letter to give to him. Would... would you just allow me to sign it? I will leave it here in case he ever comes to find me? You better hope he doesn't come here to find me, mind you, for you have seen what he is capable of..." Peregrin, still half-falling and weakly floundering, remaining upright albeit shakily, reached into his pocket to pull out a letter.

Azratheth reached one of his many eyes over to watch as the disgraced Director grasped an offered Parker pen to sign his name on the dotted line.

Letters didn't usually have dotted lines...

Azratheth slid slimily closer, almost willing Peregrin to do something amazing. The pen scratched to a halt.

The aardvark Director straightened up, his false pretences now complete and unrequired.

"Come on you," the security chief flicked open crimson glowing cuffs, "last stand's over."

With a fwoomph! and a sudden burst of searing light, the sound of fluttering feathers and sweet singing filled the room. The demons and ancient evils recoiled, hissing, as the grey figure before them turned shining white, dark silk Saville Row suit replaced with a pale flowing tunic and rich, golden lace.

Wings bright and expansive stretched out, glorious and beautiful. Where there had been thick, heavy curved horns there now sat a sparkling halo. Bone structure wings were now feathers. Creaky bone tail had been erased entirely.

Peregrin was transformed into an angelic host, powerful and terrible and righteous. His dark hair was pale silver, his eyes pale and glittering.

"No! No fucking way!" Aleister roared as he grabbed at the splendid hem, where it immediately burned at his evil flesh, bringing blisters and the stink of scorched hair. He drew back, baring his teeth, spitting futile curses.

"Did I tell you I had another son in Paradise? Always handy to have contacts on the other side," Peregrin sneered as he began to rise up, shimmering and beaming, floating away skywards, unhindered by such things as walls or ceilings or grasping tentacles or claws.

The demons snarled and cursed, raging at the ex-Director's sheer cheek of switching sides to get out of his predicament.

"Heaven will not keep you!"

"The Angels will never forgive what you did in Lucifer's name!"

"You will be back! We will remember this!"

"Whoo! Go Peregrin!," Azratheth burbled. The others frowned at him. "What? Like you'd just go down to the basement in cuffs like a common criminal? Give over!"

With a bump, Ember smacked into the car door and its inner handle as the entire vehicle had somehow turned onto its side. The plastic trim sparkled. The air felt thick. Her stomach lurched as though she had spun fast on a fairground ride. Her heart hammered. She struggled to breathe. "What...?" outside, everything was sunny yellow and hazy.

Crispin had his feet pressed firmly upon the dashboard; his hands balled up in fists that were sparking in blue jets. His eyes were clamped shut, concentrating on magic.

Time had been stopped. As her head turned, with effort, she could see the snacks were suspended in mid-air. It was very hot in the car, but the heating wasn't on.

Crispin tried to talk through gritted teeth, "ars splodng."

She furrowed her pale brow. Ars? Must be cars. Many cars? Wait! The cars is. Car's. Splodng... splodng? Splod... no, no such thing as splod. Dng must be ding but he can't make an I sound. Splodding. Splowding. There's a sound at the front he can't make while holding the spell. Insploding... asploding... ex...

"The car's exploding?! What the shit, Crispin?!"

"Rowleys," he grunted again.

Panic filled her gut. She reached for the car door handle that had whalloped her as she'd hit it, no doubt causing a bruise, and opened it, promptly plummeting down as the car had been in the middle of a spin as its fuel had ignited, going KABOOM!

She landed and rolled, gasping in pain, looking up at her car sat oddly in the air, surrounded by a fire that had been paused mid-burn. Crispin was still in there, holding it all together, quite literally. His fast reflexes had saved them from disaster but if he didn't get out before his concentration broke or he became weak then it was Game Over.

She stood up and yanked open his door, reaching up as best as she could. He hadn't put on his seat belt yet which was a small mercy but he was a fully grown man - a demon man at that, and Ember was a short half-elf who struggled to carry in the groceries. He was also wedged in pretty tight because he'd planted his feet out to brace himself for impact.

"Fuck!" she grasped onto her amulet, adding to a long list of things that had not gone right today. Letting her magic flow, the gem dimmed as the car was put back down upon its tyres properly, the fire extinguished, then time slowly caught up to them.

Nobody else at the petrol station had any idea why the curious couple in the Corsa were groaning and rolling about with all the doors open, but there was nowt queer as folk.

Ember trembled, almost afraid to restart the engine. She'd never been the subject of an assassination attempt before and it wasn't as exciting as she'd been led to believe in movies.

Crispin gently placed his hand on her knee. "I'll drive," he said slowly, also traumatised but determined to show her he could be more than she took him for.

She nodded, switching places as the car started up without issue. She should really call this in, but she’d been saying that all day, hadn’t she? The Council may have beef with Anar and his natural magic, but no matter how much she wanted to protect him from her bosses, he wasn't worth dying over. Anar was a big boy, he could look after himself. The Council probably didn't even know where he lived anyway! They had an immediate threat to deal with right now: demons running amok.

Her mobile screen lit with a green light and sharp buzz. Was it Philip? Was he ok? She picked it up from under the seat where it had slid during the explosion. It wasn't Philip.

It was Rowan Aldbury; Senior Mage of the Council of Sorcerers. It was her Big Boss.