“There are two main threats to humanity,” the Armourer said ponderously, slipping into his lecture mode. “Doesn’t matter whether they’re scientific or magical in origin, mythical or political or biblical; all of humanity’s enemies can be separated into two distinct kinds. Those who do us harm because they hope to gain something from it; these we call demons. And those who are too big to care about us, but who might do us harm just because we’re in the way; those we call gods, for want of a better word. The family is trained and equipped to deal with demons. The gods are best handled delicately, from a safe distance, and through as many intermediaries as possible.”

“I’ve already killed one god,” I said. “And the Heart screamed just like a human as it died.”

“I helped,” said Strange. “You couldn’t have done it without me.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But then you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“Can we please put the delusions of grandeur to one side, just for the moment?” said Penny. “And concentrate on planning a strategy.”

“Not attacking any gods sounds like a really good strategy to me,” said Molly. “I’m voting for demons.”

“Demons sounds good to me,” said the Armourer. “Never any shortage of demons screwing over humanity.”

“All right,” I said. “Demons it is. Anyone want to throw some names onto the table, just to get us started?”

“The Stalking Shrouds?” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

“They were pretty much wiped out last year,” said Penny. “Fighting a turf war with the Cold Eidolon, in the back streets of Naples. Both sides are still recovering. Be ages before either of them can mount a decent threat again.”

“The Loathly Ones?” I said. “I hate soul-eaters.”

Penny frowned. “There has been some intelligence of late that they’ve been gathering together in big numbers, down in South America. No one seems to know what for, but that’s never a good thing.”

“I’d really like to do something about the Mandrake Recorporation, ” said Molly, “if only because they creep me out, big time.”

“Not really a good enough reason to go to war with someone, though, is it?” said the Armourer.

“The Cult of the Crimson Altar?” said Jacob. “Old-school satanists, offshoot of the original Hellfire Club. Never liked them. They turned me down for membership back when I was alive, the blackballing bastards.”

“Currently enduring a major schism,” Penny said briskly. “Over some piece of dogma so complicated and so trivial that no one outside the Cult can make head or tail of it. The Cult’s been killing itself off for the last six weeks, and at the rate they’re going I doubt there’ll be enough of them left at the end to make up a social club.”

“The Dream Meme?” said the Sarjeant hopefully.