The Demi-Monde: 37th Day of Winter, 1004
Norma ran. Picked up her skirts and ran as she had never
in her life. Ran as though the hounds of hell were at her h
Fuck it . . . the hounds of hell
at her heels.
And as she ran she heard a crackle of gunfire behind
the sound of the shots ricocheting through the night-si
streets of London. The gunfire told her that Mata Hari and
Suffer-O-Gettes had kept their word. They had tried to d
those SS bastards for as long as they could. Suffer-O-Gettes
Run, Norma, run!
Mata Hari had screamed at her as Cleme
SS-Ordo Templi Aryanis thugs had smashed down the p
door. And she
run. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – let th
Mad, evil bastards.
But she was running blind.
The snow was so thick that she could barely see a do
strides in front of her, snow that the icy wind was whip
into her eyes, making them water with pain.
Angrily Norma shook her head, ordering herself to ig
the pain, ignore the cold, ignore the frosted numbness craw
along her fingers and her toes, ignore the protests of her m
nous body. Ordered herself to ignore everything but the n