So, the end of days has begun. Charles Hathershaw, the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the Horseman of Commercial Enterprise, has rent open the fabric of space-time to allow creatures from the six other dimensions access to our own fair world, and I'm stood in a parking lot on the outskirts of Salt Lake City getting drenched by rain while I wait for a posse of angels and demons to arrive. And to top it all off, my phone isn't working.

Fluff is standing next to me, sheltering me from the worst of the rain and wind, which is falling from a leaden sky full of angry swirling clouds and strange, crackling lightning that flashes purple and red through the overcast without ever touching the ground. On my back, Damocles keeps up an almost constant stream of chatter, the soul of one of its previous owners making up for lost time after almost two thousand years of not having anyone to talk to in the outside world. His name was Onyx, or maybe Kronicks, but his accent is so strong it's hard to tell. It seems that Damocles can call up whichever previous owner once held it depending on the situation it finds itself in. Apparently, I earned the right to such 'assistance' by proving my worth to hold it in the battle with Krafir. I've decided to call this particular dude 'Nix', and he seems happy with that. I'm slightly miffed I haven't heard from my mother yet.

"Any sign yet?" I ask for the tenth time, calling over to Dario who is standing under the canopy of an abandoned 7-Eleven, looking north along the highway. Things sure had taken a surreal turn in the space of 24 hours. It began with Damocles, who's sudden power of speech was the opening act of several bizarre and eventful hours. Nix, who was once an Avenging Angel who wielded the sword in ancient Greece, had some interesting things to say about the Reverend Ball, the man I'm about to go and see about a bone.

"He's not really a reverend, you know," Nix had said in a thick accent that brought to mind blue Mediterranean skies, steep sided mountains and whitewashed buildings. We'd all gawped open mouthed at the sword as it hopped off the table and stared (as far a sword can stare) at the TV, where the Reverend Ball was whipping up the congregation into a frenzy. "This gesticulating and laying on of hands is just show and bluster, I tell you. I am willing to bet what's really happening is very much more sinister."

I'd pointed at the TV, forcing back my inclination to yell 'You can talk! Awesome!' and asked, "You know this person? Who is he then?"

"Oh, in my time he was a big maker of trouble. Very naughty. Right pain in the píso, you know? He was just a minor god back then, and he went by the name of Deimos; god of fear and panic. Always he was hanging around wars and battles, giving soldiers the willy-nillies."

"So what's he doing in Ohio?"

"Causing trouble. Maybe just wants money. But then again..." Nix went silent and brooded, as much as a sword balancing on its point can be said to brood. We'd all looked at each other, shrugging and raising eyebrows mostly. Crimson took a long slurp of cola and burped.

Nix spoke again. "Deimos disappeared not long after the fall of the Greek empire. By then his powers were waning, and so he fell to causing trouble in less salubrious quarters and being a general nuisance. Occasionally he would pop up like a weed, stoking some peasants revolt, or stirring up revolutionary fervour. Always he was careful to stay in the shadows, making sure someone else took the blame when it all went wrong, as it always did. He made sure of it. Mostly he was ignored and for centuries wasn't heard from, or at least my fellow souls tell me. But why he appears now, here ... I have a bad feeling about this, my mistress. Be very careful in this matter I would..."

Huh. Be very careful. My new mantra. Glad as I was to find Damocles had another useful side other than being just the most awesome sword in the universe (that I know of), there were plenty of other things to discuss if I was to bag the bones of Vlad the Vacant and get an insight to beating the Horsemen. I actually felt bone tired, the effect of all the action I supposed, so I'd left Dr Huntley and the others to formulate a plan while I went to a free bedroom and lay on the bed, thinking. Almost straight away it occurred to me that of all the Horsemen, the one I hadn't opened the file Grant Coalbright had given me on was the one for Death. But I couldn't do that until my bag arrived. I'd left it on the private jet when I set out for the Cirque de Macarbe, which was now on its way back from Lithuania and wouldn't arrive until the following morning. And by then we would be in Utah. Oh well, it would have to wait. Probably not that important anyway.

"Any sign yet?"

"Er, yeah, here they come..."

We all looked down the highway where a cloud of dust was being raised in the distance by a column of fast moving cars. Crimson and Junk both had huge smiles on their faces, while Zet and Temul some distance away wearing their usual frowns and acting all holier-than-thou, which wasn't hard, given they were angels. I got the impression they were both trying very hard to be nonchalant, but couldn't help but act the grown ups. I wondered how they would fare if it came to a fight.

The dust cloud resolved into a line of black cars, all of them muscle cars from the 60's and 70's, like the car Grant Coalbright had. In fact, the leading car looked familiar... With a deep growl and a hint of tyre squeal that was almost certainly designed to be as cool as possible, Grant pulls up in front of me in his Plymouth Road Runner, followed by twenty or so more matt-black GTOs, Chargers, Javelins, Gran Sports and Barracudas. Each car, apart from Grant's, had at least one other demon within, and as they all got out of their vehicles I smiled, not because I was glad to see them (I was, though they were demons, so I probably shouldn't trust them at all), but because they are all dressed similarly in black clothes and sunglasses, and they look like a cross between the Blues Brothers and Men In Black. It was like Grant and the other demons had recently found their look, and were trying just a little too hard. It made it difficult for me to take them seriously. I should really get a grip, they're demons for chrissake! But I wondered if this was just the Avenging Angel in me. Maybe I should ask Nix. When I next have several hours free.

When the angels arrive however, I realise there is some strange power play in action. Like the demons, their arrival is heralded by a cloud of dust coming down the highway, but way before they get close, it is clear they have a completely different style to the demons, but one that is equally showy.

"Wow," I say to Zet, who is standing closest to me, though I'm pointing to the demons and the approaching angels as I speak. "You guys have a thing for one-upmanship, you know that?" Zet just raised his eyebrows and I swear, for just a fraction of a second, there was a hint of a smile on that otherwise impassive face.

The angels pulled into the parking lot a little way away from the demons, but with a precision of order and seemingly practised choreography that was a little weird and awesome at the same time. Obviously angels had a things for rides that had style, and a proclivity for European cars, as they all had Aston Martins, Maserati's, Ferrari's, BMWs, Range Rovers, even a couple of Lamborghini's, and all of them were a pearly silver-white that glowed as if lit from within.

Subtle huh? Think they'll notice us coming?

Fluff chuckled, a deep rumbling sound, felt more than heard. Hey babe, It's been like this since forever. Before cars it was horses. Before horses it was griffins. Always with the one-upmanship.

Figures. I was distracted by the sight of the angels emerging from their cars. I really did have to work to stifle a laugh this time. If I'd stumbled across a comic-con convention I wouldn't have blinked twice, but here I was having trouble taking things seriously. They all looked like they'd come dressed for a Lord of the Rings convention - as elves. They were dressed in robes of white, golds and silver, and each had long, straight, silvery-white hair that reached down past their shoulders. The robes and hair all swayed artfully and with a strange ethereal weirdness that had nothing to do with the wind. It was like they were moving in slow motion, but also at real-time speed all at once. Their leader was huge; an uber-elf, with a sword at his side similar to Damocles and ... wings! As he approached, these huge, white feathered wings spread from behind him and stretched out several feet either side. Was he an avenging angel, like my mother had been? Judging by the fact none of the other angels were sporting wings, that was probably the case.

I looked over at Grant to see what he thought of this and my mouth opened wide in surprise. Grant now had wings too, only his were leathery and bat-like, with a cruel looking hook-shaped claw on each wing. Grant walked over to me at the same time the head angel guy approached. And as he did I had one of those strange paradigm-shift moments. This huge, towering, enormous elf-lookalike angel was, in fact, a woman. She came right up to me, ignoring Grant completely, and stared into my eyes, her focus shifting from one to the other, like I was some kind of art exhibition. I could feel my eyebrows raising with every passing second.

"Look all you like, Boadicea my dear, you'll not find what you're looking for. She is what they say she is; a half breed. It's no use denying it."

"Impossible," Boadicea was looking now at Grant, who stood with his arms outstretched and a self-satisfied smile on his face. The angel turned her head back to me and I saw her eyes flickering between my own mis-matched pupils. I felt pretty miffed by Grant calling me a 'half breed'. Just what exactly did he mean by that?

Boudica the angel-giantess didn't seem to have any problem with it. "A half-breed. Yes, I can see that now. How ... strange. You have the abilities of both?" The question was so fierce it had force.

"I er, um, can do stuff," I say, thinking, lame.

You said it babe.

Shut up!

Damocles-Nix felt the need to speak up on my behalf: "Oh, this one's got the spritz alright. She put the boot into the tentacly one before sending him down to the pit of Hell, all the while frazzing me around like she was born to it!" By now my eyebrows have travelled back down from where I'd hoisted them earlier to form a mighty frown.

"Would you all stop talking!" I'm the goddamn saviour of Earth, apparently, but I'm being treated like some kind of exhibit. Enough of this noise. I jump up onto Fluff's back and whistle to get everyone's attention. "Alright, listen up! My name is Aveline Flower. My mother was a fallen angel and my father a risen demon. I am eighteen years old, and I died last week. Until then, I thought I was just a strange girl who gave people nightmares. You have questions. Well, I have questions too, dammit! But right now all I know is God is kidnapped, Charles Hathershaw, the fifth horseman of the apocalypse has him captive with the help of at least three of the other horsemen, and this Vlad the Vacant might know how to defeat them. So that's what we're doing now; get Vlad the Vacant, because Hathershaw is opening the portals to the other dimensions and unleashing Armageddon on Earth. Earth is my home, and I don't want it arma-deadened. Apparently Earth is important to you too, so are you with me, or what?"

Silence. Everyone is looking at me. Damn I feel stupid.

A demon near the back holds up his hand and starts to say, "Actually, it's a little more..."

"Don't tell me 'it's a little more complicated than that'" I say, pointing a warning finger at him. "You can tell me later when you're swapping stories round a campfire. Let's go already!"

Ten minutes later we're bowling down the highway, angels on one side forming a line in their silver-white cars, demons on the other lane in their black muscle cars. I'm sat up front with Grant in his Plymouth and I'm using my powers to keep the few remaining people on the highway who haven't already evacuated Salt Lake City well away from having an accident their insurance sure as hell won't pay out for. Junk and Crimson are in the back, looking a little awed to be so close to such a powerful demon as Grant. Zet and Temul naturally went with the angels, as did Frieda and her sons, who were clearly terrified of the demons. It had raised some doubts that had been forming in my mind and now seemed like a good idea to clear a few things up. Thankfully Fluff was not near, having run on ahead to scout out Reverend Ball's church, because what I had to say might have been a little awkward otherwise.

"So, what have you been up to, Grant? How come you've not been answering my calls?"

Grant looks at me with what I can only assume is an 'inscrutable' expression. Then, after holding my gaze for plenty long enough for me to be certain he doesn't need to actually look at the road to drive his car without crashing, a slight smile forms on his devilishly handsome features. "Oh, I didn't want to cramp your style. Besides. I can see everything through Junks and Crimson's eyes, so I've seen and heard plenty to keep us informed. If I thought you were going off track, I'd have let you know."

"Oh." A thought - a somewhat uncomfortable one - popped into my head. "Can you see through Fluff's eyes too?" Grant looks shifty. "Oh no ... Does Fluff know that you can do that?" Grant says nothing. "He can, can't he?" I can't believe this!" Grant looks back at the road. "Asshole!"

I'll have words with Fluff later. Oh my life - all that embarrassing business with Death. Had he seen all that?

"We're here."

I look up and mentally shake myself out of my anger and embarrassment, trying to get in the moment. The Reverence Ball's church was a modern monstrosity, a huge white building the size of a football stadium, only one made up of strange angles and corners. It looked a little like shards of broken glass piled up and fused together. If the external dimension matched the exterior, it must be cavernous inside. I feel a little apprehension - the Cirque de Macarbe was similarly huge, and had some really nasty surprises inside.

Fluff? How's it looking?

Hey babe. I've been right round and sniffed about. Nothing obviously strange, but I can hear something from inside. Sounds like a million souls lamenting their loss.

Meet us round the front. I want you beside me for this one.

Think it'll get messy?

...Undoubtedly.

Boadicea came over and looked with distaste at the church. I guessed that as far as she was concerned, this particular church wasn't one of her favorites. The demons and angels gathered in two groups behind. I had a bad feeling that this joint expedition - possibly the first in history - wouldn't go well. Frieda and her sons stood among the angels. I reasoned that waiting about was only going to make the tension worse and decided we might as well get moving. Stepping forward, I pushed open the doors and entered the church of Deimos, the god (small 'g') of fear and panic.

What could possibly go wrong?