It had got to the point where I had to join The Kind.

I didn’t want to- I just ran out of options and out of luck.

I’d used up the last of my credit; in addition to owing Bermondsey Dave in excess of £5,000, I’d seriously pissed off the Hell’s Angels, which isn’t too healthy if you want to stay alive.

There was just nowhere else left to run, and so the notorious black magic circle and nihilist coven were the only people left to turn to- if they were people.

Selling my soul was just another deal. I’d sold a hell of a lot else in my time. It was what they wanted to do with it that bothered me.

"You will be one of us. A part of us forever" said their impeccably dressed spokesthing, an androgynous creature that looked like an extra out of a Clive Barker novel. "Consider the advantages. You can carry on doing evil things to your hearts content, safe in the knowledge that your soul will be safe from the consequences."

Yeah, right. So anyway, I made a little road trip. A guy in a bar gave me directions to a spot outside the city where I could supposedly find someone who would lead me to the eventual location of this night’s meeting of the current invocation of The Kind.

I jumped into someone else’s car and took the southern approach road out of town. Ten kilometres out I had a meet in a small wood.

It was more of a parking space really. It was late- after dark anyway- and the utter lack of light evident in the area slammed down on me out of nowhere bringing all the hidden atavistic fears that came with it.

Be cool, I told myself. It’s worth it, as well as paying off your debts you’ll be able to kill people and get away with it.

That would be cool, I thought, and sat in the car and waited.

After a while I realised that he or she or they weren’t going to come to me. Why would they bother? I guess they get plenty of people trying to sell them their souls. What the fuck, bunch of hippies, who the hell believes in shit like that any more anyway? Why the hell am I here, god damn it?

I opened the door of my BMW, letting in the night, taking a big hit of that fresh unpolluted country air. Was I taken even then, with that first breath? Probably. Anyway, I got out the car and walked into the pathetic copse of trees the Highways Authorities designate a wood.

The trees scratched, bit me even, as I stumbled around like a pratt. Then I saw a shape. It was just about human, as much as you can tell in pitch darkness, but not quite human enough to stop me drawing my gun.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" It replied.

"Listen, asshole, if you don't stop fucking around with me I've got a mag full of bad news with your name on it, so fucking TALK TO ME!" I had had about as much as I could take of this.

Silence. I cocked back the hammer. Then the voice said: "Well in that case you're never gonna find out, then, are you?" A dry chuckle. "And I guess you can just go right back to getting pulverized on the Front Line then, can't you? Not to mention all the money you're into Bermondsey Dave for, hah hah haaaah!"

"You got me there." I said.

"I got you there all right, we don't fuck around asshole, so just shut up and listen."

"I'm listening."

"You listening?" he slurred. Obviously the owner of the voice had had a little too much to drink.

"Yes." I replied, a little testily.

"OK. So you want to know where everything happens, huh?"

"Well, duhhh." I managed to avoid saying, and said "That's right."

"Well what exactly is it you want to know about, and when to you want to know about it happening?"

I gritted my teeth, supressing the urge to scream abuse at the figure. I must repect these fuckwits, I told myself. If only because they so clearly hold all the cards.

"I want to know about the Coven. I want to know about the Coven of the Kind, and where and when it is held."

The drunken half-human fucker jerked with laughter. "So he wants to know- hee hee hee- he wants to know 'where and when the Coven is held'. Hahahahaha!" He carried on in this vein for quite some time until I interrupted him.

"If you're quite finished." He hadn't.

"Thing about knowing 'Where and when' the Coven is-" he explained, wiping the tears from his eyes, "Is that it's everywhere, at all times, and at all places, and- hah hah hah- if that's what you've been sold on, you're fucked."

I raised my gun and flicked off the safety. "Think about it." I said. I had had about as much of this crap as I was going to take.

"11.30 tonight at Stanton Common. The stone circle on the hill there…"

Dumb ass hippies. "Thanks." I thought about shooting him anyway, but then figured it might not be a good idea if it got back to the rest of them.

I stumbled back to the car and started it up. Turned on the light and punched for STANTON COMMON on the GPS. No dice, so I checked the roadmap. It was there all right, and not far- only about twenty minutes away. I checked my watch. 9 P.M. Plenty of time for a beer at some pub before the deal.

I drove off in the direction of the ROADSIDE TAVERN - FAMILY PUB AND EATS 5 Miles.

Five minutes later I pulled into a half full car park and got out. I strolled into the pub, which was done in an overly smart, almost sterile manner, like a Wetherspoons crossed with an operating theatre. Despite this, the place seemed to be reasonably packed with hayseeds and merry travellers, all of them apparently having a reasonable time. I went up to the bar and ordered a beer.

I was just finishing it when she walked in. She looked like the perfect wierdo- shaved head, many piercings, lip-rings and other jewlery that clinked together softly when she spoke, and came with an entourage of flunkeys which crowded around her and after her in her wake.

All pretty standard issue for the city, but what were these horror movie special-effects rejects doing out here?

It got wierder. As soon as they recognised her, the assembled hayseeds dropped their voices to a hushed whisper. At first I thought this was an understandable reaction which would lead to the freaks being thrown out on their ears until I say them start to doff their hats and even actually tug their forelocks.

The whispers were not signs of hostility and impending violence at all but expressions of fawning praise. Then I caught a part of a sentence, whispered, the word Priestess hanging in the air like the fumes from a joss stick.

So this was the coven. Bunch of losers. Probably kept these hicks in magic mushrooms year-round. Cut the product with smack to keep them subservient, in case they feel like scoring from someone else. Some shit like that.

The "priestess" walked up to the bar right next to me and asked for a pint of mild, which appeared instantly. Probably the bartender had started pouring the pint as soon as he saw her come in. As she picked up her drink I raised my own glass to her. "Your health." Her eyes swiveled to hit me with a disdaining glare without her head turning.

"Actually it's a good thing we bumped into each other. You don't know me, but we've got some business later."

She turned and fixed me with that pair of laser beams that passed for eyeballs. "I very much doubt it." she said, ice dripping from every word.

"No, really. At Stanton. That coven- The Kind, or whatever they call themselves."

Her eyes widened with shock. "You've made a mistake, stranger."

Confused, I blurted out, "But- aren't you-"

"No! No way!" Her expression changed to pity. "Stay away from them. Get far away from here. There's nothing they won't do. Nothing, d'you hear me? Nothing at all!"

I raised my hands in the universal placatory gesture. "OK, whatever, if you say so."

Suddenly she had a small but lethal derriger pistol in her hand.

"Hey, chill-"

She raised it to my chest. "I meant it. Get out of here. Now."

I looked around. Hostile gazes met my eye. "Hey, it's OK."

"Go."

"OK, OK, I'm going already." I said, and walked out.

I got in the car. What the hell was all that about? Sitting smoking and drinking Thermos coffee I tried to piece it together. Obviously this bitch and her wierdo friends were followers of some other, equally deranged rival cult. White magic, or whatever, like I said I don't go in for that kind of stuff, I'm too busy chiselling in on the drugs and whores trade to bother. But one thing I did know a thing or two about was power, power and the way the free market worked.

If there were two groups selling the same product, in the same business as it were, the monopoly of the first group to enter that business was broken. And that meant trouble- at the very least for the business people involved, if not for the consumers themselves. Competition drives down prices, so the customer's in a good position, unless of course he gets caught in a drive by or similar.

This of course is where power comes in; this was why we fought wars. Eliminate the competition and make sure the punter knows not to screw around. Buy your oil, crack, nuclear weapons systems, or whatever, from us or else.

And this was the position I was in. I could stomp back in there, or wait for this second bunch of freaks to come out and demand to do business with them.

But if I did that, I'd be in even more danger than I was in already, facing retaliation from the Kind for gazumping them. On the other hand, I could act as a freelance agent for them- pump their competitors for information, then sell it- and them- to my new would be masters. This would then entitle me to a discount on whatever it was they were really offering.

And I could use the information myself. I didn't know exactly what was going on here, what they did, and the lack of information was a weakness. All I really had was that their patronage did indeed protect you, in fact gave you access to the sort of power that would have a smart man running the whole city in a couple of years (assuming I avoided the, er, strategic mistakes that had put me in this situation in the first place).

I slid further down the seat and waited for the pub to close.

At eleven o'clock sharp they came trundling out of the place. No locals, though- I imagined they were staying for a lock-in. Their leader walked towards a large hippy van which was painted with ying-yang symbols and all the usual stuff, and they piled in, started the engine and drove off.

I started mine and followed them out of the car park. We were the only two vehicles on the road so it wasn't hard. I let them drive for a couple of miles then pulled alongside them on a straight and shot their tyres out.

I pulled back and watched them lazily weaving from one side of the blacktop to the other until they dropped into a ditch.

I pulled up, jumped out and pointed my gun at the creep who staggered out to investigate. "Take me to your leader." I said.

He started to dart back towards the van so I shot him in the leg. He fell down clutching the injured limb and screaming so I picked him up and put the gun against his head.

"Now then. We wouldn't want to do anything stupid now, would we." He whispered no. "So let's go back in the van together, nice 'n' easy, huh?"

We got in, the others just stirring. The "priestess" sat on a chair which was bolted to the floor. In turn, she herself was shackled to the chair, so when the van had overturned, she remained there, protected from the impact by it's cushioned head, arm and legrests.

Wierdoes.

She looked up and stared at me. "You." she said. "What do you want?"

"I want you. I want information from you, then we're going to take a little drive."

"Or what?"

I jabbed my hostage with my gun. "Or the gimp gets it."

She sneered. "I don't think so."

"Fair enough." I replied, and shot him in the head.

This was not simple brutality. As an amateur student of behavioural psychology, I knew that the most powerful experience a person can have is having their life threatened. Trouble is, people get so used to being bluffed that there's a kind of inflation at work, they get used to having guns pulled on them, eventually it get to the point where all the fiddling around with safety catches and stuff won't do any good; they just won't believe you'll kill them.

And that's when you have to start casually executing your hostages for the effect it will have on the others. Of course, you have to use this technique sparingly, or it's own effects will diminish.

The gunshot echoed inside the van's tin carapace. I let the body fall to the ground and pointed the weapon at the "priestess". "Get yourself untied and come here."

She just stared at me blankly, so I grabbed another shocked flunky and prepared to repeat the process.

That did it. She gestured to one of her disciples with a flick of the head and she went over and undid the straps.

The priestess got up and moved towards me. I grabbed her and turned the gun on her. "So long suckers", I sneered, and left.

I frogmarched the alarmed pagan towards the car, got two pairs of police-issue handcuffs out of the glove compartment and threw them to her. "You like being tied up, clip yourself to the passnger seat."

When she had done as she was told I walked around to the driver's door, got in and drove off in the direction of Stanton Hill.

When we were about a mile away from the place I pulled over and picked up my gun. "OK, start talking."

She shivered in the cold air. "Wh- What do you want to know?"

"First things first: Who the fuck are you?"

She smiled. "I'm the Priestess."

"Come on, don't give me that shit, of what?"

She sighed. "I suppose what you're going to be interested in is that my people run the psylocibin concession in the area."

"So what's with all this mystical crap? Been consuming too many of your own wares, huh?" She smiled and shrugged.

"OK, so what's with this coven- The Kind?"

"That where you're taking me?"

"Yes."

The druid shuddered. "They're bad shit. The worst. At first I thought they were just another rival load of pushers, but they didn't muscle in on the ‘shroom trade much; they run the LSD, DOM, Scop, Ketamine, and other heavy shit drugs in the area. Don't hardly impinge on my clientele. But that ain't all they do."

I sighted down my gun at her head, drawing a bead on her left eye. "Do tell."

"First off, they're stone killers. Forget everything you know about drugs, crime, power and magic before you start dealing with them."

"So who are they really?"

"Their leader's a guy called Anton Mallovich. Doctor Antonn Mallovich. He's an ex-war crim from back East; ran the psychological warfare department of the Yugoslav Army for old Slobodan Milosevic back in the '90s. Told him the secrets of how to stay in power by killing people, shit like that."

"And?"

"When the war ended, he jumped ship and came here disguised as refugee. Gave the immigration cops the slip, bought some phoney ID, changed his name. It's easy to do, all you need is money."

"So what's with all the hippie shit? I'm supposed to be selling him my soul in ten minutes."

"Shit!" the Priestess appeared genuinily alarmed.

"What?"

"Cybernetically assisted brainwashing. Get out of here while you still know who you are, pal. He's got this machine- like a soul-catcher device, but in reverse. You're not selling him your soul- he's giving you his."

"Why?"

"Well, for starters he's sterile. Depleted Uranium got him when he was escaping Serbia, back in the war."

"And?"

"It's his shot at immortality, dude. Little copies of himself running around, fucking shit up. Who needs to have kids?"

I laughed in her face. "Lady this is such a bunch of crap. Bus if it is true, you're in a lot deeper shit than you think. What do you think he'll give me for handing him his only business competitor?"

"He'll kill you. You know too much."

"Maybe, if I didn't have any leverage. But you see, I just taped all that, what you just told me. And I'm keeping it in a very safe place."

"Lawyers?"

I waved my cellphone at her. "Lawyers with voicemail."

She stared at me with contempt. "You asshole." I grinned back and started the car.

We drove in silence for a couple of minutes, then I parked the car in a lay-by and took out my gun. "Take these." I said, and threw her the keys to the handcuffs. She undid them slowly, her fingers probably numbed by panic. I got out, walked around the car, and unlocked her door.

Which burst, open, knocking me off balance. She jumped out and sprinted for the bushes.

I crouched, drew a bead, and shot her in the leg. She fell to the ground, bleeding from her injured limb. She must have been in terrible pain but she didn't cry out.

Dignity. Where does it get you, in the end?

I went over to her and picked her up, slung her arm over my shoulder and half carried her up the hill.

Off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz. Who said that? As I climbed I thought about the situation. Did I really need to go through with this? If even a quarter of what she had said was true, I was going from the frying pan straight into the fire; with no way back. So what would happen if I turned around and went home?

I'd still be in debt to Bermondsey Dave, and I'd still have a lot of issues with the Hell’s Angels for chiselling in on the rackets. To an extent money could solve both problems, except that the Angels were known to be bona fide lunatics and might just kill me to make an example out of me. But I could always leave town. The accepted punishment for serious transgressors like myself, exile, didn't have to be too bad. As long as I had plenty of money, which I could probably get if I worked my ass off for about a week.

Trouble was, I didn't want to work my ass off; for a week or any other amount of time. That kind of shit was for suckers who'd never even get rich, let alone have any power.

Fuck it, I told myself, I'll just have to play it by ear.

At the top of the hill I could see a faint patch of flickering luminescence from the fire they'd lit. Here goes nothing, I muttered, and emerged from behind a clump of bushes to the last of the foothills.

As I came into the sight of the assembled coven the weight on my shoulder lessened. My hostage disengaged herself and walked towards them, limping on her bad leg.

"Hey!" I shouted, and pointed my gun at her. Then relaxed. What the hell, she was walking towards the Coven, practically surrounded; there was no way she could get away.

"What have you brought us?" demanded a figure who was wearing what I recognized as one of the latest personal protection devices, a Kevlar raincoat on top of a flak jacket.

"This woman admits to being a rival of yours; a competitor. I just thought you'd like to meet her." I replied.

To my amazement he ignored me and turned to the Priestess. "Well?" he said.

"A fool." she replied.

Oh, shit. I loosed off a couple of rounds in the direction of the figure; they had no discernible effect.

Rough hands grabbed me. I was carried past the fire to a slab of stone in the centre of the stone circle and pushed down onto it. A syringe pierced my neck and a figure leaned over me and grinned.

They set up a blood-curdling chant, prayers to a dark God who had come down and spread death across the world; Satan's children who had always ruled, had always wielded power in His name and done their best for Him; until the soul-snatcher had come into being and spread His persona across the land. From the mind of a dead war criminal to the souls of everyone here that night through the wedding of magic and technology; Scanned from his cancer-riddled body to the Coven and beyond.

Including myself, of course.

Now I knew why; Now I knew the answers to questions I'd never been bothered to ask- the reason for the camps, the bombings, the massacres; the reason war was better than peace and the reason the President still walks around with that briefcase manacled to his wrist; and how one day, we'd unlock it with our key to the future.

But now I had to do my job, to bring His word to the world, that our God might rule.

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