Jessie was about to pour his fourth glass of Glenlivet for the night when he heard the bell. The sound was faint and on a frequency that would only resonate with Jessie, a handful of others like him scattered across the world, dogs, and certain varieties of bird, most commonly sparrows and finches. It was his first warning that they were close. He placed the bottle of scotch on the counter and began to walk towards his bedroom.

There was a second bell, brass this time, instead of tin.

Jessie changed his course and his pace. He sprinted for the garage, cursing in a mixture of Latin and Akkadian. His watch–a gift from one of the Old Things that slept under Baltimore–began to hum, then vibrate, then burn. That wasn’t good. The pain leveled out at a point where Jessie could barely tolerate it.

The house shook as something hit the first wall. There are 222 letters in the Angel’s Alphabet: Jessie had used six that could stand each other on the ward around the property. He’d connected fourteen letters for the wall around the house, then another thirty (almost all that he knew and could trust) on a final circle that protected the garage.

Two more crashes followed by a distant third told Jessie that his enemy was not trying to lower the invisible walls. Instead, they were attempting to break them through sheer force. That wasn’t good, either. That meant that they had Visitors to spare, at least half a dozen. He felt cold as he reached the massive toolbox that dominated the corner of the garage. The chest stood next to several smaller containers. Jessie hesitated. He could fight using the tools inside of the He’d only been living in the house for six months. There was a job here, familiarity, even a woman he’d taken out twice recently. Her name was Penelope.

The decision was made for Jessie when the second wall collapsed. Then they were clawing at the ward around the garage. He picked up the bolt cutters from a workbench just as one Visitor managed to slip through. Jessie saw it reach for him, a shadow shaped like a spider with too many legs and a human mouth on its belly. His watch flared so hot he knew it would leave a burn but the Visitor was gone.

Jessie slipped his tongue between the bolt cutter’s blades and snapped the tool shut. Blood sprayed across the workbench. He picked up the shriveled piece of pink meat and dragged it down the center of the giant toolbox. The final wall collapsed at the same moment Jessie opened the box and stepped through, slamming the way shut behind him.

The forest clearing was beautiful but unfamiliar. Jessie worried at the raw tip of the remainder of his tongue. By the time it grew back in a week, he’d have a new name and face, and–maybe–another few months of peace.