He knows the thoughts of all men and women, and can change them at will. Nothing can stand in his way. Or so it was written in the fabled Book of Enoch. After sedating the dogs, he’d walked through the rear entrance unchallenged. In a vestibule he’d come across a man sitting reading a newspaper and had shot him in the throat. Then he’d moved on. At the front of the house was another man in a small room that was in darkness but for the glow from numerous CCTV monitors. He seemed to be dozing, and Dantalion killed him without his victim even coming awake. Next he’d checked the opposite wing of the house where he shot two guards in the back. The plush carpets had absorbed the shock of their landing. And then he was moving up the stairs, intent on the task he’d set himself. The numbers in his book required correction and there was only one way to achieve that. Numbers are the building blocks of equations, he reminded himself. Equations are formulae with a strict resolution. They gave him the answers to his existence.
