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The Ancient Egyptians knew her as Hathor, but I tended to think of her as cow-head. That wasn't a puerile insult on my part; if Hathor wasn't manifesting herself as an actual cow, she'd often be found wearing cow's horns. It was so outdated and Palaeolithic, I'd have been embarrassed for her, if it wasn't for the fact she hated succubuses.
She'd departed through the portal a long time ago. Good riddance to her. But now, after the death of a curator at the British Museum, I've got a bad feeling a bunch of acolytes are trying to summon her back to Earth.
Their timing could've been better. A corrupt arms dealer is visiting Britain to gloat about his exoneration in a rigged public inquiry. If you're going to send young men and women out to fight with defective kit so that you can make an obscene profit, then you and your complicit politician chums can expect London's very own vigilante succubus to exact retribution. And she's got something very fitting lined up for you.
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