The Lucifer Messiah by Frank Cavallo

Author:Frank Cavallo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Medallion Media Group
Published: 2006-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE FRONT DOORS TO THE BLEECKER STREET HAVEN were old. They had been installed during the only renovation in the building’s 113-year history. That had taken place during the tenure of the first man named Roosevelt to occupy the White House.

When the hinges creaked and rattled from the outside, none of the people socializing in the foyer or the library room paid any attention. The wind usually caused that kind of sound, especially in the late fall and winter. Generally, though, it didn’t last long.

When the rattling grew louder rather than softer as the moments wore on, however, some among the gathered noticed it. Argus was there, speaking again with his old friend Cygnus, the latter now fully molted into the human-swan hybrid that suggested her ancient namesake. Both paused when the wind outside drew up a gust that sent the doors swinging open.

A rush of cold air tumbled into the entranceway and the antique-furnished sitting room beyond. Argus stood from his chair. He extended his all-seeing hands.

A hush fell over the parlor.

“Welcome,” he said.

For a moment there was no answer, just the light from the outside flooding into the tobacco-smoke and candle glows. Then, a figure emerged from the evening. The doors closed behind—this time without protest.

“Honored Argus. It has been too long,” replied a smooth, mellifluous voice.

Argus recognized the speaker, as did most of the others milling about the Gothic study. A collective shudder came over them, the once serene ambience suddenly made anxious.

She was nothing less than a goddess, a presence of terrible, powerful beauty. Long black hair cascaded around her face, falling about her shoulders like the hood of a crow. The deep red gloss of her lips captured a sparkle in her eyes, a shimmer like the reflection of blood. Her porcelain features lurked in half-shadow beneath the locks, soft and delicate and somehow menacing for all their innocence.

She wore a cloak of shimmering fabric that was several colors at once, midnight black, Roman purple and deep scarlet in succession.

“Morrigan. It has truly been a long time,” Argus said. “Even by our standards.”

“It warms my heart to see so many of our kind gathered here, under your capable aegis, and that of our other Haven masters,” the glimmering figure replied as she slipped like a feather through the Oriental-styled foyer and toward the stately Baroque confines of the library.

Her words sounded more like music than a human voice.

“We have been hard at work, seeking out and protecting all those of our ilk we have been able to find since the War’s end,” Cygnus answered in squawking fashion from beside Argus, a little uneasy at the Keeper’s sight, but composed.

Hints of stolen candlelight sparkled about the Phantom Queen, captured and cast off in her wake.

“The human conflicts have ravaged our ranks. Terrible, terrible times we have seen. Some among my own circle wondered if we’d lost your followers entirely when your Haven was destroyed,” the Morrigan answered.

“We were very nearly finished, I am afraid. Little was salvaged from the Nazi occupation of Paris,” Cygnus replied.

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