Post by mal on Nov 28, 2013 18:52:34 GMT -5
LXG - Fan Fiction
Legends Reborn
Praede sat in the deeply shadowed study with only the dim illumination of gas lit sconce and dying fireplace embers to give illumination. The windows were open, but a cloudy night combined with a new moon offered little relief. The room was warm, though beginning to lose it’s toasty aura as the aforementioned fire died out. Before him sat an open ledger, an inventory of a new shipment from agents in far off Egypt. They’d been forced to deal with another mummy … this one animated by cultists of Set, driven out of their native land and taking vengeance through their dark arts. Luckily, Finn’s team had been there to put things right. The relics were put safely in the catacomb vaults deep within the earth and accessible only via the iron mole in the team’s possession. He himself did not even know the location of the vaults … only the keepers were allowed access.
A flutter caught his keen hearing, and there was a pecking outside one of the windows. Lenore had returned far later than expected. Unlike most ravens she preferred the night … but then she was not the mere avian creature she appeared. He reached under he desk and pulled a small lever, and the window rotated upon it’s center, allowing entrance then sealing itself again. The lovely bird fluttered again, landing before the fire … seeking warmth. Lord, but he loved London. But it was a near perpetually chill place ten months out of the year, and especially at the witching hour.
“Welcome home, Lenore. I trust you had no difficulties?”
She shook herself, ruffling her feathers … then stretched … shadows enveloping her, and she was human again, laying upon her stomach on the hardwood floor.
“Just some annoying owls. They were of no consequence …”
“And the message? Will Gray be accepting our invitation?”
She curled her hands under her chin, and looked at him curiously, feet swinging idly behind her.
“Unfortunately, yes. I don’t know why you tolerate the man. He’s such an insipid swine.”
He smiled, and reached for his pipe.
“An immensely skilled and virtually immortal swine, dear Lenore. A valuable addition to our party.”
She curled her lip. “The man is bereft of any redeeming social value.”
“And yet, like most, you find him inexplicably intriguing?”
“I didn’t say that, Jonathan. I find YOU intriguing … Gray would hardly leave me alone in front of this lovely fire. Yet you manage to keep your distance, despite my au natural state. You find me unattractive?”
“Not in the least, dear one. I am simply still at a loss to know whether you are a beautiful woman who takes animal form, or a beautiful animal who takes human form. And you have stated that you yourself do not know which is true …”
She rolled on her back, stretching with her arms up over her head.
“True. And you with those wretched Victorian ethics …”
He laughed and lit his pipe, hoping she didn’t notice his normally PERFECT calm of digits shake ever so slightly. After all, in his youth he’d been London’s foremost pickpocket. As an adult, he could shoot a candle wick at a hundred paces with either hand. Yet, now they shook. She was an amazing beauty.
“That brings our team to four. Two more to contact and we may make arrangements for the journey.”
She snorted sweetly, and closed her eyes.
“Well, wake me when you need me. I’ll be RIGHT here …”
He rose, his resolve in need of respite, and puffed his pipe, looking out the window and into the night. Pitch blackness. Unless some of his affiliates he couldn’t see in pure darkness. And he liked it that way. The mystery of it all.
“As you wish …”

Dorian rose unsteadily to his feet, the opium induced visions fading. That wretched bird of Praede’s had visited earlier. And conveyed the mortal’s request for his aid on yet another fool’s errand. Bah, WHY had he accepted? Days or perhaps even horrid WEEKS of relative sobriety, and perhaps even abstinence of his favorite vices. WHY had he accepted???
He threw the pipe away from him, and it went skittering into a corner, sadly failing to catch fire to the furnishings. Sad, at least THAT would have livened up the place. And … of course … he knew precisely why he had accepted the invitation. Wretched sickening boredom of immortality which even the most depraved vices could not long suppress. Praede always had some lofty idealistic quest which would challenge not only Gray but often involve battling evils that made Gray feel positively virtuous despite his life of hedonistic oblivion.
He walked over and pulled the silken cord so summon the servants. They would prepare him for … he attempted to sigh … adventure.

Praede adjusted his cuffs, looking at the small swarm of urchins that approached his carriage. He remembered his happy days on the street, a virtual lord in his tiny tiny world. Well, prince. Fagin had been his king. A kingdom consisting a a shifting territory patrolled by a motley gang of pickpockets and thieves. Looking back, he realized it had been a kingdom of ants … beneath the notice of the true powers that be. But he’d been happy.
Years had passed. The murder of dear Nancy by Sykes. His capture and his sentence of servitude in the Australian penal colonies. It had taken him nearly a month to escape. Escape had been the easy part … but he’d not thought beyond that point.
He shook his head. That was so very long ago. Back to the matter at hand. He spent a few moments to chat with the urchins. They respected him … for no matter how deftly they tried to steal his possessions, they were always back again in his pockets at the end of the encounter. He’d lost none of his skills during his conversion to civilization. Indeed, his skills had improved. But the lads never left empty handed … each always found a few coins placed in folds of their clothes, sleeves or pockets. With a smile he always encouraged them to try again.
The urchins were a magnificent source of information of the city. Beneath notice, they heard everything. And should they convey to Praede something of worth, the coins in their pockets would be silver and not copper. They learned to keep their ears open for tales of the strange and unusual.
Of course, they were not his only sources of information. He’d developed quite the network of informants over the years … boys and girls of the street who’d grown to become thieves and harlots. All were his people. And though he portrayed the guise of a Victorian gentleman, he could in moments become a street tough or homeless drunkard indistinguishable from the others.
As the urchins swarmed off, he climbed aboard. Hmmm. He WAS missing a snuff box. By god, one of the lads had gotten a prize. Well done, lad. Well done. He wondered which it had been? If he found out, the boy was due a silver prize from his skill. He climbed into the carriage, handing a small bundle of letter to the coachman, a former boxer named Wurthers. Impeccably devoted man … he’d saved Wurthers from an assassin around the time of his return to London.
Settling into his seat, he looked over and smiled to the vision beside him. Lenore, in perfect dress of the day, hair pulled back and veil over her eyes. A beauty, perfect company for his gentleman’s personae. And he WAS a gentleman, wasn’t he? For, what was a gentleman but a mere man trained in the trappings of society? Fogg had taught him that. Worth was in the man, not in the pedigree. Ah, he loved that old man. He made a mental note to visit him more often.
He tapped the door of the coach with his walking stick, and the coach pulled forward with a gentle lurch. “Let us hope that I am as successful as you in recruitment. We are two short, and I an unsure of their willingness to aid us. We have a long ride ahead of us, so I hope you don’t mind a picnic lunch at Widow’s point? I had Mrs Wurthers pack us a lunch.”
She smiled mischievously, eyes twinkling beneath the veil. “Master Praede, are you trying to seduce me?”
He chuckled, and settled back, idly rolling a coin around the knuckles of his right hand. “You know better, my vision. I am and shall be ever a gentlemen with you, milady.”
“Such a pity. Then you shall never know if I’m bluffing, or actually offering you inhuman bliss …”
“Yes, I fear not …”

The picnic was blissful, the sun high overhead made the scene surreal. The food was excellent, Mrs Wurthers was no beauty nor pleasant to talk to, but she kept a clean house and was a phenomenal cook.
“It’s best to approach the Lady Holmwood during the daylight, should she be in one of her less … cooperative … moods. She is still quite bitter over the staking she received at the hands of the Harker party. At the time, Van Helsing believed a simple stake to the heart would slay a vampire. However, his research had been incomplete at the time. Staking merely disables the creature, while beheading is required for final rest.”
Lenore licked her fingers … she despised the use of cutlery when not needed for appearance. The fine silvered picnic ware was wasted upon her. Still, she was someone dainty and meticulous using fingertips and tongue. The kippers had taken a particular defeat before her appetite.
“And Arthur Holmwood? What of him?”
“Unlike Mina Harker’s husband, he never succumbed to vampirism. He remains mortal to this day, the living protector of his forever beauteous bride. It is only with great reluctance that he allows his wife to accompany us upon our ventures. He prefers her safe, kept well fed upon the blood of the great mastiffs that guard their estate. And the occasional willing servant, or so I am told.”
“Mina’s husband? He became an undead?”
He nodded sadly.
“Yes, I actually met the man before his fall. A remarkable man. A touch of madness in the eyes, however. Poor Mina. Their son Quincy goes to a private school in Belgium.”
“And how much further is it to their estate?”
“Less than an hour. The Godalming estate is quite secluded. The entire thing has been walled in since Arthur’s marriage. There are rumors of wolves prowling the land, but doubtless this refers to the dozens of mastiffs which are given free run throughout the night.”
“Charming …”
He laughed. “The winged lady of ebon night is concerned with hounds? They are, literally, far beneath you.”
She returned his laugh, and stood in a fluid motion. Sitting, one could see she was bare legged beneath her Victorian garb … while wearing hunting boots instead of proper shoes. It was something invisible while standing, the flow of her dress carefully concealing such.
“Shall we be off? I wish to meet this Arthur Holmwood. He sounds … interesting.”
He smiled and rose, and since none were watching, helped Wurthers gather and pack the picnic together.
“As you wish …”

The drive was pleasant with Praede regaling Lenore with tales of fiction and truth, for often they were two sides of the same coin. Just as night was the opposite of day, they were mirrored images of the same reality. Mirrors, something he doubted they would find many of at the Holmwood residence. He’d only met the Lord and Lady Godalming once … a charity event which Arthur had been unable to escape. One for foundling youths that his father had founded, and which of course had Praede’s keen interest. It was only after the event that Mycroft had informed him of Lady’s true nature. Her beauty had been like a vortex, drawing all eyes within the room … her husband, a bit graying at the temples, had judiciously kept watch at her side. After the explanation to her nature, his watchfulness was now even more understandable. Even now, riding comfortably up the estate drive, apple blossoms lining the way, he thought of her velvet laughter. Like an angel visiting the realms of man.
It was only when he heard the carriage begin to slow that he realized they were arriving at the entry, A magnificent estate, it towered over the landscape. On the steps, Holmwood stood like a Heimdall guarding the Bilfrost bridge. To either side, a massive mastiff and behind a foursome of burley servants. Well dressed, but Praede recognized more a military training than that of etiquette.
A groomsman stepped forward, and opened the door to the carriage for them, then offered a hand to Lenore. The man was well muscled but keen eyed … observing the two closely. Lenore exited the carriage with a flourish, the flow of dress covering her lower limbs. Praede followed.
Holmwood gestured to the hounds, who dutifully sat back. He stepped forward and extended his hand to Lenore. “Arthur Holmwood, at your service. I welcome you to my humble dwelling. I have received your messenger earlier. I am so pleased to meet you.”
Praede only JUST barely noticed a touch of well masked insincerity to the man’s tone. He preferred his wife safe at home. But hopelessly in love, he could deny her nothing. Not even when she ventured out into the world of man on missions far beyond him. Praede spoke.
“Lenore, I present to you Arthur Holmwood, Lord of Godalming. A valued ally of our association and a man of stellar nobility and character. Arthur, if I may still call you that, I present Miss Lenore Le Corbeau. She is my dear friend and companion, my heart and my soul. She is also a valued member of my society, and my equal is every regard except charm, at which she utterly excels all except your own incomparable wife.”
Lenore curtseyed slightly. “Lord Godalming … a pleasure to meet you.”
Normally upon meeting Lenore, men of all stations were enthralled with her beauty. But in Holmwood, Praede only saw courtesy and platonic good will. Strange to see. But then Praede had met the lady of the house on that one occasion. Beauteous as Lenore was, her lunar beauty paled before the solar magnificence of Holmwood’s wife. As, as if on cue, she stepped through the doorway. She didn’t step out into the sunlight, but rather stayed in the archway. Praede revised his comparison to the stair as the Bilfrost bridge and Holmwood as Heimdell. Entirely wrong pantheon. This was definitely the dwelling of Aphrodite, and even Lenore gasped slightly upon seeing her. Long blonde hair framing a face only god himself could have sculpted. Long pale arms, one reaching up to touch the frame of the doorway. They lead to shoulders Praede remembered viewing oh so well in her societal gown. Now they were sadly concealed behind a simple yet incredibly expensive house dress, as were her perfect curves and ample bosom. Still, the curves beneath the silk were visible, and her neck beckoned for a man’s lips. Her cheeks, eyes and lips were a sight that could drive a man mad.
He mentally shook his head, and bowed slightly.
Holm wood spoke. “Miss Lenore, an extreme pleasure. Jonathan, you remember my wife.” The understatement of the century, now nearing it’s conclusion. “Miss Le Corbeau, I present Lucille Annabelle Holmwood, my wife.”
Lenore shook her head, and curtseyed again. Praede did not fail to notice the sideways glance she cast him to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t sure if he’d caught his breath or not. Remember, Jonathan , he told himself. First and foremost, she is married. Second, she is quite undead.
Praede spoke. “Lady Holmwood, I cannot describe how good it is to see you again.” A contender for the understatement competition. But he left it at that.
She smiled, glistening white teeth and a curve of lip that entranced. “Jonathan, Lenore was it? Please, both, no formality here in my own home. Call me Lucy …”

They had afternoon tea and chatted. It was a marvelous Oolong, and delicious though Lenore broke convention and added sugar. Lucy, ever the hostess, mimicked her though doubtless she knew better. After a while, Arthur excused himself supposedly to attend to a matter of estate management, but Praede knew it was a polite excuse to allow them time to discuss the mission at hand.
As soon as he left, Lucy rose and went to stand in front of the window. The afternoon drifted through, but the effect was magical. Her trace silhouette shown through the light though expensive house gown.
“So, Jonathan. What matter arises that Mycroft deigns my inclusion advisable?”
Praede smiled. She didn’t trust Mycroft. His keen mind frightened her. Actually, it frightened Praede also, but he had less reason to fear him.
….
Holmwood escorted them out to the carriage with courteous charm, though beneath it Praede sensed his reluctance to have his beloved far from home. On another mission, he’d have invited the man along, but this could be dangerous. And the vampiress was not about to risk her protector. Praede aided Lenore into the carriage, and followed, settling into his seat. His heart was still beating quickly … such was the effect of being once known as Lucy Westerna.
“She likes you.”
Praede started out of his revelry.
“Pardon.”
“The vampire. She likes you.”
He considered.
“No, I intrigue her. She is a predator. She always was. Even while living she once garnered three proposals of marriage in one day, one of which was from Holmwood. I do not wish to be her conquest.”
“And that’s why she likes you. You’re a challenge. Believe me, I know.”
He shook it off.
“Nonsense. We must both get our head back into the game. Our next recruit will be most challenging. And he is immortal as the vampiress, but much more ancient. He was the servant to one of our founders. His master helped attract and combine the fading and fragmented of other once powerful groups including various splinters of the Knights Templar. Years later the same protocols were used to absorb elements of the Illuminati and Hellfire Club to name a few. The founder’s daughter and son in law were also founders. But I digress on things you already know. We’re talking their immortal servant, a cambion of incredible power and one of their most powerful assets.”
She looked at him, her head cocking to the side. A very avian look, and it reminded him of her true nature. He continued.
“I refer, of course, to the dread creature called Calliban.”
She blinked. “The minion of Prospero?”
He nodded. “Once slave to Prospero, and later to Lord Ferdinand and Lady Miranda. Those two founded our society, with Calliban and Ariel as their servants. The books of Prospero were rescued by Ariel, and Miranda became their protector. Those same books now occupy our deepest vaults. Though the first they are by far not the darkest tomes in our collection …”
She smiled.
“Anything in those books about me?”
He laughed lightly.
“Not that I know of. The books are on a need to know basis, and as one NOT gifted in the arts, I do not need to know.”
She sighed.
“Ever the schoolboy following schoolmaster’s rules. Were you ever a rebel.”
He leaned over and whispered.
“You have NO idea.”

They arrived at the train station just shy of 4pm and made the 4:15 with a bit of rush. A private car had been reserved by their agents and they found Gray aboard. He’d taken the train from London. The man was for once well washed and groomed, and gave every aspect of a first class gentleman. They both knew better.
“Greetings, Gray. So glad to have your assistance. We’re headed to South Yorkshire to collect our last recruit. A bit of brute muscle may be required for this venture …”
Gray sneered. “If you’re referring to that patchwork fiend, I heartily object. I’ve heard you have been attempting to locate the beast.”
Praede shook his head.
“Not he, though you may wish it were. I am curious as to the source of your information. We actually intend to locate the fiend Calliban. He’s been reported lurking in the abandoned coal mines of the previously mentioned destination.”
Gray perked up.
“Calliban? Outstanding. I’m sure between the two of us we can keep you entertained …”
Praede grinned.
“ ‘Entertained’ is one way to word it. But I’m glad to have you aboard.”
Gray shrugged and made a show of securing his snuff.
“And the lovely lady will be joining us? I can think of ways to entertain her also.”
Lenore reddened.
“Not all ravens are interested in toying with decayed matter. And your decay is soul deep.”
Gray took a hit in each nostril from his snuff … which Praede suspected may have been enhanced with other elements. A controlled sneeze, and he looked at her with lecherous eyes.
“Vice and decay are separate animals … animal.”
She glared at him but said no more. But Praede intervened.
“Gray, I’ll ask you to keep a civil tongue. I may not be your equal with a blade, but my derringers are certainly capable of dotting your eyes if need be.”
Dorian snorted disdainfully. “You’re welcome to try, dear boy. But objection noted and I shall try to reign in my desire for your friend’s obvious assets.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gray.”
Gray’s servants loaded his luggage. A motley assemblage of thugs and ne’er do wells, a foursome of foul souls. He was glad the Lady Holmwood was not with them. She would meet them at the port, taking a later train. Gray would have been almost literally worrying at her ankles.
The conductor leaned out. “All aboard, Lady and Sirs.” Not a moment too soon. Calliban would truly have to be a fiend to be less annoying than Gray.

The long abandoned coal mines or northern Carlisle are a foreboding place. Wild dogs roam amidst the ruined foundation stones of former buildings, and rubble mounds rise like pyramids from the thorny brush. The slightest sliver of a moon cast little relief from the desolation, and one could hear the scurry of what one hoped was nervous herbivores. Praede walked carefully through the brush, Lenore perched upon his shoulder. Not a true raven, but rather a creature of the night, her vision in darkness was unnatural and he relied upon her. Beside them, Gray walked with his usual swagger, sipping from a silvered flask from some noxious concoction of alcohol and laudanum, all the while slashing idly at the foliage with his cane.
The local constabulary had reported a missing heifer from a nearby farm, which meant Calliban would be freshly fed. And hopefully less dangerous. As a side bonus, Lenore’s sense of smell was particularly keen with regard to slaughtered animals.
He had previously considered maintaining speech between the group in French but he’d been warned that Calliban, being partly demon, had a gift of tongues. And so discrete conspiring would be more difficult.
“The scent is stronger?”
The bird upon his shoulder nodded with a twitch of feathers. “Very close now. Hard to determine the carrion’s scent, however. Calliban himself is quite odorous, and has been all through the area …”
Gray made a sound of derision. “How lovely …”
“Calliban is a creature of many facets. He was a foul traitor, and would be rapist to fair Miranda. However, he at times was also a useful servant and many of his detractions may be due to upbringing. A witch for a mother, and demon for a father. Not what one would wish for.”
Gray feigned a sob. “Oh, verily. My heart bleeds for the beast.”
And it was with that a great iron rod shot forth from the darkness, a good nine feet in length, and skewered Gray through the chest, pinning him to a small tree. A whoop was heard from the darkness.
“Be careful what ye wish for, varlet. Good Calliban be the bearer of fulfillment.”
Praede sighed. Gray would be fine once the rod was removed from him. In fact, he was even now trying to pull himself off the skewer. And Praede wondered from a moment if Lenore had seen the beast lining up the immortal and let it transpire. The beast was awe inspiring. Near seven foot of pure muscle, with mottling colors, half white, half black … and with patches of scales of either color. The musculature, while not in any way symmetric, was immense. The beast, even were it simply mortal, could doubtless have torn a ox apart with it’s bare hands.
“Well said, Calliban, former minion of fair Miranda. We greet you, and bring you an offering. For on the next hill we’ve brought a full half keg of good Irish rye.”
Calliban looked at him strangely.
“You do not flee? You do not fear Calliban?”
Praede smiled, and took a step forward.
“Not in the least, good sir. Why, amongst the learned of my companions you are legend, both for strength, and in cleverness. We bring you good will …”
Calliban shook his head, watching curiously as Gray slowly pulled himself off the metal pole.
“I wouldst be more interested in the rye of which ye speak …”
Already the beasts language was shifting to the more modern. Cambions were such an odd breed, and their gift of language was unnatural. There was a sucking noise as Gray extracted himself painfully, pulling himself down the length of the pole and with a popping sound extricated himself from the pole. He stood a moment, hand on his knees. Even for such as him it must have been painful. Still, when he bent to recover his possessions, Praede noticed he picked up his flask first and swordcane second.
“The aforementioned is a gift. And much more available to one who would consider a temporary alliance.”
Calliban looked at him suspiciously.
“Ye art no god. I’ve been fooled afore. What does a mere mortal need of poor Calliban …”
Gray took a swig from his flash.
“Blasted Mooncow …”
Calliban glared, but Praede interrupted.
“You can understand Mr. Gray’s annoyance. You did stick him to a tree.”
Calliban’s eyes squinted. “So, ye be wizards. Again to force this poor one into servitude.”
It was a statement. However, Praede shook his head..
“Not servitude, my good fellow. Companionship. The members of our group are well paid, in cash, food, drink, and the niceties of life.”
“So said Ferdinand, and a dozen others over the years. Always they strove to make Calliban their slave.”
Praede smiled. “Against our principles, good sir. Though we deal most harshly with harm dealt toward ourselves or to innocents, ESPECIALLY including women, we reward our friends handsomely. And, as you know, a slave is never truly loyal to it’s master, but a friend … a friend is something entirely different.”
Calliban stared a bit blankly.
“Ye twist words to make THEM your servant …”
Praede shrugged. “Them, but never you, good fellow. Unless you betray us.”
Calliban considered.
“Ye defy death. And, aye I fear death. For I know not my journey’s end whence I throw off my mortal coil.”
Praede nodded.
“All intelligent men fear death. But by joining us you will do good in the world. And so, besides mortal comforts, you may also be impressing upon heaven that you may be worthy of it’s invitation. And what more can a man wish for.”
Gray made an snort of annoyance as he looked down upon his ruined shirt, tie, and jacket.
“Ruined. You do know you’re paying for this, Praede.”
Praede looked at him, and nodded. It was then he noticed Lenore had flown from his shoulder and was doubtless scouting the area. He appreciated her confidence in his ability to deal with the beast, but he’d have felt better with her there.
“Fine food, fine drink, fine clothes, and servants to attend you. What say you, Calliban?”
An eyebrow lifted on the mottled head.
“Fine women?”
Praede shrugged.
“Only if they’re willing. Though with the coin you shall acquire, there’s a very good chance of success in that regard. But again, only if they are willing.”
Calliban considered, fingers running along the collar of the rags which he wore. A ratty skirt formed from a blanket, and a shirt tied together from a half dozen ragged bits of cloth. He looked at Praede’s fine and Gray’s once fine clothing.
“Agreed …”

Two days later they were at sea …the beast Calliban had been feed pastries and heavy drink, bathed by servants and dressed in fine though extremely sturdy clothing. It was custom tailored for his size. With a scarf and with his hood up, he might pass as human. Well, IF it were an extremely cloud night. The beast was now on the deck, enjoying the sight of the beauteous Lady Holmwood lounging at the prow. And who could blame him? Still, to such a simple creature she was a goddess. And she relished in the attention. She was intelligent enough to know that the worship of such a powerful beast could be useful. AND it kept his attention off Lenore when she was in human form. So, especially for that reason, Praede was grateful to Lady Holmwood. Gray, after realizing Holmwood was quite resistant to his own charms, and seeing there were purposely no female servants aboard, had taken to drink, smoke and reluctant cards or billiards with Praede and the ladies. Praede was a master of Whisk, taught to him by his mentor, and Gray seemed dedicated to defeating him.
Their ship, the Damacles, was a converted freighter and perfectly suitable for their purposes. While unremarkable on the exterior, within it was heavily reinforced, and totally gutted and refurbished. If not for the porthole style windows and the sway of the floor, one might believe it the interior of a manor house. There was even a fireplace and a skylight.
Praede‘s companions, however, were relentless upon one subject. The reason for their mission. And to this end Praede himself was unable to help. He had simply been given orders to take the team to Boma, a port city in Lower Guinea , Africa. There, Mycroft promised orders. It all was terribly mysterious, but not the first time he’d worked under such conditions. Mycroft was a genius, and as such horribly logical. If there was no reason to divulge the mission until arrival, then he would not do so.
The group seriously needed some team building exercises … combat practice, and the like. But the ship was severely lacking in the facilities to do this. He maintained his exercises and meditation, and even target practice by shooting spinning targets hanging from poles off the back of the ship. The wildly dancing circles proved a formidable task. He averaged one miss in 9 using his derringers (modified Remington Elliot 4 shots). That would have to be improved upon.
On the third day, he cursed slightly under his breath upon missing two shots in a row. “Bullocks …”
This brought feminine chuckle from the deck behind him. Unbeknownst to him, the Lady Holmwood had approached unheard … a feat in and of itself considering his remarkable hearing.
“Oh, I’m sorry milady. I thought I was alone. My apologies at my rudeness.”
She laughed. “Not at all. It was good to hear you drop your guard. Did I detect a cockney accent there for a moment?”
He shrugged. “I learned to curse from a friend with such an accent. He was someone from my youth …”
She laughed again, and licked her lips. Dear god, he could not help but think how enticing they were. “I found it charming. I love accents. I once dated a fellow from Texas. But I suppose you knew that.”
He nodded. “I was well briefed on your history, and remarkable attributes.”
She cocked her head to the side. “ ‘Well briefed.’ So, you know WHAT I am. And you are neither repelled, nor uncontrollably enthralled like many. You are an odd man, Jonathan Praede.”
“I’ve been called annoying, challenging, frustrating, meddlesome, obstinate, and outright maddening. I can accept odd. While you walk the edge of life and death, I find you intelligent, charming and lovely. I also find you a married woman, and married to a very noble gentleman whom I would not dishonor. Any admiration I hold for you must and will always be unrequited.”
She sauntered up to him, her face inches from his and looking up to him. He ever so wanted to bow his head and kiss those lips. But he refrained. She looked at him for long, agonizing moments then lifted her finger and kissed it, and touched it to his lips.
“Mister Praede, you will never know the bliss that might have been briefly yours …”
He could only nod, then remembered to take a breath.
“Good afternoon, Lady Holmwood.”
She walked away, with a lithe sway like a great cat.
“Good afternoon, Jonathan.”

The port of Boma was a massive slum, at least on the oceanfront area. Natives in various stages of ‘civilization’ mixed haphazardly with all variety of foreigner. Ships from a dozen countries were docked, approaching or exiting the port. Their reservation had been received and upon their arrival, a messenger and guard were waiting upon the dock. Mycroft was always the genius of organization especially with regards to such things.
The messenger was a rotund young fellow, with mismatched clothing and a tattered hat with a brass button on the side. His long reddish hair was pulled back and knotted behind his head while at least three days of growth erratically surfaced on his cheeks, chin and thin upper lip. A sliver of wood hung from the side of his mouth, a makeshift toothpick of sorts.
“Greetings Mr Praede. I am James Elliott, sir, and at your service. A pleasure to meet you. I’m with …” His voice lowered substantially “… the company.”
Praede smiled, and gestured at the port authority rep that he might leave. “Good day, Elliott. Pleasure is mine, good sir.”
There was an awkward pause, and then Elliott passed him the envelope, And, in the method of the passing itself, it was revealed to be from M. The man’s thumbnail flicked the corner lightly as he made the handoff, the proper current sign. Then waited awkwardly while Praede read the cable within.
Translated, it read “Arrangements for travel made. Mission to recover artifact H3A. Opposition expected as information likely sold to competing interests.” He read on quickly, storing the information away as he read. The memory techniques he’d been taught were highly effective.
Good Lord. The Key of Solomon. Not the lesser grimoire created in the 17th century, but rather the true key of the mighty king. Only the ring held more power. Both gave the user the ability to summon and theoretically control demons and spirits. It’s location was discovered by the decades long research performed by one Octavius Gluck. Gluck, an elderly man, sold the information to agents of Mycroft. Unfortunately, he also sold the information to a another unnamed rival organization and even possibly a third. This proved to be an unfortunate choice, as he was found dead two days later.
Praede carefully folded the paper, and placed it back within the envelope. He was shaken. He’d faced many supernatural foes over the years, but what kind of maniac would summon demons to use as agents upon the world? It was unthinkable.
There was movement beside him, and Lenore had placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Our mission?”
He nodded. “One I hope we are in time to accomplish, for the sake of all …” For once, he wished his American rival Finn had gotten the assignment. Like Praede, the man had also been recruited at a young age and was just as finely trained.

Their barge was ready by morning. They would travel up the Congo, then take the Bangala river up to the point where it curved eastward. They would bring pack horses, mules and bearers, and head into the bush. Though he checked the work, Praede spent most of his time keeping tabs on Calliban. The man worried him immensely. Then there was Gray. Gray seemed to be encouraging the beast to rebel, much to Praede’s dismay. That would be ALL that was needed … for Calliban to learn vice and vileness from the supposedly reformed prince of depravity.
Finally, the beast had fallen asleep - numbed by tankards of strong drink. Servants assumed the duty of watching him while Praede got a few hours of rest and meditation. It seemed he had hardly lain his head down when drunken song carried through the rented wing of the inn … Gray was returning with a bevy of wild women. Lovely. The man was a albatross tied round his neck.
Splashing water on his face, and pulling on slacks he walked out, leaning on the railing and glaring down on the ‘man’. At the sight of his shirtless form, the girls let out a rowdy cheer, accented by hoots and whistles. They wanted to know who Gray’s “pretty’ friend was.
“He is our schoolmaster, the stern hall monitor of our revelry.” Gray raised a flash to him, made a drunken bow and then finished the liquid. Good lord, had he drank the whole bottle of that vile brand? Praede wouldn’t use it to clean his boots.
“Schoolmaster? My, how the mighty have fallen …”
A beautiful woman stood in the door, lightly garbed, and though obviously of an older vintage than the throng of young girls, she was still a stunning sight. Long dark hair ran in waves down toward her waist, and she seemed less affected than the others. Perhaps the madam of their small circle? Yet something …
“Cor! Nancy??”
Gray was dragging the girls toward the stairs. “Which of you lovelies will make a fine purse of coin and try to mount the man mountain in my company. Be aware … it is no mean task …”
There was another round of laughter and off color jokes. However, Praede had lost all interest in them.
“Nancy Sykes?” His accent again recovered, his lapse unnoticed by the drunken Gray. His second slip in as many weeks.
“Aye, me boyo. Tis I, your old friend. If that IS you I see?”
He smiled. He’d changed so much … and she, so little. Still beautiful after all these years. Time had barely touched her.
“I thought you dead. We all did.”
She shook her head.
“Was not me that me fiendish love Bill put in the ground, but me sister Constance. The drunkard didn’t know the difference, and slew her in my stead. When I learned of ‘er fate, I ran … all the way to Liverpool. A few months later, I slipped away on a passing ship.”
He was wide awake now, and vaulted the balcony railing with a light spring. His hand caught a beam on the way down, and he landed spryly before her, and stood … now half a head taller than she. When they’d last met, he’d been a boy of four and a half feet.
“Lord, Nancy. I’m sorry glad you’re alive. I … I’m so sorry …”
She shook her head again.
“Boyo, ye were a lad at the time, a manchild the size of Bill’s arm. Ye couldn’a have stopped him. Cor, but ye’ve become a fine man. Tall and straight. Yer nose is even straighter …”
He laughed.
“Broken and reset when I was in Australia. I spent months in the outback … and took a tumble in a rockslide. A local fixed me up, better than new.”
She smiled … and sunshine filled the room. Or had it been streaming in the window with the dawn the whole time?
“Far better. Ye look delightfully tasty, boyo. All grown up. But in need of some help controllin’ the troops, it ‘pears.”
He nodded. “Two especially. Possibly a third. The noblewoman in our party may pose a challenge also.”
She grinned. “Lady Holmwood? Yes, M’ told me of sech. The first two I can help with. Was why M‘ had me here with companionship prearranged. A bevy are lovelies, ain’t they?”
He blinked … having forgotten the girls with Gray.
“Mycroft sent you?”
She nodded. “I was sent here a week ago. Been working for the gent since about a year after Bill took his turn on the ropes. M’ saw me on the street in Cairo, and recognized me from me from me sketch drawn in the London papers the year earlier. Uncanny gent, he is.”
Praede nodded.
“He’s amazing. I’ve never seen another intellect like his.”
She nodded.
“He knew all ‘bout me, and me travels in a glance. And, on the spot, recruited me for the company.”
He raised a brow.
“You’re an agent?”
She nodded.
“Come now, boyo. The company takes ladies, and that includes all sorts of ladies of the evening. Not jest the long toothed ones.”
He smiled, and reached and hugged her close. A long felt weight lifted from his chest … he was guilty of many thing, but her death had been one of the first.
She eventually pushed him back, and trailed her nails down his bare chest.
“Best ye dress, then I’ll help get yer horses tethered for the quest. The two leggers included.”
Up the stairs a woman’s screech, of pleasure and pain mixed.
“And perhaps one three legged one.”
He frowned, but Nancy didn’t seem worried. Perhaps the girl had been prepared for Calliban’s mass.
“Are you coming with us? Would be great to have you along …”
She shook her head. “No, boyo. I have another matter that needs attention. Some undercover work, as it were, and I has ta leave right away. But I’ll contact ye once yer back in London. Right now, ye need to get ready. Good luck with that motley crew of yours.”
He laughed, and reached out, hugging her again and kissed her on the cheek. “Keep safe, Nancy Sykes.“
She shook her head. “Kensington now. Mother’s maiden name.“
He laughed again, turned and trotted upstairs to dress. He was suddenly filled with energy.

Elliott collected them a few hours past dawn, and they boarded the barge for the long trip upriver. The journey on the barge was a tepid reflection of the comfort of the Damocles. It was a chartered vessel - the first available. The stench was astounding. Still, they managed to survive the three day journey. They disembarked on an old pier … a burned out village nearby. He wondered if that boded poorly for their chances, but if M had faith in the team, then so did he. A full morning was spent unloading and preparing, and the camped on the riverside. He was glad to be off that horrid barge. It reminded him of the prison ship in which he’d sailed to Australia as a boy. Near constant beatings and threats of worse. Small wonder he’d escaped as soon as he could upon landing, preferring death in the wilderness to even more hellish prison life.
He shook his head and used meditation techniques to induce sleep. He awoke the pleasant sensation of a warm body beside him. He was briefly startled, afraid Gray had smuggled one of his wenches aboard and was giving Praede a lice filled prank. But he recognized the sweet scent of the lovely Lenore.
“Good morning, sweet lady.“
She smiled and snuggled up against him.
“Good morning, Jonathan. I kept hearing noises last night. And wanted to keep you safe.“
He chuckled.
“I’m feeling something other than safe at the moment. Are you … yes of course you are. You know, human ladies sleep with clothing.“
She poked him, “Gray’s ladies don’t.”
He shook his head, “Those aren’t ladies …”
He got up carefully, wrapping a sheet about him.
“We’re better get going …”
She stretched, “What’s the hurry.”
He shook his head again. “Again, ground rules my dearest.”
Praede turned his back under a whispering barrage of cajoling and offers, but he restrained himself. Good Lord, bring on the lions and wilder beasts. His resolve was suffering a severe beating on this mission.
Later, Praede saw a long line of pack animals and bearers just finishing the preparations to embark. There were two riding horses for each member, with three massive draft horses purchased for Calliban’s use. His seven foot, four hundred pound frame would have exhausted a smaller animal. Unlike his companions, Calliban had no skill in riding, but his complaints were half hearted. After all, he’d fulfilled his goal of female companionship and had no reason that the experience could not be repeated. His glee days later was still very evident. They all wore gray cotton head wraps and shirts beneath safari hats and jackets. Matching pants or safari skirts and hiking boots completed the wardrobe.
As they rode, Praede moved up to ride beside Calliban and engaged him in conversation, urging them to take point on the Caravan. The ulterior reason for this was to minimize Calliban’s contact with the bearers and animal handlers. While passable as human, Calliban’s extraordinary size and mottled often scaly skin would disturb the locals. Lenore, unfortunately, was left in the rear suffering barrages of Gray’s illicit wit.
The conversation was often off color. The subject of sex often came up in the beast’s speech, but as the long hours dragged on, he realized that Calliban’s motivation was not just gratification. He vehemently wished to have offspring. Thinking back on the legendary beauty of Miranda, he wondered if part of the beast’s lust for her was to offset his repulsiveness if she mothered his children.
“Have you ever tried truffles, friend Calliban? Such a simple plant, yet it is treasured for it’s worth … for it’s use in the preparation of delicious foods. It’s quality is hidden beneath it’s plain exterior.”
“ ‘Truffles’? No, what are ‘truffles’?” Lord, he’d all but lost his ancient speech patterns. Cambions were reported to be almost telepathic with regards to language. Uncanny.
“They look like a simple mushroom - not much to look at. But they are rare and valuable.”
“I would like to try them.”
Praede smiled. “They are best when prepared in a wine or meat sauce. I love good food. Food preperation is much like all forms of training. Especially combat. And cooks vary. Some have natural ability. I would probably put you in that category. Strong, fast, intelligent. For others it involved long sessions of training. As a mere mortal, I have to train relentlessly. Not to offend, but you are a rare find, friend Calliban. A natural pearl. Me, I am a mere human, and to be combat efficient I have trained manically since childhood. Like a lump of metal that needs to be worked into something of worth. Pearls come naturally perfect.”
Calliban looked at him, checking for sarcasm. But he found none.
“You speak with twists and turns, human. Like Prospero or Stefan. But perhaps without the cruelty thereof.”
“Never cruel, friend Calliban. You and I are of simple beginnings, but with strength of mind and the opportunity, we can and will be men of worth.”
Calliban started as if he’d been struck.
“Perhaps, human. Perhaps.”

Eventually the terrain became too rough for wagons, or even horse, and so they made their way on foot and with a dozen sure footed mules and double that number of native bearers. It was insect ridden, even worse than the Australian outback. And none of the native balms for insect repelling were available. The flora was entirely different. Still, it was tolerable. And his companions other than Lenore seemed resistant. In her true form, she’d have been feasting but in her human guise, she was as vulnerable as he.
The downhill climb down from the mountains was just as treacherous. Moreso in fact. One of the bearers broke a leg and three of his companions stayed to help him back to civilization. Such as it was. Jungle hiking, with the nights filled with howls of monkeys. He liked the monkeys. But he knew it was the silent ones one must fear. Calliban relished the wilderness. He would go out for long hours, and return jubilant. He would bring back wild game, and their supplies were abundant. However, when he brought back a leopard, the bearers began to whisper. If only he’d taken a weapon other than his spear. It would have seemed less unnatural.
Days turned into weeks, and by the third week they were well into and out of German territory. By the fourth, a day from their target if his navigation was correct. And he’d be taught it by the finest navigator the society has to offer. Phileas himself. Ah, if only the old man were more spry. He’d love to have worked with the old man in his prime. Eccentricities notwithstanding.
The bearers were happy to make camp a day away while the team moved forward on horseback. Praede slid from the saddle silently and and began to move stealthily down the narrow path, a treacherous climb but nothing compared to what lay ahead. His comrades were incredibly graceful as they went, as was he, leaping from ledge to ledge like a team of Ukrainian mountain goats. Conversation was minimal, even Gray was thinking of what lay ahead. And what a destination. The lost temple of Abiathar, high priest of King David, exiled by Solomon . Abiathar had favored Solomon’s brother over Solomon in choice of successor.
Praede paused a moment, mentally calling forth the the map. Literally called it forth, like one would a servant. He‘d been taught memory techniques by a mentalist in the service of Mycroft. The trick was to mentally store the memories in an imaginary place. Some people used houses or palaces. Praede used the streets of London that he’d known so well as a child. Mentally, he was standing outside of a dance hall, the marquis was displaying the map in glorious detail, placed there at the beginning of their journey. Yes, according to the map, this dangerous descent was the only entrance into the boxed canyon below. In ancient times a tunnel had been used, but it had been destroyed ages ago. With one last leap he was at the bottom of the chasm. Now, the entrance should be 12-1300 paces to the north.
It was eerie in the chasm. Sheer cliffs with jagged edges lined the three mile rift. They were near the south end. Even at midday, like it was now, it was deeply shadowed. A mere fifty feet wide, and with sides towering 60 to over a 100 feet in height, it would seem the bottom of a mine shaft come nightfall. Lady Holmwood seemed to revel in the darkness, as did Calliban. Vampire and Cambion were at home in the shadows.
Lenore trotted quietly over to him, and stretched up on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. He raised an eyebrow, and didn’t fight when she took his hands and placed them upon the shoulders of her Safari dress. “Jonathan, my darling. Hold onto these for me? I don’t want to give Gray a view.”
He did as she asked, holding the cloth of her dress on the shoulders. She kicked off her boots, and the shadows around her shifted. In a moment, her head was wrapped in the darkness and disappeared down the neck of her dress, and her hands did the same up the sleeves. A second later, a sleek and elegant raven stepped out from under the hem of her dress, and stretched. A soft ‘mmmm’ escaped the birds lips, and Jonathan realized how long it had been since she’d assumed avian form. Unlike most ravens, she was nocturnal but with the bearers and companions along, she’d refrained from the change, as she called it.
Gray made an ‘ohhhh’ of disappointment at her discrete change and though Calliban didn’t say anything, he too looked disappointed. Jonathan felt something else, guilt at not empathizing with her reluctance to remain human so long. “Lenore, my sweet princess, I should have known ..” He heard a feminine chuckle from Lady Holmwood, amused.
She winked and leapt into the air, taking flight, and going forward to scout the way. He knew Lenore could see perfectly well in near total darkness. In fact, of the group, now only Gray and himself were limited to human sight. Best for both their sakes they hurry and make entry to the temple before nightfall.
“We should pick up the pace, my friends …”
Calliban grunted. “As if you could keep up with me ..”
He grinned.
“I would never attempt it, my friend. I should have said I will pick up my pace, if you all would kindly stay with me …”
Gray snorted.
“I don’t tire. I wish sometimes I did. I will prance along in as brisk and undignified a manner as the rest of you.”
Holmwood chuckled again.
“Never tire? You’ve finally said something that arouses my interest …”
Gray grinned lewdly.
“Arousal is always good.”
Praede began to move, trotting along as quietly as a mortal was capable.
“Keep your head in the game, lady and gents. Head in the game.”

In just under three quarters of an hour of travel, a remarkable time given the jagged rocks, they approached was should be the temple. They saw nothing of the sort, but there was a deep pocket of shadows on the western wall. The gleaming black raven perched on an outcropping of boulders, awaiting them.
Her voice was sublimely perfect but a discrete whisper, not the distorted sounds he’d heard from normal ravens and parrots. It was Lenore. “I thought about going in by myself, but didn’t want to deal with the tongue-lashing I’d get.”
Gray perked up at that. “Tongue-lashing? Either of you ladies care for one? Preferably in your human forms, but it’s not a deal breaker.”
Jonathan glared at him and surprisingly Calliban gave him a swat to the back of the head. Gray was shocked, as was Praede.
The gigantic cambion leaned forward and remembered to whisper. “Praede’s woman.”
Gray glowered. “Stupid mooncow, if you touch me again you’ll draw back a stump.”
Holmwood stepped between.
“Gentlemen. As Mr. Praede says, ‘Head in the Game’ please.”
Gray grumbled and unsung from his back a case, opening it, and withdrew a long silvered rapier and a short barreled pistol. Praede thought they might have a battle until Gray kicked the case aside with a clatter of noise and headed toward the shadows.
“Until later then ...”
They let Gray take the point, and Calliban screwed his great spear together … the wicked blade the length of Praede’s arm. He would learn later it was a gift sent to Calliban from Mycroft via Nancy. The blade was ancient and rumored to be enchanted. The shaft was modern, hence the collapsible nature.
Lenore flew up and landed on his shoulder with a light whisper. “Praede’s woman …”
Praede readied his Hawkins rifle. “Head in the Game, my dear ..”
As they came up to the shadows, they found them visually impenetrable. It was like a curtain hung down over the cliffside. Gray snarled and stepped forward. And yelped painfully to the accompaniment of a falling noise and the sound of various bones breaking.
“Watch that first step. Especially you, Praede. Mortal bones don’t mend like mine.”
Calliban stuck his blade into the darkness, then carefully pushed his head into the darkness while his body stayed without.
“There’s a drop off. About thirty feet down to stone. There’s dead people there. Old and new.”
Old and new? Praede carefully put his head into the shadows. They WERE like a curtain. Once through the curtain, a person could see perfectly, the sunlight streaming in. There were two dead humans, very fresh and in modern garb, at the bottom of the pit. They lay amid some ancient bones in tattered rags. Ancient victims. It was about 12 feet across. Looking through Praede could see ledges on either side one could walk on, about three feet wide. It was only dangerous if one tried to enter in the center of the shadows.
“A sincere thank you for the warning, Gray. I owe you one.”
Gray grunted, and nimbly climbed up on the other side.
“If not more …”
Calliban grunted, and merely leaped the distance, landing lightly. Holmwood and Praede took the ledge route, moving carefully, ready to leap back should the ledge collapse. Once together again, Praede whispered to them.
“It could be random explorers but more likely the rivals we were warned about. No telling the numbers.”
Holmwood shook her head and knelt, sniffing the stone.
“Five human males, two females, and three other beings.”
Calliban looked down.
“No dust …”
Praede raised an eyebrow.
“No dust. There should be lots of dust. This stone is clean. This place in inhabited.”
Praede looked at the markings on the walls. “Abiathar was a Judaic priest. These are not Judaic markings. These are the symbols of Moloch. A demon god who demanded child sacrifice.”
Even Gray looked disgusted. Of all the rumors surrounding Gray, none included children.
“If any of his priests still live, they die.”
They all nodded in agreement.

They carefully searched and made their way into the temple. Multiple antechambers lay empty, likewise curiously clean. Stone braziers were filled with fresh charcoal and oil, ready to be lit. There was only one option - the frontal approach to the great bronze doors at the top of 11 massive stairs. The steps were high, appearing NOT to be made for human steps, but someone greater than even Calliban‘s size.
The doors themselves were rune covered, but one lay twisted, and showed evidence of a dynamite blast. The group carefully approached the stairs when another door, concealed in the ceiling itself opened. A voice rang down, smooth and deep, cursing in some ancient language.
Two forms leapt down, taking the twenty foot leap without harm, landing resoundingly and flat footed on the hard stone.
There was a blur of action, far too fast for normal eyes to see. Lady Holmwood snarled and her eyes glowed red, and she leapt upon the first one, slashing it’s chest while twisting effortlessly and tumbling about it’s body to leap upon it’s back. The claws left trails of red upon the beast, but it’s thick scaled hide deflected most of the wounds, as it also was thwarting Holmwood’s wolf like bites upon the back neck of the creature. It would take her precious seconds to ripe down far enough to do damage.
Praede had once seen a wolverine attacking a wolf. Lady Holmwood’s attack was just as vicious. The damage, while not quickly debilitating, was distracting, and Calliban took advantage, stepping up skewer the beast through the heart. Distracted, it barely managed to partially deflect the attack with a massive claw, taking the blow to the shoulder instead of chest. Still, it looked horribly painful.
Gray stepped up to face one alone. Immortality made him incredibly oblivious to danger. Or did he actually have a death wish? Praede wondered again. A mercurial blur of his blade struck the beast, slashing through it’s throat. The first cut left a thin line, the second a deeper one, three more slashes and blood began to spray. However, the beast was lightning fast also. It ripped into Gray, clawed hands grasping him and six inch nails pierced his chest and heart. This appeared only to annoy Gray who spat at it. However, one claw had also pinned Gray’s sword arm to his side.
Not as fast as his comrades, Praede was no less deadly. His custom .50 caliber Hawkins took a second to reach his shoulder but once there, it roared. Vertically double barreled, the first round blasted into the creature fighting Calliban and Holmwood. The bullet caught the creature in the left eye, the opposite side of the head from Holmwood, still tearing at the creature’s throat.
The thing staggered back, then fell, Calliban pinning it to the ground with the spear as it clawed at him. However, Calliban’s advantage in the reach with the spear kept him out of it’s range. Suddenly, however, Holmwood screeched inhumanly and rolled away from the creature, then leapt back in attacking with claws only. Her eyes which had gleamed red before were now glowing like red hot coals. She ripped into it with a fury the likes of which Praede had never seen before.
Gray gasped, his lungs being torn from his chest. “Praede, if you have a moment …”
Praede swung the Hawkins over and blasted again, straight into the creature’s throat wound. It screeched and released Gray to grasp at it’s wound. If the gunshot had not been fatal, it’s mistake was. Gray again lifted his sword and neatly and nonchalantly sliced the thing apart.
Praede dropped the expended Hawkins, though he hated doing so. One should never so abuse such a fine weapon. But he did so catching it on his foot and rolling it to the ground. Given time he’d have set it down gently or slung it over a shoulder, but no time now. In a lightning movement he drew his derringers and moved forward on the other creature. But he needn’t have hurried. Holmwood had done her damage while Calliban kept him carefully pinned to the floor.
It was bizarre seeing Gray standing. He should have been dead. His insides were literally hanging out of him. Yet, he stood, and seemed to be in little pain. He DID seem impressed at the damage. Praede watched as his organs literally pulled themselves back into Gray’s body while the bones straightened, mended and encased themselves in flesh and skin. In the end, the man was bloody but intact. Amazing.
Looking back again at the dying creature, it amazingly spoke … the same deep smooth voice. “Brother, why have you helped these intruders against us?” Latin. And it was speaking to Calliban.
Praede looked closer. The creatures were Cambions. Like Calliban, a mix of demon and human. However, these were much taller and had long prehensile tails, reptilian maws and massive claws. They made Calliban looked like a Parisian man about town.
Calliban looked shocked.
“I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t know .”
It looked at Calliban, and saw he spoke the truth.
“The other intruders were here. They’ve already taken the Key. They go to the Dark Gate. With the key it can be opened. They slew the others, and we stayed hidden. Half human, we stayed free willed. It only affects full demons and not creatures with souls.”
Calliban started.
“I … have a soul?”
But there came no answer. The creature had died.

Legends Reborn
Praede sat in the deeply shadowed study with only the dim illumination of gas lit sconce and dying fireplace embers to give illumination. The windows were open, but a cloudy night combined with a new moon offered little relief. The room was warm, though beginning to lose it’s toasty aura as the aforementioned fire died out. Before him sat an open ledger, an inventory of a new shipment from agents in far off Egypt. They’d been forced to deal with another mummy … this one animated by cultists of Set, driven out of their native land and taking vengeance through their dark arts. Luckily, Finn’s team had been there to put things right. The relics were put safely in the catacomb vaults deep within the earth and accessible only via the iron mole in the team’s possession. He himself did not even know the location of the vaults … only the keepers were allowed access.
A flutter caught his keen hearing, and there was a pecking outside one of the windows. Lenore had returned far later than expected. Unlike most ravens she preferred the night … but then she was not the mere avian creature she appeared. He reached under he desk and pulled a small lever, and the window rotated upon it’s center, allowing entrance then sealing itself again. The lovely bird fluttered again, landing before the fire … seeking warmth. Lord, but he loved London. But it was a near perpetually chill place ten months out of the year, and especially at the witching hour.
“Welcome home, Lenore. I trust you had no difficulties?”
She shook herself, ruffling her feathers … then stretched … shadows enveloping her, and she was human again, laying upon her stomach on the hardwood floor.
“Just some annoying owls. They were of no consequence …”
“And the message? Will Gray be accepting our invitation?”
She curled her hands under her chin, and looked at him curiously, feet swinging idly behind her.
“Unfortunately, yes. I don’t know why you tolerate the man. He’s such an insipid swine.”
He smiled, and reached for his pipe.
“An immensely skilled and virtually immortal swine, dear Lenore. A valuable addition to our party.”
She curled her lip. “The man is bereft of any redeeming social value.”
“And yet, like most, you find him inexplicably intriguing?”
“I didn’t say that, Jonathan. I find YOU intriguing … Gray would hardly leave me alone in front of this lovely fire. Yet you manage to keep your distance, despite my au natural state. You find me unattractive?”
“Not in the least, dear one. I am simply still at a loss to know whether you are a beautiful woman who takes animal form, or a beautiful animal who takes human form. And you have stated that you yourself do not know which is true …”
She rolled on her back, stretching with her arms up over her head.
“True. And you with those wretched Victorian ethics …”
He laughed and lit his pipe, hoping she didn’t notice his normally PERFECT calm of digits shake ever so slightly. After all, in his youth he’d been London’s foremost pickpocket. As an adult, he could shoot a candle wick at a hundred paces with either hand. Yet, now they shook. She was an amazing beauty.
“That brings our team to four. Two more to contact and we may make arrangements for the journey.”
She snorted sweetly, and closed her eyes.
“Well, wake me when you need me. I’ll be RIGHT here …”
He rose, his resolve in need of respite, and puffed his pipe, looking out the window and into the night. Pitch blackness. Unless some of his affiliates he couldn’t see in pure darkness. And he liked it that way. The mystery of it all.
“As you wish …”

Dorian rose unsteadily to his feet, the opium induced visions fading. That wretched bird of Praede’s had visited earlier. And conveyed the mortal’s request for his aid on yet another fool’s errand. Bah, WHY had he accepted? Days or perhaps even horrid WEEKS of relative sobriety, and perhaps even abstinence of his favorite vices. WHY had he accepted???
He threw the pipe away from him, and it went skittering into a corner, sadly failing to catch fire to the furnishings. Sad, at least THAT would have livened up the place. And … of course … he knew precisely why he had accepted the invitation. Wretched sickening boredom of immortality which even the most depraved vices could not long suppress. Praede always had some lofty idealistic quest which would challenge not only Gray but often involve battling evils that made Gray feel positively virtuous despite his life of hedonistic oblivion.
He walked over and pulled the silken cord so summon the servants. They would prepare him for … he attempted to sigh … adventure.

Praede adjusted his cuffs, looking at the small swarm of urchins that approached his carriage. He remembered his happy days on the street, a virtual lord in his tiny tiny world. Well, prince. Fagin had been his king. A kingdom consisting a a shifting territory patrolled by a motley gang of pickpockets and thieves. Looking back, he realized it had been a kingdom of ants … beneath the notice of the true powers that be. But he’d been happy.
Years had passed. The murder of dear Nancy by Sykes. His capture and his sentence of servitude in the Australian penal colonies. It had taken him nearly a month to escape. Escape had been the easy part … but he’d not thought beyond that point.
He shook his head. That was so very long ago. Back to the matter at hand. He spent a few moments to chat with the urchins. They respected him … for no matter how deftly they tried to steal his possessions, they were always back again in his pockets at the end of the encounter. He’d lost none of his skills during his conversion to civilization. Indeed, his skills had improved. But the lads never left empty handed … each always found a few coins placed in folds of their clothes, sleeves or pockets. With a smile he always encouraged them to try again.
The urchins were a magnificent source of information of the city. Beneath notice, they heard everything. And should they convey to Praede something of worth, the coins in their pockets would be silver and not copper. They learned to keep their ears open for tales of the strange and unusual.
Of course, they were not his only sources of information. He’d developed quite the network of informants over the years … boys and girls of the street who’d grown to become thieves and harlots. All were his people. And though he portrayed the guise of a Victorian gentleman, he could in moments become a street tough or homeless drunkard indistinguishable from the others.
As the urchins swarmed off, he climbed aboard. Hmmm. He WAS missing a snuff box. By god, one of the lads had gotten a prize. Well done, lad. Well done. He wondered which it had been? If he found out, the boy was due a silver prize from his skill. He climbed into the carriage, handing a small bundle of letter to the coachman, a former boxer named Wurthers. Impeccably devoted man … he’d saved Wurthers from an assassin around the time of his return to London.
Settling into his seat, he looked over and smiled to the vision beside him. Lenore, in perfect dress of the day, hair pulled back and veil over her eyes. A beauty, perfect company for his gentleman’s personae. And he WAS a gentleman, wasn’t he? For, what was a gentleman but a mere man trained in the trappings of society? Fogg had taught him that. Worth was in the man, not in the pedigree. Ah, he loved that old man. He made a mental note to visit him more often.
He tapped the door of the coach with his walking stick, and the coach pulled forward with a gentle lurch. “Let us hope that I am as successful as you in recruitment. We are two short, and I an unsure of their willingness to aid us. We have a long ride ahead of us, so I hope you don’t mind a picnic lunch at Widow’s point? I had Mrs Wurthers pack us a lunch.”
She smiled mischievously, eyes twinkling beneath the veil. “Master Praede, are you trying to seduce me?”
He chuckled, and settled back, idly rolling a coin around the knuckles of his right hand. “You know better, my vision. I am and shall be ever a gentlemen with you, milady.”
“Such a pity. Then you shall never know if I’m bluffing, or actually offering you inhuman bliss …”
“Yes, I fear not …”

The picnic was blissful, the sun high overhead made the scene surreal. The food was excellent, Mrs Wurthers was no beauty nor pleasant to talk to, but she kept a clean house and was a phenomenal cook.
“It’s best to approach the Lady Holmwood during the daylight, should she be in one of her less … cooperative … moods. She is still quite bitter over the staking she received at the hands of the Harker party. At the time, Van Helsing believed a simple stake to the heart would slay a vampire. However, his research had been incomplete at the time. Staking merely disables the creature, while beheading is required for final rest.”
Lenore licked her fingers … she despised the use of cutlery when not needed for appearance. The fine silvered picnic ware was wasted upon her. Still, she was someone dainty and meticulous using fingertips and tongue. The kippers had taken a particular defeat before her appetite.
“And Arthur Holmwood? What of him?”
“Unlike Mina Harker’s husband, he never succumbed to vampirism. He remains mortal to this day, the living protector of his forever beauteous bride. It is only with great reluctance that he allows his wife to accompany us upon our ventures. He prefers her safe, kept well fed upon the blood of the great mastiffs that guard their estate. And the occasional willing servant, or so I am told.”
“Mina’s husband? He became an undead?”
He nodded sadly.
“Yes, I actually met the man before his fall. A remarkable man. A touch of madness in the eyes, however. Poor Mina. Their son Quincy goes to a private school in Belgium.”
“And how much further is it to their estate?”
“Less than an hour. The Godalming estate is quite secluded. The entire thing has been walled in since Arthur’s marriage. There are rumors of wolves prowling the land, but doubtless this refers to the dozens of mastiffs which are given free run throughout the night.”
“Charming …”
He laughed. “The winged lady of ebon night is concerned with hounds? They are, literally, far beneath you.”
She returned his laugh, and stood in a fluid motion. Sitting, one could see she was bare legged beneath her Victorian garb … while wearing hunting boots instead of proper shoes. It was something invisible while standing, the flow of her dress carefully concealing such.
“Shall we be off? I wish to meet this Arthur Holmwood. He sounds … interesting.”
He smiled and rose, and since none were watching, helped Wurthers gather and pack the picnic together.
“As you wish …”

The drive was pleasant with Praede regaling Lenore with tales of fiction and truth, for often they were two sides of the same coin. Just as night was the opposite of day, they were mirrored images of the same reality. Mirrors, something he doubted they would find many of at the Holmwood residence. He’d only met the Lord and Lady Godalming once … a charity event which Arthur had been unable to escape. One for foundling youths that his father had founded, and which of course had Praede’s keen interest. It was only after the event that Mycroft had informed him of Lady’s true nature. Her beauty had been like a vortex, drawing all eyes within the room … her husband, a bit graying at the temples, had judiciously kept watch at her side. After the explanation to her nature, his watchfulness was now even more understandable. Even now, riding comfortably up the estate drive, apple blossoms lining the way, he thought of her velvet laughter. Like an angel visiting the realms of man.
It was only when he heard the carriage begin to slow that he realized they were arriving at the entry, A magnificent estate, it towered over the landscape. On the steps, Holmwood stood like a Heimdall guarding the Bilfrost bridge. To either side, a massive mastiff and behind a foursome of burley servants. Well dressed, but Praede recognized more a military training than that of etiquette.
A groomsman stepped forward, and opened the door to the carriage for them, then offered a hand to Lenore. The man was well muscled but keen eyed … observing the two closely. Lenore exited the carriage with a flourish, the flow of dress covering her lower limbs. Praede followed.
Holmwood gestured to the hounds, who dutifully sat back. He stepped forward and extended his hand to Lenore. “Arthur Holmwood, at your service. I welcome you to my humble dwelling. I have received your messenger earlier. I am so pleased to meet you.”
Praede only JUST barely noticed a touch of well masked insincerity to the man’s tone. He preferred his wife safe at home. But hopelessly in love, he could deny her nothing. Not even when she ventured out into the world of man on missions far beyond him. Praede spoke.
“Lenore, I present to you Arthur Holmwood, Lord of Godalming. A valued ally of our association and a man of stellar nobility and character. Arthur, if I may still call you that, I present Miss Lenore Le Corbeau. She is my dear friend and companion, my heart and my soul. She is also a valued member of my society, and my equal is every regard except charm, at which she utterly excels all except your own incomparable wife.”
Lenore curtseyed slightly. “Lord Godalming … a pleasure to meet you.”
Normally upon meeting Lenore, men of all stations were enthralled with her beauty. But in Holmwood, Praede only saw courtesy and platonic good will. Strange to see. But then Praede had met the lady of the house on that one occasion. Beauteous as Lenore was, her lunar beauty paled before the solar magnificence of Holmwood’s wife. As, as if on cue, she stepped through the doorway. She didn’t step out into the sunlight, but rather stayed in the archway. Praede revised his comparison to the stair as the Bilfrost bridge and Holmwood as Heimdell. Entirely wrong pantheon. This was definitely the dwelling of Aphrodite, and even Lenore gasped slightly upon seeing her. Long blonde hair framing a face only god himself could have sculpted. Long pale arms, one reaching up to touch the frame of the doorway. They lead to shoulders Praede remembered viewing oh so well in her societal gown. Now they were sadly concealed behind a simple yet incredibly expensive house dress, as were her perfect curves and ample bosom. Still, the curves beneath the silk were visible, and her neck beckoned for a man’s lips. Her cheeks, eyes and lips were a sight that could drive a man mad.
He mentally shook his head, and bowed slightly.
Holm wood spoke. “Miss Lenore, an extreme pleasure. Jonathan, you remember my wife.” The understatement of the century, now nearing it’s conclusion. “Miss Le Corbeau, I present Lucille Annabelle Holmwood, my wife.”
Lenore shook her head, and curtseyed again. Praede did not fail to notice the sideways glance she cast him to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t sure if he’d caught his breath or not. Remember, Jonathan , he told himself. First and foremost, she is married. Second, she is quite undead.
Praede spoke. “Lady Holmwood, I cannot describe how good it is to see you again.” A contender for the understatement competition. But he left it at that.
She smiled, glistening white teeth and a curve of lip that entranced. “Jonathan, Lenore was it? Please, both, no formality here in my own home. Call me Lucy …”

They had afternoon tea and chatted. It was a marvelous Oolong, and delicious though Lenore broke convention and added sugar. Lucy, ever the hostess, mimicked her though doubtless she knew better. After a while, Arthur excused himself supposedly to attend to a matter of estate management, but Praede knew it was a polite excuse to allow them time to discuss the mission at hand.
As soon as he left, Lucy rose and went to stand in front of the window. The afternoon drifted through, but the effect was magical. Her trace silhouette shown through the light though expensive house gown.
“So, Jonathan. What matter arises that Mycroft deigns my inclusion advisable?”
Praede smiled. She didn’t trust Mycroft. His keen mind frightened her. Actually, it frightened Praede also, but he had less reason to fear him.
….
Holmwood escorted them out to the carriage with courteous charm, though beneath it Praede sensed his reluctance to have his beloved far from home. On another mission, he’d have invited the man along, but this could be dangerous. And the vampiress was not about to risk her protector. Praede aided Lenore into the carriage, and followed, settling into his seat. His heart was still beating quickly … such was the effect of being once known as Lucy Westerna.
“She likes you.”
Praede started out of his revelry.
“Pardon.”
“The vampire. She likes you.”
He considered.
“No, I intrigue her. She is a predator. She always was. Even while living she once garnered three proposals of marriage in one day, one of which was from Holmwood. I do not wish to be her conquest.”
“And that’s why she likes you. You’re a challenge. Believe me, I know.”
He shook it off.
“Nonsense. We must both get our head back into the game. Our next recruit will be most challenging. And he is immortal as the vampiress, but much more ancient. He was the servant to one of our founders. His master helped attract and combine the fading and fragmented of other once powerful groups including various splinters of the Knights Templar. Years later the same protocols were used to absorb elements of the Illuminati and Hellfire Club to name a few. The founder’s daughter and son in law were also founders. But I digress on things you already know. We’re talking their immortal servant, a cambion of incredible power and one of their most powerful assets.”
She looked at him, her head cocking to the side. A very avian look, and it reminded him of her true nature. He continued.
“I refer, of course, to the dread creature called Calliban.”
She blinked. “The minion of Prospero?”
He nodded. “Once slave to Prospero, and later to Lord Ferdinand and Lady Miranda. Those two founded our society, with Calliban and Ariel as their servants. The books of Prospero were rescued by Ariel, and Miranda became their protector. Those same books now occupy our deepest vaults. Though the first they are by far not the darkest tomes in our collection …”
She smiled.
“Anything in those books about me?”
He laughed lightly.
“Not that I know of. The books are on a need to know basis, and as one NOT gifted in the arts, I do not need to know.”
She sighed.
“Ever the schoolboy following schoolmaster’s rules. Were you ever a rebel.”
He leaned over and whispered.
“You have NO idea.”

They arrived at the train station just shy of 4pm and made the 4:15 with a bit of rush. A private car had been reserved by their agents and they found Gray aboard. He’d taken the train from London. The man was for once well washed and groomed, and gave every aspect of a first class gentleman. They both knew better.
“Greetings, Gray. So glad to have your assistance. We’re headed to South Yorkshire to collect our last recruit. A bit of brute muscle may be required for this venture …”
Gray sneered. “If you’re referring to that patchwork fiend, I heartily object. I’ve heard you have been attempting to locate the beast.”
Praede shook his head.
“Not he, though you may wish it were. I am curious as to the source of your information. We actually intend to locate the fiend Calliban. He’s been reported lurking in the abandoned coal mines of the previously mentioned destination.”
Gray perked up.
“Calliban? Outstanding. I’m sure between the two of us we can keep you entertained …”
Praede grinned.
“ ‘Entertained’ is one way to word it. But I’m glad to have you aboard.”
Gray shrugged and made a show of securing his snuff.
“And the lovely lady will be joining us? I can think of ways to entertain her also.”
Lenore reddened.
“Not all ravens are interested in toying with decayed matter. And your decay is soul deep.”
Gray took a hit in each nostril from his snuff … which Praede suspected may have been enhanced with other elements. A controlled sneeze, and he looked at her with lecherous eyes.
“Vice and decay are separate animals … animal.”
She glared at him but said no more. But Praede intervened.
“Gray, I’ll ask you to keep a civil tongue. I may not be your equal with a blade, but my derringers are certainly capable of dotting your eyes if need be.”
Dorian snorted disdainfully. “You’re welcome to try, dear boy. But objection noted and I shall try to reign in my desire for your friend’s obvious assets.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gray.”
Gray’s servants loaded his luggage. A motley assemblage of thugs and ne’er do wells, a foursome of foul souls. He was glad the Lady Holmwood was not with them. She would meet them at the port, taking a later train. Gray would have been almost literally worrying at her ankles.
The conductor leaned out. “All aboard, Lady and Sirs.” Not a moment too soon. Calliban would truly have to be a fiend to be less annoying than Gray.

The long abandoned coal mines or northern Carlisle are a foreboding place. Wild dogs roam amidst the ruined foundation stones of former buildings, and rubble mounds rise like pyramids from the thorny brush. The slightest sliver of a moon cast little relief from the desolation, and one could hear the scurry of what one hoped was nervous herbivores. Praede walked carefully through the brush, Lenore perched upon his shoulder. Not a true raven, but rather a creature of the night, her vision in darkness was unnatural and he relied upon her. Beside them, Gray walked with his usual swagger, sipping from a silvered flask from some noxious concoction of alcohol and laudanum, all the while slashing idly at the foliage with his cane.
The local constabulary had reported a missing heifer from a nearby farm, which meant Calliban would be freshly fed. And hopefully less dangerous. As a side bonus, Lenore’s sense of smell was particularly keen with regard to slaughtered animals.
He had previously considered maintaining speech between the group in French but he’d been warned that Calliban, being partly demon, had a gift of tongues. And so discrete conspiring would be more difficult.
“The scent is stronger?”
The bird upon his shoulder nodded with a twitch of feathers. “Very close now. Hard to determine the carrion’s scent, however. Calliban himself is quite odorous, and has been all through the area …”
Gray made a sound of derision. “How lovely …”
“Calliban is a creature of many facets. He was a foul traitor, and would be rapist to fair Miranda. However, he at times was also a useful servant and many of his detractions may be due to upbringing. A witch for a mother, and demon for a father. Not what one would wish for.”
Gray feigned a sob. “Oh, verily. My heart bleeds for the beast.”
And it was with that a great iron rod shot forth from the darkness, a good nine feet in length, and skewered Gray through the chest, pinning him to a small tree. A whoop was heard from the darkness.
“Be careful what ye wish for, varlet. Good Calliban be the bearer of fulfillment.”
Praede sighed. Gray would be fine once the rod was removed from him. In fact, he was even now trying to pull himself off the skewer. And Praede wondered from a moment if Lenore had seen the beast lining up the immortal and let it transpire. The beast was awe inspiring. Near seven foot of pure muscle, with mottling colors, half white, half black … and with patches of scales of either color. The musculature, while not in any way symmetric, was immense. The beast, even were it simply mortal, could doubtless have torn a ox apart with it’s bare hands.
“Well said, Calliban, former minion of fair Miranda. We greet you, and bring you an offering. For on the next hill we’ve brought a full half keg of good Irish rye.”
Calliban looked at him strangely.
“You do not flee? You do not fear Calliban?”
Praede smiled, and took a step forward.
“Not in the least, good sir. Why, amongst the learned of my companions you are legend, both for strength, and in cleverness. We bring you good will …”
Calliban shook his head, watching curiously as Gray slowly pulled himself off the metal pole.
“I wouldst be more interested in the rye of which ye speak …”
Already the beasts language was shifting to the more modern. Cambions were such an odd breed, and their gift of language was unnatural. There was a sucking noise as Gray extracted himself painfully, pulling himself down the length of the pole and with a popping sound extricated himself from the pole. He stood a moment, hand on his knees. Even for such as him it must have been painful. Still, when he bent to recover his possessions, Praede noticed he picked up his flask first and swordcane second.
“The aforementioned is a gift. And much more available to one who would consider a temporary alliance.”
Calliban looked at him suspiciously.
“Ye art no god. I’ve been fooled afore. What does a mere mortal need of poor Calliban …”
Gray took a swig from his flash.
“Blasted Mooncow …”
Calliban glared, but Praede interrupted.
“You can understand Mr. Gray’s annoyance. You did stick him to a tree.”
Calliban’s eyes squinted. “So, ye be wizards. Again to force this poor one into servitude.”
It was a statement. However, Praede shook his head..
“Not servitude, my good fellow. Companionship. The members of our group are well paid, in cash, food, drink, and the niceties of life.”
“So said Ferdinand, and a dozen others over the years. Always they strove to make Calliban their slave.”
Praede smiled. “Against our principles, good sir. Though we deal most harshly with harm dealt toward ourselves or to innocents, ESPECIALLY including women, we reward our friends handsomely. And, as you know, a slave is never truly loyal to it’s master, but a friend … a friend is something entirely different.”
Calliban stared a bit blankly.
“Ye twist words to make THEM your servant …”
Praede shrugged. “Them, but never you, good fellow. Unless you betray us.”
Calliban considered.
“Ye defy death. And, aye I fear death. For I know not my journey’s end whence I throw off my mortal coil.”
Praede nodded.
“All intelligent men fear death. But by joining us you will do good in the world. And so, besides mortal comforts, you may also be impressing upon heaven that you may be worthy of it’s invitation. And what more can a man wish for.”
Gray made an snort of annoyance as he looked down upon his ruined shirt, tie, and jacket.
“Ruined. You do know you’re paying for this, Praede.”
Praede looked at him, and nodded. It was then he noticed Lenore had flown from his shoulder and was doubtless scouting the area. He appreciated her confidence in his ability to deal with the beast, but he’d have felt better with her there.
“Fine food, fine drink, fine clothes, and servants to attend you. What say you, Calliban?”
An eyebrow lifted on the mottled head.
“Fine women?”
Praede shrugged.
“Only if they’re willing. Though with the coin you shall acquire, there’s a very good chance of success in that regard. But again, only if they are willing.”
Calliban considered, fingers running along the collar of the rags which he wore. A ratty skirt formed from a blanket, and a shirt tied together from a half dozen ragged bits of cloth. He looked at Praede’s fine and Gray’s once fine clothing.
“Agreed …”

Two days later they were at sea …the beast Calliban had been feed pastries and heavy drink, bathed by servants and dressed in fine though extremely sturdy clothing. It was custom tailored for his size. With a scarf and with his hood up, he might pass as human. Well, IF it were an extremely cloud night. The beast was now on the deck, enjoying the sight of the beauteous Lady Holmwood lounging at the prow. And who could blame him? Still, to such a simple creature she was a goddess. And she relished in the attention. She was intelligent enough to know that the worship of such a powerful beast could be useful. AND it kept his attention off Lenore when she was in human form. So, especially for that reason, Praede was grateful to Lady Holmwood. Gray, after realizing Holmwood was quite resistant to his own charms, and seeing there were purposely no female servants aboard, had taken to drink, smoke and reluctant cards or billiards with Praede and the ladies. Praede was a master of Whisk, taught to him by his mentor, and Gray seemed dedicated to defeating him.
Their ship, the Damacles, was a converted freighter and perfectly suitable for their purposes. While unremarkable on the exterior, within it was heavily reinforced, and totally gutted and refurbished. If not for the porthole style windows and the sway of the floor, one might believe it the interior of a manor house. There was even a fireplace and a skylight.
Praede‘s companions, however, were relentless upon one subject. The reason for their mission. And to this end Praede himself was unable to help. He had simply been given orders to take the team to Boma, a port city in Lower Guinea , Africa. There, Mycroft promised orders. It all was terribly mysterious, but not the first time he’d worked under such conditions. Mycroft was a genius, and as such horribly logical. If there was no reason to divulge the mission until arrival, then he would not do so.
The group seriously needed some team building exercises … combat practice, and the like. But the ship was severely lacking in the facilities to do this. He maintained his exercises and meditation, and even target practice by shooting spinning targets hanging from poles off the back of the ship. The wildly dancing circles proved a formidable task. He averaged one miss in 9 using his derringers (modified Remington Elliot 4 shots). That would have to be improved upon.
On the third day, he cursed slightly under his breath upon missing two shots in a row. “Bullocks …”
This brought feminine chuckle from the deck behind him. Unbeknownst to him, the Lady Holmwood had approached unheard … a feat in and of itself considering his remarkable hearing.
“Oh, I’m sorry milady. I thought I was alone. My apologies at my rudeness.”
She laughed. “Not at all. It was good to hear you drop your guard. Did I detect a cockney accent there for a moment?”
He shrugged. “I learned to curse from a friend with such an accent. He was someone from my youth …”
She laughed again, and licked her lips. Dear god, he could not help but think how enticing they were. “I found it charming. I love accents. I once dated a fellow from Texas. But I suppose you knew that.”
He nodded. “I was well briefed on your history, and remarkable attributes.”
She cocked her head to the side. “ ‘Well briefed.’ So, you know WHAT I am. And you are neither repelled, nor uncontrollably enthralled like many. You are an odd man, Jonathan Praede.”
“I’ve been called annoying, challenging, frustrating, meddlesome, obstinate, and outright maddening. I can accept odd. While you walk the edge of life and death, I find you intelligent, charming and lovely. I also find you a married woman, and married to a very noble gentleman whom I would not dishonor. Any admiration I hold for you must and will always be unrequited.”
She sauntered up to him, her face inches from his and looking up to him. He ever so wanted to bow his head and kiss those lips. But he refrained. She looked at him for long, agonizing moments then lifted her finger and kissed it, and touched it to his lips.
“Mister Praede, you will never know the bliss that might have been briefly yours …”
He could only nod, then remembered to take a breath.
“Good afternoon, Lady Holmwood.”
She walked away, with a lithe sway like a great cat.
“Good afternoon, Jonathan.”

The port of Boma was a massive slum, at least on the oceanfront area. Natives in various stages of ‘civilization’ mixed haphazardly with all variety of foreigner. Ships from a dozen countries were docked, approaching or exiting the port. Their reservation had been received and upon their arrival, a messenger and guard were waiting upon the dock. Mycroft was always the genius of organization especially with regards to such things.
The messenger was a rotund young fellow, with mismatched clothing and a tattered hat with a brass button on the side. His long reddish hair was pulled back and knotted behind his head while at least three days of growth erratically surfaced on his cheeks, chin and thin upper lip. A sliver of wood hung from the side of his mouth, a makeshift toothpick of sorts.
“Greetings Mr Praede. I am James Elliott, sir, and at your service. A pleasure to meet you. I’m with …” His voice lowered substantially “… the company.”
Praede smiled, and gestured at the port authority rep that he might leave. “Good day, Elliott. Pleasure is mine, good sir.”
There was an awkward pause, and then Elliott passed him the envelope, And, in the method of the passing itself, it was revealed to be from M. The man’s thumbnail flicked the corner lightly as he made the handoff, the proper current sign. Then waited awkwardly while Praede read the cable within.
Translated, it read “Arrangements for travel made. Mission to recover artifact H3A. Opposition expected as information likely sold to competing interests.” He read on quickly, storing the information away as he read. The memory techniques he’d been taught were highly effective.
Good Lord. The Key of Solomon. Not the lesser grimoire created in the 17th century, but rather the true key of the mighty king. Only the ring held more power. Both gave the user the ability to summon and theoretically control demons and spirits. It’s location was discovered by the decades long research performed by one Octavius Gluck. Gluck, an elderly man, sold the information to agents of Mycroft. Unfortunately, he also sold the information to a another unnamed rival organization and even possibly a third. This proved to be an unfortunate choice, as he was found dead two days later.
Praede carefully folded the paper, and placed it back within the envelope. He was shaken. He’d faced many supernatural foes over the years, but what kind of maniac would summon demons to use as agents upon the world? It was unthinkable.
There was movement beside him, and Lenore had placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Our mission?”
He nodded. “One I hope we are in time to accomplish, for the sake of all …” For once, he wished his American rival Finn had gotten the assignment. Like Praede, the man had also been recruited at a young age and was just as finely trained.

Their barge was ready by morning. They would travel up the Congo, then take the Bangala river up to the point where it curved eastward. They would bring pack horses, mules and bearers, and head into the bush. Though he checked the work, Praede spent most of his time keeping tabs on Calliban. The man worried him immensely. Then there was Gray. Gray seemed to be encouraging the beast to rebel, much to Praede’s dismay. That would be ALL that was needed … for Calliban to learn vice and vileness from the supposedly reformed prince of depravity.
Finally, the beast had fallen asleep - numbed by tankards of strong drink. Servants assumed the duty of watching him while Praede got a few hours of rest and meditation. It seemed he had hardly lain his head down when drunken song carried through the rented wing of the inn … Gray was returning with a bevy of wild women. Lovely. The man was a albatross tied round his neck.
Splashing water on his face, and pulling on slacks he walked out, leaning on the railing and glaring down on the ‘man’. At the sight of his shirtless form, the girls let out a rowdy cheer, accented by hoots and whistles. They wanted to know who Gray’s “pretty’ friend was.
“He is our schoolmaster, the stern hall monitor of our revelry.” Gray raised a flash to him, made a drunken bow and then finished the liquid. Good lord, had he drank the whole bottle of that vile brand? Praede wouldn’t use it to clean his boots.
“Schoolmaster? My, how the mighty have fallen …”
A beautiful woman stood in the door, lightly garbed, and though obviously of an older vintage than the throng of young girls, she was still a stunning sight. Long dark hair ran in waves down toward her waist, and she seemed less affected than the others. Perhaps the madam of their small circle? Yet something …
“Cor! Nancy??”
Gray was dragging the girls toward the stairs. “Which of you lovelies will make a fine purse of coin and try to mount the man mountain in my company. Be aware … it is no mean task …”
There was another round of laughter and off color jokes. However, Praede had lost all interest in them.
“Nancy Sykes?” His accent again recovered, his lapse unnoticed by the drunken Gray. His second slip in as many weeks.
“Aye, me boyo. Tis I, your old friend. If that IS you I see?”
He smiled. He’d changed so much … and she, so little. Still beautiful after all these years. Time had barely touched her.
“I thought you dead. We all did.”
She shook her head.
“Was not me that me fiendish love Bill put in the ground, but me sister Constance. The drunkard didn’t know the difference, and slew her in my stead. When I learned of ‘er fate, I ran … all the way to Liverpool. A few months later, I slipped away on a passing ship.”
He was wide awake now, and vaulted the balcony railing with a light spring. His hand caught a beam on the way down, and he landed spryly before her, and stood … now half a head taller than she. When they’d last met, he’d been a boy of four and a half feet.
“Lord, Nancy. I’m sorry glad you’re alive. I … I’m so sorry …”
She shook her head again.
“Boyo, ye were a lad at the time, a manchild the size of Bill’s arm. Ye couldn’a have stopped him. Cor, but ye’ve become a fine man. Tall and straight. Yer nose is even straighter …”
He laughed.
“Broken and reset when I was in Australia. I spent months in the outback … and took a tumble in a rockslide. A local fixed me up, better than new.”
She smiled … and sunshine filled the room. Or had it been streaming in the window with the dawn the whole time?
“Far better. Ye look delightfully tasty, boyo. All grown up. But in need of some help controllin’ the troops, it ‘pears.”
He nodded. “Two especially. Possibly a third. The noblewoman in our party may pose a challenge also.”
She grinned. “Lady Holmwood? Yes, M’ told me of sech. The first two I can help with. Was why M‘ had me here with companionship prearranged. A bevy are lovelies, ain’t they?”
He blinked … having forgotten the girls with Gray.
“Mycroft sent you?”
She nodded. “I was sent here a week ago. Been working for the gent since about a year after Bill took his turn on the ropes. M’ saw me on the street in Cairo, and recognized me from me from me sketch drawn in the London papers the year earlier. Uncanny gent, he is.”
Praede nodded.
“He’s amazing. I’ve never seen another intellect like his.”
She nodded.
“He knew all ‘bout me, and me travels in a glance. And, on the spot, recruited me for the company.”
He raised a brow.
“You’re an agent?”
She nodded.
“Come now, boyo. The company takes ladies, and that includes all sorts of ladies of the evening. Not jest the long toothed ones.”
He smiled, and reached and hugged her close. A long felt weight lifted from his chest … he was guilty of many thing, but her death had been one of the first.
She eventually pushed him back, and trailed her nails down his bare chest.
“Best ye dress, then I’ll help get yer horses tethered for the quest. The two leggers included.”
Up the stairs a woman’s screech, of pleasure and pain mixed.
“And perhaps one three legged one.”
He frowned, but Nancy didn’t seem worried. Perhaps the girl had been prepared for Calliban’s mass.
“Are you coming with us? Would be great to have you along …”
She shook her head. “No, boyo. I have another matter that needs attention. Some undercover work, as it were, and I has ta leave right away. But I’ll contact ye once yer back in London. Right now, ye need to get ready. Good luck with that motley crew of yours.”
He laughed, and reached out, hugging her again and kissed her on the cheek. “Keep safe, Nancy Sykes.“
She shook her head. “Kensington now. Mother’s maiden name.“
He laughed again, turned and trotted upstairs to dress. He was suddenly filled with energy.

Elliott collected them a few hours past dawn, and they boarded the barge for the long trip upriver. The journey on the barge was a tepid reflection of the comfort of the Damocles. It was a chartered vessel - the first available. The stench was astounding. Still, they managed to survive the three day journey. They disembarked on an old pier … a burned out village nearby. He wondered if that boded poorly for their chances, but if M had faith in the team, then so did he. A full morning was spent unloading and preparing, and the camped on the riverside. He was glad to be off that horrid barge. It reminded him of the prison ship in which he’d sailed to Australia as a boy. Near constant beatings and threats of worse. Small wonder he’d escaped as soon as he could upon landing, preferring death in the wilderness to even more hellish prison life.
He shook his head and used meditation techniques to induce sleep. He awoke the pleasant sensation of a warm body beside him. He was briefly startled, afraid Gray had smuggled one of his wenches aboard and was giving Praede a lice filled prank. But he recognized the sweet scent of the lovely Lenore.
“Good morning, sweet lady.“
She smiled and snuggled up against him.
“Good morning, Jonathan. I kept hearing noises last night. And wanted to keep you safe.“
He chuckled.
“I’m feeling something other than safe at the moment. Are you … yes of course you are. You know, human ladies sleep with clothing.“
She poked him, “Gray’s ladies don’t.”
He shook his head, “Those aren’t ladies …”
He got up carefully, wrapping a sheet about him.
“We’re better get going …”
She stretched, “What’s the hurry.”
He shook his head again. “Again, ground rules my dearest.”
Praede turned his back under a whispering barrage of cajoling and offers, but he restrained himself. Good Lord, bring on the lions and wilder beasts. His resolve was suffering a severe beating on this mission.
Later, Praede saw a long line of pack animals and bearers just finishing the preparations to embark. There were two riding horses for each member, with three massive draft horses purchased for Calliban’s use. His seven foot, four hundred pound frame would have exhausted a smaller animal. Unlike his companions, Calliban had no skill in riding, but his complaints were half hearted. After all, he’d fulfilled his goal of female companionship and had no reason that the experience could not be repeated. His glee days later was still very evident. They all wore gray cotton head wraps and shirts beneath safari hats and jackets. Matching pants or safari skirts and hiking boots completed the wardrobe.
As they rode, Praede moved up to ride beside Calliban and engaged him in conversation, urging them to take point on the Caravan. The ulterior reason for this was to minimize Calliban’s contact with the bearers and animal handlers. While passable as human, Calliban’s extraordinary size and mottled often scaly skin would disturb the locals. Lenore, unfortunately, was left in the rear suffering barrages of Gray’s illicit wit.
The conversation was often off color. The subject of sex often came up in the beast’s speech, but as the long hours dragged on, he realized that Calliban’s motivation was not just gratification. He vehemently wished to have offspring. Thinking back on the legendary beauty of Miranda, he wondered if part of the beast’s lust for her was to offset his repulsiveness if she mothered his children.
“Have you ever tried truffles, friend Calliban? Such a simple plant, yet it is treasured for it’s worth … for it’s use in the preparation of delicious foods. It’s quality is hidden beneath it’s plain exterior.”
“ ‘Truffles’? No, what are ‘truffles’?” Lord, he’d all but lost his ancient speech patterns. Cambions were reported to be almost telepathic with regards to language. Uncanny.
“They look like a simple mushroom - not much to look at. But they are rare and valuable.”
“I would like to try them.”
Praede smiled. “They are best when prepared in a wine or meat sauce. I love good food. Food preperation is much like all forms of training. Especially combat. And cooks vary. Some have natural ability. I would probably put you in that category. Strong, fast, intelligent. For others it involved long sessions of training. As a mere mortal, I have to train relentlessly. Not to offend, but you are a rare find, friend Calliban. A natural pearl. Me, I am a mere human, and to be combat efficient I have trained manically since childhood. Like a lump of metal that needs to be worked into something of worth. Pearls come naturally perfect.”
Calliban looked at him, checking for sarcasm. But he found none.
“You speak with twists and turns, human. Like Prospero or Stefan. But perhaps without the cruelty thereof.”
“Never cruel, friend Calliban. You and I are of simple beginnings, but with strength of mind and the opportunity, we can and will be men of worth.”
Calliban started as if he’d been struck.
“Perhaps, human. Perhaps.”

Eventually the terrain became too rough for wagons, or even horse, and so they made their way on foot and with a dozen sure footed mules and double that number of native bearers. It was insect ridden, even worse than the Australian outback. And none of the native balms for insect repelling were available. The flora was entirely different. Still, it was tolerable. And his companions other than Lenore seemed resistant. In her true form, she’d have been feasting but in her human guise, she was as vulnerable as he.
The downhill climb down from the mountains was just as treacherous. Moreso in fact. One of the bearers broke a leg and three of his companions stayed to help him back to civilization. Such as it was. Jungle hiking, with the nights filled with howls of monkeys. He liked the monkeys. But he knew it was the silent ones one must fear. Calliban relished the wilderness. He would go out for long hours, and return jubilant. He would bring back wild game, and their supplies were abundant. However, when he brought back a leopard, the bearers began to whisper. If only he’d taken a weapon other than his spear. It would have seemed less unnatural.
Days turned into weeks, and by the third week they were well into and out of German territory. By the fourth, a day from their target if his navigation was correct. And he’d be taught it by the finest navigator the society has to offer. Phileas himself. Ah, if only the old man were more spry. He’d love to have worked with the old man in his prime. Eccentricities notwithstanding.
The bearers were happy to make camp a day away while the team moved forward on horseback. Praede slid from the saddle silently and and began to move stealthily down the narrow path, a treacherous climb but nothing compared to what lay ahead. His comrades were incredibly graceful as they went, as was he, leaping from ledge to ledge like a team of Ukrainian mountain goats. Conversation was minimal, even Gray was thinking of what lay ahead. And what a destination. The lost temple of Abiathar, high priest of King David, exiled by Solomon . Abiathar had favored Solomon’s brother over Solomon in choice of successor.
Praede paused a moment, mentally calling forth the the map. Literally called it forth, like one would a servant. He‘d been taught memory techniques by a mentalist in the service of Mycroft. The trick was to mentally store the memories in an imaginary place. Some people used houses or palaces. Praede used the streets of London that he’d known so well as a child. Mentally, he was standing outside of a dance hall, the marquis was displaying the map in glorious detail, placed there at the beginning of their journey. Yes, according to the map, this dangerous descent was the only entrance into the boxed canyon below. In ancient times a tunnel had been used, but it had been destroyed ages ago. With one last leap he was at the bottom of the chasm. Now, the entrance should be 12-1300 paces to the north.
It was eerie in the chasm. Sheer cliffs with jagged edges lined the three mile rift. They were near the south end. Even at midday, like it was now, it was deeply shadowed. A mere fifty feet wide, and with sides towering 60 to over a 100 feet in height, it would seem the bottom of a mine shaft come nightfall. Lady Holmwood seemed to revel in the darkness, as did Calliban. Vampire and Cambion were at home in the shadows.
Lenore trotted quietly over to him, and stretched up on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. He raised an eyebrow, and didn’t fight when she took his hands and placed them upon the shoulders of her Safari dress. “Jonathan, my darling. Hold onto these for me? I don’t want to give Gray a view.”
He did as she asked, holding the cloth of her dress on the shoulders. She kicked off her boots, and the shadows around her shifted. In a moment, her head was wrapped in the darkness and disappeared down the neck of her dress, and her hands did the same up the sleeves. A second later, a sleek and elegant raven stepped out from under the hem of her dress, and stretched. A soft ‘mmmm’ escaped the birds lips, and Jonathan realized how long it had been since she’d assumed avian form. Unlike most ravens, she was nocturnal but with the bearers and companions along, she’d refrained from the change, as she called it.
Gray made an ‘ohhhh’ of disappointment at her discrete change and though Calliban didn’t say anything, he too looked disappointed. Jonathan felt something else, guilt at not empathizing with her reluctance to remain human so long. “Lenore, my sweet princess, I should have known ..” He heard a feminine chuckle from Lady Holmwood, amused.
She winked and leapt into the air, taking flight, and going forward to scout the way. He knew Lenore could see perfectly well in near total darkness. In fact, of the group, now only Gray and himself were limited to human sight. Best for both their sakes they hurry and make entry to the temple before nightfall.
“We should pick up the pace, my friends …”
Calliban grunted. “As if you could keep up with me ..”
He grinned.
“I would never attempt it, my friend. I should have said I will pick up my pace, if you all would kindly stay with me …”
Gray snorted.
“I don’t tire. I wish sometimes I did. I will prance along in as brisk and undignified a manner as the rest of you.”
Holmwood chuckled again.
“Never tire? You’ve finally said something that arouses my interest …”
Gray grinned lewdly.
“Arousal is always good.”
Praede began to move, trotting along as quietly as a mortal was capable.
“Keep your head in the game, lady and gents. Head in the game.”

In just under three quarters of an hour of travel, a remarkable time given the jagged rocks, they approached was should be the temple. They saw nothing of the sort, but there was a deep pocket of shadows on the western wall. The gleaming black raven perched on an outcropping of boulders, awaiting them.
Her voice was sublimely perfect but a discrete whisper, not the distorted sounds he’d heard from normal ravens and parrots. It was Lenore. “I thought about going in by myself, but didn’t want to deal with the tongue-lashing I’d get.”
Gray perked up at that. “Tongue-lashing? Either of you ladies care for one? Preferably in your human forms, but it’s not a deal breaker.”
Jonathan glared at him and surprisingly Calliban gave him a swat to the back of the head. Gray was shocked, as was Praede.
The gigantic cambion leaned forward and remembered to whisper. “Praede’s woman.”
Gray glowered. “Stupid mooncow, if you touch me again you’ll draw back a stump.”
Holmwood stepped between.
“Gentlemen. As Mr. Praede says, ‘Head in the Game’ please.”
Gray grumbled and unsung from his back a case, opening it, and withdrew a long silvered rapier and a short barreled pistol. Praede thought they might have a battle until Gray kicked the case aside with a clatter of noise and headed toward the shadows.
“Until later then ...”
They let Gray take the point, and Calliban screwed his great spear together … the wicked blade the length of Praede’s arm. He would learn later it was a gift sent to Calliban from Mycroft via Nancy. The blade was ancient and rumored to be enchanted. The shaft was modern, hence the collapsible nature.
Lenore flew up and landed on his shoulder with a light whisper. “Praede’s woman …”
Praede readied his Hawkins rifle. “Head in the Game, my dear ..”
As they came up to the shadows, they found them visually impenetrable. It was like a curtain hung down over the cliffside. Gray snarled and stepped forward. And yelped painfully to the accompaniment of a falling noise and the sound of various bones breaking.
“Watch that first step. Especially you, Praede. Mortal bones don’t mend like mine.”
Calliban stuck his blade into the darkness, then carefully pushed his head into the darkness while his body stayed without.
“There’s a drop off. About thirty feet down to stone. There’s dead people there. Old and new.”
Old and new? Praede carefully put his head into the shadows. They WERE like a curtain. Once through the curtain, a person could see perfectly, the sunlight streaming in. There were two dead humans, very fresh and in modern garb, at the bottom of the pit. They lay amid some ancient bones in tattered rags. Ancient victims. It was about 12 feet across. Looking through Praede could see ledges on either side one could walk on, about three feet wide. It was only dangerous if one tried to enter in the center of the shadows.
“A sincere thank you for the warning, Gray. I owe you one.”
Gray grunted, and nimbly climbed up on the other side.
“If not more …”
Calliban grunted, and merely leaped the distance, landing lightly. Holmwood and Praede took the ledge route, moving carefully, ready to leap back should the ledge collapse. Once together again, Praede whispered to them.
“It could be random explorers but more likely the rivals we were warned about. No telling the numbers.”
Holmwood shook her head and knelt, sniffing the stone.
“Five human males, two females, and three other beings.”
Calliban looked down.
“No dust …”
Praede raised an eyebrow.
“No dust. There should be lots of dust. This stone is clean. This place in inhabited.”
Praede looked at the markings on the walls. “Abiathar was a Judaic priest. These are not Judaic markings. These are the symbols of Moloch. A demon god who demanded child sacrifice.”
Even Gray looked disgusted. Of all the rumors surrounding Gray, none included children.
“If any of his priests still live, they die.”
They all nodded in agreement.

They carefully searched and made their way into the temple. Multiple antechambers lay empty, likewise curiously clean. Stone braziers were filled with fresh charcoal and oil, ready to be lit. There was only one option - the frontal approach to the great bronze doors at the top of 11 massive stairs. The steps were high, appearing NOT to be made for human steps, but someone greater than even Calliban‘s size.
The doors themselves were rune covered, but one lay twisted, and showed evidence of a dynamite blast. The group carefully approached the stairs when another door, concealed in the ceiling itself opened. A voice rang down, smooth and deep, cursing in some ancient language.
Two forms leapt down, taking the twenty foot leap without harm, landing resoundingly and flat footed on the hard stone.
There was a blur of action, far too fast for normal eyes to see. Lady Holmwood snarled and her eyes glowed red, and she leapt upon the first one, slashing it’s chest while twisting effortlessly and tumbling about it’s body to leap upon it’s back. The claws left trails of red upon the beast, but it’s thick scaled hide deflected most of the wounds, as it also was thwarting Holmwood’s wolf like bites upon the back neck of the creature. It would take her precious seconds to ripe down far enough to do damage.
Praede had once seen a wolverine attacking a wolf. Lady Holmwood’s attack was just as vicious. The damage, while not quickly debilitating, was distracting, and Calliban took advantage, stepping up skewer the beast through the heart. Distracted, it barely managed to partially deflect the attack with a massive claw, taking the blow to the shoulder instead of chest. Still, it looked horribly painful.
Gray stepped up to face one alone. Immortality made him incredibly oblivious to danger. Or did he actually have a death wish? Praede wondered again. A mercurial blur of his blade struck the beast, slashing through it’s throat. The first cut left a thin line, the second a deeper one, three more slashes and blood began to spray. However, the beast was lightning fast also. It ripped into Gray, clawed hands grasping him and six inch nails pierced his chest and heart. This appeared only to annoy Gray who spat at it. However, one claw had also pinned Gray’s sword arm to his side.
Not as fast as his comrades, Praede was no less deadly. His custom .50 caliber Hawkins took a second to reach his shoulder but once there, it roared. Vertically double barreled, the first round blasted into the creature fighting Calliban and Holmwood. The bullet caught the creature in the left eye, the opposite side of the head from Holmwood, still tearing at the creature’s throat.
The thing staggered back, then fell, Calliban pinning it to the ground with the spear as it clawed at him. However, Calliban’s advantage in the reach with the spear kept him out of it’s range. Suddenly, however, Holmwood screeched inhumanly and rolled away from the creature, then leapt back in attacking with claws only. Her eyes which had gleamed red before were now glowing like red hot coals. She ripped into it with a fury the likes of which Praede had never seen before.
Gray gasped, his lungs being torn from his chest. “Praede, if you have a moment …”
Praede swung the Hawkins over and blasted again, straight into the creature’s throat wound. It screeched and released Gray to grasp at it’s wound. If the gunshot had not been fatal, it’s mistake was. Gray again lifted his sword and neatly and nonchalantly sliced the thing apart.
Praede dropped the expended Hawkins, though he hated doing so. One should never so abuse such a fine weapon. But he did so catching it on his foot and rolling it to the ground. Given time he’d have set it down gently or slung it over a shoulder, but no time now. In a lightning movement he drew his derringers and moved forward on the other creature. But he needn’t have hurried. Holmwood had done her damage while Calliban kept him carefully pinned to the floor.
It was bizarre seeing Gray standing. He should have been dead. His insides were literally hanging out of him. Yet, he stood, and seemed to be in little pain. He DID seem impressed at the damage. Praede watched as his organs literally pulled themselves back into Gray’s body while the bones straightened, mended and encased themselves in flesh and skin. In the end, the man was bloody but intact. Amazing.
Looking back again at the dying creature, it amazingly spoke … the same deep smooth voice. “Brother, why have you helped these intruders against us?” Latin. And it was speaking to Calliban.
Praede looked closer. The creatures were Cambions. Like Calliban, a mix of demon and human. However, these were much taller and had long prehensile tails, reptilian maws and massive claws. They made Calliban looked like a Parisian man about town.
Calliban looked shocked.
“I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t know .”
It looked at Calliban, and saw he spoke the truth.
“The other intruders were here. They’ve already taken the Key. They go to the Dark Gate. With the key it can be opened. They slew the others, and we stayed hidden. Half human, we stayed free willed. It only affects full demons and not creatures with souls.”
Calliban started.
“I … have a soul?”
But there came no answer. The creature had died.