Blood Brothers: A Short Story Exclusive Read Online Free PDF

disappearance, Arthur had spent most of his life traveling, reporting, and chasing down leads about savage killings and mysterious priests, trying to find his brother, or at least to understand what had happened to him. It was a passion that he had shared with Marnie, until her death six months ago. Now he wanted only to finish the work and be done with it.
    With everything.
    At last, at the end of things, he was close.
    Several years ago, Arthur had uncovered rumors of a secret order buried deep within the Catholic Church, one that traced its roots to its most ancient days—a blood cult known as the Order of the Sanguines. He crossed to his desk and picked up a leaf from an old notebook, the edges ripped and curling. A photo had been taped to it. Someone had sent the picture anonymously to Arthur two years ago, with a short note hinting at its importance. It showed Rembrandt’s The Raising of Lazarus, portraying Christ’s resurrection of a dead man. Arthur had marked it up, annotating his many questions about this dark order, of the rumors he had heard.

    He let the sheet slip from his fingers, remembering the dream of a burning church.
    Had his brother joined this order in the past?
    He glanced at the orchid.
    If so , why come for me now , Christian?
    Arthur suspected the reason. It was stacked on his desk in a neat pile. Over the past decades, Arthur had gathered further evidence, enough to be believed, about this Sanguines cult within the Church. Tonight, his source—a representative of a group called the Belial—was scheduled to come and deliver the final piece of proof, something so explosive that the truth could not be denied.
    Arthur picked at one of the soft petals of the orchid.
    He recognized it as a threat, a warning, an attempt to silence him.
    Arthur would not be intimidated. As the day wore on, he tried repeatedly to reach his Belial source—a man named Simeon—to move up their evening meeting, but he could never reach the man. By that afternoon, Arthur considered simply fleeing, but he realized that there was no point in trying to hide. He was already in too deep. Besides, a recklessness had settled over him since Marnie’s death—he just didn’t care anymore.
    So he waited for the night, enjoying his favorite meal from an Italian restaurant down the street, complementing it with a bottle of his finest pinot noir. He saw no reason to skimp. If this was to be his last meal, he might as well enjoy it. He ate it in his kitchen while watching the sky turn orange behind the Golden Gate Bridge.
    Finally, a knock sounded at his apartment door.
    Arthur crossed from his study and peeked through the peephole. A man dressed in a navy blue suit stood out in the hall. His face and shorn black hair were familiar from a grainy photograph passed to Arthur at a bar in Berlin. It was Simeon.
    Arthur opened the door.
    “Mr. Crane?” The man’s voice was low and hoarse, with a Slavic accent that Arthur couldn’t quite place. Maybe Czech.
    “Yes,” Arthur said, stepping aside. “You should come inside, quickly now. It might not be safe.”
    This earned a soft smile from the man, possibly amused by Arthur’s caution. But the man did not know about Christian or the orchid.
    As his guest entered, Arthur checked the hall outside and the stairs leading down to the old Victorian’s stoop. All clear.
    Still, a chill ran up Arthur’s back, a prickling of the fine hairs on the nape of his neck, a sense of immediate danger. He quickly followed Simeon inside and closed the door behind him, locking the dead bolt.
    Simeon waited in the foyer.
    “Let’s go to my study.” Arthur led the way.
    Simeon followed him and stepped to Arthur’s desk, staring around the room. His gaze settled upon the marked-up page showing The Raising of Lazarus . He motioned to that sheet.
    “So I see you already know of the bloody origins of the Sanguinists,” Simeon said. “That Lazarus was the first of them.”
    “I’ve heard fantastical