Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

ripening crescent moon. I toasted the moon’s silvery beauty with my grape juice.
    ‘To new beginnings,’ I murmured, surprised to discover tears welling in my eyes.
    When the mosquitoes had finally become the victors of the evening, I retreated inside to leaf through a few of my aunt’s sketchbooks. Johanna had been a prolific artist; it would take months to sort through her work.
    I also discovered a beautifully carved wooden box in her studio with an exquisite shell painted onto the lid. It was locked. I was keen to discover the key and examine the contents, but my attempts to locate the key proved fruitless and I was reluctant to destroy the box just out of idle curiosity.
    There were hundreds of black-covered sketchbooks, all neatly labelled with the year. I selected one of the more recent ones. The girl in the store was right — some of Johanna’s artwork had been pretty creepy. One whole journal was dedicated to demonic-looking angel figures. Detailed notes accompanied many of the sketches. The angels appeared similar in build. Huge dark wings enfolded their bodies, beatific faces that were both serene and sadistic. Their hair was long, in some cases to their knees, woven into intricate plaits with tiny bones for decoration. Huge rays of light emanated from around their heads. Some had genitals, the males’ phalluses resembling huge, overgrown flowers. The women had open vulvas similar to a human vagina. They were a disturbing contrast of light and dark, of evil and purity.
    Around one particularly beautiful angel Johanna’s handwriting detailed the following:
    Ishran. Dark King. Angel Lord. Son of Seleza. Ability to draw energy from humans until death occurs. Husband of Sati. A Crossa. A Ghormho.
    What on earth had initiated the transformation of Johanna’s work from happy dancing fairies and elves to these sinister, cartoonish beings? They were not even as technically well executed as her earlier work. My heart began to pound faster as I read another caption under a snarling, almost shapeless being with black hairy arms and protruding needle-sharp claws.
    Solumbi. Manifestations of mankind’s negative thought patterns. Causes death by draining creator’s blood. A Crossa.
    I stared at her nightmarish Solumbi. It was like a distorted grizzly bear. The hairy monstrosity had myriad eyes, huge, lethal claws, and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Outside, the rain began to fall again. In the attic bedroom overhead, a floorboard creaked.
    Later that night I had a hot chocolate on the back steps, watching the waxing moon as the shadows across her surface played tricks with her light. I had a good laugh to myself about my over-reaction to my aunt’s artwork. I imagined heading down to the local police station in the morning to inform the boys I had a new lead on Johanna’s murder.
    ‘A Solumbi, sir, one of my aunt’s very own creations,’ I’d tell them. ‘A most peculiar thing, it must have come to life somehow and drained the blood from her body!’
    I could guess their response. I grinned, and let my thoughts unfocus.
    Hypnotic sounds of crickets merged with an owl. Bats flew swiftly overhead. The breath of the garden was savoury. Thyme, jasmine, verbena, roses; they gently blew their soothing perfumes at me. Overhead the moon shone silent benediction upon the earth.

CHAPTER FIVE
    L ater that night, as the moon illuminated the sky over the town’s lights, the Stag Man entered Emma’s new home. He sniffed the air warily, daintily; were the Solumbi here? The odours of the Bluites’ everyday living assailed his senses. Toothpaste, perfumes, dead cells lying around the house, the bitter tang of unfulfilled dreams and regrets, the musky aroma of sexual desire and the heavy, sweet smell of shock that still vibrated through the house. Overwhelming odours flowed around the Stag Man.
    He paused outside Emma’s bedroom door. He could sense the deities of Morpheus and Hypnos and his tension eased somewhat; she was