meeting in Tibet. In all that time, Trench had never seen him eat a thing, nor found him sleeping. He came and went like a wraith in the night. “Even if the stories are true, he’s nothing more than a maniac with a gun. He can’t stop me.”
“You shouldn’t ignore them. Even a small pebble can lead to a great man’s demise.”
Trench sighed. He’d barely begun to study the Axiomata , but so far everything pointed to his eventual success. With the information contained in the tome, he would be able to find the last items he needed to open Lucifer’s Cage… But perhaps K’ntu was right: Jacob might need to grind the bothersome pebbles of the world—staring with Max Davies—into the ground first, before moving on to the next stage of his plan.
Smiling, Trench said, “Old master, I’ll take care of him. Trust me.”
The man who had tormented Jacob Trench mentally and physically did not return the expression. He regarded Trench as a tool, one that was necessary for the revival of the ultimate master they both served, but nothing more. If Trench died, K’ntu would shed no tears, but he would be forced to return to his lonely vigil in Tibet and the Cage would not be opened for many a year. That simply could not be allowed to happen. “Take no chances,” K’ntu warned. “This man must die or he will ruin everything.”
CHAPTER VIII
The Devil’s Night
Max sat in the damp grass, staring up at the moon. It was well past eleven at night, but he couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and he was restless. The dreams had come again, two since dinner. In the first, he’d been running down a dusty corridor, something nipping at his heels. In the second, he’d seen Evelyn, her pale arms bare in a thin gown of some kind. An ornate headdress adorned her head and she was bound to a large bloodstained altar. A snake had coiled itself around her left foot.
The nature of the dreams disturbed him greatly. Not just because it seemed that Evelyn was in danger, but because none of his visions had been quite so… vague… before. Normally, he saw the face of those he needed to kill, perhaps augmented by scenes of their crimes. But he didn’t recognize the cobwebbed lair that he had found himself in during his dreams tonight, nor did he see signs of Trench or anyone else. Was it supposed to be the tomb of Christian Rosenkreuz? If so, that meant that Trench was closer to his goal than Max would have ever dreamed.
“Mr. Davies?” a tremulous voice asked.
Max looked up to see Nettie, his chief maid, standing not far away, clutching at her robe. She was an elderly black woman with fiery, intelligent eyes and skin so thin that you could see it stretched taut over her bones. In the short time that he’d known her, Max had come to recognize several endearing qualities about her. Most notable amongst them was her deep and abiding faith in God, which had allowed her to endure a lifetime of racism and blocked opportunities. “Yes, Nettie? What is it?”
“Gonna catch your death of cold out here,” she warned.
Max couldn’t resist smiling. He had been burning up in the house, but the locals considered this weather to be abnormally cool for a summertime night. “I’ll come inside in a little while. Did you need something?”
“There’s a call from you. From New York City.” These last words were spoken with great solemnity, as if Nettie had just told him something that simply could not be believed.
“Thank you.” Max rose and dusted off his bottom. Nettie followed him as they headed back to the house, her eyes turned this way and that. “Something wrong?” Max asked her, noticing her nervousness.
“It’s a devil’s night.”
“I don’t follow you…”
“That’s what my mamma called it when the moon was all pink like it is tonight. A blood moon.”
Max didn’t say anything to that, though the old woman’s words chilled him on some primeval level. He’d heard similar things in his own youth and had found
“You shouldn’t ignore them. Even a small pebble can lead to a great man’s demise.”
Trench sighed. He’d barely begun to study the Axiomata , but so far everything pointed to his eventual success. With the information contained in the tome, he would be able to find the last items he needed to open Lucifer’s Cage… But perhaps K’ntu was right: Jacob might need to grind the bothersome pebbles of the world—staring with Max Davies—into the ground first, before moving on to the next stage of his plan.
Smiling, Trench said, “Old master, I’ll take care of him. Trust me.”
The man who had tormented Jacob Trench mentally and physically did not return the expression. He regarded Trench as a tool, one that was necessary for the revival of the ultimate master they both served, but nothing more. If Trench died, K’ntu would shed no tears, but he would be forced to return to his lonely vigil in Tibet and the Cage would not be opened for many a year. That simply could not be allowed to happen. “Take no chances,” K’ntu warned. “This man must die or he will ruin everything.”
CHAPTER VIII
The Devil’s Night
Max sat in the damp grass, staring up at the moon. It was well past eleven at night, but he couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and he was restless. The dreams had come again, two since dinner. In the first, he’d been running down a dusty corridor, something nipping at his heels. In the second, he’d seen Evelyn, her pale arms bare in a thin gown of some kind. An ornate headdress adorned her head and she was bound to a large bloodstained altar. A snake had coiled itself around her left foot.
The nature of the dreams disturbed him greatly. Not just because it seemed that Evelyn was in danger, but because none of his visions had been quite so… vague… before. Normally, he saw the face of those he needed to kill, perhaps augmented by scenes of their crimes. But he didn’t recognize the cobwebbed lair that he had found himself in during his dreams tonight, nor did he see signs of Trench or anyone else. Was it supposed to be the tomb of Christian Rosenkreuz? If so, that meant that Trench was closer to his goal than Max would have ever dreamed.
“Mr. Davies?” a tremulous voice asked.
Max looked up to see Nettie, his chief maid, standing not far away, clutching at her robe. She was an elderly black woman with fiery, intelligent eyes and skin so thin that you could see it stretched taut over her bones. In the short time that he’d known her, Max had come to recognize several endearing qualities about her. Most notable amongst them was her deep and abiding faith in God, which had allowed her to endure a lifetime of racism and blocked opportunities. “Yes, Nettie? What is it?”
“Gonna catch your death of cold out here,” she warned.
Max couldn’t resist smiling. He had been burning up in the house, but the locals considered this weather to be abnormally cool for a summertime night. “I’ll come inside in a little while. Did you need something?”
“There’s a call from you. From New York City.” These last words were spoken with great solemnity, as if Nettie had just told him something that simply could not be believed.
“Thank you.” Max rose and dusted off his bottom. Nettie followed him as they headed back to the house, her eyes turned this way and that. “Something wrong?” Max asked her, noticing her nervousness.
“It’s a devil’s night.”
“I don’t follow you…”
“That’s what my mamma called it when the moon was all pink like it is tonight. A blood moon.”
Max didn’t say anything to that, though the old woman’s words chilled him on some primeval level. He’d heard similar things in his own youth and had found
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