Vintage Soul Read Online Free PDF Page B

and he – it – held a thick, ornate envelope in one hand.   At least Donovan assumed it was a hand.   The robes concealed the messenger’s features, so that it was impossible to tell if it was a man, or a woman, or if there was anything below the billowing cloak at all.   Donovan thought he caught a flash where the eyes should be, but it was impossible to be certain.   The same was true of the point where the envelope dangled from the creature’s arm.   If there was a hand clutching it, that hand was concealed beneath the dark material, and Donovan was fairly certain that, either way, he just didn’t want to know.
    â€œGood evening,” he said.   He held the door open slightly, filling the gap with his own form.   The messenger said nothing.   It wavered slightly and extended the envelope.
    Donovan frowned.   No verbal message.   He reached out and accepted the envelope.   The second he touched the paper, whatever force had held it evaporated.   Donovan stepped back with a start as the cowled form disintegrated into a cloud of black dust.   It maintained the vague form of a man, just for an instant, and then whirled into a funnel that resembled a small tornado before roaring down the hall in a rush of wind.   Donovan’s hair lifted from his shoulder, and a sensation like being pricked with ice cubes danced down his spine.   He glanced at the envelope, frowned again, and stepped back into his apartment, closing the door behind him.   As many times as he’d received such deliveries, the sensation of unease they caused never diminished.
    Cleopatra regarded him cautiously from her perch atop his arm chair, but he ignored her, stepped around his desk, and sat down.   He dropped the envelope into the soft pool of light from the lamp and stared at it.   His name was carefully penned across the center of the envelope.   There was no name attached to the return address, but he knew it well enough.   The envelope was standard stationary from the Bloodstone Financial Group, and he only knew one member of the administration of that fine institution.    He kept most of his valuables in the institutions vault, but somehow he didn’t believe this missive related to his personal account.
    Donovan pushed his keyboard and mouse aside to reveal an intricately carved design on the wooden desktop that covered most of the wooden surface.   It was a circle within a circle, the outer of which brushed the bottom and top edges of the desk and curved just inside the lamp.   Between the two concentric lines, symbols had been carved.   Within the center circle, an eight pointed star stretched so that each of its longer points, north, south, east and west, touched the ring.   Smaller points bisected the joint of each of the longer tines.
    He placed the envelope in the center of the circle, and then reached into a drawer to his right and pulled out four small metal braziers.   He placed them at the four large points of the star.   Next he filled each with a small measure of powder.   He laid a tiny, ornately decorated dagger in the circle beside the envelope, and cleared everything else from the desk.   He muttered a name under his breath and touched the tip of his right index finger to the powder in the first brazier.   It caught, blazed brightly for just a second, and then faded to a deep orange glow.   Tendrils of smoke rose, scenting the air with sandalwood.  
    Donovan repeated the process with the other three braziers, chanting a different name each time.    When all four were lit the smoke whirled, trapped between the two carved circles.   The symbols, and the desk, were obscured from view, and as Donovan sat back and concentrated, the envelope floated into the air as if plucked by invisible hands.   Donovan’s hands mimicked the motion.   He then reached down and lifted an invisible dagger from