he said with dramatic flourish.
“Yeah, them.”
“Demonic killers with the utmost expertise,” Simeon added. “To hire them is to guarantee your quarry’s demise.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hired to manage their PR,” Francis said. It was his turn to smile, but it didn’t last for long.
“I admire them,” Simeon explained. “That’s all. It’s hard to find dependable help these days.” He sipped the last of his sherry and then turned in his chair as he set the empty glass down upon the table. “I’ve actually heard the same about you, Francis.”
“Me?” Francis responded with a laugh. “I doubt that I’m anywhere near the level of the Bone Masters.”
“You’re too modest.”
“More realistic than modest,” Francis said. He, too, finished his sherry and leaned over to rest the glass upon the table. “But we’re not supposed to be talking about me. I need to know everything you can tell me about the Bone Masters.”
Simeon leaned back in the club chair and crossed his long legs.
“Let’s see; a demonic species that excels in the act of murder, psychically linked with a species of animal that is transformed into their chosen weapon upon its death. A biological weapon that fires bullets coated with one of the deadliest venoms in all existence.”
“Any cure for the venom?” Francis asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Simeon answered. “To be hit by these projectiles pretty much signs your death warrant.”
“Where can these Bone Masters be found?”
“That is a secret of which they are very protective.”
Francis didn’t like that answer. “So you don’t have a clue?”
Simeon shook his head. “No idea whatsoever.”
“I thought you said . . .”
“I never said that I knew where they were, but I do have an idea of how you might find them.”
“All right,” Francis said. “I’ll bite. How?”
“The animals,” Simeon said simply. He poured another glass of sherry for himself.
“The animals,” Francis repeated. “What exactly does . . . ?”
“The animals that become their murder weapons. I know the location of their habitat.”
“So if I know where these creatures can be found . . .”
“Exactly,” Simeon interrupted. “The Bone Masters will not be far behind.”
“I like that,” Francis mused. “So here’s the question, then. What will this information cost me?”
Simeon played it coy, downing his second drink and smacking his lips almost comically as he let the empty glass dangle from his grasp. “It will not cost you a single cent of money.”
Francis waited for the bomb to drop.
“As I mentioned earlier, your reputation precedes you,” Simeon began. “And I have need for someone with your special skills.”
Francis didn’t have a good feeling about this, watching as Simeon began to spin the ring upon his finger.
Imagine that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“It was to be a time unlike any other,” the Fossil continued. “That which had been sundered was to come together again; Heaven was to be unified once more, and the world of man was to join this new holy union.”
Images flickered in the recesses of Remy’s mind, flashes of memory that were not his own. He saw the streets of his home, the streets of Boston flowing with people, their faces turned to the sky, bathed in the unearthly light that shone from the Heavens above them.
It was true. It was all true.
“We were being invited into a pretty exclusive club,” the Fossil said. “We could all feel it in our very souls, believers and nonbelievers alike. God was asking us to join His kingdom—asking us to be a part of Heaven.”
Remy closed his eyes, trying to tempt more from another’s memory. There were flashes of the Golden City that made him gasp aloud. He was there, amongst his kind again—accepted, wanted.
“I was there,” he whispered as he tried to dredge more from the deep recesses of someone else’s mind. It was there, just beyond his reach.
He stretched out with mental fingers, reaching . . . reaching. . . .
The flash of memory was like a physical assault. Remy grunted, pitching forward to the dirt floor. His mouth was filled with the taste of blood, and his mind with the image of a city.
For a moment he was mistaken, believing it to be the golden capital of Heaven, but it was not. This was another city, one recently risen from the fire and the ice, shaped from the desolation of the world’s original purpose.
Called Tartarus in frightened whispers, it had once been a prison for those who had betrayed the Lord God, a place of great suffering for those who had sworn their allegiance