the way back to the exit when he stumbled on his long robes and his book tumbled to the floor.
Jackie bent over to retrieve the tome while the priest steadied himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll get—” her words stuck as she saw the page the book had flipped open to.
Valdis rushed past her and grabbed the fallen book. “These robes are a death sentence,” he said. “I really need to hem them when I get a chance.”
Her mind elsewhere, Jackie only had time to mutter, “Definitely,” before Valdis had ushered her to the door. He yanked it open and all but pushed her through.
“Good luck with your investigation,” he said, guiding Jackie through the archway. “Please let me know if you have any more questions.” The detective had just enough time to hand him a card with her name and phone number, before the priest shut the door in her face.
She chewed her lower lip for a moment, studying the door, then walked absentmindedly back to the cathedral’s entrance. I knew it was going to be one of those days .
When the book flipped open, Jackie hadn’t recognized any of the lettering filling the narrow margins from side to side. However, she had made-out the drawing in the middle of the page: a twisted pattern of lines and symbols that moved in and about each other. A picture that looked eerily similar to a drawing Jackie had seen back at the hospital.
A drawing of a mark on Hunter Friskin’s left arm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sky was fading to a dark lapis when they finally reached the mansion.
For the first hour Hunter had tried to follow their route, but eventually gave up when the car took its eighth turn onto a dirt-packed mountain road. He had closed his eyes— just giving them a rest, just for a second— and, after what seemed only a few minutes, felt a sharp gab in his ribcage.
He opened his eyes to twilight.
Rubbing his side, Hunter glared at Karen. “Thanks.”
“Oh, stop whining. We’re here.”
Exiting the car, Hunter casually studied his surroundings, doing his best to memorize every detail. They were well into the mountains, but he couldn’t tell if they had crossed the divide to the Western Slope, or if they were still in the Foothills. The wide evergreens and brilliant snow-covered pines made him think they were in Summit County, but that was only a three hour drive, tops. And, despite the foliage, Hunter couldn’t remember Summit County ever looking like this.
The mansion was at the end of a wide road that had probably been dirt recently, but now bore the slick-white look of new pavement. Hunter couldn’t make out where, or if, the road joined with I-70; all he could see were trees, snow, and the long, winding trail they had taken in.
The mansion was an enormous, sprawling monument that blended into the mountainside like a bloated chameleon. From a distance it appeared a single, monstrously large, building , but as Hunter exited the car he noticed it was actually a series of smaller, connected structures. The tallest of which, the entrance they were headed toward, rose up in the middle, narrowing at the top like the surrounding spruce trees. The exterior was a beautiful, soft brick, more brown than red, and interrupted in places by textured whorls designed to heighten the natural setting. The road lead up to the building, forming a large circle occupied by dozens of sleek, overly-polished cars.
As they reached the tall doorways that mirrored the green of the surrounding trees, Hunter tried not to stare at the stained glass windows bordering the entrance on both sides. The intricate pattern raced up the narrow glass from floor to ceiling in bright, interlaced spirals that reminded Hunter of his birthmark.
Karen rapped the huge, bronze knocker and was answered immediately. The wide double-doors swung open and a tall, well-dressed elderly man stepped forward. “Zadkiel,” he said with pleasure. “I didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”
Hunter twisted between the two men
Jackie bent over to retrieve the tome while the priest steadied himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll get—” her words stuck as she saw the page the book had flipped open to.
Valdis rushed past her and grabbed the fallen book. “These robes are a death sentence,” he said. “I really need to hem them when I get a chance.”
Her mind elsewhere, Jackie only had time to mutter, “Definitely,” before Valdis had ushered her to the door. He yanked it open and all but pushed her through.
“Good luck with your investigation,” he said, guiding Jackie through the archway. “Please let me know if you have any more questions.” The detective had just enough time to hand him a card with her name and phone number, before the priest shut the door in her face.
She chewed her lower lip for a moment, studying the door, then walked absentmindedly back to the cathedral’s entrance. I knew it was going to be one of those days .
When the book flipped open, Jackie hadn’t recognized any of the lettering filling the narrow margins from side to side. However, she had made-out the drawing in the middle of the page: a twisted pattern of lines and symbols that moved in and about each other. A picture that looked eerily similar to a drawing Jackie had seen back at the hospital.
A drawing of a mark on Hunter Friskin’s left arm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sky was fading to a dark lapis when they finally reached the mansion.
For the first hour Hunter had tried to follow their route, but eventually gave up when the car took its eighth turn onto a dirt-packed mountain road. He had closed his eyes— just giving them a rest, just for a second— and, after what seemed only a few minutes, felt a sharp gab in his ribcage.
He opened his eyes to twilight.
Rubbing his side, Hunter glared at Karen. “Thanks.”
“Oh, stop whining. We’re here.”
Exiting the car, Hunter casually studied his surroundings, doing his best to memorize every detail. They were well into the mountains, but he couldn’t tell if they had crossed the divide to the Western Slope, or if they were still in the Foothills. The wide evergreens and brilliant snow-covered pines made him think they were in Summit County, but that was only a three hour drive, tops. And, despite the foliage, Hunter couldn’t remember Summit County ever looking like this.
The mansion was at the end of a wide road that had probably been dirt recently, but now bore the slick-white look of new pavement. Hunter couldn’t make out where, or if, the road joined with I-70; all he could see were trees, snow, and the long, winding trail they had taken in.
The mansion was an enormous, sprawling monument that blended into the mountainside like a bloated chameleon. From a distance it appeared a single, monstrously large, building , but as Hunter exited the car he noticed it was actually a series of smaller, connected structures. The tallest of which, the entrance they were headed toward, rose up in the middle, narrowing at the top like the surrounding spruce trees. The exterior was a beautiful, soft brick, more brown than red, and interrupted in places by textured whorls designed to heighten the natural setting. The road lead up to the building, forming a large circle occupied by dozens of sleek, overly-polished cars.
As they reached the tall doorways that mirrored the green of the surrounding trees, Hunter tried not to stare at the stained glass windows bordering the entrance on both sides. The intricate pattern raced up the narrow glass from floor to ceiling in bright, interlaced spirals that reminded Hunter of his birthmark.
Karen rapped the huge, bronze knocker and was answered immediately. The wide double-doors swung open and a tall, well-dressed elderly man stepped forward. “Zadkiel,” he said with pleasure. “I didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”
Hunter twisted between the two men
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