Page 12 of Sacrifice

Stone saints gazed blindly downfrom the vaulted ceiling. Long dead and forgotten, their blank eyes watched Michaels walk the length of the nave to what had once been the altar.

This converted fifteenth-century church was Michaels’ home and had been for the last two hundred years. Save for relocating the skeletons beneath its tombstone floor, he’d kept most of the original features, including the large golden crucifix that hung high in what was now his bedroom.

It might have been a residence these days, but it still stood on consecrated ground. Michaels had made sure of that. Requested regular blessings from local clergy maintained its holy status. He’d added his own warding glyphs and protection spells to the ancient walls and now this was his sanctuary; a place that no dark soul would dare to enter. It was one of the few places he could relax.

He whispered a prayer and continued to the vestry.

Its small wooden door was deceptively thick, bound with iron and protected with yet more security sigils. He raised one hand and uttered the words which set the gears unseen grinding into motion to withdraw fat bolts.

He descended the chilly stone staircase beyond to the crypt. It was a chamber distinctly older than the church itself, a remnant of an earlier building, with tombs that dated back to the dark ages.

Its cold stone vaults held the bones of eminent knights and priests, but also something much more surprising. Michaels touched the upright slab of a tombstone, and it swung aside to reveal the entrance to a tunnel.

This was something Michaels had added himself: hisossuary. He took a deep breath and stepped over the line of salt that marked its boundary and made his way to a spiral staircase that descended further still. The stairwell walls glittered with thousands of ornately carved crystal jars, each one glowing with shades of purple and amber. Some burned brightly as he passed, while others flickered like a guttering candle.

Down he went, years of demon captures passing at his shoulder as he descended. Each was sealed with wax and marked with a rune. These were the dybbuk, a repository of spirits collected from the worst of humanity. Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, their inner demons amongst those of many other lesser-known tyrants, resided in this chamber. Demons that had taken possession of mortals and used them for their own devices. Dark souls that preyed on the weaknesses of men.

Michaels felt the demon spirit move inside the reliquary in his pocket, as if it could sense its fate. There was no escaping the magical bindings, and lodged here, behind the wards Michaels had installed, it would remain trapped for eternity. He stood the jar it at the end of the last populated shelf.

A wash of satisfaction pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth. One more down.

He sat down on the cold flagstones, pulled out his hip flask and took a swig of the whiskey inside. He shouldn’t enjoy it, it was a sin after all, but it smoothed the rough edges. Thousandsof dybbuks had been captured during his time on earth. He scanned the shelves to take them in. It was a literal army of the damned. These days, he counted himself among them.

Eight

A silver Bentley Continentalwaited in the street outside, its smart-suited driver holding open the door. Eve slid into its climate-controlled interior and scooted across the leather seats for Lucien Knight to settle in beside her. The car was gorgeous. The man was gorgeous. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience.

“This is very nice, Dr Knight,” she said with a nervous smile. She brushed her hand over the leather between them.

“Christie’s please, Philip,” he said to the driver, then turned to her and said, “Just the kind of thing you’d expect a fat-cat collector to own.”

Eve squirmed in her seat.

He gave her a wry smile. “And stop being so formal, please. Anyone would think we hadn’t already shared a coffee this morning.”

Eve cringed. “Shared a coffee. That’s one way of putting it.”

“You’re helping me out. We are now officially friends. All forgotten.” There was a slight arch to his eyebrow, and Eve couldn’t be sure if he was teasing. The glints of gold were there in his eyes again. “It’s good of you to agree. I’ll try not to take up toomuch of your time. It’s just I have to attend a faculty meeting, and I’ll never hear the last of it if I’m late again.”

Eve smiled. Being late was something she could relate to.

“No rest for the wicked,” she said. “Besides, what are friends for?”

A low rumble of appreciation came from Lucien. “Well, quite.” His voice was deep and smooth as velvet. It made the hairs on the back of Eve’s neck stand on end.

“It’s fine,” she said as the car pulled away into traffic. “I’m happy to help. Least I can do, really.”

More than happy. Riding around in a limo with a handsome billionaire or stuck in the gift shop stock room with the narcissistic Sienna strutting about in the shop? How crazy would I look if I pinched myself?

“I don’t remember seeing you at the Museum before,” he said.

“Well, you know, gift shop.” Eve felt a pang of disappointment in herself. “But I’m angling for a transfer into the Egyptology department,” she blurted impulsively. “First step today.”

“I think you will be excellently suited to the task,” Lucien said, and there was something about his tone that made Eve feel there was more to it. Just like the policeman who’d been pleased she couldn’t answer his questions, Lucien Knight seemed able to look inside her.

“Perhaps our meeting was fate,” he said.

Christies was housedin a grand eighteenth-century building in one of the most auspicious areas of London, St. James. When the Bentley drew up outside, Eve became suddenly ratherconscious of how she must look. The standard-issue British Museum polo shirt and trousers didn’t feel quite as appropriate as they had when she’d dragged them on that morning. Now they were an embarrassment, especially compared to her companion’s sharp designer suit.

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