Page 63 of The Shadow of the Count
“What I really wanted to tell you, however, was that Grant consulted his archives. He found a chronicle of your count. He was nobility in the fifteenth century. He was a fierce warlord, and apparently a lover of men. One man in particular. His name was Dorin.”
Dorin.What happened? Was he discovered?he wrote.
“The various church officials and other chieftains decided he needed to marry. They knew about Dorin and insisted the count set him aside and take a bride. When he refused, they took him from the count’s castle while the count was away on a raid and stoned him and pressed him with great rocks before burning him.” Clark looked ill.
He winced, tears filling his eyes. He understood. He did. He would declare vengeance on anyone that dared hurt his Donald like that.
“Apparently, the count went on a spree. He killed everything and everyone he could within reach of his home and then went into the city and killed anyone who participated in the decision to take Dorin.” Clark pressed his lips together. “Grant thinks this damned him for eternity. He took his wife, but then he killed her too.”
How? This wasn’t the first man on earth to commit atrocities—they walked among thousands of hollow-eyed men from the trenches—what made the count special?
He made a gesture with his hand, and Clark shrugged. “There are ways, Peter. Just like in the desert. Why did that particular man become the walking dead? It’s a matter of circumstance.”
Peter grimaced. Why did that circumstance have to bring him into the count’s library where he put Don in danger?
“You know the answer to that.”
He blinked up at Clark, shocked, and the evil shit of a man shrugged. “What? You have absolutely no poker face. You know as well as I do that we were brought to that malevolence to destroy it. It’s the only answer.”
When Clark put it that way, he could at least blame their mysterious M. Grant for all this. He shook his head, scribbling in his notebook.What do we do?
Clark’s expression went stony. “We kill him. Supplies are waiting for us at Yvgeny’s village. Grant is supplying us with what we need. We’ll burn him down and salt the earth.”
Peter nodded. Too many people—innocent people—had suffered. It was time to cleanse the world and let the count’s soul be weighed by the good Lord.
“I just wanted to get you up to speed, my friend. You and Don are not alone in this. We’re with you, and we have Grant’s full support and resources.”
Peter tried to appreciate that, but it was a bit of a cold comfort. Especially since people kept saying that and they remained on their own. Their friends were there, but some shadow man was still pulling strings.
He wanted to meet this Grant in person, to look into the man’s eyes and judge his intentions. Maybe to spit in his eye.
“Did you want anything to eat, Peter? I noticed you barely touched your dinner. You need to keep up your strength.” Clark laughed without mirth. “This is Paris. You should try the bread and the pastry.”
He wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t hungry. But he did try a tart that looked tasty. It was too. It just did nothing for him.
Donnie was utterly terrified of this place—even now, he dreamed of the catacombs, of being chased by animated corpses.
He stood, needing to get back to his lover.Jeb was a fine guard, but Donnie needed him.
“Thank you for listening to me, Peter. We’ll do this.”
Nodding, he headed for the door, his feet itching. He wanted to get back to Don.
As he stepped into the hall, he saw someone leaving his room, the man’s back broad, covered in an expensive overcoat. He wore a top hat, as if he’d come from the opera, and used a cane with a silver head in the shape of a dragon.
Peter tried to call out to him, to confront him, but the man disappeared down the hall in short order, and Peter refused to give chase, needing to see Don instead.
Jeb met him at the door to their chamber. “He’s sleeping better now, buddy.”
He motioned down the hall.Who was that? Was he dangerous? Why was he in their room?
Jeb sighed. “Grant. He wanted to see Don.”
What? Jeb and Donnie got to meet him, but not Peter? Oh, he would hit the man with that cane should he ever see him again.
He pointed to his chest, then spread his arm out. What was he? Chopped liver? He actually stomped his foot, making Jeb chuckle.
“Temper temper, now. He ain’t real talky no ways. Neither are you right now, come to that.”
