Page 58 of Chasing the Red Queen

Finding courage, he sauntered to the French doors. He opened them and stepped through, leaving them ajar. On the deck, he paused, Antonio’s back to him. He raised the stein to his lips, the second taste so regal that he closed his eyes to swallow. He moved forward.

“As I mentioned, it’s an enchanting view,” Antonio said, eyes on a freighter navigating the lake.

Torin didn’t answer, the chatter of squirrels in the overhead canopy drawing his eyes.

“Thank you, the wine is excellent,” Antonio said, raising the crystal stein, without as much as a glance. “Nessum Dorma,” he mused. “You know I saw Pavarotti perform that very song in Moscow, hmm, I believe around nineteen sixty-two, maybe sixty-four, though I can’t be certain, the years slip by me.”

Torin took a seat beside him and they sat without words, sipping wine, eyes on the lake. Finally, Antonio said. “You reek of death.”

“With good reason, I just left another victim.”

“So I heard.” He sipped the wine. “Garret’s called a meeting. All five Siruns this time. Seems he is—hmmm, disappointed in you.” He pulled his feet from atop the bannister, crossed his legs then cleared his throat. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not sure what to say, he’s evading me, no—the sonofabitch is actually taunting me.”

“That’s not like you. Why is he so different?”

“I can’t put my finger on it.”

“So, what does your gut tell you?” Antonio asked, sipping his wine.

“That he’s a formidable force, older, at least six or seven hundred years—maybe more.”

“Interesting. His nationality?”

“I don’t know, he never spoke a word, but he bears a scar across one cheek, and if I had to guess, I’d say he’s a foreigner.”

“His Iridescent lineage?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue, like I said, a foreigner; he’s not of any bloodline I have ever encountered.”

They shared a look. “At the expense of repeating myself, that’s not like you, Torin. Something’s amiss.”

Torin averted his gaze. “Perhaps,” he said drawing air through his nose. “This case is different, I can’t explain it but believe me, he’s not your ordinary Iridescent.”

“Most likely from a distant land, here in search of a Chippewa and when she fails to meet the blood requirements, he takes his anger out on her body.”

“Maybe,” Torin breathed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Antonio simpered, sipping his wine. “Rumors are flying—worldwide, and though it’s been a thousand years since the Seventh Miigis walked this hallowed ground, the word has spread and now they come, like moths to the flame, seeking that which can make them all powerful.”

“He must be stopped!” Torin glowered. “He’s not just seeking power, he’s a sadistic demon who kills for pleasure, sexual satisfaction, hell, maybe both. If he gains Sirun status, the entire world will become a killing field.”

“You engaged him, one on one. Tell me about it. What are his weaknesses?”

“None that I could find. Like I said, he’s not your run-of-the-mill Iridescent.”

Antonio met him with hard gaze. “But he’s not a Sirun, so help me understand.”

“No, he’s not, so I can’t explain it, hell I can’t understand it myself. All I can tell you is that he’s quite adept at battle. He toyed with me, as if it was a game. Hell, he tossed me like a mortal and even after Gage joined in, the two of us were no match for him.”

“So, he evaded your attack?”

“Not exactly. As strange as it may sound, he seemed to enjoy the skirmish, but it was ill-planned. A group of people stumbled upon us. We were all three glowing, so I covered my face and Gage and I backed off. Scarface as I call him, since he bears a scar on his right cheek, took off, chasing after the female, a young girl from Michigan. Her name is Donja,” he paused, the word alone forcing his muscles tight. “Gage was bleeding pretty badly, so I pursued him alone. I found him on the bridge attempting to stop Donja’s vehicle. I once more engaged him, but we took an unexpected spill off the bridge and I lost him in the murky depths of the St. Mary’s.”

“Pity.”

“I will get him.”

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