The Fallen One
Sons of the Dark Mother
Book One
Conrad picked up a glass and buffed it with the soft cloth in his hand. He held it up to the light, beneath the upper shelf showing down on the glass below. Satisfied, he set it down, adjusting it slightly so that it stood in perfect alignment with the others. He grunted, approving what he saw. The soft light above the glass shelves, lining the shelves behind the bar of the tavern, shown down on his work.
Conrad didn’t have too much glass in the tavern. It didn’t survive well in a fight. Not that he tolerated brawls in his tavern. Still, he enjoyed the little glass he’d installed into the bar-back. He had an affinity with the beautiful dark mahogany wood of the bar and tables. But the little glass he’d allowed, he guarded fiercely. And heaven help the man who broke any of it.
His keen perception felt his new visitor, even before he heard the click of the back door. A friend, then. For only a friend could possibly get past Conrad’s particular form of an alarm system. When no one appeared for several long moments, Conrad smiled. So, he had a rare visitor. He couldn’t be more pleased. Only Lucius, or an enemy trying to sneak by, could bring the beast from rest in the middle of the day. But even he couldn’t pick up the silent tread of Lucius before he appeared soundlessly from the dark interior of the storeroom.
Lucius had to duck to go under the door. He straightened and stood there, looking at Conrad. A large man, Conrad stood at six feet himself, but Lucius still held at least five inches over him. And Lucius always had to turn sideways, to get his shoulders through to come through that door.
He wore his long, white hair, shot through with silver, pulled up on both sides and tied in the back. He wore three thick, silver hoops in each ear, each hoop progressively larger than the other. He wore an impressive white and silver outfit, even to Conrad. The pants were barely showing because of the split tunic hanging past his knees. It looked somewhat like something a Samurai warrior might have worn, except for the color. But no matter how impressive he appeared, no one would have missed that he looked like he came straight out of a futuristic movie—or that Lucius was not human. He remained cloaked in glamour, to all who didn’t know him, so when they saw him, they saw only what they were ready to see.
“I see Beast is as fat and lazy as ever,” Lucius said. “You spoil him. When it is time for war, he will be content to lie there and watch you do all the fighting.”
Conrad grinned at him. Both men knew Beast longed for the fight. “He misses you,” Conrad said. “And Gargoyle Mansion.” He saw Lucius lip curl at the name.
Lucius came forward and took a seat at the bar. The bar stool creaked beneath his weight. “I have asked Mira not to call it that,” he complained. “Now, she will have everyone calling it that.”
Conrad set a glass on the bar and took out a bottle of aged whiskey, pouring him a drink. “I see she hasn’t broken you of wearing those outfits,” Conrad teased. “Too bad the humans can’t see you.” He laughed, shaking his head. “That would be something I sure wouldn’t want to miss. You would scare them to death.”
Lucius actually looked wounded.
“I’m sorry old man,” Conrad put the emphasis on the old because Lucius was, in fact, thousands of years old. “But you look like a warrior. And not just any warrior—but one who could take on a whole legion of armies on his own. How would you expect them to react?”
Lucius smiled. And even to Conrad, his smile took on a feral gleam. “Good,” he said. “Because there is one who can see me. And I hear he is on his way here—even as we speak.”
Conrad stared at him. He stepped close and leaned over the bar toward Lucius, his voice nearly a whisper, “Please don’t tell me you are talking about Constantine.”
Lucius went still as stone. He gave Conrad a dark look. “You know that for him—even the walls have ears.”
Conrad inclined his head at this. “But Justice only just returned,” he said in a growl. “His walls are pretty damned accurate.” He turned a glass over for himself, and this time, he poured them both a drink. “At least I know why you’re here. Did your men come with you?”
Lucius nodded. “Some of them. Do we know where Dracon stands?”
“He’s always stood with Justice—even when he’d have liked to torn up the world as we know it, and even when Justice himself treads carefully with that one.
Lucius took a sip of his whiskey. “I would too.”
Conrad nodded, now. No one would want Dracon for an enemy—except, maybe, Constantine. But then, Constantine chose to come—even with Dracon—even with Lucius—and even with Justice himself….
Lucius peered at him. No one could keep that one from coming, he said from inside his head.
Conrad glared at him. “You know I hate it when you and Dracon do that.” He grouched. “Where are your men now?”
“Waiting or my word.”
“Conrad stepped to the register and pulled open a hidden drawer underneath. Turning he tossed a set of keys at him for his place out back. “Take beast with you or he’ll never forgive me,” he said.
Lucius nodded his thanks and stood. “I’ll get the men settled and bring Micah, Roman and Caesar back in an hour.”
Conrad grinned. “I look forward to it.”
“Get Justice to join us,” Lucius said, destroying any notion Conrad might have held of them getting drunk, for old time sake, and with that he slipped quietly out the back.
When Justice walked in, an hour later, Conrad knew immediately something was wrong. “The new girl?” he asked as he watched him sit down across from him at the bar.