Soul to Shepherd by Linda Lamberson

walls lined to the ceiling with books, notebooks, journals, and small lock-boxes and chests. There were no ladders or stepstools that I could see, but Shepherds had other means to get what was out of reach. A desk sat at the far side of the room, flanked by two rather uncomfortable-looking chairs, upon both of which were more stacks of books and journals. A single reading lamp sat precariously on the corner of the desktop, which was also littered with books and journals. That was it—no pictures, no trinkets, no personal effects of any kind. And instead of a frescoed ceiling like in the main library of the Archives, there was a domed glass skylight that ran the entire length of the room.
    “Where are we?” I asked as I continued to survey my surroundings.
    “My private office.”
    “I thought only Council Members could have private spaces.”
    “Your point?” he asked.
    “So, you’re a Council Member?”
    “Based on your assumption, it would seem so,” he replied somewhat smugly, making me feel a little uncomfortable as I realized he still hadn’t answered my question. I had no idea if he was annoyed with me or not. I couldn’t read his emotions or his mood. Was he passive, passive aggressive, or just a plain old pompous intellectual snob?
    “In response to your earlier question, the facts I am aware of, and the ones I deem important to know, are the following: the Servants attacked your charge—pardon me, your now former charge—on the fourteenth of April of this year at precisely seventeen-hundred hours and fourteen minutes in the city of Bloomington, state of Indiana, country of the United States of America. In so doing, the Servants collected some of his blood against his will. You were able to save your charge. Yet, despite this having been his Third Incident, the Order believes your charge still is in danger—that he has been chosen.”
    “‘ Chosen ’? Chosen for what?” I interjected.
    “To play a significant role in tipping the scales of good and evil in the Servants’ favor, thereby throwing our universal balance, our natural order, into a state of upheaval and chaos, resulting in a cataclysmic end for all life as we know it.” Tartuf’s explanation sounded so rehearsed, so sterile, it was as if he didn’t care in the least if any of what he’d just described actually happened.
    “Incidentally, I also learned your demise is of particular interest and desire to the Servants. They did not expect you to become a Shepherd when they killed you over a year ago. Nor did they ever expect you to reconnect with your true soul mate after you became an immortal. But, remarkably, you did both. At the moment, the Servants need you—or more accurately, Mr. Harrison needs you in order to develop the strength the Servants are so keen on exploiting. But you will also develop said strength, which would be a liability to them. Mathius is concerned you will interfere somehow with their plans for Mr. Harrison. Rumor also has it that Mathius won’t risk our side having a soldier with equal or, dare I say, superior strength to what he only hopes will become a high-ranking officer in his own army. Thus, the Servants seek to eliminate you from the equation once they’ve got what they wanted from you.
    “As an added dose of motivation, you single-handedly destroyed a Servant. Not an easy feat. And certainly not an act the Servants will turn a blind eye to. They want their revenge, and you can bet they have something very special planned for you when the time comes.” Tartuf looked at me with some degree of satisfaction at his recitation of the facts. I stared back at him blankly, not knowing what he wanted me to do or say.
    “Now would be the time to add anything of relevance that I may either be unaware of or have overlooked—something pertinent to what I can and will tell you about the Servants and how best to try to prevent what they plan to do.”
    I cleared my throat. “Uh, Tara mentioned something