The Night Eternal by Guillermo del Toro, Chuck Hogan Page A

the Ancients. Then you must be one of the Master’s breed …”
    Yes. And no.
    “Uh-huh. That’s convenient. Mind me asking how you got here?”
    Your friend Gus. The Ancients had me recruit him for sun hunting.
    “I remember. Too little, too late, as it turned out.”
    Fet remained guarded. This didn’t add up. The Master’s wily ways made him paranoid, but it was precisely this paranoia that had kept Fet alive and unturned over the past two years.
    I am interested in viewing the Occido Lumen . Gus told me that you might be able to point me in the right direction.
    “Fuck you,” said Fet. “You’ll have to go through me to get it.”
    Mr. Quinlan appeared to smile.
    We seek the same goal. And I have a little more of an edge when it comes to deciphering the book and Setrakian’s notes.
    The strigoi had closed Setrakian’s notebook—one that Fet had reread many times. “Good reading?”
    Indeed. And impressively accurate. Professor Setrakian was as learned as he was cunning.
    “He was the real deal, all right.”
    He and I almost met once before. About twenty miles north of Kotka, in Finland. He had somehow tracked me there. At the time I was wary of his intentions, as you might imagine. In retrospect, he would have made for an interesting dinner companion.
    “As opposed to a meal himself,” said Fet. He thought that perhaps a quick test was in order. He pointed at the text in Q’s hands. “Ozryel, right? Is that the name of the Master?” he said. Fet had brought along with him on his voyage some copied pages of the Lumen to study whenever possible—including an image Setrakian had first focused on upon opening the Lumen. The archangel whom Setrakian referred to as Ozryel. The old professor had lined up this illuminated page with the alchemical symbol of three crescent moons combined to form a rudimentary biohazard sign, in such a way that the twinned images achieved a kind of geometric symmetry. “The old man called Ozy ‘the angel of death.’ ”
    It’s “Ozy” now, is it?
    “Sorry, yeah. Nickname. So—it was Ozy who became the Master?”
    Partially correct.
    “Partially?”
    Fet had lowered his sword by now and leaned on it like a cane, the silver point making another notch in the floor.
    “See, Setrakian would have had one thousand questions for you. Me, I don’t even know where to start.”
    You already started.
    “I guess I did. Shit, where were you two years ago?”
    I’ve had work to do. Preparations.
    “Preparations for what?”
    Ashes.
    “Right,” Fet said. “Something about the Ancients, collecting their remains. There were three Old World Ancients.”
    You know more than you think you do.
    “But still not enough. See, I just returned from a journey myself. Trying to track down the provenance of the Lumen. A dead end … but something else broke my way. Something that could be big.”
    Fet thought of the nuke, which made him remember his excitement at returning home, which made him remember Nora. He moved to a laptop computer, waking it from a weeklong sleep. He checked the encrypted message board. No postings from Nora since two days ago.
    “I have to go,” he told Mr. Quinlan. “I have many questions, but there might be something wrong, and I have to go meet someone. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll wait here for me?”
    None. I must have access to the Lumen . Like the sky, it is written in a language beyond your comprehension. If you produce it for me … next time we meet I can promise you a plan of action …
    Fet felt an overwhelming urge to hurry, a sudden sense of dread. “I’ll have to talk to the others first. This is not a decision I can make alone.”
    Mr. Quinlan remained still in the half-light.
    You may find me through Gus. Just know there is precious little time. If ever a situation called for decisive action, this is it.

INTERLUDE I
MR. QUINLAN’S STORY
     
    T HE YEAR 40 AD, THE LAST FULL YEAR OF THE REIGN OF Gaius Caligula, emperor