by the hands of God’s supposed son,” Hallow said from his throne of oak. “And now you cannot die.”
Simeon attempted to sip from his cup, but his thirst was too great to hold back, and he greedily gulped at the liquid.
“Is this a blessing?” Hallow asked, swishing the contents of his goblet around as he pondered his own question. “Or is it a curse?”
Simeon lowered his cup. “Some more?” he asked, unsure of what the question might bring. He thought he might find himself strapped to a table, being forced to drink until his stomach bloated so badly that it eventually exploded.
“Give him more,” the necromancer commanded his monstrosity.
The beast responded with a throaty growl, loping back to refill the cup.
“Are you . . .” Simeon began, before partaking of any more wine. “Are you going to kill me again?”
Hallow laughed, a booming sound that echoed throughout the vast chamber of his castle home.
“It is a possibility,” the necromancer said with a slow nod. “But for now I believe I have seen enough.”
He drank deeply from his goblet, his steel gray eyes never leaving Simeon, seated across from him.
“When you first arrived here . . . when my vines took hold of you, I asked why you had come,” Hallow said. “You said that you’d come to learn.”
Simeon had finished the wine that had been poured in his cup, and was starting to feel its effects. His head had grown light, and the pain from his healing body didn’t seem quite so bad.
“I did,” Simeon answered. He looked toward the demonic creature squatting beside its master’s throne and held out his cup, giving it an impatient shake.
The demon hissed, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth, as it looked from Simeon to his master, and then back to Simeon.
“Give him more,” Hallow stated, and the demon begrudgingly obeyed.
“To learn,” the necromancer then said as the demon poured more wine into Simeon’s cup. “That is an awfully broad statement. What have you come to learn?”
Simeon stared at the older man over the metal rim of his cup.
“Everything that you know.”
Hallow laughed—a loud, braying sound. “Everything, you say. Do you realize how long I’ve lived to know what I do?”
Simeon stared intensely, wanting the necromancer to know how serious he was.
“How long it would take for you to learn even a fraction of what I’ve already forgotten?” Hallow asked.
Simeon could not help but smile at the older man. “Doesn’t matter,” he stated flatly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
The necromancer at first seemed startled by the sudden levity of Simeon’s words, but then the true meaning permeated through his copper skullcap, and down into his brain, and Ignatius Hallow began to laugh.
Sharing the joke of the forever man. Sharing the joke of the man who could not die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A certain energy once again radiated from the brownstone on Newbury Street, but up until recently, that energy had been missing.
Remy hoped to kill two birds with one stone on this visit. Climbing the concrete steps to the front door, he let himself into the entryway as he fished for the key that would get him into the building.
The fact that people actually lived in the building again seemed to give the old brick structure a life of its own, and Remy could feel it in the air as he stepped into the lobby.
Francis was back, reclaiming the building that had been left to Remy when the fallen Guardian angel was thought dead, killed during the upheaval in Tartarus caused by the return of Lucifer Morningstar.
But he had returned, unscathed, and with a new employer. Though the identity of his fallen friend’s new boss had yet to be discussed, Remy had his suspicions.
One does not walk away from an upheaval in Hell and not have scars to show for it.
Remy figured Francis would have the inside scoop as to what might have happened to Aszrus and on whether the Morningstar was interested in escalating a
Simeon attempted to sip from his cup, but his thirst was too great to hold back, and he greedily gulped at the liquid.
“Is this a blessing?” Hallow asked, swishing the contents of his goblet around as he pondered his own question. “Or is it a curse?”
Simeon lowered his cup. “Some more?” he asked, unsure of what the question might bring. He thought he might find himself strapped to a table, being forced to drink until his stomach bloated so badly that it eventually exploded.
“Give him more,” the necromancer commanded his monstrosity.
The beast responded with a throaty growl, loping back to refill the cup.
“Are you . . .” Simeon began, before partaking of any more wine. “Are you going to kill me again?”
Hallow laughed, a booming sound that echoed throughout the vast chamber of his castle home.
“It is a possibility,” the necromancer said with a slow nod. “But for now I believe I have seen enough.”
He drank deeply from his goblet, his steel gray eyes never leaving Simeon, seated across from him.
“When you first arrived here . . . when my vines took hold of you, I asked why you had come,” Hallow said. “You said that you’d come to learn.”
Simeon had finished the wine that had been poured in his cup, and was starting to feel its effects. His head had grown light, and the pain from his healing body didn’t seem quite so bad.
“I did,” Simeon answered. He looked toward the demonic creature squatting beside its master’s throne and held out his cup, giving it an impatient shake.
The demon hissed, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth, as it looked from Simeon to his master, and then back to Simeon.
“Give him more,” Hallow stated, and the demon begrudgingly obeyed.
“To learn,” the necromancer then said as the demon poured more wine into Simeon’s cup. “That is an awfully broad statement. What have you come to learn?”
Simeon stared at the older man over the metal rim of his cup.
“Everything that you know.”
Hallow laughed—a loud, braying sound. “Everything, you say. Do you realize how long I’ve lived to know what I do?”
Simeon stared intensely, wanting the necromancer to know how serious he was.
“How long it would take for you to learn even a fraction of what I’ve already forgotten?” Hallow asked.
Simeon could not help but smile at the older man. “Doesn’t matter,” he stated flatly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
The necromancer at first seemed startled by the sudden levity of Simeon’s words, but then the true meaning permeated through his copper skullcap, and down into his brain, and Ignatius Hallow began to laugh.
Sharing the joke of the forever man. Sharing the joke of the man who could not die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A certain energy once again radiated from the brownstone on Newbury Street, but up until recently, that energy had been missing.
Remy hoped to kill two birds with one stone on this visit. Climbing the concrete steps to the front door, he let himself into the entryway as he fished for the key that would get him into the building.
The fact that people actually lived in the building again seemed to give the old brick structure a life of its own, and Remy could feel it in the air as he stepped into the lobby.
Francis was back, reclaiming the building that had been left to Remy when the fallen Guardian angel was thought dead, killed during the upheaval in Tartarus caused by the return of Lucifer Morningstar.
But he had returned, unscathed, and with a new employer. Though the identity of his fallen friend’s new boss had yet to be discussed, Remy had his suspicions.
One does not walk away from an upheaval in Hell and not have scars to show for it.
Remy figured Francis would have the inside scoop as to what might have happened to Aszrus and on whether the Morningstar was interested in escalating a
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