found a man worthy of her devotion in Milan Noble. She knew she was his equal but she had to prove that to him before he would believe it. She didn’t intend to let him treat her like the other women he so frequently bedded, so she had asked him for this special task. If she could bring him the Devil's Bible it would prove to him she could be his partner in the dark kingdom he ruled. He was obsessed with the book and the curses that were supposedly within. It was his black hope, a fixation that she would use to bind him to her.
Natasha walked under the high arches towards the crypt, the path lit by tiny lights. She had been told that it was always open, a monk on duty praying for the souls of those taken before him. As she approached, the light from inside the crypt shone a deep golden red, as if the fires of hell burned within its portals. Natasha looked up at an inscription over the door. It read ‘We bones, lying here, for yours we wait.’ She smiled. It was melodramatic but effective for the chapel had been built for contemplation on the transitory nature of life. We will be bones soon enough, she thought to herself, but Death didn't frighten her. Her father had brought her up amongst the ancient sites of Egypt to believe that she was better than this life. She had come to believe her inheritance was the legacy of the pyramids themselves, an everlasting life. She was brought up studying the bones of the past, but now she was in Europe to learn more about how that history could be turned into temporal power. So, for now, she would be Milan’s woman while she learned all she could from him.
Natasha stalked into the crypt, her heels echoing in the silent space. It had a low vaulted ceiling painted in white with gold filigree and death’s head motifs. The columns and walls were decorated with long bones and skulls in patterns, swirling around those who prayed for salvation here. A monk knelt by the altar, head bent in prayer. Natasha walked up behind him and he turned his head as she approached.
“May I help you?” he enquired, his voice just above a whisper. She could see he was near the grave, wrinkles around his watery blue eyes cut deep into a face that knew pain and suffering.
“I’m looking for a book,” Natasha said. “I heard it was kept here.”
“We have many books in the church library. Was it something specific? The history of the crypt perhaps? We get many scholars here.”
He clearly knew she was not a scholar and Natasha stepped closer as he tried to rise off his old knees to face her.
“I want the Devil's Bible," she whispered, standing close to him. His eyes closed for a moment, as if to shut out the world. “I see you know the book. Where is it?”
The monk opened his eyes again and Natasha saw fear restrained in his soul.
“The ones who knew are buried here,” he said, “and their bones cry out to God to keep the location secret from those who would use its power.”
Natasha reached out with one perfectly manicured fingernail and scratched it down the monk's cheek.
“I don't believe you know nothing,” she said. “And I will have that book.”
She turned and beckoned to the shadows. Franco and Ivan stepped forward and the monk inhaled sharply, a primal sound of fear.
“My friends and I will help you remember if you don't show me where the book is,” Natasha said. “Why don't you just tell us now?”
The monk began to whisper a prayer. Natasha knew he wouldn't give them the book without some persuasion. Perhaps he didn’t even know where it was. No matter. He would be an example. Even if she had to get through all the monks to find the book Milan wanted, she would deliver on her promise. She looked around the crypt, eyes settling on two desiccated corpses that dangled from chains on the wall. One was a child, the other a man, but both were sacks of sagging flesh, hanging lifeless high near the ceiling. Saints perhaps, but now they would serve
Natasha walked under the high arches towards the crypt, the path lit by tiny lights. She had been told that it was always open, a monk on duty praying for the souls of those taken before him. As she approached, the light from inside the crypt shone a deep golden red, as if the fires of hell burned within its portals. Natasha looked up at an inscription over the door. It read ‘We bones, lying here, for yours we wait.’ She smiled. It was melodramatic but effective for the chapel had been built for contemplation on the transitory nature of life. We will be bones soon enough, she thought to herself, but Death didn't frighten her. Her father had brought her up amongst the ancient sites of Egypt to believe that she was better than this life. She had come to believe her inheritance was the legacy of the pyramids themselves, an everlasting life. She was brought up studying the bones of the past, but now she was in Europe to learn more about how that history could be turned into temporal power. So, for now, she would be Milan’s woman while she learned all she could from him.
Natasha stalked into the crypt, her heels echoing in the silent space. It had a low vaulted ceiling painted in white with gold filigree and death’s head motifs. The columns and walls were decorated with long bones and skulls in patterns, swirling around those who prayed for salvation here. A monk knelt by the altar, head bent in prayer. Natasha walked up behind him and he turned his head as she approached.
“May I help you?” he enquired, his voice just above a whisper. She could see he was near the grave, wrinkles around his watery blue eyes cut deep into a face that knew pain and suffering.
“I’m looking for a book,” Natasha said. “I heard it was kept here.”
“We have many books in the church library. Was it something specific? The history of the crypt perhaps? We get many scholars here.”
He clearly knew she was not a scholar and Natasha stepped closer as he tried to rise off his old knees to face her.
“I want the Devil's Bible," she whispered, standing close to him. His eyes closed for a moment, as if to shut out the world. “I see you know the book. Where is it?”
The monk opened his eyes again and Natasha saw fear restrained in his soul.
“The ones who knew are buried here,” he said, “and their bones cry out to God to keep the location secret from those who would use its power.”
Natasha reached out with one perfectly manicured fingernail and scratched it down the monk's cheek.
“I don't believe you know nothing,” she said. “And I will have that book.”
She turned and beckoned to the shadows. Franco and Ivan stepped forward and the monk inhaled sharply, a primal sound of fear.
“My friends and I will help you remember if you don't show me where the book is,” Natasha said. “Why don't you just tell us now?”
The monk began to whisper a prayer. Natasha knew he wouldn't give them the book without some persuasion. Perhaps he didn’t even know where it was. No matter. He would be an example. Even if she had to get through all the monks to find the book Milan wanted, she would deliver on her promise. She looked around the crypt, eyes settling on two desiccated corpses that dangled from chains on the wall. One was a child, the other a man, but both were sacks of sagging flesh, hanging lifeless high near the ceiling. Saints perhaps, but now they would serve
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