The Lucifer Messiah by Frank Cavallo Page A

had entered with the girl, knocked unconscious and naked. No girl anywhere in sight—just her clothes scattered on the floor.”
    â€œInteresting.”
    â€œSo the owner checked the booth where the male no one recognized had sat down a few minutes earlier, and what did he find? The blond girl, alone and dressed in the guy’s clothes, finishing the drink that the unknown man had ordered.”
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œThe owner grabbed her by the arm, and picked her up to demand an explanation. A second later, he dropped her.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause when he looked at it in the light, the arm was a snake.”
    â€œHe was drunk as well?” Argus chided.
    â€œMaybe, but there’s more. After he dropped the snake the girl slumped back into the booth, again, all in shadow. When she got up a few seconds later, it wasn’t her, it was the strange guy again, and
he
walked out of the bar, stumbling, drunk, and laughing.”
    â€œSounds like one of us,” Argus said.
    â€œBased on his description, I’d say that huddled scavenger over there is our man,” Charybdis replied.
    The pair walked slowly, like hunters stalking prey. Slumped and quivering, the quarry did not appear dangerous to all outward appearances. If he were indeed the man they suspected him of being, however, then they knew that he was likely the single most dangerous man in Prague, ifnot in all of Europe besides.
    They neared with great caution.
    Argus placed a shriveled hand on the beggar’s shoulder, fighting back his instinct to choke on the brew of stale alcohol and human waste that hung about him. Charybdis waited beside him, prepared for trouble if it should arise.
    â€œMy son. Let us help you,” Argus said, gently lifting the head of the unfortunate wretch.
    Immediately he realized that his search had ended. The face was that of Sean Mulcahy, just as he remembered it from the first and only time he’d seen it, in St. Petersburg, Russia, in 1918.
    Argus recalled taking hold of the young drunk, and carrying him to a waiting carriage. From there they had taken him to a small two-story home in Zizkov, a sheltered neighborhood outside the bustle of the city center. They’d used the side entrance to avoid dragging the dirty young American through their spotless foyer.
    He had awakened after a bath and a drink of black coffee. Argus laughed as he thought on it, for the young man’s voice and manner had been, in those days, almost as foul as his odor.
    They wasted little time. Once Sean regained his consciousness, they settled in the central room of their suite. Still somewhat woozy, Sean nestled into the folds of a soft ermine couch next to a crackling fireplace. The little old lady in the black dress and stringy white hair left briefly, leaving him alone with the tall Viking.
    â€œWhere am I?” Sean asked.
    â€œThe Haven of the Three Shields,” Charybdis answered from beside him.
    A moment later the tiny woman returned. Hobbling on her gnarled cane, she clutched something large close to her breast. It was a book, which she presented to Sean when she sat down beside him on the couch, the Nordic man still standing.
    â€œOur home, here in Prague. Your home as well, if you wish it to be,” Argus added.
    â€œI ain’t got no home,” Sean said.
    â€œVery well, many of us are wanderers. For whatever you choose to do, know that you may stay here as long as you like. You are safe here, my son.”
    â€œSafe? From what?”
    â€œFrom the outside; from those who do not understand us and who fear what they do not understand.”
    â€œUs?” Sean questioned, sitting up fully as Argus opened the ancient book across his lap. “What is this?” the American asked.
    â€œTake it, my son. It may answer some of your questions,” Argus replied, settling the leather-bound volume to rest comfortably in his lap. The hide cover was beaten and