Phoenix Contract: Part Three (Fallen Angel Watchers) Read Free

contrary to what you said about the victims only having twenty-four to thirty-six hours before they turn,” Aiden said.
    “My medication has delayed the onset of the condition. However, as my health fails—“
    “What happened at the hospital?” Aiden asked, grim and suddenly still.
    Matthew nodded. “It’s not a cure. The medicine simply delays the inevitable. If I go more than a couple days without taking it, the transformation begins. Severe physical injury or trauma has the same effect.”
    “I’ve searched unsuccessfully for a cure for forty years,” he said. “I cannot go to my superiors in either the Church or the Watchers. It would be a death sentence. They’d have me killed rather than risk further contamination.”
    It was difficult to remain fervent in the face of his stoic acceptance, but she didn’t understand. How could he be so resigned? Maybe she could have accepted a Zen-like approach to his own death, but this apathy didn’t sit well with her at all. What would happen when he finally did die?
    “Magnus and I have an understanding,” Matthew said, answering her unvoiced question.
    Aiden jumped, staring at the priest with unease. Was she so easy to read? “An understanding?” she repeated. “Does that mean…”
    Father Matthew nodded again.
    “Oh.” She stared down and absently rubbed her fingertips over the rug, using the contrast between smooth and coarse as a distraction. The circumstance might explain at least some of her dreams. But what kind of a man could kill his friend of more than forty years? His best friend?
    They sat in silence for a while, isolated in their internal world of discord and discontent. A cleared throat created a harsh disruption, and both of their heads jerked up to stare at the person framed in the doorway. A chill hit Aiden, and she had to bite back her dislike of the woman. How long had Desdemona been standing there? What had she heard?
    “Excuse me, Father Bunson,” Desdemona Leromenos said, gazing at priest and student with a disapproving gaze. She wore a severe black dress with long-sleeves that ended just above her wrists, and she had pale, frail-looking hands. Her hair, pulled tight atop her head, matched the straight line of her lips.
    “Not at all, Madame Leromenos. How can I help you?” Matthew asked, standing to show courtesy. The priest remained, as always, unfailingly polite when dealing with the stunningly unpleasant woman.
    “Yes, Father. I require your expert opinion on a matter.” Desdemona indicated the carry case she clutched in her bony fingers. “It’s a sword. A very ancient and powerful one.”
    Matthew’s brow rose inquisitively. “Of course, bring it here, and I’ll have a look,” he said, gesturing with one hand. The priest removed his spectacles from his pocket and put them on. He turned up the lighting and moved to a suitable workspace, an oak table in the center of the room.
    Curious, Aiden rose and followed.
    “It’s a sensitive matter,” Desdemona said, casting a pinched, significant glance toward Aiden. Feet together, she stood rooted in place, clutching at the case as if someone might try to take it from her.
    Matthew’s eyebrows rose, and he looked Desdemona directly in the eye, his stare unwavering. “Aiden is my apprentice. Anything I have to say is important to her education. She’s welcome to stay.”
    Desdemona glared, and her lips pursed. The Watchers remained locked in a silent contest of wills and minutes ticked by like centuries. Finally, Desdemona looked away.
    “Very well,” she agreed huffily, shooting a narrowed eyed look toward Aiden. Reluctantly, Desdemona surrendered the case to Father Matthew.
    “Alastors Troy and Katsue came across this during their search for Thor Aston. They found it immediately following your hospitalization so I have been waiting for an appropriate time to show it this morning,” Desdemona explained.
    “Has there been any further word on Thrash?” Aiden