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

asked.
    “No, nothing yet,” Watcher Leromenos said. “Alastor Aston left the weapon in the possession of a friend,” Desdemona said. “This friend knew to call Troy once he realized that something was amiss.”
    “There’s a civilian involved?” Matthew asked sharply.
    “Two, and only briefly,” Desdemona replied. “I’m satisfied that they didn’t see or understand enough to become a nuisance.”
    “What about their safety?” The priest scowled, disapproving of his colleague’s lack of concern.
    “If they’re smart and mind their own business, then they’re in no danger,” Desdemona said. Her lips pursed, and her eyes hooded. “If not .... They’ll be dealt with.”
    The threat lingered.
    “Did they know anything else, Madame. Leromenos?” Matthew asked, struggling to keep his temper with the surly woman.
    Aiden met his gaze and offered her silent support. Desdemona Leromenos was simply unbearable, and no one liked her.
    The old Greek woman gave a single sharp shake of her head. “Take care not to touch the weapon with your bare hands,” Desdemona instructed. “You’ll understand why once it’s unwrapped.”
    “Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” Matthew suggested. He set the carrying case down on top of the table, worked the zipper, and exposed a swath of black velvet cloth.
    “Alastor Katsue had her hand bandaged this morning,” Desdemona continued. “I’m positive she’s held the blade and been injured.”
    “Eh?” Matthew looked up, squinting at the other Watcher. “What did she have to say?”
    “She denied it, of course,” Desdemona said, and she clearly expected no better from Katsue.
    Aiden bristled, torn between vehement dislike of the old woman and sympathy for her friend. If Katsue had lied to this witch, she didn’t blame her.
    “Mmm,” Matthew acknowledged and returned his attention to the sword. “Very well. Let’s see what we have here then, shall we?” The priest laid the swathe of black cloth on the table, centering it with precision and care. Folding back one flap of material and then the other, he spread the material out to reveal a slender sword.
    The sword was three-feet in length with a short cross guard and an ebony blade composed of a non-metallic material. The surface drank in the light, giving the impression of a rippling fluid, swirling in hypnotic patterns that emanated pure power. Highly ornate decorations included silver Celtic circles, etched on the blade, and a hilt in the shape of a dragon, its spread wings forming the stunted cross guard.
    Aiden felt the sword’s power hit her as a blow, and she automatically stepped away. If she’d had a weapon, she’d have drawn it. Terrible longing filled her, raw, griping, and lustful. She wanted the sword, craved it, even as she rejected it as obscene and evil.
    A soft gasp was the priest’s only distinguishable reaction to the power of the blade. Aiden watched awed as he conquered and controlled, rejecting the sword’s power. He was in much closer proximity to it than Aiden, and she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to resist its influence. Even at a distance, she clenched her fists to prevent herself from reaching for it.
    “It’s immensely old and extremely powerful,” Father Matthew finally said.
    “Yes, I know,” Desdemona responded in a Tell me something I don’t know tone.
    Peering over the top of his spectacles, Matthew looked up with askance. Then he sighed. “Very well. This sword is very similar in design to a Roman spatha. The quick, short blade is designed for the sort of close-quarter hand-to-hand combat favored by the Celts. The dragon is Celtic, as are the Circles. The craftsmanship of the hilt is intricate and detailed, obviously the work of a highly skilled artisan.”
    Father Matthew used the cloth to turn the hilt toward him, blade facing away. He bent forward to inspect the winged serpent motif more closely and then carefully turned the blade over, once again using