Just an Excerpt, Just Because

No spoilers, if you have read Bryony, just a glimpse into current work-in-progress, a snippet from Before the Blood.

That was Jackson, loyal to the end. Dana Hewes would be proud. Without another word, John trudged down the dark and silent back of the house to the dressing room, retrieved his coat and hat, and walked outside through the rear door. Much of the fog had dissipated and appeared to be moving away, as the air was clear to John's left and steamy to his right. As he started for the staircase, a fleeting movement caught his eye, a dark wisp here and then gone. A drunk pillaging the trash barrels for a midnight sack? A thief waiting to accost him? Motionless, John waited. He heard nothing except his own breaths and the drumming of his heart. He set foot on the first stair, and a silhouette slipped through the haze.

"Who is it?" John called out.

A pair of red eyes stared back. A form took shape in the gloom. Out stepped a man, his sleek hair and goatee blacker than his top hat and cloak

"I am the devil," the man replied with a faint German accent.

He was simply an eccentric, and John had met plenty of that type during these last years. With a tip of his hat, John sarcastically said, "A pleasant evening to you, sir," and turned toward the fire escaped, but the man was now walking down the stairs in John's direction and examining him with a studious air. John stopped short, wondering how the man had moved so quickly, until the stranger stood before him, leaned closed, and sniffed his neck.

"Do you not fear me?" the man murmured, his gaze flitting over John's face.

"No."

"My very sight doesn't chill your blood?"

John attempted to move past, but the man grasped the rail, barring John's way. "Mr. Simons, do you know who I am?"

"No and don't really care."

"I..." The man raised a finger and passed it back and forth across John's face, "I am a well-connected concert promoter, well-acquainted with your exquisite musical reputation."

This time, John took a step back, the better to examine this man: deathly pallor, swarthy hollow eyes, crimson lips, and sharp white teeth.

  

"Is that a fact?"

"Ohhh, yes, indeed, Mr. Simons. Would you dine with me this enchanted evening?"

Ravenous and still unafraid, John nevertheless paused. Was this man as strange and sinister as he appeared, or had days of insufficient food clouded his perception? Apparently, the man mistook John's silence for assent, for he swept out his arm in the direction of the alley and said, "Step this way, Mr. Simons."