Bereft

- 49 -

"Exordium Insaniam was a mythical cult thought to have helped Alaric of the Visigoths sack Rome in the early 400 CE. Though historians cannot ascertain their existence nor find evidence of their assistance to the barbarians, legends from the time period state that dark-hooded, knife-eared (possible intersection of Nordic mythos, see annotations) members of the Exordium were responsible for the religious turmoil tearing bonds in the Empire's holdings. They used witchcraft to sow dissent amongst the Roman soldiers and were present when the Visigoths destroyed the city of Rome. Their ultimate goal was, reportedly, the end of the Roman Empire and the collapse of ancient society...."

I sighed as I clicked off the paid reference site, having stolen in through an old password I still remembered from university to read the archives. I'd been sitting at my booth in the busy café for an hour or so, drinking coffee and searching the web for any mention of the cult. There wasn't much to be found, and what little I could dredge up spoke of mythical origins, of demons who helped kill Caesar or rode with Attila or whispered their occult lies in the ears of Hitler. If there was a grain of truth to any of it, I couldn't find it. Monstrous as Tara's murderers may be, they were human. Completely human.

My laptop closed with a snap and I polished off the remnants of my coffee. I was due to return to Klau's main desk—but I figured it mattered little whether I returned on time or not. The automated answering machine redirected calls better than I could, anyway.

I shoved my laptop into my bag again and slung it onto my shoulder. After gathering the empty cup, I rose—and, as I passed through one of the cramped walkways, my purse slipped on my arm and caught the edge of a table. The binder position there hit the floor, scattering papers everywhere, and a porcelain mug dumped steaming coffee in the businessman's lap.

"Sh—I'm so sorry!" I apologized, kneeling to shuffle and stack the fallen documents. My purse landed on the man's foot with a solid thunk. Brilliant, Sara. Just brilliant.

It must have been professional curiosity that drew my eye to the heading of the man's paperwork. I was a clerical office worker, so I naturally handled a wealth of documents on a daily basis, and my eye took in the highlighted details before I could think not to. They were official papers, the company's bold name, G&R Supplies and Distribution, listed at the very top. I'd never heard of the company before, but given Verweald's size and the host of businesses located there, I could hardly be surprised.

The man's hand descended to snatch the papers from me. "Give me those!" he sniped, dabbing at the growing coffee stain left on his pin-striped pants. I was in the middle of another apology when he lifted his arm and the ring upon his index finger caught the light. My heart stopped.

Those...those hands—.

My gaze rose to his face. Thin, fresh scars adorned his brow and cheeks, curling upward into his vanishing hairline—and a white medical patch covered his left eye.

The same eye I plunged my own thumb through. It was the man who killed my sister.

Stunned, I didn't react when he pale and shot from his seat, dashing for the door. I blinked, gasped, and bolted after him, leaving the gaggle of confused coffee drinkers behind. The street was crowded with office workers either taking or returning from their lunch break. They swarmed the sidewalk, chatting and hurrying along, oblivious to the monster they let slip into their ranks.

"No," I breathed as I pushed people out my way, turning on the spot as I tried to find where the man had vanished to. "No, dammit!" I'd been so close. The bastard had been inches from me! Why did I hesitate? Why? Why couldn't I find him? He couldn't have gotten far, he had to be—.

I leaped onto a convenient planter, ignoring the outraged shouts of the people I used as leverage. Craning my neck, I spotted the cultist's retreating back moving swiftly down the boulevard. He had a phone clutched to his ear. I jumped from my perch and followed him, unwilling to let the murderer out of my sight.