Blood in White Chapel

Chapter Eight

Broken blue eyes looked to the ashtray on his desk. It was overflowing. Myron heaved a burdened sigh, turning his focus to the window. It had been 4 days since the death of his daughter, his Millie, his bittersweet monster. It was a usual sensation. He felt both relieved and yet, a depression. Down in his heart, Myron had hoped that she was already dead. Killed by the monster who took her.

He raised a glass to his lips, swilling the amber liquid with haste. Myron's hands shook as he poured himself another drink. His vision blurred for a moment before he swept the tears from his eyes with the pad of his thumb.

The brunet pushed a scarred hand through his hair before he glanced to the black case, leaned against the fireplace bricks. Within the container were two of the Association's most prized possessions.

The Artino and The Sorens. Two Greek blades were forged from cold iron, blessed by the God Apollo and Goddess Artemis, and then dipped in silver. The Artino shined with an orange illumination like the sun whilst the Sorens shimmered violet for the moon.

With a strike of a match, he lit the cigarette he had placed between his lips and opened the lid on the tall chest. But before he could get a glance at the steel, a pounding knock came to his door. Myron closed the lid and with his foot slid it under his bed, out of the view of prying eyes.

He peered out the curtain instead of immediately going to the door. The black curtains were a perfect shield from the outside world. Another sigh fell from his lips as he blew out the smoke. With a grand reluctance, he moved to the door and opened it with a twist of the brass doorknob.

"Myron."

Were the first words from the dirty blond before him. Arms were crossed over his chest and he favored most of his weight onto his left leg. He was clad in pretty dreary clothing, plain and unnoticed. Long black coat draped over his body, down to his knees. Aside from his height, his hair style screamed foreigner. Not only was his hair long, but so was his facial hair, his beard pulled into a braid with traditional nordic adornments.

"Einar Geir... I figured the world would have to be ablaze before I ever found you on my doorstep."

The younger man's face remained expressionless as they stared each other down. The brunet was the first to move, holding his hand out in a way that offered the other to enter his home. Luckily, his street was not busy for a Monday. The other hesitated for a moment before he moved into the house.

"Ze Association contact me avfter you picked up ze Artino and ze Sorens."

Myron found himself staring at jade hues after turning around, having just closed the door. He raised an eyebrow and moved around the taller man, who set a leather bag on his desk.

"To proper use ze two blades, you vill need ze Getestia, my Hades spear."

The information that the Nnord presented made everything was clicking into place. Myron glanced to the table, towards the bag. He blew another cloud of smoke before he could manage an exasperated sigh.

"I assume that is what is in your bag there?"

A quick nod was the only reply he got from the stoic man. A hand carded through his hair again before he fell to a sit on the bed. He offered the desk chair to the precariously sized man. Moments later, he found himself face to face with another folded up piece of paper.

"I know vhere to fvind her."

Myron hastily grabbed the paper, giving Einar a side-eyed glance the entire time. The brunet nearly tore the paper three times as he tried to unfold it, blue hues scanning over the name. There was no need for the address. If you didn't know where St. Paul's Cathedral was in London, you might as well be dumb, deaf, and blind.