Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode X I - A Worthy Gift

Location: Marseille, France

“Anything?" Henrí asked looking up from the coffee table; neatly folding the newspaper he had just finished reading as his scribe stood before him. As scribes went, Alesky was oversized, rugged and built for combat. Yet behind that appearance was an intelligent young man that found it easy to get others to open up to him; a valuable asset.

"Nothing sire," Alesky replied, visibly annoyed at his inability to return with good news.

"Worry not, he or she has remained hidden this long for a reason, someone could be helping," Henrí advised. "There is a pulse of sin on this continent," he continued, "Our quarry is somewhere here."

"What is your command?"

"Immediately? For you to eat and get some sleep."

"I am able to continue an additional twenty-four if necessary."

"It is not, the time shall soon come for that," the older gentleman promised.

Yes it will, Henrí thought, having already vowed to be better prepared for the next angelic intrusion, "Breakfast shall be here soon. Go wash the stink of the streets from your pores."

The hefty Russian left the room on soundless feet as Henrí closed the laptop before steepling his fingers in contemplation. First order of business - returning this mortal to her hotel room.

Her name tag bearing the name Marcia Downes - financial consultant, was pinned to the neatly folded mass of her charcoal blazer Henrí now held in his hand. Reaching down to where she still slept, face flushed from the pleasure induced coma he put her under, Henrí lifted her, cradling her curvaceous frame against his chest.

The concept of shame was such a mortal construct he mused, walking with even strides down the hallway of the hotel; barely sparing a glance at the open stares from the maids and other hotel staff he passed.

"Long night, too much to drink," he greeted one of the maids that passed in French, a mature woman that looked to be in her mid fifties.

Smiling knowingly, the woman slipped him two packs of headache tablets before patting him on the arm and returning to her duties.

The door to Marcia's room gave him no delay, the lock turning to green even without the presence of her keycard. Laying her atop the soft sheets, her bed slightly smaller than his own, he reached for the phone at her bedside table.

"Front desk, good morning, Antoine speaking," greeted the concierge.

"Good morning, calling from room two zero two."

Fingers tapped keys before Antoine's response, "Oui, Mademoiselle Downes, how can I help?"

"I would like to have breakfast sent up to my room in exactly one hour please."

"Not a problem mademoiselle, any special requests?"

"No thank you, that is all. Do let your member of staff know to enter and leave the tray if I do not come to the door."

"As you wish mademoiselle," Antoine replied cheerfully.

"Merci," Henrí replied, replacing the phone into its cradle as he lifted his fingers off the woman's throat. Clearing his own, he hummed softly as his vocal chords retook their original shape. Stroking the side of her face, he gently removed the spectacles she had fallen asleep in. Most of her makeup had remained in the tin; her face bearing only the slightest touch of foundation, long lashed like the closed curtains to a Broadway play, her eyes fluttering behind the scenes.