Its hooked beak, its scarlet feathers, its massive wing-spread were all unmistakable.
Instinctively, he stood, never letting his lock on it waver.
And he thought again of the ancient lore of the phoenix, the immortal bird that rose, renewed, from its own blazing pyre… and he could see how it might have appeared that way. With its wings folded, it looked like a beam of light, but when it spread them again, it was like a bouquet of flames, opening up and out. It moved with all the incandescence and unpredictability of fire.
Had Del seen it, Carter wondered, from his perch higher up the trail?
The bird paused — Carter couldn’t see what it was doing, its body obscured by shadow — before it suddenly raised its head and Carter could again see its glittering eyes. Had it sensed something, even from this great distance? Did it know it was being watched?
It seemed impossible, but then, the creature itself was an impossibility.
It unfurled its curved wings and glided off the mountain-side, traveling from light to shadow, its crimson body like a beacon of flame against the black and defoliated mountain-side. And then, suddenly, it changed course, sweeping toward a gap in the mountain range, toward a wedge of blue ocean far off on the horizon. With one beat of its wings, it swooped into the narrow pass, and with another it went nearly through. Carter tried to adjust his focus, but he was losing it. The phoenix was becoming just a tiny scarlet dot, like a spot of blood from a pricked finger.
It beat its mighty wings one more time, and by now, though he had lost it in the distance, Carter knew that it must be over the ocean… sailing out of sight, sailing toward the sun.
He put the binoculars down… and wondered if he, or anyone, would ever see it again. A part of him — the paleontologist, the man of science — desperately wanted to; nothing so wonderful should ever be lost to the world. Not again. But there was also another part — a part that was strangely closer to his heart, his spirit, a part that had been alive in him ever since childhood — that hoped the phoenix would vanish for good, flying into the sun forever.
Author’s Note and Acknowledgments
Much of the action in this book takes place in two Los Angeles locations: the J. Paul Getty Museum in Brentwood and the George C. Page Museum of La Brea Discoveries, a satellite facility of the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County.
While most of what I write about these places is accurate, a lot of it, I’ll be the first to admit, is pure conjecture. The characters, too, are wholly fictional.
That said, these two institutions are, to my mind, the jewels in the crown of L.A., and I hope that this book conveys my boundless admiration for both.
Bestiary is also filled, as you have no doubt noticed, with a great deal of information about everything from illuminated manuscripts to paleontology. Again, much of the information is based on scrupulous research… while some of it is founded on nothing but fictional license. I will say this: For the paleontological material, I have relied heavily upon a fascinating volume called Gorgon: Paleontology, Obsession, and the Greatest Catastrophe in Earth’s History by Peter D. Ward (Viking Press, 2004) and on several books available in the Page Museum’s public bookstore. Anything I got right, I owe to these sources; everything wrong is entirely my own fault.
The same principle holds true for the sections dealing with medieval manuscripts. But I do owe a huge debt to one man: Christoper de Hamel, without whose books, A History of Illuminated Manuscripts (Phaidon Press, 1986) and Medieval Craftsmen: Scribes and Illuminators (University of Toronto Press, 1992), I would not have known where to start.
Now, a note about the text: Readers of this book will occasionally come across references to a character named Arius and his mysterious relationship to Beth and Carter Cox. Anyone whose curiosity is sufficiently piqued by these references may wish to read my previous novel Vigil, in which all is made abundantly clear.
I’d also like to thank some real people, for their unflagging help and support: my editor, Natalee Rosenstein; my agent, Cynthia Manson; and my cousin, Rob Masiello (yes, I know, we spell the family surname differently), who bailed me out repeatedly with his extensive knowledge of firearms and related security issues. (Again, any mistakes are all mine.)
Finally, I’d like to thank my wife, Laurie, for seeing me through yet another of my great big book ideas. It’s never easy.
About the Author
ROBERT MASELLO is an award-winning journalist, a television writer, and the author of many previous books, including The Spirit Wood, Black Horizon, Private Demons, Raising Hell, Fallen Angels, and Vigil. His articles and essays have appeared often in such diverse publications as New York Magazine, the Los Angeles Times, Newsday, Glamour, People, Elle, Town and Country, TV Guide, and The Wilson Quarterly. He has also written for such popular TV shows as Charmed, Sliders, Early Edition, and Poltergeist: the Legacy. Currently the Visiting Lecturer in Literature at Claremont McKenna College, he lives in Santa Monica, California, and may be reached through his website at www.robertmasello.com.