“I don’t understand what that means.”
Frederick rose from his chair and moved to the other side of Sinclair’s bed. “Perdurabo is Latin for ‘I will endure to the end.’ It’s an old saying amongst The Order.” Frederick patted the injured man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Go home and think over my offer, Miss Cambridge. You can reach me at Century Tower. That’s where I’m staying.”
“Not at The Order’s lodge?”
“No. It’s too dangerous. None of us are stepping foot in the lodge again until after the current affair is settled.”
Violet looked back down at Sinclair but she saw that he’d slipped into unconsciousness once more. She’d wanted to talk to him… if nothing else, she wanted to wish him well. When he’d spoken that word to her—Perdurabo—he’d almost looked frightened. It didn’t seem like the word was bringing him any measure of peace. And since he had immediately preceded it telling her to get away… did that mean he felt the same that Frederick did? That she needed to flee Atlanta?
“I’ll be in touch. If Bill’s condition changes, call me.”
Frederick nodded. “Of course. I think he will be fine, however. He’s a strong man.”
Violet stepped out, heading towards the stairs. She wasn’t looking forward to getting back to The Damned Thing. She’d left it in a secure location but she knew it was waiting patiently for her to return, so that it could begin filling her head with its seductive tones.
And the worst part of it all was that it might work. She was filled with a perverse desire to open the box and gaze upon The Damned Thing. What did it really look like? Was it truly so awful that one look would sear someone’s soul? How could that be possible?
“I’m not going to find out,” she promised herself. She stepped out into the Atlanta sun, her hands already seeking out a new cigarette for herself.
“YOU SHOULD HAVE called me by name. Frater Perdurabo isn’t the sort of thing she would recognize.” Frederick lifted Sinclair’s head and removed the small pillow from underneath. Bill’s breathing shifted slightly but he didn’t wake up.
The man who had claimed to be Frederick Bentley pressed the pillow down hard on Sinclair’s face. He held it firmly in place until the dark deed was completed and William Sinclair was dead. Then he tossed the pillow aside and moved to the window. Outside, he could see Violet Cambridge down the block, turning the corner and vanishing from sight. She was lovely and obviously intelligent but she was close to the breaking point. He had seen that from the start.
“Frater Perdurabo,” he said under his breath, shaking his head with laughter. That term had been his designation in The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Aleister Crowley turned from the window, a smile on his face. He had come here to the hospital to speak to this man of The Order, his ancient enemies. Crowley wanted to know how many of The Order lay in this city and how actively they were prepared to fight him. Finding Violet had been an unexpected bonus. He had thought about throttling her until she told him where The Damned Thing was… but he found her engaging and sexually appealing. Fornication was one of his great weaknesses and his desire for new partners had led him into trouble on more than one occasion. He doubted that he’d be able to land her in his bed without going to the trouble of drugging her but it made for an interesting fantasy.
The Great Beast strode from the hotel room, knowing that soon he would be master of all he surveyed.
Chapter VIII
Violet was not surprised by what she found at the office she had until recently shared with Miles Knopf. The door was open, the locking cylinder shattered. The desks and file cabinets had all been broken into and papers lay scattered all over the floor. She was reasonably certain that she would find the same thing back at her apartment, unless McKenzie had left a man to wait for her there.
She wandered over to the desk where Miles had usually taken up roost and sat down in his chair. The bottom right drawer of the desk lay open, revealing a bottle of whiskey that was mostly empty. She picked it up and stared at the label for a moment. Miles believed that whiskey should be on hand during every client interview. You never knew when they’d need a drink… or loosening up so that information might flow more freely.
Unscrewing the top, Violet drank straight from the bottle. The liquid burned its way down her throat, warming her entire body. She wasn’t worried about anyone finding The Damned Thing since it wasn’t in either her home or this office. But she was still unsure what to do with it… and Sinclair’s words continued to eat away at her. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that he was telling her to not leave the city… but to leave his room. Did he want to speak to Frederick in private? And she knew that Frater meant ‘father.’ So did that change the meaning of Perdurabo? Did it mean that he wasn’t just quoting some Latin phrase but rather naming someone?
Violet finished off the bottle and set it on the desktop. Even with the warming effects of the alcohol, she suddenly felt a chill in the air. She looked over at the window to make sure it was closed and realized that the drop in temperature couldn’t possibly be normal. She could now see her breath as she opened her mouth and exhaled.
“You’re in great danger, Violet.”
Miles Knopf was standing in front of the desk. He looked worse each time she saw him. His face was carved away, revealing moist red meat where his handsome features should have been. His fingertips were bluish tinged and the odor of the grave was so strong that Violet instinctively put a hand over her mouth and nose.
“Oh, Miles… is this how it’s going to be for you from now on? Are you just going to keep… rotting?”
“It’s not so bad. It doesn’t hurt. The dying was the really hard part. Well… and what they did to me right before. That wasn’t pleasant at all.”
“I killed them. All the members of The Order of the Eclipse.”
“Their leader is still out there,” Miles said, leaning across the desk to make his point. The scent of his breath made Violet gag. Miles either didn’t notice her discomfort or was too engrossed in what he was saying to care. “There are forces massing against you. Burkard wants The Damned Thing. So does Crowley.” Miles straightened and looked back towards the door. Violet had pushed it closed but the damage done to it meant that it refused to shut completely. “And you have a visitor.”
Miles vanished in a sudden burst of smoke, disappearing before Violet could even begin to fully process what he had said. The sound of footsteps in the hallway brought her to alertness, however. She drew out her pistol from inside her purse and held it under the desk, out of sight.
It was Daniel Armitage. He pushed open the door, his face betraying his caution. His white suit looked brand new, emphasizing the coarseness of his features and his stubby little body. He relaxed a bit when he saw Violet at the desk, though his eyes drank in the scene around the office. “Doing some housecleaning, doll?”
“What do you want, Armitage?”
The crime boss stepped into the room, taking out a cigar. After biting off the tip, he struck a match and lit it. “Can I sit down?”
“If you can find a spot.”
Armitage walked over to one of the guest chairs and dumped out a stack of papers that had been thrown onto the seat. He sat down, puffing away for a moment. Spotting the empty bottle on the desk, he asked, “You got any more of that stuff?”