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Back Cardinal Black Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Title Page
  2. One: Into the Storm
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Two: London Calling
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Three: The Malignant Seven
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Four: Squirrels and Cats
  29. Twenty-Four
  30. Twenty-Five
  31. Twenty-Six
  32. Twenty-Seven
  33. Twenty-Eight
  34. Twenty-Nine
  35. Thirty
  36. Thirty-One
  37. Thirty-Two
  38. Five: Revelation
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. About the Author

“I know you won’t. Because you’re a good man, Matthew.” Julian lifted his chin a fraction. His eyes caught shards of yellow light. “But I hope some bad has rubbed off on you. You’ll need it before it’s over. Good luck.”

Matthew nodded. His senses were nearly overwhelmed by the carnage he’d witnessed, and perhaps he had begun to think of Firebaugh as a friend, but even though the doctor had saved Berry, the truth was that through Firebaugh the professor would’ve used that book to continue to keep the village’s inhabitants as drug-dazed prisoners, and probably worse to come. Now … what would be the result of its permanent absence?

Julian was right. The book should not be. But whether Julian had killed the doctor and burned the book out of a sudden feeling for humanity or simply because it struck him to do so before he departed were the elements of a formula Matthew could not decipher.

“To you as well,” Matthew answered.

“And if you ever happen to wonder how I’m doing,” the bad man said, “be assured that I will always … always … start anew and afresh tomorrow.”

With that Julian Devane turned and strode out the door, leaving a still-stunned Matthew standing alone in the beautiful laboratory of Y Beautiful Bedd with the ill-named Lazarus Firebaugh’s blood puddling around his boots.

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Seven

“Let’s go across to the Old Crock and get a brew,” said Hudson.

This suggestion brought forth a groan. “I can’t walk another step! You’ve near killed me today!”

“Nonsense! Don’t you want a drink before you turn in?”

“No,” Hugh Guinnessey replied from his supine position on the cowhide sofa. “You don’t need one either.”

“Who said anything about need? Come on, man! Get up and let’s go.”

“I can’t, Hudson. Really. I swear to God, I’m cooked.”

Hudson stood before him in the sumptuous green-curtained room with his hands on his hips. “I’m going across to get a drink. You coming or not?”

“Not.” Guinnessey sat up and rubbed his aching calf muscles through his white stockings. “Damn, what a set of legs you have! Well … Christ take it all … go on and get your drink. I’m stayin’ right here.”

“I don’t think the professor would like that. Aren’t you supposed to stick on me like tar-and-feathers without the feathers?”

“He’s up in his room asleep by now. Anyway, where are you gonna go to? Ain’t like you were wantin’ to run off.”

“True. Still … I like you, and I’d hate to get you in trouble with the boss.”

Guinnessey scowled. “He ain’t had to be tryin’ to keep up with you all the damn day! Listen … go get your drink and come right back. If he don’t know you’re out, there’s no worry.”