Read Online Stealing Sacred Fire by Storm Constantine - Free Book Online Page A

became darker, slowly
mutating into indigo, then growing gradually more purple. Finally,
dark red light surrounded the ethereal figure, as if it was
splashed with blood. Scarlet sparks spat out from the pulsing
effulgence and the beatific face of the angel twisted into an
expression of contempt. Its robes fell away, revealing a body of
corded muscle, with huge, jutting genitals. Its hands became
clawed, and a long, black tongue shot out from its mouth, flicking
the shuddering cheeks of Abraham, who still stood rigid against the
table.
    Then, with a silent explosion,
the apparition vanished.
    All was silent in the room, but
for the crackle of the TV screens. Then, somebody whimpered, and
Melandra heard the sound of a chair scraping against the carpet.
Abraham made a gurgling sound in his throat and slumped forward,
face-first, onto the table.
    Nathaniel’s face was ashen
beneath his tan. He looked very old. ‘Do you see now, Melandra
Maynard? Do you see what you are up against?’
    After the meeting, Nathaniel
Fox led Melandra from the board-room, leaving his shocked
colleagues to discuss the significance of what had occurred. In the
privacy of Fox’s spacious, private office, he subjected Melandra to
another lecture upon the holy work of The Children of Lamech. He
spoke passionately, loudly and with evangelistic colour.
    Even after the inexplicable
phenomenon in the board room, Melandra was unsettled by Fox’s zeal,
sure his claims were fired only by paranoia. She found herself
vacillating between unquestioning belief in the Grigori and
scepticism. Fox clearly sensed this, but was patient with her
indecision. He pointed out that surely she had been given more
evidence than she needed to know that his words were true. A demon
had manifested before them, mocking their mission.
    Melandra was still unsure what
she had seen. It could have been some kind of group hallucination,
invoked by their heightened emotion. And yet, as Fox talked to her
persistently, passing her folder after folder of classified
documents that he told her contained hard evidence, she found her
pessimism fraying. She read reports, examined photographs. Before
and after death. Tall, handsome people gunned down, poisoned, but
who in life had controlled industries and communities through dark
magic and deception. The most damning evidence to prove Fox’s words
was the fact that none of these deaths had been reported in the
press.
    ‘They are clever,’ Fox said,
‘and powerful. They know what we are planning and no doubt intruded
into our meeting to make us aware of that. They want us to fear
them, and are not afraid of us, which might be their weakness.
Arrogance. But you must be careful, Melandra. Very careful.’
    Melandra was not cheered by
this information. ‘So, what exactly are we dealing with? A select
group? An underground movement? What numbers are involved?’
    Fox closed the last folder with
a snap. ‘Not even we know how many there are of them, or how
far-reaching their influence is. Many powerful men support our
work, but we suspect just as many are slaves of the Grigori. You
can trust no-one, but for the select few you have met in this
building.’
    ‘What I’d like to know,’
Melandra said carefully, ‘is, if these people exist, why no-one’s
aware of them. How have they managed to hide for so long?’
    Fox raised a single eyebrow,
then smiled. ‘But, my child, we are aware of them. However, you are
right to ask these questions. You must be clear in your own mind
about what is going on. The Grigori have hidden among us by
counting on people’s inability to accept they might exist. Angels?’
He laughed. ‘Aren’t they just artistic ornaments on religious
paintings and Christmas cards?’ He shook his head. ‘The fallen ones
have been idolised by writers and poets, swallowed by fiction.
People see them as romantic martyrs, unaware that their descendants
are very real, a passionless race that seeks to take control of the
world.