NEW a mission of desire.

 

Lazarus Grey walked briskly with an inbuilt intent, along the barren track, a trackway that curved its way through a jumbled moorland of bracken, heather and twisted, stunted hawthorn. His stride was long and sure for a man that appeared, at least to observers, as one whose best years were firmly behind him. But he was an enigma, a body veiled within secrets. Lazarus Grey was a man that was older than an idle guess, and much, much older than any record would ever show. He smirked at his own mystery, smirked too at the deeds he had done, the lives he had ended, the souls he had blistered, all part of the mission - his personal mission of desire. He had always been a man of acute reckoning, never being one to agonise over choices, deliberate over differing paths. Desire had always been his one true property in life, and that desire would stay with him till its eventual end.

He stopped for a moment, and stood, his keen eyes searching intently around him. The path he was on was defined; the landscape was clear. He hadn't been followed, of that he was sure. No sign of the boy. He snarled at the thought of Nathaniel Stone, of the séance, and of Stone's insufferable nature - arrogant, pumped up child that he was. Lazarus bony fingers tightened, his hand forming an involuntary fist around the tainted silver cat head that topped his cane. He shifted his gaze down to the frozen smile of the silver cat. He relaxed his fingers as a nod towards apology. He spoke low, but clearly. "We have seen many come, and we have made sure that many didn't stay, have we not my faithful?" The image of the cat blinked slowly but surely back at him. Lazarus allowed himself a small smile, looked about him one more time, cursed the name and presence of Nathaniel Stone, and once more took up his confident stride, faithful silver topped cane ever by his side.

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