Ephram Taff depressed the security switch beneath his desk in response to the light rap on the studded, metal-banded doors of heartwood mahogany, breathing out a soft sigh as he did so. No one beat a tattoo quite like Georgia did.

The locks disengaged with a soft, well-oiled snick and she approached his desk like an actress on the red carpet, as poised as though a thousand eyes were on her with a dozen cameras capturing her every angle, her every move. Ephram watched her come. Well, she was right about the cameras; he’d monitored her ever since she entered the building, thirty-one stories below.

He waited for her to come to a stop before the massive desk where he sat silently studying her, one finger pressed to his lips. A minute passed but Georgia never flinched beneath his regard, displaying her characteristic preternatural composure. He spoke at last. “You know what I want.”

“Yes.” She had never been disposed to call him ‘sir’, but Ephram knew the connotation was there and it was enough for him. On the whole he preferred to allow her to keep her pride and some notions of independence, but they both knew who was boss —...   read more »

Diogenes Pendergast let his eyes roam carefully up and down the woman standing before him. As players went, she was technically one of the best sexual partners he had ever had but beyond that she was emotionally backward. And she could never match his Gwen for showmanship — not even with all of her professional experience.

Viola had her good points though. She normally did as she was told, but as the Bard said, “Aye, there’s the rub”. She did not do “normally” this time. She had proved to be quite adept at playing games with his brother. Too adept. She had been an excellent confidant and for years had been there when he needed her. It ticked Diogenes off no end that his beautiful Galatea could turn out to be such a dolt where Aloysius was concerned.

Sitting comfortably in the only really decent chair in the house, a club chair that he had specially made and sent out from England, Diogenes rested one arm bent at the elbow on the arm of the chair and laid his cheek in his palm. “Well, Jenny,” he drawled heartily, “it seems you’ve forgotten the cardinal rule of playing games. Don’t get...   read more »

Pendergast watched as Morgana flipped through the new issue of the Museum Journal. She absently sought for the glass of wine he had placed before her on the cherry wood coffee table. With one long graceful hand, he took the glass and handed it to her, their fingers touching, causing their eyes to meet and she saw he was flushed.

“How do you find the wine?” Pendergast asked, not caring but not wanting Morgana’s attention to stray.

“It is very good Aloyisius. You have the finest taste as usual,” she said smiling, playful, wondering at his seeming discomfort.

Pendergast moved closer to Morgana, and cautiously, tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Morgana’s eyes widened but he saw the desire in their deep brown depths, causing a stirring in his loins.

“This is hard for me Morgana, as you know we have an unusual history. Suffice to say I have not been with a woman since the untimely death of my wife. None have intrigued me, until I met you. At first I was attracted to your work, your knowledge and the passion of your heart. Now, I find that my heart has found life and the cause is though you.” This...   read more »

Short backstory: The heroine (Sheridan Keyes) is an artist whose bread-and-butter work is restorations. She was hired to redo an 1890’s Museum painting on the ceiling of one of the halls. During her research, she went through some unmarked papers and unknowingly turned up a rough draft of Leng’s immortality formula. Fairhaven found out. He searched her apartment; kidnapped and tortured her lover, Jackson Lisle. When that didn’t turn up the formula, he went after Sheridan in the Museum in his Surgeon guise, but she escaped. He held Jackson as hostage, but she circumvented him by hiding the formula and turning herself in to a couple of cops sharper than Braskie. Unfortunately, Fairhaven killed them—and after a prolonged nasty chase through the Museum, grabbed Sheridan. She refused to reveal where the formula was, but was too badly-injured for him to torture her. Fortunately, his attention was distracted by Smithback poking around the mansion upstairs, so he left Sheridan in the operating room next to her lover’s body—where Pendergast saw her during his confrontation with Fairhaven. Afterwards, Pendergast had Sheridan taken to the same hospital he recouped in. During that time, she tells him what parts of her story he hasn’t...   read more »

Diogenes: “When I was young—just a vile little kid.
Few noticed curious things I did
Like piercing peacocks with a crossbow gun
I’d slash up horses—and when I was done
I’d seize some random fool and scoop out his head
But then my family’s portraits said...”

Various Heads Floating in Jars: “What did they say?”

Diogenes: “They said my boy we think someday...
You’ll find a way
To make your natural tendencies pay...
So... be a genius.”

Heads: “Free-range sadist”

Diogenes: “You have a talent for causing things pain.
So, be a genius...”

Heads: “Total badness.”

Diogenes: “The world will tremble when you’re inhumane.
Your temperament’s wrong for the priesthood
And law enforcement would suit you still less
So, be a genius...
And be a success...”

Head One: “There he is, folks—the leader of the wack!”

Head Two: “Watch him tech-out that tomb—oh, my God!”

Head Three: “He’s so brilliant, he’s just too damm good.”

Heads: “Whoever heard of some Marquis de Sade?”

Viola: “Ouch, that hurts. Dear, I’m not numb.”

Diogenes: “Oh, shut _up_. On your knees! Here I come!
I am a genius.”

Heads: “Joy-filled psycho.”

Diogenes: “And I enjoy the career that I picked.”

Heads: “He loves it.”

Diogenes: “I am a genius.”

Heads: “Global menace.”

Diogenes: “And I get off...   read more »

“I see a silver phoenix circling
As I escape from the train...
I barely dodge a red cat
Staring evilly through the rain...
I’m having ghastly, ghastly visions...
You vixens—you’re in every one, yeah!
And it’s only luck I dodged those shots—
From that young’ freak’s smoking gun.

How dare you try to end me...
(Granted, _I’ve_ had most all the fun—)
And you knew that my affections...
Were ne’er confined to four—or one
Between you all, me, and my ego...
Hey, isn’t that an even sum?
You should _worship_ my gen’rous, blood-red heart
and my still-hot smoking gun.

(instrumental bridge)

I can hear...   read more »

His parents were dead—burned alive—and no one had even noticed 18 year old Diogenes Pendergast had been crying. The tears fell off and on the entire car ride to Baton Rouge, no one had noticed and no one had tried to comfort him.

...

He sat in the leather chair, slumped forward with his hands hanging between knees. His expression was grim, lost and just empty. It had been two days and he hadn’t spoken a single word, had eaten nothing. He had only showered and slept. (No one knew he’d snuck out the first night to see Charles Duchamp, a friend of his brother’s.) He was waiting for his brother Aloysius to arrive. Aloysius would know what to do; he always knew what to do.

A door banged open and Aloysius came rushing in. He was dressed in all black, like Diogenes, like always, with his hair askew and his eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. He went to their Aunt Cornelia first and she touched him, she comforted him. Diogenes felt his heart clench and shatter as it...   read more »

She had been having the dreams for about two days. By the second day, they were no longer confined to her sleeping hours. She found herself “winking out,” as she called it, even when standing at the stove stirring canned soup, or doing dishes at the small sink. Always the same vision. Always a man, dressed in black clothing, face pale as if nearly drowned or nearly frozen, always the same message: help me.

When she could stand it no longer, having winked out this time sitting on the couch trying to read a murder mystery, she put the book down on the coffee table, laced up her running shoes, and went out the door, flinging on her hooded sweatshirt as she exited.

The boat shed was where she headed. She didn’t know why, or how she knew that, she just knew that was where she had to be and she didn’t question it. She had stopped questioning both her visions and her instincts when she was a child. The sand this far from shore was hard with the arrival of autumn and packed tight. There was a cold wind blowing in from the water that whipped her hair around her...   read more »