Vintage Soul by David Niall Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

fireplace and whispered the incantation that released the security spell.   The warmth from the dancing fire increased, and Donovan stepped closer.   He didn’t see Cleo, who had leaped up onto the desk chair and sat, paws on the surface of the desk, watching the feather twitch in lazily in the air.   Cleo’s tail whipped back and forth in time, and her muscles quivered.
    Donovan leaned down.   There was something tucked in behind the grate that held the logs in the fireplace.   It was dark and flat, like a piece of cloth, or paper.   There was just enough room on the side of the fire for him to reach one arm around behind, but he had to be very careful not to get too close to the flames.   He knew his hair could catch in an instant, and he wasn’t used to dealing with the open flame.
    Just as his groping fingers neared the object behind the fire, Cleo leaped.   There was a surprised yowl as the protections Donovan had set on the circle repelled her, sending her crashing to the side, knocking Johndrow’s letter, the pendulum on its stand, and two of the small braziers askew as she scrabbled for purchase on the desktop.
    Donovan spun, narrowly missed whipping his hair into the fire, and gasped.   When the braziers tipped, the circle fragmented.   Released from the circle, but not from the enchantment, the feather shot across the room at dizzying speed.   Donovan rolled aside as it passed, narrowly missing his cheek.   The feather passed through the fire, burst into flame, and drove into the object behind the grate with such force that it shattered in a flash.   Donovan made a grab for the object, but he was too late.   It was nothing but a small heap of ash by the time his fingers reached it.   He brushed this out without much hope and collected it on a scrap of paper, but it was difficult to tell if the ashes came from burned paper, leather, cloth, or flesh, and he knew at least part of what he’d gathered was the remnant of the feather itself.
    â€œDamn it, Cleo,” he complained, clambering back to his feet.   “That might have been important.”
    Cleo glared at him from the corner of his desk.   She was seated in the exact spot where the small pendulum usually dangled on its stand.   She looked indignant, and Donovan, despite his irritation, laughed.   He bent down, picked up the pendulum, and examined it carefully.   Nothing seemed broken, and once he’d straightened the metal stand a bit, it was as good as new.   He shooed Cleo off the desk and returned the instrument to its proper place.
    He leaned down to retrieve Johndrow’s letter, remembering what he’d been doing when things had gone south, and before he could stand straight again, he stopped, still as stone.   He thought of the missing vampire, Vanessa, and then of the contents of the stolen book.   He’d read it only once, and it had been many years in the past, but the minute the pieces fell into place in his mind, he knew he was correct.
    â€œOh my god,” he said softly.   “The Perpetuum Vitae Serum; he’s after Le Duc’s formula. ”
    He scooped up the letter, scanned its contents again, and then dropped it on his desk.   Next he strode back over to the bookshelves and slid a large, leather bound tome from a shelf at shoulder height.   He carried it back to his desk, opened it, and began to skim the index quickly.  
    It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for.   It was a reference to Jean-Claude Le Duc’s life.   In fact, it was the very reference that had sent Donovan off in search of the journal that had just been stolen.   It was short, but there was enough detail to confirm his fears.
    â€œJean-Claude Le Duc,” it read, “spent his entire life in search of a single spell.   Rumor has it that he succeeded in developing a potion that would grant the recipient eternal