Duvalle pushed himself away from the table and sighed contentedly. There was nothing like a good meal to break the ice. While there was still an uncertain edge to everyone, they had seemed to come together, briefly during the meal, sharing the experience with relish.

Only Elizabeth and Marco seemed to still be completely reserved. Though he didn't completely understand Marco's frame of mind, his emotions indicated he have been processing a similar shock as Liz.

Duvalle made a mental note to make an appointment with Marco to see about helping him through his troubles. There seemed to be something related to the young man's grandmother's death and funeral that still bothered him. Duvalle hoped he could help.

"My friends," Duvalle started, his tone warm and welcoming, "thank you for a wonderful repast. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed such a meal. I'm sure your curiosity is running at a fevered pitch, and I did promise to enlighten you after dinner. If you would follow me, let us adjourn to the Library for an aperitif and I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity."

Carefully, John pushed back his chair and stood to follow their host.  "Going to have one hell of a run this weekend to burn of this dinner.  My complements to the chef."  He stretched, knuckles cracking as he pushed his hands upwards.  "And now you've got a lot of curiosity to satisfy."

"Friends?" Jack muttered as he also pushed back his chair. "I wouldn't go that far". His voice was not raised enough so that Duvalle would hear it but the others next to him might have picked it up his grumble.

Standing up from the table, Jack rubbed his stomach which strained against the belt of his trousers. "Yes, excellent food. And I agree with John - though we're full I'm sure we're all hungry for information".

Malachi enjoyed the feast quite thoroughly, forming in his mind a couple of new favorites, especially for desert.  He smoothed his clothing out a little over his belly and followed along after the others looking at their host over the heads of the other guests.

"I must agree with the others, dinner was fantastic. Especially the steak. It was perfect." Liz said as she rose to follow the others out of the dining area. Miles followed Liz, still mulling over the implications of the fine dinner. It had been an excellent repast, yes, but it was also a demonstration on the part of their host.

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Duvalle led the way back through the foyer and down the hall past the drawing room where most of the guests had started their evening. Their footsteps echoed off the hard wood floor, to be swallowed by the tapestries, and paintings lining the walls.

Duvalle moved at a stately pace, pointing out individual paintings and busts to Miles, sharing a wealth of artistic history. He moved with an old world grace, with no real sign of his advanced age. The house was unnaturally silent, but seemed to buzz with an anticipatory energy, as if events of great import were just around the corner.

Duvalle stopped before a sliding door, and with an extravagant gesture slid it open and bowed slightly. "My friends, I bid you enter my library, make your self comfortable, for we have much to discuss. I have brandy, and cigars, should anyone be so inclined." There was a sly little smile on his face, as if he was thoroughly enjoying his role as host.

"No, thank you." Liz said politely before finding an out of the way corner where she stationed herself to watch the others. Miles on the other hand was quite willing to indulge in a fine cigar and cognac.

John strolled round the room, fingers brushing the spines of the books he perused. Very different from his own collection, that's for sure. Mind you, his collection was mostly on the usb stick in his pocket. Must be worth a fair bit, he though, until his brain helpfully chimed in with I bet they're all blank. Or newspaper pages inside! Smoke and mirrors, my friends, smoke and mirrors.; It was all he could do to stop himself from laughing.

Again with the friends, thought Jack to himself but did not say anything this time. I hardly know the bloke.

Jack wasn't a cigar man - he was used to whatever cheap cigarettes he could get his hands on. However, right then he really could do with a smoke. He sauntered over to the proffered box and took one out.

"Well, when in Rome..." he said, taking a quick sniff of the lush brown cylinder in his gloved hand. Accepting a light, he moved away from the others and, after waiting a few moments for the end to burn, put the cigar to his lips and inhaled a deep lungful of exotic smoke. It had a mellow, almost sweet, flavour to it which complemented his full stomach perfectly.

Nodding, Jack remarked, "Y'know it's been years since I've 'ad a brandy". He stood looking around the room, though not at the books.

Malachi declined the smoke and drink. He instead looked at the books. The various tomes bore names he was unfamiliar with. He looked for religious texts that he might recognize hoping that their mysterious host had read something that he had also enjoyed. Miles joined him in a casual perusal of the shelves. There was a lot here that he didn't recognize, but also quite a number of rare and valuable finds. Miles had no doubt at this point that everything was entirely authentic.

"Look at this," he said quietly to Malachi, pointing out a book on an upper shelf. "The Wonderful World of Insects, published in 1952. Normally not an eye-catching rare book, but this one is significant because it was the first to use the phototype process for electronic typesetting. Quite a landmark." Miles took a slow pull on his cigar. "I admit I'm surprised that Duvalle invites people to smoke here, will all these rarities."

John declined the cigar. His grandfather had smoked them for years - this very brand by the smell of them - but his father wouldn't have them in the house. This was all getting too close for comfort. This feeling of not-quite-right kept him from the brandy as well. He took a heavy tumbler and poured a generous measure of water into it, more to give his hands something to do than from any real desire to have a drink.  He wanted to compare the room they now stood in to the one in the photograph of his grandfather. It was in his coat pocket. Damn.

Unlike the others, Jack's gaze was instead attracted to the rug on the floor and to the patterns and designs upon it. Something about the rug seemed wrong. No, he realized, the rug wasn't wrong - it was him. In his eyes, the plumes of grey smoke from his cigar coalesced into shadows of black feathers as a dark sopor threatened to creep into his consciousness. He stumbled a little and knocked into the dark oak desk at the other end of the room.

Steadying himself against the desk, Jack turned to the others and shrugged. "Sorry 'bout that. Smoke in me eyes". He waved his gloved hand in front of his face whilst ensuring that he didn't look at the rug again. To be honest, he felt tired - very tired. It had been a couple of days since his last sleep and the 'medication' he'd taken earlier was wearing off.

Malachi looked up at Jack briefly with a friendly smile.  The book in his hand seemed to be a collection of papers not formally published by A. Plantinga, a man he admired very much.  He carefully pushed the thin volume back were it came from amongst those by Grudem, Tozer, and Turner.  Looking further along the wall however he found books by less than savory authors, as viewed by the faith. Miles was carefully examining the binding of one. "Merely a collector, then," he thought as he turned his attention to their host.

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The six unlikely guests settled into their various seats, some were nervous, some were eager, all were curious. Duvalle paused a moment, leaning against his desk, quietly gathering his thoughts and evaluating his companions. When he was sure he had everyone's attention he began speaking. Gone was the image of a befuddled almost senile old man. Before the gathered guests stood a powerful presence, his eyes reflecting seemingly endless wisdom and experience; his stance tall and strong, imposing yet comforting, all frailty vanished. He moved with a measured pace, stopping before the fireplace.

"Throughout humanity's history, stories abound of wondrous objects of power that bestow gifts of strength, speed, and grace on the bearers. The fabled sword Excalibur, the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, and Jason's Golden Fleece are but a few examples. Heroes always wielded these objects, strong and just people who use the powers and abilities gained for the good of humanity. Once these wondrous artifacts have served their purpose, they are usually set aside, hidden and protected, to prevent their power from falling into the 'wrong' hands."

"Few, if any, tales tell of the other side of the coin. As sure as there is light, there is also darkness. Fell weapons; rings; rods; objects that twisted, corrupted and damned their bearers; these are not the stuff of legends; they are the stuff of nightmares." Duvalle paused meeting everyone's gaze, carefully weighing their reactions. His voice was strong and confident as he continued.

"What I have to tell you, the reason I have gathered you, may seem fantastic or even unbelievable to some of you, and all too frighteningly real to others. I ask only that you keep your mind open."

"The world today, the common man, your friends, neighbors and relatives, mostly believe these legends are just that, legends, stories, fiction. In fact, they are true and that very fact is why I have gathered you together. Each of you have had your lives impacted in some way by these very nightmares. Three of you directly, three indirectly."

"The Phoenix Foundation, the organization I head, is much more than it seems. Everything you know is true, very true, but each of our members has secondary duties, duties even more important than what the public sees. It is our calling, our duty, our passion to protect society from the stuff of nightmares. I gathered you because I wish you to join our cause." Duvalle paused, waiting for the inevitable explosion of reaction.

Liz felt a cold chill settle over her. If Duvalle was saying what she thought he was saying she wanted no part of it. Her one encounter with an object such as the ones he was describing had been one encounter too many.

Malachi Baptiste was caught on that word indirectly.  His mind raced as he looked at the others quickly.  His thoughts resting first on the note, the prophetic note that he had scribbled long before.  Then he saw in his mind that door in the basement of the catacombs beneath the old church, that glaring visage carved in stone had illuminated by the torchlight of his mentor from back in the day.  It was a memory that had remained carefully locked away until just then.  And he felt the words bubbling up in side him, the holy sacrements waiting to issue forth, instead he stuttered out something less elegant, "Directly and Indirectly.  This is all very odd.  Being a man of the cloth, and having some background in the Catholic Church, I've seen my fair share of weird but this whole evening thus far takes the cake.  Maybe if some demon popped out of your skin this might be chalked up to some elaborate dream, but I suspect this isn't a dream or a farce.  That might leave you as just being mad, what are we talking about here?  The Genie's lamp, The one ring from those Tolkien movies, demented magic wands?" 

Malachi's mind flashed back to that little grinning statue.  It was a brief glimpse of a captured imp or a broken gargoyle and he chalked it up to as much when he needed to comfort himself that the world was sane.  "This is all quite farfetched.  Anyone care to confess to being directly affected by the sandman's sand?  Mr. Duvalle?"

"I've seen one of these objects." Liz spoke up. "And I don't plan on ever having anything to with any of them again."

"Can you tell us about what you saw?" Miles asked Liz quietly. Her comment was, so far, the only corroboration of Duvalle's unlikely thesis anyone had brought forth. Duvalle claimed that each of them had been affected by these cursed items in some way, but at the moment Miles could not think what that might refer to in his own life.

The force which had taken possession of Liz reacted violently to the suggestion she tell any of the others and Liz nearly reeled. With a shake of her head Liz said in a tight voice. "I'm not ready to discuss that Mr. Aldred."

John smiled a little, shaking his head.  "This is all" not all, you know that in your heart, "bollocks.  These things are stories, myths.  Shite made up because people didn't understand how the world works."  Then why are you still here? ran the thoughts through his head. Why are your still listening?  "It's been a wonderful meal, truly excellent.  My complements to your chef.  I'll be at the back here until the car's ready to take us back to the Smoke."

Duvalle frowned slightly. He'd expected cynisysm but things were quickly devolving. After his earlier conversation with Ms. Downing, he'd expected her reaction, and had an idea on how to bring her around, or at least provide for her while he worked with her to control the power within.

He cast about for something to help convince these modern men, products of today's scientific focused society, that he was being truthful and not eccentric or unbalanced. He considered bringing in Chef, but cast that idea aside as being too much too soon. 

A demonstration of power, such as he'd done with Liz could work, or it could backfire. In this day of technology, such things weren't as impressive as they might have been in simpler times. He also needed to assure them that items of power do exist. But how to without breaching the vault and exposing them so soon? 

Suddenly he remembered. Nickolai Constantine, one of John's ancestors, several times removed, had acquired and taken charge of a relatively minor object. It's 'gifts' weren't minor, but it didn't have the sentience and malevolence that many of the items Faust had stolen did. He had his demonstration, and proof. 

Duvalle cleared his throat. "Gentlemen. I assure you, I may be considered eccentric by society's standards, but I am not unbalanced." He moved behind his desk and opened a drawer and pulled out a tube approximately 10 inches long and 4 inches wide. It was covered in brown leather. Duvalle handed the tube to Malachi.

"Father Baptiste, I believe you'll find the contents of this enlightening, Provided of course you still remember your Latin." 

With a leery look, Malachi took the tube from Duvalle and could immediately smell the old scents gently wafting upward toward him.  It was a little dizzying but he steadied himself and opened the end of the tube.  The cap twisted off easily. He noticed a few odd sigils etched around the lip of the cap. Sigils that seemed vaguely familiar. The scents were even stronger.  "Some things are indeliably etched into my mind," he said as he carefully pulled a parchment from the tube.  He could feel the aspects of the pen work with his fingertips and he carefully unrolled the paper and scanned the text with his eyes going back in his mind to those many times that he poored over biblical translations and other texts ignoring the Hebrew and Greek in favor of those memories of Latin.  'The verbs, always the verbs,' he thought to himself while he read.

(GM: edited slight for persepctive, 3rd person past tense please :) )

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Duvalle turned to John. "Mr. Constantine, I believe you were willed a family heirloom. An apparently minor but sentimental treasure, an antique fountain pen, correct? The nib is gold, and the shaft is Rosewood, etched with an ivy vine pattern if I recall, and the two are joined by a piece of polished Onyx, similiarly etched. Do you happen to have it with you?"

John nodded, his mind turning to the photograph in his jacket pocket once again.  "It's in my jacket.  I don't go anywhere without it.  Why?"

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