The Dioscuri Stratagem: WIP

PROLOGUE THE SNOW IS GENTLY FALLING almost in slow-motion. Thick, fat super clusters seem suspended in the air before his eyes. He blinks. White light stabs at the back of his eyes. He loses focus and stumbles forward through the snow, a hand reaching out to grasp empty air. Blinking rapidly, he regains his vision and staggers toward the black shape in front of him. His car. Fumbling in his overcoat pocket for his keys, he makes it to the luxury sedan. And leaning against the door for support, manages to insert his key and unlocks the door. The migraine is getting worse. He knows he shouldn’t drive. Knows it’s asking for trouble. But the fear gnawing at his innards has him turning over the engine and putting the car into drive, windscreen wipers on full, furiously batting at the thick snow. Lights. Lights, I need lights. He flicks on full beam, which does little to illuminate the ink-black darkness in the cul-de-sac. For a moment he panics. What the hell am I doing? His …