THE LOST GOSPELS OF HENRY THE LION
Return to New Orleans and young orphan, Richard Blaine, as he meets the enigmatic Mr. Morton for the first time ...
and the mysterious librarian, Helen Mayfair, for the second time.
THE LOSTGOSPELS OF HENRY THE LION
“Somelost things should stay that way.”
– AllanQuartermain
If a girl touches your heart, shewill stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit… or can never leave.
One of the two … depending on howyour relationship went … well or tragically.
And you only think you know whichconsummation effects the number of mental visits.
It may help to understand what Ijust said to realize that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of the heartare caused,
not by people being fundamentally good or being fundamentally bad,but by people just being fundamentally people.
I had to get bruised a lot tolearn that.
I was happier ignorant … and morehopeful.
That all changed that morning whenSister Ameal escorted me to the cursed library of St. Marok’s.
The nun squeezed my ear as wewalked into the sweeping, cavernous library. I fought a wince … and lost.
“You're always you, and that doesn'tchange, young sir, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can doabout that either.”
She glanced to where I waslooking: at the breathtakingly beautiful Helen Mayfair.
“And every lingering kiss andevery caress of soft skin is another shard of heart you will never see again.”
“Ah, I just want to be close toher, to hear that strange voice of hers.”
“That’s how it starts, young sir.That’s how it starts.”
“What starts, Sister?”
“The Trojan War, Mister Blaine …and trust me, it ended badly with worse poetry.”
She changed from my ear tosqueezing my nose. “It will be the same for you unless you are smarter than youlook.”
“Then, my goose is pretty wellcooked.”
“I am afraid so, young sir.”
And it was.
I do not miss St. Marok’sorphanage, mind you.
But I miss the way I tookpleasure in small things there, even as greater things in the world crumbled.
I could not control the world, orthe war sweeping across it, could not walk away from things or people ormoments in the orphanage that hurt,
But I took joy in the things there thatmade me happy … few though they were.
Miss Mayfair spotted me withSister Ameal.
“Oh, Mr. Blaine! Good news! We are invited for dinner a week hence atthe fabled mansion of Mr. Lamashtu Morton!”
Sister Ameal muttered, “Youngsir, that is not good news. It is terrible news.”
I nodded. “With a first name likeLamashtu, how could it not be?”
“Do not mock that one’s name!”
“I’m not. Lamashtu is aMesopotamian demon lord and the goddess of monsters.”
I made a face. “Never sit down todinner with a gender-confused host. It never ends well.”
Sister Ameal frowned at me. Ishrugged again. “I read a lot, Sister.”
Miss Mayfair almost skipped tome. “His is a mansion to which only a select few are ever invited to dinner.”
“As the main course?” I asked.
She slapped my upper left arm. Ionly later learned why “left” was important to her ... and to me:
it was the side closest tothe heart.
“Silly. No, the price ofadmission is merely the volume in your new rooms, the former quarters of the late, unlamented Headmaster Stearns:
The Lost Gospels of Henry the Lion.”
As Sister Ameal stiffened, Isighed,
“Of course, it is."
I shook my head.
TheGospels of Henry the Lion were intended by Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, forthe altar of the Virgin Mary in the church of St. Blaise's Abbey
I sighed, "A cursed gold-bound book worth millions. Who could turndown a free meal at that price?”
