ERIK'S JOURNAL - SEQUEL TO THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

I don't know if anyone is reading and just not posting a comment, but I will post the next chapter.

It's too quiet in here.

Here is Chapter 39. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 39

Mid day at Würsteland in Vienna, Austria

Overcast skies and a chilled breeze didn’t make the day go any better after their arrival. Having traveled to Vienna in the past, Lucas and Hamilton ordered something hot to drink for themselves and the others from Würsteland Vienna’s fast food chain. Hunger tugged at everyone’s stomach so they all settled for bratwursts and mustard. Mae and Antoine inhaled the food. Hamilton squirmed from the pain in is still bleeding shoulder while Lucas stared about in awe of how accurate the journal read. Raoul said nothing as he ate his food. Somehow he wished he had stayed in his own time.

A déja vu moment hit Erik as he munched on this food and sipped his warm drink. He’d been here eons ago before he became the original Phantom. Landmarks such as the Belvedere Palace, St. Stephens Cathedral and Hofburg’s Imperial Palace never changed since they had been there for hundreds of years. They pretty much looked the same except for the modern-day dress of the people and cars milling about. Coming here took him back to a time when folks lived a simpler life, no television, or radio; no telephones, cell phones and absolutely no computers. The Punjab Lasso settled any and all disagreements and no one worried about the high price of gasoline and oil.

Why on God’s green earth would the world depend on one country for oil? Erik just shook his head and finished his food. In a grim way, he did miss his signature weapon. Often he found his hand going to his a breast pocket that enveloped an non-existent lasso. Too bad he couldn’t have kept it or found a duplicate to retain.

“Hapsburg Treasure House Museum is not far,” began Lucas. “This entry was made yesterday, but accordingly, the current Phantom won’t get here until six days later. Apparently, he had a run in with a goddess and lost the Staff of Osiris.”

“A goddess?” Hamilton chuckled and nearly choked on his bratwurst.

“You don’t believe in deities?” Erik eyed the man suspiciously.

“Well if zombies exist, there must be gods and goddesses. My bad,” the reporter grinned and tossed his trash in the near by wastebasket. Raoul frowned at the mention of zombies, but again said nothing.

Lucas pointed down the road. “The Museum should be in that direction. Let’s go before Hamilton gets us all struck with an angry bolt of lightening.” The others agreed and followed his lead. The reporter fell silent. Whether he believed in God or the Devil or nothing at all, he wouldn’t say; he just grinned and caught up with the group.

The Hapsburg Treasure House Museum turned out to be six immense baroque buildings housing more treasure than one could ever imagine. A stroll under the high ornate ceilings of murals and seemingly endless treasure chambers would probably take a person year to walk through. So much to see, so little time.

According to the journal they needed to find a man named Professor Lenhard Holzknecht, a scholar in ancient languages as well as the research and study of holy and ancient relics.

Holzknecht seemed very difficult to locate. At one point they were told he was giving a lecture off site. Then another inquiry led them an empty office, while yet another led to the suggestion of returning tomorrow. As they wandered about, Erik asked where they kept the Spear. A docent with sandy colored hair and a ruddy face led them to Schatzkammer where the Imperial Treasury laid.

There before them in a display case set a double bladed spear with silver wire interlace incased in a silver sheath with another gold one over that. Under the gold sheath the inscription should read "Lancea et clavus domini" meaning "Lance and nail of the Lord". Rumor had it that on an inventory list, the lance was even referred to as "sper gotes" (spear of god). Was the inscription there? They had to know.

Erik and wife did not believe the spear they gazed upon held any supernatural powers. They would have to hold it in their hands to be sure. The reporter winced a little as he stared at the relic. Uncle Lucas and nephew eyed the one in the case and then compared it to the smeared sketch in the journal. They looked identical. Raoul didn’t know what to think.

Trying to recall the magick he knew, Erik concentrated on the lance before him. Something had to come to him.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” came a coarse Austrian accented voice behind them. Everyone turned to see an aged man with silver hair dressed in tweed. Distinguished markings on his left hand and wrist peered out from beneath his coat sleeve.

“It is indeed,” replied Erik.

“I am Professor Lenhard Holzknecht. I understand you were asking for me,” the old man shook the hand of each in Erik’s group.

“That we were,” Lucas answered. “Tell us something about this spear. Is it the actual Spear of Longinus, the Spear of Destiny?”

“Ah, tourist! All seeking the coveted Lance of God. This is a very old spear, but as to whether or not it is magick, I cannot say not. I am a logical and practical man,” chortled the old professor. “I do not explore fairytales.”

“Fairytales? Doesn’t this spear have an engraving on it, which reads ‘Lancea et clavus domini?’ And isn’t there a nail embedded within the lance?” Lucas persisted.

At this, the old professor gestured for them to follow him, as he led them to his office quite a distance from the display case.

Inside the elaborate office, Holzknecht closed the door. Turning to each one as he seated himself behind the oak desk he asked, “Who are you people? Why the concern for a museum piece? Why are you looking for me?”

Erik introduced himself and the group. Then he proceeded to explain the reason for their questions, but not truthfully. Rather, he told the professor they were collectors of antiquities, especially those of supernatural power.

The old professor laughed a hearty laugh, but still would not disclose the authenticity of the spear. According to the journal, the one in the display case like the Staff of Osiris was not the real one and only Professor Lenhard Holzknecht knew where the authentic spear lay.

The journal told how the Phantom retrieved the spear, which he in turn used to coercer the goddess Hathor to give him back the Staff. The problem they had with the journal, there were parts still not legible even after the restoring. Several paragraphs were still smudged and smeared beyond recognition.

The old professor seemed annoyed with their questions. Whether he didn’t believe in magick, the supernatural or just plain lied, they couldn’t tell.

Graciously, the old professor thanked them for visiting the museum, and asked them to leave his office. Mae protested. In her heart, she felt the old man lied about not knowing more about the legendary lance. When she mentioned the Karotechia and Delta Green from the journal, all hell broke loose.

In that moment, the old man’s countenance faded to fury. Then the rest of the group realized the old man hid something.

“Look, I understand your skepticism in answering, but all we want to know is if the one in the display case is the real spear. Why are you angry?” Erik pressed on.

“The Spear of Destiny is a myth, a fake. There is no magick in the spear! There is no Karotechia or Delta Green!” retorted the old professor.

Lucas stepped in. “All right then. Where is the real one? Don’t tell us you don’t know. This one in the case does not have the ‘Lancea et clavus domini’ engraved on it, correct?”

“Get out! Get out of my office. I’ll hear no more of these insane questions. There is no Spear of Destiny. It’s just a story to attract the tourist!” The old man quivered with anger and stood up as if to do them bodily harm.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Erik led the others out. They couldn’t take no for answer. They had to know what the old professor knew.

By now, Hamilton’s shoulder had stopped bleeding. Still, he said nothing, only listened. The look in his eyes when the names Karotechia and Delta Green came up indicated he knew more than he let on. Erik noticed this when no one else did.

Their next step led Erik and Hamilton to following the old professor while the others investigated the lance on display. The truth must come to light!

Thank you for the chapter and sorry that i couldn't review for awhile.

Just a question, did you post any of your stories in the other forums or sites (e.g. fanfiction.net or the fifth cellar) 'cause I thought I read the prequel of this fiction on one of those pages.. I think it was in 'thephantomoftheopera.com' page. But, i cannot be sure.
Just asking.

Great so far.

S

X

I posted it on www.phantomoftheopera.com.

There were two chapters I had posted here, Chapters 38 and 39. I am currently working on Chapter 40. I have a little more to do.

Glad to see you back syoonchannel.

Thank you for the kind words. More to come soon.

Thank you syoonchannel and all who have read whether you reviewed or not.

Here is Chapter 40. Please R&R. Enjoy!


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CHAPTER 40

Sitting room in the de Chagny Château

The castle looked pretty much the same after all these hundred and something years. Philippe did little to make it modern save to install electricity, telephones and a few other minor details. For all intents and purposes, the same faded floral wallpaper lined the walls, the same chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and the same winding corridors made the mind spin.

Fine wines in the cellar aged year after year. Only when a special occasion occurred did Philippe break out the good stuff. Today having his great-great uncle visit called for the finest wine and the best food.

Looking about at the brocade furniture and embroidered drapes, Doone felt quite at home. The vintage wine whet his appetite and sharpened his mind. He had a plan and if all went well, he’d have the Staff of Osiris before sundown the next day.

From the conversation, his great-great nephew wanted what he wanted, the Staff of Osiris and the coveted Lance of God, Spear of Destiny or whatever you wanted to call it. For this reason he had not wished to have his journal read by anyone. It, like his pet opera Don Juan Triumphant he wanted buried with him, not read by greedy relatives and strangers from foreign lands.

Azacca sat a little ways from Doone, observing him as he spoke and sipped wine. The Haitian knew something didn’t feel right. Who knew the spell to walk through dimensions except for a high priest or god? This being sitting before him chatted with his master as if they were old friends. He saw and felt no fear in Doone. The Haitian scrunched up his face in a frown. He never liked being second best. For this reason he rejoiced in the demise of fellow Haitian Agwe.

Close examination of Phantom Doone did not prove him a priest. Then a god, thought the Haitian. Truly he did not seem to come from this world or time. His mannerism appeared strange and forced.

As they talked, Phantom Doone noticed the three bruisers standing at the door and the one at Philippe’s side with fists like sledgehammers. This indicated one of two things, the master of the castle was afraid of his own shadow or he liked to show off. He thought there were two and the Haitian. Where did the third bruiser come from? Did he slip in and he didn’t notice?

The count rambled about many things, but the one that caught his attention mentioned Ancient Egyptian deities. Accordingly, Egypt per se did not have a designated “collector of souls”, but generally a goddess in her scorn could temporarily evolve into one such creature.
Hathor came to mind. But what caused her scorn? Men? An interesting thought.

“I will cut to the chase, my dear uncle. Your journal speaks of the Staff of Osiris and the Spear of Destiny. If you do not possess them now, you will or did at one time. Since your journal is not in my possession, I will ask you my questions. How did you obtain the Staff and the Spear?” The count sipped his wine and eyed his newly found relative very closely.

“It is all about power, is it not?” Phantom Doone ticked a look from Philippe to the Azacca. Then he laughed and the count followed suite. “I shall be honest with you, I had the Staff in my hands for a brief moment. The power resonating from it was like nothing I had ever encountered in my life. How exhilarating! But alas, a goddess caught me off guard and snatched it from my grasp.”

The Count de Chagny roared with laughter, as did Doone. The Count knew what had happened. “Seduced by a goddess, eh uncle? Was she truly beautiful?”

After Phantom Doone caught his breathe, he replied, “Yes, my dear nephew, she did. Caught me off guard when she yanked the staff from my hand. Oh the pleasure we could have enjoyed had she not been so obstinate!”

“And pray tell, do you know the name of the goddess?”

“Hathor of course. Her beauty…unmistakable. The power…indescribable. I need to get the Staff back,” Phantom Doone drank down the last drop of wine, when he noticed the wicked twinkle in his nephew’s eyes.

“Perhaps we can work together, dear uncle. Teach me to be like you. To know what you know. I ask for nothing more. In turn, I will share with you secrets of the dead,” Philippe finished and the pulled down on a silk cord to hail one of his servants.

“Secrets of the dead? Intriguing! How so dear nephew?” Doone leaned in. A manservant entered the room. Philippe ordered pastries and finger sandwiches and more wine. Upon turning back to his uncle, he rendered a smile that chilled Doone to the bone.

“Yes, dear uncle. I am a necromancer. I know more about it than my Haitian friend here. Azacca can only reanimate the recently departed, but I can do much, much more.” And with that, he motioned for the bruiser at his right with the power fists to bring something to him. As tall as this guy was, he moved like a cheetah and returned with an faceted crystal ball that sat on a stand with feet like silver leaves.





It had been a long time since Phantom Doone had seen a crystal, but none like this. According to Philippe the tiny prisms he’d used to his advantage in capturing spectres, wraiths and the like.

What they needed was a way to trick Hathor into releasing the staff. How does one trick a goddess? Scare her to death?

The count ordered the drapes drawn and the lights out. The room had to be absolutely dark. Doone raised an eyebrow as he watched the count pass his hand over the faceted crystal. When needed, the crystal became clear and free of the tiny prisms.

Clouds roiled in the sphere. He saw nothing, but perhaps the count did, as he spoke not a word but only stared into the depths of the enchanted ball as though in a trance.

From the corner of his eye, the Phantom watched Azacca squirm in his seat. The bruisers by the door stood so still they appeared as statues. The one with the sledgehammer fists hovered over his master as if ready to attack anyone that might threaten the count.

Within the depth of the roiling clouds a vision emerged. An exotic beauty with ebony tresses stood before an ancient stone alter where laid a large beast, motionless and bleeding. In the woman’s hand he noticed a stone knife used in ritual sacrifice. The language she spoke sounded like none he’d ever heard before. Her other hand held a staff with a pinecone pulsing with power very similar to electricity. The ebony Kundalini rising up to meet the pinecone had diamonds for eyes that glowed like miniature torches.

In a moment, the woman dropped the stone knife and passed the staff over the dead beast.

The area about her looked like a field or park on a cold night filled with a creepy, low hanging mist that seemed to crawl across grass and shrubs.

For a long time the count stared into the crystal without uttering a word. At one point Phantom Doone thought he’d either fallen asleep or had astro projected somewhere.

Only when the mist seeped through the crystal and escaped into the sitting room did Count Philippe speak.

Doone stood up and backed away from the creepy crystal.

“She is no longer in Aaru. She is Vienna. I recognize the woods,” said the count without looking away from the misty crystal.

“Wonderful!” retorted Doone. “Help me acquire the Spear of Destiny, then together we will force the goddess to give us the staff.”

“How do you purpose to do that? We can’t frighten her into handing it over,” Philippe finally looked up to meet Doone’s eyes. By now the room was filled with the low hanging mist crawling across the floor and swirling in the air.

“Legend says the Lance de Longinus can kill a god, in this case a goddess. I’m sure after all these centuries she wouldn’t want to be taken out by a common spectre that haunts an opera house. After all, who would inherit her power? Her cows?” with this Phantom Doone threw back his head in belly busting laughter and the count soon joined him. Philippe enjoyed the irreverence and sacrilegious remarks.

The Haitian said nothing. His fingers traced the pouch around his neck that held herbs of protection; his mojo. He definitely had to find a way to reach Hathor first. Whether he believed in Egyptian deities or those of Haiti made no difference. If he achieved what he wanted, who cared by what deity it came? In the end, all power would belong to him, Azacca, a powerful houngan, a powerful high priest of Voodoo.

I hope someone is reading. Nevertheless, here is the next chapter, an entry from Erik's Journal.

Please R&R. Enjoy!


CHAPTER 41

Vienna, Austria 18 April 2007

We are here in Austria. Vienna to be exact.

Le Comte de Chagny of today says Professor Lenhard Holzknecht is a close friend and will assist in locating the coveted Lance de Longinus aka Spear of Destiny. Dark forces rail against my mission and me. Many times when le vieux comte de Chagny (the old count of Chagny) speaks, he makes me want to use the lasso on him and other times, he causes a chill to pass through me.

Holzknecht actually knows nothing. I know this by the look I le comte’s eyes. It’s the thing he serves that has the answers. Dyonacalus is what he serves, the thing from the in between, an evil shape-shifter. The same creature worshipped by the Sorceress Brianna, which I fought to save the men of Paris in my own time.

According to Le Comte Philippe, Holzknecht will be expecting us with the information we seek.

I do not trust Philippe or Azacca. Any religion is what a person makes of it, and so voodoo becomes a formidable challenge.

Some people read body language to tell if someone is lying. I read the eyes. Many times the experienced liar will look you straight in the eye and never look away or fidget. Philippe is like this.

For now I must acquire the count’s crystal. It is a rather charming thing with myriad lights, nooks and crannies to trap an entity or the human essence. Such a crystal I’d seen in my travels used to capture a jinn, loa or spectre if you will. Could it capture and hold a goddess?

Azacca, the Haitian, cast the bones to get his instructions. Without his knowledge, I watched in secret. The bones spoke in words I scarcely understood, Creole again. What answered him could have been Dyonacalus, but it, too spoke the same language.


11:45 pm I crept into the count’s hotel room and stole his enchanted sphere. The face deep within its prism reflected the silhouette of a man. It peeped and muttered a name I dare not speak, but must. Only once had I head this name, and like no other I’ve ever heard, it haunted my mind, my heart and soul. Death stalks the night, fills my mind and haunts my dreams if I should be fortunate enough to sleep.

In its language, I asked how to capture Hathor and where to find the spear. It mumbled only one thing, Skadi, Norse goddess of ice and snow.

If anyone is reading, please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 42

Vienna, Austria 20, April 2007

After the crystal referred me to Skadi, the Norse goddess, I stood speechless. Now I must deal with yet another supernatural entity from a distant land. This should not surprise me. No matter what deity I encountered, they all seemed a like in one way or another; the difference laid in the location and culture of the people that worshiped it.

Skadi is the Norse name for the goddess that rules over snow and ice; or winter if you please. Sometimes she is known as the goddess of justice, vengeance, and righteous anger, but the ice princess of Greek origin is Khione nymph daughter of Boreas, god of the north-wind. The closes equivalent to a goddess of ice in Egypt is Tefnut Egyptian goddess of precipitation and clouds, and the sacred animal is the lion. Understandable, since Egypt has no record of ice or snow.

Taking the crystal with me, I slipped it into my inside pocket and went off on my own to find the illusive ice goddess, whatever she chose to call herself. I dare not risk having Count Philippe and his various henchmen accompany me. I would be a fool to do so knowing that they will attempt to kill me as soon as they get what they want. Besides, Voodoo is not a belief to toy with. I prefer not to deal with the dead anymore than needed.

Walking through dimensions to the Far North I found not a good idea. Too many dangers tried to stop or hinder me when I tried. However, hitching a ride with a man of science proved to be the lesser of two evils. I should have gone alone by airplane. Magick does have its consequences, as does the use of science.

Professor Lenhard Holzknecht knew exactly where the spear lay, but his fascination with creatures like me from another space and time, turned the beast who lived beneath the Paris Opera House into the subject of a curious collector and not a partner in a wonderful archeological find.

I must be alert and not allow the spear to slip though my hands, as did the staff. Hathor is watching and so are others that have not yet revealed themselves.

Many are the times I wished things had been different. Never had I thought the life of the Opera Ghost would lead me to the realms of magick where legends and myths come alive.

I saw her again today. There she stood. Hathor, in a white linen dress of Ancient Egypt, hair black and shiny as polished ebony; eyes like newly lit coals and silky smooth was that pale, flawless skin. Those lips the color of wine made my heart race and my loins ache. No matter what she had done or would do, the spell of a goddess makes a man lose all reason.

My attempt to leave the museum seemed futile with the goddess standing there glaring at us. The professor fainted dead away at the sight of her. I held my own, bracing myself against the doorway of the professor’s office.

Then I noticed it, the staff, in her hand. The gold pinecone gleamed with an unearthly brilliance. Suddenly, it dawned on me, the way to get the staff from her. The plan unfolded in my mind as plain as day. After taking a deep breath, I mustered up enough strength to speak, not to her, but to the Count via cell phone. Like it or not he had to accompany me to make my plan work. As I whispered into the cell phone, the wily goddess smiled nearly bringing me to the ecstasy only a woman can for a man.

Wow! Seems I missed out on a lot... Very very good, my friend, and very interesting. I simply cannot wait to see what happens next...


D

Slytherliggie, what a pleasant surprise! So happy to see you. Missed you so much.

Yes, yes, you have missed a lot of the adventure. I hope you have caught up. There is more to come this weekend.

Hope to see more of you.

Thank you for the kind words.

Yep, I did catch up... Brilliant adventure going on here.


I will try not to fall behind again, between my exams and work lifes been a bit challenging, but I'm brushing up on my juggling skills as we speak, lol.



D

Slytherliggie thank you again for the kind words and welcome back. Hope to catch some other readers as well.

As promised, here is the next chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 43

Hapsburg Treasure House Museum: outside the Professor’s office

The corridor felt nearly as elaborate as the displays, with rich gold leaf borders edging the baseboards and paintings by various masters from long since gone. Two shadowy figures crouched by the door as if to eavesdrop on the professor and his guest.

The conversation sounded calm enough, but at times a voice rose to the ceiling and a few choice words became clear. The quest for the real spear no longer occupied the discussion. The subject of interest now, the guest, a man from France who claimed to have come from another period of time. He offered the professor the secret to unlocking dimensions in exchange for information leading to the whereabouts of the real Spear of Destiny.

Inside the office, the Professor pondered the offer in a silence that hung like a ton of lead. Leaning back in his chair behind a carved antique desk, the old man fiddled with a pen and stared down at a blank sheet of parchment paper. With great respect the professor eyed his guest as though he were a great treasure.

Phantom Doone could tell by the body language and constant stare that the spear did not interest the old man. Having a creature from another space and time did.

“The cut of clothes makes the man,” an old adage rolled through the professor’s mind as he took note of the presiding Phantom’s apparel. Opening a dimension sounded intriguing.

“Somehow you do not seem to care about the spear. Perhaps no one really posses it or even knows where it is?” Phantom Doone posed the question.

“Oh, I know where it is and it is authentic, but how to obtain it is absolutely impossible. From your offer to show me how to open a dimension, you must believe in magick, ancient deities and monsters,” the old man chuckled. “However, I’d like to know more about you, Heir Erik. Your accent is muddled. It sounds French, but not. You look old, but not. Tell me how you came to me and what you really are?”

By the paintings hanging on the walls, the professor had a taste for beauty, for these were all painted by Franz Xaver Winterhalter in the late 1800’s of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, or Sissi if you will.




The odd thing about this, Phantom Doone had met her once, when she came to the Paris Opera House to hear Faust. The face, unmistakable. Being a romantic would be his downfall. Yes, he’d fallen in love with her, but what man hadn’t? That gorgeous long hair of luscious brown! She almost rivaled Hathor, almost. Somehow, he no longer mourned the loss of Christine’s love. However, he did love and miss his son dearly.

For a moment, Doone drifted into his own world, but instantly snapped back to reality when he heard the professor ask for a brief look at the spell book.

The spell book? How did he know about the spell book, the one Raoul snatched before he leapt into a vortex within the mirror? Not wanting to give an answer, Phantom Doone, ignored the question and asked one of his own.

“Professor, you confuse me. Why would you not have interest in a relic that could seal your winning fate in whatever you do, rather than the shadow of a man before you?” He shifted in his seat and looked the old man straight in the eye.

“Because Skadi has the Spear. Foolishly, I allowed her to take it from me. Do you know who she is, Heir Erik? She is the Norse goddess of ice. I’ve known a few frigid women in my time, but this one has the prize as they say.”

“Take me to her and let me see what I can do?”

“No surprise when I mention the name of a Norse goddess? No skepticism?” There came no reply. “If I agree, will you tell me the secret of opening dimensions even if you do cannot take the spear from her?”

The old professor knew how to wrangle a deal. Without thinking twice the old fellow had turned the request back to what he wanted. The twinkle in his eyes gave away his deceit. The moment he learned the secret of dimensions Doone would unmistakingly become a prisoner.

A small scuffling sound alerted the men of someone in the corridor. Professor Holzknecht sprang to his feet, sprinted to the door and flung it open. Two of the most gorgeous, hypnotic eyes met his. The slender beauty with silky black hair to her ear, framed her face. The cow horns holding the sun disk headdress set regally on those silky tresses. The white linen dress of ancient Egypt hugged every delicious curve. The purple robe with gold embroidered wings of a hawk hung loose around her feminine figure. In her hand she held the illusive Staff of Osiris. The gold pinecone pulsed with power.

Quickly Doone stood up and moved back. The old professor stood quivering, speechless. Why had she come here? She had what she wanted, didn’t she? In that instant she smiled with those ruby lips, yet it wasn’t the professor she locked eyes with, but rather Phantom Doone.

No matter how much he wanted her, he had to keep a clear head and control the ache in his loins and the take a deep breath. Perhaps a cold shower would have been better, but no water in sight. Then came the dawn. The way to get the Staff from the goddess and not die. It came to him as clear as day.

Without a word, Doone used Latin to invoke another spell, only this time he vanished and the old man fainted dead away. The smile on the face of the beautiful goddess faded. Where had her Phantom gone? Yes, she knew his name and from whence he came. He belonged with her. In a fury, she spun in a circle like whirling dervish and disappeared.

From the doorway of another office, two heads popped out and surveyed the empty corridor. The two figures moved into the light and stared down at the unconscious professor. Erik, the real Erik, took his foot and gently nudged the motionless man on the floor.

“I’d say he was down for the count,” grinned Hamilton in his sly Midwest accent. The reporter nearly always found something amusing about the gravest of situations.

“What just happened?” the former Phantom puzzled aloud. “That was Doone still posing as…” he stopped abruptly, remembering he had not actually admitted to the reporter that he was the true Phantom of the Opera.

“Who is Doone? And who is he posing as? What are you talking about?” the reporter wanted to know.

Erik ignored the questions and whipped out his cell phone. As he punched in the numbers, he realized how much he loved this form of communication. There was so much to enjoy when living in the 21st Century.

As soon as someone answered, Erik said a few endearing things to his beloved wife and then asked to speak to Lucas. When Lucas picked up, he asked if there was anything in the journal that mentioned them, not just Hamilton and him, but any of them.

Lucas assured him that none of their names appeared in the writings. After reading the parts about Skadi aloud, he realized the reason for the questions. Something about the journal had changed. They changed the account. What seemed to be ambiguous now looked crystal clear. Skadi’s name had only appeared.

“If we would just read the journal or what you have of it through and do nothing, the account won’t change and we will find both the Staff and the Spear. Should we follow the route outlined in the book, we will change everything. Doone does not know we are following him, but due to magick, the journal does.” Erik finished and gave a long, drawn out sigh.

Lucas agreed. Why had he not seen this? But could they actually sit still and not hearken to the call of adventure, even if the adventure teetered between life and death?

Where is everybody? It's too quiet.

Wow, now this is an interesting twist, I must say... So, now, the question bugging me... Will they follow Doone, or not?

Please update again soon, my friend, I am at the edge of my seat!!


D

Thank you Slitherliggie for you loyalty and kind words. I apologize for posting late, but my life has been busy.

For your reading pleasure I give you Chapter 44. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 44

Frozen Arctic tundra, day but appears as night

Dressed in a wool turtleneck sweater, woolen pants and a down filled parka, Philippe, le Comte de Chagny stood at the ready with three of the men he’d promoted since all the others died in the line of duty. The Haitian Azacca dressed in similar attire as the count, swung his arms about trying to stay warm. He trembled to the core and his teeth chattered. Cold did not agree with him. At the moment he couldn’t even feel his feet.

All of their clothes appeared as white as the bleak tundra in the semidarkness and blended in with this wintry Arctic world. Everywhere as far as the eye could see lay ice and snow. Not only did the air around them burn their lungs with a sharp iciness; their breath smoked when they talked, and their bodies ached from standing on the frozen ground. Low lying plant life managed to survive in this world of ice as tiny leaves poked out from beneath the savage frozen crystals of water.

Day looked like night with the eerie glow of the aurora borealis or Northern Lights casting its myriad colors across the northern skies.







The Count waved his men behind the rocks and some into caves. The four piston bullies they rode in lay camouflaged behind the same rocks.




Professor Holzknecht shivered with each icy breath. His clothes also looked the others, but a chilled ran through him and he felt like he’d freeze to death on the spot. Small frozen crystals edged his thick graying eyebrows and even his gloves burned as if frost had sealed them to his flesh. The old saying that “hell has no fury like a woman scorned” stumbled through his mind as he reflected on the two goddesses at hand. No he didn’t want to think about it, not now, not in the semidarkness.

In passing, Phantom Doone paused and stared the old man in the eye and said, “"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" is not correctly quoted. But rather, "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/ Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned," …English playwright William Congreve in The Mourning Bride of 1697.”

No one heard the comment but the professor and it frightened him. His eyes grew big as moons and his jaw dropped. How did Doone know what he was thinking? His silhouette against the Northern Lights appeared like taunting imp from a bottomless abyss.

Frigid winds howled across the tundra giving a high-pitched screech like that of a banshee. The old professor nearly fainted again.

Dressed in a dark woolen overcoat with fur trim Phantom Doone sat quietly on what looked like a throne of solid ice. He pulled the hood up around his face to shield him from the relentless wind. In his hand he held a staff, nothing fancy, merely plain wood with the same faceted crystal of Philippe’s on top.

In the tenseness of the wait, his fingers alternated caressing the poison tipped tiepin and then his deadly Punjab Lasso. For some reason he felt nothing, not even the cold. If his plan failed, he would die that day with the Count and all his men. If he succeeded, he would play both ends against the middle. The Staff and Spear he would possess and the two goddesses be damned!

The thought of ceasing to existence filled him with peace. No gods to threaten him, no mortals to covet his goods or attempt to take his life. Without a doubt, Philippe would murder him horribly once he got what he wanted.

Beginning in a low tones only to increase in volume, Phantom Doone stretched forth his hand holding the staff/crystal and chanted three times, “Skadi, snow goddess, who runs with wolves and sings with the winter wind, lead us through the frozen tundra. Teach us to rely on ourselves, and light our way with the Northern Lights. When all seems dark, remind us we can always rely on each other and the ruler of All that is Ice. Hail, Skadi!”

Nothing but the low moan of the freezing wind replied in the depth of the bleak tundra. Darkness still enveloped them.

This time Phantom Doone recited the same prayer but this time in Norwegian, “Skadi, gudinnen av snø, som går med ulver og synger med vinteren vinden, guide oss gjennom den frosne tundraen. Lær oss å stole på oss selv, og lys på vår måte med nordlyset. Når alt virker mørkt, minner oss om at vi alltid kan stole på hverandre og hersker over alt som er Ice. Hail, Skadi!”

Nothing happened. The howling winds encircled the men and trace icy fingers across any skin exposed to the elements. The aurora borealis flickered in the background casting eerie shadows on the stark white ground.

By now Philippe’s impatience got the better of him and he let loose some vulgar and embarrassing words in French. His men grumbled in whatever language suited them. The professor stood taken aback. He was sure Skadi would have answered by now. At the moment his bones ached and his face burned from the cold.

“This is ludicrous. There is no goddess Skadi and we are all fools!” growled Count Philippe. Doone glared at him. No matter what, now was not the time to blaspheme the name of any deity.

“Please Count Philippe, do not make her angry. It is not wise to provoke a goddess,” interjected the old professor.

“What will she do, aim a lightening bolt at my head? Split the earth open and have me fall in? Tell me what professor? I am tired of your silly superstitions. Where is the Spear of Destiny? You claim to know where it is? We all know the one on display in the museum is not authentic. No more games. Where is the Spear…”

At that moment, a quiet feminine voice spoke in almost a whisper. It seemed so close to Doone that he imagined he could feel warm breath upon his face, since his neck was covered with a turned up coat collar.

“Why have you called me?” Asked the female voice.

Phantom Doone turned abruptly and bumped into something very solid, but soft, like a woman. Philippe fell silent and the professor stumbled back in shock. He knew she existed, but he had never seen her and did not expect to.

“Skadi, great goddess of ice and snow, we are honored by your presence. We need your help,” Doone started.

“You want the Spear, why? It is of no use to mortals. You will kill yourselves and for what? Riches and power? Be gone young man. Your request wearies me,” the silhouette replied in the darkness.

Phantom Doone turned to her and tapped the staff three times on the ground. The faceted crystal on top began to glow and pulse until the light grew strong enough to illuminate the figure and face of the goddess Skadi. To his surprise, the face staring back at him was one he knew very well, Sissi, the Empress Elizabeth of Austria. The same rich brown hair like chocolate silk framed her face, as well as the hood she had pulled up. The dark flashing eyes met hi. Doone’s knees felt weak and wobbly.

“Sissi,” he half whispered. He never thought he’d see her again. “It can’t be. You, you…”

“I am not dead. As you can see I am very much alive. You look well, my beloved Erik. I thought, never mind. You cannot have the spear,” she spoke with haste trying hard not to give in to carnal desires. A small fire arose deep within and her loins ached for the man she had loved so many years ago.

“Sissi, please. I had the Staff of Osiris in my hands and let it slip from my grasp. I need to get it back. With the Spear, I can retrieve the Staff, “ Doone explained. Only he didn’t address her as a goddess. No, not at all. Instead he appealed to her like a lover to seduce the spear from her.

For a moment Skadi said nothing. Slowly she ticked a look to each man. The professor stood shivering and sniffling. Azacca bit his tongue and said nothing. He only cowered against the snow-covered rocks. The Count’s men showed no fear as they stood as if ready for the word to charge the goddess. The Count himself, stood fearless and filled with greed. Not even the bitter cold night effected him.

“Your life is complicated my dear Erik. Are you still living beneath the Paris Opera House?” The goddess turned her gaze back to Phantom Doone. Then in a half whisper she spoke only to Doone, “Oh how I’ve missed you.”

Skadi did not like flashy, dramatic entrances or exits. Instead, she preferred the quiet, inconspicuous way of doing things. However, in this case, she took the gloved hand of the mortal she loved and vanished with him.

Philippe bellowed several vulgar, harsh words in French. The Haitian clutched the mojo bag around his neck and braced himself against the frozen rocks. The professor muttered in German cursing himself for being duped. Personally, none of the men had ever encountered a goddess, especially this one, but they all wanted the spear for the same reasons, power. From what they’d seen, Skadi looked like nothing more than a mere mortal woman. Of course the professor realized how much she looked like the Empress Elizabeth of Austria. The resemblance was uncanny. Had the Empress been a goddess all along? And how did this man called Erik know her?

In the heavens the Northern Lights glimmered in the darkness, as they formed dim shadows on the snow, like dancing imps celebrating the arrival of the Goddess of Snow and Ice.

Wow!! I wonder where she took Erik, uhm, Doone... And what will Phillipe and the others do now, I wonder.

I'm at the edge of my seat, still.

Good luck with everything that is keeping you busy, my friend! can't wait for the next update...


D

Thank you Slitherliggie for you loyalty and kind words.

Yes, indeed, where did Skadi take Phantom Doone? Now here is a new chapter to add to the mystery.

Please R&R. Enjoy!


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CHAPTER 45

Würsteland in Vienna, Austria

The beautiful gardens filled with flowers and trees of every kind buzzed with people as well as honey bees flitting from blossom to blossom garnering pollen. On a nearby bench Lucas McCleary and his nephew Antoine sorted the delicate water damaged pages of Erik’s Journal. A few pages in hand, Mae and Raoul read over some entries, the ones with Skadi and Phantom Doone who identifies himself as Erik, the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

Sitting around doing nothing felt odd to the four. The real Erik, Mae’s beloved husband and original Phantom would soon return with Hamilton, the reporter no one really trusted.

The first time around the entries did not mention the name of the Norse deity or the fact that more than Hathor eavesdropped on Doone and the professor while they discussed the coveted spear in the professor’s office. Currently, the entire scene unfolded in the journal and the in depth account of the appearance of Skadi to Doone and Philippe who were accompanied with the de Chagny henchmen and the old professor.

“None of this makes sense,” complained Antoine. “How can anything written rewrite itself? What kind of trick is that?”

“No trick, my young friend. Only once have I heard of this type of magick. It’s called Write Spell or Letter Magick. The current Phantom must have used a particular ink and pen while burning the candle made from Sphinx tallow. The ink had to come from a Kraken and the quill pen the feather of a gryphon,” explained Raoul, le Vicomte de Chagny. Everyone stopped and stared at him. Not only was this the most he’d spoken since arriving in the 21st Century, but such knowledge no one suspected he possessed. The Phantom, whether the true Erik or Doone, would have the know-how of magick, but not the younger brother of Philippe de Chagny of Paris circa 1870.






“Ink from a Kraken?” Mae puzzled.

“A quill from a gryphon?” Lucas stared incredulously. “You are speaking of the part eagle, part lion creature of myth, right?”




“These things are not myth. They existed in some place, at some time. Write Spell or Letter Magick is not common. A Kraken was said to be a giant sea monster, generally a squid.”








“Does this look like the ink of a bloody squid?” Lucas retorted.

“Not a squid, a Kraken. It’s much bigger than a common squid.” Raoul seemed satisfied with his explanation.

“So Doone can write the journal in the past, which is now in the present with enchanted ink and pen while burning a candle made of Sphinx tallow? Where can you get Sphinx tallow? What the hang is a Sphinx anyway?” Mae’s eyebrows knitted together and her frown made the young Vicomte smile. Now he recalled the reason he stole the spell book and hopped dimensions, for her. His heart raced as a small fire burned within. For a moment, he leaned in as if to steal a kiss, but halted at the sound of a familiar, but alarming voice.

“A Sphinx was said to be composed of a man's head and chest, eagle's wings, a bull's hindquarters, and a lions' forequarters, my dear Mae. And if you kiss my wife, I will render you into tallow, Monsieur le Vicomte.” The heat within dissipated, as Raoul looked up to see the real Erik hovering over them. Passion died and humiliation took center stage.

Mae jumped up and threw her arms around her beloved’s neck. Their lips met with a lingering kiss, which fire could bring down the house.

“Are you all right?” The concerned wife wanted to know. Erik nodded “yes”, and recited what happened at the professor’s office.
“We know. It’s all here in black and white,” Erik’s wife waved the pages of the journal they’d been reading.

Now he realized why Raoul explained the Write Spell or Letter Magick. As much as he hated to admit it; they would have to stay out of Phantom Doone’s adventure or no telling what the journal would write.

As Erik turned to the reporter, both he and wife gasped and flinched. For there standing next to Hamilton was the beautiful woman Doone had seen in the Museum at Turin, Italy. The exquisite shiny ebony hair glinted as the sun peeked in and out from behind clouds. Her lips the colour of wine dripped with sensuality. The shapely body draped in dark purple thin gauze like material accentuated every curve, and split up front to show off those long slender legs. The perfect figure of a woman screamed seduction. Even Lucas and Antoine swallowed hard as a flush of heat washed over them.

Hathor. The Staff of Osiris clutched tight in hand, the goddess eyed Erik like a hungry beast. She felt the need to be worshipped, adored, and made love to. Eons had past since she had been with a mortal man. At last she’d found the one mortal she wanted to be with. Tried as she did, she could not stay away.

“I have retuned for you my Pharaoh. Time kept us apart, but no longer. Together we will rule as gods in my kingdom,” spoke the bewitching creature.

Poor Mae couldn’t say a word. A mix of emotions flooded her very being; anger, jealously, fear and hate tripped over themselves within her lovely body. Why would a goddess come for her husband?

Hamilton opened his mouth to correct the goddess, but Erik inconspicuously stomped on his foot for silence. If this gorgeous being thought she knew him, he needed to find out how and why. Of the course, taking the staff from her crossed his mind as he ticked a furtive glace to the magnificent emblem of authority. It hummed and pulsed with power.

Putting in his two cents worth crossed his mind, but Antoine’s uncle nudged him hard.

“Hathor, I presume?” Erik’s voice sounded a bit edgy. The goddess cocked her head from one side to the other as if deciding whether or not to dissect him.

“How soon we forget. I took this away from you only a day or so ago and you question my identity?” she referred to the Staff. The fire in her eyes almost turned from passion to vengeance, almost. Until Erik began to sing a few words of a little known opera he recalled from his days beneath the Opera House. His voice filled the deity with erotic rhapsody, until she quivered with ecstasy.

Mae wanted very much to lash out, but the look her husband shot her made her keep silent. What choice did she have? Speak now and then be forever in little pieces after Hathor bashed her with a lightening bolt. Or was that Zeus? At the moment she had a hard time trying to remember which god did what.

When the goddess extended her arm, offering the Staff, Erik reached for it, but as soon as he wrapped a hand around it, both he and Hathor vanished as far as his wife and colleagues could see.

In actuality, the world spun around like a merry-go-round and vanished from him. In an instant ancient Egypt rolled out before his eyes. In the distance, workers, slaves, and priests labored on a pyramid that looked about a quarter complete. The sights and sounds of people dressed is tunics and robes padded about in sandals and some barefoot. The stench of camel and other animal waste permeated the air mingled with the dust and heat of the day.

All this he viewed from the balcony of a great palace in Thebes, ancient city of pharaohs and gods. Home at last! At this, he recalled the journal entry describing such a scene, when the Staff transported Doone to Egypt of another time. Slowly he looked to his hand holding on to the staff and very lightly touching Hathor’s hand, which still gripped the enchanted ornate pole. Realizing he too wore rich purple robes trimmed in gold, the thoughts of the real world grew cloudy in his mind. He no longer felt anything for Mae, or even recalled Christine. His only love and desire stood before him, Hathor, Egyptian goddess of love and joy. With her and the Staff of Osiris he became a god.

Oops! This cannot be good!
but then, our Erik always does come back to his senses, right?

Very interesting chapter once again my friend, please do continue soon...


D

Thank you Slitherliggie for your loyalty and kind words. I don't know about Erik. A goddess can be very persuasive. We'll just have to see.

In the meantime, let's see what Doone is doing with his goddess.

For your reading pleasure, I post the next chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 46

Ice Palace of Skadi, Norse Goddess of Winter

Most richly decorated palaces glistened with gold and silver, while the drapes, chairs, and anything made of material exhibited exquisite brocade and detailed embroidery. But the palace of the Winter Goddess glistened with ice like unto expensive crystals or diamonds. The furnishings made of sculptured ice blocks dotted every room. The ceilings bore various battles scenes carved to perfection. One might even swear that in a particular moment the figures moved. Or did shadows play tricks on the eyes?

The throne room pulsed with an unnatural blue light; the source, unknown. The air should have felt frigid, but it didn’t. The throne stood at the head of the chamber glittering with what looked like stars, with several lesser ornate ones on either side in a semi-circle. A closer observation of the main throne confirmed it did not glitter with stars, but diamonds. Phantom Doone slid into the deity’s chair as though it belonged to him. His arrogance displayed as he chipped away at several of the precious gems embedded in the arms. The narrowing of eyes assured him that his Winter Goddess felt displeasure in him disfiguring her sovereign seat.

“It doesn’t feel cold in here,” Phantom Doone removed a couple of diamonds and held them up to get a better look in the pulsing blue light.

“Depends on the point of view,” came the frosty retort.

“My apologies, beloved. It’s just…I’ve never seen diamonds embedded in ice. I would think they would blend in.”

“They do blend in, that’s the purpose of the blue light. I did not bring you here to argue. Explain why you have sought me out,” the goddess demanded. Try as she did to keep a chilly exterior, Doone, as Erik the Phantom, still held a place in her heart.

Sliding off the throne, he again explained the need for the Spear of Destiny to acquire the Staff of Osiris. At this, the beautiful Skadi wrinkled up her nose. He recalled her making this gesture when something disgusted her, when she was his Sissi, the Empress Elizabeth of Austria.

The proverbial green-eyed monster, Jealousy, glinted in those enticing blue eyes. Somehow, he recalled her having brown eyes when she came to him as Sissi. What happened to her?

“The only weapon legend says can kill a god,” Skadi remembered. “Not a fitting request to make of a goddess. What makes you think I have it?”

“The old professor I traveled with said you kept it”

“You mean the sniveling old fool shivering in his boots? You would take his word?”

Phantom Doone knew what would warm her, but he didn’t want to seduce her, it wouldn’t be right.

“You want to know about my face, don’t you?” Doone referred to looking like any other man, not a disfigured monster hiding behind a mask. The goddess said nothing at first. It had crossed her mind, even though he claimed to have worn a mask to look normal, when they were alone, at night…

“I will explain, if you will tell me how you became Skadi, the Norse Goddess of Winter. How did you rise up from Empress of Austria to a goddess?” he asked, cocking his head from side to side in an effort to read her body language.

For a moment, the Norse goddess said nothing. Puzzles and riddles could be entertaining, especially when one is confined to a world of never-ending ice and snow.

“I recollect you love to play games,” a wicked smile crossed her luscious lips. “All your questions will be answered, if you find the thing you seek. I will admit that I possess it, but whether or not it allows you to find it, is another story. Look around this room. I promise it is here, but where is the question. You could take all the time you want, I am in no hurry, but to make things more interesting, we shall say, two days. I will give you two days to find it. You cannot sleep or eat during that time. However, entwining of two bodies would never disqualify you from the game…” those deep, blue eyes flashed mischief as the woman he once loved, traced her fingers along his lapel. Her face came ever so close to his. The sweet scent of her soft breath upon his face made his knees weak and his heart beat faster.

Grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, the man she once loved stared into her eyes and asked, “What happens after two days and I cannot find it? What then?”

“Then you will never know how I became a goddess and you will never leave this palace. You will be my slave to do whatever I command,” came the breathy answer. For an instant, their lips almost touch, almost. Instead, regaining his composure, Phantom Doone straightened up to his full height and released the gorgeous woman.

“I apologize for the haste, but I have only been given two days to find the spear, so if you will excuse me, I must begin my search,” Doone bowed most graciously and moved away quickly as he surveyed the room like one would search for hidden objects in picture puzzle.

Disappointed, Skadi gave long sigh and ticked a look to her vandalized throne. The gouge marks where Phantom Doone removed the diamonds stuck out like a sore thumb. With a wave of her hand, the gouge marks disappeared and the diamonds replaced.

For a little while she stood in silence and watched the man she craved move about slowly in surveillance of the glistening chamber. Scattered about the room stood what appeared as statues of various animals and people. They did not look as if sculpted from ice, but rather from wood or stone. The one, which look most real, the wolf, had eyes that seemed to follow Doone’s every move. However, the beast did not stir, not even a breath could be heard.

With most everything in a translucent or transparent, icy form, surely a spear made of silver, gold, and wood would stick out. Carefully, Phantom Doone examined the floor and walls. Then for reason, he ticked a look back at the wolf, but it wasn’t there. In its place stood the figure of a polar bear on all fours. At this he took great notice and walked back to where the wolf had been and stared at the polar bear. It too had eyes, which seemed to follow him. Looking back to the goddess, he asked, “Was I mistaken, or was a figure of a wolf here a moment ago?”

“From time to time there is a wolf. At other times, there is a white bear,” came the reply.

“A polar bear. It’s called polar bear,” he stated and was about to touch the bear, when Skadi forbade him.

“Stop! Do not touch any of the figures, especially the bear or wolf. If you think you’ve found the Spear, then take it, but remember whatever abides in the palace of a deity has to be enchanted,” came the warning.

Staring at her incredulously, Doone took a step back from the bear. But curiosity got the better of him and he leaned in and reached out and touched the bear. To his surprise, the beast moved. The poor man stood speechless while he knees knocked together. For once in his life, he feared for his life. At the moment, dying seemed the farthest from his mind. He did not want to be torn to pieces and scattered across the frozen tundra. He scrambled back even farther.

After lumbering clumsily forward, the white bear stopped and stood up to its full height of 10 feet. Its roar shook the palace bringing down shards of ice and dustings of snow. With teeth bared, it reached down to annihilate the intruder. Another roar shook the palace, followed by the terrified scream of a man. Then all went horrifyingly quiet.

Hello!!

Long time no comments... (Sorry.. X )

My finals finished last weeks, so, now, here I am to review.

It took me a while to catch up but,, the story is brilliant and I love it.

Cheers,,

S

Well now, that was an interesting development. I sure hope Doone is still alive... Wonder what happens in the next episode...



Please continue again soon, my friend!


D

syoonchannel welcome back. We missed you. Glad you were able to catch up and that you enjoyed the new chapters. Thank you for the kind words.

Slitherliggie so glad you came back to catch up. Thank you the kind words as well.

Here is the next chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 47

The Beautiful Gardens of Würsteland in Vienna, Austria

Everyone stood in horror of Erik’s disappearance with Hathor, the Egyptian deity. Lucas and his nephew didn’t know what to say or do. They just stared about and then at each other. In tears, Mae buried her face in Raoul’s chest. Actually, he didn’t mind, but under the circumstances, he wished it had been happier times. The reporter looked down at something he held in his hand, the gun, his Steyr GB. Like any other supernatural being, the goddess had an Achilles’ heel; the one spot that kept her vulnerable. Right now, he couldn’t tell them that.

For reasons of his own, Hamilton needed to get away from the others, to make a brief call. If he tried to explain, they wouldn’t understand; he’d be ridiculed and mistrusted more then ever. With much suspicion, Raoul asked, “What’s wrong Hamilton? Are you planning to use that?” He nodded to the gun. Shaking his head, the reporter abruptly excused himself and headed for the nearest entrance back into the museum.

Magick almost always had consequences that brought more trouble than it was worth, but in this case Raoul considered using the spell book. True, reading a spell and tossing in a few herbs did not constitute real magick, but for him, it was worth a try.

Finding a nearby men’s room, Hamilton ducked inside, whipped out his cell phone and pushed a button. In a few moments a male voice with an accent answered. “It’s me, the reporter. Have to talk fast. The duplicate is gone. Vanished.”

The male voice on the other end became high pitched in anger and the French words coming forth assured Hamilton it was not a friendly remark. A few more words passed between them in English before the conversation disconnected. He stared at the cell phone a moment. What choice did he have? Everything had to come together.

Upon his return to the to the others, Mae had stopped crying, Raoul and the other men gave him a dirty look.

“Betrayal does not become you,” stated Raoul. Hamilton pretended to not understand. In truth, he felt very uneasy from the comment. Had they heard his cell phone conversation? If so, how? He felt pretty sure that none of the men possessed super hearing.

Then he realized how they knew. The journal. Because he had contacted someone in the party of Phantom Doone who had coincidentally been whisked away by a goddess, the journal had become active. In his hand, Lucas held several water worn pages.

“We don’t have a choice. If you want to find Erik, then we have to unite,” he nearly choked on the words. To his surprise, Raoul drew a pistol from his inside coat pocket. Certainly it only contained one bullet, but he only needed one to put through the reporter’s head.

“You may possess a fancy modern gun, but this one can still kill Monsieur Hamilton. I am prepared to pull the trigger if necessary,” Raoul assured him. His hand held the old fashioned pistol straight and steady at Hamilton’s head.

“I’m begging you to trust me, just this once. I have a plan, but you won’t like it.”

“To be sure, monsieur. You are not like any newspaper or magazine reporter I’ve ever seen or heard of. You want the journal for the same reason my cousin Philippe wants it, power.”

“No, you’re wrong. It’s something I need to do. You’re right, it’s not for a story, but can you image world peace, unity, and universal happiness? The person possessing the Staff of Osiris and the Spear of Destiny could bring this about. Unstoppable goodness. The thing all religions want for the people.” The words sounded insane. As much as peace is sought and fought for, having one sole person endowed with such power would make them indestructible and all-powerful, a god.

As the sandy haired reporter rumbled on in his mid west accent, all looks turned to something behind him. He stopped short and slowly turned around. There stood the Haitian Azacca with a scowl on his face.

Without a word, Azacca raised both hands and uttered something in Creole. A sudden chill ran through the group and the world around them seemed to spin out of focus. In a moment, they no longer stood in Austria. The beautiful gardens were gone. In its place they saw the inside of a stark white building filled with scattered metal folding chairs and folding tables. In a corner, set a desk filled with communication equipment. In a chair behind the desk sat a young man with wire-framed glasses, dressed like an Eskimo.

Moving toward them, Count Philippe gave a lopsided smile as Raoul and his group surveyed the room in amazement. Apparently the Haitian possessed knowledge and skills they could not image, except for what the old count wanted; the Staff and the Spear. Lucas McCleary knew he couldn’t hide the journal; Philippe already eyed the water-damaged pages in his hand. McCleary ticked a look to his nephew. Antoine said nothing, but his eyes acknowledged his uncle’s message.

“Please, the journal and the spell book,” the count held out his hand to Raoul. “I can image how difficult it must be for you to accept defeat, but do not make it any more humiliating for yourself. Give me the journal and the spell book.”

Antoine and his uncle didn’t want to cause anyone’s death, so they handed over the journal, all of it. They said nothing about it rewriting itself if the person reading it was closely involved with Doone. The old count would find out sooner or later.

The young Vicomte de Chagny gave his descendant a look that would kill had he the power. Magick always had its consequences, he thought.

With dignity, he drew the small brown book from his inside coat pocket and handed it to his relative. Philippe’s smile broadened. He no longer needed them. With the journal and spell book the Staff and Spear were as good as his. Hamilton wanted to say something but the back of the Count’s hand clipped his jaw and sent him to the cold, hard floor.

“You really want to be a god, don’t you?” the young Vicomte looked daggers at the Count.

“You are mistaken, my dear misplaced cousin. I am a god!” came the retort. And with that Philippe turned on his heels and left the room with his treasured books. He left behind the two burly men that resembled rejects from Wrestle Mania and the nerd behind the desk fiddling with the communication equipment. The old professor tried to apologize. He recognized them from the museum. Nothing of this would have happened if he had talked to them instead of Phantom Doone.

At the moment, Raoul, Lucas McCleary and his nephew had nothing to say. Mae wanted to lash out, but thought better of it. The two burly wrestler-type guys nauseated her and Azacca just purely gave her the creeps.

Professor Holzknecht did his best to comfort them, but in view of the situation, no one found comfort in his words. Philippe didn’t need them anymore. Nothing would keep him from killing them. How well Raoul knew this, as he recalled being stripped and chained for torture.

Several hours passed. The room grew colder and colder, yet no one complained.

Finally, the Haitian broke the silence. “Did any one here want to be a god?” This had to be the strangest question they’d ever heard. The men working for the Count said nothing, as the Haitian directed it to Raoul and his group.

“Personally, I do not want that. I only want to be a simple man. My needs are only for enough money to live comfortably. Of course I have needs and urges like any man,” his eyes wandered to the shivering wife of Erik. Raoul did not look surprised at the comment.

“How would you stop me, o’man from the past? You tricked me the last time when you opened a vortex. Without the spell book you can do nothing,” Azacca felt sure of himself. His boss had the treasured books of knowledge and power in hand and would soon possess relics to make him immortal, omniscient and omnipotent.

Anger washed over Raoul and his face flushed red. If only he could get his hands around the Haitian’s throat. Again came the taunt, “How would you stop me? You can’t. Your magick is gone and mine is here. No one can stop me from taking what I want.” Azacca moved toward the frightened young woman.

If he used magick she could do nothing, otherwise he wouldn’t want to tangle with her, she thought.

“Come on, man from the past, how would you stop me?”

“He cannot!” Thundered a voice from behind that nearly scared Azacca to death. When he whipped around, there stood Erik in the purple robes of a Pharaoh. The ancient headpiece with the symbolic ureus or cobra set upon his head. “But I can!”

Now I'm really curious... I wonder how things with Erik fit together in the puzzle...


Please do continue soon, my friend, I am at the edge of my seat.




D

Welcome and thank you for your lovely words, Slitherliggie.

Where is syoonchannel? Ah, well, she'll catch up. For your reading pleasure I post a new chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!


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CHAPTER 48

Abandoned Research Station in the Frozen Artic Tundra


The station fell quiet as Erik dressed in the robes of a Pharaoh grabbed Azacca the Haitian that no longer felt so sure of himself. The grip felt like steel around his throat as the powerful hand lifted him off the floor. For the moment Azacca forgot all he knew about Voodoo as he struggled in vain to be free. The choking and gagging sounds coming from the man he held by the throat never fazed the powerful royal.

Again the old professor fainted dead away at the sight of what appeared as ancient royalty. At times he may sound loud and blustery, but the slightest sign of the strange, unusual and weird made his knees buckle and his air supply short.

The two burly men in Philippe’s employ lunged toward Pharaoh Erik. Without releasing Azacca, Erik tapped the floor twice with the staff. This heralded an invisible force field. Unable to see anything there, the men hit the unseen wall with such great intensity, it knocked them backward sprawling against the wall.

Hearing the commotion, Philippe burst out from the other room where he too met the invisible force that knocked him backwards into Hamilton who scrambled to get away. Lucas McCleary and Antoine tried to pull Mae and Raoul out of harms way, but too late. Erik saw them and appeared to not recognize anyone but his wife. In a moment, the unseen power from the staff sent the men flying in every direction.

The terrified young woman couldn’t remember when she’d ever been this scared of her own husband. For all intents and purposes, the Pharaoh looked and sounded like her beloved, but the fierce anger and untold power turned him into a monster.

Raoul and Antoine tried to recover, but their heads spun like a merry-go-round out of control.

The old count rallied but made no attempt to get up in fear of the pharaoh’s wrath. All confidence in his own magick faded like day into night. The confusion of Erik’s appearance and wrath coupled with the constant change in the journal rewriting itself made everything seem surreal and dream-like. For a moment, Count Philippe scrambled behind the desk where the geek with the glasses had sat. At the moment, the geek lay unconscious by the desk after being smacked by a flying body.

Looking at the pages of the journal in his quivering hand, he watched in horror as the words appeared on the water worn page as if an invisible hand were writing them. Magick always has consequences!

All but dead, the Haitian’s eyes bulged grotesquely and his tongue hung from his gasping mouth.
“Erik, please, no. Don’t kill him! Please, no!” screamed Mae, her entire body trembled with fear. Tears spilled uncontrollably and her mouth felt dry. At the sound of her voice, Pharaoh Erik’s head whipped around almost mechanically. The eyes blazed with a golden haze of flames. More than a madman, he took on the appearance of a creature from the bottomless pit, a demon if you will. The woman screamed at the sight of him.

“It’s the staff,” cried Lucas in a weak voice. “He doesn’t know how to control it.”

Hearing the words, they struck Erik in an odd way, and he ticked a maniacal look at Lucas who could barely lift his head. Releasing Azacca, the unconscious body hit the floor like dead weight. With unnatural speed he grabbed his wife’s quivering arm and like a whirling dervish, he spun faster and faster until he and Mae vanished into thin air.

Picking himself up, Philippe cursed in French and flung the journal pages at Lucas and his nephew.

“You imbecile! Why didn’t you tell me the journal was enchanted?” roared the count in anger and fear. “Like a fool I watched the words disappear from the page and then rewrite themselves. What kind of magick is this?”

No one said a word. Fear made some silent, unconsciousness some others, and finally some just didn’t know what to say.

“This creature that appeared as a pharaoh, he is the true Phantom of the Opera. Why his face is no longer disfigured, I’m sure you will not explain, but this thing now has the Staff of Osiris. How did he get it? Why all this confusion?” Philippe whirled around on his heels glaring at all in the room. “If this man is the Phantom and now a god, who was the man that came with us and went away the Snowshoe Goddess?”

No answer. The room felt like a tomb with such silence. In the midst of his shouting and cursing a quiet, seductive voice whispered a reply.

“The Phantom has two separate, yet intertwining destinies running parallel to each other.” The words puzzled those conscious, as did the origin of the voice. In a moment, the shimmering image of a female with bowed head danced in the light before them. Her features dimmed, and her shape hazy, yet the attire unmistakably white Egyptian linen.

“Behold Hathor! My power is all but gone. Humiliation consumes my being for I allowed a mortal to seduce me and take what no man ever could.”

Oh, dear, a humiliated ex-goddess, it seems... Fury of hell behold? Or not?

And where did Erik and Mae get to?


Very very good chapter my friend! Please do update again soon, the suspence is keeping me locked to my PC until you do... Hope syoonchannel comes to read soon, or she'll miss out on all the intrigue!



D

Thank you Slitherliggie. So happy to see you. Glad you are enjoying the adventure.

This one is short, but to the point. Here is the next chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER 49

Ice Palace of the Snowshoe Goddess

One thing about ice, it will never decay. Termites would never be a problem and there’s no fear of a hurricane or tornado when one lives in a structure built entirely of ice. Given the right construction, it will not only provide shelter, but warmth as well. Even the carvings and figures seemed as warm as they would in a building made of wood or stone.

In the midst of the many scenes carved in the vast ceiling a great white polar bear and man dressed all in white with a hood lined with fur connected in a terrifying battle.

The beautiful, but cold-hearted goddess Skadi admired her recently acquired scene carving. Quietly she sat upon the great throne and whispered something in Norwegian.

The second day of her bargain with Doone would soon end. She had cheated him, but in her mind a goddess can do no wrong. In her hand, she held a spear, instead of a scepter or royal staff. Those gorgeous eyes changed from dark brown to an intense icy blue. Especially when filled with anger, hate and or jealously, her eyes turned the color they were at this moment.

A stern, disembodied male voice interrupted her thoughts. “Pleased with yourself, Snowshoe Goddess? Has the serenity and security of winter turned you into a barbarian?” thundered the male voice.

Skadi looked up slowly and said nothing at first. Odin seldom spoke to her but when he did, it bore making note of it.

“Are you humiliated that a mortal would come for treasure and not for your love?” taunted the voice. “Mortals are fools indeed. They want what can fade and decay while scoffing at eternity.”

Finally the goddess spoke. “Please leave me, Odin. I am depressed enough. Being immortal and all-powerful is challenging. I do not need your words of wisdom.”

“Make your choice, Skadi. You cannot hold the mortal here unless he losses the game. Keeping the man here against his will by freezing him in one of the battle scenes will change nothing.”

“What does my name mean, oh great Odin?” she asked with contempt. In her heart she knew the old god spoke the truth. Any woman with a broken heart would seek vengeance, since her name meant damage, harm or injury, what else should she do?

The ancient god refused to answer the question and continued chiding her.

“Think Skadi! The reason we made you a deity was because of your great wisdom, knowledge and lastly, beauty. There is no need for petty jealously. The gods may not all be appealing, but mortals are even less. Mankind is imperfect, greedy, lazy and materialistic. Humans destroy what they cannot understand. You are not like them.” The disembodied voice made the entire palace quake, bringing down a few shards of ice and dustings of snow.

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, Odin was right. Currently she displayed the petty jealousy of a mortal woman. If she truly wanted to hurt Phantom Doone, allowing him to find the spear would do it. After all, what does mankind do when they find a great weapon? They kill everything living, including themselves. At this, the beautiful goddess smiled. But when she recalled promising to tell Phantom Doone how she became a goddess made her face scrunch up with a frown.

“Go away, Odin! I do not fear you. This is my kingdom. There is nothing for you here,” she rebuked.

All fell silent.

The longer she stared at the carved scene the more real and alive it became. The polar bear moved with clumsy force as the man raised a spear in self-defense. Within seconds, the beast laid on the snowy ground covered in crimson fluid, morphing from bear to wolf and back again. Its dying cries echoed throughout the wintry kingdom.

In morbid triumph the man leapt from the scene embedded in the ceiling to the frozen floor below. With a lopsided smile upon his face, he bowed mockingly to the goddess and said something in a language not even she understood.

“I see you’ve conquered my pet. Even after warning you not to touch the bear or wolf, you disobeyed,” came the cold remark as a white wolf appeared at her side.

A confused look washed across Phantom Doone’s face. Wasn’t this the same wolf morphing back and forth as the polar bear?

“What sort of parlor trick is this?” he motioned with the spear referring to the wolf.

“Take care of that weapon. After all, it is the only known thing that can kill a god,” the Ice Goddess pierced him deeply with her frosty blue eyes.

Doone frowned and carefully examined the spear. The gold and silver layers looked like the description of the Spear, even down to the Latin inscription: Lancea et clavus domini (Lance and nail of the Lord). It didn’t look extraordinary. At a glance it appeared as any other spear, ancient, but certainly not filled with power. Yet, he defeated a supernatural creature and escaped with his life, unscathed. No mistaking it, he held the coveted Spear of Destiny.

Well now, so Doone has found what he was looking for... Now what?


Still as interesting as ever, my friend, I hope the adventure continues soon!



D