And so it begins.

havenoMERCY · Blonde. Beautiful. Beyond evil.

And so it begins.

Ishmaels Lament · Lost Soul

The laptop on his desk was open, and as he reclined in the perfectly finished Victorian chair he watched the images that played out on the screen. There wasn't much emotional investment in what he was seeing, or at least that was what his features would lead you to believe. Ish didn't move as he watched the video end only to restart again. Rashel smiling into the camera, her perfect face captured forever in a moment of joy. It was only a two minute video clip of her on the sand of Monte Carlo, but he watched it again and again. Much like a person with a song stuck in their head listens to that song to try to purge it from their mind. So it was with this video of his sister. If he submerged himself in the pain of losing her then maybe there was a chance that he could begin to forget.

Over the office intercom a soft purring voice called, letting him know the driver was ready to take him to his expected meeting. The secretary who was on staff at his home office was unobtrusive, and except for the intercom he rarely had to look at her. It was the kind of isolation that he enjoyed. Much of his life had been spent in a lock up enviornment of one sort or another, and now that he had finally found freedom at last it was strange how much he recoiled from it. Leaning forward he pressed his finger to the touchpad of the laptop, giving it a click and stopping the video mid-stream. Rashels eyes were boring holes into him like the kind of weapons of mass destruction that only a man can be wounded by. Staring a moment longer it was with frustration that he folded down the laptop, shutting it off, and quite likely breaking some internal mechanism in his huff.

Pushing back from the desk he stood and stretched before grabbing the black leather coat that was resting over the back of the chair. The leather was soft lambskin, the best money could buy, and it fit him perfectly. Something that had been made just for him. The hem fell at midthigh, only adding to the stark perfection of the belted black pants and crimson red button down shirt underneath. Every inch of him was cut to perfection, the clothes, the expression. They were all bland and subtle with a quiet air of dignity about them that screamed money. Most pople tried too hard to obtain such a look and failed because of their ostentatious representation. But when you were to the manor born you could wear such things with the same ease and comfort that a hobo wore his tattered garments.

Crossing the marble floor towards the door was a stretch, his office was a palacial space inside the villa that looked like something from a villains lair. All dark wood and antique furnishings. Everything was the same as it had been when Rashel had decorated the place. He hadn't so much as adjusted the balance of a picture frame or moved an ashtray from the table. The place was perfect, just as his sister had left it. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness of the space, and when he reached the wide double church doors that served the office they opened for him without a touch. Given his powers one might think such an act was an excercise of his will, but in fact it was merely the work of a cunning servant on the other side of the doors. His staff was as unobtrusive and pleasing as they knew how to be. Each blending into the woodwork in silence as they attended to his every need without being asked.

Gabriel Ishmael Goldman was the absolute ruler in his own modern kingdom, a quiet sort of leader that commanded respect in his own quiet way. His pace never slowed as he crossed the offices of his assistants. A young woman in a light blue suit matched her pace to his so that he wouldn't have to stop. Without words passing between them she was handing over his things. An iPhone, keys, and a small parcel that he would be taking to this little meeting with him. Casually he slipped the items into the pockets of his coat, and by the time he reached the doors of his private elevator the girl had blended back into the background. The elevator doors were waiting open and he stepped inside.

Down three floors he went, the office being a personal touch added to the old villa. An idea of Rashels. When the doors swished open again it was to the main floor, a grant entryway that could have played host setting for a grand ball complete with glass slippers and knights in shining armor. None of the beauty touched him, he was as dead to it as he was to everything else. The place was like a museum to Rashel. Her touch was on everything, tainting it as she had tainted him.

Out front in the circular driveway that led to the house was parked the black Lotus that he had most recently taken to driving. It was sleek and forboding in its well conditioned prescence. Ish enjoyed buying such things, but rarely used them His driver got pleasure though from taking the extensive garage of cars through their paces to keep them in running order. At the moment one of his men was holding the drivers side door open so that Ish could slip into the leather lined interior. As he did so he looked up at the man, one of three who lived in the apartment styled structure above the garage. This one was Rodney, or so he guessed, a man skilled with metal who probably didn't even realize he was a witch. Ish knew though, just as he knew so many secret things.

He drew paranormals and supernaturals to him like moths to his flame. Something about the mutation of the crystal had made him a lodestone for their kind. Stretching out behind the wheel he let the engine rev as Rodney closed the door for him. It was in a spitting of dust and gravel that the Lotus seemed to fly forward, not like a car as much as a wild animal on the attack. Ish gripped the wheel lightly, the vehicle reacted to even the subtlest of directions. There were acres of land that the driveway crossed before giving him a chance to turn onto a rural road. His homestead was a ways from the city. Normally he would have taken the helicopter in to the office in Rome proper and then driven from there, but he was thinking that he might enjoy the drive and stay in town for a few days.

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The place they had chosen to meet was out of the way in a part of the city near the Bocca della Verita. The Mouth of Truth. In the portico of the Church of Santa Maria at Cosmedin the bells were ringing, calling the faithful from mass. But Ishmael was doing some worshipping of his own. Across from him sat Father Ignacio Tomas sat across from him, and Ish let his eyes drink in the man. It was pleasent being in the old priests company. Few holy men were really what they claimed to be, though Ish had met a select few throughout the world who maintained the level of peace that this man had found. His power washed over the priest like lapping at sunlight. The mans thoughts were so pure and pristine that they seemed to have a glow of their own and Gabriel enjoyed hearing the ring of them.

Slipping the parcel he carried onto the table he pushed it across to the man. Inside the plain brown paper wrapping was a Jewish Prayer Book. An odd gift for a priest indeed, but the Jesuites were usually more tempted by knowledge than anything else. It was one of their many hidden downfallings. The priests hands folded back the paper as his eyes looked at the ornate cover, fingers brushing the leather softly. Ish watched all this and listened to what was going on unspoken inside the mans head.

"I wish only for you to visit her Father. To visit her and see if there is anything that can be done."

This man performed exorcisms. Not the false kind which movies were made of, but true miraculous acts. Ish didn't believe in God per say and he was certainly not Catholic, but he knew what this mans power was capable of. If Rashel could somehow be changed. If she could be brought back to him, well, he would move all the stars in the heavens to make that happen. Ish looked casual even as his insides were filled with longing. Then his heartbeat sped a pace and he tuned the scythe of his mind to the rushing waves of thought around him. Something different was moving towards the table that he and the priest were occupying.

It was one of those restaurants where the rooms were barely lit, where steak was served above all else, and where men reclined in seats with upholstered backs that blocked the view of the room. Ish would have to stand and turn to see what it was that was giving off this much malevolent thought. His power sifted through the voices in the room, letting those unimportant slip away to concentrate on what was bearing down on them. This creature wanted something. That in itself wasn't a surprise, all things of power have an agenda. But she wanted something from this priest. His priest. That was not going to happen, not unless he got what he had come for first.