EIGHTEEN
The two reports combined comprised some fifteen hundred pages, but Mr Apostol’s was prefaced with a convenient thirty-page synopsis.
I read aloud while Chessie drove, her lovely mouth set in a grim line.
I didn’t like it, either. I had made a lot of assumptions, and most of them had been incorrect.
I’d assumed that his condition was a mistake, some terrible misfortune over which he had no control. I’d assumed that he had sought out the help of the Monmouth Academy. I’d assumed that he’d always worn those gloves.
But Gheorghe Apostol was a sorcerer, a practitioner of dark arts. He had taken lives and consorted with demons and used his power to twist human minds. He had killed a member of the Academy, the only woman ever inducted. They had to hunt him down and take him by force
