This story opens in New York in December of 1755, sixty-five years after Verchiel's story ended.
***
Byrn walked toward the building. A small shed with a heavy wooden door, it hardly seemed to warrant the uniformed guard who stood outside it. But, inside, and down the stairs, was the center of immortal life in the colonies.
Byrn stopped before the door and unconsciously reached into his pocket. His fingers found the missive; official correspondence from The Guild, dispatched by messenger to bring him hence. The master only summoned one for work or punishment and, as he had done nothing to earn the latter, he could only assume there was something for him to do; some way he could serve The Guild.
The Guild. A strange name for what was more a ruling body. On the other hand, if one thought
