Morgan stood by a stone pillar in the nave as the song of the choir soared up to the vaulted roof above and onward to heaven. Twelve male choristers robed in purple sang psalms in praise of their God, each note disappearing in a moment even as their resonance lingered on.
Ancient stone, ancient faith, ancient songs. Morgan didn’t believe as they did, but human voices in harmony were important in every faith. She closed her eyes and let the music transport her to the synagogue of her childhood, with her father as cantor, leading the faithful in prayer. But even that precious memory couldn’t banish the echo of the curse spoken by the Black Anchorite in his final moments, the last gasp of an ancient creature that fought its end.
Morgan sighed and opened her eyes once more, the stark lines o
