Magic Lantern. Alex Archer
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The theatrics of an illusionist conceal a sinister truth...
In late 1700s Paris, a young but promising illusionist dabbles in the arcane art of phantasmagoria. But at his moment of greatest triumph—unveiling a magical lantern said to open a door to the Chinese spirit world—he is violently struck down by a vengeful phantom....
On assignment in London, archaeologist Annja Creed is hunting down a man who claims to have discovered the Jekyll and Hyde potion. On the trail of one curiosity, Annja finds herself pulled toward another mystery...the origin of a strange, old-fashioned projector once used by eighteenth-century illusionists. As Annja delves into its rich history, a dark past begins to emerge. And someone wants to harness the power of this cursed artifact...risking everything for the treasures it promises.
But Annja has a little magic trick of her own. One that she wields with deadly accuracy....
“Ms. Creed. Get in the car, please.”
Annja hesitated, but realized the window of opportunity to run had passed.
“If you attempt to flee, I will shoot you in the legs and pull you into the car.” The speaker was a man of medium height and Asian ancestry. He held the pistol with a steady hand.
“You’ll shoot me with the police just up the street?” Annja asked calmly.
“I will. And I’ll get away with it.” He waved the pistol. “Now, get in before I have you put in. We won’t be gentle.”
She’d escaped many traps in the past. Sometimes it was better to step into them. Annja folded herself into the backseat of the car. Another man, also Asian, sat in the front passenger seat, a pistol in his lap. Once she was seated, the two other men got back in. She was sandwiched.
At a word from the driver, the car pulled into traffic as smoothly as wax running down a candle.
Annja sat quietly between the men on either side of her. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?”
“It’s simple.” The man in the front passenger seat turned to face her. “We want the magic lantern.”
Magic Lantern
Alex Archer
The Legend
...The English commander took Joan’s sword and raised it high.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn...
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Mel Odom for his contribution to this work.
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