The Centaur by Brendan Carroll

the small brown box carved with pomegranates and palm trees. The Tree of Life powder. His secondary mission. Find the box that he had stolen from the chapel in Glessyn and return what was left of the precious powder to his new Master.
    “Would I be able to look in on the Prophet?” she asked and tossed her long hair back out of the way as she studied the colors reflected deep in the polished glass.
    “I suppose.” He said and then snapped to attention as her words registered. “That would not be wise.”
    “Oh? Why not?” she raised up and frowned at him. She was beautiful. No one would have ever guessed that she was a hideous monster beneath the thin layer of skin.
    “He might know and he would be angry.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know why. I just think he would not like it, my Queen.” He had spotted the box. Third shelf from the top to the right of the door.
    “Let’s try it and see. What can he do, kill us?” she laughed and Abaddon shivered. He had no idea what she would see if she looked in the thing.
    “Show me how to use it,” she handed it over to him.
    “Oh, it would not be proper.” He shook his head and held out one hand. “No, please.”
    “I think it would be very proper.” Her expression hardened and he knew he had no choice. “In fact, we may be able to learn what these idiots are up to outside the city walls. I want to know why Saboath has not returned! He has been gone too long.” She picked up the skull and swept from the room. Abaddon scooped the box from the shelf before he left behind her and pushed it into the thigh pocket of his combat fatigues. “I still would warn against using the thing in haste, my Queen,” he called after her futilely.
    The dark angel followed her into the depths of the underground complex below the palace. The palace was old. Many palaces had stood on this very same choice piece of real estate on the Tigris river. The complex below it had been built and rebuilt by many former rulers of the country formerly called Iraq. She led him down several flights of metal stairs to a large room, tastefully furnished with priceless antiques from western Europe. He wondered if Omar had known of the existence of the palace below the palace and doubted it seriously.
    Several soldiers and security personnel vacated the area when they entered and Huber bolted the door.
    “Pour us something cool to drink, General,” she waved one hand behind her and plopped down amidst a pile of plush cushions on the floor. She laid the skull in silken cloth on a heavy square table. A dozen candles burned in silver and brass candlesticks placed around the room. There were no electric lights at the moment. The siege machine outside had knocked out the generators again.
    The General followed her orders and brought a pair of crystal goblets full of dark wine to the table. He sat down cross-legged at her bidding.
    “Now, show me.”
    She turned up the wine and drank a long swallow of it before looking at him invitingly.
    “Ahhh,” was all he could manage. He had no experience with crystal magick. He knew nothing of the skulls. He was lost. “ Here.” He turned the skull to face her and set two of the candlesticks on either side of it before pretending to line them up just so. “Can you see the reflection of the fire in the glass, my Queen?” he asked her and she nodded. “Concentrate on the flames until they merge together into one burning image. When you have done that, shape the flame into the visage of the one you wish to communicate with.” He was making it up as he went along.
    “I see it.”
    “Good. Now, you must remember these things take time and practice. It is not an easy task, conjuration. Not easy at all. One must be very careful or else one might conjure something one does not wish to conjure.”
    “I understand.”
    “Can you see the Prophet’s face?”
    “Yes!” she answered breathlessly and Abaddon scooted around the table to take a look. He could see