Chapter 12

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Bring the maid to me. I want to question her myself." William spit the demanded from his most daunting stance. At over six foot in height and with a look of authority, there were very few people who questioned his mandates, a trait handed down throughout the Johnson lineage. His competitors and adversaries called it arrogance, but he referred to it as simple confidence of an assertive man that actively goes after what he wants in life.

"And have a plane available as soon as we have a destination. I want someone on each one of the ladies from the coven. If they move we should know about it."

"Yes, sir." The agent, whose name William had not taken the time to remember, replied and jumped into action.

William lowered himself into the brown leather office chair behind the antique desk used by both his brother and father for many years, and he wondered how many briefings the scarred wood desk had witnessed.

Nothing in the room had changed since his brother's death. Like a tomb the office had been forsaken by the living. He had searched with no avail every nock and cranny of the desk and office for clues as to where his nephew and cousins could possibly be hold up, but if the musty smell and dust particle in the air were any indication, no one had crossed the threshold of this room in ages.

William turned on the swivel of the chair and faced a book shelf of law books as out dated as the system they represented. A lost memory of his dad pulling these very books while telling him and his brother how it was their responsibility to carry the Johnson legend into the future. From this very room is where he and his brother learned to play the game. A game he was very good at.

From behind him the door whined like an old man's bones before a storm. Without turning around, he knew who was there from strong odor of a combination of expensive tobacco, alcohol and after-shave that superseded the musky old library smell already in the room.

The sound of a chair being pulled out told William that his guest had made himself at home. He picked a book from the shelf and dusted it off.

"It is about time you showed up, Morris. Did you bring the object?"

Still holding the book, William slowly turned to face one of the few men that truly ran the country. There are a group of wealthy men that control Washington from the shadows unknowingly to the public. It was rumored that his father and associates purchased McKinley's election.

Morris propped his feet up on the desk with a loud thump scratching the surface with the heel of his overpriced black and white Giorgio Brutinis.

"I shouldn't be here, Johnson. I am too exposed."

"Get your feet off my father's desk and stop whining. You have just as much to lose as I do here. And even more to gain."

Morris removed his feet and set forward. His face changed from angry to threatening. He pulled a small black box out of his coat pocket and slid it across the desk. Coming to a step close to the edge and nearly falling into his lap. It was an object that William would ordinarily not take a second notice to given the ordinary construction and material. The only thing that made the cube shaped box standout was the pentagram scratched on the side. He took a step back from the artifact and gave Morris a questionable look.

"It's the necklace said to be stolen from a dark arts witch. Keep in the box until you need to use it. Once you put it on say the name of the person you wish to reflect. For thirty minutes give or take a few, people around you will not see you but the person whom you called out. Protect the crystal inside the pentagram because it is the source of the power."

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