A quick overview of how the novel will begin, "Sebastian Wright and the Iscariot Silver."
In 1979, Sebastian Wright had successfully submitted a novella based on a “story” he read in one of Stephen Kowoleska’s journals – a story about magic being real as well as the Iscariot silver. It appeared in a national magazine between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Michael Alexander was the pseudonym use, and he saved the money to later spend on a girlfriend, when he got one.
Charlemagne Duquesne became a popular character, mostly among high school and college readers, fan letters told him and his publisher so. He eventually wrote 11 more novellas, by the time he graduated from college.
28-year-old widower, operative for Oldham and Newbury, the same agency his great-grandfather worked for 70 years earlier. He mostly worked divorce cases – he had a “knack” for finding evidence for their clients – but occasionally he worked cases like Dziadzek Steph did.
A Papal emissary came to upstate New York with private messages/communications for Sebastian and the agency. He made it to the office building and into Sebastian’s office before all Hell broke loose. Sebastian helped the emissary, and two secretaries escape the building through an old secret tunnel, the entrance was in the old records room, thanks to reading the Steph Kowoleska journals.
“Who knew you were here?” Sebastian asked.
“Outside the Holy Father, just a few trusted priests and nuns.”
“Yes, they’re in communication with those in the field.”
“Field?” a sectary asked.
He nodded. “We’re back out there, looking for religious and magical artifacts. There are people, groups, who are gathering, banding together. Not so much magic users – warlocks, sorcerers, magicians – but those who want to rule the night.”
Sebastian knew who those might be: Stephan wrote about them, fought against them in the 1920s. He kept it silent. They exited the tunnel through an old iron door into a cave. A quarter mile or so later, they were in daylight, and were met by a dark blue Chevy Suburban, a familiar vehicle to the three Oldham and Newbury employees.
“Who’s that?” the emissary asked.
“The boss,” a secretary began. She dusted off spider webs and walked to meet the vehicle. “Clarence Newbury III has his employees’ backs.”