Beneath The Blood Moon

The night sky burned with a strange stillness, clouds smeared thin as ash across a deep indigo. Hanging above it all, the moon hovered in a disc of blood, swollen and raw. Its light was sharp, staining the clouds crimson and casting the world below in rust and shadow.

Under the red veil, one building was home to the most activity in the city, as much preparation was needed to be done before the big show.

“Not over there you imbeciles! Can none of you do anything as I ask?!”

The man yelling stood in the loading area of an old decrepit two story building, with faded red masonry and weatherworn stone. Its exterior walls bore the scars of time, cracks in the foundation, creeping ivy strangling the edges, chipped paint revealing older layers beneath. Tall, rectangular windows with peeling frames peered out like watchful eyes, their glass dim and streaked, obscuring the contents within.

All together, it made up the current location of the Crane House.

“Grayves, another shipment should be arriving any moment now. I must go check on the main hall, so be ready to receive it. I refuse to accept this inadequacy any longer,” the Curator ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Grayves replied, standing with his back completely straight so as to not provoke him any further.

The Curator exited the back loading area and followed the corridor that led to the grand hall, the location of the main event.

The ceiling soared overhead, carved beams and fluted columns stood dulled by dust and neglect. Chandeliers swayed faintly, throwing yellow light that fought the shadows creeping along the rafters. The walls were lined with old balconies, their railings chipped and leaning, like watchtowers that gazed down to the floor below.

The grand hall had been divided into a stage for the auctioneer and floor for the upcoming guests, but at the moment it was home to busy workers. Staff in dark uniforms moved briskly about, guiding crates on iron dollies, prying open shipments to check the contents inside, and draping items with heavy cloth until the big night.

“It never gets old. Even after all this time, I still tingle with excitement,” the Curator snickered.

He ambled around the dusty floor, as every staff member avoided his gaze, and shifted his focus to the contents of the event.

“Let’s see what we have here, every piece of inventory must be accounted for.”

Crates lay cracked open around him, straw spilling across the tiled floor among the variety of their innards. A longsword leaked frost from its scabbard, bone masks stared hollowly from a table, a leather bound book with blood red pages whispered when the air shifted, and a half uncovered canvas revealed a single painted eye that seemed to follow the room.

But out of all these items, one caught his eye like none other.

Standing on its own with no support was a tall mirror, its frame a lavish lattice of gold filigree, gleaming even in the dim light. From its frame bled a slow, curling smoke, black and silken, seeping into the air without end. The haze clung close, refusing to disperse, coiling around the gilded trim.

“How superb,” he sneered, admiring his reflection in the glass.

The mirror’s surface rippled faintly, the black smoke curling along its edges, but the image it gave back was undeniable.

He saw a figure swathed in a red cloak that draped down to dark trousers and black boots, pooling around him like spilled blood. The fur lined collar gleamed with chains of gold around his throat, and rose in a crown of white, framing the blank mask where his face should have been. A crimson letter ‘C’ was scrawled in calligraphy across the mask’s face, reducing him to a symbol, a thing to be feared more than a man to be known. And behind the mask, he could almost swear the abyss was staring back at him through the fabric over his eyes.

Back in the loading area, Grayves attended to the arriving shipment just as he had been ordered, ensuring the staff around him maintained their schedule.

“Slow, slow. Okay speed it up a bit, that’s too slow,” he blathered.

“Be careful with that one, it’s delicate. Grayves, where’s the boss at?” called out a man in a midnight suit who had arrived with the shipment.

“Oh, Iscarius, I didn’t see you there. You’ll find him in the grand hall. Exciting night, isn’t it?” Grayves answered, surprised by his presence.

“It sure is,” Iscarius replied, following the corridor’s path to the main place of interest.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he commented, standing behind the vain reflection of the Curator.

The Curator spun around startled by the sudden voice, as the footsteps behind him had been completely silent.

“Of course not, the doors are always open for my number one hunter. But nonetheless, I did not expect for you to chauffeur your delivery. I assume everything is alright?”

“Every item is as pristine as I mentioned. But when you have the opportunity, you need to see one special item in particular that I brought, acquired from the Amber King’s personal collection. I’ve left it in the back with Grayves. A beautiful piece, I’m sure it will bring high biddings on the night of the auction.”

“Whatever it is I’m sure it will, you only provide me with the best of the best, and for that you are handsomely rewarded. But Iscarius, surely the only reason for your visit is not to convince me of the value of your items?”

“No, there is something else.” His voice dropped low. “I wanted to deliver the message to you in person. Is it secure to speak here?” he asked, noticing the many staff members working around the room.

“There is nothing to concern yourself with, speak your mind. All is under my control, they don’t dare to step out of line,” the Curator assured.

Iscarius paused, choosing carefully the words he wanted to use.

“I believe it’s in your best interest to have some…added precautions. There could be some volatile and unexpected factors on the night of, so it would be best to account for any possible disturbances.”

“But what do you mean, are you expecting foul play? You must tell me and I will have them all slaughtered immediately!” The Curator roared, furious at the idea of opposing forces.

Iscarius leaned in so his pursed lips were right next to the masked figure’s head, whispering secrets into his hungry ears.

Once he had finished, the Curator stood silent for a moment, pondering and considering the information that had just been told to him.

“I see…yes, yes of course. Precautions most certainly must be taken then. Your help in this matter is much appreciated.”

Iscarius nodded, and took a final glance around the bustling room.

“My pleasure. I’m sure you have much to attend to, I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll return in a few days once the payments have all been finalized, but until then, may the good fortune all be yours.”

They both bowed at each other and parted ways, just as the blood moon hovering above in the night sky reached the peak of its crescendo.