The Golden Ritual
Chapter One Did he really think the stone would keep the secret, or did he just need the chisel to have a reason to exist? Slobodan Markovic stood in the nave of the St. George’s Chapel, the air thick with the damp rot of the old oak beams. He held the chisel, its handle worn smooth by twenty years of his own sweat, against the altar stone. The gold leaf on the final panel was flaking, not from...
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