The Treasures of Saint Germain

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Coincidence didn’t sit well with Tyler Webb. There was always a man — or a plan — behind even the most innocent-seeming flight of chance.

Take the French city of Versailles, for instance. Founded by the will of Louis XIV, it had been the capital of the Kingdom of France for the whole of Saint Germain’s lifetime, then just a few short years after the Count’s death, that particular honor had been bestowed upon Paris.

Take the gruesomely bloated and romanced legends that surrounded the immortals of Transylvania for example — and then consider that the Count was born and raised there. Take the endless sightings after his supposed death in 1784, right up to this very day…

Webb shivered involuntarily. The emotion was not physical, he knew, but it should be. Now reduced to a gutter rat, the once great leader of the Pythians, in his opinion the greatest shadow organization that had ever been formed, whilst finding many parts of his new life greatly odorous, delighted in a certain few. In fact they were so juicily magnificent that the entire collapse of his organization and previous life was almost worth it.

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