Page 17 - DivineSparkRisingFinal

Nicholas Boothman
He turned away, heading toward the Santa Justa
elevator. He slipped in with tourists, then ducked
behind the frame. He climbed toward the Chiado
steady and unhurried, his pulse racing under the
surface. At the top he let a crowd of sightseers
overtake him, using their chatter as camouflage.
They stopped to photograph the statue of Luís
de Camões. Henry did not. He slid into a side
street, two quick turns, then into a tram stop. The
Number 28 screeched up.
Three stops later he slipped out the back,
ducked into a café with mirrored walls, and took a
seat at the back. From there he could watch the
street in reflection.
No rumpled suit. No camera.
His phone buzzed. Encrypted text. No number.
The God Word is real. Come to Coimbra. Kir.
His heart thumped. Kir. A drink. Her drink. The
woman he had loved once in Lisbon. Carolina. Two
golden years, then gone. Not for another lover, but
for Serpa. His mentor. His friend.
The betrayal had cracked something deep inside
him. He hadn’t spoken her name in years.
And now this.
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