tororo

Once ratsonjulia suggested: "how about a short serial incorporating: an American Indian, five pounds of myrrh, a broken coffee cup, a postage stamp that moans when licked, an exact replica of Notre Dame Cathedral west facade carved out of a neanderthal's tooth, seventeen pixie stix, the delightful Miss Kristi Yamaguchi, a mysterious stranger who may or may not be Bast, downonherluck Egyptian Goddess, & a soiled wig?"
................

DAUGHTERS OF BASTET: the seventh seal.


The container radiated an unnatural heat.
Muttering an ancient Phenician incantation that sounded closely like "Holy fucking shit!", I left hold on it and it landed on the kitchen's table top: the coffee cup I had put too close to the edge fell on the ground and broke. Not enough time left for making another one.
Dear Mr Green's admirable sacrifice had gained me only some more minutes. Everything I cared for packed in a rucksack, I just had to bow in front of Mysterious Stranger who leaped without hesitation on the top of it , then, using the asbestos gloves, I grabbed the pressure cooker with its unusual content.
Corridor. Stairs. Passageway. Firestairs. Tin roof. Firestairs again. Passageway. Parking lot. Firestairs. Brick roof. I had now a good point of view on the street.
The black Lincoln was nowhere to be seen.
The hard part was now, sneaking into the empty gas station, not being noticed by the men in grey inside the van. Maybe the goddess of luck was with me, after all: suddenly the van started up and drove off. I knew what it meant, and that for doing what I had to do i would have only a handful seconds.