11:34 a.m. Denver Public Library

Gotcha!

He skimmed. Tore the photograph out. Why haven’t I seen you before?

In the photo, John sat in the back seat of a sedan, his arm around a fair-haired beauty. Though the woman’s face was partially turned, it was familiar. Bonus! Maybe he wouldn’t have to act alone.

He examined the singer. A mix of fear and anticipation prickled from his toes to his forehead.
This was the Chosen One.

The wait was over. He had to destroy the Apostle.

Something glittered around the singer’s throat.

The Watcher delicately placed a finger on the photograph. Shut his eyes. His fingertip itched, then scored a single word into his brain.

Sindon.

Outside the library, he hesitated. What’s the point of having special powers if you don’t abuse ‘em?

He blew on his palm. Just for the hell of it.

The library’s lights blinked. Died. Startled cries slipped through the closing doors.

He smirked. Opened his cell phone, pumped up enough to arrange a flight. Seemed like the Watcher was due for a southern holiday. And a hot date.