Prologue: The Prophecy
Two dark figures ran across a cobblestone street in London. One wore a cloak and jogged quickly across the storm-soaked street; the other had only a hat to protect him from the rain. He crossed the street in great leaping bounds, one hand on his hat to keep it in place. Once on the other side of the street, the cloaked figure ducked into a doorway and pushed his way through, his companion right behind him.
The door opened into a spacious foyer draped with shadows. A few lit candles dotted the hallway, revealing a staircase and a small hallway leading straight ahead into the kitchen. The man wearing the cloak whipped it off and handed it to his companion. Once the cloak was removed, one could see that he was a relatively young man, in his mid-to-late 30s, with a thin moustache and intelligent eyes. The other was a few years younger, but much bigger. It was clear from his stance that he was the "muscle" of the duo.
The first man smoothed his mostly dry suit and looked up as he heard footsteps on the stairs above them. A woman wearing a long white dress came walking down the stairs slowly, carrying a candle. Her long black hair hung loose down her back, and it offset her pale skin beautifully. "James," she said softly.
Professor James Moriarty smiled and walked to the foot of the staircase. "Serena," he answered. She reached the foot of the staircase and floated past him. Moriarty turned as she walked past him to stand near a table at the door. She merely placed her hand on it and James noticed the lone glass of sherry sitting on it.
"You've been expecting me," he said, moving to pick up the glass. The palest of smiles graced over Serena's face.
"The moon whispered to me of your arrival," she answered faintly. James smiled and took a sip of sherry.
"Shall we get on with it, then?" he asked, gesturing towards the stairs. She nodded slowly and moved gracefully up the stairs. James watched her ascend. "Dante?"
His companion immediately stepped up. "Yes, James?"
"Stay here." With that, Moriarty began to follow Serena up the stairs.
The woman led him up the winding staircase to a small attic room. The room was cluttered with odds and ends, and was completely dark except for the candle that Serena carried. A small round table stood in the center of the room, free of any clutter, and there was a wide empty space surrounding the table. It was covered with a clean black cloth that had been carefully pressed.
Serena knelt behind the table and Moriarty knelt across from her, his back to the door. She placed the candle to her left and pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. She placed it on the table and slowly uncovered it, revealing a large deck of cards. Carefully and deliberately, she turned them over in her hands and shuffled them gently. Moriarty watched in fascination, catching brief glimpses of the unusual pictures and colors that decorated the cards. Serena passed the cards to him, and he shuffled the cards as she had, just as slowly and reverently, before handing them back.
Serena slowly started to lay out the cards, flipping each one over carefully. "You seek a great fortune in the suffering of others," she said softly. She continued to flip over cards.
"You have brought together your pawns, so that you might control their moves. But when the time comes, they will seek to destroy you." A few moments of silence passed as she continued to flip and read the cards.
"All of your plans shall come to pass, and shall fall into place as you wish." At this Moriarty's face lit up, and a smug smile filled his face.
"But beware of the one you did not expect, for the vengeance he seeks shall cost you your life." Moriarty's face darkened, his brow crinkling in confusion.
"Who are you talking about?" He asked softly. At first Serena did not answer, but continued to flip the cards.
"You have faced him before, and let him live, choosing a harsher punishment than death. He is one who hides and slinks in shadow, for his mission must not see light of day."
Now a look of understanding began to dawn of the tyrant's face. "The spy," he murmured. "The American." He thought back to the raid earlier that night in Gray's library, recalling the sniper who had allowed the League the chance to attack. One of his men had returned to headquarters half-naked, saying he had been attacked before the raid, but he knew nothing of the one who had jumped him. Moriarty had had the fool shot for his carelessness, and thought no more of it. Now he realized that the glimpse of blond hair and unusual rifle matched the image of the spy he held in his mind.
James stood quickly and threw a heavy sack on the table. The sack clinked with coins, and without a word, he left the room and descended the stairs.
"James?" Dante asked as he watched his captain come down the stairs.
"Let's go, Dante," Moriarty answered as he shrugged on his cloak. "We have work to do."