“It is older than it seems,” she said, continuing to the second page. “Ancient parchment and old ink stored in a sacred place for such an occasion, but written more recently. They are at least a thousand years old. The quill…” she took a deep, shuddering breath again. “Ancient beyond reckoning. The scribe is…different. Strong enough to handle an angel’s feather. It is pure white, almost silver. A celestial light.” She closed her eyes and drew back. “So bright!” Odette steadied herself, and opening her eyes moved to the final page where the seal was embossed in the parchment. Her fingers hovered over it. “The seal is where the power is strongest. Power is infused into the wax.”

For long moments she did nothing, and Barak realised he was holding his breath. What she had seen seemed impossible, but she spoke with such conviction. Was it a hoax? Something to confuse them and send them astray. He could hear Belial’s whispers again, so low, so insistent, he had missed their arrival. He shook them off. Belial was instilling doubt where there should be none. The room seemed dark now, despite the candlelight.

Odette placed the tip of her finger on the seal, screamed as if she was being tortured, and fell forward, motionless.

Harlan progressed slowly down the emerald passageway, fingertips touching the walls to reassure himself that they existed. The surface was rough, unpolished, and although he was no gemstone expert, he was sure it was raw emerald, glowing within from some unseen power.

He paused and looked back, relieved to see that the marquee was still there, looking reassuringly normal. But it was so far away. He took a deep, steadying breath. He was an explorer. He hunted occult objects. He was used to this. And then his inner voice rebelled. No, you aren’t, you moron. Not like this. You are inside the Emerald Tablet!

The knowledge hit him like a blow, and he staggered backwards. He was in the tablet.

“JD!”

No answer.

He quickened his pace. Either JD was now dust as a result of the wave of power that had knocked Harlan off his feet, or he was up ahead. Within a few more paces, the passage turned and opened into an enormous cave, and he paused on the threshold, taking it all in.

“Herne’s fucking horns! This is insane.”

The entire cave was made of pure, polished emerald that reflected the lights of a thousand candles, torches, and lanterns. Hundreds of pillars filled the space, rooted to the ground and reaching to the roof high above. Some were square, some were round, while others twisted like spirals. The one thing common to all was the writing that covered every surface—script he couldn’t understand, but that looked ancient. In addition, it was as if he’d stepped into a Middle Eastern bazaar.

The lanterns were made of silver, bronze, copper, or gold, designed with intricate patterns, with coloured and clear glass, and suspended on long chains from the ceiling or the pillars. Rich, Oriental rugs were scattered through the space, and occasional low seating was dotted throughout. It was so enormous that he couldn’t see the far side.

One thing was clear, though. This was a gargantuan repository of knowledge.

He started to walk through it, noting the feeling of timelessness, but also of antiquity. The words on the pillars were inscribed in thick, bold, and curving strokes. Faultless and immaculate. And all of it waiting for the one who had the skill to open it.

“JD! Where are you?” Harlan’s voice echoed back to him, and finally he received an answer.

“Harlan, I’m over here! In the centre.”

The scent of incense and a bright, orange glow drew Harlan onwards, and he found JD staring at a column of flame that blazed from the centre of a six-pointed star inscribed into the floor in what looked to be pure gold.

“As above, so below,” JD said, turning to Harlan with a beaming smile. “Can you believe it?”

“No! What the actual fuck, JD? What did you do?”

“I unlocked it!”

“I know that! But…” Harlan’s gaze swept around once more. “This is insane. We’re in a cave! An emerald cave!” His voice rose with indignation and shock.

“No. We are in the Emerald Tablet.” JD spun on his heel, his arms stretched out. “Look at all this knowledge. A lifetime’s worth. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“So, one of your calculations worked. JD, you really are quite brilliant.”

JD’s eyes had taken on a fervent gleam. “There will be a pattern to the knowledge. A system. I just need to work it out.”

“Can you read all this?”

“Ancient Aramaic and Sanskrit are the two languages I’ve seen so far. Yes, I understand some of it.” JD fixed Harlan with his piercing gaze. “I will look for angel-related information first, but if one of the Nephilim could help, perhaps?”

“Nahum and Barak are staying in London. Well, Nahum will be back from Cornwall tonight. They’ll only be too happy to help, I’m sure.” He reached for his phone automatically, and then saw there was no signal at all. Of course there wouldn’t be. “I’ll head outside. Do you think it’s stable?”

“For now.”

“That wasn’t the answer I wanted!”

“It’s all I can give you right now. The field is stable. Nothing should disrupt it. It has waited for millennia. Tell no one else, though! Just our small team!”

“Of course! I’m not a moron.”

JD just nodded, his attention now on other things. “I need papers, pens, notes, filing supplies, all of it…”

Harlan left him muttering to himself, hoping the outside world was still there.

Eleven

Lucien was relieved to see Odette’s eyes flicker open. “She’s okay! Give her air!”

He had reacted even quicker than Barak when Odette had fallen forward in a faint. Birdie had dropped the protective circle, and Lucien had rushed in and picked her up, gently depositing her on the floor outside it. Her pulse fluttered faintly at her throat, and her eyes moved restlessly beneath her lids.

“Here, let me,” Morgana said, kneeling at her side as everyone else stepped back. She laid a hand on her brow. “Odette, can you hear me?”

Odette’s gaze was distant, as if her vision was blurred, and then she blinked and focussed on Morgana, and then Lucien on the other side. “I’m fine, thank you. Help me sit up.”

“Water and chocolate!” Morgana commanded.

“All ready,” Birdie said calmly.

Lucien smiled at Odette as he supported her weight. She was featherlight, almost insubstantial. “Take your time.”

“Thank you, Lucien.” She accepted the water and snack from Birdie, and after a few sips and a bite of chocolate, her colour returned. “Sorry, everyone. It was a strong image I saw from the seal. That’s all. It was like a cobra strike.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I feel a bit embarrassed now.”

“Let’s get her in a chair, Lucien,” Morgana said.

After she was settled and had taken a few deep breaths, Odette smiled. “I’m fine. We can carry on soon.”

Barak crouched opposite her. Everything about him was clenched tight—his jaw, his fists, and his corded muscles. “What did you see? Belial?”

“Yes, and someone else. The scribe. Belial was fleeting. A flash of his eyes and then he was gone. But the scribe was intense. I couldn’t determine his age, but he was one of you. A Nephilim.”

Barak’s black skin turned grey. “Surely it can’t be possible.”

“I know what I saw. Not pure angel. Belial was his father, I’m certain.”

“Of the House of Belial. That’s bad news.” Barak sat back on the floor heavily, looking at Estelle and then Lucien, absolute confusion on his face. “It shouldn’t even be possible. You said the parchment and ink were old, but the manifesto was newer. So that means the scribe is of more recent centuries, too?”

“Yes. Well, I think so.” Odette’s gaze flickered to her coven and Estelle. “I don’t see things with crystal clarity, but I can usually trust my intuition.”