“Raziel was an angel who had recorded the world’s first spells that underpin life. Hermes Trismegistus was not an angel.”
“But,” Ash said, “he was thrice Hermes, which meant he was Thoth, too, and Thoth is an Egyptian God.”
“And the tablet,” Harlan pointed out, “is supposed to contain the secrets of life and immortality.”
Gabe sighed, seeing resignation in Ash’s eyes, too. “I think we have to let this play out. For a start, he already knows the secret of immortality. If he opens it, it’s because he’s worthy of the knowledge.”
“That’s what he said.” Gabe could almost hear Harlan’s eyeroll. “Anyway, back to Venice. I can get you a place to stay there. Orphic Guild connections. Do you want me to organise it?”
“Yes, brilliant. Thank you.”
“Will do. Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll keep you updated.”
Ash sighed as Gabe ended the call. “I am sort of excited by the possibility, you know? The tablet, I mean.”
“Say he does make it bigger. It doesn’t mean he can understand it! That could just be one step of many.”
“True.” Ash walked over to his pack where the map was stored. “Let’s focus on Venice. You know where it is, right?”
“Vaguely.”
“I have a feeling,” Ash said, unfolding the map and laying it across the duty floor, “that it’s northeast. There!” He jabbed the map. “I was right. It’s roughly northeast from here. About a three-hour drive.”
“It must be related to all this!” Gabe didn’t see the point in wasting time. “We’ve exhausted this place, right? Let’s pack up and get moving. I’ll call Shadow.”
Nine
Harlan ended his phone call with Gabe and looked through the window of his first-floor bedroom at the enormous marquee that loomed out of the thick mist that had descended on the chill February day.
It looked innocuous enough, but it housed something so powerful that Harlan could barely comprehend that JD might actually unlock its secrets. He should get back to London and prepare for the week, but the marquee beckoned.
The previous evening, JD had delivered as promised. He had told Harlan of his conversations with angels—the celestial kind, not the fallen ones—and had looked so earnest, Harlan wanted to believe him. But he couldn’t. Having read all about his dubious friend who had enabled his conversations, the man who history had decried as a fraud, the spiritualist Edward Kelly, he questioned everything JD said. He knew that Gabe had endured long conversations with him in the past, and that he doubted JD’s experience, too, even though he had designed—revealed, perhaps—Enochian language. According to the Nephilim, though, that was not the language of angels that they were familiar with. It didn’t mean that the angels hadn’t taught him another one, though. One accessible to humans.
JD had also described his various quests for knowledge and outlined his visit to the Lamberti’s. They lived in a centuries-old Venetian palace that sat on the Grand Canal. It was magnificent, apparently, with frescoed walls, ornate plasterwork, cavernous rooms, and decadent furnishings. Well, the part he had seen of it, which wasn’t much. A reception area only before he was escorted off the premises. They had denied knowing anything about such a jewel, and accused JD of being a madman. Nothing new there. He had faced that accusation many times.
It must be hard, Harlan thought, to be an immortal genius. To have to live amongst people so less gifted than himself. No wonder JD was prickly and odd. He’d had to survive lifetimes of such experiences. Being around normal people, though, who understood him, was important. It grounded him. Sort of… Perhaps being a scientific advisor to the lab at The Retreat was a good thing. He was so isolated here. By choice, of course, but nevertheless… Harlan found he had enjoyed their conversation. JD talked to him properly for once, as if they were of equal intellect. It wouldn’t last, of course, but his stories were fascinating. A window into the past, from someone who had actually been there.
Harlan decided to see his progress once more, and leaving his packed bag on his bed, headed downstairs. He was halfway across the lawn when the ground rocked, and a wave of something passed through him. It was so powerful that Harlan was blasted off his feet and onto his back, leaving him looking into the mist, and wondering if he’d lost his vision.
The wet grass soaked into his jeans and jacket, and the back of his head, and he could see the moisture hang in the air with crystal clarity. Time stood still. The power of the earth rose up and the crush of air pinned him to the ground, and yet he didn’t panic. He could see so clearly. The millions of moisture particles hanging above him, both beautiful and surreal. He could feel them on his skin, and see them settle on his own eyelashes. And then the weight of air and the feel of earth vanished, and he floated, weightless, able to see and feel the minute breaths of wind as they passed over and under him. And the colours! He twisted like a kite on a breeze, seeing the garden spread below him, and the thick press of trees and shrubs, all with a strange, vibrant glow.
Wait…What?
His body was lying motionless on the lawn, and Harlan realised he wasn’t breathing. Holy shit. I’ve had a stroke. Or maybe a heart attack. I’m dead, and my soul is leaving my body. Regrets raced through him. That he wouldn’t be around to support Olivia. That he wouldn’t see the Templar gold again. That there were so many places in the world that he still wanted to see. That he hadn’t spoken to his mother recently.
His soul was leaving his body and going somewhere.
Then he saw the marquee that was glowing with a brilliant green light, and he knew instantly what had happened. JD had unlocked the knowledge within the Emerald Tablet and killed him. That mad bastard!
The knowledge triggered a visceral physical response, and he thudded back to the ground and into his body with a thump. He took a sharp intake of breath, sat bolt upright, and yelled. “I’m alive!” Struggling to his feet, his body feeling strangely familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, he ran across the lawn, yelling, “JD!”
But as soon as he reached the door to the marquee, he skidded to a halt. From the outside the marquee looked as normal, but a strange, ethereal light was visible through a chink in the flap that served as a door.
“JD! Are you okay?” It was deathly quiet, with no sounds coming from the house or the huge tent. “JD!” Unzipping it as if it might explode, and half expecting to see JD dead, he peered inside. “Holy shit.”
The Emerald Tablet had vanished, as had JD, and in the centre of the tent was a cavernous entrance to what looked like an emerald cave. The rest of the tent was unchanged—the tables, the scientific equipment, and even the wheel of correspondences were all still there. Tentatively, Harlan stepped inside and zipped the door shut. Had Anna felt the ripple of energy? Would she come and investigate?
Not knowing whether he should be terrified or excited, he crossed to the cave’s entrance, feeling a wave of power emanating from it. A passage ran ahead, far too long to be encompassed in the marquee. It was a gateway. He called JD again, half wondering if his body had been turned to dust, looked back at the world he knew and might never see again, and stepped inside.
“I see what you meant about a bunker,” Nahum said to Zee and Eli. “We could bury a body in there.”
“Just being prepared.” Zee winked at Olivia. “We put the bodies elsewhere.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Olivia shot back.
Eli leaned against the wall, looking as usual, incredibly seductive. It was like sex just oozed from him. He gave Olivia a rakish grin and Nahum subdued a scowl. No. He was not letting Eli look after Olivia. “You should. The field out there was strewn with bodies just before Christmas. We had to put them somewhere.”
“Oh, stop it!” Briar said, horrified. “The police took them all. Olivia, ignore them!”
“I try, but they’re very naughty,” she said, teasing. “Something I am already used to.”
The farmhouse’s cellar was crowded with the five White Haven witches, the three Nephilim, and Olivia. There was, despite the gravity of the situation, almost a party atmosphere. Nahum and Olivia had arrived about five minutes earlier and found their way to the cellar, where the witches had just completed their protection spell. It was good to be home again, and Nahum was looking forward to catching up with his friends and brothers.
Nahum placed the heavy, spelled box that contained the jewels on to the ground. “I should probably get this box back to Gabe somehow. If they find anymore of Belial’s stuff, they’ll need somewhere to store it.”
“I thought they had a smaller box?” El said, confused.
“They do, but we’re finding more of his crap than we expected.” He studied the runes and sigils that had been burned onto the slabbed interior and sturdy wooden lid by witch-fire, reassured that it would suffice. “I’d like to leave everything in this one, though, as double protection.”
