“What? Now!” Jackson asked, rising to his feet, too.

“Yes. That family is involved! How did they get the jewel? And then why give the house away? They were involved, possibly deliberately, hundreds of years ago, and then something happened twenty years ago. Come on. We’re going to JD’s.” Plus, she had an ulterior motive for going there. “Which means that we can see the amazing emerald cave, too!”

Fifteen

Barak smiled broadly for the camera, wishing he could put his fist through it instead.

The last hour had been tedious beyond belief. Guided by Theo’s solicitor, who had examined the contracts in great detail for all of them, thankfully, he declared himself satisfied with the terms and amounts agreed upon. They had signed the paperwork, Nahum and Barak acting on behalf of the Nephilim and Shadow. Harlan and Theo each had their own identical agreements, as did the church representative from Temple Moreton who had arrived before all of them. Theo had been right. The amount of money involved—even for a portion of the agreed value, was astonishingly huge. They were all stupidly rich.

After the formalities were completed, the champagne flowed, and photos were taken. The museum staff were thrilled with the find. All of them who had been involved in its discovery were peppered with questions. There was a lot of lying involved. Of course, there was no mention of the knights and the near-death experiences, although the tricky episode in the map room was relayed—with reservations.

Even though Barak hadn’t been there, he was part of the team who had, and of course Nahum had experienced the whole thing. Theo took centre stage, and that was fine with all of them. Barak posed for one final photo with Nahum and Theo and then retreated to stand with the others, who watched and chatted to each other, clearly amused by the whole event.

“I just want to get out of here,” Barak confessed to all of them.

Estelle laughed. “Enjoy the champagne and the warm, fuzzy feeling of all that money, and just keep smiling.”

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease out kinks of knotted muscle. “I’m not a signing paperwork sort of guy.”

“Neither am I,” Lucien said, “but for that amount of cash, I’d stand here all day long. I was half expecting them to hand you a giant cheque, like on the lottery.”

“Darling,” Olivia drawled in an exaggerated tone, “this is the British Museum. It’s far classier.”

Barak smiled with his new sister-in-law of sorts. “Yes, it was just a big, whopping bank transfer to our account.”

“Olivia!” Harlan called over. “Come and get a photo. A little extra publicity for The Orphic Guild.”

She rolled her eyes, but clutching her orange juice, she crossed to his side. Nahum watched, face creased in concern. Barak understood his reservations. They were all paranoid about Belial and his agents, but that didn’t mean they should put their lives on hold. Even though Olivia was pregnant with a Nephilim child. A first for thousands of years—or so they presumed. Lucien drifted away too, to examine the treasures laid out on a side table, and immediately a museum worker engaged him in conversation.

“You’re getting as bad as Nahum,” Estelle said softly, her gaze on Olivia, too.

“Are we paranoid?”

“Yes, but you have every right to be. I gather the Moonfell witches have made her an amulet, though. She’s in good hands. And Nahum will keep her safe.” Her dark eyes that glowed with passion for him alone now flashed with amusement. “He watches her like a hawk.”

“I cannot find fault with that, or with the fact that he is falling in love. It’s made me a happy man.” Estelle’s face flushed with pleasure. Barak angled his broad back to the room, hoping to put off anyone who might want to approach them, and leaned in for a sneaky kiss. “I’ve been mulling over that image of the city I saw in the spell yesterday. I can’t place where it could be! Can you do anything to narrow it down?”

“No, unfortunately. The image was dragged from the manifesto, along with every other image that we saw. There’s no way I can replicate it.” She saw the disappointment in his face and squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m as frustrated as you. Why don’t we focus on Jiri? What do you know about him that could help?”

She had asked this the previous evening, and he’d spent the night thinking over what little he knew. “Well, like I said, we didn’t know each other, but he was based all across the Middle East. I was born in Africa, and I spent most of my time there, too. But that means nothing now. Look at us. We’re in England!”

“True.” Estelle huffed with disappointment. “The horn, then. Maybe we focus on that. There’s nothing in the other images we saw that we can track down, interesting and informative though they were. Why did Jiri’s image burst out of the manifesto, though?”

The flash of his wings filled Barak’s vision again. “I think it was his power that was baked into it.”

“You know, there is a group of very well-respected researchers behind you.” Estelle nodded to the museum staff. “There are several different departments involved in the Templar treasure display. I doubt they’d have much to do with the time period we want. However, they might point us in the right direction.”

Barak frowned. “You mean, someone might know about angelic horns?”

“They might. There are lots of Babylonian and Assyrian statues and art here. You saw them!” He couldn’t miss them. It was as if he’d stepped back in time. “What if one of them knows about some special horn that was found on some dig?”

“That’s nuts!”

She folded her arms, lips tightening. “Who cares? We should ask anyway. It would be stupid not to, now that we’re here.”

He too looked around at the gathered experts. “All right. I’m game. It beats kicking our heels while we wait to hear from Gabe.”

They approached a middle-aged man dressed in a suit he looked very uncomfortable in. He ran his finger under his collar as he tried to loosen his tie. At the sight of Barak and Estelle approaching, however, he stood upright, beaming as he gripped Barak’s hand. “I’m Samuel Dugan. I can’t tell you how exciting this is. I have spent my life pouring over Templar documents. For you to have found a portion of the treasure is just breathtaking!”

Barak smiled and nodded, letting the man wax lyrical about the treasure before turning the conversation to more ancient matters.

Samuel frowned. “You’re interested in ancient history? The Sumerians and Babylonians contributed much to our society. The true founders of the modern world. Not my specialty, of course.”

“There is someone here, I presume, who we could talk to?”

Estelle flashed a huge smile. “Not in the room, we realise, but somewhere in the museum?”

He floundered for a moment at the change of subject. “Er, of course! We have a large department devoted to that era. Jenkins is the head of that particular team. I’m sure he would be happy to spare a few moments to speak to you.”

They waited while Samuel called his colleague using a phone in the corner of the room. When he returned, he looked apologetic. “He can’t see you right now, unfortunately, although he is thrilled to meet you! He suggests this afternoon. Would three o’clock suit? He can meet you in the main entrance.”

Barak glanced at Estelle, and she nodded her agreement. “Excellent. This afternoon it is.” Which would give him time to shake off the paper signing, eat lunch, and celebrate their enormous commission.

Gabe stood outside the main entrance of the Palazzo Lamberti, noting what he had failed to see the night before. That the old building was crumbling with age.

Romola clearly shared the same thought. “This place looks run-down. Neglected.”

“Perhaps Enzo’s death years ago precipitated a downturn in their fortunes.”

“Perhaps. That could be why they no longer use our services.” She wiggled the gift bag in her hand. “Let’s hope that this is still well-received anyway.”

They stood on a narrow street, one of many that laced through Venice, waiting for someone to answer the door. The bell had tolled deep within the house before falling silent. The Grand Canal was on the other side of the building, and Romola had told Gabe that the large entrances that many palazzos had on the water were seldom used now. These small lanes crossed a multitude of narrow canals, and the scent of brackish water and dampness drifted around them. They stood in deep shade, the bulk of the surrounding buildings blocking out the light. Somewhere around them, well out of sight, were Shadow, Niel, and Ash.

The palazzo, however, despite its neglect, was magnificent. A mix of Byzantine and Moorish design, with embellishments over windows and doors. Gabe doubted that the interior would be as well preserved as their apartment, if the exterior was anything to go by.

Just as Romola lifted her hand to call the bell again, the door swung open, and a thin, sharp-eyed woman answered the door. She looked at them suspiciously before launching rapidly into a conversation designed to send them away. Just as effusively, Romola introduced herself and argued her point, before lifting the gift bag. Like any Italian conversation, it was voluble and full of gesticulations.

The woman sniffed, and then grudgingly let them in with an instruction to wait. Romola took a deep breath, sighing out her next words. “Well, that was harder than I thought.”

“But we’re in.”

They stood in an imposing hall with a high ceiling. The plasterwork was detailed, and the paint was rich in colour. Deep reds on one wall contrasted with deep blue on another. But it was faded in places, and the glimpse offered through open doorways to either side showed that the rooms were devoid of furnishings. Still, it had a grand atmosphere that begged to be restored.

Romola explained, “The lower levels can flood, and were used for deliveries. They are hardly ever furnished. Everyone lives on the upper floors. Unless, of course, extensive work has been done. Flooding is an ever-present issue in Venice, as I’m sure you can imagine. St Mark’s Square floods constantly. Have you been there yet?”

“We walked through it last night.”

“You must visit St Mark’s Basilica. It’s magnificent.”