“There’s still a lot to do, though,” Jackson said. He crossed to JD’s side to look at the rough plan of the cave he’d started to make, and Maggie and Harlan followed him.
The London team, as Maggie called it, had arrived a couple of hours before, and searching and mapping the cave had begun in earnest. Jackson and Maggie had continued to read the selected books in JD’s library, discovering all sorts of interesting snippets of information, but none particularly salient to their investigation. Reading JD’s own notes from over a hundred years ago was weird. She’d also ended up searching for information on JD. He really had been the court magician to Queen Elizabeth I. Jackson wasn’t lying. Unbelievable.
Their search had been fuelled by sandwiches and soup brought up by the immortal Anna. Maggie rolled the word around her mouth. Immortal. How weird would that be? Lonely, perhaps. Or maybe exciting? So much time to explore and read and live expansively. It seemed a very delicious thought. Maggie presumed that Anna must do more than cook and clean for JD, or she would have a very boring eternity. The woman, she decided, had unknown depths.
As had this place.
She’d been shocked earlier, and had barely taken the emerald cave in, but after hours spent buried in books, she and Jackson needed a break and had decided to see what was going on. Entering it again was actually intoxicating. She could lose hours here. Days, even. With no natural light, and with lamps burning constantly, and the smoky swirl of incense, she already felt disoriented. It was as if she had been transported back thousands of years. The rugs were of high quality, and she was sure the lamps suspended from the pillars and ceiling were of solid gold and silver. As for the flame in the centre, that was just weird. The place reeked of magic and knowledge.
“So,” Maggie asked, inspecting the scrawl of JD’s writing, “what have you found so far?”
“The cave is split into sections. Roughly. There are areas that pertain to countries, most of which have now vanished, or have changed their name, like Persia, for example. I guess Hermes would never have thought that Sumer or Assyria would vanish. There are areas that reference the elements, the base of everything and the root of all magic, and then there are histories. Endless histories.” He sighed, his hands massaging his lower back as he straightened.
“Histories of who?” Harlan asked.
“Biblical figures. Adam, for instance.”
Maggie was sure the room actually spun around her. “The Adam? As in Adam and Eve?”
“Yes. But, my dear, he was not the first man created from clay. Oh, no. Just a mortal who had evolved like all of us from the vast soup of the oceans. What the old God granted him was knowledge. And a not very compliant wife, eh?” He winked at Maggie.
“Women are not meant to be compliant. What would men have to complain about?” she shot back. “We’re here to remind you not to be so fucking self-obsessed. That was a giant fail.”
JD threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “Oh yes, you can definitely visit more often.”
Harlan cleared his throat. “Anything about angels?”
JD pointed to his right. “Nahum and Barak are examining an area over there. There are lists and lists of angels. Fallen and otherwise.”
Startled, Jackson asked, “Are there spells to control them, or lessen their influence?”
“Give us a chance! I am giving you broad brush strokes only.”
“Are Estelle and Olivia with them?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, taking notes. Lucien, too, I believe.” JD sighed, eyes narrowing as he stared at the flames in the centre. “But whether we find a solution for our most pressing issue? I don’t know. We’ve barely mapped a fraction of it. With Nahum and Barak, however, we stand a chance. The rest will take me a lifetime.” He smiled at them. “It’s a good job that I have many of them. How did you fare with those notes I left you?”
Maggie scowled. “Badly. That first reference to the alchemist was interesting, but he didn’t really give any details, did he? There was no mention of Beneventi or the other names, other than The Consortium. It was all very secret squirrel.”
“We alchemists like our secrets, and clearly Lamberti did, too. What intrigued me,” JD said, “was that the alchemist, Alfonso, said if the power could be tapped, it would be phenomenal, and may have several useful applications. He never said what they were.”
“We noticed,” Maggie said grimly. More bloody secrets.
Harlan had been studying the plan, but now he looked up. “Lamberti knew those jewels—specifically his ring—belonged to Belial. That’s why Beneventi formed The Consortium, after all. Why even request the alchemist’s help?”
“Maybe,” Jackson mused, scratching his head and making an even bigger mess of his unruly hair, “some of them were having doubts and wanted to get rid of the power, but keep the jewels. Or maybe they wanted to use the power for themselves without Belial’s influence. It could even be they just wanted to understand how it all worked. Unfortunately, nothing else we found could tell us. There were other hints about The Consortium, but it was frustratingly vague. There was no mention of Jiri.”
Something had been tickling Maggie’s brain for a couple of hours, and now it struck her. “What if the alchemist had been asked to help them use the jewels to find Jiri?”
All three men turned to her, eyes narrowed. Harlan said, “But he was an alchemist, not a witch or a magician, or whatever you want to call it.”
Jackson nodded at JD. “Our friend here used scrying glasses and talked to angels. What if Alfonso did, too? Maybe he was adept at summoning circles? Like you say, JD, you guys have vast and varied interests.”
“It’s very possible.” JD nodded, eyes distant as he considered the possibility. “He did have an interest in demons as I recall from his other manuscripts and treatises. Yes, that could well be the case. Perhaps he did summon Jiri. Maybe others. However, we’ll never know for sure, unless someone talks.” JD took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “There are things we cannot know, therefore we must focus on that which we can influence. A way to bind Belial for good.”
“In that case,” Maggie said, having had enough of chatting, “I’m going to find the others. If nothing else, I can take notes.”
She set off between the towering pillars to find the Nephilim and the WAGs, as she now liked to call Estelle and Olivia. Not that she’d tell them that. Yet.
Ash pulled onto the side of the road that ran past Amato’s country house, making sure it was far enough from the entrance not to rouse suspicion. The lane was deserted, and within moments, he shed his jacket and t-shirt, extended his wings, and rose majestically into the air.
It was a pleasure to be flying again. Venice was beautiful but cramped, and he’d missed the night breezes that ruffled his wings. He gave a wry smile as he studied them under starlight. He still wasn’t used to the fact that his wings were now golden, courtesy of Belial. He had wondered if the colour would fade, but so far it hadn’t. Fortunately, in darkness, there was little light to reflect, but by candle or firelight, they gleamed, much like his eyes.
Fortunately, there were no other repercussions from his use of Belial’s token. No lingering after-effects or power, or whispers in his head. His wings, and particularly his injured shoulder, had healed well. The phrase, ‘Broken Nephilim’ still rankled, even though no one except Belial had whispered it. He cast his annoyance aside to focus on the present. He flew high, circling the grounds to make sure no other cars were there. The entire place still looked deserted and abandoned, and no lights glimmered in any windows. However, as he aimed towards the woods, he saw a flash of light close to where the temple was.
Bollocks.
He carried his sword, as always, glad that they could now transport their weapons in the plane’s hold, and he withdrew it from the scabbard. He patted his pocket, checking that he still had JD’s weapon, and felt its sleek outline. He also carried a backpack over his shoulder with a crowbar in it. He circled wide of the light, gliding silently over the thick canopy. From this distance the light had vanished, and he wondered if he’d imagined it, until it winked into view again.
But where could he set down? The canopy was thick, the temple overgrown. He had been aiming to walk along the forest path, but that seemed like a bad idea now. Taking another few moments to get his bearings, he flew lower and partially alighted on an uppermost branch, his wings supporting his weight. He waited, trying to see the temple he knew was somewhere close, but there was no other light or sound. Fearing a trap, he considered his options.
The deaths of the six men in Venice were already all over the news. They hadn’t bothered to hide the bodies. Instead, they had piled them into the boat with a tarpaulin thrown over them, and pushed it out of Lamberti’s dock and into the Grand Canal. Ash had volunteered to swim under water, and had tugged it out in the middle of the waterway before abandoning it and swimming back to shore. They had hoped there would be no repercussions for Lamberti, but that was stupid. Of course there would be. But had Lamberti talked, if questioned? Was he already dead?
Wary of making loud noises, Ash flew to the start of the path through the woods that led to the temple. On foot, he progressed slowly and softly, wings folded away, sword close to his side. The place seemed as deserted as when they had left it the other day. Huge chunks of Belial’s statue lay on the ground, the paving cracked, and there, in the centre, was the plinth beneath which the paperwork should be.
Ash waited in the shadows, his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness. The soaring columns could barely be distinguished from the trees, and there was no light or sound now, other than the nighttime chatter of animals and the sough of the wind through the branches. How long should he wait? Or was he just being paranoid? Checking that once again JD’s weapon was in his pocket, he stepped from the deep shadows by the nearest pillar and onto the top step, the central, sunken area beneath him. Most of the fallen leaves had been pushed around the edge, thanks to Niel and Shadow, and the large central plinth was bigger than he remembered.
After casting one more searching glance around the edge, he progressed down the broad steps to the centre, wading through leaves and stepping over chunks of the statue. Up close, he could see a large crack ran down the centre of the plinth, and a seam had opened where the base met the paving. He squatted to see it better. It was wide enough to get his hand inside, and he reached in, hoping to feel a box or a package. Unfortunately, the space within was empty. Frustrated, he adjusted his position, wondering if the paperwork could be accessed from the crack in the plinth, or if someone had beaten him to it. The movement saved his life. An arrow suddenly whizzed overhead, striking the steps behind him and clattering to the ground.
