by Amy Marie
“These letters… what happened to them?” I ask.
“When my uncle died years later, the collection passed to me,” Mr. Sinclair shrugs as he meets my eye. “They’re quite interesting. I’ve even published a novel based on the myths. It’s astonishing, the story that can be gleaned behind the legend.”
My fingers are practically itching to get my hands on those letters. If Uncle Mike was interested, we’ve got to find a way to see them!
“There’s no record of this dagger in any archive, or I’d have found it. You’re not really here for work now, are you?” Mr. Sinclair catches me off guard by being direct.
“Mr. Sinclair, as you can see, we have other motives for our visit here. Unfortunately, getting too involved could put you in the same danger that your family has faced before. We were hoping to not have to get you mixed up in this, but these letters might be a game changer,” I respond, matching his candor.
“I see. I always thought my uncle was a loon. Claiming strange happenings surrounding the letters. It’s another reason he wouldn’t let Michael near them. ‘Too many accidents’ he’d always mumble.” He ponders for a moment. “Are you two working for any government?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No, sir,” Rafe says as I shake my head negatively. “It’s difficult to explain, but there is a serious risk here,” he adds.
“Mr. Sinclair, is there anything in the letters about a necklace?” I ask.
“Hmm, not that I can recall. Though, if you’d like to drop by and take a look yourselves, you’d be most welcome. I know you have some business to attend to at the museum, but feel free to drop by my place later this evening,” he offers, prompting Rafe to ask for the check. I tuck the dagger safely back in my bag as Mr. Sinclair continues on about the letters. “It’s quite the collection, dating all the way back to King Henry VIII. My ancestor was a printer for his son, King Edward VI, but his writings dabble in myth, legend, and even a little alchemy lore. It’s serendipitous, considering we were just discussing Flamel. His work is mentioned, all part of the myth. It’s how I’ve come to know the legends so well and inspire my writing.”
Rafe fumbles the money on the table and meets my eye. He must’ve heard what I heard.
A memory surfaces of Rafe giving me a tour of Andover Hall in Cambridge, when I first met him. He was explaining the significance of a print mark on a window: “These were the initials of an old printer for King Edward VI…”
“Mr. Sinclair, what is the surname on that side of your family?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Grafton. It was my mother’s maiden name. We’re descended from the famous printer of bibles, Richard Grafton,” he beams with pride.
Richard Grafton. Gabriel’s ancestor.
The man who printed the Statera.
Chapter 11
We meet the three elemental souls outside the Louvre’s Egyptian Antiquities exhibit near the fountain in the Cour de Carreé. We all huddle close under an umbrella borrowed from Mr. Sinclair, protected from the after-storm drizzle.
“So, your text said you have some good news?” Tara asks, ever the nurturing optimistic.
Rafe takes the lead with his excited chatter before I even have a chance to respond. “Basically, Uncle Mike’s wife’s family descended from Richard Grafton, the man who printed the Statera. Mr. Sinclair has some of his ancestor’s letters that might mention Darcy’s dagger. Nora had a vision that connected the dagger to Nicholas Flamel—”
“Like, from Harry Potter?” Tara cuts in to ask.
“Yes. Except the real guy. It’s kind of crazy, but Nora thinks the dagger might have something to with the Sorcerer’s Stone—”
“Philosopher’s Stone,” Dylan cuts in this time.
“Actually, it’s also called the Ben-Ben Stone,” I trump him, and the others recognize the reference to Uncle Mike’s clue. “I think the myth might have some truth to it. Think about it. We’re talking about the elixir of life and immortality, and we know two people who have been cursed to never die.”
There’s silence as that reality sinks in.
“But what about the necklace?” asks Joe after a moment. “Did he know anything about it?”
“He didn’t remember the letters mentioning a necklace. But Uncle Mike’s clue mentions it with the dagger. We just have to find out how they’re connected. I plan on asking Mr. Sinclair more about Aurora and the museum tonight when we go back to see the letters,” I assure them.
“What about you guys?” asks Rafe. “Any luck here?”
“The necklace is on display, but it’s behind some pretty heavy security. The display is built into the wall. We asked to talk to the director of the department about a private handling, but we were turned away,” says Dylan. “We did talk to the assistant director, but he seemed fidgety when he met us. He offered to give us a personal tour to make up for the inconvenience. We’re supposed to meet him outside La Chappelle at the Sully entrance.” He points to his brochure map.
“Waste of time,” says Joe, as we make our way toward the entrance. “He’s not gonna budge on that necklace.”
“There is something special about it though,” Tara says. “Maybe something familiar. You’ll see on the tour.”
Right on cue, a man in his mid-forties walks up to introduce himself as we enter the Sully wing. “Hallo.” His speech carries a slight Spanish accent. “My name is Inigo, I’m the assistant director for the Egyptian antiquities. Has your entire group gathered for the tour?”
I pull Tara aside and lean close to whisper, “There’s something familiar about this guy.”
She giggles and whispers back, “I think it’s his name. As soon as he said it I wanted to blurt out ‘you killed my father, prepare to die!’” I giggle along with her, thinking of the quote from one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride.
“Yes, hello there,” Rafe shakes Inigo’s hand, transforming his voice to stern and formal. “My name is Raphael Clark, and this is my associate, Kora Killebrew.” The others can barely keep a straight face at my made-up name. “We work for the religious artifact division at the Harvard Divinity School.” Rafe flashes his Harvard ID, though I know for a fact it doesn’t say anything about a religious artifact division, because it doesn’t exist. “You’ve already met some of my other associates here.” He gestures to the others.
“Yes, Mr. Clark. I understand you have some interest in one of our necklace artifacts,” Inigo says. “Unfortunately, we can’t arrange a private viewing at this time. The director has conveyed his apologies, and I’m more than happy to give a tour for your inconvenience.”
“But if you could just—” Rafe begins to argue.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Inigo puts his hands up to stop him. “It cannot be helped. Come this way. The rain has taken a break. We should take advantage.” He points to the opposite door from where we entered.
We step out into a courtyard, greeted by a fantastic display of metal and glass. The contemporary design of the ancient structure clashes against the Baroque style of the surrounding museum. The stark contrast might not appeal to some, but it’s a pleasant balance in my eyes.
So, this is the pyramid I was prophesized to seek.
“Of course, this is what brought you here,” Inigo interrupts my thoughts.
“What?” I jump to exclaim, wondering if he read my mind.
Inigo’s as surprised by my outburst as I was by his statement. “The pyramid is one of the Louvre’s biggest tourist attractions,” he retorts, almost defensive.
“Of course,” Rafe laughs off my strange behavior. “How long has the pyramid been here?” he asks, distracting our guide.
Inigo gives me an odd stare before continuing. “The edifice was commissioned in 1984 and construction was completed in 1989. The designer was the famous architect I.M. Pei. There was quite a bit of controversy when the design was announced. Most Parisians didn’t think a pyramid suited the French style, but I can tell you that my own aunt personally f
ought for the design and convinced the director at the time to use his influence to persuade the President himself to commission the project. She was quite a fan of Egyptian history.”
We circle around the courtyard staring at the square-based pyramid in awe. But when we reach the front, something gives me pause. I recognize something about the area, but it’s not the pyramid.
I’ve been here before.
“The Cour Napoléon used to be an empty courtyard, sometimes used as a parking lot…” Inigo continues his speech, but my gaze goes in and out of focus, the pyramid blurring, and then disappearing in my vision. In seconds, my world goes black as I’m sucked into another vision from my past, and a nightmare overtakes my reality.
I’m caught in a familiar struggle, a fight for breath, and the final fight for Aurora’s life. It’s the same nightmare I’ve had since the day I moved to Boston, but there’s more detail this time. I can smell the mid-twentieth century pollution in the air, and can hear faint music in the distance from a nearby gala.
Two gloved hands squeeze harder and harder around my neck. I’m lifted up and my feet dangle from the ground, but I do my best to kick my assailant.
There are voices calling for me in the distance. I instinctively tense up, trying to use any tiny bit of air to call out, but the only noise to escape from my locked throat is a small gurgle.
This time I look up into the face of my nightmare and recognize Talbot under the hood. I know him now, and it was too late when I realized I knew him then. This isn’t the first time I’ve stared into his empty eyes to face certain death.
His was the face of a powerful light that scorched itself into self-destruction. All that remained of him was an empty shadow of illumination. Along with Lilly’s empty void of darkness, they were the creation of evil. They’ve hunted me through my existence, and every time I’ve had to stare death in the face, I get the horror of recognizing it just like this, over and over again.
Even the memory of Talbot in this nightmare has me paralyzed with fear. I know he’s gone, but there’s a part of him here, still haunting me.
But there’s something else here too, in this memory.
Aurora.
I can hear her. She left this memory for me. Now that I’ve made the connection to her, I can feel her more vividly. I can even hear her words:
I pray that this memory passes on, the way the other memories passed to me. But I pray next time, the memories are stronger. It won’t be long now. This evil thinks it can snuff out the light, but it’s too late. Dawn has broken... the light has come!
Before everything goes dark, my eyes focus on the buildings over Talbot’s shoulder. I recognize the museum in the background. I see a young dark-haired girl frozen in horror across the parking lot. Something gold in her grasp catches the light and reflects in my eye. The echo of the young girl’s scream pierces the air as everything fades to black.
In seconds I’m back to reality, lying on the ground surrounded by the others. Joe’s arms hold me up while Tara checks my pulse.
“Take a deep breath,” Tara instructs me.
When I realize the pressure on my throat has lifted, I gulp in the air I’m starved for.
Inigo says something in French followed by the crackle of a handheld radio. “A medical team is on their way,” he announces to the group.
“No,” I say between breaths. “I’m fine. Just a little light-headed. We skipped lunch. But I’m better now,” I assure him.
Rafe and Dylan steer our guide away, distracting him in conversation. Joe takes the opportunity to quietly ask me what happened.
“Aurora died right here. I just relived it,” I tell him.
Expressions of understanding cross Joe and Tara’s faces. They know what it’s like to replay a violent death from a past life. There was always a second destructor hunting their souls too.
“Was it Talbot or Lilly?” asks Joe.
“Talbot,” I say, willing my hands to stop shaking.
“Did you see anything else? Anything helpful about the necklace?” asks Tara.
I almost didn’t even remember until Tara asked. “There was a girl! She was over there.” I point to the far side of the courtyard. “I think she had it! There was something gold in her hand. I think it was the same girl from my other dream. The one who broke the jar!”
“Why would she have the necklace?” Tara asks.
“Maybe she was the one who tried to steal it?” Joe suggests.
“I’m not sure, but she must not have gone through with it. Rafe said they found the necklace that night and she got away, remember?” I say.
“Can you recall the girl’s name?” asks Joe.
“No,” I say, thinking back to the other dream. “Just that her Uncle was the exhibit designer.”
“Right! Let’s ask this guy.” He points to Inigo. “He said his aunt used to work here. Maybe he could look up the name of the past exhibit designers?” Joe moves to pull me up.
“Wait,” I stop him.
“Give her a minute, Joe!” Tara chides her husband.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I just feel like something—”
But before I can finish, the earth begins to tremble below us. I jump, glancing wide-eyed to Tara thinking maybe she’s using her power, but her expression of shock matches mine. Her eyes are missing her power’s glow.
The trembling comes to a sudden stop, followed by two loud explosions. Screams fill the air as tourists run from the Sully Pavilion. In seconds, Inigo’s radio screeches with shouts from security.
“Attaque!”
“Bombe!”
A plume of smoke rises from the buildings on the far side of the courtyard.
“Which wing?” I hear Inigo shout into the radio in English.
“East! Egyptian!” a crackled response.
“Bijoux!” another voice adds in French.
Inigo wastes no time grabbing Dylan by his jacket and pulling him violently close. “You distract me and send people in to steal from the museum?” he growls, his Spanish accent getting thicker in his rage.
“What?” Dylan’s voice is as high as it gets.
“An explosion in the Egyptian jewelry room! How convenient after your inquiries! None of you move! You’re all under arrest!” Inigo yells, pointing at us.
Everyone starts shouting their denials at once. The noise just amplifies the screaming of the tourists running by.
“Listen!” I scream, silencing our small group. I turn to the older man, imploring him, “Inigo, this wasn’t us. You have to believe me.”
Inigo’s eyes widen, frozen on me. A white ring reflects in each of his irises — my power’s glow.
“Please, let us go. We have to get somewhere safe,” I plead. He hesitates only a moment before being compelled to comply.
“But the necklace!” shouts Dylan.
“They’ve already got it.” I dismiss his protest, knowing it’s true.
“Nora—” Rafe begins, but I hold up my glowing hand.
“Just stop. There are too many innocent people. It’s too dangerous. Let’s go. We’ll regroup at Mr. Sinclair’s.” I point away from the explosion. My voice has turned flat. There’s a feeling building inside me I’ve never felt before. Actually, it’s more of an absence of feeling. My hope is dwindling fast.
If Lilly is here, that can only mean one thing. Darcy betrayed me in our dream. Lilly has complete control.
He’s gone.
A single tear runs down my cheek that I swat away, forcing myself to press on. We don’t bother hailing a cab since the disaster has traffic in a gridlock around the museum. The rain’s starting to pick back up, but we run through the streets back in the direction of Mr. Sinclair’s home.
As we round the corner of Rue Saint-Martin, I’m hit with a blow that doubles me over after the museum.
Despite the rain, a fire is raging from the home of Broderick Sinclair.
Chapter 12
“Oh
God!” Rafe exclaims. “Is that his townhouse?”
Just to be sure, my eyes find the handicap ramp at the side of the burning door.
Another victim because of me.
I crumple to the ground, unable to hold it together any longer. Tara gathers me close, letting me lean on her for support as I weep.
“Do you think he was inside?” Dylan asks no one in particular. “Why would they bother attacking him?”
“Jesus. The letters…” Rafe says, stunned to the ground as well, face in hands.
“We shouldn’t be out in the open like this,” Joe says after a moment of silence. “It’s dangerous.”
“Where should we go?” Dylan asks, looking to me for the answer.
I’m so drained, I have no answer to give.
We’re all surprised when a voice behind us steps in. “I think you all should come with me.”
Never have five people lurched to action faster. The three elements jump to surround me as I hurl myself in front of Rafe, expecting to confront the worst.
Inigo holds his hands up in innocence. “I heard you say the name Sinclair. I knew the old man as well. I think I can help. Will you come with me?”
None of us move.
I scrutinize the man’s face, looking for any hints of possession. His expression is fearful, yet there’s a hint of something in his eyes. I recognize it because it’s exactly what I’m lacking. This man has hope, there’s no emptiness there.
“How do we know we can trust you?” I ask, out of options.
“I think I’ve been waiting for someone like you for a very long time. My name is Inigo Esperanza. My Aunt Leya knew Mr. Sinclair’s cousin long ago at the museum. She told me of a woman who had the power to make her hands glow with the necklace. When I saw you back there, I knew.”
