The Key of Darkness (The Bradbury Institute Book 1)

by Sonya Clark

  Mr. Bad Attitude rose from his chair and quickly disappeared behind a door labeled kitchen. Eve trembled, surprised to feel dampness on her cheeks. Judith moved her chair closer and placed a hand on Eve’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose control like that.” Supremely embarrassed, Eve wiped the tears from her face with a sweep of her fingers. “Had some pretty bad nightmares last night.”

  “The Key of Darkness is a thing of nightmares,” said Chet. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  Mr. Bad Attitude returned, silently handing Eve a soft blue linen napkin and a bottle of water. She bit her lip as she regarded him, thinking she might have to think of something else to call him. “You’re name is Pete, is that right?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” Then he squinted and looked away.

  “Thank you, Pete.”

  A burst of excited German announced the entrance of another woman. Pete rose, the two of them speaking in a rapid exchange. The name “Delafield” was all Eve could make out.

  “What is it?” Judith demanded. “Do we have a location on Knox?”

  The woman switched to accented English. “Frankfurt-Am-Main. He’s reserved a hotel room and made arrangements to attend a private auction. As a seller.”

  Chapter 8

  The group moved to Judith’s office. Eve sat on the sofa watching Chet pace. Judith was on the phone at her desk. Pete and the woman introduced as Sanngrid huddled in a corner in quiet conversation.

  Eve tapped her feet on the carpet, running one hand up and down the arm of the sofa. Feeling out of place and not sure what to do, she leaned over and spoke in a low voice. “Mr. Kedrova?”

  He stopped pacing and dropped onto the other end of the sofa. “Call me Chet.”

  She nodded. “What happens now?” Not sure if she was asking about Knox Delafield, the Key of Darkness, or her presence at Bradbury. Maybe all three.

  Chet opened his mouth to speak but closed it when Judith tossed her cell phone onto her desk. Twisting around to face the director, he said, “Well?”

  “Hilda confirmed it. The auction is being hosted by Gerhardt Mueller at his home in Frankfurt. Invitation only, both buyers and sellers. Strictly high end items.”

  Eve asked, “Do you mean like art, antiques, that sort of thing?”

  Chet said, “High end occult items. Only people that know the truth about the paranormal world will be there.”

  “And that have a lot of money,” Pete said, leaving the corner to stand by the director’s desk. “Most of them won’t care for being told the latest addition to their collection is dangerous and needs to be confiscated and locked up. We have to get the Key before the auction.”

  “Agreed,” Judith said.

  “Then let me get a team together and go – ’’

  Judith cut him off. “We don’t know enough. This is far too delicate an operation to go off guns blazing.”

  Pete appeared ready to argue but Chet spoke up first. “One wrong move and we could lose the Key. If Mueller knows what Knox is bringing to the auction, this could get out of control in a hurry.”

  Judith shook her head. “Mueller doesn’t know, Hilda seemed sure of that. He’s dealt with Knox enough he trusts him.”

  “Not to mention Knox himself is squirrely enough that he might bolt at the slightest provocation.” Chet settled back into the sofa, gazing at Eve with frank curiosity. “We need to offer Knox a good reason to talk to us.”

  Eve shifted in her seat, heat radiating from her cheeks all the way down to the tips of her toes. Acting quickly before she had too much time to think and lose her nerve, she pulled the note from her purse and handed it to Chet. “He sent me flowers and this note.”

  Chet read the note, eyebrows climbing. With a wry glance at Eve, he lofted the note into the air, beckoning at Judith with it. She came out from behind her desk, took the note and read it.

  With a chuckle she said, “Knox, you are your grandfather all over again.” She gave the note back to Eve. “What’s on your mind?”

  They didn’t want to ask her to do it, Eve could tell, but they would agree to it. Judging from the look on Chet’s face, the idea had already occurred to at least him, possibly the others, too. “Use me as bait.”

  “No!” The sharp snarl from Pete turned every head in the room his direction. “This is way too dangerous to send some green girl in as a honey trap.”

  “At least you’re not going to pretend we’re too good to spring a honey trap,” Sanngrid purred from the corner.

  Pete gave her a hard look before continuing. “We can ask Bettine to find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  Eve didn’t know whether to feel appreciative of Mr. Bad Attitude defending her honor, or insulted he didn’t seem to think she was attractive enough to pull this off. “I have no intention of going to bed with Knox Delafield. This trap will be decidedly honey-free. But I do think he’ll talk to me. His grandmother spoke of him often, there was a real connection between them. And I had a connection with Mrs. Delafield, too. I think I can use that to get him to listen to me.”

  Silence hung in the room for a beat as everyone seemed to consider what Eve proposed. Judith said, “I think it could work. You said he also took a ring Rebecca left you?”

  “Yes, and I want it back if possible. But more than that.” Eve stopped, gathering her thoughts. She didn’t want to lose control again like earlier. “I’m under no illusions about myself. I’m about as far from Buffy Summers as you can get. I don’t know anything about the paranormal world, I barely know anything about my own ability, and I certainly can’t kick any ass to speak of.”

  Chet laughed. “Ass kicking is not a prerequisite here.” He jerked his head in the general direction of Pete and Sanngrid. “Those two notwithstanding.”

  Judith said, “Rebecca’s condition deteriorated so rapidly at the end, there was no time for her to speak to you about us. But I know she did want you to visit the institute, at the very least. She wanted you to have the chance to learn about your psychometry and perhaps find a use for it. I had planned to talk to you about it after you delivered the box.”

  Eve struggled to remain composed. Illness took so much away from the vibrant, fascinating woman she had worked for, time perhaps being the worst loss of all. But then Eve felt her own responsibility for never having the courage to open up to Mrs. Delafield, even the times she suspected the older woman might have been receptive to the truth. Eve had never guessed Mrs. D did know the truth.

  Judith perched on the coffee table and addressed Eve directly. “There’s a place for you here, if you want it. You can stay long enough to learn what you need, or perhaps longer. You don’t have to put yourself in danger. Make no mistake, this will be dangerous.”

  Between the stories Mrs. D had told of her grandson and his own charming if arrogant manner during the theft, Knox Delafield didn’t strike Eve as someone to be afraid of. “I don’t believe Knox would hurt me.”

  “Oh God no, of course not. I’m not talking about him.”

  Chet said, “The Key is such a deadly thing, Eve. It’s a magnet for all the worst types of people. Even if they don’t know the Key is going up for auction, some of those people will be at Mueller’s.” The foreboding in his voice almost made Eve reconsider.

  But only almost. “You all keep insisting the Key is dangerous. I touched the box that held it. I know it’s evil.” Eve felt strange using that word but it was the only one that fit. “It can’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. If there’s anything I can do to help prevent that, then I want to do it.”

  Sanngrid came out of her corner. “What makes you so sure Bradbury is the right hands?” Judith raised a disapproving eyebrow. Sanngrid shrugged. “What, it’s a good question. You know and I know, but she has no idea.”

  Eve had to admit, the question made sense. “Instinct, for one. And I trusted Mrs. Delafield. She believed the Key belonged here. That’s enough for me.”

  Judith
blew out a slow breath. “How long have we got until the auction?”

  “A week,” said Sanngrid. “Shall I make arrangements?”

  “Yes.” Judith stood. “Chet, I want you to accompany Eve publicly. Pete, you’ll be their shadow. I may have to talk to Mueller personally to secure an invitation to the auction but he’ll do it. He owes me.”

  Sanngrid left the room. Chet stood, then Eve followed suit. Meeting her eyes he said, “This doesn’t leave us much time but we’ll give you the best crash course we can on as much as we can. I want you to go home tonight and come back tomorrow prepared to stay here.” He looked to Judith. “There’s an empty unit in the Yeats townhouse. She can take it.”

  “Good, then she’ll be with you and Frances,” Judith said. As she walked back to her desk she said to Eve, “You’ll like Frances. She’ll make a wonderful guide for you.”

  Pete said, “Do you want me to teach her how to shoot?”

  Startled, Eve raised her eyebrows. “Um.”

  “Yes, I think you should, just in case. And we’ll get you to work with Jean-Pierre right away. He’s our specialist in psychic phenomena, he’ll be able to work with you on your psychometry. Oh, do you have a passport or do we need to make one for you?”

  The fact that the Bradbury Institute had the capability to make a passport disturbed Eve almost as much as the thought of an ancient grimoire with a direct line to Hell. “I’ve never used it, but I do have my own passport.”

  Judith nodded. “Mueller always has a ball the night before an auction. Likes to make an event of these things. Pack your best formal wear, dear.”

  Eve blanched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chet walked her to the door. “Look, this is dangerous, but you’re gonna be fine. Pete and I will take good care of you.”

  Eve trusted that he meant what he said. She just hoped they could actually do what he said.

  Chapter 9

  Jean-Pierre Boulanger could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty. Tall with close-cropped hair and a goatee, rich coffee skin and piercing eyes, he wore a tailored suit perfectly cut for his well-built form. Despite the French name he spoke with a cultured English accent in a deep voice Eve felt all the way down to the soles of her feet.

  Well that settles it. They just don’t have enough drool-worthy men here. Ha.

  She was almost relieved to see the gold band on his ring finger. They sat across from each other at a small work table in his office. Chet had introduced them and left, saying he had things to do and that Frances would collect her. Eve still hadn’t met Frances yet, or seen much else of the building and grounds. Right now though all she was interested in was Jean-Pierre and what he had to say.

  “I brought something from Collections for you to work with. Let’s see what you can get from a cursory reading.”

  Eve had expected more of a lead-in than that. Weren’t they going to talk about psychometry? Psychic phenomenon? Did she really have to jump in so quickly? But then her consternation was forgotten as Jean-Pierre moved the object without touching it, letting it hang in the air in front of her. All without so much as a wave of his hand.

  “That –’’ Eve pointed at the floating object, as surprised to feel a smile blooming across her face as at the casual display of telekinesis.

  Jean-Pierre guided the object to rest on the table, his eyes following its movement. Or was that how he directed it, with his gaze instead of a flourish of hand gestures like what might be seen in movies? “I was a small child when the ability began to manifest. The adults around me became quite terrified.”

  “What did they do?” Eve was glad he’d offered information about himself. Curiosity was eating her alive but she didn’t want to be rude and ask too many questions, knowing how that might make her feel.

  He was slow to answer. “Eventually someone who was able to deal with such things found me.” He took a sip from his tea cup in a perfectly mundane manner by picking it up with his hand. “How old were you when you began to read objects?”

  “I was nine when I was able to understand what was happening, but I think it may have happened some before then. It didn’t happen often when I was little, but when it did, sometimes it was very powerful.”

  “It’s my understanding you’ve never worked with anyone before?”

  “That’s right.” Eve glanced at the object. “Is that a pocket watch?” The gold antique had a circle of vines etched around the top, with the initials GFI in fancy script in the center.

  “Go ahead.” He indicated she should pick up the object.

  Eve hesitated. The last time she’d done this in front of another person it had turned into a nightmare. She shut her eyes against the memory and scooped up the object, holding it loosely in her closed hand.

  Heat, humidity, and a hint of spice. Laughter, a spill of words in an unfamiliar language.

  She opened her eyes, working the clasp. It was a compass, not a pocket watch. “It’s broken.”

  “Is it?” Amusement flavored his cultured voice.

  “It doesn’t point north.” Eve examined it closer. “It points southeast instead.”

  “Have you ever tried meditation? Any sort of trance work?” She shook her head. Jean-Pierre continued. “The trick to it is to relax with focus. Clear out everything from your mind, except for what you’re concentrating on. There’s nothing but the compass.”

  “Sometimes I’m able to focus well enough to pick up more.”

  “Good. Very good. I want you to try that now. In a very real way when you read an object it is speaking to you. Try thinking of it as tuning a radio dial, in order to pick up the signal better.”

  Eve ran her fingers over the cold metal, eyes half-closed as she searched for a balance between relaxed and attentive. It came to her slowly but after a short time she found herself able to pick up a hazy signal from the compass.

  “A dark haired man. He’s wearing some kind of uniform.” She fell into silence as she searched for a stronger signal. “It’s hot where he is. Tropical. He’s a soldier but he has a terrible sense of direction and would constantly get lost without his compass and maps.” She opened her eyes to stare at Jean-Pierre. “Where did that come from?”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “What else does it tell you?”

  Eve clutched the compass tighter, willing it to give up its secrets. A flood of images and sensations assailed her, too random for her to make any sense of them. Colors bled together into a bright mass that sparked a sudden headache, like an ice pick stabbing into her brain. Crying out, she dropped the compass and clutched her temple.

  The scrape of a chair, the scuffle of feet, then a warm hand on her shoulder. Jean-Pierre’s deep soothing voice managed to reach her through the pain in her head with soft words of comfort. Soon the pain receded to a tolerable level and she looked up at him. “I think I tried too hard.”

  A sardonic grin flashed briefly across his face. “It’s tempting to do so, believe me, I know. Tomorrow we’ll work on some techniques to help you control the reading more.”

  “Tomorrow?” Eve was under the impression this was a crash course. “I didn’t think there was a lot of time to spread this out.”

  Jean-Pierre strode to his desk. “I’m sure Chet will find other things to keep you occupied. But pushing too hard too fast with something like this can be dangerous. He knows that. This part of your, your training, if you will, is my prerogative. I’d prefer not to have my new student suffer an embolism.”

  Eve had to agree with that. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes.” Indicating the compass he said, “You can hold on to that while you’re here if you like. Just don’t take it off the property, it’s a favorite piece from the Collection. And don’t try pushing yourself too hard again. It’s not a sprint, Eve.”

  She considered the compass again, running her thumb over the engraved initials. What was so special about it that it was a favorite piece? She agreed with his advice not to push too hard again but
that wouldn’t stop her from trying to read more from the object. She wanted to know its secrets, much like she wanted to discover the secrets of the institute.

  A knock on the door drew her out of her reverie. “Come in,” Jean-Pierre called.

  “Good morning!” A young woman came entered the room. A tumble of wavy cinnamon hair framed a girl-next-door pretty face with big brown eyes and an open, sunny smile.

  Jean-Pierre introduced Frances Vaughn, who worked with Chet in the Archives department.

  Frances said, “I hope you don’t mind we tour the grounds first. I need to walk MacGuffin.” At the sound of his name a small Yorkshire Terrier entered the room, trailing a leash attached to his harness and running to his mistress.

  Eve found herself quickly liking both Frances and MacGuffin. Within minutes they were outside, Frances giving her a tour of the grounds as they walked the dog. Roughly the size of a small college campus, the area was made up of winding pathways, flower beds, shrubbery and trees, park benches and the occasional gazebo tucked away here and there.

  “Some of the people that work here live in town, like Jean-Pierre and his wife. Some live in the cottages on the grounds, and there’s two townhouse buildings.” Frances guided MacGuffin back toward the path and away from a bed of marigolds. “You’ll be staying in the same one I live in. Chet lives there too.”

  “This is a pretty tight-knit group then, isn’t it?”

  Frances nodded, pushing a lock of windblown hair behind an ear. “For the most part, definitely.”

  MacGuffin began to bark, pulling against his leash so hard he looked more like he was trying to hop than run. Frances tried to quiet him but the dog ignored her. Something darted between the women, a blur of color Eve saw only out of the corner of her eye. Was that a hummingbird? Whatever it was made a mess of Frances’s hair, as if a sudden gust of wind got a hold of it. Crying out, she slapped her hands around her head trying to drive away whatever was attacking her, dropping the leash. MacGuffin took off like a little gray-headed black bullet.