The Triumph of Death

by Jason Henderson

  Alex shrugged and turned the boardroom door handle. “Well, we gotta work somewhere.”

  Inside, Alex found Sangster and Armstrong bent over an enormous table with the Polidorium legend Talia sunt set into the shiny black surface. They were looking at a wall screen, and Sangster invited Alex and Astrid to sit.

  “Minhi was right,” Sangster said. “It is The Triumph of Death.”

  Alex smiled slightly. He had called Sangster about Minhi’s suggestion as soon as he’d had a chance. “Fantastic. She showed us the painting in a book, too.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk about the painter. Pieter Bruegel.” Sangster indicated the screen. Projected on the wall Alex saw two images: a picture of a painter, bearded with a floppy sort of hood, like a medieval worker might wear, and some key biographical data. The second image was the painting itself.

  “Bruegel was Flemish,” Sangster reported. “He painted The Triumph of Death sometime around 1562. We don’t have an exact date.”

  Alex looked at the individual parts of the painting and focused in on the image of what looked like a satellite dish. He remembered it had sent a message. “And it’s amazing. Could the Queen be using this as a, I don’t know, a screenplay for what she was doing this afternoon?”

  “More like the opposite, but we’ll get to that,” Sangster said.

  Armstrong tapped a key in an invisible keyboard in the tabletop and brought up the coded message that had been beamed into the van. “Bruegel was the key to deciphering the coded message that Claire sent. We were pretty sure that because Claire was a member of Hexen, that she would use the Hexen language.”

  “She hasn’t been one of us for a very long time,” Astrid said. “I just want to make that clear.”

  “Noted,” Armstrong said, nodding. “Anyway, this coded message she sent was in gibberish, just symbols. But all codes have a key, a way to start mapping one alphabet against another. Like I said, we knew that the Hexen language—or Dulle Grit, as you called it, a language developed in secret by the founders of Hexen deriving from a form of Druidic—was likely to be the language that we would be translating into. The keyword we used to decode the message was Bruegel. That got us to this.”

  The image changed to show a new stream of letters, and this time Astrid’s eyes lit up with recognition. “That’s Hexen.”

  Armstrong nodded. “Right, so that’s the Hexen version…and this is the English.” She pressed a button.

  This time the words shifted and glowed there. Alex read them with a sinking feeling.

  WHAT IS LOST WILL BE FOUND.

  YOU HAVE SEVEN DAYS UNTIL SUNSET.

  “Seven days until sunset?” Alex asked.

  “Here’s what we think,” said Sangster. “The Queen has gotten hold of a very powerful spell that can plunge the world into darkness, which she demonstrated amply this afternoon in Secheron. She’s threatening to use it in a big way, even taunting us by showing us the picture.”

  Astrid seemed surprised. “You’ve heard of this spell?”

  Sangster nodded. “Polidori left copious notes on the various magicks that the vampires picked up and trafficked in while he was alive. This one is called a lot of things, such as Obscura Notte, Dimmer Switch. And of course, the Triumph of Death.”

  “This would be completely forbidden. We’re not supposed to do stuff like that.” Astrid shook her head emphatically. “She’s going to need a week just to build up the reserve energy to do it.”

  “You said ‘forbidden’?” Alex was trying to get a feel for how the witches were organized. He wished his mom had been more forthcoming about her powers. He wanted to ask Astrid if his mother had been a member of Hexen, but set it aside. There were more pressing issues. “So, what, you have laws?”

  “Of course. Magic is about the use of the spirit. It takes energy,” Astrid said. “It’s one thing if you’re helping, if you’re in spirit with the earth, if you’re going with the natural flow of things. Those spells increase everyone’s energy. The world welcomes it. But conflict is harder. Huge spells that torment and cause pain to masses of people are costly to us. Pain leaves an ugly mark on the world. It’s not what magic is for. A spell like this is nothing but torment. It takes something out of everybody. But we suspected that Claire would want to do something like this.”

  Alex studied the painting. “So the painting is a sort of model for the Triumph.”

  Sangster shook his head. “Like I said, it goes the other way. We think the painting is a sort of report of the spell. A warning. Except that Bruegel was painting in the sixteenth century, long before there was a Polidorium, so he didn’t do it for us. But there were other organizations back then. Polidori made reference to an Order that we know Bruegel dealt with. We think the painting is a message left for us if we ever had to deal with the Triumph. But I was gonna say, there’s a problem.”

  “What?” Alex asked, turning toward Sangster.

  Sangster brought up the database that Alex had seen numerous times, a huge index with a search bar.

  Armstrong typed in “Dimmer Switch” and the entry came up, followed by its various other names. Alex saw “Triumph of Death” among them. Next, where he should have seen an article, Alex saw three words.

  File not found.

  “Where’s the file? What happened?” Alex asked.

  “It was deleted,” Sangster said, “by a virus that shot through our systems. We think the way it worked is through a wireless connection coming from one of our mobile data devices. You get one guess when.”

  “This morning,” Alex said. “They used the device they stole from the plane.”

  Astrid had a quizzical look, and Alex quickly told her about the vampires that had hijacked his plane and taken the study computer.

  “What about backups?” Alex asked.

  “All erased. We do have notes on Bruegel and his painting, but not much of that.”

  “So the Scholomance is using a spell that Polidori left us instructions on how to deal with, but they erased what we have. Where does that leave us?”

  “It leaves us with seven days to figure it out all over again.” Sangster turned to Astrid. “What about Hexen? Do they have anything on this?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Most of the information on Claire was handed over by Brelaz during the Summit.”

  “The Summit?” Alex could hear the capital letter. “Who the heck is Brelaz?”

  “Madame Brelaz was a Portuguese agent of Hexen and a friend of Polidori,” Sangster explained. “She helped Polidori go underground. At that time, early in Polidori’s secret life, they were sharing a lot of information, and there was some hope on Hexen’s part that a new, heavily scientific arm of Hexen might be created.”

  “But Polidori turned his back on the use of magic,” Astrid said. “And there hasn’t been much cooperation between Hexen and the Polidorium since the mid-1800s.”

  “Why is there always something else that I don’t know?” Alex asked.

  “That’s what makes life magical,” Astrid said brightly.

  Alex stared at Astrid and shook his head, turning his attention back to the message. “‘WHAT IS LOST WILL BE FOUND.’ What’s that a reference to?”

  “We’re not sure. Icemaker, maybe,” Sangster guessed.

  “Who?” Astrid asked.

  “It’s what we call Byron,” Alex explained.

  “So where is Byron, currently?” Astrid continued.

  Everyone was silent for a moment. Alex hadn’t been told where Byron was, either, though he figured he had some right to know. After all, it had been Alex who had managed to clap his hand down on the liquid nitrogen system that had frozen and encased the vampire in ice.

  “We’re keeping him safe,” Sangster said.

  Armstrong added, “And we’re absolutely not handing him over to Claire.”

  Astrid laughed, that same eruption she had let out on the motorcycle. “No, no! I agree.”

  “Well, I’m glad you agree,” Alex said
before he could stop himself. Couldn’t she be less positive? Please? And did she have to act like she was on an even level with Sangster and Armstrong? Alex had been here for months and he didn’t dare do that.

  “Wait!” Astrid said, looking back at the painting. “Of course.”

  “What?” Alex asked.

  “The spell, the Dimmer Switch as you call it, is literally the Triumph of Death. It will allow Claire to control the dead. Even those in the earth.”

  “And she could find anyone dead.” Sangster nodded, following. “She casts the spell and it’s not just that she can scare everybody and let vampires run around all day. She might be able to raise the dead as well and command an army of death.”

  “Zombies,” Alex said. “The Scholomance had a few zombie guards in their main tunnel.”

  “These would be summoned dead, new zombies. It’s not a skill everyone has. Dracula can do it, but everyone else would need a big spell like this.”

  “We don’t know the extent of the necromantic powers that could be bestowed once she unleashes the spell,” Astrid said.

  Alex drummed his fingers. “Okay. Big spell, big power, and she leaves a hint. Why? Why is she giving us a chance to stop it?” Alex asked.

  Sangster paused. “We don’t know.”

  Alex sat back. “So…where do we start?”

  “Look for a heavy convergence of ley lines,” Astrid said.

  “What?” Alex looked at her. “What lines?”

  “Ley lines,” Astrid repeated. “Think of them as longitude and latitude for the magical realm. But there are more of them in some places, and those places make good spots for setting off major spells. We’re talking about Stonehenge, Rome, New Orleans.”

  Alex brightened. “Hey, maybe we get to go to New Orleans.”

  “Let’s back up a moment,” said Armstrong. “It’s now midnight on the night after a plane you were riding was hijacked, resulting in the loss of a computer that has now put the Polidorium at risk.”

  Alex felt the blood prickle in his cheeks. “I…you know that’s not my fault.”

  “I’m just saying that this is serious, Alex. This is a major threat. We haven’t made assignments for this project.”

  “What about Hexen?” Sangster changed the subject, looking at Astrid. “You said you were here to look into Claire.”

  “Yes.”

  “So now you’ve looked. Can I assume that your organization is going to continue working on this?”

  “I think you can assume that.”

  “And can I assume that a more experienced operative will be representing Hexen going forward?”

  Astrid looked as if she’d been struck. “No. This is my project.”

  “Is it possible you could set up a meeting—”

  Alex looked at Sangster in shock. Sangster, who had personally guided Alex for the past several months, was clearly suggesting that Astrid and Alex were too young and inexperienced for this. He wasn’t even sure he liked Astrid, but this was not like Sangster.

  “Absolutely not,” Astrid protested. “Hexen has made its decision.”

  “And I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”

  “No, of course not.” Astrid smiled in a pouting way as though assuaging a child. She reached into her pocket, and for a split second Alex thought she was going to draw a weapon. But instead she brought out a piece of jewelry, a silver chain flashing in the air. She slapped her fist down on the table and opened it, revealing the object that lay there.

  Alex had no frame of reference for this, but Sangster slowly leaned forward. In the center of the table was a cameo, a delicately curved portrait on a pendant.

  “May I…?” he asked, and reached out his hand.

  “Of course.”

  Sangster picked up the pendant and looked at it, holding it up to the light. “This is the Brelaz cameo.”

  Astrid nodded. “Given in friendship by Dr. John Polidori to Madame Brelaz in 1819. Do you know what it means?”

  Alex shook his head.

  Sangster said, “It gives its bearer the full weight of Hexen authority and the right to speak for the organization should the two ever cross again.”

  Armstrong let out a slow whistle. “That has not been seen in…what…”

  “Seventy-five years?” Sangster estimated. He slid it back and raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I surrender. Your papers appear to be in order. Hexen doesn’t call and doesn’t write for nearly a century, and now we get you.”

  “For now,” Astrid said. “For Claire.”

  “Because you guys think of Claire as your problem,” Armstrong said.

  “We think she’s everybody’s problem.”

  “Any other orders in there we should know about?”

  “There is something else.” Astrid gestured toward Alex with her head. “With all gentle kindness, I’m not here to work with you. I’m supposed to work with him.”

  Alex wasn’t sure she was pointing at him at first. That seemed absurd. Hey, I was just starting to hate you.

  Sangster cocked his head and looked at the two of them. Alex opened his hands as if to say, Don’t look at me. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “That’s enough for now,” Astrid said. “But if I’m working with the Polidorium, I’m working with Van Helsing.”

  Sangster breathed slowly. “Well, we were gonna bring Alex anyway. He’s not bad at all this.”

  “Thanks,” said Alex.

  “But he has a terrible reputation.” Sangster smiled.

  “So.” Alex leaned back. “I gotta ask again. Now that I’m the number-one-requested single, where do we start?”

  Sangster shrugged. “We start with the painting, The Triumph of Death. We know it’s a key, but thanks to the computer virus, we don’t have the Polidorium’s notes on it, so we need to look at it more closely.”

  “Where is this painting?” Astrid asked.

  Sangster scrolled through the data under the painting. “It’s now in the Prado Museum in Madrid, Spain.” He leaned back and expertly flipped a pen between his fingers as he looked at Alex and Astrid. “Want to go on a field trip?”

  CHAPTER 9

  “I actually prefer to fly, Alex.” Armstrong turned a fresh, freckled face toward him as she brought the dark gray Polidorium Learjet 60XR to cruising speed.

  Alex spent the first five minutes of the flight leaning into the cockpit pestering the pilot. In this case it was Armstrong, the same agent he had seen wearing a U.S. Air Force uniform numerous times and who had already informed him that she was a pilot, so this wasn’t really a surprise.

  She spoke a few words to the silent copilot and turned back to Alex. “So, we have three hours to Madrid. You’re on a fourteen-million-dollar aircraft, and your only chaperone is Sangster, who, seriously, is not the most responsible guardian. The night is young. Go talk to the girl.”

  “What are you telling him?” asked Sangster, who turned up beside Alex next to the cockpit door. Alex looked back to see Astrid, who was seated alone, poring over an art book. Sangster was wearing his usual outfit for when he wasn’t actually rappelling off anything: chinos and a sport coat, so that he always seemed to look like some cross between a spy and a record producer. He ran his hand along the doorframe. “Regs say we should shut this door.”

  “I think Alex is worried that one of us is a secret vampire,” Armstrong said.

  “You could be a banana leaf woman,” Alex joked.

  “Come on.” Sangster turned to his protégé, put his hand on his shoulder, and led Alex firmly back toward the seats. “You need to get some rest. It’s a big day at the Prado, and you can’t waste the time available for sleep.”

  “I actually am totally fine with, like, no sleep.” Thanks to his dad, this was also true.

  “Oh, I know.” Sangster nodded. “But you jumped out of a plane twenty-four hours ago, you can’t possibly have gotten much sleep last night, and we’re just getting started. You’ve earned your points; don’t b
e a hero about naptime.”

  They stopped next to a tray of drinks and Alex got himself some water. “I was thinking I should send a text to, you know, Paul and Sid and Minhi.”

  Sangster shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

  “When we land, I mean.” But he already knew what Sangster was saying.

  “Alex, you can’t let your friends in on everything we do.” The teacher shrugged. “It’s not safe, for them or for you. They already know way more than is safe. You know, I have friends and relatives I wish I could text every time I go somewhere interesting. But it’s just not how it works.”

  Alex’s heart sank as he realized that indeed he had already cost his friends mightily—they had been threatened with death by fire, kidnapping, stabbing, and rending limb from limb by vampires. Still…

  “The thing is that they don’t…” Alex tried to find the right words. “They’re gonna wake up, and I’m not gonna be there. And, you know, Astrid’s not gonna be there.”

  “Yeah.” Sangster breathed a heavy sigh and clicked his tongue lightly. “Look, when you get the time, you can figure it out with them. But now is not the time.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Alex nodded reluctantly.

  He went back to his seat in front of Astrid, slumping. He heard her flipping pages as he fished out his phone and stared at it in frustration. Astrid tapped him on the shoulder.

  Alex didn’t respond. He was thinking about Minhi and Paul and Sid, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was Astrid, who had really come out of nowhere and within a day thrown his life upside down.

  She tapped his shoulder again and cleared her throat.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “You want to come sit with me?”

  Why? He was whining inside his head. Alex looked back at her. “What’s up?”

  “I want to show you this.”

  Alex reluctantly got up and settled into the seat next to Astrid. “What do you got?”