“Is he using you or trying to distract you?” I asked, glancing back up at the building nervously.
“Are we talking about Vanderbilt or you?”
Waving off her comment I said, “But you came to London despite your doubt?”
“I wanted to be near Belshazzar’s.”
I paused, giving her the silence that she deserved.
Ingrid’s door flew open and she leaped out onto the pavement and slammed the door shut. A loud click signaled she’d locked me in with her remote.
I fiddled with the lock and flung my side door open and flew after her.
When I reached the empty arched entryway, the front door was ajar.
Chapter 21
GETTING PAST THE SECURITY guard at Sovereign’s reception desk was relatively easy.
Though stopping my hands from shaking took a little more effort.
The tranced-out officer pointed at an elevator on the other side of the foyer when asked which direction the Inspector had gone. I left him staring out at nothing after our short discussion, where I’d convinced him he hadn’t seen me and that handing over the elevator key was a good idea.
It wasn’t only the premier real estate of the building but also the remarkable luxury of the interior that reflected its vast wealth. Euclidean geometry was incorporated into both the marble flooring and wall designs, with a well orchestrated arrangement of the circle, rectangle, octagon, square and hexagon all tied together in a richly designed three dimensional effect. An enormous silk Persian rug in the center offered up the only color.
The credit sized card slid down the security panel and the lift doors glided apart.
Hesitating briefly, I questioned the sanity of stepping in.
If what Rachel had told us held any truth then these recent poisonings in London were connected to this band of ruthless men, and as I stepped into the lift with my hands balled into fists, I readied myself to confront them.
Despite the smooth descent the lift felt endlessly suffocating. The last time I’d felt this panicked was when Jacob had locked me in that coffin back at the Mount.
Had I really been such a threat?
The doors opened to a cherry paneled office. A little way in Ingrid was sitting at a desk opposite a forty-something smartly dressed man. They both rose to greet me.
“He was parking the car,” Ingrid explained, then discreetly threw me a look of surprise that I’d actually followed her in here.
The man, wearing a pinstripe suit, proffered his hand. “Alistair Smith.”
I had no choice but to shake it and reply, “William.”
Behind the desk there was a walnut bookshelf stacked high with leather bound books, their bindings marked with numbers, not titles. The incandescent lighting was so natural it made me want to step back into the elevator.
“Do take a seat,” Alistair offered with an upper class accent, gesturing.
I sat next to Ingrid.
“Members will be arriving soon,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch.
“Men only?” asked Ingrid.
He gave a long sigh. “Our culture is being decimated by a society that sees no value in our heritage. We merely desire to preserve our unique history.”
“Women were part of history too,” she said.
“Ah, a feminist.”
“You misunderstand—”
“Ever enjoy a night out with the girls?” he asked casually. “That’s all we chaps want. Just a chance to smoke our cigars and keep the conversation on a steady course.” Alistair leaned back and then turned to me. “Isn’t that so?”
I offered a smile though it hurt to hold it, and Ingrid’s head snapped round to look at me.
Unable to pick up on any of his thoughts, my reason for not wanting to enter here was being realized. Mind closing was only practiced by certain kind of men, the kind who wielded wooden stakes.
Or worse.
Ingrid seemed oblivious. “May I have a list of your members?”
“Quite out of the question.” His heavy-browed focus slid my way. “Would you like an application? Our stipulation is merely an acceptable profession. A reasonable income.”
“And what would that be?” Ingrid asked.
He ignored her. “If you have a friend who’s already a member, a good recommendation goes a long way.”
I played out in my mind how it would go down. The way in which I’d grab Ingrid and fly back into the lift, quickly ascending, making our escape and living long enough to argue about it later.
Ingrid sat up straight. “There’s evidence to suggest that one or more of your members are involved in a crime.”
“Probably hooligans.” He rested his elbows on the desk. “Did they vandalize something?”
“These weren’t hooligans,” she said.
“We conduct thorough background searches to ensure our members are of the finest caliber. Our political members are ensured their reputations will never be tainted.”
“What’s the name of your club?” She sat back.
“We don’t have a gym. We don’t have a pool. We don’t call it a club.”
“I’d love to have a look around,” Ingrid said. “We have time.”
“I’m afraid that’s not up to me.”
Resting on the right of his desk, the antique black rotary phone rang.
“Excuse me.” His eyebrows twitched as he listened into the receiver. The phone chimed its disapproval when he hung up. “I’ll be right back.” He rose and headed for the door behind his desk.
Ingrid waited for him to exit and then shifted in her seat to face me, lowering her voice. “What do you think?”
“About what exactly?” I asked, annoyed.
“Well, what is he—”
I snapped my hand up to stop her question and whispered, “We’re probably being watched.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“He was recalling with fondness how it was once legal to hang, draw and quarter.”
“Really?”
“No, wait . . . that was me.” I pulled her up and out of her chair and nudged her across the room into a corner and gestured she must whisper. “You’ll get us both killed and by the looks of things you’re going first.” I glanced over toward the glass of water on the desk, poured by Alistair for Ingrid upon her arrival.
“You’re not seriously suggesting—”
“Drink it and let’s find out,” I said.
“You still haven’t told me what he’s thinking.”
“He blocked his thoughts.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” I snapped.
“See, this place is important.” She headed toward the leather recliner and reached for the briefcase leaning up against the chair and flicked the latches. She rummaged, nudging his spectacle case out of the way. She removed a leather bound book.
I grabbed it from her and flipped through the pages. I glanced at the door. “He’s coming back.”
Ingrid snatched the book from me and shoved it into her coat pocket and then sat again.
Alistair strolled in, his mind so quiet that I questioned whether he was thinking at all, and his expression so blank he’d have seemed serene if it weren’t for the way his eyes burned with suspicion. “Looks like a tour won’t be possible, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” asked Ingrid.
“We have a visiting dignitary and apparently he’s running early.” Alistair glanced at his wristwatch again.
Ingrid rose. “I’ll be back with a warrant.”
“I think you’ll find one hard to get, my dear,” he said.
She rested her fingers on the desk tapping away half-distracted. “And why is that?”
His lips thinned. “You’ll have a challenge getting anyone to sign it.”
She threw me a glance. “We’ll see.”
“Next time make an appointment,” he said.
“Tell me, Alistair,” she sounded fierce, “what would your members
want with an Egyptian mummy?”
“Are you familiar with the term etiquette?” Alistair’s tone was scathing.
Ingrid’s hands shot to her hips.
He strolled toward the lift and pressed the button. “Do give Chief Inspector Vanderbilt my regards when you see him, won’t you?”
The lift doors slid open.
Ingrid and I ascended in silence.
As we passed the guard stationed at the front desk he peered up from his newspaper and showed surprise, having no recollection of me entering.
Once outside I sucked in air not caring that it was smog filling my lungs.
“Well that seemed to go well.” Ingrid patted my back. “See, I told you we had nothing to worry about.”
I glanced back and scanned the windows, hating the feeling we were being watched.
“He’s protecting his members.” Ingrid’s expression changed. “Not the first time I’ve had to deal with chauvinism.”
I removed the keychain from my pocket and flicked the car key and a little way down the curb a blue Porsche convertible flashed its lights.
Ingrid came after me. “What are you doing?”
“Thought I’d check out Alistair’s car.” I opened the driver’s side door and climbed in.
Ingrid glanced back to confirm we weren’t being watched and joined me, sitting in the passenger seat. “Where did you find his keys?”
“In his briefcase.”
“I didn’t see them.”
I reached over to her side and opened the glove box, rifling through it, I quickly found a folded map.
I handed it to her. “Something tells me this isn’t Alistair’s day job.”
She peered at it, taking note of how it had been folded. “East Sussex.” She shoved it back into the glove box.
The key slid smoothly into the ignition. “Did you know the same company that makes these cars also designed tanks during the second world war?”
“Interesting. Now . . . turn it off.”
“Oh, one more thing,” I said. “If I ever mention you mustn’t go in somewhere, you’ll listen.”
“What are you doing?”
I steered the car away from the pavement. “Making a point.”
“You’ll get me arrested!”
“That would happen only if they found us in the car.” I shifted into second gear and then quickly into third.
“What are you talking about? Slow down!”
“Trust me my driving skills exceed yours on all levels.” I buzzed open the roof. “Apparently it’s bad to let down the top when driving over 70.” I glanced up. “Seems to be handling it well.”
“Okay, I get it, I’ll never put you in that position again.”
“What was that?” I shifted the Porsche into fourth.
“I’m sorry.” She eased her seat belt round and clicked it into its socket.
I beamed a smile, steering the car slightly right onto Margaret Street, admiring the images in the rearview mirror, enjoying the world flashing past and blurring the scenery that fell away quickly.
Ingrid edged down in her seat. “We have to go back. I left my bag in my car.”
“You won’t need it where we’re going.”
“Car thefts are on the rise.” She shuffled uncomfortably and grasped the handrail. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” I pointed left to the Italian restaurant we were fast passing. “Cafe Nero. Apparently they have the best coffee.” I released her seat belt and directed the Porsche toward the corner of Westminster Bridge. “How well do you swim?”
“Not funny. Pull over, William.” Her hair whipped across her face. “We’re heading for the Thames. We’ll go in if you’re not careful . . .”
I checked the speedometer. “Why look at that, we’re approaching 100.” Using telekinetic force, I sent a shockwave of destruction at the bridge wall ahead and it crumbled, leaving a gap large enough for a car to pass through.
Ingrid’s scream filled the car and we shot up and over the bridge, the engine revving and the wheels spun against nothing.
Enjoying the sensation, I sat back as the car arched in the air, picking up speed, the seat heavy beneath me with nothing but a view of the starry night sky.
We nosedived toward murky water.
With my arms wrapped around her, I lifted her out of her seat, flying skyward. The Porsche slipped away beneath us. Hugging her tightly, Ingrid’s face was buried into my chest and her body was rigid against mine.
Below us, there was a loud splash.
In the center of a dark alley, next to Ye Old River Thames Inn, I eased Ingrid away from me. She was shaking, her eyes wide with terror, her right hand pressed over her mouth and her left still gripping hold of my jacket.
Peering over her shoulder, I caught the Porsche sinking.
I guided her around to the front of the Inn. “This place was built in 1720,” I said. “Back in the day it was a working class tavern.”
Her eyes were wide, her face frozen in fright.
Standing in the doorway, still clutching Ingrid’s hand, I took in the scene. Restaurant staff as well as twenty or so customers had gathered at the long window which ran the entire length of the restaurant overlooking the Thames, and everyone was staring out at the river.
With no concierge to guide us to our table, I picked up a wine menu and led Ingrid through to one of the cozier burgundy leather booths. She plopped down into her seat. I sat opposite and leafed through the wine menu. Ingrid was seemingly fixated on her shaking hands.
I peeked at the wine list. “Looks like you could do with a drink.”
Chapter 22
INGRID WAS EARLY.
I sensed her ascending Leiden’s gallery stairwell.
When she finally stepped onto the roof I was caught off guard. Her red dress accentuated her figure and her hair was styled up with curls spiraling over her shoulders. She held her coat over her shoulder casually.
“How are you?” I handed her a tall glass of Champagne.
“Having nightmares about falling.” She took it, considering the glass as though deciding whether she wanted it. “I’m assuming you invited me here to apologize.” She laid her coat over the stairwell railing.
“You look . . . stunning,” I said.
“James and I are having dinner.” She watched my reaction, tilting her head with a mischievous glint. “Can’t stay, I’m meeting him in half an hour.”
I feigned disinterest.
“It was on the news.” She took a sip. “You driving a Porsche into the Thames. Someone filmed it with their phone.”
“Saw the footage. We’d exited the Porsche by then.”
“You’re reckless!”
“Actually, that’s the word I keep in reserve for anyone who wanders into the heart of a secret society’s headquarters after being clearly informed of the danger.”
“Nothing happened.”
I gave her the look that deserved. “Yet.”
“Why did you ask me to come here?”
“More Champagne?” I offered.
“Unlike you, I haven’t got all night.”
I shook off her remark. “May I introduce my friend Lucas.”
He stepped out of shadows half lit by the tea lights, his striking features bestowing a Middle Eastern descent; a typical woman’s man, thirty-something, tall, dark and ridiculously good looking. “What’s this about a Porsche?” asked Lucas with a glint of amusement.
Ingrid studied him.
“Lucas is a good friend.” I pretended not to notice her reaction. “He’s here . . . for you.”
She rested a hand on her chest as though trying to work out what I’d planned for her.
“I thought it was time you two met,” I teased her, speaking slowly and emphasizing my words to make a point. “Ingrid, you’re ready for this.”
She turned toward me slowly in an accusatory manner.
I motioned to Lucas. “There’s no one quite as skilled as you.”<
br />
He lowered his chin and those deep brown irises of his caused Ingrid to freeze. She shook herself out of the trance he had her in and turned back to me, unable to surrender her presumption.
I took her drink from her and glanced over at Lucas. “She wants this.”
Ingrid’s lips parted as though trying to speak but unable to find the words.
“Are you alright?” I feigned concern and wrapped my arm around her waist.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure . . . what this is?”
“Perhaps you should call James and tell him you’ll be late.” I moved away from her.
Her eyes begged me to stay.
“This is about you finding the answers you need,” I whispered.
She was taking small breaths, her anticipation rising with each second that I used the silence against her.
Finally, I said, “Lucas spent his entire life digging around Egyptian burial sites.” I leaned back against the railing next to her. “I promised to arrange a meeting with the Professor. Well, here he is.”
Ingrid tried to save the moment. “Well that’s marvelous.”
Of course I wasn’t going to bring up the fact that Lucas was also a vampire. She didn’t need to know that, and by the way she relaxed a little, she didn’t seem to detect it either.
“You’ve seen a copy of the parchment?” She glanced at the glass sitting on the tray which I’d moments ago taken from her.
Lucas picked up the Champagne flute and handed it back to her. “The parchment is over two thousand years old.”
“How can you tell?” she answered.
Lucas glanced at me. “These hieroglyphics were used predominantly around 60 B.C.”
Ingrid reflected eagerness for him to go on, her feeling of awkwardness fading.
Lucas removed a piece of a paper from his inner pocket. “This is the copy you gave William.” He nudged up against her right side and pointed. “This first hieroglyphic represents the symbol for balance. This next one,” he slid his fingertip down, ”Moon God.” His finger slid to the next symbol. “Thoth.” He smiled at me. “The wisest of the Egyptian Gods.”
“Thoth?” Ingrid asked.
“An Egyptian God,” Lucas told her, “famed for keeping a great library of ancient scrolls written by the Gods themselves. The goddess Seshat was one of his wives, the goddess of writing, and collector of mysteries. The son born of their union was called Hornub and he was associated with literature, arts, and learning.”
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