With some effort, Chin wrested his attention from his beautiful hostess and forced it back to her creations. As many times as he’d viewed her tapestries over the years, he still noticed new things whenever he came here—new themes, new symbolism. No matter how hard he tried to commit the images to memory, whenever he returned to them he discovered details that had eluded him before—almost as if the tapestries were changing.
Today, he was searching for clues about where he might find Zhai Shao, but the tapestries were not cooperating.
“What’s wrong?” Violet asked, her hands clutched together in front of her. “Is it the portal? Is something going to break through?”
Chin shook his head as he stepped up to the next tapestry and gazed at it. “No,” he said. “Not at the moment, anyway. The imminent danger is from the Order. I fear they are close to finding what they have sought for so long.”
He wished he could offer her more comfort, but he and Violet always spoke the truth to each other—always. While she fidgeted behind him, he remained rooted in place, staring intently at the tapestry before him. It seemed to change even as he looked at it, providing sharper detail than he’d seen before. The image was of a beautiful woman holding a quill pen in one hand and a scroll in the other. Her face was turned down and her eyes closed, which, Chin knew, could mean impending death. Even more interesting was the shadow on the wall behind her. At first he thought it was her shadow, but on closer examination he realized it couldn’t be. It was too big, for one thing, but there was something else bothering him.
The arm of the shadow fell across one spindle of a chair back, which made it look like the tattoo of a snake ran up the shadow’s forearm. Through the doorway of the room in which the woman sat, Chin could see three figures coming up a flight of stairs and heading through the darkened hallway, but their faces were indistinct. On their hands were interesting symbols, too. A painting hung on the wall of the woman’s room, depicting a blonde-haired girl in a silver dress. In the center of her chest a heart glowed, like a religious painting depicting the sacred heart of Jesus. The golden halo surrounding her head was covered in flecks of black, as if it were corroding. The frame of the picture was made up of gears and springs that looked like clockwork and at the bottom of it was a plaque bearing the words: La Princesa de Los Vientos. He had no idea what it meant.
Frustrated, he scanned the images again and again. Shen was calling his attention to this particular tapestry, like an unseen child tugging at his sleeve—but why?
Then he noticed the title Violet had stitched at the bottom: The Teacher.
He’d already spent a good amount of time watching the teacher Raphael had told him about—Miss Pembrook—to make sure she was safe. So far he’d seen no sign of any Order members following her. The tapestry, however, told a different story. He glanced again at the figures in the shadowy hallway. Now, one of them had distinct facial features—Chin’s features. It was him, running up the stairs—too late.
“Thank you, Violet,” he said, already turning leave. “I have to go.”
“That boy—Raphael—take him with you,” she said. Chin turned to look at her. The faint, golden aura that became visible to him whenever the power of Shen came on her enveloped her now. When she spoke again, it wasn’t just Violet giving him advice, he knew—it was the voice of the All, speaking through her.
“You’ll have to fight,” she said. “And you can’t win on your own.”
Chin nodded once, as someone entered the hallway behind Violet. It was Maggie.
“I’m going, too,” she declared.
Chin mustered a smile, trying to be kind even as the urgency of the situation drove him. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” he said. “It’s too dangerous, and I’m in a hurry.” He started for the door, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
“No,” Maggie said again, standing firm. “I heard what my mom said. If you’re taking Raphael with you to fight someone, I’m going, too. He’s my friend—yeah, I know,” she added impatiently as Chin raised his eyebrows. “Flatliners, Toppers, blah, blah, blah. But Raph and I are friends now, for real. And I can help you.”
Chin turned back once more to study the tapestry. Three people going up the stairs: himself and two others. Their features were clearer now and one of them, he could see, was Raphael. The other was still indistinguishable. Then there was the portrait depicted in the scene: La Princesa de los Vientos. Maggie was blonde and she had a hereditary claim to extraordinary power—and she was the new Harvest Queen (Homecoming Queen, he reminded himself) and wore the crown. Perhaps she was the princess in the tapestry.
“All right,” he decided. “But we have to hurry.”
Maggie followed him outside but stopped in the doorway when she saw his beat-up old truck. “Ah . . . no offense, Mr. Chin but if we’re in hurry, we’d better take my mom’s car.”
“Good—let’s go,” he agreed quickly.
Maggie clicked a remote control on her keychain and the garage door rose, revealing Violet’s red Mercedes. They hurried into the garage, and Chin climbed into the passenger seat as Maggie fired up the engine. By the time he got his seatbelt on, they were halfway down the hill, sliding around corners in the slushy snow and roaring through the straightaways. They would definitely get to Miss Pembrook’s apartment faster with the Mercedes, Chin thought—if Maggie didn’t kill them first.
It wasn’t long before Raphael started to question the wisdom of going out treasure hunting in the middle of a blizzard. Well, it wasn’t a blizzard, exactly—but it was steady and the snow was getting deeper by the minute. Where it drifted it came almost up to his knees.
By the time they reached the tracks, his socks were damp, his feet were cold, and his legs were aching with exertion—but Nass pressed on like a dog on the scent, and Raphael trudged along behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sound of a train whistle registered—far off and mournful.
He stopped walking. “Nass—wait. You hear that?”
Nass froze, listening. “I don’t hear anything. Probably just the wind.”
Yeah, Raph thought. It had to be. No trains had run through Middleburg for decades.
They kept going, hiking up the embankment on the far side of the tracks, and wading into the woods that ran between the east side of the locomotive graveyard and River Road. Then they turned northward, pushing their way through the brittle, frozen underbrush. At the top of a small rise, Nass paused, gazing out across the barren winterscape of black tree trunks and white snow.
“Are we getting close?” Raphael asked, but Nass held up a hand to silence him. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not far now.”
He cracked open the briefcase and took out the silver divining rod. Raphael picked up the empty case. Nass held the two ends of the Y-shaped rod between his thumb and forefinger, just as they’d seen one of the Obies do, and they started off down the rise.
About ten minutes passed as they hiked north, weaving among trees and crashing through thickets, mostly pressing forward but sometimes veering to the left or right or even doubling back. The more they walked, the more uneasy Raph became. The snowfall had abated somewhat, but he realized now that they shouldn’t have come out alone. His tension growing, he scanned the trees. There was no one in sight, but he couldn’t help feeling like someone was watching them.
He was about to ask Nass if he wanted to head back, but then he saw that Nass’s eyes were closed as he moved confidently ahead, the divining rod out in front of him. They walked for another thirty yards, and Nass never opened his eyes once. Obviously, he was getting something, and whatever was happening, Raphael didn’t want to interrupt it. Even when the feeling of being followed got worse, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to mess up Nass’s psychic flow.
Half an hour later, as the
sun waned toward a bleak, gray twilight, they were still wandering. They had made their way to what Raphael thought of as the tunnel mound, at the base of the mountain the Middleburg Tunnels passed through. As far as he could tell, they were skirting the foothills about halfway between the south and east tunnels. Worried, he looked up at the darkening sky.
“Hey, man,” he said. “Maybe we should go home—” but Nass stopped abruptly in front of him. Raph saw the divining rod twitching wildly in his hands.
Ignacio opened his eyes and looked down at the rod, just as surprised as Raphael was. Slowly, he took one more step forward and the rod trembled so violently it became a blur of motion. Then, suddenly, it shot out of Nass’s hands and stabbed itself into the ground, vibrating there for a moment like a giant tuning fork.
“It’s here,” Nass said quietly, his voice full of awe. He fell to his knees and started clearing snow away from the earth where the rod had pierced it. Raphael knelt, too, and helped him. Soon they had moved enough aside to reveal a rose-colored stone about twice the size of a manhole cover. Miraculously, the rod had penetrated the solid rock and was firmly embedded in it. Nass pulled off his gloves and sat with his hands pressed to the pink stone.
“It’s under here,” he whispered. “But deep. Maybe thirty or forty feet down.”
“Can you tell what it is?” Raphael asked. “Is it gold? Diamonds?”
Nass only shook his head.
Raphael cleared some more snow away, revealing the line of weeds and dirt that surrounded the stone.
“This is rose quartz,” Raphael said. “The mountain must be full of it. But this thing is huge,” Raphael said. “How are we going to move it?”
“It’s going to take all of us,” Nass said.
Raphael nodded. “Tomorrow night,” he said. “Once everyone’s off work we’ll bring the tools and meet here.”
They stared down at the big, pink stone for a moment, then turned and headed through the forest, back the way they came. Raphael thought about taking the divining rod with them but decided to leave it there to mark the spot where they would search tomorrow. He thought chances were slim that anyone would be wandering around in the woods before then. Besides, something told him it was like King Arthur’s sword—Excalibur—and they wouldn’t be able to pull it out even if they tried.
In the stillness of the falling snow, Raphael’s ringing phone gave off a strange, muted sound. It was Master Chin.
“I need your help with something,” he said. “Where are you?”
“I’ll be at the corner of First and Golden in ten minutes.” Raph answered.
“I’ll pick you up.” And Chin abruptly ended the call, which wasn’t at all like him. Raphael looked at his phone for a second, perplexed, then shoved it back into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” Nass asked.
“I’ll find out in a minute,” Raphael said. “Master Chin needs a favor. You in?”
“Nah,” Nass said. “I gotta get home.”
“Okay—but start spreading the word. Make sure everyone brings whatever equipment they can. Tomorrow night at Rack ’Em. Eleven o’clock.”
Zhai stood atop the tunnel mound, perfectly still, gazing down on the woods below, where Raphael and Ignacio were tromping off through the snow and disappearing among the trees.
It was different this time, Zhai thought. On every other occasion when he’d gone into the trance of the Snake, he’d blacked out and when he’d come to, he didn’t remember anything that had happened. This time, he’d been awake and aware the whole time. He still was—he just couldn’t control his body. It was as if they had unplugged his brain from his body and hotwired their controls into his musculature. He was aware of something else, too. A presence inside his mind, watching through his eyes, listening to every sound he heard, taking note of his every thought.
Oh yes, I’m here, came a silent voice inside his head—the voice of the member of the Order he’d fought with, Zhai knew. You wouldn’t expect me to wander around in a snowstorm when I can send you? Why do you think no one has ever been able to prove our existence? We have slaves like you to do our work for us. But soon we will come out of the shadows and rise, and every person on earth will know our names. And then his tormentor’s tone changed, colored with subtle amusement: Stay where you are. My brother and I are taking care of a little business now, but we’ll be there shortly with enough equipment to dig to the center of the earth if that’s what it takes. Before the night is over, the Heart of the Eagle will be ours.
But Zhai wasn’t listening to the voice anymore. He was looking at the divining rod stuck into the round slab of rose quartz in the forest below, trying to will his body to move in the direction his mind wanted to go.
Raphael squinted up the street as the red Mercedes blazed toward him. He knew exactly who was behind the wheel, and she was the last person he wanted to see right now. But when the car glided to a smooth stop in front of him, he was stunned to see Master Chin in the passenger seat beside Maggie.
“Quick, let’s go!” Master Chin said, tilting his seat forward. Obediently, Raphael slid into the back.
“Hey, Raphael,” Maggie said sweetly, and he could see she was enjoying his surprise. She smiled at him and jammed on the gas, sending his head bashing into the headrest.
Anne Pembrook opened her apartment door expecting to find the pizza delivery boy on her stoop—one of the benefits of her little apartment above Middleburg Couture was its proximity to Little Geno’s—but instead, she found an Asian man wearing a derby hat.
“Hello, Anne,” he said serenely. In spite of his thick accent, she understood every word. “We have been looking for you.”
Warning bells went off in her head, and she tried to slam the door in his face, but he was too fast for her. He blasted the door with a kick that sent it flying open and launched Anne halfway across her apartment.
“Stay away from me!” she warned as she scrambled to her feet. Showing no concern, he casually turned and locked the door behind him. By the time he turned back, Anne had the gun out of her desk drawer. Her hands were trembling, but she brought it up, squeezed one eye shut, and aimed at the intruder’s chest.
“This is for Donovan,” she said through clenched teeth, but before she could pull the trigger, the man had somehow crossed the ten feet that separated them and snatched the gun away from her. As she watched, he deftly disassembled it, jerking the barrel away from the grip, and dropped the two pieces of the now useless weapon to the floor as she backed away.
“Was that too fast for you?” he said with a wild grin. “You want me to do it again in slow motion?”
He laughed gleefully. Desperate, Anne tried to run past him, making a break for the door, but she didn’t get far before he was on her again, tripping her so fast she didn’t know what happened. One minute she was running for the exit, the next she was on her back with the intruder on top of her, his face an inch from hers.
“You’re almost too pretty to kill,” he whispered. “Maybe we’ll do it slowly . . . keep you around for a while.”
“You won’t kill me,” she said, defiant. “You don’t know where the scroll is.”
The man laughed and jerked her roughly to her feet. “I must say, you did very well giving us the slip in Chicago. Such cunning from an insignificant little teacher. And what a bold move—coming to Middleburg. We never expected that. But you are not as clever as you think. There is no creature more cunning than the snake. The scroll is here—I can feel it. You wouldn’t let it out of your sight, not after your precious Donovan died for it. I will find it and then—”
Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. Anne took a big breath, getting ready to scream, but the vile man clapped his hand over her mouth and pressed a huge switchblade that seemed to appear out of nowhere ag
ainst her throat. His breath was hot on her face, and his eyes sent her an undeniable message: make a sound, and you die.
So she sat there, frozen, one of his hands gripping her arm, the other covering her mouth. Soon they heard footsteps walking away and the hall outside her door was silent. She was overwhelmed with despair. Whoever it was had gone.
When her attacker’s eyes came back to hers, there was an unmistakable glint of pleasure in them. He’s excited, she thought with disgust. He’s going to kill me slowly, and he’s going to enjoy it.
But just as she closed her eyes, preparing to feel the blade bite into her throat, there was a loud crash and the door flew off its hinges.
Instantly, the man was off her, standing and facing the doorway, brandishing his two large blades in front of him like something out of a martial arts movie. Anne sat up, eager to see her rescuer—but the sight didn’t give her much hope. It was an older Asian man with a wispy white goatee and a placid smile.
“Chin,” the intruder sneered. “We should have made your student finish you.”
“Too late now,” said the Asian guy—Chin—and he charged into the room.
They were on each other at once. Anne expected Chin to get chopped to shreds, but he also had a weapon—and he moved it so fast, snapping it against the blades of his opponent’s knives, that it looked like nothing but a brown streak.
Suddenly, Anne remembered her gun and she crawled across the floor toward it. She found the grip right away, but the barrel part was nowhere in sight. She looked under the chair and then under the coffee table as sounds of battle raged. When she looked up at last, she saw another person had entered the fight—a young man. He stood on one side of her attacker, defending himself with two long, metal candlesticks from Anne’s upturned dining table, while Chin barraged the intruder with kicks, occasionally parrying a thrust with what she now realized was a leather belt. Despite being outnumbered, the man in the derby seemed to be doing fine—he even smiled, as if enjoying the ferocious contest.
Anne got busy looking for the rest of her gun. There was a crash as her assailant tossed the young man into her China cabinet. So much for her grandmother’s crystal . . .
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 37
