The Hidden Key (Second Sacred Trinity)

by S E Holmes

  “Tomorrow, we are splitting up,” Fortescue said. “I do not wish to imperil any of you, and would not make such a request unless necessary. Mrs Paget will accompany Andie to her workplace to retrieve more surveillance equipment. It is crucial we monitor Tiffany and any others she fraternises with, who are in mortal danger while Riven favours their company.”

  After he was ensconced in the chair, Mrs Paget fastened a smock over Hud’s clothes. “Fortescue, out of curiosity Andie did a thorough web search of anything related to collectors and antiquities. None of you show up. Anywhere. Ever. How can that be?”

  “Unless we wish to be seen, we aren’t,” was Fortescue’s cryptic response. “Grace?” She skipped over and stood next to him. “Andie, would you please take a photo of us.”

  Andie rustled around on the desk for her phone. She snapped two shots for good measure – Mrs Paget offering a broad grin, Fortescue stiff and impassive as always – and attached the lead to her laptop. She tapped a few keys, and scrolled through many surfing shots and several of her and Bickles in various poses.

  “Er, that’s odd. You show up in the viewfinder as clear as my nose.” She took a few photographs of the boys, which sprang to life on the screen, and tried Fortescue and Mrs Paget several more times with the outcome the same. The images of Hud and Bickles slowly faded, as though never taken. “I don’t get it. Ty, you have a go.”

  “Calm yourself, Andie. Images of us cannot be stored, and any outsider who comes across direct verification of our true identities suffers memory loss. Call it accelerated forgetfulness. The Trinity give the label ‘unphotogenic’ a new meaning altogether.”

  Bickles threw up his hands. “Well, why are we panicking? We can sit back and let any related information on Hud’s mobile dissolve.”

  “If only, Tyson. Trinity processes are no longer steadfast. Tiffany saw through Winsome’s cloak at Bondi, and the judge’s persistent involvement suggests we are beginning to fail. The spool unwinds, binding us inevitably to our enemy. All we do now is a desperate exercise in buying Winsome the time she needs, until we are exposed.”

  Fortescue knelt to unzip his bag. He extracted a baton, handcuffs and pepper-spray canister, along with two black, full-body Ninja suits, the eye-slits meshed.

  “In fact, we believe Nash Smith shredded every single recording of his son’s Sunday night escapade, feeding the remnants and the reports through the garbage disposal for good measure.”

  “The judge destroyed evidence? That’s a criminal offence. He’d lose his job and maybe go to jail.”

  “He loves his son very much, Andie.”

  Mrs Paget smiled and nodded. Without further fuss, she pushed clippers set on ‘three’ through Hud’s curls, giving him the short-back-and-sides his mother had been pestering him to have since he was ten years old. Hud set his jaw and didn’t object. His hair was the very least he could sacrifice, what with all the hassle required to try and remedy his stupidity.

  Twenty-Three

  Hours later, I surfaced in the pre-dawn through a warm, contented haze. Above, I glimpsed a brightening sky. I felt more rested than I had in weeks, my slumber devoid of night-terrors. But the mental image of an ancient gnarled tree, twisted arthritic branches dipping to the ground, swirled insistently in a sea of Trinity symbols which made a pattern of sorts. Bernadette broadcasted her message. A message it seemed, I was too obtuse to understand. Next to me, Smithy sighed, smiled in his sleep and nestled closer.

  I was reluctant to leave his arms, our bare skin a teasing reminder of last night, but I couldn’t shun the upcoming trials. Extracting myself and hastily tossing the blanket over his gloriously naked body, Smithy stirred briefly. Then he snuggled into a tight ball, as contented as a toddler and just as cute, his hair wild. He only needed to suck his thumb to complete the picture. My resolve almost crumbled.

  Under picnic-basket lace, now spare of chocolate, I found two sets of neatly folded PJs. Donning white pants and a button-through top, the time had come to see if any of the so-called articles were in any way helpful. I tiptoed the stairs to the temple hall. The cats congealed from the shadows and I delayed to stroke the fur between their ears. They purred happily and accompanied me to the temple doors, where I left them to play chasings in the hall – envious of their frivolity.

  Not sure what I was hoping to achieve, I seated myself cross-legged in the Delta. A profound silence blanketed the chapel – the Keepers were absent. For a while, I simply enjoyed the emptiness in my head. But the pressure of passing minutes forced me to the job. For the first time, I actively willed a Keeper into my mind. Bernadette invaded my body, her diseased state towards the end sending wracking shivers to huddle me over. She was so sick, taken by fever and starvation, but with iron determination she refused to give in until her task was complete.

  On a raised tussock surrounded by swamp, she rested beneath the canopy of the huge tree in my vision. Her rough-patched clothes clung wetly to her body. She’d waded for hours through turbid, reptile-infested waters to reach this island, a gargantuan effort in her poor condition. Insect bites and cuts, some of which oozed angrily with unchecked infection, covered her exposed flesh.

  In mimicry of her actions, my hands raised quivering to write on the air. My fingernails were broken and ripped to the quick, those few left, caked with dirt and blood from digging. The symbols were not gibberish.

  “It’s a map.” I bolted upright.

  Quickly, I memorised the pattern before the lingering image faded. Repeated symbols for the Warrior might bunch in a circle, ringed by an unmarked area which bordered haphazard blotches of scribbled Watcher. Ribbons of seemingly random nothingness wove throughout the topography. But I now understood; viewed from above, the symbols formed the land, and the ink-free areas water.

  I could not imagine how she had represented geographical features so accurately from the ground. I sought the single Keeper’s symbol contained in the picture. I knew the Key hid there, buried beneath the tree I kept seeing. Readying to leave, a flash of movement on the periphery startled me. Daniel sat with his back to the wall by the door, his long legs stretched before him, soundlessly observing me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It took me several seconds to understand why he seemed different. And then it dawned on me; I had never known him at peace. His usually rigid features were relaxed, his body not tensed for combat.

  “Catching up on centuries of lost sleep. My mind is tranquil in the temple.” He offered me a serene smile, a flash of the happy father he had once been long ago.

  “I have a map of Raphaela’s land in Lafayette. It shows where the Key is hidden.”

  “Very clever.”

  He rose with a single fluid motion. He wore a battered, black leather, full-length trench coat split in back to allow freedom of movement, and thick leather gloves. The coat fastened all the way up to his neck, its numerous pockets bulging with packed items. I fidgeted nervously as he glided towards me. I didn’t like being alone with him. I had no intention of encouraging Raphaela’s prophecy of romance and it would cause excruciating pain to touch him accidentally.

  “Why have you not sought refuge here earlier?”

  “I’m not seeking refuge. I thought if I came here and inspected the objects with my …” ‘Gift’ didn’t really seem the appropriate word. ‘Impediment’, perhaps? “Whatever … I could understand. I won’t let that fiend hurt the people I love.”

  “I hope you are right about protecting those you love,” he muttered.

  “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to your wife and little girl.”

  I should have learned my lesson with Smith and his father. I should learn to shut my mouth. People determined to blame someone – especially themselves – didn’t welcome pity. It made his guilt seem an indulgence, as if I knew better and wielded the power to absolve him of responsibility. Like all misguided best intentions, my sympathy trivialised their murder.

  “Were you there? Did you see
me rutting that whore so near to my dead family?” he hissed darkly. “An act so unforgivable …” he trailed off. Briefly, his practised coping missed a beat, moisture springing to his eyes, before blankness descended and it was back to business.

  “I have read the diary at length and nowhere does it allude to the abilities you have acquired. You are evolving. I request a favour. It should cause you minimal harm.”

  Sympathy or otherwise, I didn’t entirely trust him. An uncanny feeling he kept something from me nagged, but I could not guess what. His use of the word ‘minimal’ hadn’t escaped me; it was not the same as no harm at all.

  “I’ll need details before I say yes.”

  “Wise.” Daniel revealed the Keeper’s Chalice from behind his back and used a water bottle from his coat to fill the gleaming metal cup halfway. He crumpled the plastic bottle, tucking it back inside his pocket, and offered me the Chalice. “I would like you to scry for Finesse.”

  “You haven’t spat in that, have you?”

  He snorted. “I don’t need such artifice now.”

  “Why do you want to know where she is?”

  “I would have thought it obvious,” he said, with a disparaging sigh. “It is prudent to avoid the witch at all costs, until the hunted becomes the hunter.”

  “I see.” How did I ask what I wanted to know, without offending him again, without questioning his loyalty? Bea maintained it was best to rip the bandaid off without delay, so I followed suit. “And there’s no way she’ll know we’re tracking her?”

  “I will never betray the Sacred Trinity.” His eyes flashed anger. “I would rather die than place you in … direct jeopardy.” He insisted on playing with words and that feeling of unease grew stronger. “It is good you have learned caution. Please?”

  I took the goblet. As soon as my fingers felt metal, its history flooded my brain. A skilled blacksmith had crafted it at the behest of Isadore. She wanted to use it to unlock the secrets of the strange gem she had found, many years previous, to find a way to destroy the thing that had ruined her life. But the ritual failed, and the Stone remained impenetrable. Instead, the Chalice became the first of her instruments, dedicated to helping her learn all she could about her dire foe.

  I knew what to do intuitively, picturing the witch in her deceptive perfection, circling my hand over the brim. The cup’s golden interior gleamed and swirled in my head. Her wickedness crawled through me, a stinking vapour on the wind. She left a virtual path for me to follow, and the closer I got, the stronger the hurt became. Her evil pulsed my veins; a force potent enough to steal the breath from my lungs and leave me abandoned by hope.

  “Halcyon,” I said.

  “Anathema’s home base is a nightclub called Halcyon in London. Finesse has retreated to her sanctuary.”

  “How? How can I defeat her? She hates everything, a hate so ferocious it aches in my bones. How can I win against someone lacking even a shred of humanity? What made her like this?”

  I stared desperately up at Daniel. He reached out to steady me and I flinched from the contact.

  “Your skin cannot touch mine through my coat and the gloves.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and held me firm. “Exploiting a person’s deepest dread is her talent. Keep your imagination in check, lest she penetrate your defences and use your worst visions against you. Fortify your mind.”

  “She’s just another bully, on a bigger scale. But I understand why some people inflate themselves by picking on others. I don’t understand Finesse. She has vast power and never loses. Her conquests over weak mortals are kind of trivial. Why bother, when we’re like bugs under her boot?”

  “You said so yourself. Some simply get pleasure from inflicting misery. The witch is not interested in world domination or such grandiose pursuits. Her aim is pure. To ruin happiness, a state of being denied her. Why should others experience joy if she cannot? Revelling in suffering is the best she can do. It is a dilute sham, which pushes her to ever more heinous acts to achieve satisfaction. With her Stone, the scope for cruelty is boundless.”

  Finesse was no garden-variety sadist. “I have to kill her?”

  “It seems the most desirable option. But I have tried every method: poisoning, stabbing, shooting, throttling, fire, explosives. I even attempted to decapitate her while she slept once. The axed shattered on contact with her flesh.” His voice was weary, as he trawled memories too horrible for me to imagine. “How she laughed at my feeble efforts.”

  Is that why she kept him – to bat around like a kitten with a belled toy? She was too easy to hate, an emotion that would feed her voracious appetite for it, and surely weaken me.

  “Finesse,” he sneered, “has one vulnerability. She cannot abide bodies of water and will tolerate one only under great duress.”

  “Did you try and drown her?”

  “She is alert to water nearing. I could not get close enough. The minions she conjures share this limitation. She is preoccupied while surrounded by it and the distraction diminishes her might. I suspect Bernadette, at least, discovered this and exploited it in her choice of vault.”

  I filed this fact away. “Tell me about Halcyon.”

  “One of her favourite haunts. A very exclusive club in London. She is not without a sense of irony. It is the main headquarters of Anathema. A place that caters to all manner of depravity and debauched tastes where most of their recruiting for loyal subjects occurs.”

  “Do you believe we have a chance? There are so many of them and they’re not hampered by decency or morality like us.”

  He gazed down at me, his expression softened and he took my fingers in his, placing them over my heart. He pressed his hand there. “The only thing that matters is what you believe, Winsome. For millennia, the Sacred Trinity has accumulated strength capable of bringing the witch to her knees. Seek within and you will find it.”

  Why weren’t helpful resources ever in plain sight? “How? She’s invincible.”

  Daniel closed the gap between us, now measured in centimetres. He smiled down at me. “I meant what I said to be taken literally. Raphaela kept the Delta within. It is not merely a physical space, but a state of being. You can call upon it at will, wherever you are. This is the most important thing you must learn, Winsome. As your Warrior, I should not tell you this. It was Raphaela’s unique skill, and she used it to veil her activities from Billie and Enoch. But, as your friend, it is my duty to share this with you. Drink and you will know where the witch is, always.”

  Was there a more dangerous type of friend, one with secrets? His motivations remained suspect. Maybe my paranoia infected even the innocent – the diary didn’t lie. I gulped the coppery-tasting water. The temple doors swung inwards and Daniel hastily dropped my hand, taking the cup and stepping away. Smithy appeared in boxer shorts, rumpled from sleep.

  “Christ, Winnie. I nearly had a heart attack when I woke up alone and I couldn’t sense you anywhere.” His head swivelled between Daniel and me. I seemed guilty even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. “What’s going on?”

  “The witch is at home, sulking over her defeat for the moment. Now may be our only chance to slip into and out of Louisiana.”

  Smithy blinked fully alert. “How do you know, Bear?”

  “The articles aren’t just pretty ornaments.” I swept my hand around to encompass the Delta and the objects inset in the floor. Daniel shifted sideways, blocking a complete view. Smithy scrutinised his strange behaviour. “I have my own crystal ball.”

  “We need to be in and out of Lafayette as quick as possible,” he said, frowning still. “Well, as quick as more than twenty hours of travel allows. Let’s go get breakfast.”

  “Are you coming?” I asked Daniel.

  “I have things to do.”

  “Suit yourself.” I wondered unkindly if he ever did otherwise.

  Of course, my instincts for deception had been sound; a fact we didn’t discover until the worst possible instant. Not all of the Keeper’s articles
were in their proper places. Ignorant of Daniel’s intent, Smithy and I trooped for the kitchen, joined by the frisky cats. Along the hallway and up one flight of stairs, he kept peeking at me from the corner of his eye, a dorky grin on his face.

  “What?” I burst out in laughter, once we’d reached the first landing.

  “Everything okay? You know, are you feeling okay … and everything?”

  “Wow. And they say you’re smart. Articulate, even.”

  “Who? Who says I’m articulate? I dare you to name them!” He backed me into the corner, grabbing me about the waist and pulling me close, a predatory glint lighting his eyes. “I dare you,” he murmured, heat rippling through my body.

  I reached up and cupped his cheeks, and we spent several delirious minutes kissing, so tightly wrapped about each other it was difficult to tell where I ended and Smithy began. “Everything’s fine and dandy,” I gasped, wishing we could return to Mrs Paget’s garden.

  Eventually, we disentangled, dawdling onwards for the kitchen, hand-in-hand, my knees oddly jelly and my skin on fire. Smithy’s face flushed and he kept scruffing his already wild hair. I exhausted the trip focused on brickwork, the lacy iron handrail, the ceiling, anywhere but on his silky, defined torso, his broad shoulders, or heaven forbid, the beautiful planes of his face. It was a face I knew so well, but since last night one that had yielded brand new expressions I longed to evoke again.

  “Fine?” he challenged. “That’s a word belonging in the nice and good and satisfactory basket of bland.”

  “That basket also contains such rare and beloved gems like normal, ordinary, uneventful. Give me them over everything right now.”

  “I see where you’re going, I think.” He gazed at me, his nose scrunched in questioning amusement. “So last night was fair, but pleasing?”