Sword- Part One

by D B Nielsen

  Passing guests as I climbed the magnificent staircase – some pausing in their feverish conversations to greet me or nod their heads and smile in recognition, though many hardly noticed me at all – there was an atmosphere of hedonism and carnality amongst them, buzzing with energy and elation, and appallingly frenetic. Inside the club, the crowds were wild and overexcited and happy for no other reason than being here – and it really seemed to be a day of joy for them all, in keeping with the theme of the party.

  Now that I was clear-headed, I saw it all. It was faintly frightening because no one cared why they were there; they were free to enjoy all the pleasures Isabella’s party had to offer in that moment, without any of the consequences – and that was all that mattered.

  I sincerely hoped Ted Boyle remained outside in the fresh air.

  Sickened, I continued walking, picking up my pace. As I cleared the first floor landing, I overheard the manic conversation of a group of handsome young men, my ears pricking up at the mention of Isabella’s name, and slowed to a halt.

  ‘... lost her in the crowd.’ The voice was petulant, and a scowl marred the attractive face of the speaker. His tuxedo jacket was missing, his bow tie and the top buttons of his once-starched white dress shirt undone, giving him a rather rakish look.

  Another handsome young man with fair hair, his pale face all angles and planes, and eyes the China blue of a cloudless summer sky, drawled with a deep contempt, ‘Give it up, Jenkins. Don’t be an arse. The likes of Isabella Donnatelli aren’t for you. Nor me, for that matter. She wouldn’t even bother looking at either of us twice.’

  ‘What would you know, Wallace?’ Jenkins threw back, peevishly. His head was lowered into his hands as he slumped against the wall. ‘We shared something at that dinner party in Cannes on the last night of the festival – a moment – we shared a moment. I walked her back to her hotel, we were both half drunk, talking and laughing, and she invited me back to her room. She was magnificent. A goddess ...’

  Wallace chuckled and deliberately leant past his friend to say something to the third member of their party, a black-haired man whose profile was towards me, so that I caught a glimpse of aquiline nose and square jaw as he laughed in turn. Whatever was said was enough to make Jenkins protest, earning another roar of cruel laughter from his companions.

  ‘Jenkins, you’re a fool. Grow up. You gave in too easily to her charms. She likes the thrill of the chase, toying with her prey before she kills it.’ The other man sneered, turning his face towards me with a smile that was almost a grin. ‘La Belladonna has bigger fish to fry. She’s making another brilliant conquest in the Asylum Room.’

  The familiar manner with which he cocked his head, the malice in the hint of a wink he gave, the right arm that dangled uselessly by his side, made me choke down my horror and the scream that rose in my throat. But, despite the ice that crystallised the blood in my veins at the confirmation that this was the Fravashi who had killed the security guard standing now before me, the intense shock I felt was superseded by the new knowledge which assailed me – Isabella Donnatelli was one of them, a Nephilim, and worse still, she was the very thing Finn had warned us about in his cryptic message scrawled upon the burnt wall of Satis House: Beware belladonna.

  Isabella. Bella. Bella Donna. Isabella Donnatelli. Belladonna. The refrain rang though my mind, over and over.

  Intuitively, I had guessed the first – I had felt all along that she was not quite human – but nothing could have prepared me for the latter. Yet the truth was right in front of me and I had been too blind to see, too consumed with jealousy. And everything I thought I knew about Isabella changed in that instant.

  Before I could form another thought, instinct took over and I found myself fleeing through the crowded corridors of Home House, away from the Fravashi assassin. The world seemed to have slowed down as in a dream where nothing seemed real – against all logic you’re running but frozen to the ground and not making any headway, and danger is all around but there’s nothing you can do to save yourself. Staggering forward, I ran blindly. Somewhere along the way, I lost a shoe but didn’t stop to collect it in my desperate escape; it was the furthest thing from my mind. Stumbling around corners and up and down stairs, all I could think of was flight. My only thought was survival.

  My heart beat a rapid tattoo: Get out! Get Out! Run!

  And I knew I had to get out of these enclosed spaces with its sense of wrongness, despite the brightness of the lit corridors and sunrise, despite the crowds of guests. Like a mouse in a trap, like a hamster upon a wheel, I tried to run, I tried to escape. But as I collided with the smooth wood of another closed door at the end of another long corridor, feeling frantically for the handle, I realised that no one was following me or giving me chase. There were no shouts to stop me, no pounding feet running after me, nothing. No one noticed my frantic flight either and no one cared because they were Isabella’s minions or drugged or too caught up in the excitement of watching the dawn.

  But if they were Isabella’s minions, why didn’t they care? Why weren’t they following me?

  Now I stood, breathing in the perfumed air, my heart rate quickening in a different kind of fear as it finally dawned. St. John. It wasn’t me at all that they were after – St. John was Isabella’s “bigger fish”. Swinging round, my back pressed up against the closed door, I felt disoriented. The corridor stretched in front of me like the view from the peak of a roller coaster, holding all the terror of the known and unknown. I racked my brain trying to remember exactly what the Fravashi had said ... something about the Asylum Room ... and knew I had to hurry.

  Sucking in a breath which sounded harsh to my own ears, I made my way back along the twisting corridors, silently cursing that I had fled the Fravashi without knowing the layout of the club and foolishly running down the labyrinthine corridors instead of back down the circular stairwell towards the entrance or courtyard. Of course I knew that I could call out for help and the Anakim would come to my aid in a heartbeat, but this was not part of the plan – even if the plan now seemed insane and suicidal. I was meant to fulfil my part, to find St. John and get him away from here. This was up to me. And there was little doubt in my mind that I could do this, even with the unexpected presence of the Fravashi.

  By now, I had removed the remaining crystal-encrusted Louboutin shoe and was brandishing it like a weapon – not quite what Cinderella might have had in mind with her prince, I was certain, but it brought some small measure of comfort as it did sport a wickedly pointy high heel. I could probably have used it to stake a vampire – that’s if I was dealing with vampires and not Fravashi.

  The hall runners were soft underfoot but the floorboards were icy cold, and I winced as my bare feet came into contact with them. I was puzzled for a moment as there was no one in the suddenly-deserted hallways except a disgruntled-looking waiter carrying a silver tray of bubbly champagne flutes. He didn’t even bother to look at me twice as he entered a room to hoots and laughter. The merriment inside spilled over briefly into the corridor as the door closed on silent hinges behind him. I supposed I was just another partygoer suffering from what appeared to be a hangover to him, easily dismissed.

  But I wasn’t just another partygoer.

  Realising I would need to do something to contain the Fravashi, I paused in my tracks and, juggling shoe, clutch and shrug in one hand – which, surprisingly, I still managed to keep hold of in my hasty flight – slid a needle-sharp crystal pin from my elaborate hairdo, which was holding my curled hair up and back from my face. It was far too short to do any real damage as a weapon, but that wasn’t what I had in mind for it. Using the sharp tip, I pricked my finger till the blood flowed freely and, copying the markings of Elijah’s pentagram as I remembered, drew the symbol in my blood on each door as I passed by.

  Drawing back in shock after the final symbol was almost complete, I saw the last drop of blood fall from my fingertip like a sudden, fiery volt. A flare of bright gold sparked for a
n instant before fading into wood grain and paint, and disappearing from ordinary sight. The symbols were stitched to me by invisible threads and I felt each one weave into the fabric of my being. I was the bridge between the markings and the Seed.

  I reasoned that if there was a battle brewing, the Anakim would now have a fighting chance, and the damage and evil might be contained. I would not allow Isabella to infect all of Home House, its guests, or wider London – not if I could help it.

  Walking a little faster towards the back of Home House, I came upon the door to the Asylum Room as I rounded another corner, and quickly pulled back out of sight. I knew that this was the room I sought from the hustle and bustle around its exterior, with a great many security guards patrolling outside. They were unarmed but I remained wary. If there was a danger posed, it would not be a danger that could be met with ordinary weapons.

  I shook my head as if to clear the doubts away but still flattened myself behind the safety of the wall. It was little use dithering – there weren’t too many options at this point. Dropping my single Louboutin shoe on the carpeted floor, realising it was silly holding onto it and hoping no one would look down at my bare feet, I decided it was now or never. I would brazen this out.

  Deliberately rounding the corner, I strode up to the Asylum Room as if I belonged there, forcing myself to meet the guards’ eyes and refusing to show any fear or doubt. I felt a chill in my shoulder blades, as if at any moment a seraph blade would be plunged into my back but pretended an insouciance I didn’t particularly feel. There were half a dozen guards present but they halted my progress even before I had taken a few steps.

  ‘Sorry. No guests allowed in this area, Madam,’ said the closest to me in a firm but pleasant voice. I was surprised to see he was short and thin, and probably in his early fifties. And judging from his failure to react to my appearance, he did not know who I was nor did he seem to number amongst the Fravashi.

  Things were finally going in my favour.

  I smiled winsomely and lied through my teeth, something I was getting awfully good at, ‘Oh? That’s strange. I was told to come right up. My fiancé, St. John Rivers – tall, blond, you might have seen him with Isabella? – well, he’s expecting me. That’s fine. I’ll just give them a call ...’ I popped open my clutch as if to remove my smartphone.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Signorina Woods,’ came a voice from close behind me, coolly amused and appallingly familiar. A foul smell assailed my nostrils as I wheeled around to see the Fravashi leader bearing down on me.

  For an instant, the breath froze in my lungs then came out in a whoosh.

  There was no expression on his hard face, with the exception of the narrowing of his black eyes. Coolly, he dangled my pair of Louboutins from his finger, holding them out to me. I wasn’t certain if this was meant to be a taunt or a prelude to hostilities, but it sure as hell wasn’t a peace offering. I snatched at them, not bothering to say thank you. And then he was gesturing for his men to stand down, allowing me to pass as they silently stepped out of my way.

  ‘They’ve been expecting you.’

  It was a trap. I knew that it must be a trap I was walking into. But I also knew that St. John was in that room – probably at the mercy of Isabella and her poison – and I was determined to save him.

  Swallowing hard, my mind was already racing ahead and I automatically moved towards the door. I kept my spine straight and head high, feeling the spark on my palm and in my fingertips as my mind readied itself for battle.

  With a great deal of force, I threw open the door. Temporarily blinded by the sunlight pouring in through the large window overlooking the courtyard, I stumbled over the threshold. The room was beautifully proportioned; a smaller private room, its sage green and cream tones complemented the heavy mahogany bookcases and ornate marble fireplace.

  In the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace, stood St. John. He wasn’t alone. And though I knew Isabella to be with him, I hadn’t expected the scene playing out before me – not by any stretch of the imagination.

  The two of them were locked tightly together. As if locked in combat. But, of course they weren’t. They were locked tightly together in a passionate embrace. And, as if becoming aware of some intrusion upon their privacy, St. John looked up at me out of glassy, emerald green eyes whilst his mouth continued to devour Isabella’s, who was moaning and squirming beneath him, not bothering to break off the kiss and not bothering to acknowledge my presence.

  And that’s when I realised that St. John wasn’t looking at me – he was looking through me – as if I wasn’t even there.

  WANT MORE?

  SWORD: Part Two of the Keepers of Genesis Series continues the story...

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  About the Author

  DB Nielsen was born in British Hong Kong and immigrated to Australia in childhood. DB likes to travel the world with family; dividing time between residing in Sydney and visits to the cathedrals, crypts and museums the world over, doing research for new projects. The author is a university lecturer in Linguistics and Semiotics, and continues to teach English Literature and Language whilst writing. DB’s passion is for throwing elaborate dinners and themed parties (such as medieval banquets), and reading anything and everything. DB’s dream project is to do a series of book tours in the Champagne region of France.

  DB Nielsen loves to hear from readers. You can contact the author through www.dbnielsen.com, facebook page db_nielsen.author or Twitter @db_nielsen

  Also by the Author

  Keepers of Genesis Series

  SEED: Part One

  SEED: Part Two

  SCROLL: Part One

  SCROLL: Part Two

  SWORD: Part One

  SWORD: Part Two

  STONE: Part One

  STONE: Part Two

  Hallowed Eve

  Christmas Seasonings

  Praise for Keepers of Genesis Series

  ‘Reading this book is a sensory experience. You feel you are experiencing the action along with the characters. I wanted to keep turning the pages and yet, I did not want this masterpiece to end. What an amazing tale! Wonderful. Cannot wait for the next.’

  Renita D’Silva author of The Forgotten Daughter

  and A Mother’s Secret

  Nielsen's beautiful, lyrical writing and descriptions were just as wonderful in this book as in the first, and the pace of the plot, was, if possible, even faster than Seed. This is a real rollercoaster ride of a novel that you just CAN. NOT. PUT. DOWN.

  H. Chim

  ‘AT LAST! TWO STRONG FEMAIL PROTAGONISTS! Saffron in particular is just so refreshing to read, as within these books, time and time again, we see that Saffron and Sage show us all that there can be exciting and action packed books with the main focus being on strong women’

  R. Palmer-Willmot

  Acknowledgements

  As always, to the many archaeologists, historians and curators whose preservation of artefacts, artworks and monuments has made my digging into the past much easier, I owe a special thank you. Any mistakes within these pages remain, unfortunately, my own.

  I would like to give special thanks and credit to the deceased R. Campbell Thompson whose translations and transliterations of cuneiform texts from Babylonian tablets have permitted the ancient ‘voices’ heard by Saffron to be an accurate record of the incantations of Assyrian demonology.

  I would also like to pay respect and give thanks to the Aboriginal tribes of Australia whose Dreaming brought Saffron wisdom and spiritual enlightenment.

>   Big thanks to all my friends and fans for becoming my ‘beta group’ – with particular thanks to Cindy, Qim, Chris, Timothy and Hannah – once again, emotionally and editorially your support has been invaluable. And to the lovely and talented female writers, Renita D’Silva and Adina West, a heartfelt thank you for all the nice things you’ve done in support of the KEEPERS OF GENESIS series.

  To the #IndieBooksBeSeen movement, a special acknowledgement (especially to @MarkTheShaw and the various booktubers and my wonderfully talented fellow writers) for the amazing support given to Indie authors and books.

  My gratitude and appreciation to Lorella Belli for the insightful advice and collaborative effort to get this series published, many kindnesses, legal and administrative wrangling, and for loving my novels almost as much as I do. I can’t thank you enough – but I’ll keep trying.

  Thank you to all the book bloggers, booktubers, Facebook friends and Twitter followers for being there for me, encouraging me, and helping me to envision this world and these characters. I hope the quest has become as real for you as for me, and that you’re enjoying living it with Sage and Saffron.

  Lastly, but most of all, thanks and love to my family for all their support, continual encouragement and commitment to the dream – in particular to Alain for his act of faith and tireless enthusiasm and endless promotion (for all the above and everything else besides).

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