by Lila Dubois
“No matter what, this is your baby too,” Alexis said to Michael.
“It doesn’t matter whose—”
“It does. I don’t want this baby to be an Adams. I’m not going to have our children put in the same position as Harrison and Juliette.”
She didn’t know if her brother was aware of the conscious effort to make sure that his offspring wouldn’t be an Adams. Certainly he had to know what name they planned to put on the birth certificate, but did he feel the same way his spouses did? It hurt. The idea that this baby, her new niece or nephew, shouldn’t be like her.
It hurt, but she understood Alexis’s reasoning.
And she agreed.
Completely.
Maybe it was better that the Adams name, the hereditary Grand Master tradition, die with her.
“So what were you looking at?” Michael asked as he poured mimosas.
“Levi was photographed with Trixie Stokes, and the picture is up on a gossip site.”
“The movie star?” Alexis asked.
“She’s a lost legacy—her great-grandfather was a member—and Levi went to offer her membership,” Juliette said. “They’re on their way to Boston.”
“It’s wonderful what you’re doing,” Michael said.
“Thank you.”
Franco finished pouring drinks, setting the final flute down.
Alexis defiantly took a glass. Franco frowned. “Do you want me to find something—”
Alexis bared her teeth at him. “First of all, I’m sick of people thinking they can police my body because I’m pregnant.”
“I don’t—”
She cut Franco off again. “Second of all. Multiple studies have shown that a single drink can be good. So yes. I’m going to have a mimosa because once this baby is out, I’m going to have two children under three and will be nursing which is when you really can’t drink.” Alexis glared at all of them, daring them to oppose her. She was a doctor and the person who was actually pregnant.
No one spoke. Everyone still remembered what happened to that barista who had given her decaf without asking, during the end of her last pregnancy.
Triumphant, she took a sip.
“I was only going to ask if you wanted me to find something that wouldn’t give you heartburn,” Franco said.
Alexis went pale. “Oh god. Heartburn.”
Juliette suppressed a snort of laughter. She couldn’t wait to tell Devon about this. He’d crack up. Devon was working this weekend. As a CIA agent, he shouldn’t be doing anything inside U.S. borders, but like any good agent, he simply ignored the rules. He was, well had been, looking for Luca Campisi, the fugitive responsible for the “spirit smoke bombing” that had taken place in Boston. They’d been able to cover it up as a prank gone wrong, thanks in no small part to one of the Warrior Scholar teams.
Now they knew exactly where Luca was, but that wasn’t the end of the story. The situation was, of course, far more complicated than anyone could have predicted.
She hadn’t decided yet if she should tell the Masters’ Admiralty she knew where their rogue bomb expert was.
Maybe she could trade the information—Luca’s location in exchange for where the hell their leader Eric was. Everything about his sudden disappearance was making her Spidey senses tingle. With Luca found, Devon had started searching for the Fleet Admiral. So far, he had no leads, but at least he’d managed to keep his investigation secret from the Masters’ Admiralty.
Alexis’s fear of heartburn, as well as thoughts of bombs and missing Vikings, distracted Juliette from her own dark thoughts about babies, last names, and legacies.
As they ate, Juliette found herself thinking about that picture of Levi, Trixie, and Stefan. They looked good together.
The three of them had the potential to be a powerful triad. Stefan and Trixie had the vast reach and influence of movie stars. They were both already well-known for championing causes from social justice to climate change. She could use their power and influence to address more issues, bring to light injustices most Americans weren’t even aware of but which she had seen firsthand in her years spent overseas as an aid worker.
Levi, as well as the other Warrior Scholars—ugh, she did an internal eye roll as she thought the name—had seen the truth of human suffering, not just through reports and photo ops. The military background of Levi, Montana, or Tate would allow them to serve as a bridge between traditionally liberal Hollywood and conservative military entities.
In addition, Levi, as a professor, would have the flexibility of schedule to travel with either of his spouses as part of an effort to change the world.
Of course, Sebastian’s sister, Chelsea Stewart Rogers, would be a good third as well. As a prominent environmental lawyer, she would be a strong ally for Stefan and Trixie.
Perhaps she should break up Stefan and Trixie. Spread their power and influence over two trinities. Then she should consider partnering Trixie and Chelsea up with one of the Warrior Scholars. Montana—a legacy—had impressive family connections, in addition to his strong military background.
But Trixie and Stefan’s combined influence, “Sexie’s” influence, couldn’t be discounted as a factor.
For the first time in a long time, Juliette was looking forward to her Grand Master duties.
Beatrix would be the first person initiated since they’d revamped the process, thanks to what had happened with Langston Hayden, and as long as that went well…
And she liked planning Beatrix’s trinity.
So many good options.
But who to choose?
Chapter Six
Below the carved triquetra were three words. Nitimur in Vetitum.
Beatrix looked around, but the small room in the rare books section of the library was empty. The Boston Public Library looked and felt like a maze. She could have found her way here on her own by following the signs and the map pamphlets they had out for tourists.
Instead, Levi had been her guide through the grand entrance, past historic rooms filled with long tables at which quiet students from one of the city’s many colleges were studying. They’d kept going, deeper into the labyrinth through more modern and utilitarian areas, until they had reached the series of small rooms that made up the rare book section.
Wood and glass doors protected the books and a rolling library ladder made of the same glossy wood allowed access to the uppermost shelves. Levi had smiled down at her, pointed at this wall, and then disappeared into the next room. She’d peeked to see that the next room over, also full of rare books and the same glass-fronted doors protecting the shelves, was larger, with a small desk in the center. Levi and the librarian were chatting quietly, Levi towering over the seated man.
Was the man a member? If Levi wasn’t here, would she have to worry about him hearing her?
She mentally added those to the list of questions she would ask. Levi had told her there would be a ceremony and then an initiation. She’d pressed him for details, but he’d only grinned at her and shook his head.
Beatrix turned her attention back to the small section of blank wall between two shallow bookcases and the symbol embedded in the plaster. The triquetra. After hearing about the trinity marriages, it made sense why their symbol was a triangle.
She carefully unfolded the invitation, which had instructions written at the bottom.
Looking around once more, she pressed her hand against the triquetra and pushed. She felt a click as the whole section of wall recessed a few inches and then slid to the side, into the wall like a pocket door.
“Okay, that’s just cool.”
Surprisingly, the small room on the other side looked like a utility closet. She checked her list again, then stepped into the room which held a library cart, a box of rags, and a small broom.
The door closed behind her, but a light clicked on overhead. The walls were paneled wood—very fancy for a closet. Per the instructions, she examined the right wall. There were numbers etched into the woo
d, seemingly at random. She pressed on the number three, and a small rectangular box, about the size of a ring box but much deeper, popped out of the wall. Inside was a key and another piece of paper.
Open the back wall as you did the door and use the elevator.
At the end of the hall, take the right corridor.
The key opens door A. Put on the robe and wait to be called.
-Grand Master
This one was handwritten, in a bold slanted cursive.
The Grand Master.
Levi had told her about the Grand Master, using the pronoun “they” rather than he or she. Somehow holding a letter that the Grand Master had signed made it much more real that the society’s leader would have power over her. Power to help her achieve her goals, but also the power to change those goals.
And the Grand Master would pick who she’d marry.
Would it be someone like Levi? Like Stefan? Would it be Levi or Stefan?
Stefan. How could she still love him when he made her so damned angry?
Beatrix closed the note and key inside her left hand and reached out for the back wall. Firm pressure and then the panel slid to the side, revealing the interior of a small elevator. She stepped in, took a deep breath, and pressed the button.
The door closed and the elevator started down. Down, down, down it went. How deep were they going? Boston was right on the ocean. Maybe this was a space age underwater headquarters, with sharks guarding it. Sharks with lasers on their heads. Beatrix smiled at her own bad joke.
The doors opened, and instead of an undersea lair, she found herself at one end of a long marble hallway. Columns supported the arched ceiling, reminding her of a European cathedral. It was as grand and imposing as anything in the library above.
She’d worn black slacks, a cashmere sweater, and a cloche hat that had enough of a brim to partially shield her face. The outfit demanded heels, and she’d complemented the vintage feel of the hat with some T-strap pumps. The click, click, click of her heels hitting the marble floor bounced off the walls to echo down to the carved double doors at the far end.
The columns obscured the openings in the side walls until she was level with them. Two short halls, like the arms of a cross, jutted out to the right and left.
She checked the note and turned right. The first door she saw was “A.”
Moving the key from her left to right hand, she slid it into the lock. It opened with a series of thunks, the lock so large and heavy that she heard each tumbler move into place.
The room on the other side was lovely and well-appointed, similar in many ways to a green room. But the robe hanging on the wall wasn’t something she’d ever found while waiting backstage at a talk show.
Setting down her purse on a small side table, she took off her hat and then lifted the robe. It was heavy, and a gray so dark it would appear black in all but the brightest light. She pulled it on, then sat at the vanity, loosening her hair from the low bun and brushing it out with her fingers. Experimentally, she raised the hood. It cast her forehead, eyes, and upper cheeks in shadow.
She’d been fairly calm up until now, enjoying the adventure of it all, but now the vague anxiety she’d felt solidified into a hard ball in her stomach.
She could still walk away—at least she thought she could. Did she already know too much?
Beatrix rolled her neck on her shoulders and took deep breaths to calm herself.
Had Stefan sat in this very room, questioning his choice? No, not Stefan, and not just because he’d grown up knowing this secret. Stefan was bold and confident. When he made decisions, he didn’t waste time second-guessing himself.
Levi, then. Had Levi doubted his choice?
A bell chimed and a second door, across from the one she’d used to enter, opened.
That hadn’t been a long wait. She stood, the sleeves of the robe long enough so that only her fingertips were visible. She was glad for that. It hid the way her hands trembled.
Thirty seconds passed, and no one entered. The note hadn’t covered what she was supposed to do after the waiting. If this was a test to see if she could restrain her curiosity, she was about to fail. Beatrix stepped up to the door and pushed it open all the way.
The room beyond seemed to have been carved from the bedrock of the earth—the walls and ceiling made of stone. It was both dark and light—the corners of the room in deep shadow, while pin lights illuminated a large metal medallion set into the center of the floor and a high-backed chair. A rectangle of lighter-colored inlaid stone made a path from her door to the chair.
Well, that answered her question of what to do next.
Beatrix put her weight on her toes as she walked to the chair, intimidated enough that she didn’t want to make too much noise.
She sat, realizing as she did that sitting in the light meant she was blinded to anything happening in the shadows. It was like being on stage, where the audience was only a hint of texture and shapes in the darkness.
Several minutes passed, and Beatrix found herself thinking of her phone, wishing she had something to fiddle with, which was odd, because being on set was a lot of waiting, and she usually made a point of not looking at her phone so she could stay in the mindset of her role.
But on set there was always something going on, something to look at, even if it was just the crew resetting the shot. This was stillness in the unknown, with nothing to do but think. To question the decisions and actions that had brought her to this point.
Several more minutes passed, and her thoughts turned to her great-grandfather. After what Levi had said, she’d thought about what she knew of her mother’s father’s father. He’d fared well compared to many other Japanese Americans.
The story went that her great-grandfather’s best friend and business partner—Joseph—had quickly purchased all her great-grandfather’s business holdings and real estate for a single dollar each, the day after news broke about internment. After the war, Joseph sold everything back to her great-grandfather. Joseph was an important part of any story about her mother’s family, so much so that Beatrix’s uncle had been named Joseph in his honor.
Had Joseph really been a family friend? Or had he been her great-grandparents’ spouse? Or even just another member of the Trinity Masters who stepped in to help?
The darkness moved, and Beatrix only barely managed to suppress a yelp. A figure stepped onto the medallion and into the light.
The Grand Master. It had to be. The figure wore a black robe trimmed in gold. A heavy chain draped wide on their shoulders was reminiscent of the one worn by Henry VIII in his famous portrait.
“Beatrix Stokes. Come forward.”
The voice was female, which surprised her. Damned patriarchy making her think that a person in a position of authority was more likely to be male.
Beatrix rose and walked to the edge of the medallion. She hesitated there, awash in a strange, unfamiliar mix of feelings—sadness for a man who’d died before she was born, fear, inwardly directed anger that she hadn’t taken more time to think about this.
But the biggest emotion, the one that was chiming loud enough to drown out the others, was excitement.
“Join me,” the Grand Master said.
Beatrix stepped forward, into the light.
“You know our name and our purpose,” the woman intoned softly. “We are the Trinity Masters. We strive for the forbidden.”
“Today you make a choice. To dedicate your life to a purpose greater than you would know alone. To obey without question, but never be mindless. To keep our secrets, but be a voice of light in the dark.”
The moment was heavy and intimate, the words as weighty and old as the stone around them.
“Do you, Beatrix Stokes, on this hour and in this place, pledge the course of your life, its purpose and future, to the Trinity Masters?”
“Yes.” For all the turmoil she’d been feeling, the word came easily.
“You accept that this joining will last until the end o
f your life, and the contrecoup for disobedience, either purposeful or by folly, will be in equal magnitude to the rights and privileges you have been offered?”
Obey or you will be severely punished.
“Yes.”
The Grand Master was silent so long that Beatrix wondered if she’d answered wrong.
Finally she spoke, her voice much softer and less formal. “Last chance to back out.”
“I’m in,” Beatrix replied.
The Grand Master lifted the chain from her shoulders. “Give me your right hand. Push the sleeve back.”
Crap. There was going to be a blood ceremony of some kind, wasn’t there?
The Grand Master wound the chain twice around Beatrix’s lower arm, near the elbow. Then she pushed back her own sleeve. Beatrix waited for the knife to appear, but instead the Grand Master grasped Beatrix’s forearm.
Instinctively, Beatrix did the same, joining them with a warrior’s grip. The Grand Master grabbed the dangling chain, wrapping it around their joined wrists and hands until they were bound together.
“Beatrix Stokes, I hereby accept and welcome you to the Trinity Masters.”
Beatrix looked around the small stone room. Unlike the medallion room, this small chamber seemed like a dungeon cell. Admittedly, a dungeon cell that had been converted into a conference room.
“Now it’s time to teach you the secret handshake.” The handsome, dark-haired man with a slight accent laughed the stereotypical villain laugh only ever heard in comedies.
The more serious man, who’d brought her to this room, slanted a glance in the dark-haired man’s direction.
“Next time,” Beatrix suggested, “try to have the laugh come from lower in the torso. More like this.” Beatrix did her best villain laugh, and the sound bounced off the stone.
“Ha! That’s fantastic.” The dark-haired man was seriously hot, with his accent and hint of dorky funniness. Was this the kind of man she might expect to be marry?