by Shéa MacLeod
Actually, come to think of it...
My feet finally touched the bottom. In front of me was an intricately carved stone archway, rich with symbols I recognized from documentaries I'd seen on the History Channel. Templar Knights had always been something of an obsession of mine. Too bad Jack had refused to share much of his past. I paused to trace my fingers over roses, double crosses, and more arcane carvings. A few of them looked like they might be Atlantean, or at least Atlantean inspired. Another connection to my ancestry.
Through the archway was a large room. It was a replica of the one above, except instead of the plainness of the upper room, the walls and arches were richly carved in symbols. A secret Templar chapel underneath the public one.
"What is this place?" I asked as JP came to a stop in the center of the room. "I mean, I know it's a Templar chapel, but why all the secrecy? Templars were incredibly powerful and had chapels everywhere. They didn't need to hide underground." Not until that fateful day, Friday the Thirteenth.
"Ah, but the leaders always knew there might come a day when their influence would wane." The priest's expression turned grim. "And there's nothing more endangered than a power whose time is up."
Jack had been unusually quiet during our trip. Not that he was ever very chatty. I wondered how this blast from the past was making him feel. I couldn't even imagine how bizarre it must be.
"Blood on the water," he mumbled under his breath.
No kidding. The entire time the Templars had been in power, the French kings and even the Church had been jealous. The minute the Templars' influence began to fade, King Phillip was all over them like white on rice. And while the Church may not have been quite the culprit some stories had painted it, the pope still hadn't stood in the way of the king's atrocities.
"Okay," I said, turning slowly to take in the room, "I get why this place was important then. But why now?"
"Because it is well hidden," JP explained.
"This book you mentioned. It was here?" I asked.
"Yes. It was the safest place. Or so we thought."
I nodded. It made sense. The chapel was so out-of-the-way it would be nearly impossible to find. But someone had found it anyway.
Jack watched me, his demeanor silent and brooding. He was being singularly unhelpful. Either this was a test, or he was being a jackass. As his former lover, I'd have liked to go with jackass. As the Key of Atlantis, I had a feeling it was a test both of my deductive skills and of whatever supernatural powers had currently taken up residence in my body.
"Where exactly was the book kept?" I asked, glancing around the room. My guess was the altar, since there didn't seem to be any place else to store a book. It just seemed a little dumb to leave it lying about in plain sight.
Father Jean-Pierre stepped behind the altar. He pressed a series of symbols on the wall, and then stepped back as one of the stones popped out. "Here," he said, pulling the stone from the wall and placing it on the altar. "It was kept in this space."
I stepped closer and studied the hidden chamber. It was small. About six or seven inches across, maybe five deep, and with the height of a mail box slot. It would have held something about the size of a pocketbook paperback. Now it was completely empty. Not even a cobweb.
"When did the book go missing?"
"I'm not sure," JP admitted. "The book is old and somewhat fragile. It's best to leave it alone, sealed within the wall. I check on this chapel about once a month to insure things are in order, but I only inspect the book perhaps once in six months to avoid exposing it to the elements." He hesitated. There was something he wasn't saying.
"But this time?"
"I checked early. I got a feeling something was... off. When I looked, I discovered the book was gone." He shrugged. Clearly he was uncomfortable with nebulous feelings, unlike me. I pretty much lived off gut feeling.
"And the last time you did an inspection?"
"Two months ago."
Better than six months, but not by much. The book could be anywhere by now. I figured JP was smart enough to figure that out for himself, so I concentrated on what we did know.
"This had to be an inside job." I kept my voice as matter-of-fact and nonaccusatory as possible. JP looked suitably horrified. Jack leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing from JP to me and back again.
"Why do you say that?" A muscle worked in the good Father's jaw.
I manage to refrain from rolling my eyes. Was he stupid, or just naive? "Well, let me count the ways. First," I ticked off a finger, "a thief would have to find the chapel above. It's not exactly on the map."
"Tourists do stumble upon it from time to time," JP said.
"True. But," I held up a second finger, "you have to know to mess around with the altar in order to get down here. In fact, you have to know there even is a 'down here' to get to, so either you know where to push or you get really lucky." A third finger. "Once you descend into the belly of the beast, you have to find the right spot on the wall and push the right stones in the right order to reveal the book's hiding place. Finally," I held up a fourth finger, "you have to know there's something here worth taking. This is not something a person stumbles on randomly."
JP's expression didn't change. Jack, however, was watching me like a hawk.
"Who else knows of this chapel?" I asked. "Other than Jack, obviously."
JP nodded. "There is only one other. My predecessor. He is retired now and living in seclusion in Paris. There is no way he would reveal the book's existence, never mind its location."
"But the book has been here a long time."
The two men exchanged looks. Jack finally spoke up. "Since 1307."
The year King Phillip and his minions massacred most of the Templars in France. "And over the years, there have been other caretakers?"
Another glance. Another nod.
"Then someone during the last seven-hundred-plus years could have said something to the wrong person."
"It's possible," JP admitted. His tone told me he thought it unlikely, but I wasn't buying it. People talked, even closemouthed Templars and holy priests. The best kept secrets had a way of finding themselves whispered into the wrong ears.
"Someone other than the three of you could have known what was here and either had the exact set of directions, which is possible though unlikely, or got the information out of one of you three."
"No way." Jack shook his head. "None of us would betray the cause like that."
Not on purpose. I didn't say it aloud, but I'm pretty sure Jack read it on my face. Still, I left it alone for the moment. "The cause? What exactly is this book? Why is it so important?"
Jack and JP shifted uncomfortably. Neither said anything.
"Spill," I ordered. I was getting tired of the game.
"We don't know," Jack finally admitted.
"What do you mean?" How did they not know? They'd been protecting this thing longer than most countries had been in existence.
Jack sighed, running his hands through his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. "We found it in the same cave where we found your amulet."
I blinked. This was the first I'd heard of it. "Wait a minute. That would make the book thousands of years old. Wouldn't it have crumbled to dust by now?"
"It would have," JP spoke up, "if it were made of leather and vellum or cardboard and paper, like most books."
"What on earth is it made of?"
Jack shook his head. "We don't know. Back then we'd never seen anything like it. We still haven't. It's not any material that this world has produced, as near as I can tell."
My eyes widened. "It's from Atlantis."
Jack nodded. "I don't dare have it tested."
That I understood. For one thing, it would mean damaging the book. For another, it would result in some very uncomfortable questions about how one came into possession of an ancient alien tome.
"Okay, so you can't have it checked out scientifically, but surely you read it."
Holy cannoli. The book was written in ancient Atlantean. Important was an understatement. The book went far beyond priceless. No wonder somebody wanted it.
"Okay, we need to talk to your predecessor, JP. As soon as possible." I stared at JP, almost daring him to fight me on this. He didn't. He nodded almost meekly. "What does this thing look like?"
Jack gave me one of his quirky half smiles. "That I can help with. It's small. Maybe six inches by four inches." He held his hands up to indicate the size. "About fifty or sixty pages. Handwritten. The cover is a plain brown and looks almost like leather, but isn't. And there's a symbol engraved on the front."
"What's the symbol? Atlantean, I assume."
"No, actually. It's the Heart of Atlantis," Jack said, nodding at the amulet that hung around my neck. "It's in a slightly darker brown than the cover color with blue in the center, same as the stone in the real amulet. Superimposed over that is the image of an object that looks very much like a key."
"Oh, my." I stared at him in shock as Cordelia's words tumbled over and over in my mind.
Find the key to the key.
Chapter 25
"You know where this retired priest lives?" I asked Jack as we climbed back in the car. I pulled my seatbelt across and snapped it in. "It's somewhere in Paris, right?" JP had claimed not to know, which I thought was odd. Then again, I thought the whole damn thing was odd.
"Yeah." Jack was too casual, too nonchalant. And the expression on his face was too uncomfortable. He was hiding something. As usual.
I narrowed my eyes. "Uh huh."
"Look, he's a friend, all right?"
I tried to raise one eyebrow, but gave up and raised both of them. "Why is this such a big deal, Jack?"
He shrugged. "It's not." A slight flush stained his high cheekbones.
"Holy crap, you're embarrassed." I couldn't resist poking at him. "What have you got to be so embarrassed about?"
"It's nothing, okay? We worked together for decades keeping that book safe. I owe him a lot." His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "I couldn't just let him rot in some care home."
Like the one we'd visited back home in Oregon. Jack didn't need to say it; it was written all over his face. I decided to give him a break.
"So what did you do?"
He started the car, fiddling a little with the heating so he didn't have to look at me. "I have a small apartment in Paris. I let him stay there."
I'm no idiot. There was more to it than that, but I let it go for the moment. I'd find out soon enough. I changed the subject as he pulled back out onto the B road that led out of town.
"This book. You brought it with you when you fled the massacre?"
"Yes. It was one of the things our leader sent with me." He stopped at a four-way stop before turning onto the highway-like A road which led to the freeway. It was a little over two hours to Paris. "We had no idea what it was or what it meant, but we knew it was important in the same way the amulet was important. We couldn't let it be destroyed."
I tucked my hands under my thighs, pressing the palms against the leather seats. It was an odd habit I sometimes had when I wasn't driving. I found it comfortable. Or maybe it was just a way to keep myself from grabbing the steering wheel. Control issues? Me? "Why didn't you take it out of France with you? You got the Heart out without a problem."
Jack shrugged. "Figured it wasn't a good idea to keep both objects together. Just in case. The priest of this village was a friend to the Templars, so it was safe enough here."
Until now. It hung there between us.
"And Sunwalkers? Was the priest a friend to them, too?" I asked.
He glanced at me, face expressionless. He'd noticed I didn't say 'us.' He knew I wouldn't. He might think I was a Sunwalker, but I wasn't ready to go that far. Not until I was sure. The thought of possibly living forever, gaining power from the sun; freaky as hell.
"Yeah. The chapel was already there, along with the hiding place. We just made use of it."
"And over the years, each successive priest has continued the role of protector," I surmised.
"Exactly."
"What about photographs?" I asked. "Didn't anyone ever take pictures? Send them to code breakers or something?"
"Are you nuts?" Jack's tone made it clear he thought I was a moron. "We couldn't let whatever information is in those books out there in public. The risk was too great. We couldn't let any copies be made of the book. We hoped that one day, we'd figure out how to read it. Find out what it was for." He shook his head. "That day still hasn't come, and unless we find the book, it never will."
Except he was only partially right. Maybe we couldn't read the book yet, but I knew what the book was for. If Cordelia and her otherworldly contacts were to be believed, it was the key.
And I was the lock.
* * *
Jack's "small apartment" in Paris just happened to be a penthouse in one of the gorgeous old buildings on the Île de la Cité in the middle of the Seine. The views of Notre Dame Cathedral and the river were breathtaking. And that was an understatement.
I felt like a kid with her nose pressed up against the glass of a department store, drooling over the latest toy. Only I was drooling over the wonders of Paris. The apartment must have cost a freaking fortune.
A boat slid past on the river, lights strung across its deck, creating magic for the diners enjoying their meal onboard, along with the view. The faint melodies of a string quartet drifted on the breeze. I could imagine myself down there with Jack, sipping wine... Inigo. I'd meant I could imagine myself down there with Inigo. What the hell was my problem?
"If you're done acting like a tourist, Father Nicolas is ready to see us." Jack's voice was dry, as if he'd somehow read my mind.
I turned around and made a face at him to hide the confusion in my heart. "If I want to act like a tourist, I damn well can." I knew it was a childish comeback, but it was the best I had with my head such a mess. Besides which, Paris was beautiful, and I'd never ever had the chance to enjoy such a view from such a place. Probably wouldn't again, either. Even my generous salary didn't run to penthouse apartments in the heart of the City of Lights. "Still, duty calls, I suppose. Lead on." I gave Jack a nod and followed him into the other room.
If I'd thought the view from the living room was magnificent, it was nothing compared to the view from Father Nicolas's bedroom. The intricate stonework of the Cathedral was softened by spring foliage from dozens of shade trees, set against the backdrop of the river sparkling in the early evening sun.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" The creaky voice caught my attention.
Father Nicolas lay on a hospital bed facing the bank of windows, propped up slightly so he could enjoy the view. His frail body was hooked up to half a dozen beeping machines. He looked about a thousand years old, withered and shrunken, but his eyes shone bright with intelligence. His body may have been wasted, but his mind was sharp.
"Yes," I said with a smile. "It's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen."
"Imagine what heaven will be like."
I didn't bother telling him I didn't believe in heaven. Most religious folk didn't understand my feelings on spirituality and the afterlife, but it was hard to believe the dogma when you'd seen what I had.
"Ah," Father Nicolas said, reading my face as clearly as if I'd spoken. "You don't believe in the afterlife."
"Oh, but I do," I assured him with a smile. "Just not the Christian version."
His eyes twinkled as he folded his hands, spotted and lined with age, calmly in his lap. "Who said I was talking about the Christian version?"
He had me there. I guessed I wasn't the only one who'd seen the world as most people never had. "Touché," I said with a laugh. Plopping into a chair next to the bed, I switched subjects. "Jack told you about what happened?" I glanced up at J
ack, leaning against the wall next to the headboard. He'd gone into strong-and-silent mode again.
"Yes." Father Nicolas's expression darkened. "It concerns me greatly. I have been lying here thinking who else could know about the book and its hiding place besides Jack, Jean-Pierre, and myself. None of us are the type to share our secrets easily."
I glanced over at Jack again. "No sh... kidding."
Father Nicolas let out a chuckle. I hadn't fooled him one bit.
"Come to any conclusions?" I asked.
"One," he said grimly, the amusement fading from his face.
Jack and I exchanged looks. I had a bad feeling about this. "Sounds like a story," I prompted the old man.
"Yes, and a disturbing one." Father Nicolas's fingers plucked at the coverlet across his lap. "Many years ago, when I was still the caretaker of our lovely little chapel, I met a young man who was visiting France to study the history of the Knights Templar. He asked to meet with me and I agreed. We spoke at some length about various things. He had some... unusual theories."
"What kind of theories?" Jack asked.
Father Nicolas glanced up at him. "The kind of theories that involve magic not of this world."
"Atlantis," I whispered. Somebody had made the connection.
"Yes," Father Nicolas said. "I believe so, though he did not say it outright."
"Who was he?" Jack asked.
"I do not know," the priest admitted. "He gave me a name that was clearly not his own. I believed he was simply trying to keep things on, how do you young people say it? The low down?"
I grinned, despite myself. "The down low."
"Yes. That. Despite my training, I did not see through the man's guise until after I'd shared a few tidbits of information with him." Nicolas held up his hand to forestall Jack's protest. "Nothing of import, mind you. Nothing about the book or the chapel or even about you, but enough to send him in the right direction. There seemed little harm back then, but now I know it was a mistake. Especially when I discovered who the man became." With shaking fingers Nicolas reached for something on the table beside his bed. He handed me an old newspaper clipping.