The Concealed (The Lakewood Series Book 1)

by Sarah Kleck

  “Yes, I’d be delighted to come.”

  She described the way to her place. It wasn’t far at all from my dorm. I could get there comfortably on foot.

  “Till later. I’m looking forward to it,” Ruth said.

  “Yes, till later. And . . . thanks,” I said and hung up.

  About twenty to seven, it was already dark outside and the sparse light of a few streetlights lit the street at irregular intervals. I felt a strange constriction in my chest and picked up my pace. The strange feeling of being followed overcame me once more and I felt a nervous fear rise yet again. The thought of that man went through my head. “Get away or I will no longer be able to do anything for you.” I would have run if the cobblestone pavement hadn’t been so slippery from the slush and the risk of falling so great. I looked around every few steps, but except for a cat that almost frightened me to death, I couldn’t see anything.

  A few minutes later, I stood in front of Ruth’s building, relieved. I quickly looked for her name among the labels and pressed the bell. Suddenly, I realized I was standing there empty-handed. Damn! I should have brought something. Flowers or a bottle of wine. But it was too late for that.

  “Hello?” Ruth said through the intercom. Her voice calmed me.

  “Hi, Ruth—it’s Evelyn.”

  “Hi, Evelyn, come on in. Second floor, apartment on the right.” A buzzing sound told me she’d opened the door. I quickly went in and closed it carefully after looking around one last time. I thoroughly wiped my wet boots on the doormat in the entrance area of the building so I wouldn’t spread the slush through the entire stairwell. Then I walked up to the second floor, where Ruth received me at her doorstep with a smile.

  “So nice of you to have come, dear,” she said and greeted me with a warm hug. “I hope you’re hungry. I made lasagna.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” I said and entered the flat with Ruth. Her home was small but furnished with loving care. I felt comfortable right away. Apart from countless books distributed across a number of shelves without any recognizable system, several colorful accessories and photos of smiling faces radiated comfort.

  “Is that your daughter?” I asked and pointed at a particularly pretty picture that showed Ruth with a startlingly beautiful young woman.

  “Yes, that’s Hanna,” she said proudly while taking my coat, putting it on a hanger, and hanging it in the maple closet in the hallway. “The photo was taken this summer, shortly before she moved to London.”

  “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Isn’t she, though?” she said, touched.

  When I looked around the flat, I noticed there was no evidence on the shoe rack or in the closet that Ruth was living with a man.

  “Do you live here by yourself?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What about Hanna’s father?” I asked, digging further. I hoped I wasn’t overstepping my bounds.

  “Oh, I never married.” She smiled. “Come, let’s go into the kitchen. Supper should be just about ready.”

  My stomach growled at the delicious smell that greeted me in the kitchen, which had been put together with a colorful assortment of furniture. I hadn’t sensed a true feeling of hunger for weeks, but this aroma got my mouth watering.

  “It smells delightful,” I said, and Ruth rewarded me with a charming smile. She asked me to sit down at a small square table she’d already set with multicolored dishes and candles of varying sizes. She filled our glasses and then took the pan out of the stove with crocheted potholders and set it on the table. My stomach growled again, causing us to share a laugh.

  She took my plate and placed a large piece of steaming lasagna on it with a wooden spatula, then served herself.

  “Bon appétit.”

  “Bon appétit, Ruth,” I replied and impatiently cut a piece with the fork and pushed the still too-hot lasagna into my mouth. The taste of savory tomatoes, soft pasta, fine herbs, and melted cheese caused me to moan. “I think this is the best I’ve ever had,” I said after I’d swallowed the first bite and was already guiding the second to my mouth.

  Ruth laughed.

  “Well, tell me,” she said a few minutes later. “How do you like Oxford?”

  “It’s beautiful here,” I said, carefully considering what to tell her and what to keep to myself. “Especially the buildings. The architecture is fantastic.”

  “How’s the dorm?”

  “Great. My room is fairly small but completely sufficient. I even have my own bathroom.”

  “And the college? You’re at Christ Church, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “The courses I’m taking are really interesting,” I said while taking another bite of lasagna, “but because I’m several months behind, I really have to work hard to catch up. That’s why I joined a study group right away. We meet once a week.” That should have been, we used to meet once a week.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Hanna was in several study groups. That’s got to be better than working alone in the library.”

  I tried to force a smile and placed the last piece of lasagna in my mouth. “That was delicious. Thank you so much.”

  “Did you have enough?” she asked.

  I rubbed my full belly. “More than enough,” I said, smiling.

  We cleared the table, and while she started washing dishes, Ruth told me of her work as a taxi driver. I offered to help her with the dishes, but when I reached for a wet plate, it suddenly slid out of my hand and broke on the rack. I cut my thumb trying to catch it. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it bled immediately.

  Ruth took my hand and inspected it. “Fortunately, it’s not deep,” she said. “Let’s get you a bandage.” She took me to the bathroom, where she sought out disinfectant, a bandage, and scissors. “Can you manage by yourself?”

  “I think I can manage,” I joked. “Sorry about the plate.” Ruth made a dismissive hand motion to tell me I needn’t apologize and went back to the kitchen to pick up the shards.

  I let plenty of water run over the wound—as usual—until it stopped bleeding, then I disinfected the cut and put a bandage over it. When I was done, I went past the overflowing bookshelves to the kitchen, scanning the titles as I went. As if hit by lightning, I stopped at the title of one book.

  Nimue, I read on the thick green binding. Where did I know that from? I had heard that word somewhere before. I pulled the book from the shelf.

  “Everything all right?” Ruth called from the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I said, lost in thought, and looked at the book in my hands.

  “I hope you left some room for dessert.” She was drying her hands on a checkered towel when I entered the kitchen.

  “What do you have there?” she asked and pointed at the book.

  “What does Nimue mean?”

  “Nimue was the Lady of the Lake. The Guardian of Avalon. Don’t you know the old legends? The legend of Arthur?”

  I reflected. “Yes, I know the legend of Arthur. King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Lancelot, Merlin . . . But this is the first time I’ve heard of Nimue.” Well, not the very first time, but I couldn’t think of why the name seemed familiar.

  “Then it’s high time,” said Ruth with a smile and turned to the counter to prepare the dessert. “Nimue is a key element in the Arthur legend. She was the one who gave Merlin Excalibur—you know, the sword Arthur would later pull out of the stone. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the best reputation, but in my opinion she’s not been given due credit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nimue was Merlin’s lover. However, in many narratives, it’s said she didn’t love him but only seduced him to steal his magical powers. It’s even said that she killed him, that she buried him alive in a cave.” Ruth snorted. “Utter garbage, if you ask me.”

  “So you think she loved him?”

/>   Ruth turned and set two bowls of vanilla ice cream and hot raspberries on the table. Then, with a meaningful look, she took the book from my hand, turned pages until she’d found the passage she was looking for, and began to read:

  Thus I turn my back on immortality,

  preferring your love to eternal life.

  For all the time in the world is meaningless,

  compared with just one day by your side.

  She pressed the open book against her chest and looked at me. “I believe Merlin and Nimue loved each other with all their hearts,” she said after a short pause. “A love that was stronger than death.” Ruth was visibly touched.

  I was startled. “Was Nimue immortal?”

  “She was the Guardian of Avalon, the legendary, mist-enshrouded island that’s said to contain the source of eternal life,” Ruth said almost in a whisper. “Eternal youth and beauty,” she added, lost in thought, but I suddenly had the strange image of a young woman in the arms of a doting old man.

  “What did Nimue see in an old man like Merlin?” I asked with a frown. I found the thought a little off-putting.

  Ruth laughed. “In the fifth century, the average life expectancy of a person was barely thirty-four years—anyone in their late thirties was considered geriatric back then. That’s why Merlin is shown as a frail old man with a white beard, because this is our idea of a man in the last years of his life. But he was probably only a few years older than you.” She smiled. “And to Nimue, age played no role. She was a wise spirit in the body of a beautiful young woman,” she added thoughtfully.

  Neither of us said anything. I was lost in thought, so I barely touched my dessert.

  “And what does the lake mean? You called her . . .”

  “The Lady of the Lake, yes. Nimue was a magical creature—water was her element.”

  Water was her element. I was startled. That was precisely the phrase I’d told Jared before he stared at me in shock. Back then in the lecture hall when he sat beside me. He had stared at me just as upset as . . . But of course! Suddenly I remembered where I’d heard that name before. Professor Mayflower had used it on my first day, before she fled from the lecture hall. I stared into empty space, shocked. What did it all mean?

  “What’s the matter?” Ruth asked, concerned, tearing me from my thoughts.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just . . . I just thought of something,” I said and started to eat my melting ice cream.

  “Why are you so interested in Nimue?” she asked and turned to her dessert.

  I didn’t know what to say. Surely I was just imagining things and would look ridiculous if I talked about it. And that was the best case. It was more likely Ruth would consider me crazy. I had to think of something.

  “Well, I read on the Christ Church homepage that one of my professors is interested in British mythology, and I’d like to get some brownie points with her by having a little bit of background knowledge.” This excuse came easier than expected.

  “You mean Professor Mayflower?” Ruth asked.

  I gasped. “Yes, that’s the one. Do you know her?”

  “No, not personally. But I’ve been interested in the Arthurian legend since my childhood. I got that from my mother—it was as if she were possessed by it. And in some circles the name Mayflower is well known.”

  “In some circles?” I repeated and leaned forward with anticipation. Ruth also leaned forward a little and suddenly spoke in a lowered voice.

  “In this area there is talk of a secret society that calls itself Legatum Merlini.”

  “Merlin’s Legacy,” I translated. I’d never been an ace in Latin, but my knowledge of the language was good enough.

  Ruth nodded. “A centuries-old order that has taken on the duty of protecting and preserving Merlin’s legacy.”

  “And what is that legacy?” I asked.

  “My mother sought the answer to that question all her life.” Ruth looked off into the distance and became pensive. I gave her a moment to return to the present from her memories.

  “What do you know about it?” I asked as soon as Ruth’s look had cleared up again and she smiled at me apologetically.

  “Well,” she answered, reflecting. “Supposedly, the Order has a kind of secret identifying sign. Shortly before her death, my mother spoke of nothing else.”

  “What does this sign look like?” I asked and couldn’t shake the suspicion that I’d known the answer for some time. “Do you have a picture of it?”

  Ruth got up and hurried to her book collection. I couldn’t tolerate staying seated with all this anticipation and shot up from my chair and followed her into the hallway.

  “Let’s see,” Ruth said and stroked her finger along the spines of the books. “Ah, here it is.” She pulled a dark-blue volume from the shelf, licked her index finger, and began leafing through the book. I shifted back and forth from one leg to the other.

  “Here,” Ruth said an endless ten seconds later and pointed at a tiny symbol at the very bottom of the last page. The tension was difficult to bear—I impatiently looked at it and—

  “I knew it!” I burst out when I recognized the symbol.

  Ruth looked at me, surprised. “You know what that is?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes,” I said and all of a sudden was pervaded by a remarkable inner calm. It all finally seemed to make sense. “That’s the Calmburry family crest.”

  Incredible! They all really did belong to a secret society. Jared, Colin, Madison, Aiden, Karen Mayflower, and Professor Martin. That’s why they all behaved so strangely. They were trying to keep something secret. Something that had to do with Merlin. I laughed inside. Sally hadn’t been that far off the mark when she suggested the Mafia.

  “Where have you seen this before?” Ruth asked and suddenly seemed really excited. It looked as if she had not only helped me move ahead but that I was also in possession of a piece of the puzzle she was missing. For a second I weighed whether I could trust Ruth and then concluded that if I couldn’t trust her, I couldn’t trust anybody.

  I took a moment to collect myself, then breathed in deeply and told Ruth my entire story. Starting with my first day at the college with the crash in the lecture hall. Jared. Professor Mayflower, who stared at us in shock and then stormed out. I described how I’d come across the book in the library and what I’d read in it. I talked about Madison, her tattoo, the attack in the shower, my amulet, and Professor Martin’s seal ring. Finally, I told her about Felix and how Jared had saved me and about Sally, who believed she’d been healed by him.

  When I was done, I exhaled loudly. It had felt so good to finally talk to someone about all these things. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from me. I felt so liberated and relieved I almost burst into tears. Only when I was sure nothing would happen did I look Ruth in the eyes.

  “Incredible!” she said and shook her head in disbelief. She appeared to be in turmoil. “My mother spent nearly her entire life trying to solve this puzzle, and now . . .”

  “What now?” I asked. I had not expected this reaction.

  “Now she’s no longer here to see how it was solved,” Ruth said and her voice was suddenly filled with a deep sadness.

  “I solved it? What do you mean?”

  She was silent for a short while, then furrowed her brow. “You read about Myrddin in the Calmburry family chronicle, didn’t you? Eowyn’s youngest son,” she reminded me.

  “Yes. What about him?”

  Ruth looked at the ceiling in thought. “I know much about Myrddin from my mother. But I’d never associated him with the Calmburrys. Though it seems so obvious . . .” For a moment Ruth appeared completely lost in thought, and when she continued to speak, it seemed more like she was talking to herself. “Was that what Mom had found out? The discovery she spoke about? She wanted to tell me . . . but the accident . . . S
he never got around to it . . .” Ruth shook her head. “Why did I never figure it out myself? It’s almost as if this family is somehow . . . shielded.” She shut her eyes, focusing. “And yet everything unmistakably points in that direction. The plane crash . . . Karen Mayflower takes in little Jared as her foster child . . .”

  Wait a minute. “Jared grew up with Karen Mayflower?” Had I heard that right? “Ruth, what do you mean by that?” I could not make any sense of her words.

  She needed a moment to sort her thoughts, and her eyes began to glow when she continued to speak. “Do you have any idea who Myrddin Calmburry was?” She breathed in very deeply, and her voice had a grave ring to it when she said, “The medieval name Myrddin eventually became Myrdin, later Merdin, and finally . . . Merlin.”

  It was as if I’d been robbed of my speech when I understood what she meant. “Does this mean . . . ?”

  “If what’s written in the book Mayflower is trying to hide in her office is true and if it’s also true that the symbol I showed you is the family crest of the Calmburrys, then . . . Jared must be a descendant of Merlin—the greatest magician who ever lived. The last one, too, if I’m not mistaken. As far as I know, his entire family died in the plane crash.” She leaned forward over the table. “Do you understand what this means?” she asked, almost trembling with anticipation.

  I stared at her, my mouth open. Incapable of making a sound.

  As if she feared being overheard, Ruth lowered her voice to a whisper. The new insight resonated in her every word. “He is the one the Order wants to protect. He is Legatum Merlini—Merlin’s Legacy!”

  I had to let that sink in for a moment.

  Jared was not only supposed to be the member of some secret society but also the reason for its existence?

  “Evelyn, dear—are you feeling all right?” Ruth asked, concerned. “You look awfully pale.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, clinging to the table and struggling against the feeling of dizziness. Ruth looked me over and busied herself with one of the cabinets in the kitchen. When she turned around, she was holding a bottle with a handwritten label and had two small glasses in her other hand. She placed the bottle and glasses on the table in front of me and poured us each a little of the clear liquid.