by Briana Snow
But they can’t have gone far, Maximus thought. It was only minutes ago, he had heard both women’s voices inside. He started to climb up onto the shelf, intent on following, when hands and a grip like a vice seized the back of his coat and hauled him backwards to crash into the wall.
“Argh!” It was like being hit by a charging buffalo, Maximus thought—not that he knew what that felt like. But for a moment all he could see were bright stars and his head felt woozy. There was a shape standing over him, and it was the shape of a man in a security guard outfit, looking down at him.
Leonidas Shreeves should be dead. He had a near-ruined body, with blood drenching his uniform and wounds where Maximus could clearly see the white gleam of bone fragments and the purple of organs beyond. Even in this terrible state, the man was strong as he pulled Maximus’s arms apart and pinned them to the wall. The security chief’s gasps came ragged and wet-sounding, and Maximus knew that the body couldn’t last much longer.
“Guh-guhhh… Good!” the Archon gasped through the broken teeth and ruined mouth of its host as it drew its face closer and closer to the Special Consul of the Knights Templar. “I need a new body!”
Maximus tried to thrash out of the Archon’s grasp, but he couldn’t. He tried to scream, but the horror was too great as a black cloud seemed to engulf his mind, and a sensation of infinite cold froze his soul…
Chapter XVI
The flight to the United Kingdom was, for Penelope at least, a lot scarier than it should have been. Despite the fact that Verity Vorja had somehow managed to produce visas and letters of reference for Penelope Harp out of nowhere (adding to the feeling that Penelope had that the woman was holding something back from her), Penelope couldn’t stop imagining that, at any moment she would receive a tap on the shoulder, and she would look up to see a security guard or a flight attendant, saying “Sorry ma’am, but you are a suspect in a triple, double, multi-murder case…”
Of course, none of that happened—although the news of an ‘incident’ was all over the radio and online whenever she checked her phone.
“He’ll be fine,” Verity said, looking up from her magazine that she was busy pretending to read.
“Who? What?” Penelope asked nervously.
“Your cat. What did you say his name was? Blake?” Verity shrugged.
“Blake, yes, the poet—not the pop singer,” Penelope qualified, almost as an afterthought.
“Uh-huh.” Verity clearly wasn’t that interested either way, and for a moment Penelope felt a flash of anger that that was the only thing that Verity thought she might be annoyed at. Not at the loss of her job, her home, her country of birth, and the multiple gruesome murders that appeared to be happening around her with alarming regularity.
The Luminaire sat behind them somewhere, or underneath, Penelope thought—safely stashed away in a brand new child’s suitcase, coddled amongst clothes and other non-occult items. The Librarian was quite frankly amazed that they hadn’t been stopped and questioned at customs, given that it appeared obvious to her that they were smuggling a stolen, ancient manuscript.
“Just trust me,” Verity had said, and, although Penelope Harp didn’t, she did remain silent as Verity produced the documents to the flight and customs staff, and they had nodded sagely, discretely, and checked her tickets.
“Sometimes, it helps to know royalty,” Verity had shrugged, saying in her cool slightly East European clipped tones. Penelope had asked her how she had come to know royalty, but all the Book Hunter and Antiquities Dealer had said was, “Which royals? My work has made me a guest to every royal dynasty this side of Rome!”
Penelope didn’t press the question, as her curiosity was dampened somewhat by the fact that she could feel the Luminaire pulling on her mind like a bad song. It was almost constant, lilting and whispering somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness; the same ethereal whistling and whining that she heard when she had opened it. It was like hearing the electronic whine of a television or a computer before you could hear what was being broadcast.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” Verity asked her as they began their approach to Heathrow airport, in the city of London, England. “The manuscript, I mean,”
Penelope nodded, her face pale. She tried to tell herself that it was flying making her nervous. What was it that Verity had said—that the book was cursed? What if we have a sudden catastrophic engine failure in mid-air?
Verity opened her mouth as if to say something, her face deadly serious—but then she just shook her head and looked back at her non-interesting magazine. “Don’t worry, Penelope. I have allies in the British Library, and together…”
“No, wait,” Penelope said, gripping onto Verity’s arm beside her tightly. “You tell me what it was that you were going to say. I could see that it was important.”
Dante said that I couldn’t trust her, Penelope thought.
Once again, Verity did the open-mouth and worried look, but only shook her head. “No, you’re not ready, Penelope. Wait until we find the second…”
“You tell me now, Verity Vorja!” Penelope hissed, causing the passengers across the aisle from them to look around in alarm. People were always a little on edge on airplane flights. The Special Collections Librarian continued in a slightly quieter voice. “I’ve given up my home and my job and my cat. Most of the people that I’ve known over the last few months are now dead. So, I think that you owe me the truth, okay?”
The plane began to shake as it descended, and Verity frowned, looking down at Penelope’s hand on her arm, and this time nodding as she decided what it was that she was going to do.
“Okay then, but don’t blame me if you freak out.” Verity sighed. “It’s the Luminaire. You know I told you that it was cursed, and that it draws the Archon to it?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, that’s not all, I’m afraid,” Verity said heavily as the seatbelt light came on, and Penelope had to disengage her hand from her companion in order to affix the security precaution. “It’s the Luminaire. Once it’s been opened, well, it is sort of like a living thing. The Church used to call it a plague.”
“I really don’t follow…” Penelope said, as the lights of the city of London appeared out of the window outside.
“Well, you know that the books are in three parts, the one that you found in New York, and the one here in London, and a third? Well, usually they go dormant, if they have been left alone for long periods. But when they are handled, they sort of wake up, become active.” Verity looked, for the first time that Penelope had seen her, scared. “That is when the curse is at its strongest, and also why the previous owner probably got away with it for so long.”
“The World War Two soldier?” Penelope asked. “The one who donated the Luminare to the New York Public Library?”
“Yes, if he just left it alone for all of those years then I guess that is why he stayed alive, but now that it is active again…” Verity made an uneasy gesture with her shoulders.
“So? We already know that this is bad, though,” Penelope pointed out. “But you said that I was immune to the curse, that because I was psychic or whatever that the curse was neutralized.” Penelope didn’t believe any of this spiel for a moment, but she couldn’t see what made Verity so worried all of a sudden.
“Yes, it is not the curse that I am worried about at all,” Verity said. “It’s the fact that you are psychic. That is what the Luminaire Minus Clavem is designed to do. To feed on the nascent abilities of the psychic to open the portals to hell. That is why you can feel the Luminaire, because it is attached to your soul.”
“To feed on my nascent abilities…” Penelope repeated. She could have laughed, despite how gross it sounded. “Well, you are probably lucky there then—as I am not sure I have any nascent abilities, psychic or not.”
Verity just stared at her. “Penelope…”
This is all ridiculous, Penelope started to think once more. Maybe I was right before, and
that this was all a big conspiracy. But the next words out of Verity’s mouth stopped her in her tracks.
“What do you remember about your parents?” she asked, as the plane bounced on the tarmac of Heathrow airport.
Chapter XVII
“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you for flying with us, and please enjoy your stay in London!” the announcer said as the plane taxied to the departure lounge, and the seat-belt lights switched from on to off. People started to move, standing and stretching their legs, and reaching for their overhead luggage. All apart from the two women, who sat locked in their seats.
“What do you mean, my parents?” Penelope felt the weight of the Luminaire tugging at her mind like an insistent toddler. It wants me to open it again, she knew. “What have my parents got to do with any of this?”
Verity had, if it were possible, paled even more than before. “It is why I knew it had to be you, you see, as soon as I found out where the first volume of the Luminaire was kept. Imagine my delight and surprise when I found out that one of the Harp children worked at the New York Public Library,” Verity said, her slightly clipped tones softening. Penelope wondered if she was attempting some kind of apology for her behavior or her prior silence.
“One of the Harp children! How many more of us are there?” Penelope said, not bothering to keep her voice low at all. Luckily, most of the passengers were already exiting the plane at a quick pace.
“One more. The third died around six years ago,” Penelope said sadly.
“Three!?” The meek-mannered librarian started to shake her head. “No. No, this is ridiculous. Dante was right, I cannot trust you. I knew my parents, they loved me, they would never have kept this secret from me.”
The plane carriage was starting to empty, leaving the two women sitting there at the back of their compartment.
“You were four,” Verity pointed out. “How much could your parents explain to a four-year-old?”
“But…” Penelope stammered. She had a point.
“Could they tell a four-year-old that their jobs were a cover for the real work that they were doing? A part of the secret society? Could they tell a four-year-old that fairy-tale monsters were real, and that yes, she really would have to check under her bed for the rest of her life?” Verity shook her head. “No, your parents were some of the most respected scientists of the paranormal world. They were a part of a group just simply called the Society, which itself grew out of the ancient seventeenth century Royal Society, founded in the UK. They were to the Templars, what I guess you librarians are, to us Book Hunters. Two sides of the same coin. The Society believed in knowledge and exploration, the Templars in power and might.”
“Were?”
“The Society fell apart after your parents died, Penelope. Your older brother, Marcus, tried to keep it going but couldn’t find a way to keep all of the different cliques together and safe from the Templars. He died in a train crash in Estonia, although many people believed that he was killed by the Templars,” Verity said, blushing as she drew out of her pocket her purse, and flipped it open to pull out a faded photograph of a man with mousy brown, disheveled hair in his mid to late thirties, smiling in a tweed jacket.
“You knew my brother?” My brother that I never even knew that I had?
“Yes. I was in love with your brother,” Verity said. “He was the acting President of the Society, and I was a member of the Order of St. Agnes. He welcomed me and the Order into the Society. He was a brave, generous man,” she finished quietly.
Penelope curiously felt a wave of grief wash over her, like she had lost something that she hadn’t even known that she had owned. “And the other?” she said through her emotions. “My other sibling?”
“Darius Harp,” Verity said softly. “He didn’t stay with the Society at all. He became a Knight Templar, and I believe still works for them.”
“But you said that the Templars killed our parents?”
“The car accident when you were four? Yes. The Templars were responsible for that. Luckily your parents had already ensured that you would be well taken care of, far away from the Templar clutches in America. The Knights got to Darius when he was a teenager, or so Marcus told me. They brainwashed him. Told him that your parents were evil, that they had to die.” Verity’s voice became thick with contempt. “So you see why it was important for me to get to you, and to make you believe. You, Penelope Harp, are the last true link to your parents, and you are psychic because all of the Harps are psychic. It flows through your family like the iron in your blood. And now you have the first volume of the Luminaire, and the Knights Templar will stop at nothing—even using your own brother Darius, to try and stop you from getting the other two.”
“Maybe I don’t want the other two, considering that the only thing this paranormal stuff has brought to my family is death,” Penelope said sadly.
“The Luminaire has been activated now, Penelope. That is what I was scared of telling you. The portal might not be visible, or as strong as when you have the book open—but don’t doubt for a moment that it isn’t open. The Luminaire is feeding on you to tear apart the veils between the planes, and even now the armies of hell are getting closer and closer…” Verity intoned.
“Ma’am? Ladies?” A treacle and candy voice broke through their muttered conversation, and they both startled, looking up to see a smiling, but clearly very annoyed air stewardess standing over them. “Were you going to disembark the plane, or had you just booked a round trip?” she asked tartly. Verity and Penelope apologized, and reached for their things.
Chapter XVIII
“Now that I’m here looking at it,” Penelope said, a moment after stepping out of the black cab that had carried them all the way through central London, “the British Library is one of the ugliest buildings I’ve ever seen!”
“Hmm, you might be right there,” Verity said, stepping out the other side of the taxi, and throwing a roll of notes into the open window, just like she had in America.
“’Ere, I can’t change these, love!” the Cockney taxi driver said, picking up the wad of twenty-dollar American bills.
“Who said I wanted change?” the Book Hunter replied over her shoulder at the taxi driver. “Keep it. Change it at a bank or whatever you have over here.” She walked away from the taxi driver, who had just realized that he had been paid about three times as much as the journey was worth.
It was almost evening, and the British Library—one of the hubs of learning and erudition for the entire of the United Kingdom, stood before them in its dark red brick, and its many sloping slated rooftops. To one side of them sat the immense black iron statue of a seated figure with a sextant, studying some arcane work of geography or science. I think I know how they feel, Penelope thought, looking at the intense scowl of concentration on the statue’s face. Under her arm she carried the suitcase that contained the Luminaire manuscript within, and she felt as though it was obvious what she was holding, like the book was burning a hole through the fabric by its malevolent will alone.
“You’re sure that this is going to work?” Penelope hissed at Verity beside her, who merely nodded and smiled without saying a word. The smile was brittle and forced, and the Special Collections Librarian knew that she was putting on an act. But for who? she wondered, looking around at the stone-built courtyard that reminded her vaguely of a University campus.
It was past six in the evening, and Penelope felt exhausted already after their long flight, but Verity wouldn’t allow them to stop and check into a hotel or even one of those ridiculously small transport cubicles for a few hours rest at Heathrow. Instead, the Book Hunter had insisted that they come straight here to meet with someone whom she said might be able to help.
“There, is that him?” Penelope nodded to the figure that stood motionless at one end of the courtyard, appearing to stare at them with a fixed and horrified glare. Even at this late hour there were still other researchers coming and going. Like the New York Public Library,
Penelope realized, the British Library never really closed. It was such a large institution that it also ran evening lectures, music recitals, and all sorts of events and workshops alongside its regular, more academic activity. In front of the man, there sat a number of such people on the low stone walls, perusing books or their phones in the dimming evening light.
“That’ll be him.” Penelope saw her companion narrow her eyes. “Doctor Shenk.” As soon as Verity whispered the silhouette’s name, Penelope saw the man flinch as if he could hear her over this distance, and Verity continued, “Good. He’s seen us. Or, more importantly, he’s seen you. Now, let’s go.”
“Hey, what?” Penelope said in surprise. Just arriving at this place—even though it was ugly, and even though it was technically the end of days, she had felt that familiar surge of excitement at the prospect of so much learning and so many ancient and rare manuscripts. Wasn’t there a law in Britain that said that every publication in the country, whether novel, academic paper of fanzine, could be sent and cataloged at the British Library for free? It was a dedication to the print output of the country that Penelope found staggering.
Were it not for the fact that I’m carrying the doom of the whole world under my arm, then I would be in there like a shot! she thought, as Verity tugged on her elbow to hurry her along, away from the Library.
“What are you doing? Isn’t the next volume of the Luminaire in there?” Penelope said as Verity broke into a fast trot, her town shoes making clipping noises as they passed into the streets around the Library.
“But… But they’ve got the bleeding Magna Carta in there!” Penelope wailed, but Verity wouldn’t let her go until they had crossed at the nearest intersection, and turned down the next street.
“Yes, you are quite right, that the second volume of the Luminaire minus Clavem and the Magna Carta are both in that building, but so are about three hundred Knights Templar, currently.” Verity nodded at the double doors of a stylish coffee house that was still open and swung herself in.