Regardless of his epiphany from earlier in the day, Malledy knew the sand was quickly draining from his hourglass. He was having more of the violent thoughts and anger Dr. Aali had warned him about and at times he could barely keep himself under control. He understood that Huntington’s was trying to worm its way into his brain. When it succeeded, it would be too late to use the artifact he currently sought to excise his disease. He would simply lack the intellectual ability because he would be insane.
Juliette put her hand on Malledy’s arm. “You’re not going to die. Not if I can help it.”
Malledy squeezed his mentor’s hand, striving to give her comfort because she didn’t deserve to be part of this nightmare. The idea of her becoming his caretaker—feeding him, washing him, wiping his feces when he lost all control, sickened him. He thought about telling Juliette of his epiphany, but chose not to give her what could be false hope should he fail to find Pandora’s Box in time. In addition, telling Juliette what he planned would put her in an extremely dangerous position.
Archivists were strictly forbidden to use any artifact they discovered for personal gain. To do so would mean expulsion from the Order. And “expulsion” was the same as “removal.” If Malledy told Juliette what he planned and she didn’t stop him, then she would be an accomplice. Her life would be forfeit—same as his own. It was better to silently hope for the best but prepare both himself and his mentor for the worst. Malledy took another swallow of the warm milk and steeled himself—it was time to have the conversation he’d been avoiding, dreading.
“Juliette, I know that you wish things were different and that you’re trying to make me feel better, but we’ve always been honest with each other, right?”
Unable to meet Malledy’s frank gaze, Juliette stared out the bay window into the darkness. “Oui.”
“There’s no cure for Huntington’s disease—period.” Malledy’s voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and continued. “I’m most probably going to die a horrible death—paralyzed and demented.”
“Malledy—”
“Please let me finish.” If you won’t be the grown-up, then I have to be. “Promise me that if it happens—if I lose my mind—you’ll kill me.” It felt horrible to ask Juliette to end his life; horrible that he needed to ask; horrible that if he did indeed fail to find the talisman and descended into madness he would have no control and be at his mentor’s mercy. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she left him to live like that?
Juliette was trying not to cry but her shoulders were shaking from suppressed sobs. Malledy gripped her upper arms. “Look at me,” he said. Slowly Juliette met his gaze. “Promise me,” he demanded, hearing the plaintive note of begging in his voice and hating both of them for it. “Promise!”
Something changed in Juliette’s eyes and they lost their softness, instead replaced with a steely resolve Malledy had seen countless times when she was on the trail of an artifact and allowed nothing to stand in her way. “I promise. But it won’t come to that.”
Malledy felt a wave of frustration crash over him. Juliette was not accepting reality. “Modern medicine has no—”
“We don’t need modern medicine,” Juliette interrupted, all trace of emotion drained from her tone. “We need something very much older and infinitely more powerful. But before I tell you a secret I’ve pledged my life to protect, promise me that what we do next is on my terms.”
Malledy felt his heart skip a beat. What secret? “I promise.” And then he hung on every word of Juliette’s incredible story. She was a member of Pandora! Malledy knew from his research that Pandora was a deadly Sect created originally by the Goddess Hera.
“The Sect’s main function is to protect every descendant of the original Pandora,” Juliette continued.
“There’s a living descendant?!” Malledy blurted. He could barely control a massive surge of adrenalin coursing through his body.
Juliette hesitated, biting down on her lower lip.
“Please, Juliette!”
“Yes…she’s here in Portland. And she might be just the healer you need to survive your disease.”
“Why?
Juliette fell silent. “Because,” she finally said, “one of the gifts given to the original Pandora was the power to heal. Some of Her descendants have that power, too.”
“Please,” he said with forced calm, “tell me more.” Malledy had hoped to find the Sect because throughout history they had a connection to Pandora’s Box. He’d unearthed information about Pandora and knew there was a cell in Portland, but he’d been unable to pinpoint the cell’s location, so he’d been focused on locating a secondary talisman that was tied by ancient writings he’d unearthed to Pandora’s Box.
How could I have been so blind? In the last few months he had been so engaged trying to locate the other talisman that he’d missed what was right beneath his own nose!
“What’s the girl’s name,” Malledy asked, testing Juliette’s commitment to saving him, “and where can we find her?”
Juliette shook her head. Her cheeks burned red and sweat beaded on her upper lip. “I’ve already said too much. I can’t tell you that. I’ll go to Pandora and ask for help, but you need to understand that they may not allow the girl to save you.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“She doesn’t know who she is. She has no idea of her powers.”
“How is that possible?” Malledy was shocked.
“Over the years, her ancestors lost the thread of their own existence. It’s easier for Pandora that way. Don’t worry, though. I’ll ask for their help. There’s still a chance for you.” She strode to his bedroom door and then turned back to him. “Will you be okay alone for a few hours?”
Malledy nodded, filled with overwhelming gratitude. “Juliette—thank you.” His mentor half-smiled and left. He listened to her footsteps echo down the hallway. I have two chances. And if Pandora won’t give me their help willingly, I will take it anyway, because I know much more than Juliette realizes.
Malledy picked up his cell phone.
“Cronen.”
“Magnus. Here’s what you need to do—follow Juliette.”
Chapter Eleven
“Dr. Sullivan? Please, can I talk to you?” Evangeline was trailing Dr. Sullivan and his residents down the corridor. The group of doctors stopped and turned to face her.
Evangeline struggled to find the right words. “It’s just my mom and me,” she finally said. “I need her—I need you to help her—fix her, not just give her drugs. My mom—Olivia—she’s tough even though she doesn’t look it. She’d rather be healthy than comfortable.”
Dr. Sullivan met her gaze. “Miss Theopolis, sometimes making a patient comfortable is the best we can do, but the course of treatment will be up to your mother. She wanted me to—”
Suddenly Evangeline couldn’t breathe, she needed air that didn’t smell like medicine—she needed to get outside. She bolted down the hallway toward the elevator. The doors slid open and then closed just as Dr. Sullivan’s face appeared in the crack. Too late. “This is crazy,” she said. “This is crazy!” she screamed inside the empty elevator.
The elevator opened onto the first floor. Evangeline was in the Emergency Room. She walked past some guy with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand and a father holding a coughing, red-faced, infant in his lap. Spying the sliding glass doors, she ran toward them and spilled out into cold, fresh air. It was raining, but the drops felt good on her upturned face. She sank onto a bench, immediately pulling out her cell phone. She tried Samantha again. No answer. She dialed Raphe, but before the phone could ring, she hung up. She thought about Melia. No. She didn’t want to say the words. Saying it made the situation too real. Closing her eyes, Evangeline concentrated on counting the raindrops falling on her face.
“Excuse me, Ms. Theopolis?”
Evangeline clenched her eyes. If I keep them closed long enough this will all be a dream.
“Ms. Theopolis, is ther
e someone I can call for you? If not, maybe a taxi to get you home?” Dr. Sulliva’s voice was kind.
“Um, no thanks. I’ll stay here with my mom.” She kept her eyes shut.
“Visiting hours ended a few minutes ago.”
She finally opened her eyes to look at the doctor. He was drenched, white lab coat and khaki pants dripping onto brown crocs. He’d taken off his glasses and crescents of fatigue underlined his light gray eyes. Evangeline suddenly registered that she was soaked through and really cold. She drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them.
“You can’t stay out here,” Dr. Sullivan said. “You’re getting cold. Come on.”
“Okay.” She heard the exhaustion in her voice. “I’ll walk home.”
The doctor looked at Evangeline with concern. “It’s late, dark, and really wet. Your mom asked me to make sure you got home. How about I drive you, alright?”
Evangeline hesitated. I don’t know him. But I don’t want to call anyone I know except Sam, and Sam’s not home…and he’s the only one that can help my mom so maybe I should get to know him. Finally she nodded, following Dr. Sullivan into the parking lot. They got into a Volvo station wagon that had a babyseat in the back. Bad guys don’t drive Volvos with babyseats, right?
“What’s your address?”
“794 Albermarle. If you take Johnson up the hill for a few miles, then it’s a left, third house on the right.” Dr. Sullivan cranked the heat and turned on both seat heaters. They rode in silence until they reached Evangeline’s pale-yellow bungalow with white trim. Flower boxes filled with red gardenias lined the covered porch.
“Okay, then,” Dr. Sullivan said when he’d put the car into park.
Evangeline didn’t move. You have to ask. “Is she really that sick?”
Dr. Sullivan stared out the rain-splattered windshield. “Yes.” Undoing his seatbelt with a click, he got out of the car and walked in the downpour to Evangeline’s door, opening it. She climbed out of the car and walked to the front door, the doctor right behind her. When she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking to unlock the door, the doctor did it. He followed her inside and stood dripping on the polished floors. “You mother wanted me to remind you to eat.”
“Um, okay—thanks,” Evangeline said, certain that there was no way she would be able to swallow even one bite of food. The doctor awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. Why isn’t he leaving? And then it hit her. He feels bad about my mom and he wants to say something nice, but he doesn’t know what to say to me. The telephone rang but Evangeline didn’t move to get it.
Dr. Sullivan walked over to the old fashioned rotary phone on the front table and picked up the receiver. “Theopolis residence.” Evangeline could just barely hear the other voice on the line asking, “Who the hell is this?”
“This is Dr. Tim Sullivan. And you are…I’m sorry, it’s hard to hear you—can you turn down the music?”
“I said, Samantha Harris, Olivia Theopolis’ agent and Evangeline’s god-mother,” Sam shouted so loudly that E could hear her. “Is Evangeline there?”
Dr. Sullivan held out the phone to Evangeline and she forced herself to take it. “Hi, Sam. No, it’s OK. He’s mom’s doctor and he’s nice…Yeah…I can’t hear you that well—” There were bells or something playing in the background—it was a familiar tune…but it didn’t really matter, did it? Her mom was in the hospital and she had cancer. Bad cancer.
“Everything’s going to be okay, honey,” Samantha said. “I promise.”
Evangeline felt terror circling her like a shark, deadly and just below the surface. “You can’t.”
“I promise that we’ll deal with this together, okay?”
Deal with this. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be there soon. Is the doctor leaving now?”
Dr. Sullivan was halfway out the front door. “Um, yeah.” Evangeline hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Do something!
“Wait! Please—can I show you something?” She walked over to a black and white photograph hanging on the wall at the base of the stairs. In it Evangeline was barely a year old, wearing a pink-flowered bathing suit and floating in the middle of a swimming pool. Her mom was sitting on the edge of the pool, clapping and with a euphoric smile. “I was born knowing how to swim, Dr. Sullivan. My mom was, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“People only care about people they know.”
Dr. Sullivan walked out the front door. At the last second, he turned and fixed her with an earnest look. “Ms. Theopolis—Evangeline—I’m truly sorry about your mother’s illness.”
The doctor hustled to the Volvo, shoulders hunched against the rain. Through the doorway, Evangeline watched him drive off. Lost in thought, she traced the onyx key—it felt warmer than her skin and the heat seemed to match the steady pulse of her heartbeat. The warmth started to return to her body in a soft wave and she stopped shivering.
Evangeline closed and locked the front door and walked into the living room, curling up on the overstuffed, shabby-chic couch her mom loved because it was ‘just the right amount of worn-in.’ Jasmine wandered into the room and climbed onto the couch, nestling beside Evangeline, her head resting against her neck. At some point, Evangeline drifted off into a troubled sleep….
• • •
Riding through the sun-dappled forest atop a thoroughbred whose ebony coat glistened with sweat, Evangeline heard the sound of other horses thundering behind her. She didn’t look back lest a low branch sweep her off her mount. The air smelled like the sweet decay of leaves, wet earth, and the musk of dogs and horses. Adjusting her gloved hands on the reins, she gave her mount his head and he moved from a canter to a full gallop.
I don’t know how to ride, Evangeline thought, looking down at her attire: a tailored wool coat with black velvet collar and cuffs and tight tan riding britches tucked into tall black leather boots banded with brown. “Where’s the fox?” she murmured. Except it wasn’t her voice—it was deeper, with a sexy accent she couldn’t place and what her mom called a ‘bourbon rasp.’ Suddenly a red fox darted across the trail. Evangeline dug spurs into her horse’s flank and he surged forward. The trees were so thick she didn’t see the four-foot-high stone wall until it was only a few feet in front of them. No! Her horse leapt, soaring through the air, landing hard on the other side, then lunging onward, up a steep and muddy embankment.
Evangeline’s thighs ached as she clung to the horse’s back. Where am I? Who am I? Her mind scrambled for answers. She knew there was a man named Louis who was her husband and who was much older than she was—they’d married when she was eighteen. Louis liked young women. Now that she was thirty-five, his eyes had begun to stray. Thirty-five? That’s why I have to catch the fox first and prove that I’m still the best horsewoman Louis has ever seen. Yesterday her husband was flirting with their daughter, Cleo’s, young ballerina friends. They were only sixteen. She needed to send Cleo right back to her ballet school in France so that her friends were out of Louis’ sight and mind.
Spurring her horse, Evangeline and her mount crested the hill. The red fox darted across a creek twenty yards below. Horse and rider charged down the hill, half galloping, half sliding. Mud splattered Evangeline’s neck and face. She could still hear horses behind her and the excited barking of the dogs. She needed to ride faster—she was so close to winning. I want to get off, Evangeline thought. I need to get off this horse!
They reached the edge of the creek and charged into icy water that pressed around large boulders and flowed with the force of a rain-filled winter and early spring. Suddenly the horse’s ears flattened as if he’d heard a call. Get off! Evangeline tried to scream, but she had no voice. She kicked her horse again and he lurched forward. Halfway across the creek, the thoroughbred balked and danced sideways, trying to twist back toward the far shore.
“Penelope!” a man shouted. Evangeline glanced toward the bank. A dashing, mustached horseman in a tweed riding jacket, brown britches, and
gleaming back boots stood in his stirrups, his expression fearful. “Penelope, come back!” But it was too late.
Evangeline’s horse was whinnying, twisting, and bucking. She struggled to stay in the saddle, but her balance was finally broken and she was thrown—airborne, tumbling toward the rocks and water.
“Louis!” she cried. But then her head hit a jagged rock and there was a wet, cracking sound. Color seeped from Evangeline’s vision until her world was black and white, flickered once, twice, and then went dark.
• • •
“Louis!” Evangeline screamed. She bolted upright, arms flailing, pain shooting through her head.
“It’s okay, honey. I’m here—it’s okay—you’re okay. Hush.” Samantha was wrapping Evangeline in a tight hug.
Evangeline breathed in the freshly-cut-grass scent of Samantha’s dark-brown hair. She pulled back and looked at her godmother. Sam’s almond-shaped green eyes were red-rimmed. Evangeline had never seen her cry. “Mom’s really sick, isn’t she?”
Samantha nodded and said, “Visiting hours were over but I had to see her.”
Evangeline pushed a tangle of curls out of her eyes. “Was she doing okay?”
Samantha looked away. “Olivia thought there were bugs crawling all over her skin. They had to put her in wrist restraints so she wouldn’t hurt herself.”
Evangeline swallowed the bitter bile surging up her throat. “She can fight the tumor. She can do chemotherapy—the doctors said that’d slow things down.”
“Honey, Olivia is—your mom was—she doesn’t deserve the humiliation of a slow, painful—”
“But it’s her choice,” Evangeline interrupted. “Dr. Sullivan said it’s her choice.”
Samantha nodded and brushed the side of Evangeline’s face.
“What? What’s on my face?”
“Just some dried dirt—it’s gone now.”
And then they just hugged each other because the woman both of them loved was dying.
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