by Amy Isaman
Chapter 20
“THE BRITISH LIBRARY IS a good thirty minutes away by the tube. And the book might not be there?” Darius said. “Are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes, at this point, it’s our only option.”
They ran for the garage.
“Your bike again?”
“It’s the fasted way to get there.”
Tricia stared at the motorbike while she took a few deep breaths, clenched and unclenched her fists, and even swung her arms around a bit as if she was loosening up.
Darius bit back a grin. “Need a little warm-up?”
Tricia nodded.
“Alright then, I’ll start off slow, but we’ve got to go pretty quickly.” He set the helmet on her head and tightened the strap beneath her chin. “Hold on tight, like you did today,” Darius said.
He helped her climb on and got her seated before swinging his leg over and firing up the engine. He accelerated onto the street as Tricia’s arms tightened around his waist. She had a death grip and held so tight that her helmet kept banging into his. No need to worry that she’d fly off. Darius wove through the traffic, going as fast as he could. A few blocks from the Inn, horns blared behind them. He glanced back to see an older model black sedan running a light and speeding toward them.
He accelerated, and Tricia yelped.
The car continued coming, but he couldn’t study it in the mirror since he had to watch where he was going. “Hold tight, I’m making a turn,” he yelled, and if it was possible, Tricia’s arms tightened around his waist. The car missed the turn, but brake lights lit up as it went by. Damn. It was following them, but Darius didn’t recognize the vehicle. He wondered if he should tell Tricia. The last thing he needed was her panicking further. If he lost them, they could search for the card. But, if he could figure out who it was, then maybe they could go directly after Laurel and forget this card chase for the moment. This was one of the worst positions in which he’d ever found himself.
He checked his mirrors again. The car hung back, and he knew he could lose it on the bike, especially in the summer season traffic. But he had to find out who was following him. He slowed, only to have the car directly behind him honk, and Tricia screech in response.
“Tricia,” he yelled, veering to the far left so the car behind them could get around. “I need you to do something.”
“Now?” She hollered back.
“I think we’ve got a tail. Maybe they know something about Laurel.”
Tricia swung her head around, her helmet slamming into the back of his. He held tight to the bike as her weight unbalanced them.
“Woah,” he yelled.
Tricia froze.
“Move slower. Do you see the black sedan back there?” He checked his mirrors, but the car had fallen further back since Tricia tried to spot it. Her arms loosened as she turned her head.
“I think so.”
“Get the number plate if you can.”
“Slow down then. Let them get closer.”
“Can you tell who’s driving?” he hollered. The light ahead of them turned red, and he slowed, hoping that Tricia could get a good look.
“I can’t see the plate. There’s too much traffic.”
“Bloody fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. The traffic was hideous. “Can you see the driver?”
“They’re turning! Stop! Turn around! What if they have Laurel?”
Darius glanced back to see the car turn down a small side street. “Hang on.” He gunned it as soon as the light turned green, swung left across the traffic, and toward where he thought the car was heading. He made a left turn, but there was no sign of them. “Do you see anything?” he shouted at Tricia.
“No, but keep going.”
“We’ve lost them, Tricia.”
“But, Laurel?” She sounded lost.
“I’m not even sure they were following us. We’ve got to get to the library. One thing at a time.”
He could feel Tricia’s chest hitch against his and willed her to hold it together. He doubted whoever it was had Laurel with them, but he knew, in his gut, that the car was tailing them. The question was why? Were they searching for the cards, too? Or did somebody else know about them, somebody who didn’t have Laurel? That thought made his stomach turn. They were already racing against the clock. He didn’t think he or Tricia could handle a race against somebody else. Who the hell was it?
They were silent for the rest of the ride to the library. Darius stopped right in front of the library.
“Can you park here?” Tricia asked.
“No. I’m dropping you off. Run in and have the book pulled. I’ll have to park a few blocks away and come back.”
“Can I do that? Without a card?”
“I don’t know, but you can ask. I’ve not got a card either, but we can get one. Hurry on now.” Tricia climbed from the bike and pulled the helmet off her head. As soon as she passed it off to him, she ran toward the main entrance. He pulled away from the curb and back into the traffic, not liking that he was leaving her alone but hoping that such a public place would be perfectly safe. He’d never seen the black sedan again and hoped they hadn’t followed him here without him knowing.
Sweat poured down Darius’ back by the time he made it to the general reference section inside the library. He found Tricia with her arms crossed and glaring at a thin, tall young man with curly red hair.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice ringing loudly through the quiet library. “I need the book tonight. Please. It truly is a life-or-death situation.”
The librarian glanced around the space to see how many patrons Tricia was disturbing before returning his horrified gaze to her.
“Ma’am, apparently you don’t understand despite my explanations. You’ll need to leave now before I call security.” He reached for his phone, clearly ready to have Tricia escorted from the building.
Darius hurried across the room. “Wait. There’s no need for that. I’ve got her. I’m sorry.”
The librarian glared at both of them. “Get her out of here then, sir. She’s been nothing but a disruption since she arrived.”
“Me?” Tricia seethed. “All I did was request a damn book! And he started going on about the time. As if I don’t know what time it is. I just asked him to get the book. But then he decided to enlighten me on proper book request procedures—”
“I understand,” Darius interrupted. He turned to the librarian. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands. I’m sorry.” He tried to appease the bristling man without much success. The librarian turned on his heel and left, as Darius put his arm across Tricia’s shoulders and turned her toward the door.
“Do they have the book?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Yes, but they won’t pull it this late. We can pick it up tomorrow, but that might be too late to find the card. They don’t open until nine.” Tears welled up, and she began to blink to hold them in. “We need to see that book. Now. And he was totally unhelpful,” Tricia said, glaring back at the door that the librarian scuttled into.
Darius turned her to face him and set his hands on her shoulders. “Take a breath. Let me handle this for a moment. Just let me do the talking.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed, hoping to calm her down. Spying an older woman exiting an office door, Darius waved her over. “Excuse me, we need help. It’s a bit of an emergency.”
The woman smiled and perched her reading glasses on her head. “Well, I’ll try to help though it’s a bit late, and we’re done pulling titles for the day.”
“I understand. I just want to know if it would be possible for any papers to be, uh, hidden somehow inside any of the books here?”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean could somebody possibly hide something in the binding of a book, and it might still be there after you added it to your collection?”
Tricia leaned in slightly, her shoulder brushing his, her
focus on the woman intense. “Oh, that would be highly unlikely. All of our special and reference collections have been thoroughly checked and even scanned to create a digital archive. Might I ask what you’re looking for?”
Tricia squeezed his hand and shook her head ever so slightly. He ignored her. “We’re looking for a W.B. Yeats book that was published in 1906 called Poems, 1899-1905. Are you familiar with it?”
The librarian smiled. “Why of course. I adore Yeats. In fact, I’ve reviewed that text myself and there’s nothing in it. Is there a particular poem you wanted to see?”
“Yes,” Tricia said. “It’s called ‘Never Give All the Heart.’”
“Ah, a lovely poem, poor man. He wrote that piece in his romantic period, but then he did spend much of his life pining after a woman named Maud Gonne who repeatedly spurned him.” She shook her head in commiseration. “A true-life-unrequited love story.” She began tidying up the already tidy desk as she spoke. “I’d be happy to put in the order and pull the text for you to view tomorrow, mid-morning.”
“Oh,” Tricia groaned. “This makes no sense.” Anger and frustration tinged her words.
“I’m sorry. Was I unclear?” the librarian asked. “Again, it’s too late for this evening—”
“No, not that. I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe this book would help us tie together Darius’ great-grandfather and the secret society that he belonged to. We’ve got a bit of a mystery. And a time crunch.”
The librarian turned to Darius, her eyes wide. “Was he perhaps a member of the Golden Dawn?”
“Yes, we think so.”
The librarian held up her hand. “Stop there. Let me grab Jamison. He’s a specialist on this period of history. It’s a bit of a hobby of his. This history of the occult. All of that. Just one moment.”
She left only to return with the gentleman who Tricia apparently deeply offended.
“Oh boy,” Tricia said under her breath. “He hates us already.”
The young man’s face tensed as he saw who his fellow librarian led him toward. Stopping in front of them, he crossed his arms and waited for them to speak.
“I’ll leave you three to it,” the elderly woman said cheerily.
Darius reached out his hand. “I’m Darius Marin.”
The younger man tentatively shook his hand, “Jamison Blackwell.”
“We’re looking for a Yeats book that might have some connections to my grandfather who was a member of the Golden Dawn,” Darius continued. “We were told you might have expertise in this area and might be able to give us some insight.”
The librarian’s face softened as Darius spoke. “What specifically do you want to know?”
Darius glanced at Tricia who began to explain. “We found a copy of Yeats’ poem ‘Never Give All the Heart for Love’ written on the back of a portrait that Darius’ great-grandfather painted. He was a member of the Golden Dawn with Yeats, and we thought that maybe the book might give us some more direction.”
“Direction for what, exactly?”
“For something that his family might have, but it’s lost. Can I ask if Yeats was involved with any tarot cards? Or if you know anything about the history of the Golden Dawn and the tarot?”
Jamison laughed, his voice a deep baritone that filled the space. “How long do you have?”
Tricia’s shoulders slumped as she took a deep breath. “There’s a lot then.”
Darius squeezed her hand. “We don’t have long. At all.”
Jamison nodded. “I see. Well, then, briefly. In order to become an adept which is what they called someone who completed the requirements, and obtain admission to the secret Second Order, members were required to test as well as make several magical implements, one of which was a tarot deck. Several of the more famous members were said to have completed most if not all of the necessary requirements.”
“Where are all of these decks? Does the library have them?” She turned to Darius. “Where’s your grandfather’s deck?”
Darius lifted his palms and shrugged. “I’ve got no idea. I don’t know if he ever did that.”
“The library doesn’t have any. Members kept them, but it was such a rigorous process that few actually completed all of the steps required, including the decks. If you did it was like having a Ph.D. in magic.”
“So…” Tricia dropped Darius’ hand and ran her fingers through her hair which made her waves poufy and wild. “I don’t even know what to ask. I guess, uh, what did they do with the tarot? Did they read them for each other? Themselves? Did some of them have special decks? Did you hear of anything like that?”
“Yes,” Jamison said briskly. “One of the more famous members, Annie Horniman was said to have pulled a card daily for her entire life. You’ve got to remember that this was an artsy, somewhat eccentric, group. Others eventually splintered off into other groups or they just left, like the creator of the most famous of the decks, Arthur Edward Waite—”
“Wait, there was a woman named Annie involved? Did she go by Annie? Or Anne?” Tricia asked, her voice brightening with excitement.
Jamison paused, “Uh, I believe she was known as Annie. She supported Yeats for a time and also is known for her financial support of the London theater scene.”
“Oh, my God,” Tricia exclaimed, elbowing Darius.
“As a member, would my great-grandfather have known this woman?” Darius asked, realizing what this might mean. The journal. In all of the entries, he spoke of his great love for Annie. They assumed that was his pet name for his wife Anna Teresa, but what if it wasn’t? What if he’d had an affair with this Annie Horniman woman?
“Absolutely. Especially if he was a member of the higher-order. At their heyday in the mid-1890s, there were over a hundred members, but by the turn of the century it began to fall apart into separate factions.”
“Jamison, thank you. And I apologize for my earlier outburst,” Tricia said, reaching for Jamison’s hand. She shook it warmly. “Would you mind looking up something for us?”
He shrugged. “If I can help.”
“Could you find out where Annie Horniman lived in London?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Tricia turned to Darius. “Oh, my God, Darius. Annie. It’s her. Great-Grandpa Edmund must have had an affair with her! We’re not looking for the Devil. She’s the Three of Swords. Anna Teresa’s ‘own broken heart.’ The card’s not here at the library. It’s with her. Annie Horniman.”
“I wonder if Aunt Irene knows about this. I feel like she might have information that could help us, but I don’t even know what to ask her. If she doesn’t know that her grandfather was cheating, it might upset her.”
“We need to keep this quiet. We still don’t know who’s got Laurel,” Tricia whispered.
Darius glared at her.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. You can ask your aunt. First, let’s go to wherever Annie Horniman lived. I mean, Anna Teresa must have given her the card, somehow. Maybe in a copy of a Yeats poetry book or some of the Golden Dawn magic books. If she was wealthy, maybe her house is still in the family? Or we can find out where her estate ended up.”
“I hope he knows. That would save a ton of time,” Darius answered, watching Jamison return.
“It appears that she lived at Montagu House on Portman Square. Unfortunately, it was destroyed in the Blitz. She died in 1937, anyway, before the bombing. This was, uh, quite a while ago. I did check though, and her estate went to her family in Manchester which included all of her papers and letters for her theater projects. The University of Manchester holds her collection.”
A stricken look crossed Tricia’s face. “Manchester? Isn’t that on the other side of the country?”
“Yes, but it’s a lovely train ride if you’re interested in her estate,” Jamison replied.
“But what about her Golden Dawn papers? Did it say anything about her magic collection?”
Jamison shook his head. “No. I looked briefly
at the contents in Manchester, but it looked to be mostly her correspondence and papers concerning her theatrical concerns. There are several collectors of historical occult paraphernalia in the area who might have some more information for you. Here’s one of them that I know quite well. He might be able to help.” He grabbed a scrap piece of paper and a small pencil from a jar on the counter before jotting down a few lines and handing it to Darius.
Chapter 21
DESPITE MY EARLIER melt-down, Jamison had actually been quite helpful. On the slip, he’d written the name of a collector of occult history, George Coates, and a London address.
“Do you have any idea where this is?” I glanced at Darius and pointed at the address.
“No, but Google will.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched it in as we hurried down the hall toward the library’s front entrance. “Don’t worry. We’ll get her back.”
His voice was soft, and I wanted more than anything to believe him, to know that we’d find these cards and get my daughter home safely. But I didn’t. And all we had was yet another address, another wild goose chase with who knew what at the end. But I couldn’t think like that. There were still eighteen hours to find two more cards and somehow retrieve my daughter. I had no idea how that might happen. I only knew it had to.
I hurried behind Darius as he led the way to his motorcycle. “Should we call first? It’s late.”
“If nobody answered, would you not want to go?” He raised one eyebrow.
“You’re right.” I climbed back on the bike and wrapped my arms around Darius. He felt solid and safe, and I found that all of my earlier fears about riding had dissipated. We zoomed off through the London streets. I didn’t know where we were or what direction we headed. I just held on, my mind roiling with the same questions that plagued me since we’d gotten the call from Laurel’s abductors. Who organized an abduction so quickly? Who followed us? The pieces didn’t fit unless Darius did it to use me to help him somehow, but that just didn’t feel right. And, I couldn’t find Laurel without his help. We needed each other.