The Hidden Key (Second Sacred Trinity)

by S E Holmes

  “They match your necklace, too. Is it a family crest?”

  “Something like that.”

  It was rude to answer grudgingly when Andie was obviously trying to make me feel accepted, but what other choice did I have? And she was also extremely observant. Come to think of it, was Tiffany supposed to be able to see my necklace as well? I needed an expert opinion. Punishment or not, I had to find Bea.

  “Where is Vee?” Bickles asked. “He’s waited so long for you to come home, I expected you to be joined at the hip.”

  It started to drizzle, the temperature plummeting. The screech of wheels skidding to a stop in the car park next to us dashed hope Smithy was far away from my hips or any other bit of my anatomy.

  “I’d say he’s due to collect me.”

  He leaped from Fortescue’s Mini, punctuating the act with a slammed car door, his expression more homicidal than Hud’s of a moment before at the thought of a dinged board. With a bruised cheek and split lip, his torso and chest chiselled beneath his singlet, arms bulging, Smith looked the part of assassin. His bright blue-green eyes, usually crinkled by laughter, zeroed in on me without a hint of amusement. I gave him an optimistic wave that was not well received.

  “Whoa, Bear. Did you toss Vee’s mobile in the punch with Iffy’s?” Hud asked. “The boy’s got his serious grump on.”

  “And what the hell happened to his face?” Andie asked.

  What excuse could I give that didn’t make Smithy seem the deranged stalker, which at this point wasn’t far from reality? Broken curfew so early in the day? How could I account for his bruises or the wrath he exuded, stomping his way across the car park? Hud lifted his drawbridge board, giving us more room to spread out. I considered making a dash for it.

  “Um,” I said gormlessly. “We’ve had a bit of a disagreement.”

  “Wow. You did that to him in a fight?”

  “No, Andie. He’s got a new trainer. They don’t get on so well.”

  “He’s really been burning through them lately,” she said, eyeing his appearance with a worried frown. The three of them exchanged meaningful glances that were lost on me.

  I had more pressing issues. Smithy slipped his arm about my waist and gave me an anaconda squeeze. “Bear,” he murmured with a grim smile. “Have you forgotten the crows?” He released me to greet his friends with a volley of slapped backs and a kiss on the cheek for Andie, while I took a grateful breath.

  “You missed all the action. Tiffy and her clueless clan bailed Bear up.” Hud stared at me quizzically. “Although come to think of it, Bear didn’t seem bothered at all, even though meat-axe Matt was giving her the staunch.”

  “Yeah, she’s dumb like that.”

  His arm repositioned around my shoulder seemed closer to detainment than affection. So this was how it was going to be, the sentence of a thousand jibes. I rolled my eyes at Andie and she grinned.

  “They’re at Trio’s having brekkie. Should we pop up and teach the coward not to pick on girls or anyone bar his species of lower primate?”

  “Tempting, Hud. The guy’s a tool and deserves a lesson,” said Smithy, momentarily directing his anger at someone other than me. “We can’t right now. Bear and I are due to fly out soon for a … family funeral overseas. We need to pack.”

  You’d think, what with all the practice lying to the judge, Smithy could come up with a better excuse. Preferably, one that didn’t include yet another death. Bogus or otherwise, it seemed too prophetic. Bickles made a dubious face.

  “Hmm, I’m sorry for your loss. Who died?” Hud quirked an eyebrow.

  Smith cleared his throat. “Oh, some distant uncle Bear never met. Still, we’re flying over to … Istanbul to pay respects.”

  Great. He’d made me the excuse for deserting his friends during the party season. Even if it was true, they didn’t need to know it. Another strike to match my rudeness, and Andie’s offer of friendship was probably revoked. And I really wanted to be her friend.

  “I guess Chrissy Cocktails are out then? Sorry, mocktails in your case, mate. What about a run?”

  Smithy relented. “We’ll try, Hud. I’ll be in contact.”

  “Speaking of contact,” Bickles said. “We went looking for you at the judge’s the other day. Ran into a couple of not-so-friendly police hunting for a Ducati rider caught street racing on CCTV last Sunday evening. You top the list of usual suspects. I told them you were in rehab.”

  “It didn’t seem compelling enough, so I added you were in Denmark,” Andie said, utterly unfazed by her admission of fibbing to the Law. Maybe she could teach Smithy a thing or two on how to fabricate a convincing story.

  “The Polish–”

  “The Polish, Hud? Who are you, the Arctic Monkeys?”

  “Andie, I have British heritage.”

  “Closest you come is to the convicts.”

  “I can’t believe you’re besmirching my roots,” Hud sniffed. “Anyway, the boys in blue seemed disbelieving. So I explained you were in rehab in Denmark.”

  “Wow,” Smithy said flatly. “Thanks so much for the help, guys.”

  The three broke into laughter, earning an eventual chuckle from the object of their amusement. His attitude softened. “Honest, if we find a spare moment, we’ll get together. I promise.”

  This time, Smith’s fiction was sincere. After brief goodbyes, Hud, Andie and Bickles resumed their roll along the path in their original direction and I was hustled towards Fortescue’s Mini. Arching beyond the prison of my boyfriend’s arm, I called to his friends’ retreating backs, “It was really good to see you all again. Nice to meet you Andie! Thanks for looking after me.” The boys waved and Andie blew me a kiss.

  “They wouldn’t need to look after you, if you ever stuck to the rules,” Smithy muttered.

  In emphasis of his point, the clouds broke open and liberated their contents in an icy, howling downpour. As we sprinted for the car, I realised I’d not had the chance for a swim, but ended up drenched anyway. Was it destiny’s way of sending me a message? Do as you should, or you won’t enjoy the consequences. After I dared a final wistful glance at the beach, Smithy wrenched the door open, pummelled me inside and thoughts of rebellion for the foreseeable future were shut out with a hollow bang.

  Four

  Soaked and shivering in the front seat of the Mini, those consequences stretched on endlessly. Or so it seemed, trapped in a traffic gridlock of blaring horns and gears grinding. Exhaust fumes seeped inside on the heater fan. I contemplated breathing deeply in order to lapse into a coma and avoid the tirade, but the blue of carbon monoxide poisoning was never my colour.

  Smith gave me yet another withering sidelong gaze. Aside from blond strands plastered to his forehead, the rain had no discernible impact on him, his skin unmarred by goosebumps and teeth gritted because of my recklessness, rather than chattering from cold. The tempest obscured the view over the bonnet, red tail-lights in front scattering prisms across the windshield. A trip that should take ten minutes occupied half an hour, only those pushed by necessity willing to brave morning peak hour in the city.

  “When we discovered you gone, I couldn’t believe you’d do it,” he yelled above water bombarding the car’s roof and the mad swish of wiper blades. “I’ve a good mind to hand you over to Hugo and give him free rein. He’s fuming.”

  “Oh, what’s he going to do? Put me across his knee and spank me?” My irritation at being treated like a toddler overcame any instinct for self-preservation. I blotted puddles from my seat with my damp towel and used it to squeeze out my braid.

  Smithy burst into laughter and shook hair from his eyes with a hail of droplets. “I’d like to see that.”

  “You’d let him touch my bum?”

  “No way in hell. It’s the concept that’s appealing. Maybe I should put you over my knee.”

  The frost thawed slightly and he smirked. I stared out the passenger window to hide my blush, noticing grey canyons of high-rises instead of the expected
blue haze of Sydney Harbour and the towering sandstone foundations of the bridge.

  “Not that it would make a speck of difference,” Smithy said. “Why, Bear? Seriously, why worry your guardians to such a degree? They’re already suffering. The Amulet’s wearing off. It’s horrible to watch.”

  Smithy knew how to push my buttons best: my remorse eclipsed the physical discomfort of sodden gym gear and the chill. The light ahead turned green and we inched forward into the intersection leaving Oxford Street, dawdling through the central business district and onwards in the direction of Chinatown. Bea had premises as a dealer of antiquities there, but I’d never seen her office and found it weird she’d be there now. My nerves, already harp-string taut, plucked at the thought of the upcoming confrontation.

  And Smithy was right. How could I so blithely put Aunt Bea, Mrs Paget and Fortescue through it? What sort of lousy, thoughtless person was I? But some irresistible impulse had drawn me from the warehouse to Bondi at that precise moment, as though animated by a force guiding me to Smithy’s friends. Perhaps, in spite of the risks and the trouble, it was meant to be. I clung to any idea that would excuse my grubby behaviour.

  “They can see my Deltas,” I blurted. “Your friends, all three of them.”

  “I mean,” Smith continued, oblivious. “I understand how frustrating it must be, stuck inside with not much to do–”

  “Hud, Bickles and Andie can see my tatts.” I held up my arms. “These tatts, that no one outside of the Trinity are supposed to detect.”

  He stared over at me, weaving and darting through the congestion without as much as a glance. “Pardon?”

  “Are we going to meet Bea? We need to find out what it means.”

  Smith frowned. “How do you know they’re visible to my mates?”

  “Andie pointed them out. Tiffany couldn’t see a thing, nor could any of her circus. Hud and Bickles were surprised. They described the Deltas in detail. And Andie commented on how the tatts match my necklace. She even nailed their colour.”

  “So you’re telling me Tiffany and anyone in the vicinity who heard, now has a description of something they shouldn’t?”

  This wasn’t quite the response I’d envisaged. “Um, aren’t you missing the point?”

  “What point? That Anathema are on the global hunt for you and you’re signposting the way for any member who happens to pursue Tate?” In profile, his jaw worked as he gnashed his teeth, a sure sign of a reignited temper. “That you’re not taking seriously the plight of your guardians and their many sacrifices to keep you alive? That Finesse could break out at any second and you’re immune to the danger? That your role is to keep Trinity secrets? That you don’t consider needs other than your own. Enough points for you, Bear? Or should I go on?”

  “No, please don’t,” I mumbled, hanging my head. The list was long and incriminating and all because I’d dared a run. We crept across town in silence, the cabin thick with my shame.

  “You’re not the only one in this.” Smithy’s damaged face spoke volumes his soft voice hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed. “Save it for Bea. Who’d have predicted you could ever outstrip me in the apology department.”

  I was exhausted and miserable and we hadn’t even faced a real challenge yet. Smithy misjudged my apathy. Every particle of my being pulsed with the knowledge the enemy was coming for us. We could not hide this time. Feeling exposed and defenceless wore me down. So, my coping strategy had been to shut the angst out, to pretend my life was someone else’s. The occasion to find a new approach had arrived: I would not disappoint my guardians or Smithy again. I rested my head against glass and battled the dark veil of sleep, finally succumbing against the odds.

  It was an unusual structure: a long triangular frame of wood about the size of an average modern house, sloped sides thatched to a spine, one end protected from the elements by weathered slats that contained a door. A huge set of antlers jutted over the entrance at the wall’s pinnacle. Smoke trickled into a sky fading to dusk from a gap halfway along the roof.

  Built at the corners of two fields of knee-high grain with a path between, a stone well edged by colourful wildflowers occupied a small clearing in front of the dwelling, where several scruffy grey wolfhounds lounged in the packed dirt. One of the dogs had recently birthed a litter of four pups that rowed along her belly nuzzling engorged teats.

  A pigsty was at a remove to the side, its inhabitants snuffling and grunting. A sturdy wooden fence ringed the land, upon which hung several drying deer hides from animals that must have been huge. Each supporting post was carved by intricate runes, giving the sense that although isolated, these were the holdings of someone important. At the rear, a dense forest of soaring oaks blocked the view, a blackberry bramble laden with fruit tangling the base of the trees. Their sweet scent hung heavy on the air, encouraging a swarm of humming bees.

  A tall, muscular man, shirtless and wearing coarse tan britches, split logs on a stump next to the well, stacking the firewood in a pyramid within easy reach of the entry. The rhythmic crack of his axe disrupted the scene’s tranquillity, his broad back sweat-sheened and rippling on every swing. A rag on top of his head tied his dark hair. Just as he dropped another chunk onto the woodpile, a woman’s voice emanated from inside the house.

  “Tilly?” she called. “Tilly.”

  A little girl’s giggles grew louder, until the front door swung wide and their owner waddled at full speed from the house. Fear clenched my belly and I struggled to rouse from the scene, but as always, the noose released to a schedule not of my choosing. The youngster, dressed in a hand-sewn smock of pale blue linen, had startling golden curls. I had seen them before.

  “I have her, Bonnie,” the man yelled, his accent thick Gaelic. He leaned the axe against the chopping stump, dipping to one knee. I knew his voice, but shied from recognition. He reached out his arms to receive her.

  “Pa,” she cried, veering unexpectedly for the mewling puppies. “Pap, pa, pa!”

  “No child, the word is Da. Da!” He laughed and took three long strides to intercept Tilly, scooping her up and blowing a raspberry on her belly with more giggles and squirming. She stretched for the pups from his grip.

  “Pup!”

  Wrestling her to a perch in the crook of his elbow, he went to the dogs, who thumped their tails. Two fully grown animals earned a vigorous scrub about the ears for their efforts. He soothed the nursing hound with quiet words, before gently setting Tilly onto her feet, kneeling behind her and showing her from the rear how to cup her pudgy little hands.

  “Softly now, Tilly.”

  Collecting the largest pup, while stroking its mother’s head, he lay the tiny, whimpering creature in her grasp. She squealed with delight and for a moment, it seemed the father’s trust in his child was misplaced and she’d inadvertently squeeze the life from it. Instead, she brought the pup up to nuzzle tenderly beneath her chin. He smiled proudly and petted the puppy’s smooth grey back with a forefinger.

  “There’s a good lass.”

  Tilly lofted the puppy to inspect it closely. She frowned and her lip quivered, hinting at tears to come. The man took the baby from her, returning it to the teat, and she pointed at her eyes and blinked in demonstration.

  “Aye, he’ll open them soon enough. Don’t fret, Tilly.”

  She clapped her relief and launched at him for a hug. He bundled her up in time to see a heavily pregnant woman with her child’s sunshine-bright hair barrel towards them from the house, huffing her ire. And for the first time, the aspect changed and I could not mentally squirm from a clear picture of his too-handsome face.

  “Daniel!” she scolded, wiping her hands on a grubby apron that covered her loose-fitting dark red tunic. “Tilly is due in her cot. Keeping her all excitable will make for a grumpy bairn come sun-up.”

  With her long flaxen tresses and fair skin, cheeks rouged by exertion, she looked very young and angelic and was a true ethereal beauty.
Her daughter buried her face in the nape of her father’s neck.

  “Tilda needs no help from me to be excitable, love.”

  “Oh it’s love now, is it? You’ll heed how I bloat up like a ripe pumpkin whenever you bandy those four letters about.”

  He roared laughter, grabbing his wife around the waist and planting a kiss upon her forehead. “Come inside and I’ll rub your weary back. When does your sister arrive?”

  She shook her head and slapped his muscled upper arm, but did not attempt to break free, smiling warmly. The family headed for their shelter, Tilly sucking her thumb with sleepy eyes, her head in the crook of his shoulder.

  “You know Isadore, she will get here when she’s a good mind to get here.”

  “Well, it had better be soon, love. You look as though you’re ready to burst the seams of your dress.” They paused for a moment at the entrance, while she bent and bunched her apron to deposit a couple of chopped logs into the sling. He patted her bottom. “Though, that would be a most welcome sight.”

  “Rude man.” She laughed and hit him again, before the evening light failed and their happiness faded.

  I jolted awake, choking for breath and scratching at my throat. The stench of burned human flesh filled the close space of the Mini and I punched the button in the armrest to open my window, not caring about rain that spattered my cheek. The five-spice aroma of Asian food swirled in on a gust, but notions of eating only made my stomach lurch.

  We were in a slim laneway, easing along for its middle at a snail’s pace. A high edifice of bricks extending either side for thirty metres left scant room. Smithy edged the car via a roller door embedded on the left into a tight garage. A sharp-angled glass-walled building towered nearby at the end of the alley, blocked once the door closed automatically at our rear. I figured I’d only been out of it for roughly ten minutes. What hell would my dreams conjure during a longer nap?

  He peered over at me, dismay on his face as the gloom descended, abandoning the gearstick to prise my fingers gently from their protective chokehold. “Same nightmare?”