The Hidden Key (Second Sacred Trinity)

by S E Holmes

  Six

  Like intrepid explorers, we waded into the shadows of the city of towering wooden boxes, guided by Aunt Bea’s inexplicable filing system. She steered us to the back of the hall and a dead-end lane of shelving where myriad smaller cartons were stacked.

  “This entire section is dedicated to Raphaela’s collection. Your inheritance is impressive. Of course, there is a generous international property portfolio, and I believe, a Bell JetRanger helicopter.”

  I nodded doubtfully, thinking of assorted bizarre and gruesome relics back home in the warehouse. Tinsel and Christmas lights made no improvement to an electric chair. What on this increasingly surreal earth was now in my possession? And I had no use whatsoever for a helicopter.

  “Open your senses, Winnie. Tell me, can you feel anything out of the ordinary? An anomaly that calls to you like the Amulet.”

  We paused at the mouth of the alley, while I scanned for irregularities and came up blank. “I’m sorry, Aunt Bea. I’m not skilled enough.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve executed Insubstantiation perfectly after several short days of practice. Finding a lost article today was a long shot. That would have been too easy.”

  Her resigned tone was hard to miss. And the only activity I’d definitely mastered was nodding uncertainly. We entered the lane and headed for its finish. Everything was packed in cases or wrapped in brown paper, leaving my curiosity wanting. Except for one item that I could have bypassed happily.

  Sitting on a bottom ledge to my right was a huge and overly ornate rococo lounge covered in pink and gold jacquard with a curlicued headboard of polished cherry timber. It seemed to brood in the gloom on monstrous clubbed feet that might take a swipe if you walked too close.

  “That’s not mine, is it?” I sounded ungrateful, but it surely was the ugliest place to park a backside I’d ever seen.

  “Hmm, one must search to find its charm,” agreed Aunt Bea.

  “At least it’s pre-assembled,” I muttered. “Imagine the manual.” And an entire house decorated in similar creepy furniture that only required a stuffed bird of prey to make the front page of Psycho Spinster Weekly. A sheet pooled around its base. I picked it up and re-cloaked the divan. “That’s better.”

  “Money does not always translate to fine taste. Although, the period may indicate Raphaela inherited the piece, rather than chose it herself.”

  Which gave the impression all Keepers were stuck with stuff they didn’t want. I chewed the inside of my cheek, antsy to hasten an afternoon that couldn’t dip lower than this everlasting morning.

  “Yes, this will do nicely.” Bea pointed at the terminus of cardboard packages. “Put the diary on the floor at the end. All you need do is imagine the threshold to Seth’s jail cell. Stand in front and fabricate its exterior in your mind and when you are ready, walk through.” She retreated a short way along the aisle to give me room, adjusting her cardigan. Fiddling with her clothes was Aunt Bea’s tell whenever there was more to a request than usual. “I’ll be right here.”

  What was she leaving out? No gain in dithering, I found my spine and got to work imagining a doorway with no door, just a gossamer curtain drifting on a breeze from inside, fanning the scent of frangipanis out into the hallway. The tropical draft, the sweet perfume, the thrum of anticipation lighting my nerve-endings. And the all-consuming guilt. Remembrance came too easy. Then his voice, like a high-voltage charge through my mind.

  “Enter,” he purred.

  I blinked and was there on the verge. The diary, my aunt, and all traces of the warehouse scrubbed clean from sight, replaced by the certainty of my location in the temple corridor and the recall of my last meeting with this man. If he could still be called a man. I must not forget who he had been since time immemorial, and what indescribable tortures he had committed at the behest of his mistress.

  I must not forget.

  Stepping through the door where the diary rested until a moment ago, I met the void and tumbled headlong from the ceiling of Seth’s apartment to my knees, my hands splayed on the parquetry in front. My wrists celebrated the fall unpleasantly and my knees instantly began to bruise, which accounted for Bea’s caginess. Explaining the impact of crossing dimensions from a distance, something akin to trying to crawl down an Escher staircase, might have put me off.

  A sudden whoosh was my only warning. I lurched straight up in time to clap my hands millimetres from my nose, earning more sharp complaint from my throbbing knees. Cross-eyed, it took a second to clarify the double prongs of a stainless steel roasting fork peeking from between my flattened palms.

  “Hmm, on your knees again. Should I unzip? Excellent Keeper’s reflexes, though.”

  I speared the fork back, yelling, “How are your reflexes?”

  Seth snatched it one-handed from its trajectory. “The same can’t be said for your discipline. Some attention to that lively temper is in order.”

  He leaned against a veranda pillar just inside the vast living room, juggling the fork. He was obviously accustomed to girls plummeting from the roof onto his floor, judging by the smirk.

  For the second time today, I grappled with the urge to punch something. Or someone. “A bit flippant with the saviour’s wellbeing, aren’t you? What would you have done if that fork speared my eyeball?”

  “Watched you heal and hoped a painful lesson was learned. Vigilance.”

  Dressed only in loose cotton pants, a towel draped his neck. Water glistened on his unblemished bronze skin to squeeze my innards. I sat back on my haunches, occupying myself with a house inspection and a rewarding image of the fork projecting from the middle of his forehead.

  The sophisticated expanse was as uncluttered and spotless as before, all white leather and marble. A floor-to-ceiling gilt framed mirror occupied the wall in front of me, a gallery of priceless art either side. On my right, partitioned glass granted access to the wraparound veranda. Thankfully, it was day here too. Outside, fuchsias hung from the rafters, swaying gently and lit by a thousand shimmers of light from a nearby pool. Waves crashed on a distant shore below.

  “A shame you’re not on your back. If I recall, you enjoyed that last time.”

  Eden with its goading snake. I sighed. This would be no easy conversation. He moved without sound and was in front of me as abruptly as the fork, one arm extended to help me up. Gathering my wits and my splattered dignity, I accepted his bid without thinking. Seth pulled me up fast, so that I jerked to a stop at an intimate remove, the curves of my body pressing the firm planes of his torso.

  His perpetual sneer made it easy to discount how youthful he was, but absent the benefit of space between us it was all too apparent, as he stared down at me. Seth was only a couple of years older, accentuated by his unlined face and clear eyes bluer than the wings of a Morpho butterfly. His development had stunted the moment he met the witch, trapped in her Peter-Pan curse, and unable to lose his beauty or mature.

  They sure married young in the days of yore. When teenage soldiers fought wars and girls barely out of their first decade ran manors while toting babies on their hips, I guess life’s stages accelerated.

  He gazed at me with irresistible magnetism. It felt as though my soul would combust and I would be lost forever. Or maybe I confused lust with the divine. For that was Seth’s talent, to inspire unremitting need, sexual or otherwise. It was all so shallow and cheap, lacking any true connection or the emotional depth I saw in a husband’s love for his wife. Did any tatters of Daniel’s humanity endure?

  I wrenched my arm from his hold and took a large step backwards. Not for the first time, I envied my flat-chested sisters.

  “Why do you have to be such a wanker every second?” I spat, thoroughly flustered.

  “It’s not a choice.” He shrugged, still so near I could smell the sea on his skin. “Just comes naturally. Besides, you’re not with me every second. More’s the pity. What are you doing here?” His chiselled cheeks flushed and eyes lingered.

  “We have a pu
zzle I’m hoping you can solve.”

  “The puzzles do tend to mount. You really are something else. I don’t usually feel–”

  “Let’s settle this. I don’t give a snot how you feel. I have a boyfriend,” I said, awkward under his spotlight and battling the urge to cover my chest, which would probably only draw added attention. “I love him very much.”

  He burst into laughter so exaggerated, it was definitely mocking. Then he halted, deathly serious. The contrast in mood shocked. “All the excuses and all the feeble denials. They never make any difference, in the end. Everyone who craves caves. And everyone craves. All I have to do is find that tiny button … and tickle. Why are you wet?”

  I peered down at my suctioned gym gear and groaned inwardly, realising what a mess I must look. And how evident were my curves. Then I remembered: I didn’t care about his opinion. We needed information. Seth was making me uncomfortable again, but this time I swore not to let him rile me.

  “Will you help or not?”

  With a flourish, he produced a fluffy white towel from thin air and offered it to me. It matched the one around his neck. I stared warily at him, cringing like a flogged pet.

  “Peace, truly. No more games, Keeper.” Could he be trusted? “So, the Deltas have become visible to select individuals.”

  Apparently not. “You knew all along!”

  He spread his arms wide. “I am in solitary confinement. I’m bored and needed the entertainment. And you make sport so easy.”

  I ground my teeth, snatching the suspended towel. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make it so hard. Wait … how do you know why I’m here?”

  “I can hear you coming in my mind, sometimes even see through your eyes. For reasons beyond me, I have no control over it.” Genuine bewilderment shaped his features. “Enoch has done his best to shield you from me with imperfect success.”

  Another psychic connection. The inside of my skull was more crowded than Central Station – soon a lack of space would force me out.

  “Come outside onto the veranda. The view is something to behold. And I’ve received unbreakable instructions the beverage du jour is ice water.”

  We turned together, both of us brought up short at the sight in the mirror. And I watched as Seth’s jaw parted in anguish and his eyes squeezed shut. He dropped his head into his hands, his question muted.

  “Why? Why did you bring that here?”

  I stared at Raphaela’s awful lounge, its reflection looming behind us. But when I spun to view the actual article, the mirage had departed and the floor was clear. When I turned back again, the mirror too, was now devoid of ghosts.

  “It wasn’t me,” I murmured. And woke the beast.

  Seth’s arm flew out, his fingers long enough to nearly ring my neck. He lifted me straight-armed and my feet left the ground. Gasping and flailing, my instincts shouted to fumble for purchase beneath his tightening hand, yet I knew that was futile. His eyes were no longer beautiful, glazed and feral, his face straining with exertion. He was too strong. I fell limp, lulling him into the belief I would not fight as he throttled the life out of me.

  Until I brought up my fist and punched him in the throat with all the dying energy I could rally. He dropped me immediately, and my traumatised knees broke the plunge once more. I howled in agony, punching him again as hard as I could in the groin, just to be sure, before I crumpled. Seth melted to the floor in a ball, cupping his privates and groaning.

  “You call that peace? Truly?” I croaked when the symphony of hurts eventually subsided, rolling onto my side in a belated effort to ease the pain. Easing my guard around him was obviously a luxury I could ill afford. We lay facing each other like two halves of a misshapen circle.

  “Superb right hook. Admirable dirty tactics.” His eyes remained closed, waiting for the hurt to fade. “I should stop underestimating you.”

  “You should stop blaming me for whatever weird shit happens.” I rubbed my poor knees. “I’m not playing clueless, I am clueless. Nothing I do is deliberate. It’s all accidental.”

  He opened those dazzling eyes, shiny chocolate strands of hair brushing his cheek. “Forgive me, I beg of you. Apologies don’t suffice.”

  My flaming neck agreed. Those healing gifts activated too slowly and I wished they would cut to the chase already. I dragged to a squat, readying to put weight on my screaming joints, my patience for Seth threadbare.

  “Repay me by getting to the point,” I told him. He was by me once more, offering his hand to help me up. “There is no scenario on earth that would encourage me to touch you. So stop trying.” Seth’s arm flopped to his side, a look of sorrow scrunching his brow. A groan escaped as I unfurled my objecting body, and I couldn’t care less about his dented ego. “What’s with the reaction to that lounge? Or do you have a general furniture phobia?”

  He struggled to speak. “Our … our child was conceived upon it.”

  Note to self: don’t sit on that lounge. Possibly, burn it. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have no need. Another child came before, one unrelated to Raphaela. She called the little girl, the catalyst.”

  “The catalyst?”

  “One who triggers change and starts a reaction. Or in this instance, a series of reactions that reverberated across many years.”

  I rolled my eyes, impatient now that we finally came down to it. “I know what the word means. What change?”

  “The knowledge you were not alone in the fight to come. It seems, young Keeper, as Raphaela predicted. In their hour of most need, the Sacred Trinity are recruiting.”

  Seven

  We settled out on the porch on two white leather recliners that were, in my opinion, not spaced far enough apart. I wondered if Enoch would punish Seth for hurting me. Again. Seth had not lied about the spectacular view, pale sand rimming the azure of a cove surrounded by cliffs. His villa sat high on the hill overlooking.

  “Where exactly is this place?”

  “An island of my choice in the Mediterranean, known for its beauty and seclusion.” He poured us drinks and placed mine on the low table between us, explaining all the while. “You are transported here as soon as you cross the threshold that operates as a gateway. The ocean, the wind through your hair, the scent of frangipanis on the air, all of it is real.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Perhaps next time, you will allow me to demonstrate. We can swim at the beach and picnic together in the gardens.”

  Encouraging Seth to wear even less was the big bang of dumb ideas, especially if I, too, was not fully covered up. Laws and the requirements of modesty did not apply in his realm.

  “On my next trip,” I snorted. “I’m wearing a girdle of Victorian complexity under a neck-to-ankle caftan. And bringing an AK-47 in case you experience the urge to choke me again.” See him penetrate those defences.

  He laughed and shook his head. “You really are a little firecracker.” This, from someone as volatile as he was. “I’m glad to hear you intend to return, despite my appalling welcome.” My vision flickered, a wash of red painting the view, and with it, smothering apprehension. The clock counted down. Seth sat forward. “Are you alright, Keeper?”

  “Please go on.” Unfiltered sight returned, panic lingering like ash in the aftermath of Pompeii. “The catalyst?” I perched stiffly on the edge of my chair, twitchy for unknown threat.

  “A deaf street girl named Maya. She wasn’t an orphan, but may as well have been, her father in jail and mother a crack addict. Raphi found her when she was only five, malnourished, neglected and likely to come to harm if someone didn’t help.”

  “Raphaela took Maya in?” I lifted my glass of water with a shaky hand and gulped, the cool easing my raw throat.

  Seth squinted at my jittery state, but didn’t comment. “A considerable risk for a Keeper. Revealing her home, exposing her secrets. A Keeper’s invulnerability lies in her isolation. Once the Stone is claimed she is the single point of weakness. For only a Keeper knows the hiding place and Ke
epers are very difficult to find. I should know. I searched at the witch’s command without success for centuries, never coming close to the Trinity. Until Raphaela volunteered to show herself.”

  Not only did Seth know Isadore’s name from the start, he must have also guessed it was she who took the Stone. Yet he’d never shared that insider knowledge across a thousand years of untold persecution. Giving Finesse the original Keeper’s name would have spared us all a millennia of Trinity endeavour because the witch would surely have hunted Isadore down and wrested her Stone from the thief in short order. Seth’s reward would have been to reign supreme in a world of the Crone’s choosing, no more pain, powerful and revered above all.

  Seth chose instead to quietly undermine his evil mistress. He hid the truth while outwardly doing her bidding. I struggled to forge a solid picture from the pieces. In the face of such staggering, consistent sacrifice, my faith in him did not seem so naive. Of course, my throbbing neck challenged this charitable attitude.

  “Under Raphi’s tutelage and with the benefit of a cochlear implant, Maya blossomed into a strong, intelligent and acutely sensitive young lady. But her growth brought with it a sense of increasing jeopardy. So, six years ago, Raphi sent Maya away for her own safety, to finish her secondary education at an elite boarding school.”

  Another spike of fear jabbed my mind. Someone was at dire risk and I had no idea how to intervene or for whom, only the conviction their time was running low. Was it Maya?

  “Where is she now?” I demanded. “We must track her down before Anathema get the chance. And you’ve not explained how Maya saw the Deltas.”

  “At school, I presume. It will be faster if you see for yourself. Hand me your glass.”

  I did as he asked, careful not to brush his fingers. He took a swig, swished it around his mouth and spat the liquid back in his cup. “Drink.”