by Tracy Clark
“That’s the problem with what you’re doing,” my mother commented later when I went downstairs for supper and showed her the printouts of the two folios from the Book of Kells. “You’re looking for connections in things that may very well be unrelated. Seriously, dots? You will fritter away your life trying to solve this unsolvable puzzle.” Her eyes darkened and went to another place for just a moment.
The heat of aggravation rose from my chest to my tensed jaw. “Is there a reason you don’t want it solved? Why didn’t you tell me that Newgrange was where we all originated?”
My mother’s chin pulled back incredulously. “Dammit, Finn, because we don’t know for sure! Why would I fill your head with superstition?”
“But you always said that the triple spiral was important to our family.”
Her sigh was heavy as she dropped her soup spoon down with a clang. “Because I suspect something does not make it so. And how will it help save Cora to know where we come from? Seems to me that saving the Scintilla is your only real concern. My little brother,” she said, crossing herself, “dragged us into a war, and now you’re keeping us in it.”
“So you’d rather the Scintilla all be killed?”
“I’d rather—” My mother’s voice faltered and lowered as did her eyes. “I’d rather you forget about Cora Sandoval and move on with your life before you’re killed trying to save hers.”
“I. Can. Not. Forget.”
My mother sighed. “I know. But I lost you once, Finn. Don’t make me go through that again. A mother should never have to go through that—” Her hands shook, and she placed them in her lap.
Beats of uncomfortable silence bounced between us until I ventured another question. “Saoirse said that her mother was eager to pull me close because I was from one of the oldest Arrazi families around, specifically your side of the family. Why would that matter to Ultana?”
“I assumed it was some kind of antediluvian notion about bloodlines. Ultana Lennon thought herself superior, even among Arrazi. The only thing that makes our family special is that, to my knowledge, there has never been a union that wasn’t between two pure Arrazi.”
Was it bloodlines or something else Ultana wanted?
“The woman’s dead, and she still has secrets,” I said. “She was a thief. So much so that the mark on her face was branded there hundreds of years ago, a thief’s brand. She had stolen ashes from Dante’s tomb inside the heart—stolen, too, by the way—from Christ Church, right there in her office! I saw her collect souvenirs from a kill,” I said, recalling how Ultana snipped off a clutch of hair from Mari’s friend, Teruko, and added a coin from her pocket to her collection plates. If there was a coin for every life she took, then she was a prolific murderer over her many centuries. “I’m glad that moldy bitch is finally dead.”
My mother shot me a stern look for my language, but to hell with that. “Maybe she had more than one goal,” I said. “She might have been after me for her daughter, like you say, but I wonder if she was after something else.”
Those words had an odd effect on my mother. She stared at me, but I could see her thoughts were racing. Her forehead creased as she thought. “Do you know what she might have been after?” I asked, hoping my sortilege would make her explain her odd reaction.
Abruptly, she stood and said, “Yes. Come.”
We left the dining room and entered the hall outside the library. I thought she meant to go into the library, possibly after a book, but she stopped in front of The Scintillating Host of Heaven.
Bizarrely, my mother reached and pulled the art open like a door. Behind it was a small panel in the wall, which she slid down, revealing a keypad. “Three, twenty-six, seven,” she said aloud as she entered the numbers. The display flashed green, I heard a loud click, and an entire door-sized section of the wall slid open.
“Feckin’ Jaysus!”
My mother shot me a tired look and opened the door.
“No more secrets,” she said. “The existence of this vault and its contents has been passed to every eldest child in the Mulcarr family. Even my brother was ignorant of its existence. You’d have been notified upon my death, but I’m giving you access now to every item I possess from our family’s history.” Mum placed her hand on my cheek and left it there long enough to warm my heart. “If there is anything here that will give you answers”—her eyes glossed with sadness—“or peace, then I entrust it to you.”
The sharp inhale of surprise from my mother when I pulled her into a tight hug made me sad. We’d never been touchy-feely, but this gesture of trust from her was enormous. I’d always felt the inflexible rope of her protectiveness, always sensed secrecy in her, and it kept us from being truly close. I knew what it took for her to release ultimate control and finally trust me, and I loved her more for it.
She flipped a light switch and a short corridor illuminated an old wooden door. The door groaned when she pushed it open for us to enter into a single room about the size of my parents’ walk-in closet. It contained a large rectangular desk at one end. The walls on either side were lined with filing cabinets that were both deep and wide, the kind that might be used by artists or architects to house large papers flat without folding.
“Under the staircase?” It was laughable that I’d never even wondered what might lie below the wide staircase. “Wicked. Have you spent much time in here?” I asked, tracing a triangle in the thick dust on top of one of the wooden cabinets. It seemed no one had been inside in years. I suddenly foresaw hours of my future in this dank room.
“After my father died, I spent quite a bit of time perusing the contents of various drawers,” she said, pulling one drawer open and lifting the corner of a stack of old papers, sending motes dancing in the shafts of light. “But there’s so much here, so much history, literally hundreds and hundreds of years, and when one doesn’t have a specific thing to look for, nothing leaps out.
“If there was anything in this room that could help us, don’t you think the information would have been passed down and spread to other Arrazi? Eventually, we had you, and the current of life rushed forward in its winding, swift way. I accepted what I was and closed the door on the past.”
“Thank you for this—for not keeping any more secrets from me, Mum. For trusting me.”
Her eyes shone with appreciation, and she wrapped her hand behind my neck and pulled me to her. “Oh, darlin’, I love you.” Then she pushed me at arm’s length, and her face turned sardonic. “There’s another secret, to be sure. It’s another reason I brought you in here. The Mulcarr family hasn’t exactly been stock full of saints, I’m afraid.”
Chapter Fifteen
Giovanni
I walked back to Mami Tulke’s house on the same dusty road we drove up in her golf cart, all the while looking down on the community of Scintilla she’d hidden in the Elqui Valley. How strange that these inhospitable-looking mountains with cactus and goats and dirt would cradle the world’s most rare species of human.
From talking to Will, it seemed they were totally unaware of the menace that was bearing down on all Scintilla. Clancy knew Cora’s grandmother was a Scintilla; surely he’d have told someone. At the very least, they’d come to Chile looking for more family members.
They’d stumble upon a damn diamond mine.
And crush every single one.
Sweat trickled down my back as I came upon Mami Tulke’s small house. Claire was outside with Yolanda picking strawberries from raised beds. My steps stuttered when I saw my daughter, and I shaded my eyes so I could more clearly observe her. Never had I seen such a brazen aura on someone, as if she wanted to color the whole sky with her brilliant rainbow. Even back at Dr. M’s, when we could see and feel her strength, it wasn’t this big. It was as though by freeing her from his facility, her spirit had been freed.
I didn’t like the way it rolled over Yolanda like feelers. I reminded myself that Claire was a child and had little to no experience with the outside world. It was up to
me to teach her about her own energy. How was I going to do that when I barely knew how to untangle her hair? I supposed, though, that I knew more about auras than grooming a kid. When she saw me watching, she bounded over and handed me a plump red strawberry. “We came outside to listen to the buzzing,” she said through stained lips, “and I found some strawberries.”
“Buzzing?”
“You don’t hear it? Yolanda says she can’t hear it, either. It’s loud, though. It’s this place,” she said, glancing at the trees and foliage around us.
I listened harder but didn’t hear anything but the screech and hum of nature, which I figured she was hearing, and the occasional clang of someone in Mami Tulke’s kitchen banging around a little too loudly. It kicked up a childhood memory of my mother, who cooked louder when she was mad. “Hungry?” I asked her as she stuffed another strawberry into her mouth. “We’d better get you fed, topolina. And a bath. It’s bad that I can’t recall your last bath, no?”
It took some getting used to, but I was catching on to the most basic routines of fatherhood. Well, Mami Tulke did have to remind me about the bath thing that morning. Having never cared for anyone’s basic needs but my own, I was proud for adjusting so quickly. Proud of Claire, too. Her phantom buzzing concerned me, though. Perhaps she should have her ears checked? I trusted my ability to detect illness in a person’s aura. It usually showed up as a noticeably dark area over the affected body part. The space over Claire’s ears looked fine.
“The whipped cream is ready,” Mami Tulke said to Claire from the doorway. “You have enough berries to bring me, or are you eating them as fast as you can pick them?” Mami Tulke’s voice sounded happy, but her eyes dragged over me with a weary glint as we went inside.
After dinner of roast pork and fresh green salad, and the bowl of summer that was berries and cream, Claire trounced off to take a bath. Mami Tulke blocked me with her squat little body as I tried to leave the kitchen. “Will called,” she said, hands firmly planted on her apron-clad hips. “Wants to meet with me. It’s urgent, he says. What in the name of Christ on the Cross did you say to him?”
I felt the slap of defensiveness on my back. “Mami Tulke, you’ve done a good thing by hiding them here, but they have a right to know the truth and to do what they can to prepare themselves for the arrival of the Arrazi.”
“We need to be strong, not panicked. I told you, fear is our enemy. Fear weakens everyone here.”
“Ignorance weakens everyone here.”
We glared at each other. “Giovanni, if people panic and scatter to the winds, they will be out in the world, defenseless. There is always strength in numbers.”
“Defenseless is defenseless, no matter how many we number. We have no defense against an Arrazi’s power.”
“You are young—the young are always so impulsive—and your own fear has you jumpy and stirring up trouble. Do not be so arrogant as to assume there are no protections in place.” Her aura jabbed at me as much as her words did. God, the women of this family…
Young. Impulsive. I bristled at her condescension. I’d lost my parents, been attacked by the Arrazi, and nearly lost the most important person in my life. Yes, I was afraid. But fear was hot coal burning in my gut, and it would burn until the threat was gone. “What, are they going to protect themselves with Qigong? Positive energy? Positive energy didn’t save Gráinne when it mattered most. It’s war! If I have fear, it’s because I now understand what we’re up against.”
I thought of Cora, and my chest ached with missing and worrying about her even though she’d already checked in with Mami Tulke twice. I thought of Claire, splashing in the bathtub, who deserved to live a life of freedom and a life without losing everyone she loved. I thought of the surprising community of Scintilla living in Chile, who might be the very last of a supernatural race.
I even thought of Cora’s father, Benito, and what he said the night he was murdered. He spoke about energy and the mysterious deaths and planetary instability. Even the crazy Dr. M thought innocent people all over the world might face destruction if the Arrazi won.
Too much depended upon destroying the Arrazi.
A strange sound rumbled outside, and my initial thought was “thunder.” I felt a hulking jerk beneath my feet, and the world rattled and heaved.
Mami Tulke’s aura flared in alarm as she yelled, “Terremoto!”
Earthquake.
Adrenaline burst through my body. The entire house shook like a snow globe in a careless child’s hand. Amid the sounds of falling objects and breaking glass, I staggered to the bathroom. Claire’s hands gripped the sides of the tub, her face warped in fear. I struggled to keep my balance as I yanked a towel from a rod and wrapped it around her little body, pulling her from the water. The ground pitched and jolted, knocking my feet out from under me. We fell together against the wall. Her head burrowed into my chest as I curled around her like a shell with my arms shielding her head and waited for the earth to end its tantrum.
Chapter Sixteen
Cora
Cardinal Báthory didn’t feel like an Arrazi. But the ring confirmed his connection with an Arrazi, a ruthless one who’d murdered Dante Alighieri and whose job it was to hunt down and kill every last Scintilla.
That made him my enemy.
No amount of will was strong enough to stop my knees from shaking.
When Ultana had said, “as long as there is a god upon their altar, they will never stop hunting you,” was it the altar I now stood before? Had I finally found the top of the pyramid? Who was this guy? Was he working alone, or on orders from someone another step up? My legs itched to run. Self-preservation in the immediate warred with my desire to stop this craziness forever. There were still unanswered questions.
Most importantly—I didn’t know why.
A well-dressed man in a suit approached the three of us with rushed steps and leaned in to the cardinal’s ear. A troubled expression blanketed his face, and he crossed himself. Piero and I exchanged curious glances. “Check in again with the archbishop in La Serena, Chile.”
Cardinal Báthory excused himself and strode away without a look back, but the mention of my grandmother’s country sent bursts of anxiety through me. “What did he say? He said something about Chile,” I said, and realized I’d grabbed Piero’s arm. The cardinal had hinted that they knew who stole the hand. Would they go after my grandmother? If so, they’d stumble on the last Scintilla: Mami Tulke and Giovanni. As soon as I was away from Piero I had to call and warn them.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear, but it seemed urgent, no?” Piero said.
“What is that man’s role here?” I asked, clueless about the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church.
“He works in the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Used to be known as the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition.”
That word was cold water in my face, and my mouth went dry. Piero noticed my reaction, and one side of his mouth lifted into a knowing smile. “The Inquisition? Like witch hunts and burnings at the stake? That Inquisition?”
“Yes,” he said. “There will always be an aftertaste to that word. No wonder they changed the name of the office, eh?” he added with a chuckle. “I’ve enjoyed our time, but I must be going soon. I have a group tour at half past. Do you have any last questions for me?”
I tried to act nonchalant despite the reasons to be anything but: the cardinal and his Xepa ring, his alarmed mention of Chile after our unnerving conversation, and the fact that he headed the church office that was once known for violently routing out anyone they deemed a heretic. My hands drummed anxiously against my thighs.
“I really appreciate your time. Thank you. I’ve learned a lot.” I meant it. I now felt sure that Michelangelo and Dante were similar in one deep respect: they both tried to plant messages within their art about threes and the corruption they saw in the church. I also knew that the man who headed the new office of what was once known as the Inquis
ition had a Xepa ring. My brain was a spinning top, and my aura was dropping silver flecks of dread around me. I had to get out of this place, call Chile, and then do what I could to learn about Cardinal Báthory.
Piero Salamone gave a little nod and walked away. Another question sprang to mind and I rushed across the spiraled tiles to tap his shoulder. “Um, I do have a last question… Did Michelangelo Buonarotti ever live here at the Vatican?”
“Many have speculated for centuries over that very question. Funny you should ask because rather recently, in 2007, there was a significant finding that proves Michelangelo did, in fact, reside here at St. Peter’s at one point.”
“Oh?” I yearned to see his room, to touch his memories. “What was the significant finding?”
“A ledger entry for a 450-year-old receipt was discovered with a notation that Michelangelo had a very expensive key made for a chest in his room. It said, ‘10 scudi’—much money in that time—‘to make a key for a chest in the room in St. Peter’s where Master Michelangelo retires to.’”
Piero’s entire aura buzzed with the kind of excitement that a discovery of that magnitude would give an art geek. My own aura responded, alighting with hot and nervous excitement at the word key.
“Can I visit the room? Do they have the key?” I asked eagerly. Impatient fervor threaded through my blood and, though I needed to call Mami Tulke, there was no way I could leave before trying to touch Michelangelo’s room.
“Neither, I’m afraid,” Piero said, bursting my hope. “It’s believed he lived in a small room inside a wing called the Fabricca, while working on The Last Judgment. He was the Pope’s chief architect during that time. No one knows why he would have ordered such an expensive key. Odd, as he was quite the miser, known to keep a wooden chest of gold under his bed. That may very well be what the key was for. If they have found either the room or the key, it has not been made public knowledge.”
“A valuable key would have to unlock a valuable secret,” I said to emphatic nodding from Piero. I was less interested in the key itself than the lock.