Prophet of Doom: Delphi Chronicles Book One

by D. S. Murphy

  I crept upstairs on my tiptoes. Brett’s parents weren’t home yet, so I had a little bit of time to look around. My heart raced when I heard a voice talking, but then I realized it was just Brett. He must be on the phone. I paused outside of his door, my heart pounding.

  “I told you, babe, we’re just studying. Cody invited Chrys over and Alicia tagged along. She’s acting like a psycho, always trying to be close to me. I didn’t even want to hang out with them, but my dad’s helping them with some science project or something, I don’t even know.”

  Asshole. Chrys was right, I'd been too concerned with what Brent thought about me. Well, now that I knew how he really felt about me, I didn’t care any more about pissing him off.

  I walked down the hallway, passing the bathroom and peeking my head in doors until I found Mr. Peters’ office. If anyone knew what was really going on at Zamonta, it would be the chief scientist in charge of genetic research. The room was bigger than my bedroom, and smelled like wood polish and old paper. Shelves of books lined the walls like wallpaper. I expected them to be all about science but there was a large collection of books on mythology. One of them caught my eye. The title was embossed in gold foil. The Temple of Delphi. Inside were old photographs of some kind of pagan ritual, along with illustrations of the ruins of Delphi—a circle of broken pillars on a mountain platform. Only three of the pillars were still intact, capped by an enormous stone. Frantic notes were scribbled into the margins of the book. Most were indecipherable but one phrase was printed clearly enough to read. I count the grains of sand on the beach and measure the sea.

  A huge desk sat at the end of the room. There was a laptop, a stack of papers, and a framed photo on it. I searched the desk for any important files or documents but came up empty-handed. Then I saw the shelf behind the desk, labelled Zamonta. There were books on the science of food and a few documents that seemed like gibberish when I tried to read them, full of equations and geometrical diagrams. I kept sifting through the papers, until I found a folded map of the Zamonta building. When I opened it up, an index card file to the floor. Someone had written on the front of it. Keycode: 259158.

  Jackpot. I shoved the map in my back pocket and quickly exited the room. I was moving so quickly I nearly ran into someone coming the other way up the stairs. Mr. Peters.

  His head tilted slightly and at first, he looked confused, but then he smiled. “You’re Alicia, right?” he asked. “You came to Thanksgiving dinner.”

  I nodded, unable to form a single word. “I see you and my son are getting along really well. It’s nice that you all can focus on the books. I know when I was your age that was the last thing on my mind.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t admit that to you if I want to be a good parent, right?”

  I blinked, once, twice, then shrugged. If I wasn’t still frozen in place, I would cringe at how awkward I was. His smile grew as he looked at me.

  “I should get back,” I muttered, sidestepping him.

  He sucked in a small breath and said, “You remind me of someone.”

  What? I turned around. “Who?”

  He shrugged, which seemed uncharacteristic for someone like him. “Someone I knew a long time ago,” he responded. He flashed a quick smile and walked into his office without another word. A chill went down my spine.

  I made my way back to the living room and Crys looked up at me. I could see the question in her eyes. I squatted next to her and whispered into her ear.

  “We’ve got to go. Now.”

  18

  It took us twenty minutes to drive to Zamonta. Crys parked on a discreet side of the building and turned off her lights. We huddled together and looked at the map. The building was enormous, six floors and dozens of intersecting hallways. The rooms weren’t labelled, so we’d have to explore until we found Mr. Peters’ office.

  “If they’re growing phylia here, it has to be in one of these rooms on the basement level. See, it says organic research facilities.” Crys pointed at one of the rooms and drew an invisible cross with her fingertip.

  “X marks the spot,” she said, almost gleefully.

  “You seem pretty confident,” I observed.

  She shrugged. “Light B&E, a little late night larceny… what’s not to like?”

  I chewed my lower lip. “What if it’s not there?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Then we look somewhere else.” I opened my mouth to release another doubt, but she shushed me. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just do this before we talk ourselves out of it.”

  She pulled a black scarf out of her bag and wrapped it around her face, covering her mouth and nose. I laughed. “Is that supposed to be you blending in?”

  “Duh,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf.

  She handed me a spare scarf, but I shook my head. I pulled up the hood of my jacket to hide my face. I shouldered my backpack and took a deep breath, then we walked up to the gate, stopping briefly to ogle the building. It looked nearly the same as I remembered it from my last visit, in the future, but with better landscaping around the massive rectangular building. Our footsteps echoed in the empty parking lot as we got closer.

  We avoided the spotlights beaming down from the building, illuminating the perimeter. Through the all-glass front of the building we could see the main lobby, and a night security guard sitting behind the desk watching TV. Crys nudged me and pointed to a side entrance around the corner. We crouched down as we made our way to the door. It was locked, but there was a keypad next to it. I pulled out the index card and typed in the numbers.

  259158. The light turned green. I grabbed the handle but it still wouldn’t budge.

  “Damn,” Crys murmured, staring at the keypad. “It says ‘swipe keycard.’”

  “I didn’t find any keycard,” I said. “Just the keycode.”

  “Let’s just try a bunch of numbers,” she said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “The alarm goes off and we get arrested?”

  “Not helpful,” she frowned. She turned back to the keypad and punched in a random set of six numbers. A red light beeped on the keypad. She tried another set of four numbers. No luck. Another set. Still no luck.

  “This is hopeless,” I said. “We need another way in—”

  “What are you doing?” A voice spoke from behind us. We both jumped. Shit. The panic showed in my eyes as I looked at Crys. Her hands shook as they hovered over the keypad.

  “Turn around,” the voice said. Crys turned around first and her expression changed from fear to surprise. I turned around and gasped when I saw Brett glaring at us. His arms were crossed and he looked pissed. My mouth hung open as I searched for words.

  “Brett…” I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  He laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “What am I doing here?” He said, his voice clipped.

  “I—I thought… we were just…” I cursed myself for sounding so small and weak.

  “What were you two thinking?” He took a step closer. “You know what you’re doing right now is crazy, right?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself and shrunk inwardly.

  “How did you find us?”

  He paused and then glanced at Crys. “Cody told me.”

  The blood drained from my face. “You told him?”

  She flinched. “Not exactly. I told him to keep Brett busy for awhile, because we had to take care of something.”

  “Real smooth,” I glared at her. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It just sort of came out.”

  The anger rose in my voice. “You don’t have to share everything with your boyfriend.”

  Her expression changed from apologetic to hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said, the frustration oozing through my clenched teeth. “Forget it.”

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Go ahead. Say whatever it is you clearly want to s
ay to me.”

  There was a pause. I should have chosen my words carefully, but I was so angry and frustrated, the words poured out unfiltered.

  “You always do shit like this,” I blurted. “Take big risks but then be reckless about it. You talked me into this, remember? It’s like you wanted us to get caught.”

  “Whatever. I can’t expect you to understand what it’s like being in a relationship. After all, you’ve been pining over Brett for years, wishing you had half the chemistry Cody and I have. He still wouldn’t even know who you were if it wasn’t for me. You’d never have had the guts to talk to him.”

  My mouth dropped open and my eyes immediately went to Brett. He cleared his throat and looked away. My cheeks burned red. Damnit.

  “I don’t need you to take care of me,” I said through clenched teeth. We’d fought before, but I never would have guessed she was capable of humiliating me like that in front of Brett.

  “If you say so,” she laughed, walking back to her car. “I’m sure Brett can give you a ride home. And don’t bother calling me tonight.”

  Brett and I watched as her car purred to life and screeched off. Silence descended like a blanket around us. I couldn’t even look at him after what Chrys said. Brett cleared his throat and spoke first.

  “I was going to lecture you some more about what a stupid idea this was, but…” he met my eyes. “That was intense.”

  My eyes fell to the ground. I was mortified he knew I’d liked him for years. He probably didn’t even know who I was a few weeks ago. Brett stepped closer to me and I almost thought he was going to put an arm around me, but he reached into his pocket instead and pulled something out.

  “You’ll need this,” he said, holding up a keycard. When he flipped it around, it had a picture of his dad and his dad’s name, under the word VISITOR.

  I froze. “Is that...”

  “It’s our way in,” he smiled.

  I looked up at him. “You’re giving me your dad’s keycard?”

  “Uh, no,” he laughed. “I’m coming with you.”

  I blinked slowly. “You’re… coming?”

  “If it’s this important to you, I’ll help. I just wished you’d been honest with me, instead of going behind my back.” He moved past me and swiped the card near the keypad. The light flashed green and the lock released with a click. Brett opened the door and grabbed my hand. My body went rigid, but he didn’t notice. He pulled me inside the building and didn’t let go even after we were inside. I stared at our entwined hands. His soft fingers squeezed mine gently. I liked the feel of his skin on mine. An electric current flowed through his fingers and trailed up my arm. I wondered if he noticed. I looked up at him and caught him watching me. He released my hand and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything about it, but there was something different about the way he looked at me.

  I averted my eyes and took out the map. “So, we—” I sighed when I thought about Crys. “I thought that this was the best place to start.” I pointed to the spot on the map.

  Brett cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?” He smiled and there was amusement in his eyes.

  “Well, we could go there, but that’s the basement. Mostly grain storage.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  He chuckled softly. “Come on,” he said, nodding forward again. “Dad’s office is this way.”

  We turned down two intersecting hallways. Brett used his keycard on a few more doors.

  “Come here often?” I asked, grinning at my own lame joke.

  “More often than you’d think,” he said. “My dad wants me to learn the ways of the company. At least that’s what he tells me.” He shrugged and we continued to walk down more hallways until we reached the end a double door. Brett swiped the keycard right before I saw the name on the bronze plaque. Kyle Peters. His dad’s office. He was about to open the door when I grabbed his arm. He looked at my hand with a questioning expression.

  “What do you think is in there?” I whispered.

  “Relax, it’s just paperwork, not some evil villain’s laboratory.”

  I blew out a small breath of air and followed him inside. His dad’s office was bigger than his office at home. There were wall-to-wall shelves with countless files. It was orderly and seemed to be arranged by subject. There was a red leather couch at one end of the office and an enormous black desk at the other. Brett went to his dad’s desk and opened one of the filing cabinets next to it. I wondered if he often snooped through his dad’s things, or if it meant he was beginning to have doubts about his father. In the corner was a large standing cabinet with glass doors, full of small plastic containers with white labels on them. My eyes lit up when I saw one marked phylia.

  “Got it,” I said, holding up a handful of containers.

  “You think you’ll need all that?” Brett said, looking up from behind the desk. He’d pulled out a few manila folders and was fanning the papers out to get a better look at them.

  I shrugged. “We don’t want to have to come back, right?”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were addicted.”

  I snorted, then blushed. Smooth Alicia. I stuffed the containers in my bag, then zipped it up.

  “Objective one, complete,” I said. “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Brett said, running a hand through his hair. “I just thought, since we’re here, we should look into the open case studies, stuff that hasn’t been made public yet. There’s a whole file on phylia but I don’t understand a lot of it. Other than that… they’re working on making tomato skin stronger and bananas ripen faster… nothing about human testing or zombies.”

  “You thought there would be?”

  “No, not really. But it’s still a relief not to find anything. I told you my dad wasn’t involved.”

  Or he just keeps the good stuff hidden.

  “What’s this number, B-1593?” I asked, pointing to a red stamp on the front of one of the documents.

  “One of the basement storage rooms. Probably full of boxes or failed experiments or something. You want to go check it out?” he asked.

  “Might as well,” I said.

  Brett tucked the papers back into the folders, then opened up the file cabinet. I started passing him folders so he could file them back where they came from. We were almost done when my eyes froze on a folder that had been buried in the pile. I gasped and clasped a hand over my mouth. Brett looked up at me, confused, but it was like the world had blurred out, and was on mute. It was just me and the folder in an empty room, as my brain scrambled to figure out why I recognized the familiar name written across the front in Kyle Peters’ handwriting.

  Clara Gordon.

  My mother.

  ***

  The folder slipped out of my trembling fingers, and I watched the papers scatter across the floor.

  “Watch it, Alicia!” Brett snapped. “That’s my dad’s stuff. If he finds out I was in here, I’d be grounded for life.”

  Brett looked so serious, I giggled, then covered my mouth. Grounded. As if that meant anything anymore. As if it mattered. My body swayed to the side and Brett grabbed my arm, looking at me with a questioning expression. Like he was worried about me. Like I was something fragile that broke easily. A psycho.

  “Sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” I snapped, stooping to pick up the folder.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brett asked.

  “I heard what you said to Courtney. How I’m practically stalking you. How you wished you didn’t have to hang out with me.”

  “Oh. That. Sorry, it’s just, she gets jealous and freaks out.”

  I almost laughed again, but the sound died in my throat when I saw his earnest expression.

  “What does she have to be jealous about?” I asked, organizing the papers together.

  Brett’s eyes widened and he crouched down next to me. He stroked the back of my hand with his, then curled his fingers into mine.

&nb
sp; “You,” he said quietly. “She’s jealous of how I feel about you.”

  A million questions raced through my mind, but the words didn’t organize themselves into a coherent statement. His gaze was too intense, so I focused on his lips instead. My mouth opened involuntarily, but then I remembered the folder and pulled my hand away. What did my mother have to do with Zamonta? Why was her name on a folder in Kyle Peters’ private office? The fact that I was now here with Kyle’s son, years after her death—it just seemed so perfectly accidental, like we were playing out roles that had been scripted for us already. It made me suspicious. Was Brett really starting to doubt his own father, or was he just here to make sure the story was contained?

  The room suddenly felt far too warm, and I tugged at the collar of my shirt. I was sure my cheeks were bright red. I quickly gathered up the papers, scanning them for any detail that could help me figure out what my mother had to do with Kyle Peters. I felt something smooth and realized it was a small photo—a portrait of my mother. I slipped it into my pocket without Brett seeing and put the rest of the papers back into the folder.

  Brett’s hand grazed my shoulder and I jumped. “I’ll put this one away,” I said, somehow keeping my voice steady and calm. Brett’s admission still hung in the air like a cloud, but I didn’t want to address it. Not now. I stood up and cleared my throat, then tucked the folder back into the file cabinet.

  “We got what we came for,” I said. “Let’s check out B-1593 before we go.”

  Brett nodded and checked his watch, then glanced around the room, probably making sure everything was in the right spot. We took the stairs down two levels, emerging into a cavernous hallway. It was nearly pitch black, but I followed the sound of Brett’s footsteps on the polished tiles as we moved forward in the darkness. He used the light from his phone to read the numbers on the doors until we found the right one. The door unlocked with a swipe of Brett’s keycard and we stepped inside.

  “What the—”

  Brett stopped suddenly and I bumped into him, pushing him deeper into the room. The ceiling and walls had been brought in close, using a mix of concrete panels and plaster. The transition was jarring, to say the least. Brett had to duck under the narrow entranceway to reach the central chamber. Symbols were etched on the rough walls like cave paintings. In the center of the room stood a tall stool with three legs that ended in decoratively sculptured lion heads. A bright red robe was draped across the stool, and on top of it, a tiara made of golden leaves. A crystal clear pool of water surrounded the stool, reflecting the bizarre scene and making the space appear larger. The smell of stale smoke and spices tickled my nostrils.