by Sharon Wray
When she withdrew, he said, “Don’t be. The choices I made, along with the consequences, are mine to live with.”
She stood and ran her hand along the tomb one last time. The edges had been etched with a design. “The carvings on this tomb are intertwining yew and oak leaves. Like the carvings on the mantel.”
“And on your map.” He stood behind her and looked over her shoulders. “Except those sketches also had swords, lilies, and fish worked into the design. I get the lilies, but I wonder what the swords and fish are all about.”
“No idea.” She glanced back and held up her hand. “May I see your phone?”
He frowned. “What for?”
“Didn’t you take a picture of the map before you gave it to Nate?”
“My burner phone doesn’t take photos.” He kissed her neck, loving it when she shivered. “I assumed you took a photo.”
She pressed back against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her lavender scent, her softer body against the hard length of his, made him want to leave this place forever and go back to the apartment. He was tired of mysteries and secrets and dead things.
“Why would I do that?”
“When we were married, you were always the one snapping pictures.”
Now her eyes were closed, and she leaned most of her weight against him. “That’s ridiculous.”
“And you did take all the photos of your windows yesterday.”
“This was my responsibility?” She snorted. Delicately, of course. “You’re the one who came home with crazy stories of lilies and bowing men.”
He shrugged. “And you let me kiss you anyway.”
“We handed over our only clue without taking a picture.” She turned so he could see her narrowed eyes. And was that a slight smile? “What is wrong with us?”
He kissed her cheek. “I know I was distracted.”
She pushed him away. “Then let’s go home.”
He couldn’t agree more.
They gathered their things, and he locked up. After adjusting the shotgun, he saw Juliet standing a few feet away, her hands on her hips, staring at St. Michael. “What’s wrong?”
She pointed to the naked angel. “Sarah mentioned that Anne’s secret was protected by three archangels.” Juliet turned in a full circle. “Michael ahead of me, Anne behind me,” she stretched out her arms in opposite directions, “the other two would be on either side.”
“I’ll go right, you go left.” He kissed her quickly. “Be careful.”
It didn’t take long to lose sight of her behind two large mausoleums and a grove of pecan trees. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Do you see anything?”
“Not yet.” He was in the center of four limestone headstones. The only unusual thing was an empty plinth block with ELIZA PRIDEAUX 1600–1652 carved on the front. The yew-and-oak-leaf motif had been cut along the edges, interspersed with Juliet’s lilies. He walked around, seeing smaller tombs and mausoleums but no angels.
He went back to Anne’s tomb. “Where are you?”
“Over here!” He followed her voice until he found her between a crypt and an angel. Her backpack lay on top of a flat tomb nearby.
The archangel, while not as imposing as Michael, was eight feet tall on a four-foot plinth with THEODORE CAPEL 1590–1670 carved on the front. Again, yew and oak leaves had been etched, but this time with fish.
“It’s Raphael,” she said. “He’s standing on a fish and holding a staff, his angelic symbols.”
He pointed to the inscription Efficia fret quietum on the scroll in Raphael’s other hand. “This same scroll is on a relief of St. Raphael in the Doge’s Palace in Venice.”
“I’d love to go to Venice.” She touched the angel’s face. “Is it as romantic as it seems?”
“I didn’t go for the romance.” He took her hand and held it against his heart. “We’ll go there for our second honeymoon. After lots of wine and a dinner of bigoli in salsa, we’ll walk the streets and eat meringues. You’ll love them. They’re bigger than Calum’s head.”
She hit him in the chest with her free fist. “We never went on a first honeymoon.”
He caught that hand and kissed it too. “We honeymooned in Charleston.”
“One night at the Mills House Hotel. And we didn’t leave the room.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We were busy. Like last night.”
She yanked her hands out of his and cupped his face. “We need to focus.”
He covered her fingers with his. “I found a plinth block on the other side that probably held another angel. It has Eliza Prideaux’s name carved into it along with lilies.”
“Eliza was Theodore Capel’s wife and Anne’s mother. And the map’s decorations were yew and oak leaves combined with swords, fish, and lilies.”
Rafe glanced back toward the statue of St. Michael hidden behind many crypts and trees. “Swords are the angelic symbol of Michael, fish are the angelic symbol of Raphael, while lilies are the angelic symbol of…”
Juliet grabbed his arm, her eyes widening into brown pools. “Gabriel.”
Rafe ran a hand over his head, trying to work this out. “Gabriel lived in the manor.”
“My daddy moved him in when I was six.” She squinted at Raphael. “But why?”
Rafe knelt and ran his fingers along the bottom carvings until he felt a metal pin. When he pulled, a spring-action hinge popped and a door opened. He dragged out a steel box, and she lifted the top. Inside, wrapped in canvas, was a stack of yellowed, folded documents, and a manila envelope with Juliet’s name on it.
He handed her the envelope while he looked at the documents. They were very fragile and crumbling maps. He rewrapped them so they wouldn’t disintegrate.
“Rafe, look.” She’d opened the envelope and laid the contents on the ground to show him the scrawled signature of King Charles I of England. “My King’s Grants.”
* * *
Juliet gripped Rafe’s hand. “This means the vial could be in Gabriel or Michael.”
He stood and adjusted the weapon on his back. “Stay here while I check Michael.”
Before she could protest, he disappeared. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the graceful way he moved. Next to him, she felt like a clunky cow. She sighed and put the decrepit documents in the box. Luckily the grants weren’t as fragile.
How could she be holding documents signed by King Charles I that’d been touched by Anne? And her father? Each grant was folded in thirds and still held the remains of the royal wax seal. Although Juliet could make out the names on the grants, including the King’s and Theodore Capel’s, the rest of the writing was in a beautiful yet hard-to-read script.
“Don’t move.” Rafe’s harsh command made her freeze.
A second later, something whizzed by her head and cut her ear.
Rafe yanked her up and wrapped his arms around her. “Are you alright?”
“I think so.” She pressed her face against his chest. His heart beat faster than hers, and she held on, hoping to ease his fear as well. Although she’d no idea what he was afraid of. “What happened?”
He sprinkled kisses on her head, her nose, her cheeks until he found her lips. When he released her, he said, “Storm’s coming.”
A clap rumbled, and she looked up. The tree canopy hid the sky, but she could feel the rising static. Something dripped down her face, and she touched her ear. Her fingers came away red. “Why am I bleeding?”
He pointed to the tree behind her. She turned, still within his arms. There, held against the trunk with its head almost severed by Rafe’s knife, was a diamondback rattlesnake.
Her legs wobbled, and he tightened his hold. “I never heard him.”
“He wasn’t moving. But his head was raised. He must’ve been sleeping in the tree.”
&n
bsp; The diamondback rattler was the most venomous snake in Georgia. “Thank you.”
He rested his cheek against her head and rubbed her lower back. “I’m sorry I cut your ear. He was about to strike.”
“I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt.”
He kissed her again, this time with lingering pauses and rising pressure that mirrored the growing storm around them. “Please, Rafe. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 38
Balthasar stood near the window of his safe house. Coffee brewed while he scrolled through the photos Eddie had sent. Romeo holding Juliet in his arms, dancing, whispering in her ear. When he found one with Rafe’s hand dangerously close to her breast, Balthasar hit send.
Balthasar took no pleasure in destroying Philip’s dreams. Balthasar’s priority was finding the vial. But to do that he had to separate Juliet from all those she loved.
Snores came from the corner where Deke was sleeping off his meds. Steps sounded, and Eddie entered.
“It was so cool, man.” Eddie threw a bag down and beelined for the coffee. “You got my pics, right? I mean, they’re killer. Straight savage, my man. Straight. Fucking. Savage.”
Balthasar shoved his phone in his back pocket. “What else did you learn?”
“So.” Eddie took a long sip. “They talked to some girl from that Savannah history place.”
“The historian at the Savannah Preservation Office?”
“Yep. Didn’t hear what they said ‘cause I couldn’t get close enough. But then things went bam!” Eddie grinned. “The men of the Isle surrounded Rafe. Taunting him about going AWOL. Then I stepped in and came this close to taking him out.” Eddie put down his mug and held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Because Juliet was there, I backed off. But Rafe knew who was in charge.”
“Indeed.” As if Eddie could ever come close to touching a full-grown Fianna warrior.
“I get why Rafe came home. Juliet is smokin’ hot. Can’t imagine doing that.”
Balthasar grabbed Eddie by the neck, lifting him off the ground. The boy sputtered, his face turning red. “Although Romeo is my enemy, Juliet is the great love of a brother. She won’t be defiled in words or deed.”
The boy’s head bobbed as he gripped the fingers around his throat. Finally, the moment before Eddie passed out, Balthasar released him.
Eddie fell to the ground, clutching his throat.
Balthasar went back to his coffee. “Anything else?”
Eddie threw himself on the ratty couch. “Yeah.” He coughed, and Balthasar handed him a water bottle. “Rafe and Juliet were going to the cemetery to see Anne Capel’s tomb. But Escalus already did that, so they won’t find shit.”
Balthasar went back to the window and drank his coffee. The river flowed in the distance. “Is that all?”
“I took notes on my phone so I wouldn’t forget.”
Balthasar waited while the boy scrolled.
“The historian gave Juliet a book. Humor in history.”
“Hume’s History of England?” If that was the best the historian could offer, there wasn’t anything to worry about.
“That’s it. She also called the story of the lily Anne’s Lament.”
That jived with something Balthasar had read in Escalus’s notes. “Anything else?”
“The historian mentioned that Anne’s Lament was protected by three archangels, aaaaaand…” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Something about Juliet’s lily being a weapon.”
A weapon?
Balthasar went back to his desk, to his only real clue, to read the map for the millionth time. The broken compass rose and the leaves decorating the edges only added to his belief that it hadn’t been worth the pills he’d given to Walker.
“Apparently Rafe met a Fianna warrior named Sebastian when he was a kid.”
Balthasar raised his head. “Excuse me?”
“Crazy, right?” Eddie took another gulp of water. “Sebastian was looking for Juliet’s lily. And Rafe saved Juliet by pledging his life or his honor or something.”
“You learned this from eavesdropping?”
“No, man.” Eddie burped. “My cousin told me.”
Balthasar opened the laptop, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He’d read Escalus’s file on Sebastian, and there’d been no mention of Romeo. As Balthasar stared at Escalus’s notes, three things popped out: Anne’s Lament. Three archangels. The warrior Sebastian.
And the lily was a weapon.
Balthasar’s heart sped up with the sudden adrenaline burn. He stretched his arms over his head, enjoying the tight pain of his muscles stretching. His body hummed with growing aggression. He never felt more alive than when he was about to crush his enemies.
He pulled up RLM’s secure email.
B: Will have vial tonight.
RLM: Excellent. Bonus offered for JM and her grants.
B: Not sure about grants. Can provide JM but require backup. Will need extraction when operation concludes.
RLM: BBB mediator will fill you in on details and capabilities.
Once he signed off, Balthasar handed Eddie two twenties. “Get dinner. We’ve much business and little time.”
“What are we doing?”
Balthasar smiled. “Retrieving my vial and killing Romeo.”
Eddie smiled, his crooked teeth skewing his lips. “You met my cousin last night?” His voice sounded breathy, edged with awe. “You’re all in?”
Balthasar hit his chest and bowed his head. “I am.”
Eddie whooped and jumped around the room. “And you’ll tell my coz I did good?”
“Yes, Master Eddie.” Balthasar clapped him on the shoulders, and Eddie tried to hide his wince. “I’ll tell him you just won this war.”
“Straight. Fucking. Savage.”
* * *
Nate waited for Ivers to drive away before he slipped beneath the police tape, got into the club, and found the manager’s safe. He only took the cash he and Pete were owed. It wasn’t a lot, but Nate didn’t need much. Just enough for pills and two days of food. The way things looked now, on Friday he and Pete would be going back to Kells and admitting defeat.
It wasn’t just the day’s failures that had put Nate into a funk. After searching for the safe house earlier, Nate had texted Garza and Calum to announce that—big fucking surprise—the two he’d checked out were a bust. Garza’s three properties had been the same. Then Nate had met Ivers here at the club, and they’d picked up Sarah.
It’d been awkward in the back of Calum’s car. Going and coming, she’d sat against one window while he sat against the other. They’d talked about simple things like the weather and the previous night’s blackout. When they’d picked up the boxes for the SPO, she’d barely looked at him. If he asked her anything personal, she shut him down.
Even at Boudreaux’s, in that sensual atmosphere of barefoot dancing and sultry music, she’d kept her attention on Rafe’s phone and her history lesson. She hadn’t glanced at the dance floor and had had little reaction to Rafe’s confrontation with the men on the Isle. It was as if she watched everyone from behind a mask of textbooks and memorized facts. As if she studied the world but was afraid to be a part of it.
Yet when Nate touched her hand, a spark of desire shot through him, leaving scorch marks behind. He still burned from her touch, his body still rock-hard from the shock. And from her sudden inhale and instant withdrawal, he knew she’d felt it too. Why she pretended otherwise didn’t make sense. Nothing about Sarah Munro, PhD in early colonial American history, made sense.
The church bells rang as he entered the club’s alley, and he counted five chimes. Someone coughed; a young man stood in the shadows. Dirty jeans. Black Converse sneakers. A gray hoodie hid his face.
Nate moved slowly. His weapon was in his back waistband, and he pulled out a roll of four fifty-
dollar bills. “Ten Z-pam.”
“Put it behind the Dumpster’s left back wheel.”
He did.
The kid hovered. “You sure, man? My shit is pure. More so than that asshole Deke’s.”
“S’all good.” As long as it kept the seizures at bay, Nate didn’t care how high he flew.
The kid took the money and left an envelope. “Straight savage, my man.” Then he ran.
Nate retrieved his pills and checked his phone. No news from Garza or Calum or Pete.
Once in the security office, Nate downed a pill. Then he went to set the alarm on his phone only to discover his phone was on low battery. Since he didn’t have a charger, he turned it off and set the alarm on the microwave instead. Then he lay on the couch listening to the rain tapping the roof. A horse and carriage clip-clopped by.
It didn’t take long for that weightless feeling to kick in. For him to fall into that space where regrets and recriminations floated away. For the silence to muffle the pain in his head so his body could rest. As the walls melted, his nightmares and fractured memories morphed into a woman with long brown hair and a name spoken on a single breath. Sarah.
* * *
Juliet kept the duffel with her daddy’s armory and the King’s Grants at her feet in the Impala.
Since they had left Pops’s trailer and grabbed the car, Rafe had driven like demons chased them. His knuckles crowned white as he death-gripped the wheel. His left foot drummed a hole in the floor. She closed her eyes and leaned back. She needed a hot shower and a fresh pot of coffee.
Once he hit the bridge leaving the Isle, she checked her texts. The first was from Bob.
Halted work in the square due to lightning. Still on schedule.
The second was from the payroll company.
Deposit received. Checks cut today.
Relieved, she glanced at Rafe’s profile. Her lie of omission was another problem for another time. As she texted Bob, her phone rang and she answered.
“Are you back?” Samantha said.
“On our way. We found my King’s Grants.”
“Wonderful! And the vial?”