by D B Nielsen
‘Get in, Sage!’ my twin ordered, wrenching the passenger door open and throwing it wide. She made another sweeping gesture at the leather interior and I knew that if she could have tossed me in physically she would have done it by now.
Gritting my teeth, arms defensively crossed, I responded with a loud ‘NO!’
It had been six days since my visit to the British Library. Six days since our tense lunch at the tiny café. Six days since I’d last seen my fiancé. I was not happy at how things stood between the three of us. And unhappier still at the behaviour of my sister since, despite her time spent with Gabriel at his workplace in London.
‘I’ve done you a favour! You should be thanking me!’ she cried. I momentarily thought it was a good thing that our mother had gone into London to meet up with her agent or she would have been wondering what all the commotion was about and come out to investigate. ‘You can’t tell me that you haven’t wondered what happens at these brotherhood meetings, Sage! I wouldn’t believe you!’
The trouble was, Fi was right. I wouldn’t have believed me either, which was why I was keeping my mouth firmly shut.
She pulled a face as she continued to rant. ‘All this conclave nonsense. Secret meetings. Behind closed doors. All hush hush – it’s absolute bullsh–!’
‘FI!’ I corrected automatically.
‘Oh, don’t be so bloody prissy!’ she said flatly. That she was beginning to swear with every second word made me realise how close she was to completely losing her temper with me. I could tell that she was striving for patience. ‘Sage, your loyalty to St. John is understandable – I think ... I guess.’ In truth, she didn’t look too certain and I realised that her anger with him – for all his perceived wrongs – would simmer below the surface for a long time still to come. ‘But I can’t believe it has escaped your notice that the Anakim are keeping things from us. Making decisions without us. Us. You and me. The Wise Ones.’
It had not escaped my notice. But I was angry myself at the way she wanted to blithely take charge of everything.
‘And in case you failed to notice, St. John promised to do all he could to find the location of the seraph blade. He conceded to your demands to make it a priority – and thanks to you, I haven’t seen him for days. I doubt we’d be able to get into conclave anyway, despite your bright ideas,’ I temporised. ‘Besides, I hardly see the Anakim’s secret meetings as evil, Fi. You have a really suspicious mind – like some conspiracy theorist. I blame it on all those films you watch.’
‘And in case you failed to notice, we’re involved in a major conspiracy, Sage. So, because we’re under surveillance and protection, we’re perfectly safe, are we? Like when the Anakim were poisoned and you were held under knife-point?’ The words ricocheted back at me, yet her voice remained deadly calm. ‘And St. John was where at the time? Oh right, my bad, he was in a secret meeting with the brotherhood. In conclave.’
‘That’s not fair! He’s not some Emim fortune teller like Finn who somehow can foresee the future! No one could have predicted what happened to me at the British Museum!’ I hissed at her, feeling something of our sisterly bond fray at the edges.
Fi must have read the roiling emotions on my face and in the stiff way I held myself as she relented a little – but only a little. ‘Look, I’m sorry. But you know as well as I do that St. John has powers of his own that he could use if he truly wanted to – if he wasn’t so fearful of becoming like his father. Even Gabriel and Finn have expressed views about it – but that’s a different issue. The point is that you – we – should go after him and find out what happens in conclave. They might be planning to meet up with his father at one of these meetings.’
‘His father is chained up in a dungeon in Italy.’
My sister sighed in exasperation, looking up at a dark dot wheeling in the clear sky, which I knew to be her Peregrine Falcon, Kemwer, as if searching for fortitude. ‘Yes, okay. But they might send an envoy to approach Elijah. They might decide to bust him out or something. You heard what St. John said – there’s a price to be paid. We have every right to know what that price is as it concerns us too.’
That much was true. But I said nothing, my arms still folded over my chest, still smarting from her high-handed behaviour.
What Fi failed to understand was that St. John’s concession had cost him already. To agree to barter with one of the Fallen – worse still, his own flesh and blood or whatever one wanted to call it – was abhorrent to him. Whilst Fi had never been in the presence of Elijah, she had been subjected to the will of the Grigori – possibly one of the most evil and powerful of them all; Semyaza. She had faced the horror alone yet, in the end, Semyaza had delegated the task of killing Fi to his son. It may have been the thing that had saved her. And despite Elijah’s force being leashed and kept in check by the wardings of his prison, he was still strong and fearsome, a perfect match for Semyaza. Whatever Fi believed, I knew that we were not strong enough to bend the will of a Watcher to do our bidding. A terrible price would be exacted for bargaining with the Fallen – one I was willing to pay with my life, but not with the lives of others.
She came forward and held me firmly by my shoulders to look directly into my eyes.
‘Sage, please, I’m asking as your sister and best friend. We need to be involved in this. I know it.’
I could see the depth of feeling in her hazel coloured eyes. They were shadowed. She looked almost hurt, even betrayed, by my lack of faith – a look I hadn’t seen since her illness – which indicated the intensity of her need. The surge of guilt I felt made me waver. And this first real chink in my armour broke open the past.
It was hard to forget that less than two years ago Fi had been hospitalised for an eating disorder. She’d virtually smashed our family apart with her self-abuse, as destructive as any wrecking-ball. It was perhaps a blessing that Jasmine and Alex were bounded by the protective bubble of the innocence of childhood. But the rest of us had suffered in ways unimaginable.
Yet, it was a secret between the two of us that Fi’s illness had spiralled out of control only after I had been chosen for the International Linguistics Olympiad. Since I’d received the notification from my school, I had spent almost all of my time studying and at weekend training camps, failing to notice that Fi was also increasing the amount of time she exercised and dieted – attending the gym from five thirty in the morning when it opened its doors, cycling, running and working out for two hours before school, and only then would she “reward” herself with a few pieces of apple or watermelon, cutting down on the carbs for fear of putting on weight – leading her to dangerously obsessive thoughts and behaviours. I had buried my nose so deeply in my books, I had failed to notice that she was hiding things from all of us when normally I would have been the first to notice – that is, until she collapsed at school and I’d finally surfaced from my studies to recognise that some things were more important than a stupid competition. But the guilt had only been compounded by our parents’ insistence that I attend the Olympiad summer school scheduled for the first two weeks of my holiday break whilst Fi remained alone in hospital. And whilst I had no choice in the matter, it felt like I’d abandoned her to her fate.
Shrugging off her hands from my shoulders, I sighed. ‘Very well, I give up. If you’re hell-bent on this thing, then we’ll see it through. But I can’t believe what we’re about to do.’
More to the point, I couldn’t believe what I’d just agreed to be a party to. If I had believed, even for a moment, that my sister was manipulating me through emotional blackmail, I would never have agreed to go along with her suggestions. But, as it was, I ruefully acknowledged that she had read me pretty accurately. More and more, especially since St. John had failed to appear at the museum in time to protect me – or, if I was being brutally honest, to prevent the death of the security guard which I blamed myself for – I had wondered about what went on in the Anakim’s conclave.
‘They have no right to keep the truth fr
om us,’ said Fi firmly, holding the passenger door open to allow me to climb in, as if she was afraid that I might change my mind. ‘It’s our right to understand what’s going on and to have a vote in the decision-making. We’ve made sacrifices. I’ve almost been killed several times. Forgive me, but I have serious trust issues.’
I was to remember her statement later – when my own dilemmas were presenting trust issues in spades.
As we left Kent, I opened my window to the soft spring air, and heard the familiar sounds of bird calls, someone nearby mowing their lawn, and the muted flow of traffic. Squinting into the glare, I was stunned by the sun drenched fields of green and the hazy blue of the sky as wispy clouds floated low, almost touching the treetops. I inhaled a deep breath of the tantalising air, then turned to contemplate the road ahead.
Fi was driving again as I’d yet to sit my UK driver’s licence, despite promising myself that I would. I was happy to just feel the sunlight and the wind on my face like prickly needles, whipping my hair into my eyes.
‘Where are we going? How do you know the location?’ I finally asked my twin, closing the window from the wind buffeting the car as we picked up speed on the motorway into London. The quiet rumble of the car engine accompanied the drone of the air conditioning in the enclosed world of the Toyota Prius, and I felt myself relax into the leather seat. ‘And how do you know that we’ll be able to get inside the building? St. John told me that they meet in a boardroom to hold their meetings nowadays. I’d stupidly assumed that the twenty-five Anakim, trained and elected to sit at the Round Table, were huddled in a crypt somewhere engaging in secret rites but, according to St. John, they discontinued that practice around the first century. Now it’s all policy and bureaucracy, I expect. And I guess security will be heavy if it’s anything like at ITB.’
This was where Fi had been spending her days recently – closeted at International Temple Bank in London with Gabriel and a few of his most loyal Anakim employees, writing a specific program to decode the Scroll’s hypermedia. It was an environment she seemed to be thriving in – although it also accounted for her unusual bossiness.
‘You’re not as stupid as you think. And it’s not all policy and bureaucracy,’ Fi responded cryptically, shaking her head.
I stared at my sister in disbelief. Fi returned my gaze for the briefest of moments before her eyes slid back to the road, but I sensed that she was trying to tell me something more.
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, confused. I mentally braced myself for what I knew was going to be something I would prefer not to hear.
She remained silent for a moment, as if contemplating the magnitude of what she was about to reveal. Then, with a sudden rush of words as if she could hold it back no longer like a dam bursting its floodgates, began, ‘Do you remember what happened during the melee that day I recovered the Scroll and we hid in the barn at Satis House? Do you remember that they told us that two Rephaim had been captured?’
Once Fi reminded me of this incident, I recalled with perfect clarity what I’d forgotten in the fear and excitement of the event itself and what had followed afterwards. We had heard from St. John that Gabriel, Louis and several others were injured in the melee, and the Rephaim had retreated once their leader was hurt. But the Anakim had managed to capture two of their foes.
‘Haven’t you ever wonder what happened to their prisoners? Where they were held? Whether they’re being tortured? Whether they’re still alive? Whether there are others?’ Fi continued, jarring me from my thoughts. I knew she’d been concerned that Finn might have numbered amongst the prisoners but was reassured by St. John that this wasn’t the case – in fact, she’d learnt the hard way that Finn was the son of Semyaza and unlikely to remain captive for long in such an event as he was the favoured son of the leader of the Grigori.
‘I mean, I know that you believe that St. John is basically a decent person, but Gabriel told me that there’s a darkness within all the Nephilim – well, every one of them with the exception of St. John. I’m willing to bet there are quite a few who would be more than happy to act like it’s Guantanamo Bay with Rephaim and Emim prisoners of war.’
‘But St. John would never torture them. I know he wouldn’t do that. Not even for revenge.’ I was absolutely certain that St. John who had suffered horrific torture inflicted with a seraph blade during the Inquisition would never willingly inflict the same harm on anyone.
Her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, turning the knuckles white. ‘I don’t know Anak. I don’t know the other Anakim. And I don’t trust any of them.’
I had no response to her pronouncement.
‘I’ve been working with Gabriel for the past week and I’ve noticed things. Strange things. There’s something odd about the financial records related to West Norwood Cemetery Catacombs,’ Fi claimed, looking in the rear view mirror as if she half-expected to find a Range Rover tailing us down the motorway.
‘What the hell are you doing snooping around the bank’s financial records, Fi?’ I asked, looking at my sister askance. ‘They’re confidential! Tell me you didn’t steal information! Gabriel would kill you if he ever found out!’
‘I didn’t steal information,’ she said, keeping her eye on the road. ‘Besides, it’s hardly stealing if it’s already been stolen.’
I stared at her, flabbergasted at what she had just said. I seriously wondered about my sister’s scruples at times.
‘But there was no need to steal this information. One of his employees left the file on the desk in his office whilst Gabriel was occupied elsewhere. Gabriel has given me full access and authorisation to his secure server and network – not because he trusts me either but because he claimed that it wouldn’t be beneath me to attempt to hack his system and I’d probably do more damage that way. And whilst I’m no Trinity, I probably would have too.’ I groaned out loud at her admission, realising that Gabriel probably knew my sister as well as anyone could. ‘Anyway, I’ve been on my best behaviour. I haven’t dared to look at his other files or emails. But this was on his desk. In the open. I guessed it wasn’t important until I noticed the word “catacombs” and it kind of got me thinking. It seemed rather odd as West Norwood Cemetery Catacombs is such an insignificant account in comparison to those transnationals and government departments that ITB normally deals with. And Gabriel’s handling this account personally.’
‘Fi, what did you do?’
‘Only what I had to.’
What Fi felt she had to do I really had no desire to know but, as we found ourselves approaching Lambeth in South London, I felt increasingly anxious. Fi’s familiar presence at my side was both comforting and frustrating. Her hazel eyes were unblinkingly focused on the narrow roads and gave nothing of her thoughts away. Whatever dark and dreadful secrets she held would never be completely made known to me. Like the Nephilim, there was something at work inside my sister that often drove her to excessive behaviour. For some reason, although I could not understand why, this knowledge both reassured and disturbed me at once. I hoped that Fi wouldn’t do anything foolish – but I ruefully acknowledged that we were about to force our way into conclave like the commoners’ storming of the Bastille which sparked a revolution.
Taking a long, laboured breath, my anxiety spiked when I saw the cemetery’s surrounding railings and walls, kept high in order to dispel fears of body snatchers during the Victorian era, with its rust-stained signage and decree in large letters “DO NOT TRESPASS”. Then the grey-stone gothic archway with its spice-brown coloured inner gates defining the cemetery entrance on Norwood Road loomed before us. Fi parked the car near a cluster of stonework buildings which marked the area closest to the historic monumental cemetery and we alighted into the little motion and stirrings of insects attracted to the budding roses and long-stalked dandelions.
Navigating the narrow lanes of the cemetery with its collection of sepulchral monuments flanking us on either side, we slowly climbed the slightly sloping path towar
ds the crest of the hill, approaching its walled rose garden. This stirred distant dreams of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the exotic Persian White Desert Rose at its heart, which I ruthlessly suppressed as I didn’t need such visionary distractions at the moment. In the periphery of my vision, a fox scampered quickly across the plots with their neglected, leaning tombstones and into the adjoining woods, disappearing from view. Marble, stone and granite parted the spring growth of high grasses like the broken teeth of a comb, and the only sound which accompanied our footsteps was the cadences of trees as the fresh breeze whistled through the new leaves. This part of the cemetery was empty of mourners and visitors at this hour of the day and we trudged along unhindered and unheeded by the local wildlife.
There used to be an Episcopal Chapel which dominated the local landscape with its views of South London and beyond, but it had long ago been demolished due to severe damage during the Second World War. But the catacombs below remained undamaged and intact – the perfect place to hold secret meetings and, perhaps, hold captive Nephilim prisoners upon sanctified grounds.
‘Where do we enter?’ I asked Fi, my voice hushed as we continued our slow walk along the avenues of the dead.
‘Well, we could get in by the old air vents – the open gratings just outside of the walls of the rose garden. They lead down into the narrow passages of the catacombs,’ Fi teased with a small smile.
‘I absolutely refuse to abseil or jump down into God knows what’s down there! I bet you the wooden shelves and all those coffins are rotted through!’ I grumbled, ‘And I would have thought you’d had enough of falling into dark, dank sinkholes to want to avoid them for the rest of your life!’