‘That is quite out of the question, I’m afraid,’ we were told by one of Lord Malory’s underling knights as we were led to the private library where the Grand Master and I usually met.
‘We have just travelled halfway around the world on Lord Malory’s account, and lost a family member and a dear friend in the process.’ My lord made his irritation plain. ‘If Lord Malory will not see us now, then we shall take what we have discovered to the grave and the Sangrèal’s secret agenda can go to hell!’
‘Please wait here. I shall pass on that message.’ The young knight quickly retreated.
We waited, and we waited. Weary from our travels, we were of a mind to leave when the door opened and in walked the one member of the brotherhood whom I truly respected.
‘My Lord Derby, what a marvellous surprise.’ Lord Devere was shaking the man’s hand before I had even found my tongue.
Lord Cavandish, the Earl of Derby, was the father of my dearest friend, Lady Susan Devere. He was also the nephew of my great mentor, Lady Charlotte, and had practically adopted me after I used my psychic skills at the age of eight to save his family from ruin.
Lord Cavandish turned his attention my way. ‘My Lady Suffolk, travel always did agree with you, how well you look.’ He took hold of my hands and kissed them both in turn.
‘Whatever are you doing here at this late hour, Lord Derby?’ I asked. The earl was a family man and not renowned for frequenting clubs in the wee hours.
‘You do not miss a thing, do you, my dear?’ He grinned, expecting nothing less. ‘I have been called here at this ungodly hour to set the affairs of our late Grand Master in order.’
A gasp caught in my throat and suffocated me a second.
‘Lord Malory is dead?’ Lord Devere was horrified, for he had known Lord Malory for some thirty years.
‘How did it happen?’ I asked. ‘When?’
‘I myself arrived shortly before you did. The doctor tells me that Malory died only hours before he was found.’ The earl invited us to be seated once more and lowered himself into an armchair. ‘As for how Lord Malory died, that remains a mystery. The doctor suspects—’
‘Apoplexy,’ I cut in, never surer.
Lord Cavandish nodded, knowing I would not like the verdict. My dear Lord Hamilton had been pronounced dead by the same cause some twenty years ago and I had never truly believed the diagnosis. Fear permeated my being now as a whole new murder theory began to take form in my mind. Was our return to London and Lord Malory’s death just a sad coincidence? There are no accidents, I reminded myself.
I leapt to my feet. ‘I need to see the body.’
My Lord Devere stood too. He knew I suspected foul play; the timing was just too neat.
Lord Cavandish clearly thought my request inappropriate, but knew better than to doubt my motives. He frowned to express how perplexed he was by the request, but nevertheless got to his feet and led the way to Malory’s last resting place.
A few grave-faced men were standing about outside Lord Malory’s private sitting room; all looked stunned by the sight of a woman being escorted to view the body of their Grand Master, so unexpectedly deceased.
The scene that awaited me inside Lord Malory’s private chamber was almost a direct replica of the scene of my Lord Hamilton’s death. Lord Malory was hunched forward over his desk, his arms stretched either side of his head, a glass of wine spilt alongside him.
‘Do you suspect poisoning again?’ my husband queried softly.
I shook my head.
The investigating constable, who had been speaking with the departing doctor, approached to protest at our presence in the room. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he demanded. ‘I do not want anything disturbed.’
It seemed fate was a man indeed, because as fate would have it, the constable was the very same man who had been called upon to investigate the death of my Lord Hamilton.
‘Constable Fletcher.’ I smiled in greeting.
It took a moment for him to place my face, but I was flattered when he succeeded. ‘Miss Granville,’ he said. ‘I have often wondered if we would cross paths again.’
‘You have an extraordinary memory,’ I commented.
‘Only for the extraordinary,’ the constable returned. ‘Do you have an interest in this gentleman, my lady?’
‘I do have a business relationship with Lord Malory,’ I replied, my eyes turning again to the scene of Malory’s demise.
‘Business of what nature?’
‘We shared a passion for archaeology,’ I explained, and took the opportunity to make a circuit of Lord Malory’s body, in order to discern all I needed to before anyone had the chance to protest.
‘Lord and Lady Suffolk have just this moment returned from an assignment in Persia,’ Lord Cavandish enlightened the constable, at the same time offering my watertight alibi. ‘It was commissioned and funded by Lord Malory.’
My gut was churning at the very thought of my hunch proving valid, and when I spied the bloody spot at the base of the lord’s neck, it was a battle not to react adversely. Pretending to be interested in what Lord Malory had been reading when he passed, I took a closer look at the small wound. It could have been dismissed as an infected insect bite, but my recollection of the needle on Taejax’s soul-sucking device led me to suspect a different cause.
I saw how Lord Malory’s head had been pushed forward onto the desk in order to extend the back of his neck. The Dracon would have inserted the needle of the wrist device straight up through the neck cavity, stunning his victim into submission. The target area was the pineal gland in the centre of the brain, where the ORME overdose was administered. The resulting excess of vital pineal fluids produced to combat the blocking solution would then be automatically extracted and injected into the reptilian attacker, giving him a vitality boost.
My vision of this pineal fluid cum soul-extraction process was so vivid that it seemed more like a memory than a product of my imagination.
‘Have you some supernatural insight to offer us, Lady Suffolk?’ Constable Fletcher let me know that he was aware of my reputation as a notable psychic.
‘No,’ I said vaguely, nauseated by the visions that my private theorising had produced.
I did not want to believe that Malory had been murdered to prevent my Lord Devere and I discussing our Persian findings with him, or questioning him about the true reasons for the quest. For if Malory had been murdered via the mode I suspected, not only had he suffered an agonising death, but his soul had been shattered to oblivion in the process.
I swayed, overwhelmed by the thought, and my husband rushed to support me. ‘Mrs Devere, are you all right?’
‘I fear that the events of this day have taken their toll,’ I said, offering an excuse for my faintheadedness. I turned to Constable Fletcher. ‘I’m afraid I cannot be of any help to you in this case,’ I said, for it was true that the conclusions I had drawn would be impossible to prove or even explain. ‘Best go with the doctor’s diagnosis.’
Those present could hardly believe their ears.
‘That is not like you, Lady Suffolk.’ Fletcher had expected a battle of wits.
I shrugged. ‘You recall my philosophy in such cases, surely, Constable Fletcher?’ My view had quite insulted him when first we’d met.
The constable cocked a brow as he nodded. ‘If there is no case for murder, why look for a suspect,’ he quoted. ‘I’ll have you know that I am endeavouring to reform that attitude.’
‘Bless you, Constable Fletcher,’ I said; he was plainly a good man. ‘We shall let you get on with your investigation unencumbered.’
My Lord Devere and I made our apologies and left the premises. Inside our carriage, the pelting rain on the roof thankfully drowned out the sound of my emotional outpouring to my husband regarding all I had observed and feared. Once I had relayed all I knew, we both sat in silence, overwhelmed by our thoughts.
Was this the first move in Taejax’s private war on my kin? Wh
en he made his threat, I had suspected that it was already his life mission to hunt down humanity’s hidden angels, and thus I and my kin were at no more risk than we had ever been. I was not as confident about that now. But after all that Lord Malory had put us through in the past, I could not say that he was one of my favourite people in the world. So perhaps his death was not connected with Taejax’s threat at all. What I did feel certain of was that someone didn’t want us to speak with Lord Malory again. Perhaps Lord Malory himself had had contact with the lizard warriors—heaven forbid if he’d been taking his cues from them!
I leaned back against my husband’s arm, thankful that it was only a short carriage ride home. I was most eager to embrace my three remaining children.
Our children were in bed and sound asleep when my lord and I arrived home that night, and so we had to wait until the next morning to make our presence known. We were very warmly received indeed, and spent the morning giving out the exotic presents we had picked up during our return voyage and catching up on all the London gossip.
Rebecca, our eldest daughter, was full of news about her pending ‘coming out’ into society and, along with her cousins, had been collecting information on all the eligible young lords who might be awarded the pleasure of courting her. Thomas had obviously heard enough of the social news in our absence and was more eager to hear about our adventures. It was Charlotte, however, our quiet fairy child, who raised the subject that my lord and I were avoiding.
‘I know about Levi,’ she said, stunning us both.
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
‘Charlotte has been spinning tales about Levi being an angel,’ she explained. ‘I have endeavoured to get her to curtail her silly stories, but you know she will not listen to me. Won’t you talk to her, Mama? It is frightfully embarrassing.’
I focused my attention on Charlotte. ‘How do you know about Levi, sweetness?’
‘The fair folk work with angels,’ she explained, as if it were elementary.
I looked to Lord Devere, who appeared as astonished as I was. There we were, searching the globe for information pertaining to Levi’s whereabouts, and it seemed our best and most reliable source had been at home the whole time.
‘The fair folk know of everyone who moves through their plane of demonstration,’ young Thomas added; he had obviously been following Charlotte’s news bulletins more closely than his older sister had.
Charlotte nodded to confirm this was true enough.
‘Have you spoken with Levi?’ I asked. My heart leapt into my throat when Charlotte nodded and continued eating her breakfast.
‘Mama.’ Rebecca sounded surprised at me. ‘Must you humour her? Could you not tell us where Levi really is and put an end to Charlotte’s silly speculations?’
I looked to my husband. ‘Could you inform Rebecca and Thomas of Levi’s decision, please?’ I asked him. Then I turned to Charlotte. ‘Would you come with me, sweetness? We need to have a little chat.’
‘Not before time,’ Rebecca said, assuming I was finally going to give that reprimand.
‘Of course, Mama.’ Charlotte slid off her chair and served her sister a defiant glare before following me into the drawing room.
Once we were alone I asked Charlotte to tell me of her encounter with Levi. She shook her head. ‘Why ever not?’ I said.
‘Levi requested that I not speak to anyone of it.’ The sincerity and apology in her manner was adorable.
‘But surely he was not referring to your own mama and papa?’ I implored her again, sure that she would take me into her confidence.
‘Especially you.’ She remained apologetic but also adamant. ‘Levi said that you still have a few lessons to learn about trusting in the ability and choices of others.’
The reprimand from my missing son, coming via my young teenage daughter, was very sobering and I felt quite hurt that I did not measure up to my ideal of myself in my own children’s eyes.
‘However,’ Charlotte added on a cheerier note, ‘he said to remember what your quest in Persia was all about. Seek your roots, and if you are very patient and study as hard as you are able, putting into practice that which you preach, then all of the answers you seek shall be forthcoming.’ My daughter finished with a nod and a wink of encouragement, which restored the smile to my face.
‘Is Levi well, do you think?’ I hoped I was permitted to know this much.
Charlotte grinned broadly, a little surprised I had to ask. Observant of the lessons I was bound to learn, she replied, ‘What do you think?’
I inhaled deeply and consulted my instinct on the matter. Tears welled in my eyes from the pride and excitement I felt upon receiving an answer. ‘I think that, in his own cheeky style, he is off saving the planet from certain doom!’
My daughter chuckled and placed a hand on my shoulder to congratulate me.
‘Gosh, Mama, I think you have more psychic power than Levi gives you credit for.’ She placed her arms around my neck and gave me a squeeze.
‘Will you be seeing Levi again?’ I felt a little ashamed to be pumping Charlotte for information when she’d promised Levi she wouldn’t talk to me of their meeting, but I could not resist.
‘In this lifetime?’ she asked. I nodded, tickled by the way her mind worked; she was so like me at her age. ‘Hard to say.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Most likely not, I think.’
‘And you are not saddened by that?’
She frowned at the notion, thinking it odd. ‘What kind of friend would I be if I were saddened that Levi is pursuing the quest that he came to Earth to do?’
I was again put in my place as I realised that my own fear of being hurt was at the root of my desire to find Levi and hold him here with us.
‘I am overjoyed that he is not a walking dead person like ninety-five per cent of the people living today,’ Charlotte continued; another very good point. ‘Are you feeling better now, Mama?’
I nodded, my smile far broader than it had been for days. ‘Much better, thank you, my sweet.’
‘I fear Rebecca will not come to terms with Levi’s choice so well as we have,’ she said. ‘She is still ruled by her ego, and thus I fear she shall grieve Levi always and begrudge his leaving without saying farewell.’
‘But we shall not.’ I supported Charlotte’s wise resolve, instilling the order into my own consciousness in the process. I would learn my lessons. I would question and study and accomplish all I was put on Earth to do.
FROM THE JOURNAL OF TAMAR DEVERE
I turned the page to find that the next section of Ashlee’s Persian journal began some ten years later. It was entitled ‘The Search for Amenti’.
I so wanted to surrender to the beckoning relief my pillow promised, yet my eyes and mind desired to read on. But I had been reading for nine hours straight at this stage, minus short dashes to the bathroom and the kitchen, and the prospect of launching into another grand adventure, which I was sure I would be compelled to finish in one sitting, was more than my exhausted body could cope with.
I marked my place in the heavy volume, set it aside and switched off my reading light. I snuggled down into my bedclothes and drifted into a fitful sleep.
I am moving through the house—from my resting place, I head towards the room of references. I do not bother turning a light on, I can see perfectly well in the dark. Upon entering the room I approach the picture on the far wall—the only piece of wall, apart from the window, that is not occupied by bookcases. I reach up and take hold of the outside of the frame and tug. The magnetic seal gently gives way and the picture opens outwards, on a pair of hinges. Behind it is a safe. The lock mechanism is triggered by a fingertip identification scan-pad—no obstacle for me as I am able to morph into the form of any living thing I touch. My hand transforms into my mother’s hand and I sink my fingers into the gel-touch pad. The door to the safe unlocks and opens. Inside is a journal, thicker than any of those on the shelves. I reach inside and reverently bring the book forth to admire the grea
t treasure. It is The Book of Codes, created by Ajalae Koriche and collated by Ashlee Granville-Devere for the benefit of her descendants. I have no need to read the text, all I need are the pictorial codes to focus upon. I existed before the time when all doctrine was corrupted; I know exactly what must be done. I turn to the Ec-ka-sha code and I begin the chant—I will activate as many of the time code clearings as is safe for this vessel in the course of one night.
When I awoke, I felt as if I were adrift upon a cloud, basking in the sunshine of a new dawn. I couldn’t remember what I’d dreamt about, but it sure made me feel one hell of a lot better than I had yesterday morning. I looked to the journal beside me on the bed and was very tempted to open it up and keep on reading, but my tummy rumbled in protest. ‘Food first,’ I said, and assured my gut with a pat as I rose.
I was pouring myself some cereal when Mum came breezing through the kitchen to say that she was off to a meeting with her publishers.
‘Your publishers?’ I clarified.
Mum screwed up her face then nodded. ‘I think it’s time to share the stories. I never told you this, but it was actually predicted that I would publish the tales of our bloodline in the future.’
‘Really?’ I was very curious about the prediction. ‘When were you told? By whom?’
‘An old soul I met in Giza told me, around the time I found out that I was pregnant with you.’ She smiled at the memory.
‘Did they make any predictions about me?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She grinned to tease me.
‘Well, what did they say?’
‘That you would have a very lovely singing voice.’ Mum kissed my forehead and reached around me to grab her bag and keys off the table. ‘And after hearing you singing last night in the study, I’d have to say that prediction has proved quite true.’ She blew me another kiss, waved and rushed out, leaving me aghast.