Authors: A Kirk,E
I jumped back from the box like it was grenade and we’d just pulled the pin.
“Blake, get them out of here!” I ran around to pick up papers blown away by the wind. Wrestled a few from Helsing. They wilted, already damp and flimsy from the dew on the grass. “Why is Cacciatori interested in the long dead
Flint
?”
“Because he was Mandatum.” Ayden flipped one file closed and shoved it in the trunk.
I handed him more papers, noticing some of the ink was smudging, causing words to run together. “A hunter?”
“Yes and no.” Ayden’s lips thinned. “He was a mechanic.”
I gasped. “An assassin? Like the guy in the movie?”
Ayden sighed. “No, a Mandatum mechanic has the ability to invent and put together mechanical…contraptions. And in
Flint
’s case he could create machines way beyond what was available in the late 1800s.”
Blake squished more papers into the box. “His old house — the high school — is rigged with all sorts of hidden doors and secret passageways. And some weird gizmos that even the Mandatum can’t figure out.”
“Don’t worry,” Ayden said. “The Mandatum shut all that stuff down a long time ago.”
Blake deepened his voice to an ominous tone. “But you should worry that
Flint
was an evil man who practiced the dark arts, did weird experiments, and was known to,” he hissed the next words, “raise the dead.”
“Blake, those were stupid rumors,” Ayden said, then stood and gave my shoulders a comforting rub. “The truth is that when they found the hell
portal
here in
Gossamer
Falls
,
Flint
was the guy they sent to watch over it and manage the hunters who came through to guard it. Basically, what Father Bancroft does now.”
Blake said, “He built cool machines to clear the passageways to the portal and maintain security.”
I put my hands on my hips. “The portal that’s behind the waterfall? The portal that you won’t let me see?”
Ayden gave me a tired look. “It’s safer that way.”
“True, babe. Portals are dangerous. Can suck you right into the bowels of hell if you’re not careful.”
Yeah. Not good.
“But
Flint
died over a hundred years ago,” I said. “Why is the file important now?”
Ayden rubbed his jaw. “Remember I mentioned the school had a dark history?”
I raised my brows. “I believe you said ‘insane asylum.’”
Ayden smoothed back his hair with both hands. “When
Flint
ran things, hunters from everywhere passed through his estate all the time. Everything ran perfectly until the Mandatum found out
Flint
was a serial killer.”
“Told ya,” Blake nodded. “Dead were raised. Zombies roamed.”
“There were no zombies,” Ayden said, giving Blake an irritated glance. “But at some point Flint started quietly killing off hunters and stealing their Mandatum artifacts. No record of exactly what, but probably jewelry, books, weapons, art. Whatever the psycho could get his hands on.”
“Priceless and powerful stuff for sure, babe.”
I hugged myself. “Anything that would help Rose get his sister?”
“Don’t know.” Ayden shrugged. “Mandatum couldn’t find it.
Flint
went insane before they could get him to talk.”
Blake was trying to stuff way too many pages into a thin file folder. “Then, so they could spend years looking for it, they turned the house into an insane asylum.”
“It was a good cover,” Ayden said. “Became a prestigious facility which made a healthy profit, and if anyone saw anything weird, they were crazy. Right?”
“Clever,” I said. And creepy. “But they never found it?”
“The legend of
Flint
’s lost treasure lives on,” Blake grinned.
Ayden blew out air. “Every now and then someone living out their Indiana Jones fantasy comes looking for it. Like—”
“Rose,” I murmured remembering Rose’s attire from last night.
“With the files stolen,” Ayden said, “the Mandatum assumes another treasure hunter is on the way, and we’re supposed to stop that because if there is a treasure, the society wants it. If we admit we have the files they’ll demand to know how we got them, probably send a team.” Ayden punched the air and growled, wisps of smoke trailed from his fist making curly designs in the air. “Ugh! Rose. I hate this guy. Let’s just kill him. He already threatened
Aurora
so we just lure him—”
The ground underneath Ayden bucked hard enough to almost knock him off his feet. He steadied himself and made a face at Blake.
The big guy shrugged. “Gotta chill, dude. We can’t kill a fellow hunter in cold blood. We need a council directive termination order classified as extreme prejudice. Besides, babe is fine.”
Sure. For now.
“Why is Cacciatori so interested?” I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice. “Is there a Divinicus connection?”
“Not that I know of.” Ayden wiped a hand down his face.
Lucian poked his head out of the front door. “
Aurora
, you should get Ayden out of here. Remember Aunt M’s breakfast conversation?”
“Lucian, don’t
even!”
I warned, just as Aunt M pushed past Lucian onto the front porch.
She saw us and ordered, “You two hurry up. Your boyfriend is giving me a ride to the church.”
Ayden raised a brow. “I am?”
“Since when?” I said.
“Since I told your father you were no nun.” She ducked back inside.
“That would do it.” My sigh came out a growl.
Ayden looked me up and down, then grinned and headed for my brother. “Hey, Lucian, I’m thinking I need more details about this breakfast conversation.”
Dad decided that Aunt M’s big belly was too tight a squeeze to be safe in Ayden’s small sport’s car, so we’d dodged that bullet, and before he changed his mind, headed to school with a screech of rubber.
The Gothic wonderland that Flint built, and what we now called high school, was a monolith of carved stone, with lofty archways, spires that pierced the heavens, soaring turrets protected by grim gargoyles, towers awaiting their damsels, and miles of twisted hallways for a girl to get lost in. It belonged on the misty moors of medieval England with bustle-skirted beauties, waistcoated gentlemen, and Gothic romance lovers stealing secret kisses in dark alcoves.
Instead, I was in a dark alcove — alone — yanking on one of Luna’s black hoodie jackets, stuffing my mass of red curls into one of Lucian’s baseball caps, and peeking out into the hall to make sure the coast was clear.
A strong floral aroma wafted through the air as several girls and boys in shiny red capes carried a multitude of flowers through the halls. As part of a fundraiser for next month’s Spring Fling students could buy their choice of a single bloom, which Mom’s shop provided at a substantial discount, and have them delivered to those they wanted to ask to the dance, or at least request a reserved spot on their dance card. Business had been especially booming this week.
Staying hunched to keep from towering over the rest, I pulled the hood over my red curls and waded into the throng of students with their chattering hum of white noise and tried to remain inconspicuous. On the third floor hallway, I moved along the wall of windows, face averted toward the outdoors to help avoid eye contact and keep from being noticed.
Through the endless panes of glittering glass, fog lapped over the sprawling lawns of the extensive grounds. White swans glided across ponds, towering trees dotted the manicured landscape, blossoms sprouted through the earth, and forest rimmed the far edges.
Despite the serene beauty, my insides twitched because any moment now Rose could ride out of the woods on the blanket of mist, like some ethereal being coming to collect his bounty. Me. Although that might be preferable to the anxious anticipation of doom currently gurgling my gut.
I was double-jittery because I was in the process of ditching Physics and hiding from the Hex Boys. Third period was the one class I didn’t share with any of them, and therefore, the one class I could ditch and not be followed, allowing me to do some Nancy Drewing on my own regarding the sweaty, crumpled paper in my pocket.
The yellowed-with-age parchment document Rose had given me, the one he claimed could blow my Divinicus cover with the boys, was a map. Faded ink sketched out a basic floor plan of a room which, using my mad deduction skills, I’d deduced was the library in this mansion that Flint built.
Well, mad deduction skills along with the fact that someone — probably Rose — had used fresh ink and a flowing curly script to write on top of the page, “Flint’s Library.”
Anyway
, on the map, one of the walls was marked with a weird doodle. It was a single line which curved at either end into two distinct spirals. The spiral on one end was made of straight lines connected at sharp angles. Very geometric, it reminded me of the Greek key motif I remembered from art class. The other spiral was the typical curly, smooth flowing curve.
Didn’t know what it meant, but Flint’s old library was also the high school’s current library and that’s where I was headed for a bit of sleuthing. On my own.
“Blake!”
I froze at Ayden’s voice.
“Hey!” Some kids directly behind me stumbled and bumped my shoulder ducking around to avoid a full collision. “Watch out,” they grumbled.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
I kept my head down, but watched Blake who was headed toward me. He paused and turned, waiting for Ayden to catch up. But suddenly Ayden stopped, a look of fury flashed, and he shoved his way across the hall, ignoring all protests, too focused on…
Uh-oh. It was the guy who had offered me his “parking” services last night.
Out of the flow of bodies, Ayden grabbed him two-fisted by the shirt, and after a violent swing around that knocked a couple of people aside, he slammed the guy’s back up against the wall. The guy’s feet dangled off the floor. His eyes bugged. Ayden dug a forearm into his throat, pinning him like a bug in a science project.
A collective gasp and a couple of squeals echoed through the hallway as the crowd backed away in a semi-circle. Then there was silence but for guy’s choking noises.
Ayden got right in the guy’s face and spoke in harsh, guttural tones. “You think last night was funny?”
The guy clawed at Ayden’s arm. “What the hell are you talk—”
“Don’t speak.” Ayden shoved harder into the guy’s throat. There were desperate gurgling noises and the guy’s face looked red enough to burst. “Don’t you
ever
say
anything
to my girlfriend
ever
again. Or so help me—”
“Dude!” Blake cut through the crowd like a bull through tall grass, smiling easily at everyone before placing a thick hand on Ayden’s shoulder and moving so he could get in Ayden’s line of sight. “You got the wrong guy. It was some
other
jerk that mouthed off at Aurora. I’m sure this fine gentleman doesn’t remember a thing about the conversation last night. Just ask Tristan.”
That subtle reminder that Tristan had altered the kid’s memory of last night’s incident, along with Blake’s firm shoulder shake, broke Ayden from his ferocity. He released his forearm and stepped back. The guy dropped.
Blake caught him and smoothed his shirt along with the situation. “Just a case of mistaken identity. Ayden is very sorry. Right, Ayden?” Ayden nodded curtly. “And so am I. So no harm, no foul. We’re good?”
The guy rubbed this throat and looked like he might say something harsh, but after a glance at Ayden who still seemed ready to blow, and then cranking his head back to take in the full size of Blake, he shrugged.
“Yeah, we’re cool.”
“Awesome.” Blake slapped the guy’s shoulder and led Ayden away.
The crowd, murmuring softly, parted for the guys to pass, then flowed again, drama over, and it took me a few moments to realize Ayden and Blake were heading toward me once more. I spun around and scurried in the other direction, but I was bucking the tide of students, and it hindered my speed. I heard Ayden’s voice getting closer.
“Thanks but I don’t have time to explain. I’m headed to her Physics class right now. Tristan got me assigned as the T.A. until this Rose thing is over, but make sure you’re available.”
Great. Even if I gave him the slip, once he got to my class he’d go on Red Alert to come and find me. Already seriously worked up, he’d be on a tear. My skin itched. Felt like cockroaches skittered up my spine. I didn’t have much time.
Ayden was saying, “When you take Aurora home after school—”
Since when was Blake taking me home?
“—do
not
mention where I am.”
“But I don’t know where you are.”
“Exactly.”
“Hi Blake. Hi Ayden.”
“Hello, ladies.” I heard the smile in Blake’s voice. “Gotcha on my dance card for the Spring Fling. Don’t know how I’ll survive until then.” The girls giggled, and after they passed, Blake nearly did too. So macho. “Dude, I love our new reps. Luna and Danica really did us a solid when they talked us up after we saved them at the concert hall. People —
girls
— actually talk to me now. Don’t ruin it by setting some dude on fire. So where did you say you were going after school?”
“I didn’t.”
“Come on, what could keep you from a hot girl except…I’ve got it. You’re seeing another woman.”
“What?!” Ayden did a lot of sputtering.
“Holy crap, look at your face. It
is
another woman! Aren’t you the
play-ah
.”
I tripped. Nearly fell on my face.
“Blake,” Ayden hissed, “that isn’t it.”
“Then why do you look so guilty? It explains why you’ve been so on edge.”
“I don’t— Argh! You need to shut up. I’ll tell you everything once I finish off with…my…”
“Other woman?”
“I will kill you.”
“You can try. What’s her name?”
“If you even mention this to Aurora, I will…”
Ayden’s voice faded off as I slipped around a corner and fought the urge to run, but there was no way I could shove through this mob before the guys came into view.
It was hard to breathe. Other woman? Then why defend my honor? Could he really be seeing someone else?
Don’t think about that now. I needed a way out.
Several utility closets were along this hall. I pushed through the crowd toward the nearest one, risked a glance behind me — no Ayden and Blake — grasped the long curved handle, shoved down and…
Thumped
into the door, my cheek squished flat. It was locked. I jammed the handle up and down a few times — just because I wasn’t frustrated enough — then headed to the next closet, then the next. But each was locked.
As sweat beaded on my forehead, my peripheral vision picked up Blake’s huge form lumbering around the corner. I turned and barreled forward. The next door was an old, wooden original fixture adorned with wrought iron hinges and thick bands of black iron wrapped horizontally across. With little hope, I grabbed the handle.
It didn’t budge. Of course.
I leaned my boiling forehead against one of the cold bands of metal, waiting for a brilliant next move to enter my brain.
The door shuddered with a low hum. The handle quivered in my palm. I heard the metallic
clicks
and
grinds
of gears turning, and just when I was ready to jump back, the handle gave way, the door opened, and I fell into a black pit.