Eight

Harlan stared at Barnaby Armstrong’s flat, and remembering how he’d been chased by Black Cronos soldiers only weeks before from this spot, turned to Jackson. “This might not be a good idea.”

Jackson was leaning against a wall, his coat collar pulled up around his ears, looking like an old-fashioned gumshoe in his well-worn trench coat as he surveyed Armstrong’s building. “This is the best bet. We go in quietly. He knows me, so he should let us in.”

“He was being watched by Black Cronos the last time I was here. They nearly caught me!”

“An agent has been watching all day. He got home from the order an hour ago, unescorted. No one’s guarding him.” He winked. “And we’ve got the door code, too.”

It was twilight on Thursday evening, and Jackson had called Harlan a couple of hours before asking for his help. According to their investigations, their initial suspicions had been proven correct. Barnaby was the mole. Large sums of money were regularly deposited in his account, and his hacked emails revealed he had been sending information about the order’s alchemy research to an account belonging to someone named Beautiful Mother.

“You know he’ll deny everything,” Harlan said. “And he may be armed.”

Jackson shook his head. “He’s a pencil pusher and a sneak. He won’t be dangerous.” He straightened up, gesturing to the black van parked on the kerb. “We’ll stick him in the back and take him to headquarters.”

“Why aren’t you using some kind of covert operative to do this?′

Jackson laughed. “We are the covert operatives, you pillock.”

“That was not in the contract I signed! That was only to spy on JD!”

Jackson grinned. “Yeah, but this is fun, right?”

“That is yet to be determined. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let me do the talking and block the exit. Come on.”

Harlan should have known Jackson was going to drag him into everything, and although he wasn’t sure that it was fun, it was different. Jackson was already striding across the street, so he caught up with him, and together they walked up the path to the flat’s front door and Jackson entered the code into the keypad. The door clicked open, and he led them upstairs and knocked on the door to the first floor flat.

When the door swung open, a short man with thinning, dark hair stood before them. He wore corduroy trousers and a knitted vest over his shirt, and Harlan thought he looked like the most unlikely spy ever. Barnaby looked at them with surprise, and then recognition. “Jackson? What are you doing here?”

Ever affable, Jackson said, “Sorry to swing by so late, but I have a question about a sensitive issue, and thought you could help?”

“Me?” Barnaby looked puzzled, and then suspicious. “Well, er, I suppose I could, but couldn’t it wait?”

“It’s really quite urgent. I’ve found some documents and really need your assistance with them. I was in the area, you see…”

“And this is?” He stared at Harlan.

“Harlan Beckett, with The Orphic Guild. I don’t think you’ve met.”

Harlan shook his hand as Barnaby said, “Ah! Harlan. I’ve heard of you. You helped us immensely only a few weeks ago. Of course, come in.”

For all of his politeness, Barnaby looked flustered, but he ushered them in and down the hall to a richly furnished living room lined with books. The flat might not look ostentatious from the outside, but the inside was filled with high-end antiques and a few first editions, from what Harlan could see of the books.

“Fantastic books,” Harlan murmured, pausing to inspect them so that he was close to the door. “May I?”

“Of course, just be gentle with them. Please, take a seat, Jackson.” Jackson sat in a leather armchair while Barnaby headed to a side table where he had a few bottles of spirits and mixers lined up, and wiggled the bottle of gin. “Would you like one?”

Both declined, but they waited patiently while Barnaby finished fixing his drink and sat down.

Jackson pulled some papers from his pocket, and passed them to Barnaby. “These are the papers I want your opinion on. I wondered if you could tell me who the recipient of your email is. You seem to have been passing them some very interesting information.”

Barnaby was so startled that he leapt to his feet, upending the side table next to him, and sending his drink crashing to the floor. Jackson was still waving the papers at him. “Don’t you want to look?”

“How have you accessed my emails?”

Jackson’s arm dropped and he leaned back in the chair, the papers resting on his lap. “I have my ways. Why don’t you sit, and we can talk civilly?”

“I have nothing to talk about. I suggest you leave.”

His eyes darted to the door, but Harlan stepped in front of it, arms folded across his chest, feeling like Jackson’s enforcer.

Jackson continued, “I can’t leave. You see, we suspect that you are working with Black Cronos, and they are a very dangerous organisation. That makes you dangerous, too.”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the secretary for the order and a middle-grade alchemist. I have nothing to do with Black whoever-they-are.”

“You are a Senior Adept with The Order of the Midnight Sun, privy to the Inner Temple and all of their most secret plans, and that makes you very knowledgeable.” Jackson’s voice hardened. “I’m not an idiot, Barnaby, although admittedly you fooled us for a long time—and Caldwell, of course. Sit down.”

Barnaby’s eyes darted around the room, his lips twitching, and then he finally sat again. “You have no proof of anything. This is all ridiculous conjecture. I shall phone my solicitor first thing in the morning.”

“How do you explain the large sums of money deposited in your account?”

“I do private consultancy work.”

“Then please write down who you consult for, and we can confirm your story. It doesn’t completely explain the emails, though. You advised Beautiful Mother that the Dark Star Astrolabe had been found, where it was stored, and the best time to steal it. Need I say more?” Jackson looked around the luxurious flat. “Some very nice goods here. Your betrayal certainly earns you an enviable lifestyle. Tell me, do you feel any guilt at all about Aubrey Cavendish’s death?”

Barnaby clenched his hands into fists. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Jackson leaned forward. “Of course you did. If Black Cronos hadn’t been at the Dark Star Temple, he’d still be alive. They were there because you leaked the information about the Dark Star Astrolabe. The thief was killed, did you know? Blaze. A young man with much to live for.”

Barnaby was silent for a moment, and then his eyes adopted a calculating expression. “Who do you work for? I thought you were an occult collector.”

“I am. But like you, I have a side-line. I’m not a killer, though. You could receive a lot of jail time for your crimes. You might never see your flat again. Or any of that lovely money in your bank account.”

“What if I cooperated fully?”

Jackson smiled and leaned back. “That’s more like it. Who’s your contact in Black Cronos, and more importantly, where is he? Or she?”

“I have no idea! It makes it safer that way. I was just given an email contact.”

“But you must have met someone. This can’t all have been done over the phone or through email. We’re talking about a deadly organisation that certain areas of the government are very interested in.”

Barnaby froze, and then a victorious light lit up his eyes. “It was Stefan Hope-Robbins. He kept in touch with me after he left. I agreed with his principles, but didn’t leave with him.”

“That does go back a long way. But unfortunately, that’s not who your contact is, because Stefan has been in our custody for quite a while with zero access to email, and yet you are still sending them and receiving answers.”

Barnaby’s lips tightened. “Stefan is much higher up than I am. He is far more valuable, and has more information about this. You don’t need me.”

“You seem to think you can wriggle your way out of this.” Jackson leaned in, staring at Barnaby. “You can’t. We will track down Toto Dax and his enhanced soldiers, and you will help us. Time to go.” He stood, shoving the printed emails back in his pocket. “Let’s do this quietly so you can maintain some dignity, shall we?”

Barnaby looked between Harlan and Jackson, and must have fancied his chances. “I don’t think so. You have no authority to detain me, and you’re not the police! I have no idea who you work for or where you’re going to take me. I’m not a fool. You could be working for another organisation that wants to kill me.” He stood too, shoulders back, staring Jackson down. “You need to leave.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Or I will call for help.”

Jackson reached into his pocket, withdrawing an envelope with an official seal, and passed it to Barnaby. Even from across the room, Harlan could see the gilding on it, flashing in the light. “That letter is a warrant for your arrest, and it details my authority to do it.”

Barnaby eyed it suspiciously and then snatched it from Jackson’s hand. Harlan was almost as surprised as Barnaby. Jackson had kept that quiet, too. However, it did make him feel they had insurance in their actions. He was starting to feel like a kidnapper.

Barnaby’s hands had a tremor when he passed the letter back to Jackson, and his voice shook as he said, “You’ll find you are quite mistaken, but of course I shall assist your investigations. May I get my coat?”

He was already turning to take his jacket from the back of a chair positioned next to his desk, and in one swift movement had put it on, reached into the pocket, and then pulled out something silver. In a split second, it turned into a short, silver, rapier-like blade that glistened like molten metal, and he thrust it at Jackson. Jackson leapt back, stumbling over the chair and falling to the floor. He grabbed a statue on a side table and flung it at Barnaby, catching his arm, and spinning him around. Simultaneously, Harlan darted across the room, tackling Barnaby to the ground. They caught the edge of the side table, and Harlan felt the corner scrape his ribs as he slid to the floor, pinning Barnaby beneath him.

He was still clutching the narrow blade, and he twisted his hand, trying to thrust it in Harlan’s face. Harlan punched his arm again and again, and Barnaby lost his grip. Jackson was back on his feet, and kicking the blade away, stood on Barnaby’s outstretched arm while Harlan used his weight to keep Barnaby down.

Jackson met Harlan’s eyes as he picked up the unusual weapon that had now become a small silver ball again. “Clever things, these. I’m glad we have one to analyse.” He crouched down, bringing his face close to Barnaby’s. “If you have one of these weapons, you are clearly very important to Black Cronos. You can be sure that we will strip this place and find every secret you have ever harboured.”

He whipped a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and in another ugly few seconds of furious struggling, helped Harlan keep him secure while he pulled Barnaby’s arms behind his back and cuffed him. Barnaby had fallen silent, fury behind his eyes.

Harlan hauled him to his feet and carefully searched his pockets. “I can’t find any other weapons. We should get him out of here—just in case he has backup.” He studied the comfortable flat and hoped there were no hidden cameras or recording devices around.

“Don’t worry,” Jackson said, and between them they frogmarched Barnaby to the door and down the corridor to the van. “The team will be searching this place as soon as we’ve left.”

Shadow raced across the fields surrounding the farmhouse, crouched low against Kailen’s back.

When she awoke on Friday morning, it was to a cloudy, overcast day, heavy with impending rain, but she didn’t care. Her meeting with Dante and El was all arranged, and she was going to ride, regardless of the weather—and her bruises.

She could feel the dull ache in her chest even now, despite Briar’s magic and Eli’s poultices. As she adjusted her position on Kailen’s back, she felt the twinge in her ribs but ignored it, instead relishing the feeling of freedom that being on horseback gave her. The long grass that swayed in the light breeze looked like pewter in the light, and she hoped it would thunder. The weather matched her mood.

The fury she’d been feeling at having her armour damaged had been growing ever since Scotland. And she was still angry that her bow had been broken. Black Cronos, and especially The Silencer of Souls, were proving more and more dangerous every time they met. But she hadn’t been lying to Gabe. She couldn’t help but admire the woman’s skills. And she was determined to find out more about her.

As Dante’s Forge came into view, she slowed and finally stopped on the other side of the wall bordering Dante’s car park. El was already there, her old, battered Land Rover parked at the side. Shadow dismounted, tying Kailen to the wall and allowing him to graze, before heading inside the forge with her armour. The heat hit her immediately as she inhaled the familiar, pleasant smell of metal, oil, steam, and fire. Skirting around the iron, she joined El and Dante where they stood next to the long bench examining a sword. Dante’s powerful arms were revealed by his sleeveless t-shirt, and sweat glistened on his dark skin. His dreadlocks were bound up on his head in a colourful bandanna.

He winked as he greeted her. “Getting into trouble again, Shadow?”

“You could say that. Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

El hugged her. “You know we’ll try.”

“I’m intrigued,” Dante said, eyeing the bag with a twinkle in his eye. “I can’t wait to see your special armour.”

He didn’t know Shadow was fey, but she had a feeling she might have to reveal it when he examined the metal. She extracted it and placed it under the light cast from the bare bulb. “I better not keep you in suspense, then.”

Both El and Dante gasped when they saw the dent in the breastplate. It was dead centre, the bullseye narrowed to a point, the rest of the dent shallower as it radiated outward. It had damaged most of the breastplate, including the engraving in the centre.

El’s eyes widened as she stared at it. “What did this?”

“Good question. We’re not entirely sure. My opponent pulled something from her pocket, something small, and pointed it at me. All I know is that a wave of something struck me. My arm guards have a few dents in them, too. I’d appreciate you fixing all of it.”

Dante ran his hand across the surface of the breastplate. “The weapon was invisible?”

She exchanged a nervous glance with El. “Essentially, yes. I should also say that I have used this armour many times, and it is rarely ever damaged. It’s made of a particularly strong metal.” Dragonium, predominantly, but she wasn’t about to tell Dante that. Dragonium was a metal only available in the Otherworld, sourced from dragons, and the metal was imbued by the fey blacksmiths with special protection, too.

Dante lifted it and frowned. “It’s incredibly light for something so strong. What metal?”

“It’s special to the area I come from.”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I get it. Well, whatever it is, it should respond to the usual treatment.” He headed to the fire, Shadow watching him warily. If it shattered or couldn’t be fixed, she’d be devastated.

El took her by the arm and led her outside to the fresh air. “Come on. Let’s give him some space. Tell me more about the weapon.”

El was, as usual, dressed in skinny black jeans and a t-shirt, and her makeup was bold and immaculate. The faint scent of musk and patchouli emanated from her as they sat next to each other on the wall.

“I don’t know what to say,” Shadow confessed. “As I said, it looked like a small silver device, but it happened so fast, and it was in her hand, so it’s hard to be certain. But the wave of power from it was huge.”

“Magic?”

“I’m not sure. If it was, it wasn’t familiar to me. As you know I’m sensitive to magic and can usually feel it, even in small amounts.”

“And these are the alchemists, right, who have been doing experiments on people?”

“Making superhumans, yes, and superweapons. It seems they’ve been using planets and their correspondences, among other things, but…” she shrugged. “That’s as much as I understand.”

El frowned. “They must have harnessed power much like we did when we put spells in bottles and other objects for Ghost Ops. I wouldn’t imagine it could reproduce it like a gun, but who knows? They’re inventive.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’m worried about you.” El shuffled around to look at her properly. “I know how strong and quick you all are, but against Black Cronos…”

Shadow smiled. “We’ve met our match, that’s for sure, but I think we’re frustrating them just as much. And we think we know where Toto is heading next.” She updated her on the Igigi.

“Wow! This keeps getting worse and worse. But it’s also intriguing. Do you really think these creatures might still exist?”

“Surely not. But,” Shadow added, finally voicing what was really worrying her, “Gabe is being cagey about the Igigi. I think there’s something he’s not telling me.”

“He’s probably trying to protect you.”

”As gallant as that sounds, I don’t think so. He knows better. I think he’s ashamed of something, or more likely, worried.” She shrugged and sighed. “I’ll find out eventually. I’ll just have to wear down his defences.”

El giggled. “I won’t ask how. But I am glad you two have got together. Now, tell me about Estelle!”

For a while they gossiped and laughed until Dante emerged from the forge, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “That’s some unusual metal, Shadow!”

Shadow’s heart faltered. “You can’t repair it?”

“I can, but I’m having to heat it to a very high temperature. I’ll need it for a day or so to finish, okay?”

As much as she hated having to leave it with him, she had no choice. “Of course. Thank you. I’ll pay, of course.”

“No need. I have a feeling I’ll learn something from this metal. If you ever feel like sharing, I’m all ears.” And with an enigmatic smile, he headed back inside.

Niel studied the large map pinned to the wall, the photos of the tablet they’d stolen from The Silencer of Souls next to it. Or salvaged, as he liked to call it. His lips twisted with annoyance just thinking about her. Damn woman.

Ash was next to him, and he tapped the map. “I can feel your anger radiating off you. Focus on finding this place, and then you can get your revenge.”

“I want to wring her neck and see the life drain from her eyes.”

“Your ego is dented, that’s all.” Ash couldn’t disguise his amusement, and it annoyed Niel even more.

“Yours should be dented, too. We both got flattened in that blast!”

“But I saw it coming.” Ash turned to him with a smug smile. “I dragged you back.”

“I was seething about the damn demon dogs!”

“Which distracted you. We can’t afford to be distracted by their toys.”

“Hardly bloody toys,” Niel grumbled under his breath. But Ash was right. He did need to focus. He stared at the map that detailed the area around Mardin and exhaled. “Surely the forested areas are more likely…they fit with the story of the oasis.”

“Perhaps. But landscapes change dramatically over the years. Places that we knew as very fertile valleys are now deserts. And I bet they’re not heavily wooded forests, either. We have to find a way to narrow the search, or it will take us years.”

Niel sat on the edge of the table behind him. “Then we should get out there soon. There’s no other way.” A feeling of excitement, but also worry, settled over him. “I’m not sure how I feel about going back to the Middle East. It will have changed beyond recognition. Right now I have my memories of places and people, but those will be shattered once we return.”

Ash nodded, wariness entering his eyes. “I’ve considered that too, brother. I want to see Greece again, but fear I’ll be disappointed by what I see. All the places I knew will have turned to dust or ruins. And there’ll be places that will have sprung up after we left, and they’ll be ruins, too. Whereas here,” he gestured around him, “it’s all new. There’s nothing to compare.”

“That’s the best thing about Western Europe,” Niel admitted. “We never came here. I feel we’re beginning afresh. New life, new place. And my memories of the Igigi are bloody…” He trailed off as images flooded his thoughts. “They were worthy opponents. Strong.”

“But not all were disciplined,” Ash reminded him. “They weren’t trained to fight like us.”

”Is it a terrible thing to say that I felt guilty about attacking them? I wanted them to have their freedom.”

“Of course it isn’t terrible. But I’d still like to know how they disappeared so quickly and completely.”

He was right. The battle had moved outside the cities and had broken into skirmishes. After a particularly vicious campaign, the Nephilim had withdrawn to regroup, and that’s when the Igigi vanished.

“Perhaps,” Niel mused, “someone had scouted a place and sent word out.”

“But we scoured the plains and hills from the skies—for miles! They must have gone underground.”

“An underground city? That’s new!”

Ash shook his head and pointed at the map. “Not particularly. Cappadocia and Derinkuyu in Turkey—what was called Anatolia—are known for its cave dwellings. In fact, the authorities think the Phrygians excavated some. It could be something similar. I’ll do some more reading. Old myths from after our time may reference hidden cities. What if,” he turned away from the map to stare at Niel, “whoever had or still has the tablet had more information on the Igigi’s city? That would help us narrow it down, too.”

“But we have no idea who that is! And you said there’s nothing in that handful of papers we found except endless histories of the Sumerians.”

Ash nodded. “True. But the very fact they were taking them must mean something useful is in there. I must study them more closely.”

Niel grunted. He liked action and movement, not endless research and speculation. “Better you than me.” His thoughts returned to when he’d visited the museum with Nahum. “I wonder if it’s worth returning to the British Museum. They have an extensive collection of Mesopotamian objects, including huge stone reliefs.”

“I’d love to see them, but I doubt they’ll offer much on this subject. Surely, hidden cities and clues to the Igigi would have been mentioned in the display notes?”

Deflating, Niel nodded. “I guess so. I certainly didn’t read anything about them, but I was overwhelmed, if I’m honest. Although,” he brightened as he thought of how huge the museum was, “I didn’t see all of it—not by a long shot.”

Ash slapped his shoulder. “Let me see how I get on, but perhaps you’re right. A trip to the museum could be useful. And it might explain the photographs. Even Black Cronos would have their work cut out to steal from there.” He virtually pushed Niel out the door. “Leave me in peace. I need to concentrate.”