Chapter 33
“Bes…” I start, absolutely dreading the thought of being eaten alive by hungry rats. Their sharp claws in my eyes, my ears, my mouth, ripping at my hair.
He slams his shoulder into the door in response to my concern. Finally, the lock frees itself and the wood shudders open.
Mara flings it wide, leaping through first. I follow after her, Bes and Cec right behind me.
The two of them slam it closed, and throw the wooden beam lock across it for good measure.
The sound of the rats hitting the other side is more reassuring than I can say, even as I irrationally fear they’ll scratch their way through.
We’d be long gone by then.
“Damned rats.” I flinch from the chill fissuring along my back. “Were they lying in wait for someone to come along and guess the riddle wrong?”
Mara unsheathes one of her blades. “I’m sure one of the priests feeds them in their cage with the body of Christ.”
I scoff. “As appetizing as that sounds, they’ll have a hard time getting them back in. I hope they take over the church, then drown in the holy water.”
Mara smiles. “I’d love to see that.”
Cec clucks his tongue. “No one here gives a damn about godly wrath, do they?”
The room we’re in appears to be in a corner of the castle from the shape of it.
Away from prying eyes and cloaked in darkness.
Wooden crates tower around us, though their placement purposefully leaves a clear path.
I stay close to Mara as we cut through the maze of slatted wood, until we hit a wall of messy threads—the backside of a woven tapestry.
“Wait.” Bes stops us. “We should let the order know what’s going on.”
“Now?” Mara asks, her voice taking on an anxious edge. Maybe she wants to get as far away from the rats as I do.
“And when we’re not supposed to be here?” Cec adds.
“They need to know about the men from the Vaterl?ndische Union who were chasing us, at the very least,” Bes explains. “If those two men were reconnaissance, then the team they planned to send in a day or so would’ve likely been ambushed by the trap they came to help set. Or…”
“Or what?” I wonder.
“Anders or Kali have betrayed us.”
I glance at Cec as fear widens his eyes. God, I hope it’s Kali, for his sake. And mine. If it weren’t for me, neither Anders nor Kali would be here. But I specifically stuck my neck out for Anders, and I’m not sure how I’ll live with myself if it turns out he was a spy all along.
Turning to Bes, I say, “How are you going to let them—”
I cut myself off when I see he’s not looking at me, or anything for that matter. Instead, both his eyes have been overtaken by the churning silver I told myself I was imagining. Cec’s eyes, too, shimmer just as bright.
So this is how they pass information through to the order. The telepathic connection Bes mentioned before.
Back to his old self again, Bes meets my gaze, likely sensing the dozens of questions I have. “I’ll explain later.”
“I knew your eyes swirled silver,” is all I say in response, recalling noticing it at the graveyard in Alexandria.
I turn to Cec. “And yours too.” I note the milky film has already settled back over them.
“It allows me to see again,” Cec says wistfully. “For a brief moment, I can see the world through Bes’s eyes.”
He turns to his cousin. “You really need to clean your glasses, mate.”
I place my hand gently on Cec’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cec. I haven’t said it before, but I’m sorry you lost your eyesight.”
Cec smiles, the expression holding less sadness than I thought it would. “If it helps make the world a better place, I’ll gladly lose more than my eyesight. Odin sacrificed an entire eye and hung from a tree for nine days to gain the knowledge of the world; I think I got the better end of it.”
At least he had one good eye, though.
“You’re too optimistic for your own good.”
He straightens. “Grin and bear it, Hawkins. We must always grin and bear it.”
“And we need to get moving,” Bes interjects.
“Kali and I never got a chance to study the layout of the castle,” Mara says, “so I can’t be absolutely certain where we’ve ended up.”
Bes comes up beside us. “I’ll take Miss Hawkins to the right. Mara, take Cec to the left; one way or another, we’ll find Gurlitt.”
We all press our ears to the tapestry, to make sure no one is nearby. When Cec confirms with a nod, we break out on our separate ways, walking into the castle blind. Some of us, literally.
At first glance, we appear to have come out somewhere belowground. It’s so dark, I have to click my flashlight back on. Luckily, the stairs to go up a level appear quickly. They creak quite loud as we tiptoe over them. Not much we can do about that.
Bes opens the door at the top just enough to peek through, allowing gray light to trickle in. I click off my flashlight once more.
After a moment, he waves me on, and the two of us spill out inside the castle’s first floor.
Hurrying through the halls, I notice parts of it are under major construction: white tarps partly cover statues and tables and chairs, sections of the wall are exposed, and at least one window has wood nailed across it. How does anyone live here?
We round the first corner—
—when Bes yanks me into the closest room. He throws me against the wall on the other side, placing his hand tight over my mouth before I can utter a word.
A thrill passes through me, even as I pry open my jaw a fraction to take a bite out of his palm.
He whispers into my ear. “We’ve got company.”
Cold fear trickles down my spine and I relax my jaw, anticipation shortening my breath through my nose. My eyes widen in their sockets as a single set of footsteps draws nearer. The blood oath burns a hole in my heart and pulses painfully at my fingertip.
The Amulet of Amun remains cold and still.
After a moment, the footsteps pass by the door without stopping until they fade away. Once they’re gone, Bes lets go.
“Fucking Nazis,” I grumble. I brush off my backside where I was pressed up against the wall.
Hurried footsteps echo behind us before Bes can respond.
“Wer seid ihr?”
I flinch at the unexpected female voice, spinning on my heel to find a German woman wearing what I gather to be a maid’s uniform.
Bes answers her question. “Guten Tag, Fr?ulein. Wir sind mit Gurlitt befreundet und konnen ihn nicht finden.”
I recognize Gurlitt’s name and figure Bes is laying down a cover story for us. Which won’t be easy, given how she found us.
Suspicion draws down her brow. “Ja, er macht einen Spaziergang nach drau?en.”
Bes swears softly. “He’s already outside taking the afternoon stroll Mara told us about.”
I blink and Bes is suddenly beside the woman, his hand over her nose and mouth. She screams fruitlessly into his palm until succumbing to unconsciousness. Jesus Christ, he’s too good at that.
He sets her down gently on the nearby lounge chair before turning back to me. I glance around him, gladder than I can say to see her chest rising and falling.
He grabs my hand. “We need to find the quickest way out of here.”
Flinging the door open into the hallway, he glances left then right to make sure the coast is clear. When no one appears, we fly down the passage, not allowing me a moment to catch my breath.
We round another corner and pause, pressing ourselves against the stone. No footsteps hasten behind us or in front of us.
Hurrying past half a dozen art canvases stacked against the wall and dust-caked marble statues, we quickly find a side door that leads us outside. We hurry through, making our way out onto the sloping lawn while still sticking close to the building.
The castle isn’t as imposing as it appeared from the road. Vines climb untamed along its stone, as if they’re a living, breathing part of the decaying structure. Scaffolding rests against the walls like abandoned bones, tarps and tools at its rotten feet.
Though the clouds continue to hang impossibly low over the mountains, the view from up here is stunning. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to marvel at it. Adrenaline pumps through my veins at the idea of being caught. We’re unbelievably exposed out here and I don’t care for it.
Finally, a man in his mid-thirties saunters unburdened across the well-kept castle grounds.
Must be nice to stay with a rich friend in his castle.
No matter how rundown it is. A dark green button-up shirt fits across his shoulders, tucked inside brown tweed pants, with a matching brown tweed vest buttoned over it.
A pocket watch’s golden chain dangles from his belt.
Combed-back light brown hair balding at the top frames light eyebrows and a clean face, half-moon spectacles hanging from the small pocket in his vest. He appears so unassuming.
We know better.
“On my count,” Bes says breathlessly as Gurlitt nears us. “One, two, three, now.”
Bes is much faster than me, especially going downhill, so he takes the lead.
; in fact, he’s already captured Gurlitt by the time I catch up to him.
He has the art dealer’s right arm pinned tight behind his back with one hand, gripping the back of his shirt with the other.
He winces, and I hope he hasn’t pulled out the stitches from his stab wound.
He might heal quicker than the rest of us, but not that quick
“Miss Hawkins, if you would.”
Hurrying over, I grab the man’s free arm and yank it behind his back. Taking the other from Bes, I lock them both in my grip. Once I’m certain he won’t be going anywhere, I glance around to make sure no one’s watching. Where did Mara and Cec go?
The man opens his mouth to cry out for attention, but Bes procures a switchblade from his pants’ pocket. The brandish cuts the cry off.
Bes crouches down so Gurlitt has nowhere else to look but at him. “Where are the Arma Christi?”
Gurlitt smiles terribly. “What did the Order of Cavendi do, send the youth brigade? I’ll never tell you.”
I start. How the hell does an art dealer know about the order?