Assassin of Truths Page 3

  Great. Now I was responsible for the destruction of an entire generation of Sentinels.

  Way to live up to the Doomsday Child rep, Gia.

  “Message received. You can go now.” I continued down the row of stands holding the variety of globes. Aetnae took flight and flitted along with me, and she actually pointed her toes when she flew. She was like a graceful bug.

  She harrumphed. “Your face isn’t as pretty when you scowl like that.”

  “I’m not scowling. Just busy.”

  Seriously. It was as if an annoying gnat were following me.

  Her wings worked double time to keep up as she tossed a bunch of questions at me. “Are you seeking a Chiave? How many do you possess? Is there one in this library? Want me to help? I’m good at finding things. Found a spool once for Laila.”

  Aetnae had helped me several times with searching for the Chiavi and finding the Shelter when I needed it. We’d become good friends. I could count on her.

  “I am. We’ve found five.” A lump formed in my throat. We found. Nick and me. Thinking of him was like an ice pick to the heart. “There’s one somewhere in this library,” I said, shaking off the thought of him.

  “And what are we searching for exactly?” she asked.

  I stopped. “That.”

  By the subject’s white wig and the uniform he wore, the portrait had to be from around the eighteenth century. One of his hands rested on a parchment unrolled across on a tabletop, and the other was placed on his hip. Pinned to his military jacket was a gold badge of honor with a cross on top of a starburst, and a large ruby in the center.

  I grasped my locket with Pip’s feather inside and chanted the spell to release the Chiavi. “Libero il Tesoro.” Release the treasure.

  A gust of wind swirled around me, blowing Aetnae away.

  Gasping, I turned away from the painting. “Aetnae?”

  She was gone.

  “Why have you called me only to ignore my entrance?” A man’s voice came from behind me.

  I faced him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my friend—”

  He held up his hand to stop me. “I am the spirit of the Chiave you seek. Go on now. Remove my badge, but carefully, you understand. You aren’t to ruin the material.” He pushed out his chest and lifted his chin.

  Oh gosh, someone thinks he’s special. I dropped my trench coat and worked to free the clasp with nervous fingers.

  “Hurry. I haven’t all day, simple girl.”

  Simple? Better than being a royal jerk like you. Of course, I would never say that to him. The dude was full-on scary.

  The clasp finally opened, and I removed the badge.

  He snapped around and pulled himself back into the portrait.

  “Wait,” I said.

  His eyes went to me as he placed his hand back on the table. When I didn’t continue right away, he snapped, “Out with it.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what the Chiave does? The other spirits had an entire spiel about what theirs did. You know, other than actually being one of the keys.”

  “Must you annoy me?” A frown deepened the lines around his mouth as he settled back into his pose. “But since you asked, I’m obliged to tell you. It’s a shield, but don’t dally with it. The spell won’t last but a few minutes.”

  I glanced down at the metal in my hand. It was a heavy badge. The arms of the cross were thin and widened at the ends, and the ruby was dull with age. “A shield? Will people be able to see me?” I glanced up. He had already frozen in the portrait. “You must’ve been a rude man when you were alive.”

  A squeak came from behind me. If the library hadn’t been so quiet, I wouldn’t have heard it.

  “Aetnae?” Rushing around the globes, I shoved the badge into the main pocket of my messenger bag. “Where are you?” I called.

  Another squeak.

  I stopped. My boot was just inches from Aetnae’s tiny body sprawled on the marble floor. Gingerly, I picked her up. She was unmoving in the palms of my hands. I sucked in a breath and tensed as if any movement would make her crumble.

  Oh my God, she’s dead.

  I gently poked her shoulder. “Aetnae?”

  She groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position. My muscles relaxed, and I expelled a breath. “Are you hurt?”

  She brushed her tangled red hair from her face and stood. “No, but that was quite a ride.”

  “Listen, I have to go to New York,” I said, placing her on top of one of the globes. “Will you be okay here?”

  “Of course.” She inspected her wings. “Who do you suppose took care of me for the few hundred years I’ve been alive? I’ll give you a hint—me. But I should go with you. I’m tiny and make a good watch out.”

  “A lookout?” I checked the time. “No. It’s a little after ten here. That means it’s around four in the afternoon in New York. The library’s still open. Someone will see you.”

  “As if you won’t look suspicious with all that on.” She waved her hand at me.

  “You’re right.” I searched for my trench coat.

  Aetnae followed me, bouncing a little unsteadily on the air. The coat had been blown up against one of the globe stands. I snatched it, and a square piece of paper dropped from the pocket and floated to the floor.

  “I’ve got it.” Obviously recovered, Aetnae zipped down and grabbed it. She flew it over to me. “Directions to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Is that where you’re going?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting on my coat and tying the belt in a knot. I removed my helmet and shoved it in my bag.

  “That bulky bag looks awfully suspicious,” Aetnae said.

  She was right. The helmet bulged out as if I were hiding a volleyball inside. I removed it and placed it on the globe. I’d have to retrieve it later.

  “Better?” I asked.

  “Guess so. I don’t know why I can’t go with you. At least to the library.” The pout on her face made me smile. The kids I used to babysit would make the same one after I’d announced it was bedtime.

  “Next time, okay?” I said, giving her a reassuring smile.

  …

  Since the New York Public Library was still open, I couldn’t collect the Chiave, not with a crowd around. So I decided to investigate Gian’s prayer card. But first, I had to do that thing for Jaran. Strolling down the middle aisle flanked by rows of desks, I looked for an unattended cell phone. Preferably belonging to someone immersed in a book or work. And one without a passcode.

  The teens in the room never let go of their phones. They didn’t even glance up from them as I passed. Then I saw it. My target. A flip phone sat on the table beside a man with a beard, outdated clothes, and Birkenstocks. Perfect. The phone was ancient, and most of them didn’t require a password or a fingerprint. And definitely not face recognition.

  I’d gotten good at phone snatching, but still my stomach shifted uneasily. What would I do if caught? I picked up an abandoned stack of books from one of the tables and headed for the man, pretending to stumble when I reached him. The books shot from my arms and tumbled onto the table and floor.

  The man jumped in his seat.

  “I’m so sorry.” I feigned embarrassment.

  “You should watch where you’re going.” He didn’t say that very nicely before bending over to pick up the books on the floor.

  I gathered the ones spilled over the table, along with the phone.

  He stood and put the books in his hands on top of the stack in my arms.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He grunted.

  How rude. It’s not as if he knew I meant to toss all those books at him. Of course, I’d just borrowed his phone without asking, but he didn’t know that. And hopefully never would.

  I abandoned the books on a table at the end of the row then searched for somewhere to use the phone. The bathroom was my best option, so I found one and went in.

  An Italian-looking woman wearing gray plaid pants, a white shirt, and a
red scarf came in after me. I ducked into a stall and didn’t come out until she left.

  After pulling out the slip of paper Jaran had given me, I dialed the number on it.

  Cole answered his cell on the first ring. “Hello,” he said, sounding anxious.

  “Hi, Cole, this is Gia. Do you remember me?” The door to the restroom banged open. I paused and peered through the crack between the stalls. A woman with red hair, wearing all black except for the floral scarf around her neck, went into the last cubicle.

  “I know who you are,” Cole said. “You’re Jaran’s friend. Do you know where he is? The home for the foreign exchange students is empty. They’re all gone.” His disappointment tugged at my heartstrings and tied them into knots. He missed Jaran.

  “Their funding fell through,” I said. “Listen, I don’t have much time. Jaran is visiting relatives in Africa. He wanted me to let you know. Said he’d contact you soon.”

  “Did he say anything else?” There was hope in his voice this time.

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” Jaran would shish kabob me with his sword for what I was about to say. “He said he loved you.”

  “Really?” Now he sounded excited. “If you talk to him again, can you tell him I feel the same, and that I’ll wait for him? Tell him to email or text me when he can.”

  He loves him. Aww…

  “I sure will.”

  “Great,” he said. “And thank you for calling.”

  “No problem. Bye.” I pushed the end button then dialed Nana’s cell phone number. It went straight to her voicemail, so I called her home. No answer. I’d have to try reaching her another time.

  I flipped the phone shut and decided I’d better return it.

  The table the man had occupied was now abandoned. I placed the phone on the chair he’d sat on. When he realized it was missing, he’d come back and find it there.

  I found the exit and dashed outside. Buildings lined the streets and soared into the sky. Everything was crowded—the streets, the sidewalks, and even the clouds overhead. The church was about ten blocks away. People on Fifth Avenue rushed from one place to another. I weaved around them and headed in the direction of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  Thin beams of sunlight broke through the clouds and spotlighted parts of the city. Fall leaves danced over the sidewalks, pushed along by the breeze. My trench coat fit the cold day.

  The cathedral was a gothic-style building spanning an entire block, made of white marble, with spires reaching into the sky. My brain felt overwhelmed by the many details—from its lattice accents to its tall stained-glass windows, all of it was awe-inspiring.

  I stood in front of the massive bronze doors with statues of the Holy Family, Saint Patrick, and other saints inserted in square niches within the metal. If only I had my cell phone, I could text Afton pics to put in one of her architecture scrapbooks.

  “You can’t enter through there,” said a woman with a messy bun at the top of her head and a little boy pulling on her arm. “Admittance is through the side doors.”

  “Thanks,” I said and went around the column to where she’d pointed.

  A man with a buzz cut in a dark suit inspected my bag at the security check and held up the Chiave badge.

  “Part of a costume I’m designing for a show.” I answered his question before he could ask it, keeping my arm close to my side so he wouldn’t notice my sword under my trench coat.

  Please don’t ask me to remove my jacket. I concentrated on breathing normally as he stared at me for a long moment.

  He finally handed me my bag and nodded me through. I could hardly believe he hadn’t checked to see if I had anything under my coat. How safe was that? It had to be a mistake. I wanted to run to the prayer candles before he noticed, grab whatever Gian had hidden there, and hurry back to the library.

  Rows of polished wooden pews ran the length of the gothic-style cathedral. I measured my steps and headed down the right aisle on the far side of the pews, imagining Gian there in the 1930s. The place probably looked the same back then as it did now. The tall stained-glass windows were even more beautiful viewed from the inside. There were so many artifacts and statues my eyes couldn’t take them all in.

  Prayer candle stands were everywhere. I wasn’t sure which altar held Gian’s secret, so I retrieved the laminated prayer card from my bag and studied it. Prayer candle, seventh row, three in. It was the only clue written on the card. I turned it over and there were no marks on the back. I’d have to check every stand for the correct candle. This was going to take some time, and there were way too many people around.

  In the alcoves on each side of the pews were altars and votive stands. The fourth one on the right caught my eye. There were three statues of women, probably saints, in the center and an angel on each side of them. On the backside of Gian’s prayer card was a small picture of it. I hadn’t thought the other stuff on the card would be clues. The photo’s label read, Altar of Saint Rose of Lima.

  This has to be it.

  A man and woman in their fifties or something were at the stone railing in front of the prayer candles. The woman stood on the kneeler aiming a fancy looking camera at the center statue of a saint cradling a cross with a wreath of flowers on her head. I decided to sit in the nearest pew and wait for them to finish.

  The crowd seemed to be thinning. A group posed together in front of the main altar, a girl angled her phone with a selfie stick to capture herself in front of another statue, and others shuffled around, heads thrown back, trying to take in all the treasures adorning the cathedral.

  Once the couple left, I waited until three women passed before stepping over the barrier. The candle stand looked too modern to be from Gian’s time. Starting from the right side of the stand, I counted seven rows down, three in, and searched the circumference of the votive hoping to find something, but came up empty. I did the same with the candles on the left. Nothing there, either.

  Disappointment slumped my shoulders. I was at a dead end. The candle stand Gian had put his message in must have been replaced ages ago.

  At the sound of someone approaching, I hid behind the wall of the arch. A priest rushed up the aisle, and I held my breath, only releasing it when he’d disappeared around the corner. I glanced at the flickering wicks on the few prayer candles still lit on the stand.

  Maybe I missed something. It wouldn’t hurt to try again, I reasoned.

  Tightening my hands into fists and then stretching out my fingers as wide as a Ping-Pong paddle, I tried to control the nerves bubbling inside my stomach.

  What would happen if I was caught?

  Fist. Paddle.

  They’d just kick me out. That’s all.

  Fist. Paddle.

  No need to freak out, Gia.

  I relaxed my hands and peered around the wall. A few tourists were across the way from me, their backs turned. Carrig had drilled during our practices that sudden movements would attract attention. Slow, fluid ones and you’d blend into the environment, he’d said. I eased out of my hiding place and crossed over to the stand. He was right—no one noticed me.

  Though the chapel was cool, sweat beaded on my neck. My fingers shook a little as I ran them over the copper stand, hoping to find whatever it was Gian had hidden. But there was nothing. Or if he had left a clue there, it was gone, lost to time.

  Frustration settled in my gut. I might never know what he’d left for me. He wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of hiding it if it weren’t something important. Whatever it was, its loss could be bad. But I had no idea what level of bad it would be.

  The cool chapel suddenly felt hot. Stifling. I had to get outside.

  Get some fresh air.

  At the same moment I turned to leave, a man’s cough startled me. My heart jerked in my chest, and I bumped into the copper stand, the flames on the candles flickering. My foot kicked some sort of metal rod sticking out of the floor under the holder, and it moved forward slightly.

  Another coug
h came from one of the pews, and I darted a look over my shoulder, listening. The man’s back was turned. He hadn’t seen me. I dropped to a squat and inspected the rod sticking out of the tiles.

  It had to be a latch or something. I tugged it forward the rest of the way.

  Stone scraped against stone.

  One of the bricks beside the angel on the right slid out from the wall.

  I found it! Adrenaline sparked through my veins, and I struggled to push my excitement away. I had to stay focused.

  Stay calm.

  I did another quick check over my shoulder to make sure no one had noticed before reaching inside the drawer and grabbing the leather cylinder case inside. I moved the rod back into place with my foot, and the brick drawer shuddered as it closed, the noise causing me to pause.

  Still no one noticed. The sound must’ve mixed in with the murmur of voices and the shuffling of feet in the cathedral. I climbed over the barrier and knelt on the step right before the priest who’d passed earlier returned. He nodded at me, and I lowered my head and pretended to pray until he was a safe distance away. Then I slowly tucked the leather case into the pocket of my trench coat.

  The flames on the candles flickered as a shadow moved across the altar in front of me. Deciding to let whoever it was have privacy, I made the sign of the cross and was about to stand, but froze at the sound of her voice.

  “I wasn’t aware you were religious,” Veronique said sweetly, as if we weren’t sworn enemies.

  Chapter Three

  I pushed myself up from the prie-deau and faced her. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “I highly doubt it.” Veronique pressed her perfect rosebud lips together and slipped her hand under the flap of her coat. The candlelight flickered across the hilt of her sword.

  “We’re not doing this here,” I said, eyeing the blade. “Isn’t there a rule about holy ground or something?”

  The Cheshire Cat grin on her face boiled my blood. It was the same one she’d flashed me during the battle on my front lawn last spring. It was only after I’d failed to stop Conemar from taking Nick that I’d learned Veronique had killed Kale. I held back the tears threatening to escape at the thought of him.