Sentinel Lost (Mind Sweeper Series Book 5) (12 page)

“
The
power, as in the power of good and evil.”

He frowned. “And we’re sure this thing is legitimate?”

“Well, considering the fact that angels got involved last year, I would say it’s pretty serious.”

Dalton jerked up straighter. “Angels are real?”

“You have no problem believing in demons and vampires, but you struggle with angels?” I asked.

“Captain Morrison never talked to me about angels, and I haven’t had to cover up for them in past cases.”

“Normally, angels stay out of the limelight. When they do get involved, that means it’s pretty damn serious.”

“And all because of this artifact this box protects?”

“Yes.”

Dalton held his hand out to Jean Luc. “May I see it?”

Jean Luc hesitated, but after a few moments, he placed the box in Dalton’s hand. I don’t know what I expected, but the box didn’t change in any way, and Dalton didn’t stand up and scream, “I remember!” So I let out the breath I’d been holding and took a sip of my coffee.

“Do you think the demon stole the other box to try and figure out where this artifact is?”

“That seems to make the most sense,” I responded.

“And the tablet?”

Jean Luc spoke up. “It could be a description of the artifact. It may be connected to the boxes.”

“Does this artifact have a name?”

I swallowed hard before answering. “The Key of Knowledge.”

“And you never found this Key?”

I stared at him, praying my face showed no emotion. “No.”

Dalton turned the box over. “Sounds pretty cryptic to me.
Looks
pretty cryptic, too.”

“Last year, we almost had a supernatural war over it, so it’s very real.” I picked up the photos from the table. “We need to find these artifacts and get them back.”

“When I was saying goodbye to Director Hamilton,” Misha added, “I asked her to send the .jpeg files to me so I can blow them up and we can get a closer, more detailed look.”

“When—”

Misha interrupted me. “You’d run out of her office by then.”

Dalton set the box on the table. “You’re pretty easy to read, McKinley. You might want to practice your poker face a little bit more.”

I bit back my retort and looked down at the box sitting on the table. If that were the case, the ugly truth would already be out there for all to see.

* * *

Now that I was sure the Key was part of this case, I had a few missions to accomplish. First, I drove to John Carroll University. We needed more information about the Key, and Father Brown was my best source. I dialed Father Brown’s office and was told he was hearing confessions at Gesu Church. Somehow I always ended up meeting the good Father in the confessional. The irony was not lost on me.

I sat in the back pew of the church, waiting for the confessional door to open. After a few minutes, an elderly lady came out of the room and bobbed her head at me before she knelt in the pew across the aisle and began to pray.

I slipped into the confessional and closed the door. The room still looked the same. Two chairs and a small table with a Bible were all that could fit in the tiny space. Father Brown stood up as soon as he saw me, tall and lean and reminding me of Jimmy Stewart. Not the frazzled Jimmy Steward in
Rear Window
, but the Jimmy Stewart at the end of
It’s a Wonderful Life
, when he got his family back.

“Hi, Father.”

“Kyle! It’s been a while.”

“Did you have a good sabbatical?”

He gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. “I did. I arrived back last night, in fact. But somehow I don’t think you’re here to talk about my trip to Greece. What’s wrong?”

I pulled out the photo of the box from the museum and handed it to him.

He nodded. “You showed me this picture last year.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t the same box.”

His eyes narrowed on the picture. “Do you have the other picture from last year so I can compare them?”

I pulled the small box from my pocket. “I thought it might help if you could compare it to the real deal.”

His eyes widened as he held out his hand, which was shaking slightly. I set the box on his open palm, and he ran his fingers over the carvings reverently. I didn’t say anything while he examined it. After a few moments, he seemed to come out of his musings and set it on the table by the picture. “You’re right, the carvings are similar, but not exactly the same.”

“Can you interpret it?”

“Most are wards against evil.”

“Why do you think there’s another box, Father? Is it some sort of backup?”

Father Brown stared at the picture again. “I don’t know. Do you think the Key moves from box to box?”

“Maybe there are extra boxes, so if the person who’s absorbed the Key is killed, it goes into one of these receptacles and the next Key is chosen?”

“Possibly.” Father frowned. “But if that were the case, and if it held the same Key each time, wouldn’t the wards look the same?”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Do you think there could be more than one Key of Knowledge?”

His eyebrows drew together. “The prophecy reads as if there is only one path for Knowledge.”

“So then what’s the other box for?”

Father locked his gaze on me. “Maybe there are other types of Keys?”

“Holy crap.” I cringed. “Sorry, Father.”

He smiled. “No apologies necessary. What I just said was a ‘holy crap’ in the making.”

“Have you been able to interpret any more of the prophecy?”

Father Brown pulled out the small book of scriptures he always carried. He extracted a folded paper from the book and opened it, flattening it on the small table next to me. The folds in the paper were worn, as if he opened it constantly. Maybe he did.

At the top of the sheet the prophecy was written in a language no one except Father Brown had been able to interpret. At the bottom of the page was what he had translated so far. I gazed up at him, and he began reciting it without looking at the paper.

“‘Evil thrives among us

Angels descend, preparing for battle,

Key of Knowledge in hand

With it the tides turn

And light will triumph.

“‘The war will be long

And fraught with treachery

Lives will be lost

And the Key will change hands

Only the true keeper will

Save us from annihilation.’”

“You memorized it?” I asked.

“I had to memorize the mass in Latin, Kyle. Learning two stanzas of the prophecy wasn’t difficult.”

“What about the third stanza?”

“Nothing yet. Now that I’m home, maybe more will come to me.”

I held the tattered page and stared at it until the characters blurred. I had hoped maybe the Key would clue me into something—anything—that might help us. But as usual, when I needed the rolodex to start spinning in my brain, it was quiet.

“I can’t read it either.”

He blinked at me. “Why would you be able to read it?”

“I…ah…”

“Kyle. What haven’t you told me?” And he gave me The Priest Stare, the one that made most people fall all over themselves to confess each and every one of their sins. Good thing I hadn’t been raised Catholic.

I sighed at my stupid slip-up. Father Brown knew the Key had possessed Dalton, but I’d never told him it had transferred to me. He took the paper from me and grasped my hands.

Looking up into his Jimmy Stewart-esque face, I blurted, “I have the Key in me now.” So much for not crumbling under The Stare. Maybe I could blame the ambiance. I was in a confessional, after all.

He jerked back as if I’d smacked him. “You have the Key in you? How does it feel?”

I shrugged. “I don’t feel much different, if that’s what you mean. Except when my brain goes haywire when the Key tries to tell me something.”

“And what does it tell you?”

“Not much, really. I see names periodically, and I can read Latin now.”

“And how are you faring with this additional responsibility?”

Leave it to him to go right for the hard questions. “I’m okay with it. I just wish I understood what it was trying to tell me. I don’t seem to be hardwired to receive the messages the right way.”

To stop him from asking any more questions about how I was doing, I pulled the second photo from the envelope I’d brought with me and handed it to him. Misha had blown the picture up so the writing was easier to see. Jean Luc had said the writing was in the same language as the original prophecy, so I wasn’t surprised when Father looked at it and gasped.

“Is it the prophecy?” I asked.

“The beginning looks the same, but there are some different symbols here. This may help me finish translating the prophecy.”

“Sorry to throw more work at you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kyle. I’m happy to help. May I keep this photo?”

“Yes. And Father, remember, you can’t tell
anyone
about this. You aren’t supposed to remember anything.”

“Absolutely. I’ll call when I have more translated for you.”

I thanked him, picked up the box, and left the confessional. The old woman from before was still praying, and when I didn’t kneel, she pursed her lips at me.

I’m not sure if she thought I was shirking my penance duties or if she was jealous because I didn’t have to say a gazillion Hail Marys. Either way, I didn’t feel any lighter as I left the church and headed out into the rain.

Chapter 15

My next mission was to check on Doc at the lab. She’d been spending a lot more time there lately. Sabrina had always been dedicated—she was a doctor, after all—but now she was bordering on obsessed. Was it because Jason had shut her out?

She’d scolded me plenty of times about not drowning in self-pity. Maybe I needed to give her the same speech. I found her in the lab scrubbing the exam tables.

“What are you doing, Sabrina?”

She stopped. “Isn’t it obvious? Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m avoiding the office. Now don’t you avoid my question.”

She started cleaning again. “I answered your question.”

“So we’re going to be literal girl today, huh? Fine. We can play it your way. Why are you spending so much time at work?”

“I’m not spending too much time at work.”

“Call him.” I held up my hand when she opened her mouth. “Before you pretend to be obtuse, I’m referring to Jason. Call him.”

“Obtuse? Is that your word for the day?”

“Maybe. Is yours
bitchy
?”

Her mouth tightened. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“It’s been long enough, Sabrina. Call him and don’t take no for an answer. You didn’t even know about his shifter side. He can’t blame you for keeping secrets. And he needs someone in his corner.”

“I’ve tried to get him to talk to me, but he won’t listen.”

“Then make him listen. With all due respect, you’re older than the hills. I think you can get a thirty-something male to listen to you.”

Sabrina’s mouth quirked. “I am older than Methuselah. I can try again.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“And what about you?” Sabrina asked, wiping the table again.

“What about me?”

“Please don’t make me use your word of the day. How are you doing?”

I decided to go with the truth. “Dalton’s a control freak, and I’m having a hard time coming to grips with pretty much everything right now.”

“How’s Griffin doing with all of this?”

“He’s being very supportive.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course.”

Sabrina stopped cleaning and leaned her hip against the table. “But?”

“But everything feels wrong right now. And he can tell because of his damn shifter senses. It isn’t him. It’s me. And I know it sounds lame coming out of my mouth, but it’s true.”

“Not to repeat the advice you gave me, but you should talk to Griffin about it.”

“What do I tell him? My previous boyfriend is back in my life and I’m mourning what could have been. That’s not fair to him.”

“Griffin is a big boy. He’ll tell you what’s fair and not fair. Don’t shut down again, Kyle.”

“I’m not going to shut down again. Wasn’t I just warm and fuzzy with you?”

“You called me bitchy.”

“That’s what tough love is all about.”

She glared at me.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him if you get the hell out of here and find Jason.”

Doc peeled off her gloves and threw them in the biohazard bin. “Deal.”

“I’d shake on it, but first you have to wash up.”

* * *