The Tenth Order (15 page)

On the way home Karen refused to answer any of Hunter’s questions, smiling each time he asked. After an hour he gave up and stared out the window, watching the trees fly past. It gave him time to reflect on the events of the night. But there were no answers there, and by the time they returned to the bar, Hunter still felt as though he was floating in a dream.
Angels, Seraphim, Powers,
the words repeated through Hunter’s mind like a stuck tape.
And just beneath them,
murderer, murderer, MURDERER!

When the car slowed to a halt, Karen spoke for the first time. “This should last you until Thursday,” she handed him a plain white envelope filled with hundred dollar bills. It was the most money Hunter had ever seen at one time.

“Great,” he said. “And I’m supposed to live on the street until…?”

Karen pursed her lips. “Think of it as another test. Bath loves those. If it were me, I’d find some friends and cash in a favor.”

“You know I don’t have any friends.”

Karen shrugged. “We get by our own way. Just make sure you’re here in three days, by the time the sun reaches the mountains. I’ll be waiting.” She didn’t say what would happen if Hunter didn’t show, and he didn’t ask. He had heard enough threats for one night. Nodding, he took the money and bent to open the door.

“Hunter,” Karen touched his arm. “I’m serious when I said I know what you’re going through. It’s tough…all of this coming at once.”

Hunter stayed silent, curious to see where she was going.

Karen took a breath, closing her eyes. When she opened them Hunter was struck again by the aching perfection of her face, and filled with the same awkward shyness that had come over him the first time he had seen her. His cheeks burned.

“What I’m trying to say…what I mean is…”

“I know. Be careful.” Hunter smiled awkwardly.

“Don’t run,” Karen’s grip tightened, her eyes hardening. “Don’t, or he’ll find you. I promise you that.”

Hunter frowned and pulling back his arm. “Christ, it’s always something with you.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

Hunter shook his head, opened the car door and stepped into the frigid night air. He had just enough time to see a look of pity on Karen’s face before the car pulled away into the empty street. Hunter watched the vanishing car, then turned to the bar. He had no idea what time it was, but, judging by the closed sign, probably past two A.M. How late were hotels open? Did you have to call ahead or could you just show up? The long, crazy, emotional drain of the last twenty-four hours descended on Hunter all at once. It was all he could do not to burst into tears.

Wouldn’t Dad be proud…bawling like a baby in front of a run-down bar.

Hunter sighed and placed the envelope in his pocket—or tried to, before realizing he was still wearing the priest’s robes. Aware, all of a sudden, of the dark alleys surrounding him, painful memories of his previous mugging aching in his head, he stuffed the envelope up his sleeve. It bulged awkwardly, rubbing against Hunter’s wrist, but at least it was hidden from view.

Shuffling his feet against the cement sidewalk, the realization dawned that even if he
did
find a hotel they would never admit him without a driver’s license and credit card. He had been avoiding the obvious answer the entire time, but now, as he ambled aimlessly around the neighborhood, aware he could be jumped at any moment, the solution grew clear.

There was still one place that would admit him without an ID.

CHAPTER NINE

Father Valdis was in the library when he heard the faint sounds of hammering through the walls. He had been there much longer than was healthy, but was unable to pull himself away for longer than a bathroom break and a quick bite to eat. His obsession brooked nothing less.

Valdis was a man full of questions, and had come to terms long ago—and figured God wouldn’t mind the terms if they were presented to him—that knowledge, and the unceasing desire to
acquire
it would always be his greatest sins. The preservation and acquisition of such had led him to his current standing in the church, and he was doubtful he would rise much higher. Not because of the questions he asked, nor any desire to share his suspicions with the world. It was because he had long given up any ambition to achieve earthly power, and refused to indulge in the political maneuvering and game playing that polluted the upper echelons of the Church. He would never leave the diocese.

All of which brought him to his current situation—at the brink of exhaustion, forcing his unwilling body to focus its remaining resources on solving the mystery of Hunter Friskin’s birthmark.

The hammering finally penetrated his fugue-addled mind, and Valdis peered up from his book. Marking his place, the priest stood and looked bewilderedly at the walls. What time was it? Surely it was too late—or early—for construction?

Never a dull day,
he thought, rubbing his temples and walking to the door. As he exited the library his gritty eyes found the clock. Three A.M. He had been in the library for the past sixteen hours. Suddenly aware of his rumbling stomach and the dull ache at his temples, Valdis vowed to grab something to eat and a quick nap before going back to work.

Of course, it would have to wait until he discovered the source of this god-forsaken racket.

Valdis tramped to the alley door where the hammering seemed to originate, and looked through the peephole. His eyes widened and he unbolted the door.

“Quick, before anyone sees you,” He ushered in the tall figure and led him back to the library. Once inside, he sealed the door tightly, placed a bell around the handle, and turned to his guest.

“Are you
insane
?” Valdis asked.

“Actually…I’m not sure,” replied Hunter.

“The cops have been loitering all day, just waiting for you to come back.” Valdis swallowed. “I told them everything.”

“Everything?”
“Well, not
everything.
I kept you out of it, even th
ough you
killed two men
.” Valdis hissed. “What were you
thinking
coming back here? Do you know how much trouble I could get in? And what if you’d woken Father Gregory? It’s a good thing he lives in the East wing, or you’d be talking with the police right now.”

Hunter closed his eyes and for the first time Valdis noticed his hunched shoulders and pale face; he looked like he hadn’t slept in a year.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bring any of this down on you,” Hunter said. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have an ID, credit cards…this was the only place I could think of.” His dark-gray eyes opened, fixing Valdis with a silent-plea.

“But if they find you here—”

“I have money.”

Valdis snorted. “You want to buy a room?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Look, I need a place to stay for a couple days. Isn’t there anywhere you can hide me? Just until Thursday, and then I’m out of your hair forever.

Valdis eyed Hunter, calculating silently. Truthfully, the priest couldn’t have been happier to see Hunter Friskin. Every bit of research he’d dug up since meeting the strange man had left him with more questions. And Valdis knew the only place to get answers was from the source itself.

The priest finally sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “What man of God could turn down a soul in need?”

“Thank you,” Hunter breathed. “Father, I don’t even know what to—”

“Don’t say anything,” Valdis began threading his way through the dark mahogany bookshelves. “Just follow me.”

Hunter nodded with relief, and followed silently as they wound through the labyrinthine bookshelves and reached the center of the library. It was a large oval space covered by an expensive Turkish rug, several reading lamps, and two plush chairs. Enclosed by four curved bookcases that stretched to the ceiling, it was the most secluded spot in the enormous room.

Valdis leaned down and rolled up a corner of the rug, exposing the dusty wooden under-floor and a small iron circle attached to a set of hinges. The priest looked at Hunter, then at the lock expectantly. Hunter stared blankly, then his face filled with understanding and he bent down, pulling up the iron hinge and exposing a small set of stairs leading downward. The priest mouthed “Thank-you,” then reached inside the opening, moving his hand to the left of the stairs, and brought back a dirty, ancient flashlight. Motioning to Hunter, Valdis walked slowly down the staircase, the flashlight casting a weak light on the rough stone walls.

“Close the door behind you,” Valdis whispered. “And try not to make a sound. This next section travels under the rooms of the East rectory, and the floors are thin.” Hunter nodded and closed the door, plunging the narrow staircase into deep shadows. Valdis continued downward, making sure to place each foot firmly in the dim light of the old flashlight.

The priest could still remember the first time he had come across the trap door, after being assigned to Saint Catherine’s for only a month. Valdis had requested to be placed at the old cathedral, and—due in no small part to the hefty donations of his mother—was located there after his final ordination as a priest.

Back then the old building had seemed larger than life, and the library, despite suffering damage from years of neglect, was a treasure trove of information. Valdis had spent almost every waking moment there, volunteering to restore the crumbling space (anything to get out of delivering sermons), and organize the antiquated filing system. The bishop was happy enough to leave Valdis to the care of the library, as he had only placed the young priest at Saint Catherine’s to secure funding to build his new cathedral. But Valdis new nothing of the bishop’s motives at the time. He only had eyes for his new assignment.

His second week in the library he discovered the door in the floor.

Valdis had been returning a fragile, damp-ruined book to the shelves—a list of families and lineages from almost a hundred years ago—when his foot snagged, and he crashed to the floor. The snag turned out to be a rusted iron ring, poorly covered by an old rug. His curiosity aroused, Valdis opened the door—after several hours removing the rust and oiling the hinges—and discovered a new world.

Now, as Valdis traveled down the constricted stone stairs he swelled with pride at the changes from the first time he’d made this journey. Then, the stairs had been almost invisible under layers of cobwebs and dust, their rough stone path obscured by crumbled debris from the walls. Now, after several years of work, the flight of stairs were clean and, despite their narrow confines, easy to navigate.

Then, the small corridor at the bottom of the stairs had been dark and damp; cracks in the dank walls letting in small rivulets of water that made the corridor more swamp than hall. Now, the long passageway had been emptied, the cracks in the wall patched and sealed, and Valdis had placed candle holders along the path to illuminate the trail. For now, though, he used his flashlight to navigate.

As they made their way down the hall, Valdis snuck a quick peek over his shoulder and smiled as he saw Hunter looking up and down the stone corridor, eyes wide. This was the first time he had brought someone down here, and the priest was pleased the narrow stairs and stone tunnel were having the same effect on Hunter as they did on him.

As they exited the corridor Hunter gasped softly, and Valdis smiled again. In the dim light of the flashlight the room was dark and shadowed, but even in the gloom its size was overwhelming. The fragile beam of light flickered in the depths, striking the back wall so faintly it left only a slight bloom of color. Valdis entered, moving aside so Hunter could take in the enormous space. The light bobbed for a second as Valdis turned and flipped a row of switches on a large circuit breaker, then several bulbs flickered to life and the room was thrown into bright relief.

It was a plain, circular enclave, made of the same rough-cut stone of the preceding hallway, and architecturally noteworthy only for its massive size. But the contents were something else entirely: dozens of tables littered the room, filled with gold and silver plates, vases and other ornaments. The priest walked slowly around the wall, watching Hunter carefully as he took in the room. As Hunter approached the tables his eyes grew larger and larger, but Valdis saw no recognition, and was both pleased and frightened by what that meant.

“We can talk now,” Valdis said. “We’re past the sleeping chambers, and the ceiling here is at least four feet thick.”

“This,” Hunter motioned to the room “is incredible.”

Valdis bowed his head. “Thank you. I’ve been collecting and sorting it all since the first month I came to Saint Catherine’s.” He smiled awkwardly. “I’m ashamed to say I spend more time down here than I do at confession.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Hunter stepped to the nearest table and reached out to touch a small jeweled horse with gold scroll-work.

“Wait!” Valdis jumped forward. Hunter snapped back his hand with a guilty expression. “Some of these are incredibly fragile.”

Hunter stepped away from the table. “Of course. Sorry. I just wanted to see what it was made of.”

“Gold, some Spanish porcelain…other such things. It was considered a great treasure in its day.” Valdis looked down at the figurine with a motherly smile. “Still is.”