The Black Madonna (The Mystique Trilogy) (2 page)

‘Am I supposed to find that reassuring?’ Albray lowered his paper to have a quiet word. ‘This body is my daughter’s temple, so do try to be a little selective about who worships it. Please, Kali,’ he added, realising that she was no longer bound to listen to him or follow his advice.

‘As there is only one being in this entire evolutionary scheme that I hold the slightest desire for, you need have no fear on that count,’ Tamar assured him. ‘You must trust that I know what I’m doing. No one knows the Nefilim like I do.’

I sensed my husband felt a little silly at having pulled her up.

‘In that case…go get ‘em, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you need a hand at any time.’

‘I will,’ she promised, with a huge adoring smile, and Albray returned to his reading and I turned my gaze back out the window to the runway below.

André Pierre met us at Toulouse airport in the project chopper. He was the best excavation manager in the business—if he couldn’t unearth an archaeological find intact, then no one could.

My French friend removed his sunglasses when he saw my daughter coming. ‘Who is this beauty?’ he said with a smile, then recognised Tamar and burst out laughing. ‘Tamar! Could it have been so long? I thought you were still a…’ he searched for the word, ‘adolescent. You look
fantastique
!’

He kissed both her cheeks and held her closer than usual.

‘Just celebrated her thirteenth birthday a couple of weeks ago,’ my husband informed him, and the embrace abruptly ended.

‘How cruel life is.’ André turned down the charm a little, but desire was in his eyes. He greeted Albray briefly before turning his attention my way.

‘Mia, my goddess, you look beyond
fantastique.
’ He held both my shoulders, kissed each of my cheeks in turn and then held me at arm’s length to admire my form. ‘I swear you look younger every time I see you.’

I was perpetually thirty since I had walked the Halls of Amenti thirteen years ago; thus I appeared barely older than my rapidly maturing daughter.

‘And you are more in need of a wife every time I see you,
mon ami.
’ I held André’s face between my hands and shook it. ‘You look a mess.’

I was referring to his unshaven, unkempt appearance. Tamar and Albray had a quiet chuckle at how quickly I’d brought André’s amorous advances under control.

‘I’ve been down a hole for weeks,’ he said defensively, backing away. He ran one hand over his unpressed clothes, and with the other combed his shoulder-length, unwashed, mousy-brown hair behind his ears.

‘You’re not eating properly either.’ My mothering tone served to remind the Frenchman that I was married with a child, whilst assuring him that I did still care about his welfare.

‘I’ve been busy.’ He smiled. ‘You know how it is. I get distracted.’

‘It must be exciting for you to be working in France for a change.’ I began fishing for information as we waited for our baggage to be loaded on board the chopper by the ground crew. ‘Is the project funded by the French as well?’

‘This project was the brainchild of a man by the name of Labontè,’ André said. ‘You may have heard of—’

‘The mining and media magnate Morell Labontè?’ I queried. I’d never heard anything about the wealthy tycoon’s interest in archaeology; goldmining was what he was known for.

‘No,’ André corrected, ‘his son, Killian—’

‘The thrill-seeking, socialite playboy?’ Tamar butted in, having read about Killian Labontè’s exploits in teen mags.

‘
En effet
,’ André confirmed. ‘He has a very keen interest in the occult and in the Holy Grail in particular.’

‘He’s following Otto Rahn’s theory that the Grail was hidden beneath Montségur by the Cathars,’ I guessed, and glanced at Albray. He looked amused, for he had been the knight who had helped in sneaking Montségur’s sacred treasures from the mount.

‘The Grail itself may not be hidden beneath the mount of Montségur,’ André said, ‘but it is certainly an area where the Grail legends converge and our employer is paying us to discover why.’

‘Hey, if there’s a good pay cheque in it…’ My husband shrugged, playing up his scepticism.

‘Labontè’s hunches have proven excellent so far,’ André said, suggesting we not pass judgement until we had seen the find for ourselves.

The excavation site was rather larger than I had expected. Labontè’s team had unearthed the remains of a thirteenth-century village at the base of the mountain and re-opened a secret cave, the entrance to which had collapsed centuries ago.

‘The cave contains a passage leading up inside the mountain. We suspect it was used by the Cathars to get supplies into their besieged fortress and their treasures out,’ André told us as we flew around the mount, past the tunnel excavation and towards the remains of the medieval village, alongside which the site house and helipad were located.

‘I suspect you may be right,’ Albray agreed, with a knowing grin in my direction.

‘Is that the hole you’ve been working in?’ Tamar referred to the newly exposed cave.

‘Ah, no…’ André was amused. ‘We have discovered a much larger cavity to get lost in.’

The helipad was on high ground and gave an excellent view of the camp site and dig beyond.

‘In the village we discovered an ancient labyrinth of tunnels, accessed via the basement of one of the previously buried structures,’ André informed us as we descended the stairs towards the camp. ‘We’ll just drop off your bags and I’ll take you straight down.’

The site comprised several large structures that accommodated a canteen, preservation rooms, a large office and an amenities block. There were smaller individual units that served as sleeping quarters. Tamar had been given her own living module next to ours.

‘Are you coming, Tamar?’ I asked as André set off towards the excavation.

‘You go ahead.’ She waved me on. ‘I’m going to check out the camp facilities…maybe find some lunch?’

I knew the last thing on her mind was food.

‘Be good,’ I cautioned, then my husband and I followed André towards the dig that led to the unearthed labyrinth.

T
AMAR
D
EVERE
—KALI

I did look a little out of place wandering through the camp dressed as I was, but apart from a few friendly hellos from passing males and some repressed smiles of envious approval from females, no one was confident enough to try and engage my attention for long. The kind of souls I was seeking would always be attracted to a thing of beauty and would never doubt their ability to acquire it for themselves.

‘Are you lost?’

The accent was American. The query came from the site office and I turned to find a young fellow standing at the door. He struck me as the studious, intellectual type, no doubt due to the heavy dark-rimmed glasses he wore.

‘Never,’ I replied, heading over to introduce myself.

My psychic impression was of a good and helpful soul. His straight dark-blond hair was neatly trimmed and he was shorter than your average human male, but perhaps he would grow taller as he was still young. His youth was emphasised by his college-style shirt, trousers and sweater-vest.

‘Do you need a jacket or something, Miss—’

‘Tamar Devere.’ I held out my slender, perfectly manicured hand.

He shook it very briefly, a little flustered by my attention. ‘You’re Mia Devere’s little girl?’ He was stunned, as he’d obviously been told how old I was.

‘We mature fast in my family.’

I eased past him to enter the office, finding it all but deserted. ‘And you are?’

‘Emmett, Dr Rich’s son,’ he said. I was none the wiser so he explained further. ‘Dr Colin Rich, the anthropologist who’s project manager here.’

‘Ah. Do you work for your father?’

‘I work with him sometimes, yeah.’ Emmett returned to his desk. ‘I’m still a student, but I run the site office while Dad is down the hole.’

He took a seat, and became immediately engrossed in what he was reading on his computer. Either he was overwhelmed by my beauty and very shy, or he did not find me the slightest bit attractive.

‘Are you gay?’

Emmett nearly choked on the drink he was slurping through a straw. ‘What? No…no.’

‘How old are you?’ My guess was around sixteen.

‘Do you always ask such personal questions of perfect strangers?’ he said indignantly.

‘I was just wondering why you don’t find me attractive.’

He looked back to his computer, which annoyed me. ‘Legally, I’m not permitted to find you attractive for at least another three years.’

Since my merger with Kali, I was used to bowling people over, inspiring awe and desire. What could he be reading that was so all-absorbing? I strolled behind him to find out.

It was an article titled ‘The Circles of Power Behind UFO Secrecy’, written by the founder of CSETI—the Center for the Study of Extraterrestrial Intelligence.

‘So you’re a believer?’ I said.

He jumped, clearly oblivious to the fact that I had moved. ‘Absolutely,’ he said, his eyes still pinned to the screen. ‘I’m a regular A to Z directory on anything remotely relating to a cover-up.’

‘Have you been abducted?’ I asked directly.

‘Not that I recall. I’m just a good researcher.’ His tone implied I was being predictable. ‘You’re a sceptic, I take it?’

‘Not at all. I know quite a bit about the Old World Order…or the
New World Order as it’s now known.’ I’d finally secured his attention. ‘Why so surprised?’

‘Why am I surprised that a girl like you would spare a thought for conspiracy theories?’ Emmett thought the answer was obvious. ‘Hell, I’m surprised you even read!’

I took offence. ‘Excuse me! I’ve just co-authored a book, so I write as well.’

‘Good for you.’ He seemed more interested in his article. ‘What’s your book about?’

‘The Grail bloodline,’ I said, and his attention shot back to me. ‘It’s just a fantasy story.’

Disappointed, he went back to his screen. ‘Then you should have a lot in common with our sponsor, Mr La-bent…most of the time,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Otherwise known as “I have the money and can afford to have an eccentric interest in digging up half the country while chasing an ancient myth”.’

Emmett’s resentful humour amused me. ‘You mean the myth that the Grail is buried beneath this mountain?’

He arrowed down the page on his screen. ‘My personal opinion is that the Grail hunt is just a smokescreen for what La-bent is truly seeking down there.’

How interesting
, I thought. ‘And what might that be?’

He shook his head and chuckled quietly. ‘I’m not going to tell you, in case what I heard is a fabrication and I look a fool for repeating it. But fear not, I’m sure he’ll confide in you presently.’ ‘Really. Why?’

He laughed again. ‘He is going to love you. Legal constraints have never been a major concern of the rich and shameless.’

A tall fellow came into the site office, his dark hair flowing in the breeze. He strode towards one of the private offices, engrossed in a conversation he was having on his remote headset.

‘Speak of the devil,’ said Emmett without looking up.

Killian Labontè was wearing a filthy pair of shredded jeans and a T-shirt so soiled its true colour was no longer determinable; it was difficult to recognise him from the celebrity pictures I’d seen of him. He sounded American rather than French, but I’d read that
he’d spent most of his youth in the US and had been educated there.

‘It speaks of the location of the lance,’ he said, then frowned as he entered the largest of the offices. ‘Of course I’m fucking sure!’ The door slammed closed.

‘Lovely,’ I commented, referring to Killian’s phone manner rather than his person. I looked at Emmett. ‘What lance does he mean?’

‘The all-powerful lance, staff, rod, sword that appears over and over again in Arthurian legends, and is supposedly the weapon that pierced the side of Christ at the crucifixion, yadda, yadda, blah, blah.’ Emmett sounded terribly bored as he rattled off the theory.

‘You think otherwise?’

‘The lance, or rather, the rod of ancient myth, didn’t make its first appearance at the crucifixion of Christ. Moses, the Levites and Solomon all had possession of the Rod and Ring of Power. It took an adept soul to wield either treasure, and they were creative tools more than implements of destruction. I believe that together the ring and rod might have formed a key.’

I smiled. Emmett was right on the money. ‘A key to what?’

‘No one knows.’

I knew. The rod and ring in question, when united by the Black Madonna, formed the key that would allow me and my missing prince to open the Halls of Amenti.

‘Then what leads you to believe they form a key?’ I asked.

He shrugged and shied away from answering. ‘Whether they do or not, I’d still query how a mere Roman foot soldier came to possess one of the most powerful weapons on Earth, only to inflict harm upon one of Earth’s most adept souls with it.’

I mulled over his theory. ‘Perhaps the foot soldier was in league with Christ, and used the weapon to secretly heal and not harm him?’

Emmett was amused by the premise. ‘I can see why you write fiction.’ He returned to his computer.

‘Fact can be stranger than fiction,’ I teased, ignoring his insult.

Killian Labontè opened his office door and, ripping the phone set from his head, threw it onto his desk. ‘Imbecile.’ Then he spied me standing by Emmett’s desk and his temper immediately dispersed.

‘Killian Labontè.’ He held his hand out and walked over to introduce himself.

This was exactly the kind of confidence I would expect from one of the Nefilim, yet oddly enough his light-body appeared perfectly normal. There were a few muddy patches in his aura and light centres, but he had no major hang-ups and was very self-confident for a human of his age—not really surprising considering his cushy upbringing. Killian Labontè came off as a kind of happy-go-lucky rebel in the tabloids; they couldn’t get enough of him. His intense blue eyes, handsome features and good physique did make him rather easy on the eye.