The Triumph of Death (8 page)

Alex sat back. “So…where do we start?”

“Look for a heavy convergence of ley lines,” Astrid said.

“What?” Alex looked at her. “What lines?”

“Ley lines,” Astrid repeated. “Think of them as longitude and latitude for the magical realm. But there are more of them in some places, and those places make good spots for setting off major spells. We’re talking about Stonehenge, Rome, New Orleans.”

Alex brightened. “Hey, maybe we get to go to New Orleans.”

“Let’s back up a moment,” said Armstrong. “It’s now midnight on the night after a plane you were riding was hijacked, resulting in the loss of a computer that has now put the Polidorium at risk.”

Alex felt the blood prickle in his cheeks. “I…you know that’s not my fault.”

“I’m just saying that this is serious, Alex. This is a
major
threat. We haven’t made assignments for this project.”

“What about Hexen?” Sangster changed the subject, looking at Astrid. “You said you were here to look into Claire.”

“Yes.”

“So now you’ve looked. Can I assume that your organization is going to continue working on this?”

“I think you can assume that.”

“And can I assume that a more experienced operative will be representing Hexen going forward?”

Astrid looked as if she’d been struck. “No. This is my project.”

“Is it possible you could set up a meeting—”

Alex looked at Sangster in shock. Sangster, who had personally guided Alex for the past several months, was clearly suggesting that Astrid and Alex were too young and inexperienced for this. He wasn’t even sure he liked Astrid, but this was not like Sangster.

“Absolutely not,” Astrid protested. “Hexen has made its decision.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”

“No, of course not.” Astrid smiled in a pouting way as though assuaging a child. She reached into her pocket, and for a split second Alex thought she was going to draw a weapon. But instead she brought out a piece of jewelry, a silver chain flashing in the air. She slapped her fist down on the table and opened it, revealing the object that lay there.

Alex had no frame of reference for this, but Sangster slowly leaned forward. In the center of the table was a cameo, a delicately curved portrait on a pendant.

“May I…?” he asked, and reached out his hand.

“Of course.”

Sangster picked up the pendant and looked at it, holding it up to the light. “This is the Brelaz cameo.”

Astrid nodded. “Given in friendship by Dr. John Polidori to Madame Brelaz in 1819. Do you know what it means?”

Alex shook his head.

Sangster said, “It gives its bearer the full weight of Hexen authority and the right to speak for the organization should the two ever cross again.”

Armstrong let out a slow whistle. “That has not been seen in…what…”

“Seventy-five years?” Sangster estimated. He slid it back and raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I surrender. Your papers appear to be in order. Hexen doesn’t call and doesn’t write for nearly a century, and now we get you.”

“For now,” Astrid said. “For Claire.”

“Because you guys think of Claire as
your
problem,” Armstrong said.

“We think she’s everybody’s problem.”

“Any other orders in there we should know about?”

“There is something else.” Astrid gestured toward Alex with her head. “With all gentle kindness, I’m not here to work with you. I’m supposed to work with him.”

Alex wasn’t sure she was pointing at him at first. That seemed absurd.
Hey, I was just starting to hate you.

Sangster cocked his head and looked at the two of them. Alex opened his hands as if to say,
Don’t look at me.
“What does that mean exactly?”

“That’s enough for now,” Astrid said. “But if I’m working with the Polidorium, I’m working with Van Helsing.”

Sangster breathed slowly. “Well, we were gonna bring Alex anyway. He’s not bad at all this.”

“Thanks,” said Alex.

“But he has a terrible reputation.” Sangster smiled.

“So.” Alex leaned back. “I gotta ask again. Now that I’m the number-one-requested single, where do we start?”

Sangster shrugged. “We start with the painting,
The Triumph of Death
. We know it’s a key, but thanks to the computer virus, we don’t have the Polidorium’s notes on it, so we need to look at it more closely.”

“Where is this painting?” Astrid asked.

Sangster scrolled through the data under the painting. “It’s now in the Prado Museum in Madrid, Spain.” He leaned back and expertly flipped a pen between his fingers as he looked at Alex and Astrid. “Want to go on a field trip?”

“I actually prefer to fly, Alex.” Armstrong turned a fresh, freckled face toward him as she brought the dark gray Polidorium Learjet 60XR to cruising speed.

Alex spent the first five minutes of the flight leaning into the cockpit pestering the pilot. In this case it was Armstrong, the same agent he had seen wearing a U.S. Air Force uniform numerous times and who had already informed him that she was a pilot, so this wasn’t really a surprise.

She spoke a few words to the silent copilot and turned back to Alex. “So, we have three hours to Madrid. You’re on a fourteen-million-dollar aircraft, and your only chaperone is Sangster, who, seriously, is not the most
responsible guardian. The night is young. Go talk to the girl.”

“What are you telling him?” asked Sangster, who turned up beside Alex next to the cockpit door. Alex looked back to see Astrid, who was seated alone, poring over an art book. Sangster was wearing his usual outfit for when he wasn’t actually rappelling off anything: chinos and a sport coat, so that he always seemed to look like some cross between a spy and a record producer. He ran his hand along the doorframe. “Regs say we should shut this door.”

“I think Alex is worried that one of us is a secret vampire,” Armstrong said.

“You could be a banana leaf woman,” Alex joked.

“Come on.” Sangster turned to his protégé, put his hand on his shoulder, and led Alex firmly back toward the seats. “You need to get some rest. It’s a big day at the Prado, and you can’t waste the time available for sleep.”

“I actually am totally fine with, like, no sleep.” Thanks to his dad, this was also true.

“Oh, I know.” Sangster nodded. “But you jumped out of a plane twenty-four hours ago, you can’t possibly have gotten much sleep last night, and we’re just getting started. You’ve earned your points; don’t be a hero about naptime.”

They stopped next to a tray of drinks and Alex got himself some water. “I was thinking I should send a text to, you know, Paul and Sid and Minhi.”

Sangster shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

“When we land, I mean.” But he already knew what Sangster was saying.

“Alex, you can’t let your friends in on everything we do.” The teacher shrugged. “It’s not safe, for them or for you. They already know way more than is safe. You know, I have friends and relatives I wish I could text every time I go somewhere interesting. But it’s just not how it works.”

Alex’s heart sank as he realized that indeed he had already cost his friends mightily—they had been threatened with death by fire, kidnapping, stabbing, and rending limb from limb by vampires. Still…

“The thing is that they don’t…” Alex tried to find the right words. “They’re gonna wake up, and I’m not gonna be there. And, you know,
Astrid
’s not gonna be there.”

“Yeah.” Sangster breathed a heavy sigh and clicked his tongue lightly. “Look, when you get the time, you can figure it out
with
them. But now is not the time.”

“Yeah, okay.” Alex nodded reluctantly.

He went back to his seat in front of Astrid, slumping. He heard her flipping pages as he fished out his phone
and stared at it in frustration. Astrid tapped him on the shoulder.

Alex didn’t respond. He was thinking about Minhi and Paul and Sid, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was Astrid, who had really come out of nowhere and within a day thrown his life upside down.

She tapped his shoulder again and cleared her throat.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“You want to come sit with me?”

Why?
He was whining inside his head. Alex looked back at her. “What’s up?”

“I want to show you this.”

Alex reluctantly got up and settled into the seat next to Astrid. “What do you got?”

“There are so many layers to this painting.” Astrid sounded excited. “I can’t believe I wasn’t familiar with it. Minhi has a mind like a trap.”

“I’ll say.” Alex changed the subject. “So, what is it we hope to accomplish by looking at the actual painting that we can’t tell from an art book?”

“Well, for one thing, we can get a look at the physical paint and see if Bruegel left anything in it that they didn’t pick up. That’s more of a Polidorium activity. But for another—Alex, Bruegel actually touched this painting. There might be a spiritual spell I can do to learn
about what he was thinking when he made it.”

“More of your magic beans?” It didn’t sound all that special to call yourself a witch if your power basically amounted to using premade tools.

She studied his face. “You don’t think much of Prepared Spells, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Alex shook his head. “It’s really not my…I’d say
concern
, but that sounds so formal.”

“You think it’s…a cheat? I’m using someone else’s work?”

He was actually thinking,
I just found out my mother is a witch, and she was able to shut a window with a few words. She didn’t need to throw any prepared weapon at it.

She closed the book and set her hands on it, crossing them. “Do you know how we prepare them?” When Alex shook his head, she continued. “We make them ourselves. There are some spells that can be done on the fly, with a flurry of words, but many of them take more incantation than you’re likely to have time for in the field. Remember also that spells of conflict are especially costly and take more time and energy. So we very caringly prepare spells. It takes me hours and weeks to put a full library together. Everyone prepares them for
themselves. The decoding spell you saw me use, I made myself.”

“I’ve…seen other spells cast,” Alex said. “And they didn’t use tools.”

Astrid nodded. “This would be your mother.”

Alex’s ears pricked up. “Yes.”

Astrid seemed to brighten when the subject came up. “Amanda is very much admired in the community. I mean, people talk about her, Alex. She can work faster and more efficiently than anyone of her generation and many older witches. She has both the innate talent and the years of training.” Astrid paused and leaned forward, looking the way Sid often did when he learned something new about vampires. “Can you
tell
me about her? What was it like growing up with such a powerful witch?”

Alex felt his mouth drop open as he searched for an answer. The truth was going to be embarrassing. She seemed to know more about his mother than he did. “Um, she didn’t ever use her power when I was around.”

Astrid didn’t seem to understand this. “Really?”

“Really,” Alex said. “I didn’t know.” It was worse than that; he didn’t just not know—his parents had actively hidden the existence of the paranormal world from him. Vampires, werewolves, and witches, ghosts and zombies,
and of course any significance to Alex Van Helsing’s name were all the imaginary stuff of books and movies. His parents had lied about the fact that the books, especially, carried clues regarding the truth about all of those things. He wanted to say,
What else can you tell me about my mother?
but he felt himself brimming with irritation.

“She must have sacrificed a great deal,” Astrid said.

Must have sacrificed.
For Dad first, then for Alex and his fraternal twin, Judith, then for his three younger sisters. For all of them.

But what did that mean,
must have sacrificed
? Was Astrid suggesting Mom was miserable?
No, no, stop flying off the handle.
He caught himself overreacting. He slowed down the way his father had taught him, as he would if he suddenly found himself losing his balance on a ski slope. He was hearing every word that Astrid said and for some reason he was giving it all the worst possible reading. Why was he doing that? It didn’t matter.
This panic you’re feeling is not real.

Alex shrugged. “I really couldn’t say.”

Astrid’s eyes darted rapidly and she seemed to be looking over his eyebrows, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she was trying to read his mind. Could witches do that? “There’s a lot going on in there.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Alex asked.

“Anything!” she said. “Alex, do you know you’re the only teenager I’ve met who’s aware of this weird little world we run in? It’s
nice
not to have to pretend to be normal. Go ahead, ask away.”

“When you said that you insisted on working with a Van Helsing—I guess I’m confused. My mom was the witch, but what’s so special about the Van Helsings?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Alex, you should know this stuff.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“Let’s just say that just because your dad says the family belongs on the Polidori side of the equation doesn’t make it necessarily so.”

“What do you mean? We’re not magic users.”

“Well,
you
are, aren’t you?”

“I have a…” He looked at his hands as though he had the right description written on his palm. “I have an ability to sense evil. I can’t do spells or anything. And apparently it’s unusual.”

“And you’re thinking you inherited this from your mom?”

Alex shrugged.

“Well.” Astrid leaned forward conspiratorially. “I do know something about this. You’re
not
the first Van
Helsing to have power when it comes to vampires. You might be the first in a long time, but not the first. The Van Helsing that John Polidori met and worked with is someone my people admire greatly.”

“You mean Abraham?” Alex knew that she was talking about
the
Van Helsing, Alex’s great-great-great-grandfather, who had given Bram Stoker notes on the hunt for Dracula that had played out in the 1880s. As a man in his twenties, Abraham had met John Polidori, who had started by faking his own death in 1821 and hunting Lord Byron. By the 1850s, Polidori was gathering vampire hunters and sharing information around the globe, starting a network of agents in the field and writers who were paid, coerced, recruited, and seduced into seeding information into literature. By the time of the
Dracula
affair at the end of the 1800s, Abraham was in his late seventies and John Polidori was long dead, finally actually dead. But what Alex had never understood was that Polidori and Van Helsing had coordinated their efforts on occasion with witches.

“Yes,” Astrid said. “But even Abraham didn’t have the power you have. The gift belonged to Abraham’s first son before he died. That’s the last one we know of.”

What? This was all new information for Alex. There had been other Van Helsings with the abilities he was
developing? He felt a rush of excitement and relief. “This is incredible,” Alex said. “You know about my obscure uncles.”

“We find you very interesting.”

“Great! So what happened to my…” Alex tried to do the math. “Great-great-great-uncle?”

Astrid looked up as though reading through a file floating in the air. “Abraham failed to find anyone who could help him with the powers he was developing. The boy went insane and died in a mental institution in the 1870s.”

Alex paused, then mumbled, “Oh.”

Astrid quickly changed the subject. “So, do your friends know about you?” she asked. “Minhi seemed to get really serious when you started asking about the painting.”

“Yeah.” Alex nodded resignedly. “They do. I tell them pretty much everything.”

“So you hate to say what’s in your head but you talk a great deal.” Astrid smiled.

“It’s not like that.” Alex brightened suddenly. “Sid is a genius when it comes to vampires. He catches things that the Polidorium can miss. Paul is a rock of support. I need him. And Minhi is…”

Astrid studied him, reminding him again of a curious
bird. “A mind like a trap.”

“She’s also a kung fu master,” Alex added.

The young witch smiled. “You’re very protective of them.”

“I don’t know if
protective
is the word, I—they took me in.”

Astrid shook her head. “Alex, you have such a destiny,” she said. “I don’t think you realize it. And I just wouldn’t want to see you throw it away.”

Alex rose. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know you. I’ve worked with Sangster and the Polidorium for months, and
they
trust you, so I’m following their lead. And I’m not trying to be hard on you. But it’s not as easy for me to trust you. Minhi and Paul and Sid—they’re like family to me, and I
do
trust them. So I have no idea what you mean when you say I’m throwing my life away, but listen: It’s
my
life.”

He turned abruptly and went to his seat, wrapping his jacket around him. He needed to sleep.

“Okay, but I think we should talk some more about Bruegel,” she offered, ignoring his outburst.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this right now. “Just get some sleep, Astrid.”