Scroll- Part Two Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Description

  SCROLL: Part Two | THE SECOND INCURSION

  ABYSS

  SEVEN SISTERS

  THE THIRD INCURSION

  PORTAL

  THRESHOLD

  SCROLL

  HUNTED

  MELEE

  ORDEAL

  PALIMPSEST

  AMBUSH

  THE FINAL INCURSION

  DELIVERANCE

  WANT MORE?

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  Praise for Keepers of Genesis Series

  Acknowledgements

  BrixBaxter Publishing – Experience New Worlds

  Copyright

  SCROLL: Part Two of the Keepers of Genesis Series

  Copyright © DB Nielsen 2017

  First published in USA by BrixBaxter Publishing in 2017

  Cover Design by XLintellect Pty Ltd

  Photograph Copyright ©

  Bajrich/Shutterstock.com;

  Kaetana/Shutterstock.com;

  Noolwlee/Shutterstock.com;

  Captblack76/Shutterstock.com

  Cover Image Copyright © A. Brix-Nielsen / XLintellect Pty Ltd

  The right of DB Nielsen to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form, or with any binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Description

  “Is it so wrong? ... Is it so terrible to want what you should not? To crave what you cannot have? Do you fear to seize what you desire? What is forbidden?”

  Pulled in one direction by her powerful attraction to the darkly mysterious Emim, Finn, and in another by her deep connection to the impulsive and unpredictable Anakim, Gabriel, Saffron Woods endures a tempest of temptation and confusion.

  Whilst Fi has faced her fair share of challenges in the past, nothing can prepare her for the realisation that she is also a Wise One. As she becomes embroiled in the Nephilistic quest to return the Seed to the Garden of Eden, her struggle to control her erratic emotions and accept her new future results in becoming ever more reckless. Yet if Fi wants to uncover the truth about herself and her world, she must be stronger than ever ... she must face dangers beyond anything she has yet to endure ... and she must discover and unlock the key to all the mysteries: the SCROLL.

  SCROLL: Part Two is the fourth book in the Keepers of Genesis Series

  SCROLL: Part Two

  THE SECOND INCURSION

  CHAPTER ONE

  Almost three weeks later as the first day of a new month came and went, and firmly entrenched back in Kent, my meeting with Interpol and the journey through Paris’ underground system seemed as surreal as any dream. Settling back into a dull routine, time drifted as days blurred together without anything to really distinguish one from another. After the most thrilling, exhausting, terrifying forty-eight hours of my life – nothing.

  Sadly, Mum had somehow managed to book me a seat on an early morning British Airways flight the following day, desperate for my safe return home, leaving me to wonder if she’d used her famous name to pull some strings with the airline.

  I wasn’t impressed.

  I wanted to learn more about the Seed. I wanted to learn more about the Black Stone and Adam’s altar. I wanted to learn more about the Scroll, and its connection to the Pleiades and to St. Augustine of Canterbury. Most important of all, I wanted to visit the numerous art galleries, and go shopping in all the modish designer boutiques, checking out the latest fashions and accessories, maybe even getting the opportunity to buy new boots. But I hadn’t.

  Perversely, I blamed both Gabriel and Finn for my woes.

  I hadn’t even heard from Finn since my return. There had been no explanation and no follow up since he’d fled from me at the Louvre. His silence spoke volumes. It seemed that while I was deliberately avoiding and ignoring Gabriel, Finn was avoiding or ignoring me.

  But one positive aspect of having to return to Kent was that Sage and I were reconciled.

  As soon as I cleared Customs – this time as an EU citizen looking pityingly upon those poor suckers who had to wait in the long queues for non-EU nationals – and passed through the Arrival Gate at Heathrow Terminal Five, a solid force hurled itself at me. Floundering with baggage and the smothering embrace of my twin sister, I gazed over to where St. John stood as immutable as any cold, stone statue, his normally inscrutable face holding an expression of indulgent bemusement as he gazed upon his fiancée’s antics. My eyes implored him to do something. Anything.

  But, of course, he didn’t. I, after all, was only his fiancée’s sister. It was nauseating being around two people so completely in love.

  ‘Fi!’ Sage wailed, gripping me tightly around my neck like clinging steel, ‘I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for us to fight. Look, I’ve been in agony the past forty-eight hours and I can’t even believe that I went off the way I did.’ My sister had a tendency to hyperbole. ‘I was just so stressed and I just felt so dreadful that you had to face Interpol alone. I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you–’

  Geez, what did she think they were going to do to me? Throw me in prison? I was still technically a minor, after all!

  Rolling my eyes behind her back which, no doubt, St. John could see, I cut her off before she could continue. Sage not only had a tendency to hyperbole, she also had a tendency to melodrama. I blamed it on all the books she read.

  ‘Woah! Stop going down a shame spiral, girl!’ I said, briefly hugging her back before disentangling myself from her arms. ‘It’s fine. We’re all good.’

  But Sage being Sage couldn’t help but continue to apologise and berate herself the entire journey back to the Manor House. I could barely get a word in edgeways. It was exhausting. It was annoying. If she wasn’t my sister – and if St. John wasn’t present – I would have strangled her and dumped the body on my way back to Kent.

  But I felt suitably contrite at my rebellious thoughts when we eventually arrived back home. I was to find that the cargo shipment of our household contents had finally arrived from Sydney and that Sage had attempted to make things right between us in her typical responsible manner. Whilst half-opened wooden crates and cardboard boxes cluttered the entirety of the house, the exception was my bedroom. As I passed through the threshold, I did a quick double-take. I had only seen my bedroom look this way once before – and that was because we had only just moved into the Manor House and I didn’t have many possessions.

  Looking around at the comfortable but somehow unfamiliar surrounds of my bedroom was strangely disturbing. It was spotlessly clean and tidy. I could even see the plush beige carpet underfoot where before there had been a wardrobe explosion. Every item that I owned had been meticulously unpacked and arranged just like my old room back in Sydney. Someone had even taken the trouble to fold and hang the clothes scattered across my floor into the French Provincial styled wardrobe and drawers where they belonged; had stacked the papers, sketches, photographs and books into neat piles on my desk and shelves, and vacuumed the carpet; had meticulously cleaned the paint, charcoal and
cosmetic stains marring the whitewashed furniture, polished the mirrors, and replaced the lids on the tubes of lip gloss, and pots of blush and powder which had been spilling over my vanity table.

  ‘I didn’t throw anything out,’ Sage hastened to reassure me, amber eyes flashing warily, as she followed me into the room, ‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted to keep – there were so many bits and pieces of paper and sketches – so I just piled them on your desk for you to sort out when you arrived home.’

  I was astounded.

  ‘You did all this? Alone?’

  It would have taken ages! I thought. I looked at her in disbelief as she, in way of reply, shrugged sheepishly.

  ‘What are you, girl? The house elf? Was this voluntary servitude or do you want me to campaign to liberate you?’ I teased as I dumped my carry case on the bed.

  Sage blushed in embarrassment as she began to unpack my suitcase which had been brought upstairs by St. John before he’d decided to hotfoot it out of my bedroom and leave us girls alone.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ she admonished good-naturedly, whilst removing the first item of clothing that came to hand from the slightly battered Samsonite bag I’d used. Frowning momentarily, ‘Hmmm... I wondered where that had got to...’ was all she said as she held up her slightly crushed suit jacket before continuing to empty out the other pieces I’d taken with me to France. ‘Anyway, I placed all of your photographic equipment in the trunk over there beside the desk; just to keep it all together. I arranged your CDs in alphabetical order and books according to genre. And I...’

  She prattled on, oblivious to the fact that I’d tuned out, having spotted through the mullioned windows a dark bird of prey soaring high in the ash-grey sky; merely a small black dot in the distance. But I knew it was Kemwer. My gaze had been unwittingly drawn past the line of silver birch trees shimmering against the pristine whiteness of the countryside to where I knew Satis House and Finn resided.

  Why was he avoiding me? Was it because of that kiss? It wasn’t like I initiated it. He kissed me. Okay, I kissed him back. But...

  ‘...and the biggest news is that Dad’s colleague, Ellen Jacobi, is pregnant and everyone’s speculating who the father of her child is ... Okay, maybe not everyone ... But my bet is on Dr Porterhouse–’

  The scandalous, salacious news was guaranteed to grab my full, undivided attention. Instantly forgetting Finn, I whipped around to face my sister.

  ‘Woah! Ellen Jacobi is pregnant? You’re kidding!’

  In reaction to the high-pitched query in my voice, Indy – who had made his way unnoticed into my bedroom and was now lying at the end of the bed – began thumping his tail frantically on the carpeted floor.

  Sage looked smug, amber eyes twinkling. ‘No, I’m not kidding. There aren’t many scandals at the museum that don’t usually concern some artefact or establishing provenance or some trouble at a dig or something like that. This is huge. Enough to temporarily topple the Interpol investigation from number one position in the office gossip polls.’

  My eyes like saucers, I shook my head in disbelief, replying, ‘I’ll bet. I mean this is real juicy gossip. No wonder she was looking so sick and miserable when I saw her in Lyon.’

  Now it was my turn to surprise my twin. Dumbfounded, she began plying me with questions, wanting to know all about Ellen Jacobi’s appearance in Lyon and my interview with Interpol. As I began to explain, I crouched down on the floor beside Indy and stroked the soft fur of his long, droopy ears. Without lifting his head, Indy’s pleasure at my presence was made known by rolling over onto his back so I could scratch his belly.

  ‘You were so lucky, Fi. Anything might have happened. With Louis present in Lyon, it was a good thing you had Gabriel there to protect you,’ she said as I came to the end of my tale – deciding for now that it was better to omit the events at the Louvre with Finn and the journey through the Catacombs with Gabriel as, judging from Sage’s reaction to the news of Louis, she would have had a complete meltdown if I’d told her.

  At her less than supportive words, I threw her a look. ‘Not you too! Honestly, Sage, I’m sick to death of everyone telling me I need protecting! I’m not totally hopeless, you know?’

  ‘Well, now you know how I feel!’ she responded smugly, amber eyes brimming with suppressed laughter. ‘The shoe’s on the other foot. It’s awful everyone assuming you’re incompetent just because you’re young. Though I have to commend you for the way you handled Renauld. I don’t think I could have done it. I would have been cowering in my boots ... even though he does sound a little like a big teddy bear or like Dr Porterhouse in his tweed suit ... a fusty old academic...’

  ‘Whatever!’ I replied, dismissively, ‘But Jacques Renauld is nothing like Dr Porterhouse. I can’t understand how you can exercise such bad judgement sometimes, Sage. You’re so naïve. I honestly can’t believe that you actually thought Ellen Jacobi was nice! And don’t get me started on Gabriel’s girlfriend! What a bi-a-tch!’

  ‘Fi!’ She gave me a playful shove as I drew the syllables out. ‘That’s not nice!’

  ‘Well, as I’m not interested in making her my new bff or friend her on Facebook, it doesn’t matter,’ I retorted, shrugging my shoulders. ‘I don’t know what Gabriel sees in her – with the exception of the obvious. For a Nephilim, he sure has appallingly bad taste.’

  Standing up to brush dog fur from her jeans, Sage said, ‘I don’t think he’s interested in her for her personality or wit, do you? Anyway, you can tell me all about Gabriel’s girlfriend later, but right now I think I hear Mum’s car coming up the drive. She went to drop Jasmine and Alex off at school but she’s been dying to see you and make sure you’re safe. She had some crazy idea that they were going to throw you into prison or something... And you think I’m a drama queen...’

  Choking back laughter, I followed her lead, standing up and stretching my stiff joints.

  ‘You are a drama queen – even worse than me!’ I retorted, ‘But I’ll take that any day. I’m just so glad to be back home.’

  ‘Well then, do me a favour,’ Sage tossed over her shoulder as she made her way out of the bedroom, Indy lopping along behind her, ‘Try not to dirty your room too soon. It took me ages to get it clean. There was mould growing on mould in there – I almost suggested that Alex bring it to school for “show and tell” or Jasmine write it up for her next science project.’

  ‘Fine, Dobby – or should I call you Mary Poppins? – I promise to keep my room clean, but it would be so much easier if I just gave you a sock!’ My tone teasing, I overtook Sage on the stairs in my hurry to get downstairs and greet our mother, knowing she would have baked something in anticipation of my arrival home. And, for once, I was unexpectedly hungry.

  I was right. Mum had baked ginger cake to tempt me to eat more.

  I took a seat at the breakfast table opposite St. John, after suffering another smothering embrace, this time from my mother, and was called upon to recount the entire episode at Interpol once more for the sake of those not present in my bedroom earlier. St. John was looking at me with that dispassionate, speculative expression he often put on, as I finished my tale and demolished yet another slice of ginger cake, knowing Mum would be pleased with my appetite. I imagined that he was trying to fathom how Sage and I could be so wholly unalike yet identical. Or, perhaps, he was trying to imagine how I could also be a Wise One when I was so untamed. Even Gabriel, with his easy manners, seemed exasperated by me most of the time.

  ‘You had quite an adventure, young lady,’ my Mum said, causing me to start.

  For a moment, I worried that she might have heard from Gabriel of our journey through the Catacombs, until I realised she was referring to my interview with Interpol and being caught in Paris in a blizzard.

  I nodded gravely. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘You’re very lucky that–’

  ‘–Gabriel was there,’ I finished for her. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘You say that,’ she grumbled, ‘but you do
n’t really listen, Safie.’

  ‘Because you don’t really mean what you say.’ I stood up and went behind her to put my arms around her neck. ‘You know I can take care of myself. I’m the practical one, remember?’

  Mum snorted, even as she stroked my hands. ‘You can’t even remember to turn off the lights when you leave a room.’

  ‘St. John better ask Gabriel to check that Fi turned off the lights in his apartment before she left, or he might be in for an enormous electricity bill!’ Sage laughed, taking a slice of cake herself.

  ‘Oh, ha ha!’ I protested as I slipped back into my seat. ‘Well, I may not be the most environmentally-aware person, but I do know a thing or two. Which reminds me ... speaking about light...’

  Sage looked at me speculatively over the rim of her teacup. ‘What about light?’

  ‘I made an important discovery about the artefact,’ I said smugly, leaning my chair backward so it balanced precariously on its two back legs.

  ‘Safie, don’t do that,’ Mum protested, missing the apprehensive look that both St. John and Sage threw my way.

  Righting the chair so as not to antagonise my mother, I rolled my eyes at the others, protesting, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Don’t look at me like I’m daft! I managed to figure it out all on my own!’

  ‘What did you figure out?’ St. John asked, with some concern.

  Sage looked mildly alarmed that we were discussing this in front of our mother.

  I gave her a steady, measured look as I stated, ‘Photography. Specifically, why the artefact’s image can only be caught on film and not digital – which is a bit of a bummer considering Kodak went bankrupt.’

  Sage looked dubious, trying to get me to re-focus on the artefact. ‘Well, why?’

  ‘Well, it’s like the camera obscura,’ I said, thoughtfully, ‘When exposed to light, at a molecular level, the silver sulphate reacts and leaves an impression or image. Digital photography doesn’t work in the same way.’

  ‘That’s an interesting theory, Safie,’ Mum said gently, standing up and collecting the dirty plates as she made her way to the kitchen, ‘but I’m not sure that it works. After all, where’s the source of light?’