Chapter 6
Sifting from Maine to New York had sapped Desmond of any remaining energy he’d had. Teleporting long distances often did that to him. His exhaustion was compounded, however, by what had happened between him and Arianna. He had not planned to kiss her, much less for things between them to become so heated. But he loved her, and when he was with her, he felt drawn to her more than any place or person in his life. A force more potent than the Earth’s gravitational pull kept him in her orbit, kept him close by. He had to remind himself, though, that despite his intense attraction to her, he would always be kept at a distance. The prophecy said as much.
Prophecy or no prophecy, he knew she must be seething by now, that any hurt or embarrassment she’d felt had long-since been transformed into pure anger. He did not blame her. He was angry, too. Each time he recalled the prophecy after seeing her, it felt more and more like a sick cosmic joke. Part of him wanted to say to hell with it, and succumb to the gravity of his feelings. But he knew he could not, that the ramifications of him disregarding it could be catastrophic. So he would suffer, with love so natural and instinctive it was like breathing, for a woman he could never be with.
An icy wind howled like a wounded animal through the stately cedars along the lane that led to the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church and echoed an ache deep within him. The giant barbed boughs of the trees swayed with the gust, but never surrendered their sentinel stare. Who or what they watched for, he did not know, but felt as though the entire forest around him was vigilant, waiting with bated breath. Still, he moved forward and allowed the crisp air to invigorate him. He needed the time to recharge, knew that entering the church would require him to sift through the buildings formidable exterior.
When Desmond finally reached the end of the pathway, the church towered imposingly. He had been there just two weeks earlier, but in that time, he had forgotten what a striking structure it was. Built entirely of stone, it would have looked like a grand fortress were it not for the beveled stained-glass windows that ornamented it like jewels sparkling in the sunlight, and the cross at the apex of the steeple. But he hadn’t come to the church to appreciate the intricate architecture. He’d come for answers. Howard Kane had spent the greater part of his life hunting the Sola. If a bastardization of her prophecy existed, one that depicted her as a vengeful, evil force sent to overtake the world, Kane would surely have it.
Yellow tape blocked the wooden doors at the top of a set of short concrete steps, and a sticker posted between them announced that the church had been closed indefinitely pending a criminal investigation. The Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church had been declared a crime scene. He’d known that much, and about the investigation. The local newspaper reported weeks earlier that the police department and the FBI had unearthed the charred remains of Kane’s men. While most would have been deterred by their destination being declared a crime scene, Desmond was encouraged by it. Cleared of congregants and staff, as well as the possibility of anyone arriving, the threat of being discovered was eliminated. He would be free to search for what he’d come for.
Desmond closed his eyes and envisioned himself inside the building, envisioned his body passing effortlessly through stone and wood, through plaster and paint. As he did so, his body felt weightless and white light filled his field of vision for the briefest of moments. When he opened his eyes again, he stood inside the vestibule. Unlit candles sat on an iron rack to his left along the wall and a large empty vat that had once held holy water sat in the center of the passageway. Ahead was another set of wooden doors. They opened to the congregational seating area where rows of pews faced a sanctuary. Desmond walked down the center aisle. He needed to get to the presbytery, the place where Kane had both worked and lived. In his office and living space, he was certain he’d find some kind of documentation that had distorted the truth of the Sola’s purpose so much so that it had driven Kane and his people, as well as the man in the drainage system.
He stopped at the altar and looked off to his left and saw the sacristy. Typically, only Bibles and vestments were kept inside, but he looked anyway. He stepped into the small storage area and scanned the few titles that were not Bibles. Nothing of interest caught his attention. He walked back out to the sanctuary and walked past the altar. On the right was a small area with statues of saints and another rack of unlit candles. Beyond them, however, was a door. Desmond opened the door and found that beyond it was a hallway. He quickly strode down it, his need for clarity pounding against his ribcage in time with his heartbeat. He needed to find something, anything, that would shine light on the robed man’s words; on the destruction he continued to be drawn to, and to end the ceaseless grumblings of his brain.
At the end of the hallway, a single door awaited him. He turned the handle and pushed the door forward. An ornate cherry wood desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves in a matching wood that gleamed as though it had just been polished occupied one-half of the space. The other half was a living quarter decorated with furniture in an identical finish. His eyes went immediately to the bookshelf. Dozens of leather-bound volumes had been neatly arranged on each shelf. Most of the titles involved witchcraft in some way or another. Some were against it; some were reference books, while others were veritable how-to manuals.
He closed his eyes and searched with his entire being for any book of use. He opened them and his gaze zeroed in on a particular one. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the title of one he focused on, and that its spine protruded from the shelf, away from the others, as if beckoning him. Distinctive in coloring, its leather was worn and the gold lettering on its spine had been scuffed so that the words along it were no longer legible. He reached out and slid it from its place.
With the heavy book in his hands, the title on the cover became visible. Desmond nearly dropped the fragile looking volume when he saw that it was the Tome of Ares, written by Asus, one of the most powerful warlocks in recorded history. How could Kane possibly have such a sacred book in his possession? His father had read to him from The Tome of Ares long ago, when he was a child. That is how he came to know of the prophecy, of the Sola.
The book looked too old, too tattered to be a replica. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose, as though a warning had been whispered with tempting lips up the length of his neck while his hand slid beneath the leather cover. He turned the first page and saw that it had been handwritten. It was the original. Kane had somehow procured the original Tome of Ares. He began thumbing through the fragile, yellowed pages and read line after line of horrific text that foretold of the Sola leading the whole of her kind against humanity.
The prophecy he was reading, the words in Kane’s book, did not gel with all he’d been taught, though. Kane’s Tome stated that the rise of the Sola was to unite the witches of the world to destroy humanity in an effort to claim the planet for themselves.
Desmond’s mouth went dry and his hands began to tremble. He knew Arianna would never do what the book predicted she’d do. He knew her, had known her for her entire life. She wasn’t capable of orchestrating the global annihilation of humankind. Yet, the Tome said otherwise. None of it made sense.
He was about to slam the book shut and sift to Arianna’s house when he noticed another difference in Kane’s Tome: there was another chapter. Written after the one he’d just read, the handwriting in the chapter was different and obviously penned by someone other than Asus. He leaned against Kane’s desk, certain he’d need the support, and read. A chill settled over Desmond as he read in disturbing detail how the Sola had been born and given a protector, him. A furious tremor racked his body when he reached the final page and found that the author had signed his name. Agnon, the chapter had been written by Agnon, Desmond’s father.
The Tome fell from his hands and landed against the tiled floor with a loud thud. Desmond’s head began to swirl with more questions than his mind could proces
s at once. But two among them stood out and bored at his brain like a drill. Could the predictions in Kane’s Tome possibly be the truth? Had his father known the truth and lied to him his entire life? None of it made sense. All that he’d read contradicted a lifetime of teachings. Desmond needed answers. He needed to leave. He needed to find his father.