Harley Merlin 11: Finch Merlin and the Lost Map Page 15

  “What if it has something to do with all these so-called gods?” Melody gestured toward a reclining Dionysus. “They’re built into the fabric of the monastery, so perhaps they’re supposed to play some part in our trials.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean we’ve got some tough magic coming our way?” Luke replied. “They were offshoots of the Primus Anglicus, who were the purest magicals in existence, from what you’ve said.”

  Melody’s eyes shone. “You do listen!”

  “Of course I do,” he murmured shyly. “I listen to everything you say.”

  “As long as these statues don’t come to life and start swiping at us,” I said. I had a horrifying vision of a stone god wearing nothing but a fig leaf staggering toward me.

  “Aren’t you descended from the Primus Anglicus?” Mr. Abara jabbed a militant finger at me.

  I nodded. “Guilty as charged, yeah. Not that it’d help much. My Primus Anglicus blood is like cordial—it’s watered down a whole lot.”

  “Is that what helped you kill Katherine?” Blanche peered at me with sad eyes.

  “Apparently. So maybe it has its uses.” I forced a smile, though that topic of conversation made me edgy.

  “Is anyone else freaked out by the statues in their rooms?” Oliver interjected.

  “I was about to say that!” Melody replied. “Everywhere I turn, I feel like Aphrodite is watching me.”

  I pretended to pout. “Aw, you got Aphrodite? I got Hades, complete with creepy souls trying to grab at his ankles. Do you want to swap?”

  She laughed. “Maybe the women have women, and the men have men?”

  “I got Zeus,” Mr. Abara said proudly.

  “Artemis,” Blanche added.

  Luke gave an embarrassed smile. “I got Athena, I think, but that might be because I demanded the room next to Melody’s.”

  “I got Hermes, and he’s dangling from the ceiling, so I’d say I drew the short straw. Hades is pretty bad, though. Let’s hope it’s not an omen, eh?” Oliver snorted. “But mine sways in the breeze. I woke up last night and thought he was coming right for me. I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I spent the rest of the night in the bathtub.”

  “Ah, so you’re interested in the mythology of this place, then?” One of the monks appeared, bearing refills of coffee. He’d clearly been eavesdropping on us.

  “There’s no better place to develop an interest,” I replied.

  “Have you heard of Prometheus?” The monk went around, filling our cups.

  We all chorused yes.

  “He was the first sentient Purge beast created by the Grecian branch of the Primus Anglicus,” the monk explained. “Wise and just, he didn’t like how the gods and goddesses behaved with the humans. The story goes that he created mankind out of clay and stole fire to warm them, inciting the wrath of Zeus.”

  I shuddered. “Don’t mention clay.”

  “Apologies.” The monk chuckled. “In actuality, Prometheus was so angered by the gods and goddesses, and their treatment of humankind—who existed for a long, long time before he came along—that he tried to forge a forcefield across the towns and villages that these pseudo-deities preferred, using other Purge beasts to fuel it. A Bestiary of sorts. Perhaps the first of its kind, and an inspiration for the Bestiaries that came after. When Zeus tried to visit one of his favorite human ladies, the forcefield kept him out. Enraged, he traced the forcefield back to Prometheus and struck up a deal with Erebus to take the beast to Tartarus, where he would spend eternity having his liver pecked out by one of Erebus’s personal monsters—a dark-winged eagle.”

  “Is he still there?” I didn’t remember seeing anything like that on my visits to Erebus’s otherworld, but it didn’t surprise me that he’d accepted a tantalizing deal like that.

  “Oh no, Purge beasts have longer lives than most magicals, but they aren’t immortal,” the monk replied. “He endured the torment for around two thousand years before his Chaos dissolved. He did many other things prior to the forcefield incident, usually to benefit mankind, which forged his name as a savior of the human race.”

  My heart sank. “So Purge beasts can die of old age?”

  “Certainly. Those like Prometheus can exist for around that two-thousand-year mark, while the lesser sorts don’t live as long—maybe fifty to one hundred years, if nothing gets them first.”

  The monk finished pouring and drifted away, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Tobe… It seemed silly to grieve when he probably had another thousand years left. That was a hell of a lot longer than I would get, but I hadn’t realized that Purge beasts could just disappear, dying the same as everyone else.

  “What’s wrong?” Melody asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about a friend.”

  “I wonder what else the myths got wrong,” Mr. Abara mused.

  “They’re probably all twisted, since the so-called gods were the ones writing the history books.” Oliver put in his two cents.

  “Zeus must’ve been an Electro.” Luke drank his coffee and pulled a face.

  Blanche nodded. “Artemis may have been a Lunar, able to manipulate the tides, nocturnal creatures, and the minds of people. I’ve never come across one, but I read about them once. I thought they were hokum, but perhaps there were powers back then that don’t exist now, thanks to all of that waterin’-down of the bloodlines.”

  “That must mean Hades was a Necroman—” Mr. Abara shrieked mid-sentence and leapt up onto his chair. A tiny mouse scuttled across the terrace, weaving between table legs. I’d never seen anyone move so quickly, especially not a man of Mr. Abara’s heft. It reminded me of the old wives’ tale of elephants being terrified of mice.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Until the mouse made a break for me and scurried up my boot, disappearing up my pant leg.

  I screamed like a banshee and leapt to my feet, dancing and jumping and shaking my leg. The mouse wouldn’t come out, but I could feel the little thing, its tiny claws digging into my skin. Then it bit me, sending me stumbling across the terrace. I whacked my leg on the nearest table to try to get the friggin’ thing out, but I didn’t even know where it was. I just got a bruise for my troubles.

  It bit me again, and I ran for the monastery. If I wanted to get this thing out of my pants, I needed to tear these suckers off, and I wasn’t about to do a breakfast striptease for my new pals. Not with all the cheese and bread I’d been eating. I heard them howling with laughter as I sprinted inside the building, but I was too peeved to care.

  I reached the nearest hallway and was about to tear off my pants when the mouse shot out of my pant leg and darted forward, stopping in the middle of the corridor. It waited, staring up at me with wide, beady eyes, then hurried toward a branching hallway on the right. It paused again, its tail flicking.

  “Come here, you little punk!” I yelled, taking off after the mouse.

  I followed it blindly down hallway after hallway, losing track of the turns. Every time I thought it had vanished, I found it waiting for me around another turn, staring at me weirdly. Soon enough, I was well and truly lost in the monastery labyrinth. The mouse stopped. Its beady eyes met mine.

  “What are you doing?” It was dumb to expect the mouse to talk back, but I wanted answers. It turned in a circle before darting down the next corridor. I’d come this far; I couldn’t give up on nabbing this rodent now.

  But as I ran after it, a thought crossed my mind. Is there some magic going on here?

  The mouse stopped again and stared at me with bulging eyes, flicking its tail as though… beckoning me to follow?

  Are you a Morph?

  I hadn’t seen any other beasties inside the monastery, apart from the odd fly here and there. But, even if I had, I doubted they’d have had this sort of sentience. It was acting with intention, almost like someone else was in the driver’s seat. Which meant this wasn’t a normal critter.

  And I only knew one Morph… Kenzie.

  Ninete
en

  Finch

  I ran after the furry pest like my life depended on it, even though it dragged me farther and farther into the monastery. And all the eerie mystique therein.

  Here—wherever ‘here’ was—the comforting, vacation-style aesthetics vanished. The coolness of the airy corridors, with their picturesque pseudo-courtyards, had disappeared. The air grew hot. Really hot. I tried to convince myself it was from running, but the atmosphere felt thick. My shirt clung to me in all the wrong places, sweat dripping from my forehead.

  Statues stood here, but they didn’t have the sleek, art-gallery quality anymore. They looked evil, and I felt their stone eyes boring right into my soul. A couple times, I nearly shrieked after I rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a creepy carving.

  The light couldn’t penetrate down here, either, without windows. That suggested I was underground. No more Mr. Nice Monastery. I’d crossed into the underworld.

  “Where are we going?” I hissed at the mouse. I didn’t actually expect it to talk back. But a tail flick, or a blink for yes, two for no… that sort of thing would’ve been nice. A better question would’ve been, “Why are you here?” but I didn’t imagine I’d get much of an answer for that, either. Still, it left me wondering. And worrying. Why was Kenzie here? How had she even found me?

  The mouse paused and stared at me. Maybe I was seeing things, but I could’ve sworn it was giving me a withering look. A second later, it kept on, its little claws tapping on the cracked stone floor. I huffed out a sigh and went after it. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

  The mouse led me down a spiral staircase, the horror-movie kind, with flickering torches in sconces and shadows lurking around every curve. It gave off a clear “do not enter” ambiance. Even I might’ve backed off if I hadn’t been so sure this mouse was Kenzie. And she clearly had something to show me. I mean, it had to be Kenzie. No other Morph would be able to give me the kind of “you’re an idiot” look she could, even through a critter’s eyes.

  At the bottom, a long, narrow corridor stretched out. A massive door sat at the farthest end, a few smaller halls branching off from the main one. The mouse veered with a startled squeak, disappearing into a shadowy alcove carved right into the wall. It poked its head back out, squeaking again. It wanted me to follow… quick. I sprinted for the alcove and tucked myself right back into the darkness.

  Not a moment too soon.

  A gaggle of four monks appeared on the stairwell, chattering loudly amongst themselves. Not very monk-like, but I wasn’t here to judge.

  “Excellent serving this morning, Felipe. Michelin-standard, I’d say,” one said.

  “Why, thank you. I like it so much better when there are new people around. An unpopular opinion, maybe, but it livens up the place,” Felipe answered. He had a faint accent. Maybe Spanish, or Portuguese.

  “No, no, I agree,” a third chimed in. “The monastery can get stale when it’s just us monks, monkeying around.” He barked a donkey laugh that almost made me snort and give my location away. I clamped my hands over my mouth.

  Only the monk leading the group remained silent. He had a certain gravitas to him, which made me suspect he might be one of their spiritual leaders. He paused in front of a small door, just shy of the alcove. Taking a hefty-looking key from under the neckline of his flowing robes, he slotted it into the keyhole and opened the door with a creak.

  He ushered his boisterous followers inside and closed the door behind him. I waited for the mouse to make the first move. I wouldn’t budge until I knew those monks weren’t going to come back out. A second later, the mouse zipped out and hurtled down the corridor. I went after it, a little slower. Big human legs weren’t as swift as little mousey ones.

  The critter skidded to a halt in front of the massive door at the end of the corridor and slipped smoothly under it. I hurried to the door and twisted the wrought-iron handle, but it didn’t turn. I gave it a shove, just in case age had made it stick. But it still didn’t move.

  Of course it’s locked…

  I put my palm to the lock and slid in sneaky tendrils of Telekinesis. Usually, this was basic stuff. But the lock had other ideas. A dead, dull sensation slithered back through my hand, rendering my Telekinesis useless. I realized magic wouldn’t cut it. Just like the monastery’s exterior hadn’t given in to magical commands, this door seemed to be on the same wavelength. That was a problem, but not a major one. At least, I hoped not.

  It’s time for some WWOFD—what would old Finch do? I scanned the corridor for inspiration and fixed on the door the monks had entered. I’d bet my life that hefty key would open up the mama-sized door. Even from my brief glimpse, it’d looked like a skeleton key—capable of opening all the doors along this corridor. I might not have been a locksmith, but I’d cracked open enough doorways to know what would likely work. And I didn’t have any other bright ideas.

  Sidling up to the door in question, I crouched down and peered through the keyhole. The monks knelt on the floor beyond, in a shadowed chapel with candles setting it aglow. They mumbled in ancient Greek. I spotted the lead monk, the one with the key around his neck.

  Closing my eyes, I pictured the monk Etienne had spoken to in his study. He was clearly one of the ecclesiastical bigwigs, if he was in with the boss. My body rippled with Mimicry, taking on the image of that monk. I glanced down to find myself dressed in blue-and-gold robes. Time for a dose of amateur dramatics.

  I wrenched open the door, gasping and spluttering. “Help! I need help! I can’t… breathe!” My voice matched the favored monk perfectly.

  The guy with the key looked up, alarmed. “Everyone, stay at your prayer,” he urged as he raced down the central aisle toward me. Only then did he realize who I was pretending to be. “Mikhail, what’s the matter?”

  “I… can’t breathe.” I staggered into the hallway and collapsed. The monk hurriedly shut the door behind us and knelt in a panic, looming over me. The key was in my grasp. As he cradled my head and tried to check my airways, I slipped my Esprit out of my pocket. It transformed into a blade, the edge sharp. Grabbing the monk by the shoulders, my eyes bulging, I made a decent show of choking as I cut the rope around his neck on the sly. The key fell into my hand, and I quickly put my Esprit and the key into my pocket.

  “Calm down, Mikhail. Try and follow my breathing,” the monk instructed.

  “I think… I’m having… a panic attack,” I whispered back. Dutifully, I followed the in and out of his breathing. Soon enough, I pretended to recover.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  I nodded slowly. “I… think so.”

  “What happened to you?” The monk looked at me worriedly.

  “I don’t know. I made it halfway down the stairs when it hit me,” I replied, staring up in desperation. “Don’t tell Etienne about this, please. I don’t want him thinking I’m weak. This has never happened to me before. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  The monk frowned. “Do you want me to walk you to your chambers?”

  I shook my head. “No… I can make it. It must be the heat down here. It’s very strange. But, please, pretend this never happened. When you see me again, I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention this. I am so very embarrassed.”

  “Of course, Mikhail. I’ve seen the heat get to many monks. You wouldn’t be the first,” he replied soothingly.

  “I’m already much better,” I assured him. “I’m sorry that I burst in. I panicked, that’s all.”

  The monk visibly relaxed. “Not to worry, Mikhail. You work too hard; it was only a matter of time before it got the better of you. This is why we’re supposed to implement relaxation into our routines, but you’ve never been one for that.”

  “Perhaps I ought to try.” I gave a dry chuckle.

  “Do you mind if I leave you? We were in the middle of a very important chant, and I don’t want to abandon them in the midst of it.” The monk glanced back at the prayer room. “That is the trouble with new acolytes—they
need constant guidance. But I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “Go on. I’ll be quite all right.” I smiled weakly. “Thank you for your help. I must have given you a scare.”

  “I think we’ve all grown used to being startled once or twice. As followers, didn’t we spend our first few months in a perpetual state of terror, learning all about the realities of Chaos magic and the history of this place?” He smiled back, though fear flickered across his eyes.

  This monastery definitely had secrets. That was the trick with a beautiful façade—the surface convinced you that everything was fine, regardless of the grim mysteries that lingered below.

  “That we did,” I said, to keep up the ruse.

  “If you feel unwell again, just wait in the room opposite. I’ll come and tend to you in half an hour or so.” The monk helped me to a sitting position before getting to his feet.

  “I will, though I’m sure I’ll be fine. And, again, please don’t mention this again. My pride could not bear it.”

  “Mention what? Nothing has happened here today.” He gave me a sympathetic look and headed back into the prayer room. I waited a few moments after he’d closed the door before racing for the locked door. I had thirty minutes to figure out what mousey wanted.

  Taking the key from my pocket, I slid it into the lock and turned it. A satisfying click echoed back. At least my little performance had been worth it. The monks would probably gossip about it later, but I’d hopefully have the key safely tucked back in one of their pockets by then. And they weren’t going to call out Etienne’s right-hand monk, right to his face. At least, I hoped they wouldn’t, when I’d specifically asked that lead guy not to. Loyalty among monk bros, right?

  The mouse waited by a tall candelabra, flicking its tail impatiently.

  “What are you giving me that look for? I can’t slip under doors,” I whispered.