in surprise, straightening. Harcourt was most definitely dead. Bennett knew that for an indisputable fact.
Athena met his gaze over the top of the manifest. “His brother, perhaps?”
“Better watch my back.”
“I think we can find out more.” Athena returned to her desk and shoved some books and papers aside to clear some room. From a drawer, she pulled a purple silk scarf, then laid it across the top of the desk. She opened the manifest to the page with the Heirs’ names and set it onto the scarf. Then she closed her eyes.
“Need me to do anything?” Bennett asked.
“Just keep quiet.”
“Impossible.”
She opened one eye to let him know that his humor was not appreciated. Closing her eye, she held her hands above the manifest. “Virgin Mother,” she chanted, hushed, “gray-eyed bringer of wisdom and war. Grant your daughter eyes to see and lips to speak. Give life to words, so humbly asks your namesake child.”
At first, nothing happened. Then the writing upon the pages of the manifest began to shimmer and sway upon the page. The words twisted like tiny vines. Bennett stepped closer to watch. As a Blade, he had seen much magic, yet it never failed to make his breath hitch with the wonder of it.
He stepped back as the words shivered, then danced up from the page, snaking into the air to hover in the middle of the room. In the lamplight, the writing cast spidery shadows, pulsing, waiting.
Opening her eyes, her hands still outstretched, Athena said in a high, clear voice, “Words, giver of knowledge, we seek your guidance. These men mean to steal magic, and we stand to defy them. What do they seek? Where shall they proceed?”
The writing trembled, then broke apart like a host of moths, fluttering. Bennett kept his arms at his sides as letters flitted across his face and through the room. He could hear them softly beating against each other and the fabric of the curtains. Then they found order, rearranging themselves into sentences in Greek that floated in midair.
The Source is hidden in riddles. To the birthplace of the Sun and Moon, the Heirs advance. Words they possess yet cannot read. One amongst their number shall play Oracle. The words will have meaning.
No sooner had Bennett read this than the words shivered and fell in a cascade back into the manifest. Bennett blinked, and the writing was as it had appeared minutes earlier in some clerk’s careful hand.
“My boundless thanks, Chaste Mother,” Athena chanted before lowering her hands. The magic-working had drained her, and she sat down heavily in a chair.
Bennett poured her a glass of wine. Handing it to her, he said, “I’ve a birthday coming up. Will you provide the entertainment at the party?”
“You need a muzzle,” Athena replied after taking a sip. She repeated the words, mulling them over. “So, the Heirs are going to Delos.”
“An island in the Cyclades.”
“Just so.” Athena waved a refined hand toward the table. A scroll of paper rose up from it, unrolling itself and revealing it was an ancient map of the Cyclades Islands, which lay past Cape Sounion to the east.
Bennett leaned forward to examine the map as it floated before him. It was true that Blades could not use magic, but only if it was not theirs by right or gift. The Galanos women were not only one of Athens’s finest families, they were also witches by birth. Family legend held that the first Athena Galanos, centuries earlier, wielded tremendous power, enough to safeguard the family against the occupying Turks. The centuries, however, had worn gently away at this power, as the city of Athens became more modern and turned from the old ways, leaving the Galanos witches capable of small parlor spells but not much else. The current Athena spent much of her time researching how she and her future descendants might reclaim that which time had taken from them. One had only to look at Athena’s library to see her dedication to this cause. Bennett doubted a larger collection of magical texts existed anywhere.
Athena now used her birthright magic to illuminate a small dot of an island on the map.
“This is Delos, the center of the Cyclades,” she explained. “The islands are called that because they spiral out from Delos. It is a tiny place, three miles long and hardly a mile wide, but few other sites hold such mystical power or significance. Even Delphi. The god Apollo and his twin sister Artemis were born on Delos.”
“Birthplace of the Sun and Moon. Whatever is there could be very powerful, especially when combined with the Primal Source.” Bennett recalled the myths of Artemis and Apollo from his early education, tales told in his boyhood of Greek gods and heroes. At the time, he had believed them to be merely stories, but years with the Blades taught him that a good deal more truth lived in old myths than the ordinary world would have one believe. “Who lives there now?”
“No one. For a time, none could be born nor die on the island. It has been deserted for almost two millennia. Once, it was a thriving center of trade, a holy place for pilgrimage. But no treasure is left, all carried off by pirates. Turks come now to take ancient marble for headstones. There is nothing of what some might call value. Only ruins, most of them buried beneath the rocky soil.” With another wave of her hand, the scroll rolled up and replaced itself on the table.
Bennett rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering this. “So the Heirs have found something on Delos, something they need translated. An Oracle.”
“It is the ‘who’ that we do not know.”
“Harcourt’s brother, perhaps,” Bennett mused.
“We shall see. I’ve informants on the street to learn where the Heirs are staying whilst in Athens. I am hoping that will help us gather more intelligence.”
“You couldn’t be more intelligent, my dear Pallas.”
Athena dismissed Bennett’s easy compliment with a wave of her hand. Yes, they knew each other quite well, enough to render his blandishments nothing more than pretty coins thrown from an abundant pocket. “Even though there is no Blade more capable than you for deciphering and decoding”—she accepted his slight bow of gratitude with a regal nod—“it is very likely that you and I will be unable to read these ruins, whatever they are. You know nearly every code that has been created, but—”
“But I’ve only the typical Englishman’s knowledge of language. Latin, Greek, and French.” He smiled. “Such a wastrel.”
“None worse,” Athena agreed. “Perhaps we can follow the Heirs at a safe distance as they pursue the Source, let them do the work for us.”
Bennett paced. His legs were long, and the study was not a large room, so he watched his reflection as he caromed from bookshelf to window and back again.
“I hate the idea of trailing after them like guppies in the wake of a whale,” he said. “We should take charge of the situation. God knows what they’re after, but whatever it is, once they get their hands on it, hell’s going to break loose.”
“But what can we do?” Athena asked.
“Find the ruins before they do, translate them ourselves. There isn’t much time.”
“Even if we got to the ruins before they did, we haven’t our
