CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I WALKED INTO the museum with a half demon holding my hand and a gargoyle waiting for me back at our car. As a history major, I’d often dreamed about going museum hopping throughout Europe, but not once had I pictured doing it like this.
“We’re here for the four p.m. tour,” Adrian, my new husband and the aforementioned half demon, told the museum attendant.
“The four p.m. tour group is over there,” she said, pointing toward a small cluster of people about a dozen feet away.
As we walked off, Adrian traced the braided rope tattoo on my right hand. My sleeve hid the rest of it, just like my high-necked blouse and long pants hid the remains of the other hallowed weapon that had supernaturally merged with my flesh. If the hallowed weapon we were looking for was here, I’d no doubt end up with a third supernatural tattoo.
Of course, that tattoo might one day end up decorating my cold dead corpse.
“Feel anything, Ivy?” Adrian asked in a low voice.
I directed my senses outward and felt the distinct vibes that meant this was hallowed ground, as well as extra brushes of power from the various religious relics in this museum. But I didn’t feel anything potent enough to punch a hole through every demon realm in existence, and that was the specific ancient relic we were after.
“No,” I said, frustration coloring my tone.
I hadn’t felt the power we were seeking when we were at Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome last week, or the Hofburg Palace in Vienna earlier this week. Now we were at the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin complex in Vagharshapat, Armenia. This was the third place in the world claiming possession of the spearhead of Longinus, aka the Holy Lance, aka the final hallowed weapon that I was supposedly fated to wield. The third time was, unfortunately, not the charm according to my lineage-derived radar. I could sense hallowed objects, and the famed spearhead wasn’t here, unless wards were messing with my ability to feel
