Sparks of Light (Into the Dim #2)



After the initial storm passed, Aunt Lucinda met with Collum, Phoebe, Doug, and me privately. “I’ve spoken with Brandon,” she told us. “And I’ve agreed to let him stay here for the time being.”

Aunt Lucinda met each of our eyes in turn. She was looking better. More color in her cheeks, despite the pain etched permanently around her eyes. Mom had mentioned that the treatments were going well.

Curled up beside Doug on the aged leather, Phoebe appeared shrunken. She wore baggy shorts and a loose tee. Most disturbing was her hair, still the same demure auburn she’d chosen before we left, to better match the wig.

Back in his usual gold-framed glasses, Doug was watching the girl he loved. He looked different too. Older. Some of the gentleness siphoned away.

“From the information Hope and Brandon have shared,” Lucinda said, “I believe we are now dealing with an entirely new threat. Gunnar Blasi and Gabriella de Roca have their own agenda. We must be on our guard at all times.”

Lucinda sighed and selected one of two objects from the table beside her. After we’d returned to Christopher Manor, alone in my room, I had unwrapped the bundle Nikola Tesla had given me. When I saw what was inside, I stared down at it for a long, long time. Then I gave it to Lucinda. Though gifted to me, the contents affected us all.

My aunt’s faded-denim eyes skimmed over the words inscribed on the piece of yellowed parchment, sealed between two thick panes of glass.

“Nikola Tesla told Hope that he located this several years ago in his research on the Nonius Stone,” she told us.

She laid the glass on the table. Everyone leaned forward to read the elaborate script. Everyone but me. I didn’t need to read it again.



To my most noble Friend,

A development has come to light on the Objecte dear to both our hearts. I shall first share with you the history I have so recently uncovered.

From ancient times, a clandestine Order of nuns, said to be endowed with Holy mystical knowledge, kept the Objecte in strictest secrecy. Only one per generation was trusted with its location, passing the secret on to a younger, worthy Sister upon the old one’s impending death.

This I have traced back over four hundred years to the last person known to possess this information. A close confidante of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine herself, it seems. Unfortunately, the good Sister died before she could pass the secret to her successor. The secret, then, died with her. Or so I believed.

I admit, I was faire perplexed. The trail gone cold, I was not certain where to turn. But oh, dear Lady, I impart to you the most joyous of news. As you know, I have consulted the stars often of late, and they have been disturbingly vague. But at last, noble Friend. At long last.

Today, I received an unexpected visit from an old acquaintance. Edward Kelly is a brilliant man. One with whom, until recently, I held a close friendship. I had not seen him in some months, not since our disharmonious parting in Prague. He came to beg my forgiveness for events which I shall not mention to one so pure as your great Self.

Kelly knew I sought the stone. Burdened by guilt and shame, he revealed that he located the Objecte nigh on two years ago, and hid the fact from me. Now, out of sorry recompense he . . .

But I digress. His words are of no matter against what he brought with him! The Objecte, Lady! Oh, and it is the true Objecte. My assistant Michael, a bright and promising young Scot, is also familiar with the Objecte’s lore, and has seconded my initial verification. As he transcribes this letter for me now, I see him nodding his agreement.

Great Lady, I shall soon travel to London, and lay in your hands that which has so long eluded us.

Written from Mortlake, this Saturday, the xvi of July, year of our Lord, 1588.

As always, I remain your most constant and humble servant,





I leaned in then, and touched a finger to the glass, tracing the familiar signature. Memories of my kind, gentle grandfather surged up from the shadowy back part of my memory.

I hadn’t shown anyone the pin that Nikola Tesla cast off on the night his lab burned. I could feel its shape through the front pocket of my jeans. I’d known what it stood for the second I picked it up.

The rosy cross seated on a pyramid. The symbol of a very old, very powerful, and supposedly very archaic organization.

The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

A mystical order, akin to modern-day Masons, who arose out of the Rosicrucian movement of the sixteenth century. A movement, by the way, whose society had been at least partially based on the occultish writings of none other than Dr. John Dee.

A laundry list of secret societies had formed, one after the other, following Dee’s death. Once considered the greatest mind of his age, in Dee’s later years, he’d become obsessed with the occult. Had believed his friend Edward Kelly could speak with angels, and had been convinced that he—?and only he—?could translate this celestial language.

When I thought of Dr. John Dee, of my Poppy, it left me oddly hollow. As if a surgeon had carved away a piece of something small but vital.





“But,” Phoebe said. “The letter . . . Dee’s talking about Da, isn’t he?”

Aunt Lucinda studied each of our faces before speaking. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, I believe so. The timing works, and it actually makes a lot of sense. I can see how it would be very like Michael to position himself in this way. Now,” she went on. “As to this.”

She held up the second item. Lucinda and Moira had found it in Mac’s pocket, shortly after we brought his body home.

Lucinda held the tubular metallic object across her flattened palm. “Moira and I have discussed this,” she said. “Mac MacPherson was one of the wisest people I’ve ever known. If he believed this enhancement was important enough to save, then we will—?one day—?consider its use. I say consider, only.” She raised a finger. “In the meantime, we must ensure it never falls into the wrong hands.”

Lucinda set the enhancement down with a clink. Collum’s eyes never strayed from it as Aunt Lucinda straightened. “And one other thing.” She paused until everyone’s attention—?including Collum’s—?was focused solely on her.

My aunt’s thin upper lip pulled back from her teeth. Shock thrummed through me at the raw savagery in her voice.

“Everyone rest. For two weeks we honor and mourn our fallen brother. But after that, we shall begin to form a plan.” Lucinda’s words, fueled by grief and rage, scalded us like steam. “We now know Michael’s most likely location. And I swear to you . . . they may have taken away my dearest friend’s husband . . .” She stood, and I could feel my heart hammering harder and harder as she spoke through clenched teeth.

“But by God we are going to give her back her son!”





Chapter 47


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