Caitlin look around the small yard again, as the sun lit it a blood red. She sighed. No. There were no clues whatsoever.
And then something occurred to her.
“Read it again,” she said. “Slowly.”
“‘And find the ones they loved,’” he read, slowly, “‘beside the fourth tip of the cross.’”
“Beside,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
“What?” he asked.
“It says beside the fourth tip of the cross. Not at the fourth tip of the cross. Beside it,” she said.
They both suddenly, at the same time, turned and looked at the large, stone building beside them.
The King’s Chapel.
As they entered the empty church, Caleb quickly shut the massive door behind them. It slammed with a bang, reverberating. The church was closed and the door had been locked, but he had broken it with his sheer strength. Now they had the place to themselves.
As they walked into the beautiful, small chapel, the sunset light poured in through its stained-glass windows, Caitlin felt immediately at peace. It was a cozy and elegant place, its pews segmented into family boxes and all lined with red velvet. Perfectly preserved. She felt as if she’d stepped into another century.
Caleb walked up beside her, and the two of them slowly looked around. A stillness hung in the air.
“It’s here,” he said. “I can feel it,” he said.
And for the first time, Caitlin could feel it, too.
She noticed that she was beginning to sense things more strongly, and she could sense the sword’s presence here. It electrified her. She didn’t know what excited her more: that the sword was here, or that she could sense it on her own.
Caitlin set Rose down beside her and walked slowly down the carpeted aisle, trying to use her heightened senses to feel where it could be. Her eyes locked on the pulpit.
At the far end of the chapel, a beautiful, small circular staircase ascended and ended in a pulpit.
It looked like a place where ministers had preached for hundreds of years. For some reason, she felt drawn to it.
“I feel it, too,” Caleb said.
She turned and looked at him.
“Go,” he said. “Ascend. It is your sword. It is your lineage.”
She continued down the aisle, and slowly ascended the circular staircase. Rose walked with her, and sat at the base of the steps. She looked up at Caitlin and watched her. She whined softly.
Caitlin reached the top, a small box, just large enough for a preacher to stand in, and surveyed its woodwork, wondering where it could be. There was no obvious sign of anything, only a wooden railing, as high as her chest, built in a semicircular shape. She felt the smooth wood, aged with centuries of use, and saw no compartment, no drawers, nothing obvious.
Then she saw it.
There was the slightest impression in the wood, something painted over. The shape of a tiny cross. About the size of the cross she wore.
She scratched away at the impression, and years of paint came off. There, indeed, was a keyhole.
She removed her necklace and inserted it. It was a perfect fit.
She turned it, and there was a gentle click.
She pulled, and nothing happened. She pulled harder, and she could hear the cracking paint. The hinges had been completely painted over. She reached up and pulled harder, and scraped away at the paint. She got her fingers in enough to grab a hold of the door, and yanked hard. She could begin to see the outline of a tall, thin, narrow compartment. She yanked again.
And it opened.
Old air, stuck for centuries, came out at her, along with a cloud of dust.
And as the dust settled, her eyes opened wide.
There it was.
The sword.
It was stunning. Covered in gold and jewels from the hilt to the tip, she could already feel its power. She was almost afraid to touch it.
She reached in, and reverentially took hold of it.
She gently put one hand on the hilt, and the other on the scabbard. She pulled it out slowly, and stood, holding it up for Caleb to see.
She could see his jaw drop.
She held on the scabbard and extracted the sword, and with a soft, beautiful clang, the blade was revealed. It was made of a metal she did not recognize, and it shined unlike anything she had ever seen.
The energy coming off of it was overwhelming. It felt like electricity, and was running through her hand and up her arm.
With this sword, she felt she could do anything.
Samantha screeched the BMW to a halt right front of the King’s Chapel. Abandoning the car in the middle of the road, she jumped out. Sam, following her, jumped out the other side. Horns blared.
“Hey lady, you can’t park there!” yelled a cop, approaching her.
Samantha reached up and brought her fist down on his nose, smashing it and causing him to drop to his knees, unconscious. Before he could hit the ground, she reached out and grabbed the gun from his holster.
Sam stood there, gaping, in shock.
“Holy shit—” he began to say.
But before he could finish, she grabbed him in a chokehold and picked him up off the ground.
Before he knew what was happening, she had him in the air, carrying him up the steps and through the door of the King’s Chapel.
“Samantha!” he tried to yell. “What are you—”