Shadowhunter (Nephilim Quest Book 1) (32 page)

Mr. Donnelly bowed, his tongue suddenly dry.

"What is that book about? Ancient Egypt?" a slight nod towards Mr.Donnelly's desk.

"Yes indeed, my lady," Mr. Donnelly kept bowing like a cork bobbing about on water, "I expect the Egyptian legends might hide some clue. After all they are amongst the oldest in human history."

The answer seemed to satisfy her.
 

"Quite so. Do let us know what you find."

She spoke sweetly, but Mr. Donnelly recognized the veiled threat.

"Of course, my lady."

She left and Mr. Donnelly's knees gave way. With a shaking hand he wiped the sweat off his brow.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

42. The Nunnery

At first I moved like a child, or a young animal learning to walk – erect, exaggeratedly raising my foot high above the ground and then stomping it down carefully. I wasn't at all sure the surface I was walking on wouldn't give way and disappear from under my feet. I had been for a walk in fog before, but then I had had solid ground under me. Now there was only grey... something that resembled mist. It gave way slightly beneath my feet, and fear punched me in the stomach when my brain interpreted it as the ground caving in and told me that I would fall.

The stomp made a definite sound, though, so I decided the surface was solid enough. Also I did not want to draw unwanted attention to myself, so I continued to walk as quietly as possible. I took off my shoes, and shoved them into my jacket pockets. Without them I could move almost soundlessly. The surface under my feet was not warm or cold.

It all felt like an odd dream, and yet the surroundings were strangely familiar. But then again – if this was the zone where we ended up when we dreamed, it made sense that the place felt familiar. I just wondered why I did not lose consciousness, which I had been told happened to people who got into the buffer zone unexpectedly.

What had happened to my hands was the thing I found hard to accept. My hands had always been ordinary, flesh and blood hands, and now suddenly they were capable of creating some kind of a misty substance that appeared from under my skin, and could actually form a solid string... That felt unreal to me. It should not have been possible. No - it was physically impossible. My mind was having a hard time accepting what my eyes were seeing.

Still I could not explain the whole thing away as a dream, I was definitely awake.

After a while I got used to the fog despite the unpleasant sensations of my feet sinking into the mist while walking, and of being almost blind – no solid forms to concentrate on, only the string. I kept my hands in front of me as though I was sleepwalking, but realized soon enough that there was no need for it. Even if I kept my hands to my sides, the string was as solid as ever.

I remembered how Paris had moved her fingers, weaving the different colored strings together. I stopped and raised my hands in front of my eyes again, and did just that. Much to my surprise new, different colored strings flew out of my fingers. I felt like Spiderman – only these strings moved elegantly and slowly and did not shoot forward with lightning-speed. They did move, yes, but so slowly that my eyes could easily follow them.

These new strings followed the direction of the first, silver-grey one. They too disappeared into the mist, and then suddenly one of them, a green one, tightened. It yanked me forward and I had a feeling I was moving faster now – it was kind of hard to tell how fast exactly, as there was no physical object to compare my speed to. It was the impression of the fog against my face that told me I was moving faster – it felt almost like a breeze now.

Then, very fast, all the other strings got attached to something too, and every time one of them got tighter, my speed increased. Soon I could not walk anymore, but had to run – the strings were pulling me forward. My steps became longer and longer, and then the strings simply lifted me up and I flew.

I moved my fingers some more, and the strings braided together and the speed kept on increasing. I felt the shoe in one of my pockets fall away.

It was a curious feeling, wondering if I should be panicking or not, but finally deciding it was of no use. The strings were taking me somewhere, and somewhere was better than standing in the middle of nowhere. And once I learned to relax, this whole flying business felt like fun. The strings tugging at my hands and fingers did not hurt. It was more like someone was shaking hands with me and drawing me somewhere at the same time. Even the fog seemed to clear a bit, and a silvery glow surrounded me.

The stop came abruptly. The strings ceased tugging me and unbraided themselves and the different colors turned from solid to misty and wrapped around my hands again. Only the silver-gray one remained.

I realised I could see something in front of me. Cautiously I followed the string and little by little the forms in the fog grew more solid, and a small room appeared in front of me. The closer I walked, the more solid it became. When I stepped into it, the fog snapped away in an instant, and I stood inside the room in a very physical and real environment. When I turned around, I found that I was now in an enclosed room; the mist was nowhere to be seen.

Now the question was – where was I? And when was I?

There was a small window, and of course I went to look through it first. I saw a pretty landscape – rolling hills, some trees. The building I was in was made of grey stone. It had a high garden wall around it, and there were small buildings both inside the walled area, and outside at a distance. I saw hens in the yard, and two cows in a paddock. The sun was already well past midday, twilight was descending.

Inside the room there was only austere looking furniture without any decorations. A bed with a coarse blanket and a pillow. A small cupboard, and a tiny table, where a worn Bible was the only object. A crucifix on the wall, and an oil lamp. No carpet on the wooden floor.

I was in a monastery. Or a nunnery. Was it the same one where the Time Walkers had come from? It could be – even though I did not know about the laws of the buffer zone, the fact that I still held the little bag with rose embroidery that had led them to their nunnery probably meant I had come to the same place. After all, Anna had said it was her anchor to this time.

This was likely the Victorian era, then. But which country? What language did they speak here? I didn't recall the team mentioning exactly where the nunnery was located. My eyes fell on the Bible and I opened it to see the title page. 1855 was written there. And probably I was in England.

There was no mirror in the room, but I knew I would look very odd in my modern clothes – jeans, T-shirt and a college hoodie. Not to mention the fact I only had one shoe left.

I opened the cupboard door – and there was a nun's outfit, neatly folded on a shelf. Desperate measures, I told myself and dressed myself in the grey outfit, listening for any approaching footsteps. There were no shoes, but there was a type of coarse, knitted socks. I put them on as well. I had no headdress, but I supposed my short hair would remind other nuns, should I meet them, of their own shorn hair. I would have to come up with some explanation about my missing headgear, if someone asked. Thankfully I had not put on any makeup while in my own time – for the obvious reason I had none with me at the Centre. It would have been difficult to explain makeup on a novice's face in a 19
th
Century nunnery...

I opened the door to the room ever so slightly, just enough to see to the corridor behind it.

No one there. I hesitated for a while, having no idea whether I should stay in the room or leave. Then I figured that if I was in the same nunnery as the Time Walker group I had seen, I might as well go and see the library. Now the question remaining was – where was it?

I could see two stairways from where I was standing. One stairway looked bigger, and was situated in the middle of the corridor, probably leading down to some sort of lobby. The other, narrower stairs looked like something servants might use – the stairway was situated by the wall. I decided to go that way. I ran quickly to the stairs and listened. I heard distant singing.

Of course - the nuns must be at some service, which explained the empty corridors. As far as I knew the monasteries and nunneries had services at odd hours round the clock.

I tiptoed down the stairs, which was not easy - it was a typical narrow Victorian servants' staircase you had to descend almost sideways, because the steps were so narrow. I peeked round the corner. Another corridor, but this time there were bigger, more official looking doors. And one doorway nearby was open. I could see bookshelves.

Feeling lucky, I ran to the door. Just as I was about to enter, I heard whispering voices. My woolen socks were so slippery on the well-worn floor I could not stop when I wanted to but slid right into the middle of the doorway.

Two men were standing in the library. The fact that there were men in a nunnery would have been suspicious enough, but the fact their clothing was from my own age really alarmed me. They had not seen me yet, but as they were looking around, searching for something, they would probably see me in a matter of seconds.

There was a bucket by the door, with a rag hanging from its side. Thankfully it did not reach the water in the bucket and seemed to be dry. I bent down and opened the rag – it was a big one, and not too dirty. I tied it quickly round my head, proper cleaning-woman-style. Then I realized the black embroidered evening bag would look rather odd in the hands of a novice – which I had to be, considering my age. I quickly turned the insides of the bag out, and found the lining was of grey cloth. If I squeezed it tightly, it would go for a rag.

The very same moment the other one of the men turned around and saw me, I had turned sideways to them and took a step past the doorway, carrying the bucket in one hand and the "rag" in the other.  I kept on walking back to the stairs I had come from, and heard slight movement from behind me. It took all my courage not to run, but I continued walking with even steps, my eyes downcast, and went back up the stairs. I heard quiet whispering, but no one came after me. My camouflage had worked.

With shaking knees I put down the bucket - and noticed someone was standing in the corridor in front of me. A pair of sensible, worn shoes stood behind the bucket, with a hem of the similar coarse fabric as my own outfit above them.

"What are you doing here?" a woman's voice demanded – in a British accent.

"I am new, I came to clean," I tried to sound as British as I possibly could. "There were two men in the library," I then whispered with lowered eyes.
 

That did the trick. I was no longer of interest.
 

"Men? There should be no men here! They must be thieves! They are after our ancient manuscript, for sure!"

I put my hand over my mouth and tried to look horrified, though my sole intention was to cover as much as my face with my hand as possible.

"We shall have to stop them ourselves!" the nun declared, already stomping down the stairs. "The other sisters are at service."

I realized she wanted me to follow. As I could not really do anything else, I did. I might escape in the mayhem that would no doubt follow.

Which it did. The nun had the body build of a rhinoceros and she stampeded into the library with all the grace of the said animal. The two men were now in front of one of the bookshelves, behind a wooden railing that separated the bookshelves from the front of the room. They were pulling precious books down and throwing them on the floor.

"Thieves!" the nun hissed. "Stop what you are doing, immediately!"

The men looked at her, surprised and apparently scared at first, then began to laugh. They saw a short, stocky nun, and a slight, tall novice, who obviously was not very muscular.

"And how exactly are you going to stop us?" the bigger one of them asked and grinned. "Are you going to throw the girl at us? Wouldn't mind that, though. She looks quite pretty, we could have some fun with her."

Obviously that was not the wisest thing to say to a chaste nun with the body build of a weight lifter. With the speed of a cat the nun reached for a poker by the fireplace near the door, next to a reading desk. There was still a huge pile of books on it - probably left by Reggie.  Without stopping, the nun charged the men, waving the poker over her head and bellowing at the top of her voice "Thieves, thieves!" She had powerful lungs, all right.
 

That got their attention. I suppose that it got the attention of everyone within miles. At least the singing down the hallway stopped abruptly.

The men backed away from the nun.

"Protect the manuscript!" the nun yelled at me.

"What...? Where...?"

The poker changed its direction from the thieves to the left of the nun in one wide swoop. I ran to the general direction, between shelves, and then I saw the glass cabinet. Inside it was only one thing – an ancient looking small book. I placed myself in front of the cabinet and then concentrated on looking at the poker ballet performed by the nun who had now advanced to the aisle between the old book cabinets. It was really quite amazing to watch. I wondered if she had been performing in a circus in her younger years.

She surely knew what she was doing. The thieves had to duck and take cover, as she swirled about like a dervish, brandishing the poker skillfully.

Running footsteps approached, and then suddenly the whole place was full of nuns. One of them was holding an oil lamp in her hand. Unfortunately she ran too close to the whirling dervish nun, and the oil lamp took the full force of the poker in her hand. It flew out of the other nun's hand, straight towards a bookcase to my right where it smashed. Burning oil erupted from the glass and metal lamp all over the books.

Dieter, one of the time walkers had said the library would burn in a few hours... I had to get out!

The old books caught fire so fast it was unbelievable. Suddenly I stood behind towering, roaring flames, with my back against the glass case, the heat of the fire hurting my skin. I turned around.
 
I had an odd sensation in my mind, as if I was observing the whole situation through someone else's eyes.