Pandora's Key (8 page)

“She drove her car off a cliff—I was seventeen.” She paused. “How long?”

“The tumor is inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan said.

“But—” Veronica started.

“It’s inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan repeated. “We can give you aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and try to keep the tumor from growing, but best-case scenario, you’re looking at buying yourself a few months, and in addition to the pain you’re already experiencing, you’ll have severe nausea, hair loss, and vomiting. Or, we can make you more comfortable. Is there anyone we should call, maybe your husband?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“A relative, then?”

“It’s just Evangeline and me…and Sa—” Olivia’s words trailed off. “Dr. Sullivan,” she mumbled, “will you make sure Evangeline gets home safely…dinner, homework—”

Evangeline pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, listening to the line at the other end ring four times.

“This is Samantha Harris. Please leave a message. Beep.”

“Sam, are you there? Pick up—please! It’s me. Call me back, please! Call me right away! It’s my mom…she’s really sick.”

The maze-like greenhouse was jam-packed, filled with rows of tiered plants in all sizes and shapes, creating a forest of rough trunks, swaying stalks, random shocks of bright flowers, and canopies of leaves. Most of the plants were not beautiful. Some were gnarled and yellow-brown, like bunions on an old woman’s foot. Others had blossoms that looked like a sickness, weapon, or poison. Vines slithered everywhere—along the floor, climbing the wooden planks, and stretching their greedy fingers up the glass walls. The air was moist, warm, and fetid.

Beeswax candles suspended in battered copper lanterns illuminated the greenhouse. Clad in a long, hooded white robe tied with a belt fashioned from interlocking loops of hammered gold, a woman walked between the narrow rows of plants. Following her was a group of women in matching robes. On the second toe of their right feet, they each wore a gold ring inscribed with a single word: Pandora.

The group entered an open space—concrete floor, glass walls, encroaching brown vines. Candlelight cast vein-like shadows around the room, making it seem like a malignant creature was breathing just beneath the walls. The women formed a circle and began to chant in ancient Greek. The sound washed through the greenhouse like water over time-worn stones, gathering speed, energy, and power until it was a rushing river, fogging windows and making blooms and leaves quiver in resonance.

The leader stepped into the center of the circle and nine of the women dropped to their knees—these were initiates of Pandora who had reached the age to decide whether or not to become full members and pledge their lives to the Sect. One member of Pandora walked before each of those kneeling, pulling back their hoods. As she reached the last young woman, her own hood fell back, revealing Juliette’s contemplative face. The remaining followers stepped behind the kneeling sisters’ shoulders, bracing them for what was to come. The chanting died away.

The leader took a deep breath, releasing it in a soft sigh. “We are not Gods. We are mere mortals fulfilling the destiny that the Gods have set out before us.” She took in all the figures around her, feeling the weight of this moment. “Do you come willingly?” she asked the kneeling women.

“We do,” they replied in one voice.

“Will you sacrifice your life for Pandora and her descendants?”

“We will,” answered the chorus of voices.

“Pandora is forever,” the leader warned. “It is a beautiful and terrible gift.”

“Forever,” the women agreed. The leader drew a curved blade with an intricate silver handle from the folds of her robe and stepped toward the first kneeling disciple, carving a P deep into her palm. Blood dripped onto the floor. She moved from disciple to disciple until every palm of the kneeling had been branded with a P, the symbol of Pandora, and the concrete was stained red.

Juliette sat down on the edge of Malledy’s bed. “You can’t sleep?”

Malledy shook his head. He’d been tossing and turning for hours and Juliette, always in tune with his needs, had brought him a glass of warm milk. “I’m afraid,” he admitted to his mentor, taking a sip of the milk.

Regardless of his epiphany from earlier in the day, Malledy knew the sand was quickly draining from his hourglass. He was having more of the violent thoughts and anger Dr. Aali had warned him about and at times he could barely keep himself under control. He understood that Huntington’s was trying to worm its way into his brain. When it succeeded, it would be too late to use the artifact he currently sought to excise his disease. He would simply lack the intellectual ability because he would be insane.

Juliette put her hand on Malledy’s arm. “You’re not going to die. Not if I can help it.”

Malledy squeezed his mentor’s hand, striving to give her comfort because she didn’t deserve to be part of this nightmare. The idea of her becoming his caretaker—feeding him, washing him, wiping his feces when he lost all control, sickened him. He thought about telling Juliette of his epiphany, but chose not to give her what could be false hope should he fail to find Pandora’s Box in time. In addition, telling Juliette what he planned would put her in an extremely dangerous position.

Archivists were strictly forbidden to use any artifact they discovered for personal gain. To do so would mean expulsion from the Order. And “expulsion” was the same as “removal.” If Malledy told Juliette what he planned and she didn’t stop him, then she would be an accomplice. Her life would be forfeit—same as his own. It was better to silently hope for the best but prepare both himself and his mentor for the worst. Malledy took another swallow of the warm milk and steeled himself—it was time to have the conversation he’d been avoiding, dreading.

“Juliette, I know that you wish things were different and that you’re trying to make me feel better, but we’ve always been honest with each other, right?”

Unable to meet Malledy’s frank gaze, Juliette stared out the bay window into the darkness. “
Oui.
”

“There’s no cure for Huntington’s disease—period.” Malledy’s voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and continued. “I’m most probably going to die a horrible death—paralyzed and demented.”

“Malledy—”

“Please let me finish
.” If you won’t be the grown-up, then I have to be.
“Promise me that if it happens—if I lose my mind—you’ll kill me.” It felt horrible to ask Juliette to end his life; horrible that he needed to ask; horrible that if he did indeed fail to find the talisman and descended into madness he would have no control and be at his mentor’s mercy.
What if she couldn’t do it? What if she left him to live like that?

Juliette was trying not to cry but her shoulders were shaking from suppressed sobs. Malledy gripped her upper arms. “Look at me,” he said. Slowly Juliette met his gaze. “Promise me,” he demanded, hearing the plaintive note of begging in his voice and hating both of them for it. “Promise!”

Something changed in Juliette’s eyes and they lost their softness, instead replaced with a steely resolve Malledy had seen countless times when she was on the trail of an artifact and allowed nothing to stand in her way. “I promise. But it won’t come to that.”

Malledy felt a wave of frustration crash over him. Juliette was not accepting reality. “Modern medicine has no—”

“We don’t
need
modern medicine,” Juliette interrupted, all trace of emotion drained from her tone. “We need something very much older and infinitely more powerful. But before I tell you a secret I’ve pledged my life to protect, promise me that what we do next is on
my
terms.”

Malledy felt his heart skip a beat.
What secret?
“I promise.” And then he hung on every word of Juliette’s incredible story. She was a member of Pandora! Malledy knew from his research that Pandora was a deadly Sect created originally by the Goddess Hera.

“The Sect’s main function is to protect every descendant of the original Pandora,” Juliette continued.

“There’s a living descendant?!” Malledy blurted. He could barely control a massive surge of adrenalin coursing through his body.

Juliette hesitated, biting down on her lower lip.

“Please, Juliette!”

“Yes…she’s here in Portland. And she might be just the healer you need to survive your disease.”

“Why?

Juliette fell silent. “Because,” she finally said, “one of the gifts given to the original Pandora was the power to heal. Some of Her descendants have that power, too.”

“Please,” he said with forced calm, “tell me more.” Malledy had hoped to find the Sect because throughout history they had a connection to Pandora’s Box. He’d unearthed information about Pandora and knew there was a cell in Portland, but he’d been unable to pinpoint the cell’s location, so he’d been focused on locating a secondary talisman that was tied by ancient writings he’d unearthed to Pandora’s Box.

How could I have been so blind?
In the last few months he had been so engaged trying to locate the other talisman that he’d missed what was right beneath his own nose!

“What’s the girl’s name,” Malledy asked, testing Juliette’s commitment to saving him, “and where can we find her?”

Juliette shook her head. Her cheeks burned red and sweat beaded on her upper lip. “I’ve already said too much. I can’t tell you that. I’ll go to Pandora and ask for help, but you need to understand that they may not allow the girl to save you.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“She doesn’t know who she is. She has no idea of her powers.”

“How is that possible?” Malledy was shocked.

“Over the years, her ancestors lost the thread of their own existence. It’s easier for Pandora that way. Don’t worry, though. I’ll ask for their help. There’s still a chance for you.” She strode to his bedroom door and then turned back to him. “Will you be okay alone for a few hours?”

Malledy nodded, filled with overwhelming gratitude. “Juliette—thank you.” His mentor half-smiled and left. He listened to her footsteps echo down the hallway.
I have two chances. And if Pandora won’t give me their help willingly, I will take it anyway, because I know much more than Juliette realizes.

Malledy picked up his cell phone.

“Cronen.”

“Magnus. Here’s what you need to do—follow Juliette.”

“Dr. Sullivan? Please, can I talk to you?” Evangeline was trailing Dr. Sullivan and his residents down the corridor. The group of doctors stopped and turned to face her.

Evangeline struggled to find the right words. “It’s just my mom and me,” she finally said. “I need her—I need you to help her—
fix
her, not just give her drugs. My mom—Olivia—she’s tough even though she doesn’t look it. She’d rather be healthy than comfortable.”

Dr. Sullivan met her gaze. “Miss Theopolis, sometimes making a patient comfortable is the best we can do, but the course of treatment will be up to your mother. She wanted me to—”

Suddenly Evangeline couldn’t breathe, she needed air that didn’t smell like medicine—she needed to get outside. She bolted down the hallway toward the elevator. The doors slid open and then closed just as Dr. Sullivan’s face appeared in the crack.
Too late.
“This is crazy,” she said. “This is crazy!” she screamed inside the empty elevator.