Gene of Isis

Don’t mention me in his presence, or the stone, or Ashlee’s journal. He gave me his instructions as an afterthought.

You must think me daft. I reached Molier’s abode and knocked.

I waited for the door to be answered and desperately tried to recall the subject matter of the conversations I had had with Albray, prior to Akbar informing me that my tent was probably bugged. I had surely mentioned Albray’s name—probably Ashlee’s and Molier’s as well. Had I mentioned my relationship to Ashlee? Maybe Molier was not aware that I was a daughter of the blood? Doubtful, or why would he have come? For the opening of the gate, of course—the inscription apparently stipulated only that a woman bearing bread was required to enter first. How many people would translate this to mean a daughter of the Grail bloodline?

Keep an open mind, I reminded myself. Much of what I knew about Molier had come from a two-hundred-year-old journal and a knight who had been dead for eight hundred years! Time to apply my logical, questioning, scientific mind to this conundrum—it had virtually not had a look-in since I’d met Albray.

Two hours later, following a very pleasant evening, I stepped back out of the caravan, unharmed and unruffled.

Molier hadn’t broached any of my taboo subjects. He had given me Lillet’s manuscript to read because it related to the history of the site. Molier’s was the only copy of the scroll in existence, and it had been passed down to him through the ages via his ancestors—along with his melatonin disorder. Either Molier was a very cunning liar, or he did not have my tent bugged and Albray was mistaken in his belief that this was the same man who had taken his life. Maybe, in the afterlife, Albray had lost touch with earthly matters?

Well, that was pleasant, Albray commented cynically as I entered my tent.

Yes, it was, I concurred. Sorry if all our industry talk bored you.

Molier was quite the historian and had told numerous stories about many of the sites I’d only dreamed of visiting, both actual and mythological.

Albray was clearly unnerved by how smoothly the evening had progressed. I had to admit that from where I stood there was little actual evidence to support his claims about Molier.

And what did your etheric sight tell you about the man? he queried. Did you not plainly see how dark his light centres are?

I could hardly sit there and go into a trance, I argued, trying to avoid admitting that the thought had not occurred to me. I think he might have been a bit suspicious.

Albray did not take the news well. There is no point in having psychic ability if you don’t use it!

Well, getting mad at me is hardly going to aid your cause. I moved to my desk and switched on the light.

My cause! He was now infuriated. It’s not my life at stake here.

I turned to confront him, aware of the intense anger I projected. I never felt under any threat before I met you, I pointed out, and the look on his face told me that I had cut too deep. Even I realised then that I was sounding like Lillet.

Albray’s jaw was clenched and, for a moment, he could not look at me. Do you want to know what I liked so much about Miss Granville? He finally raised his dark eyes to mine. She was always prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt. She was a good friend.

My heart sank. I am your friend. I just need—

He held up a finger to warn me against continuing. Our business this evening seems concluded…so if I may be dismissed? He motioned to the bag in which the stone was hidden.

I obliged and as he vanished my heart was suddenly mournful that there would be no blissful dreams of love- making this night. ‘All the more reason to keep reading, I guess.’ FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

I have been separated from my journal for some time and have not had the opportunity to chronicle the events that occurred after reaching Marseilles with my husband. I shall do so now, and cast my mind back to the frightful time of my abduction.

I recall arriving in the lovely seaport of Marseilles quite late in the day. Lord Devere and I found a rather exclusive and lavish hotel in which to take up residency whilst awaiting word from Mr Devere and our dear sister.

Unbeknownst to me, my lord had arranged a surprise for the following day, and over breakfast in the dining room he announced as much.

I asked him what I’d done to deserve a surprise and he replied, ‘You married me.’

It was moments like this which made it plainly obvious to me what a sound life decision that had been.

After breakfast we strolled down to the huge seaside marina where locals and guests alike were taking their leisure on the water in all manner and size of craft. The sun was shining, the breeze had a warm edge and there was hardly a cloud in the sky.

‘Lovely weather for boating, I presume.’ I had never had the opportunity to try leisure cruising before.

‘You think?’ My lord’s tone of voice was rather neutral, and my heart sank. Obviously, my surprise lay elsewhere. But when I was led to a wharf where several small, but grand, sailboats were moored, I realised my husband had been teasing me.

‘You are going to take me sailing!’ I squeezed his arm tightly.

‘Would that be pleasing to my countess?’ He smiled broadly.

‘I could think of nothing that would please me more,’ I said, although I did have one worry. ‘I didn’t know you