Sweet Magic by Connie Shelton

Author:Connie Shelton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

Chapter 26

The announcement came over the plane’s speakers, the standard stuff about stowing loose items, putting up tray tables, yada yada …

Marcus came out of a doze. Once again he’d been contemplating where the third of the carved wooden boxes could be. Wrapped in its purple sheath, inside a leather shoulder bag, the box he’d gotten from Maury rested against his foot beneath the seat in front of him. He knew with virtual certainty Samantha Sweet had one. But the third … having all three was key to possessing the ultimate in power.

Back in Shannon, he’d quizzed Maury at different times during the day, but it was evident his cousin knew nothing and wanted to know nothing. As a cardinal within the inner Vatican circle, he clearly felt uncomfortable at his role in taking this box from the archives. He’d mumbled some ancient Church doctrine about witches and dark magic—babble that seemed right out of the Middle Ages. Marcus gave up.

He’d already done a lot of research in advance, looking for the third box, the one they called Manichee. He’d come up with absolutely nothing beyond a rumor that the box had been examined by The Vongraf Foundation nearly fifty years ago. Supposedly, it had been in possession of a man called Terrance O’Shaughnessy in Galway, but no one could—or would—verify this. He’d made calls, followed online sources.

The box had apparently vanished when Mr. O’Shaughnessy died. Vanished from the possession of Samantha Sweet if the story was correct. That rankled. And made him all the more determined to get to Ms. Sweet and question her—to interrogate her within an inch of her life, if that’s what it took.

The plane’s wheels bumped the runway and the flight attendant welcomed them to New York’s JFK airport, where the local time was eleven p.m. In typical fashion, it took forever for two hundred people to gather their belongings and get off the plane. Again, he had pre-cleared customs, declaring the wooden box as a cheap tourist trinket worth twenty dollars.

He walked into the immigration hall confidently, presented his passport, and looked for the exit signs.

“Welcome to America, Mr. Fitch,” said the immigration officer. “I’ll need you to step this way with me, please.”

Marcus’s thoughts went to the box. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just step this way.” The man had left his booth and two others in plain suits had come up behind Marcus. They ushered him toward a blank door that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.

“What’s this about?” A hundred thoughts flew through his head.

“FBI, sir. We have a few questions,” said one of the suited men.

A hand took a no-nonsense grip on his upper arm and the second man relieved him of his bags.

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