Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) (11 page)

“
It will roll down the hill,” she said,
voice shaking with incredulity.

I didn’t remove my hand and turned to her,
hoping my expression told her how stupid I thought that was. “Park
it on the flat, dear.”

Amanda swore at me as she turned the car
back on and moved it until it was right outside of the church and
on the flattest ground.

I got out of the car, and though my heart
was racing with excitement at what I might find within, the
leather-bound book clutched tightly in one hand, I still made an
effort to check that this place was as abandoned as it looked. I
told Amanda to stay in the car while I walked around it, checking
this way and that for signs of life or even old footprints pressed
into the gravel and the years of dirt and detritus that had built
up over the church steps. When I was satisfied, I walked up to the
front of the church, running a hand over the old, weathered door
before I pushed it open. While there’d probably once been a lock on
the chain wound around the two large tarnished brass handles on
each of the two doors, it looked as though it had been stolen or
lost over the years.

It wasn't until I walked all the way into
the church and disappeared from sight that I heard Amanda's door
open and close.

I heard her hurried footsteps as she tried
to catch up to me, but I hardly paid any attention as she called
out for me to wait; the sight that met me once I walked through
those two great doors was enough to rivet my attention.

It was a shambles, all right, with all of
the pews pushed over, and so much broken, shattered wood scattered
everywhere. At the end of the church what looked like a once great
stained-glass window was broken, with a hint of colored shards
remaining around the corners of the window frame. The ceiling above
had great big stones missing, rays of sunlight streaking through
from outside. I still held my gun in one hand, the journal in the
other as I carefully picked my way over the rubble around the door.
Amanda caught up, pelting through the door, as if she was some lost
puppy far too keen to get back to its master. I had to admit, as a
smile grabbed my mouth, that that was a damn good way to describe
it.

“
You know,” Amanda pulled her jacket
tighter around herself, and even gave a shiver at the cold, dark,
damp church, “That smile on your lips, it makes you look halfway
between constipated and deliriously happy.”

She walked ahead, surprisingly quick on her
feet as she dodged between the broken pews and chunks of rock, her
heels tapping lightly as she went.

She bit her lip lightly as she surveyed the
church, her eyes wide with interest as they settled on the broken
stained-glass window at the far end. She picked her way towards
it.

“
You are going to break your neck if you
don't look where you're going,” I snapped at her, and as I did, I
lost my own footing and fell harshly to the ground, the book
slipping out of my grip and sliding across the floor.

Amanda didn’t bother to laugh, and turned
around, picked up the book, flicked through the pages, top teeth
still touching her bottom lip, and walked back to the stained-glass
window.

I picked myself up, dusted off my suit,
shrugged, cracked my neck, and followed her with a stony look on my
face. I reached her as she stood on what remained of the raised
platform where sermons would once have been given. She didn’t look
around, her eyes blinking as she read from the book, her finger
marking her place as she kept looking up at the stained-glass
window and back at the words before her.

I watched, irritated by how damn cute she
looked when she was biting her lip like that. I got over it,
cleared my throat, put my arm out and leaned against the wall by
her side, leaning into view. “I think you'll find that I have a bit
more experience of this stuff than you do.”

She glanced over at me, then ignored me and
looked back at the book, flicking a couple of pages forward and
back as she looked for something.

I cleared my throat again, leaning further
in front of her. “You can give me the book, Amanda.”

She looked up at me, blinked several
times, put her head to the side gently, and closed the book with a
snap. “You know,” she put a finger up to her mouth and tapped it
several times, “I think it might be over there.” She turned from
me, tucking the book under one arm, and jumping lightly off the
platform.

You could have driven a van through my
mouth considering how wide open it hung. “Amanda.” I jumped off the
platform to follow her, my move a hell of a lot less dainty and a
hell of a lot angrier.

“
I think there might be a gravestone
outside with an inscription on it that can help us,” Amanda made
her way to the front of the church, infuriatingly quick as she
navigated around the obstacles, her messy hair tipping over her
shoulders as she ran along.

She made it outside quicker than I could
follow, and I caught up to her as she was rounding the side of the
church, heading to the sparse, sad cemetery at the back.

“
Give me the fucking book, Amanda.” I was
stalking along beside her; this wasn’t how it was meant to go down.
She was meant to be huddled up in the car, crying her heart out.
She wasn’t meant to be rebounding, showing off her driving skills,
snatching the journal, and doing all the treasure hunting. And she
was sure as hell not meant to be doing all that while looking
suspiciously cute in that old-style outfit of hers.

“
There it is.” She pointed to one of the
gravestones right at the back of the graveyard. It was directly
under an old gnarled oak tree. Despite being spring, the oak hadn't
yet grown back many leaves, so it was left unprotected from the
wind and harsh cold of this hilltop. It was a somber creepy looking
sight. That didn’t stop Amanda from marching towards it, her heels
clattering softly against the cracked and over-grown path that ran
alongside the church and led to the graveyard beyond.

“
What does that gravestone have to do with
anything?” I strode up beside her, twisting in front of her path,
crossing my arms, gun still held in one hand.

“
Well, according to my great-uncle, the
inscription on the gravestone is a clue.” Amanda's nose crumpled up
and she offered an enthusiastic smile.

For fuck's sake, I felt like pointing out,
she wasn’t meant to be enthusiastic about treasure hunting here;
she was meant to be an emotional wreck, as she’d been last night.
This girl was rebounding far too quickly, and I didn’t like it one
bit.

I cleared my throat. “Do you think this is
some movie?” I said through a twisted smile. “Let me tell you, in
the real world, you do not find clues to hidden treasure written in
plain sight on a gravestone inscription. I don't know what crappy
‘50s adventure flicks you've seen, but the only shit you find in a
graveyard are dead folks.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, drawing her
lips together. “You know, Sebastian, you are remarkably rude. Is
this how you are meant to treat your clients?”

I snorted harshly. “You are not a client;
you are a liability. Give me that book so we can get this over and
done with before every army in the world comes screaming down our
throats.”

She took the book, held it before her, and
before I could reach for it, she tucked it behind her back.

I had no problem in wrestling her for it,
but before I could start, she darted around me and headed for the
small gap between the broken wall that ran all the way round the
graveyard.

“
You know, the funny thing is, I think I
remember my great-uncle talking about this place,” she began saying
in a normal tone as if what had transpired hadn’t occurred, “And,”
she said with that same enthusiastic grin spreading across her
face, “I think he even took me here once.”

I shook my head, followed after her, and
offered a long, slow, clearly sarcastic clap, clap, clap. “That's
great, I'm so glad you had such an interesting childhood, and thank
you so much for sharing. Now give me the fucking book,
Amanda.”

She kept ignoring me until she picked her
way through the graveyard and right to a gravestone at the back.
Then she leaned down, journal still tucked under one arm, and
leaned in to read the inscription on the crumbling old stone.

If it wasn't the attractive shape the skirt
gave her butt at that point I would have tackled her and stolen my
book back. Instead I walked up to her, ignoring the sound of the
wind as it picked up, gathering speed as it moaned and whistled
through the few trees on this exposed hilltop.

Amanda Stanton

Dear god this guy was annoying, he really
fricking was.

For some reason, despite the frantic last
several hours
I’d had
with him, I was starting to get a handle on this. I was still
frightened and overcome by the reality of it all, but at least I
wasn't a sobbing mess in the back of his car.

Blame it on all of those stories my
great-uncle had once told me, the ones about adventure and
treasure, the ones the rest of the family had told me were nothing
but lies. Despite the crazy awfulness happening to me, I was
starting to realize that those stories had likely been true. Dammit
if there wasn't something romantic about that, something to
distract me from the fact I was being hunted by god knows who with
god knows how many guns.

The possibility of realizing how true my
great-uncle's tales had been was pretty much the only thing
stopping me from truly freaking out. If I threw myself headfirst
into this adventure, and I didn't give myself time to appreciate
how much trouble I was in, then I could hold myself
together.

My great-uncle had been able to do it all
those years back. Why couldn't I do it? Hell, Sebastian, who was
turning out to be an annoying lecherous idiot, could obviously do
it too. If he could do it, god dammit if I wasn't going to do it
better.

With a sniff I reached out my hand and
gently ran my fingers across the inscription carved into the plain
gravestone. I didn’t know what I was looking for. There’d been a
passage in my great-uncle's journal that had suggested that 'the
stone which lay under the sky god's tree holds the key.' I knew
from my studies that oak trees were the tree most often struck by
lightning, and therefore had been associated in ancient times with
gods of the sky. I assumed this gravestone was the stone the
passage referred to, being, as it was, under an oak
tree.

“
Hey, do you possibly want to give me the
journal, so we can, I don't know, get this over with before
Maratova and his men find us?” Sebastian looked up at the sky,
possibly checking that helicopters or nasty soldiers weren’t
jumping down from the clouds above.

While I had no doubt Sebastian was right,
and that Maratova and more were after us, for some reason I didn’t
feel as if we were about to be disturbed any time soon. Plus,
although I didn’t know how these things went down, I assumed
getting my hands on the next Stargazer Globe would at least give us
some leverage. Plus, it was something to keep busy with, and I
needed to keep busy.

Sebastian leaned down, setting his gun into
the back of his pants and grabbing my elbow. He yanked the book out
from underneath it, despite my protestations.

“
You jerk,” I complained as I fell against
the gravestone.

He grinned, picked up his gun, and started
to leaf through the book. I resisted the urge to lash out and kick
him in the shins. I stood up, dusted off my skirt, and swore at
him. “You keep on going on about how quick we need to be, but you
don't appreciate that not only am I the great-niece of the guy that
wrote that book, but I've read it, as well as most of his other
notes.” I crossed my arms tightly in front of my chest.

It was Sebastian’s turn to ignore me, and he
did a sterling job, one eyebrow raised as he flicked through the
journal.

“
You know, you are an insufferable jerk,” I
continued with another sniff.

“
I didn't see you complaining about me when
I saved you from the guy outside the library,” he said without
looking up as he gently turned the pages of the journal.

I snorted. “I didn't see you complaining
when I saved you from that guy outside the library, or have you
forgotten it was me who pulled up in front of him, opened the door,
and got you out of there before he could shoot you to
pieces?”

He smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile, and
it wasn't a smile that suggested he was giving in to me. He did,
however, look up. “I imagine what we'll be looking for is in the
dead center of the church,” he gave a yawn as he closed the journal
with a snap. “I think you will find all that junk about clues is to
confuse us. I'll bet you that the only place structurally secure
enough is the center of the church.”

Jesus Christ, he had such a sanctimonious
look on his face. Seriously, not even his mother could like this
guy. There was something so exquisitely arrogant about him,
something so.... Well, let's put it this way: all I wanted to do
was slap him.

Without saying where he was going, or
suggesting I follow, he turned and walked back to the front of the
church. He could get stuffed if he thought I was going to follow
him. He might have thought he was the world's greatest treasure
hunter, but that didn’t mean that he knew my great-uncle. Arthur
Stanton had loved clues, he had loved games too. Every Saturday
when I’d gone to visit him as a child, he would always hide things
around the house for me and would leave me clues written on scraps
of paper hidden beside the fridge or behind the couch. Sebastian
could think what he wanted, but honest to god it was wrong and
fueled more by his testosterone than his reason.