“Yes, please tell us whatever you’ve got,” I pressed and then prepared myself. I sensed Rico was holding back, and I wanted him to tell us everything.
“The symbol is very, very old,” he told us. “It is like the Ladder of Divine Ascent, but it is turned upside-down. The monks on the ladder are looking back to the earth, not to heaven. The demons are not trying to prod them off from the ladder. These people are not seeking God.”
“They’re Satanists?” When I’d arrived in Greece, I’d been prepared to pursue the sex trafficking avenue. I’d gone from that to thinking the Saviours were a religious cult. But this could be worse. Far worse.
“We’re unsure,” Rico said. “Even if they are, not all Satanists share the same beliefs. People are often surprised to learn that some groups of Satanists believe in neither Satan nor God nor any spiritual being. And not all Satanists think that human sacrifices or harming people is a good idea. And I haven’t known any large satanic organisation being so under the radar as this one. If you want new members, you need to be at least a little open. How such an order as this survived from the twelfth century, Petrina and I cannot fathom. It doesn’t make sense.”
“How do you know they have survived all that time?” Gray asked. “Couldn’t the group of today have just made their own symbol?”
“We discovered drawings of it in books,” replied Rico. “From different centuries. And different countries. This symbol—and the group belonging to it—has somehow been with us all that time, in the background. Like a shadow.”
“I hired a private investigator,” I told Rico and Petrina, almost whispering. “Her name was Rosemary. She found out a name. Yeqon’s Saviours. That’s all I know.”
“Yeqon’s Saviours, yes,” Rico confirmed. “After the fallen angel. That’s what they call themselves. So you and your daughter were the reason Rosemary contacted me. She didn’t tell me why.” Deep lines etched themselves across his sun-browned forehead. “You said the investigator’s name was Rosemary? You don’t mean to say she has died?”
“Yes. Murdered in her hotel room,” I told him.
Petrina gasped. “No.”
A shudder ran along my spine. “I was the one who found her. They haven’t found the person who did it yet.”
Petrina and Rico locked gazes for a moment. I couldn’t tell what they were silently communicating between themselves, but I could see the worry clearly etched on their faces.
“I’m so sorry,” said Petrina at last.
“As am I. But we will continue.” Rico rose from his seat and walked across to a bookcase that was well furnished with aged, thick books. He selected a book and brought it to the coffee table. The cover and paper seemed ancient and fragile.
He carefully turned the yellowed pages until he found a page that contained the exact same symbol that appeared on Gray’s photocopied image. The text on the page opposite was in Greek.
“You see, here it is.” He kept turning pages, stopping on a page that contained an illustration of people drowning in water, all wearing robes. And then another page, which showed dead, thin people strung up on a wall, multiple knives and implements piercing their bodies.
A tremor passed through my chest, making my heart jolt. “What is all this?”
“Nothing good.” Rico sighed deeply. “Whoever they are, they seem to deal in death. I’d repeat what we said earlier, about staying well away, but it seems you already know this. Especially after what happened to your investigator, Rosemary.”
I nodded sombrely, barely able to breathe.
He closed the book, returning it to rest on the table. “I’m sure you don’t want to see more of these images. If you keep looking for your loved ones, you could both end up like Rosemary. Or like Jennifer’s parents. That is your reality.”
“I can’t turn back,” I told him. “She’s my daughter. I can’t.”
I turned to Gray, expecting him to back me up, but his eyes were set firmly on a large piece of paper that had fallen from between the pages of the book to the floor. I’d thought it must be a loose page, but when Gray reached for it, I saw that there was a drawing on the other side.
“Could I have that, please?” said Rico sharply.
The drawing was of an island—houses on the hills in the background, fishing boats in the foreground. It was easy to tell that whoever had drawn this had painted the artwork on the walls.