Morgan sat on the steps of the synagogue, watching as a team from the local community swept up the broken glass and picked up the piles of rubbish. The Eröszak party was in disarray and the relic returned to the Basilica, so a tentative calm had descended on the city. A woman sang softly as she worked, a melody that Morgan recognized as a tune her father used to hum. It was a song of hope and resurrection that Jews had sung as they recovered from disaster in their long history. There was great pride in the woman’s cleaning, an attitude of prayer in her work, as if God saw her service.

Zoltan came out from the doors behind her, his body stiff and arm in a sling.

“Many Hungarian Jews have fled the country, but these people won’t leave,” he said. “This is their home and mine, despite its dangers. And I will stay to help them, because it’s not over, Morgan. It will never be over while the mob is only one degree away from violence.”

Morgan knew that his words were true, for she had seen it for herself in the eyes of the people at Memento Park as well as all over the world on her travels.

“You know where I stand, Zoltan,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Your people are my people and that is my truth, regardless of what others might say. I wasn’t born Jewish, but a part of my heart lies in Jerusalem, and now a part lies here.”

Zoltan looked at her, and she saw past the scars to the man within. One day he would die in defense of justice. She knew that, and he probably did too, but his loyalty was to the downtrodden, to those who could not defend themselves. Morgan felt a spark of recognition, as she knew that there was a part of her that felt the same, but the ARKANE team was fast becoming her family, and she needed to get back to join them.

She stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans. Zoltan held out his hand to shake hers.

“You always have a place here, Morgan. And if you ever need me, I’ll come.”

She ignored his hand, leaning forward to kiss his scarred cheek. His fingertips briefly touched her back, and as she hugged him, she felt his stiffness relent and he embraced her in return. At last, she pulled away, smiling.

“I’ll see you again, Zoltan. I’m sure of it.”

Morgan walked out of the Dohany Street synagogue and into the waiting taxi, heading back to the airport and ARKANE.

As the car sped along, Morgan sat quietly for a moment, staring out at the same streets that she had passed so early this morning. Could it really have only been one day? It seemed that so much had happened.

She sighed, finally turning her ARKANE cellphone back on, ready to return to her real world. There were several text messages from Martin Klein, the genius head archivist. The first text contained her updated flight information, but the second made her heart race. There’s a strange package waiting for you. The writing is faded and the sender is noted as Leon Sierra. But how could that be, she wondered. It was her father’s name and he had died several years ago, blown apart by a suicide bomber in Beersheba. Morgan was suddenly keen to get back and find out what was in the impossible package.

***

Thanks for reading!

There are 3 more books in the ARKANE series, so you can join Morgan Sierra on more adventures in Pentecost, Prophecy and Exodus.

The books are available in ebook format at Amazon stores and Kobo, as well as in print and audio through Amazon.

I also have a darker crime novel, Desecration, that opens with a murder in a medical specimen museum. Plus a short story series inspired by Dante’s Inferno, A Thousand Fiendish Angels.

You can find more info and sign up to be notified of new books at: JFPenn.com

or I’m on twitter @thecreativepenn

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