Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Thirty-Three

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DUMBLEDORE'S PLAN
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"A DEATH MASK?" Tom repeated dryly.

"They're common in a few cultures," Marina murmured, staring at it as if hypnotised. The thing seemed to be emitting a strange coldness and she could have sworn that the light of Tom's wand was dimmer in its presence. "But that is a very specific type. That's one of the golden death masks of Mycenae."

"You recognise it?" he asked, sounding fairly surprised.

"They're famous," Marina said a bit breathlessly, shivering despite the phoenix flint still in her hand. "There's a bunch of them, like six or seven from the same grave circle. There was all this drama about one of them apparently being the mask of Agamemnon – you know, the dude from Homer's Iliad – but a lot of archaeologists reckon it was actually a pastiche and that Heinrich Schliemann totally made it up for clout. God don't get me started on that guy... did you know he took credit for a bunch of finds up where he supposedly found the site of Troy, when actually his wife found them –"

"Marina," Tom interrupted pointedly.

"Sorry – what I mean is, there's some really recognisable traits here. The strokes of hair, the way the eyes are cut, and the shape of the nose... I'm pretty confident it's one of them."

"They're from a specific place?" he asked, watching the mask with utter concentration.

"Yeah, Mycenae. It's a really famous site."

"What time period?" Tom said at once.

"Uh," Marina grimaced with an attempt at playfulness despite the menacing chill radiating from the golden face before them. "It's been a while since I took that paper. Probably more than three thousand years ago, though. Reckon that's too old?"

"I don't think so," he said quietly. "They would have been a mark of status, would they not?"

"Yeah, most likely," Marina frowned, "Solid gold grave goods and all. Only a few people were ever found with one."

"Perhaps Herpo wished to pay some sort of homage to the originals," Tom said curiously, still looking intently at the mask.

"Huh. Good point," said Marina. The mask was indeed difficult to look away from, its closed golden eyes seemed to hold her own with a magnetism that made her feel uncomfortable and trembly, like she'd drunk too much coffee. She breathed deeply, trying to shake the effect. "It's hardly subtle, isn't it? Becoming immortal by encasing part of his soul in a symbol of death and leaving it inside another symbol of death?"

"Something tells me that subtlety will not be one of Herpo's most prevalent characteristics," Tom muttered, and to Marina's horror he reached down towards the mask with his bare fingers. Her stomach twisted, instinctively feeling that touching it would be a very bad idea, and very much not liking the captivated, hungry look in Tom's eyes.

"Tom!" she said with alarm, crouching quickly to grab his wrist and pulling it back.

Tom hissed in anger as if she had struck him, his fingers closing like a vice around her forearm to jerk her closer and his wand was at her throat in an instant, fury all over his face. Marina's breath caught in fear as she felt his wand press against her skin under her jaw threateningly. His eyes had gone flat, the cold light from his wand glinting in them as she stared back, frozen in place.

A tense second passed before the rage on Tom's face faded and he blinked once, a crease appearing between his brows. He dropped her forearm quickly, lowering his wand and looking away. "My apologies," he said quietly, returning his gaze to the golden face beneath them with a great deal more apprehension in his expression. "I – the mask, it –" he swallowed hard, frown deepening.