“We have discerned something of interest from Liber Os,” Nicole says.
“Liber Os is a real book?” Lilja interjects.
Skot smiles somewhat apologetically. “Yes, and we have it in our collection.”
Lilja just looks at him, the unspoken dialogue of her striking eyes seeming to both implore and demand.
“I presume you have heard of the Book of Soyga, then?” Nicole asks, somewhat diffusing the situation.
Lilja nods, a pondering moment passing quickly for the usually taciturn Finn. “The book once possessed by John Dee that talks of various aspects of the occult. It was thought lost but then found in the late Twentieth Century in the Bodleian Library.”
“Yes. The manuscript has been thoroughly examined and is accepted,” Skot intones.
“And you’re saying the Felcrafts possess a book cited in Soyga as one of its sources?”
Skot again finds his lips tracing into that subtly sheepish smile. Nicole watches the interplay of the two, noting not only the charm but also how differently her powerful brother reacts to the woman he loves. She again interjects.
“We do,” she flatly states. “As you may know, the Book of Soyga was found to also possess many of Dee’s usual tricks at cryptography. It also contains tables that appear to be a code of some sort. This was also not unusual for him or occult scholars of the time.
“After a great deal of examination, a cipher was developed, but it seemed … inadequate.”
Lilja replies through a slow nod, “Yes, errors were found that were assumed to have been copied from the source.” She looks between the siblings, hopeful of some verification.
“We have been able to piece together the correct cipher.”
Lilja blinks, eyes on Nicole. She then looks at Skot.
“You’ve had it all this time?”
“Oh, no,” Skot quickly replies, “Though Liber Os is a tremendously rare book, we were not terribly compelled to study it much more than we already knew. Recent developments, of course, changed that.”
“You figured out the cipher in a few days!”
Skot’s own blue eyes look to his sister, as though desirous of aid. Lilja follows the gaze to see Nicole give a single nod.
“Dee supposedly spoke to angels about his information,” Lilja mentions, “which I doubted before … all of this happened. Is there any truth to his having had interaction with supernatural entities?”
“We don’t know, but he may well have been sensitive to it.”
“Or mayhap Kelley was,” Nicole offers.
“Or both?” Lilja tries. “Were they Hunters?”
“Again, not that we know,” Skot says. “Back then, we presume that people who showed the sort of insight and abilities possessed by those with the correct genes were thought of as wizards.”
“Or witches.”
Lilja looks to see Nicole staring with steely eyes.
“We sometimes wonder how many potential Hunters were burned at the stake, though countless innocents were set to that self-righteous and despicable fire.” Once uttered, Nicole returns to her usual appearance of uncanny calm, as though having spit out a poison. “Of course, not all places treated witches the same, as you well know from your own homeland.”
The Finn quickly nods, and though many more questions crowd the forefront of her mind, she waits.
“Yes, we are digressing,” Nicole says, offering a brief, subtle grin. “It would seem the location of the school is indeed mentioned in Liber Os. There are several maps in the book, of course, but the cipher has allowed us to determine what we need.
“Scholomance is in one of its likely places – near Sibiu in Transylvania.”
“How can that be?” Lilja asks. “Sibiu is a tourist center.”
“We’re looking into it. We did not give Scholomance nearly the attention it deserved before.”
“And we’re still not sure it deserves that attention,” Skot advocates.
Nicole gives a single nod before continuing. “We shall find out more soon, and then we will know how to proceed.”
*****
Therese has dressed herself as conservatively and non-threatening looking as possible. She knows she has not done too well in the past with her offline detective work, and she hopes to raise the bar with this effort.
What is this effort?
She still wrestles with herself. Why is she so adamant about proving whether or not Lilja is the vigilante? She’s obsessed with it, and she usually finds herself too apathetic to be that concerned with anything. She begins to feel the realization that her obsession centers about the woman herself.
She’s removed or replaced much of her jewelry, taking out her brow and nose piercings, replacing the more ostentatious adornments in her ears with things less weighty. She has also brushed her hair back, giving full view of her lightly made-up face, and dressed in a long sleeve shirt and plain trousers, no jeans, no leather. The colors are solid but not black. She feels awkward.
The woman answers the door, and even though Therese has spoken with her a bit via e-mail and text, she senses hesitancy. She wonders if the door is about to be closed in her face. She puts on a smile and begins.
“Amanda Honeycutt? I’m Yan Stendahl,” she introduces, having decided to complete her quasi-disguise by using her real first name. The irony is not lost on her.
“Of course.” Amanda finally replies after giving the slight woman a brief once-over. Therese notices that Amanda puts on her own smile, opening the door further, acting as if everything is fine.
Therese had found the former assistant through her usual methods. She had wanted to speak to people who worked directly with Lilja, and she had found that to be a short list. She also figured speaking to an ex-employee might yield more results than talking to the young man currently holding that position.
She follows into Amanda’s modest flat, noticing that everything seems in its place. The woman is rather plain overall, not really standing out in any obvious way. Therese meets her two cats, one of which seems less than inclined to greet guests. She also notices quite a bit of feline paraphernalia acting as décor throughout the apartment.
“Would you like coffee or tea?”
Therese resists her instinctive urge to decline, wanting to seem as normal and receptive as possible.
“Coffee, please,” she replies, another of those practiced smiles on her lips.
She takes a seat, and one of the cats immediately begins rubbing against her legs. Therese absently scratches it atop the head.
“Olive! Get!”
The cat gives a pleasant-enough sounding meow, trotting off as Amanda arrives unto the room, setting down a small, plastic tray holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Therese is reminded of her own mismatched cups, though these are without stains.
“Thanks,” she offers, taking up the drink, which she notices is colored from cream or milk. A quick tastes slightly shocks her, but she suppresses her reaction.
“I hope you like it sweet,” the hostess says.
Therese nods, quickly swallowing.
“So, you’re doing this for a research project, or is it a thesis?”
Therese nods again, trying to remain as nebulous as possible in her ‘cover’. “Rare books fascinate me.”
“Are you wanting to become a librarian?” Amanda asks, her brow furrowing as a smirk takes her lips. “No money in that unless you get the important position.”
Therese notes the rolling of the eyes.
“No, I’m not. I’m interested in the whole concept. Why’re they highly valued? Is it just because they are rare, or is it the knowledge inside them? How is that knowledge hidden? That sort of thing.”
Therese notices that Amanda has narrowed her eyes. She wonders if the woman is naturally suspicious.
“It’s not really hidden. Why did you come to talk to me, anyway?”
“Well, I was hoping to get further insight,” Therese tries. “I’m not just writing a paper but also tr
ying to impress my professor, you know? I figured talking to you would show more initiative.”
“Hmph.” Amanda throws out another smirk. “I sure do know my stuff. I was on track to take over the collection before … well, you know.”
Therese doesn’t, but she hopes to find out.
“You worked for …?” Therese plays at searching her notes and memory, swiping through information on her tablet.
“Lilja Perhonen.”
“Right.” Therese nods, and she notes the way Amanda pronounces the surname, giving the ‘o’ a long sound instead of the less inflected way she has heard Lilja say it.
“Have you talked to her?”
The challenge is palpable. Therese had guessed there might be some bad blood, and she would have to admit to herself that she hopes to capitalize on it. “Nooo?” Therese blinks, her eyebrows lightly perked.
“Hmph.”
An awkward silence descends. Therese senses the possibility escaping, so she plunges on. “You had a lot of interaction with the rare books?”
“Oh, yes, I had full access.”
“Were any of them written in code or a strange language?”
“No.” Amanda again wrinkles her brow. “Why would they be?”
Therese gives another smile, hoping this is working.
“I’m still in the early stages of my research, so I’m just pursuing all sorts of possibilities. I expect many of them to not pan out. I’ve noticed, though, that sometimes the knowledge in these books is considered privileged or maybe even controversial, so some of it is hidden behind codes or secret languages.”
“I don’t remember anything like that in our books.”
“So, they were just valuable because they were rare?”
“Why else would they be?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Exactly why we consider valuable books valuable.”
“Because they’re old and rare.” Amanda shrugs.
“So, it has nothing to do with their contents?”
“Well, I guess it could, but it’s not like they went to great lengths to hide it. The most valuable book in the collection was written in Latin.”
“Did you read it?”
“Well, no,” Amanda admits with a moment’s hesitation, “but I had access to it. It’s the only one in existence, no other copies, very valuable.”
“And it’s entirely written in Latin?”
“Yes,” Amanda quips, coating herself in a slight sense of affront at being so questioned. Therese makes ready to diffuse the situation with a different tact, but Amanda carries on. “Some man used to come in all the time to do research on it. Rich, too. His family has one of the world’s most valued private collection of rare books.”
“Oh?”
Amanda nods, seeming proud of herself to know this. “The Felcraft family.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They aren’t celebrities,” Amanda informs the obvious, giving a slight roll of her eyes. “That book is why I lost my job. The university won’t admit that, but I know it is.”
Therese just looks at her. She isn’t sure what to say, thinking this line of information is not really getting her anywhere.
“One of the faculty came to look at it. A very handsome professor. I mean, he could have been a male model, he was so good looking.”
Therese continues with her open regarding of the woman, still not sure what else to say.
“I showed it to him, but he kept coming around for other reasons.”
Therese slowly nods.
“We had a fling,” Amanda adds, throwing this out with a casual flair. “He was also into books. He knew his stuff. I don’t think that book impressed him, really.”
“He was … into rare books?” Therese tries to rejoin the conversation.
Amanda nods, giving the motion a somewhat conspiratorial edge. “He might still be at the university. I don’t think they fired him like they did me. Hmph. Discrimination, right?”
“Right.”
“Look him up. He can probably help you a lot better than I can.”
“What’s his name?”
“Denman Malkuth.”
Therese adds the name to her notes.
“If you see him, tell him I sent you.”
Chapter Four
“So, you think John Dee knew about the Books?”
Skot looks at Lilja, her striking blue eyes like an eager thirst. Her curiosity shows the temperance of skepticism, but that does not hinder the intensity.
“Nicole has been doing more research, and we’re finding evidence to suggest this.”
“How is this possible?” she asks after a moment of silence. “Your family has massive resources available to it, and you’ve been looking for these books for many years?”
He nods, the motion a subtle expression, slowly inhaling.
“Yes, but, frankly, we were somewhat dismissive of Dee before, or even with our resources, we didn’t prioritize it. We’re also at the moment of discovery, and it’s an exciting thing. It seems unreal, and it’s a good idea for us to maintain levelheadedness, but the pieces are suddenly fitting into place.”
“So, that’s it? You finally know where to look, and the answers have been there all along?”
“No. We’re still following trails. We don’t have answers, yet. Even if we found a listing of Dee’s that mentioned the titles specifically, we’d still not feel like they were answers until we found the actual books. Besides, from what we can gather, Dee suggests all three are at Scholomance, and we know that isn’t true.”
“And this is all based on interpreting the code.”
“Yes, so it could be wrong, but from what we’ve found … and because of what’s happened, we need to give it the necessary attention.”
Lilja doesn’t speak. She knows what he is referring to. She can see it in him - that worry. She doesn’t want him to worry about her, and even as much as he knows that, such a thing is difficult to suppress.
“Do you think this is all a trap?” she finally asks.
“No,” he says. “If the Infernal had left this on purpose, then they could trace the same information. They’d go after the Book.”
“Or they’re luring us to where it once was.”
He sighs, finally giving forth a slow nod. “That is possible.”
“I’m going,” she states after seeing a certain look in his eyes.
“It might be better if you didn’t.”
He can feel her powerful will as she looks back at him. Their interaction is not contentious, and he is possessed of a great willpower of his own. There is debate here, a mountain of possibilities being expressed with no words.
“This is not about me.”
“Lilja, that attack was clearly directed at you. The Infernal are aware of you and that you guard one of the books.”
“So? A guardian’s job is to face attacks.”
“Not to run off to Romania. Who guards the book while you’re away?”
He can see it. It’s slight, for she is not one to largely convey emotion, but they have been together long enough now, that he knows. In her own way, she becomes perturbed.
“I have left before on assignments. You know that. I would be of value.”
“I know,” he says, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug, “but I’m still … concerned about what happened.”
“The Infernal are aware of you. Does that stop you?”
He waits longer than he should to supply an answer of which they are both aware. “No, it doesn’t.”
“We have measures in place for when I’m absent, so you know it shouldn’t matter if I’m gone for a short time.”
He wishes she’d say that she wants to go because he is also going, but somewhere inside, he knows that won’t happen.
“Why did you go back to Finland?” He shifts, mentioning the trip she took not too many months past.
“I told you about it,” she clips, immediately becoming d
efensive.
“You said you went to face your own personal demons.”
She does not reply, merely meeting his gaze.
“You faced them, but did you dispel them?”
The moment stretches. He knows her self-control. He cannot recall a time when she truly gave over to anger, even when she has had ample reason. He worries now that he is pushing her in just that way, but he feels a more compelling sense of concern. She does not answer, and he wonders if she will leave the conversation. In her own way, she does.
“I want to go. I know it’s ultimately your call, and I won’t undermine your decision, but I want to go.”
He already knows his answer, and he hopes it will prove the correct one.
*****
The staff here is generally permissive, but even they have their standards. Those seem more relaxation during the less used times, and so the disheveled person is not turned away. It helps that he has money, however small an amount that may be. Bone-thin fingers move over the keyboard, the tips dark with faded and chipped black polish but also showing small bruises and grime. He sits tucked in close, hoodie up and shadowing most of his face. He emits a low burp that catches a short bit of the attendant’s attention.
It is less than a quarter hour past three in the morning, and they are the only two in this twenty-four-hour cybercafé.
He accesses e-mail, and a new message comes up, encrypted. He stares at the code, willing memory to work and allow him to decipher it. His forehead bears a pale sheen, labored breath accentuating his concentration. That brow furrows, and his throat works with a dry swallow, teeth then partially shown in a light grimace. Another belch escapes.
The attendant stays focused on reading a graphic novel. He doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with the patron, but he’s seen him before. As unpleasant as he is, he’s never caused any trouble in his recent regularity, and he is usually out quickly. As though this thought serves as cue, the disheveled young man pushes back from the desk, the chair’s scraping legs reporting the motion. He glances once at the attendant then leaves.
His trek along the early morning streets goes generally unnoticed. He is a dirty dweller here in the City, and the others out and about know of his ilk. He spies some policeman across and down a block, talking to some others. He carries on, not wanting to garner any attention of his own by suddenly changing direction or appearing to hide. He’s no fool, though he is often taken as such. People tend to make generalized assumptions on a snapshot. He hasn’t been in this situation his whole life.
Soul of the Butterfly Page 7
