Will Wilder #3

by Raymond Arroyo

  Bartimaeus and Will stood at the doorway, wary of entering given what they just heard.

  Aunt Lucille invited them in and quickly brought them up to speed. Ugo interrupted. “Hey, shouldn’t you be in school, young man?”

  “It’s a teacher planning day. I have football practice this afternoon, but no classes,” Will said.

  “Good thing. We don’t need to be contributing to your delinquency any more than we already are.” Ugo guffawed to himself, then noting Will’s black curls added: “Maybe you can use the extra time to visit a barber.”

  Brushing him off, Aunt Lucille returned to the business at hand. “Go on, Tobias. I think we were at the ‘can-opening technique.’ ” She shot a bothered look at Ugo. “Whatever that means.”

  “The coffins were both opened in a very, very peculiar way,” Tobias continued, narrowing his eyes. “They were slashed. Ripped open by a big, big blade of some kind.”

  “Given the weathering around the casket cuts and dirt intrusion, the most recent grave has been open for a few days, I’d say. The other, several weeks.” Ugo pinched at his bulbous nose. “No bodies at all. Someone—or more likely something—snatched the bodies. Now what would they do that for?”

  The abbot folded his arms and checked the faces of those surrounding him. “Bartimaeus. Go on. You appear to have a thought.”

  “So, it does sound familiar.” Bartimaeus tugged at the lapels of his tweed jacket and stepped forward. “Jacob sometimes talked about a demon that used the dead as vessels. This thing would collect dead folks and use ’em like puppets. The demon pulled all the strings, ya see. I don’t recall the details, though.”

  “Would my great-grandfather’s diaries tell us anything, Mr. Bart?” Will asked.

  “Not the ones we have. I know all the diaries here backwards and forwards.” Which made sense since Bartimaeus was the de facto librarian of Peniel and had worked with Jacob Wilder as a young man. “Jacob wrangled with this demon early on, during the war.” He turned to his side. “When he was courting your mama, Sarah Lucille.”

  Aunt Lucille nodded with concern.

  “Yeah, he mentioned it a few times. There were imps running around then too…What was that thing’s name? It was a marquis, as I recall.” Seeing that Will was confused, Bartimaeus clarified: “One of the top demons. A Marquis of Hell is a bad dude. Your great-grandfather discovered a way to immobilize this particular demon.” He scratched at the back of his gray head. “But darned if I can remember how he did it. The diaries with all a dat are probably still at Monte Cassino in Italy. That’s where he was based during World War II.”

  “I’m still seeing imps around town,” Will blurted out. “Saw them at practice yesterday.”

  Aunt Lucille swallowed hard and locked her blue eyes on him. “Where? Tell us everything.”

  Will did—mostly. He told them about Renny getting beaten by the “monster,” the punctured wall of the band room, and the imps. He didn’t mention the lion creature, or the fact that he ripped it apart thanks to the amulet of Samson’s locks.

  “Will, I think it’s time you looked at the Book of Prophecy,” Aunt Lucille said solemnly. “The grave robbing, the events at your school, the imps—there’s no doubt it’s diabolic activity. We need to figure out where this is headed and which demon is causing all of this.”

  Abbot Athanasius rose, hiding his hands beneath the scapular of his long black habit. “If you think it’s warranted, Lucille, consult the prophecy. Assuming it opens, we should all remember—especially you, William—that reading it will only hasten whatever is coming. Let’s not lose sight of the most important thing: strengthening your gifts so we can battle the Sinestri together. We all rely on you, William, and you can rely on us.”

  “I get it. But I’d feel better if I knew what we were dealing with. Then at least I’d know what to be on the lookout for.” Will lifted his backpack from the floor to leave.

  Aunt Lucille and Bartimaeus started to follow him out.

  The abbot barked suddenly, “William!” He dramatically pointed his index finger toward Will. “Don’t move.” No one did. The abbot flew over to Will and snatched the backpack by its straps. He held it high in the air, scrunching up his nose.

  “Lucille. Ugo. What do you see there? On the bottom of the bag?” the abbot asked.

  “Pepper, maybe some kind of soot.” Ugo licked his finger and went to touch the base of the bag.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Ugo dear,” Aunt Lucille said, clutching his wrist hard. “I’ve seen this before. It isn’t pepper. I believe it’s black powder.”

  “Black powder?” Will asked, perplexed.

  “Witches sometimes use things like this to commit Maleficia—vicious acts against people they hate or want to wound.”

  Ugo pulled a plastic bag and a small brush from his habit. “I’ll break down the powder and let you know what we have in a little bit.” He collected a sample and started to lumber toward the door and his laboratory.

  “This could explain the missing corpses, no?” Tobias asked, craning his neck for a glimpse of the powder.

  “How would powder explain missing bodies?” Will asked.

  “Witches have been known to use dead bodies to create their ointments and powders. Very, very dangerous, Mr. Wilder.” Tobias reached for the bag straps. “If you allow me, Abbot, I will purify the bag.” The abbot released it to him. Without another word, Tobias carried the backpack at arm’s length out of the office.

  “You haven’t had a playdate with a witch, have you, Willy boy?” Ugo chuckled as he sauntered out.

  Will grew defensive. “I don’t know where that came from,” he shouted to the absent Ugo.

  “Lucille, we’ll have to accelerate his Defensive Tactics training.” The abbot stroked his beard and stared at Will. “The Darkness may be targeting him. Let Baldwin know what we found on the bag. You are seeing the vicar this afternoon, correct, William?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Follow directions and focus on your training. It could be critical in the days ahead.” The abbot walked behind his desk and stared out the big cathedral window there.

  Will, Bartimaeus, and Aunt Lucille navigated stairs and corridors, walking through multiple buildings, to reach the public part of Peniel. Once in the expansive Bethel Hall, they pushed through the door marked PRIVATE and up the tight spiral staircase to Jacob Wilder’s private office. Aunt Lucille negotiated the ornate door with her special gold key. Once inside the rounded room, she went to the stone fireplace behind the heavy desk. She twisted the heads on the angels carved into the mantel and a panel slid away to reveal the olive-colored book they had come for.

  It was a great, aged volume with seven sculpted metal locks wrapped around the outer edge of the thing. All but one of the hinged claws nestled inside various leaves of the book. Only the “chosen one” could gain access to the prophecy within. On two occasions, Will’s touch caused the first couple of locks to snap back, revealing a timely prophecy. Will stared down at the cover of the book, decorated with copper curlicues surrounding a leather panel. On it, etched in gold calligraphy, was the prologue of the prophecy, which Will could practically recite by heart.

  The Prophecy of Abbot Anthony the Wise

  The Lord came to me upon the waters and said:

  Take thee a great book and write upon it as I instruct thee.

  My spirit trembled, for the visions He placed in my head frightened me.

  Still, I write in obedience:

  In those days, when the people have grown hard of heart

  and belief has dwindled;

  when wickedness has become commonplace; and the Brethren have broken their unity;

  then shall I raise up a young one to lead them.

  He shall be the firstborn of the root of Wilder.

  He shall have the sight o
f the angels

  and perceive darkness from light.

  Behold, when his time is ripe, he shall come riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey, and his blood shall spill.

  This shall be the sign that the battle is near

  and all must prepare.

  For in those days the beasts shall rise from the pit

  to test my people…

  Will held his breath and laid his hands on the volume, eager to discover who or what the next beast to “test” the people might be. The first lock with carved reptilian scales sprang back, then the second, which looked like the paw of a wolf. Finally, the metal rooster claw retracted and the book opened to a page Will had never seen before. He read swiftly as Aunt Lucille and Bartimaeus leaned over his shoulders for a view.

  The waters were greatly agitated and the Lord spoke:

  Woe to those seduced by the sounds and visions of the wicked.

  Their ears itch for the melodies of hell and their eyes delight in dark delusions.

  Shades rise up to greet them,

  And restrain them from the light.

  In their bewilderment, the third of SEVEN beasts shall arise.

  For behold, when my children are amused to distraction,

  and the Amulet of Power has been exposed,

  a Marquis of Impurity shall ascend.

  This commander of legions wears many masks

  and desires power it should never possess.

  Sowing seeds of madness and calamity,

  false desires and empty cravings,

  this clawed hellion severs even the closest of relations.

  It will bewitch innocent maidens and devour those they love.

  There is one particular maiden who must be protected;

  For she may in turn protect my chosen one.

  Hear these words, firstborn of the house of Wilder:

  Let not the desire for beauty conquer you;

  do not be ensnared by your eyes:

  captivated by the surface, but blind to the reality beneath.

  Your gifts exist not for yourself, but for others.

  Like a roaring lion, your adversary prowls everywhere looking to destroy you.

  My chosen must resist the beast, steadfast in purity.

  For only in weakness shall he find his strength

  and only in self-giving shall he vanquish ASMODEUS.

  “Wait awhile,” Bartimaeus said, his milky eyes wide. “That’s the name of the demon Jacob did battle with during the war. That’s the one he paralyzed.” He snapped his finger repeatedly. “How the heck did he do it?”

  “If you think one of my father’s diaries in Monte Cassino holds the answer, you should go there,” Aunt Lucille said, her eyes sparkling. “You and Will. Why not go today?”

  “I…I can’t go today,” Will sputtered. “I have my training and football practice. But maybe I could go with Mr. Bart on…Thursday.”

  Will was still trying to make sense of the confusing prophecy. Though some parts were less confusing than others.

  “Like a roaring lion, your adversary prowls everywhere looking to destroy you.” He sure tried, Will thought. Maybe I should tell Aunt Lucille about the lion. But then I’d have to fess up to using—

  “ ‘The Amulet of Power has been exposed.’ Now, what could that be referring to?” Lucille studied the prophecy on the desk. “There are all sorts of powerful relics here. Could be anything. And how would it have been exposed?”

  Will guiltily decided to keep the talisman he wore beneath his shirt to himself. “What about the end here,” he said, trying to change the subject, “where it reads ‘only in weakness shall he find his strength’?”

  “I can attest, you have weakness down to a science,” Baldwin intoned from the doorway, a silver spear in his hand. “I am sorry to intrude.” He entered slowly, surveying the desk with his beady eyes. Will slammed the Book of Prophecy shut. Baldwin, raising his strong chin, glanced at Lucille and Bartimaeus.

  “I guess you’re here to collect Will for his Defense Training, Vicar,” Bartimaeus said, blocking Baldwin’s view of the desk.

  “Good guess,” Baldwin murmured.

  Aunt Lucille came around the front of the mahogany desk. “Baldwin, you need to know that—”

  The vicar closed his eyes and raised two hands. “I’m already informed. I saw Tobias and the black-powdered book bag on my way over. We have much work ahead of us, William. This is troubling business.” He pointed the spear at Will. “Dangers surround you.” He turned. “I’ve prepared a new course for us today. Come.” And he started down the stairs.

  “Hide the prophecy—even though I can’t figure it out,” Will confided through gritted teeth to Aunt Lucille as he left. Then he doubled back. “Who do you think the innocent maiden who must be protected is?”

  “Your guess is better than mine, dear.” Aunt Lucille tucked the book back into its concealed nook above the fireplace. “Could be anyone at all. Who do you think it is?”

  Cami Meriwether walked her brother to his bus stop that morning, several blocks from their home. Due to his special needs, the bus service offered to pick him up at his door, but Max preferred to join the other kids at the area bus stop. He enjoyed making the trip up Main Street each day. With Cami off from school that day, she made the trip with him.

  While they passed familiar storefronts, something was decidedly unfamiliar about the people Max greeted each morning.

  Miss Rosie, the usually bubbly black lady that owned the Milk and Honey Bistro, completely ignored Max as he rolled in front of her shop. She was placing a sign near the curb, gently swaying to whatever her earphones were pumping out. “Good morning, Miss Rosie,” Max offered as he approached. Miss Rosie didn’t even look up when he sped right by her.

  Max stopped his wheelchair and spun it around.

  “What are you doing?” Cami asked as Max backtracked toward the bistro. “We’re going to miss your bus.”

  “That’s strange. Miss Rosie always tells me hello.” Max rolled right into the woman’s line of vision. She continued sashaying, stepped inside the glass front door, and slammed it behind her.

  Max turned his motorized chair around so he could see the establishments across the street. “Notice anything?” he asked Cami.

  “People getting ready for business and a kid who’s going to miss his bus.”

  Max continued up the street. Mr. Bonaventure, the owner of the used bookstore, pushed a rolling shelf of books in front of his big shop windows.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bonaventure,” Max sang out, his head pressed onto the pillow that held it up.

  The stooped man had a big smile on his face but completely ignored Max. He wandered into his store and cranked up the music. DJ Cassian’s music.

  A few moments later Mrs. Bonaventure, a chipper woman with her hair up in a bun, came out of her shop, hands over her ears.

  “Is everything okay, Mrs. Bonaventure?” Max asked.

  Her face changed from a frown to a smile and back again; then she blurted out, “It’s Mr. Bonaventure. He’s acting very odd.” The woman seemed to be on the verge of tears and her voice quaked as she spoke quietly. “We have stacked books together for thirty-five years. He’s always kidded me about being so slow, because I like to take my time and ensure that the books are properly shelved—as you know, Max. About a week ago, a friend of mine gave us a CD by this DJ Cassian man. Well, you can hear it yourself. He plays it all day long—loudly.” She folded her arms, rubbing at her elbows. “Can’t stand that music—but he says it’s ‘wooonderful.’ Out of the blue, he tells me the other day to go home early, and maybe I shouldn’t work in the store any longer. He says he can do everything faster by himself. I told him, ‘Victor, there is no way you can stack all this inventory alone.’ He s
aid, ‘Go home and you’ll see.’ So yesterday afternoon I had enough of his lip and went home. But around six o’clock I got worried and came to check on him. Well, as I looked through the window—and you kids will think I’m a crazy old lady—the books were flying off the floor up to the shelves. Flying! Hundreds of books shelving themselves all over the shop. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Max and Cami exchanged concerned looks.

  “When he got home, I asked him what happened at the shop and he cut his eyes at me. ‘Work is what happened. Work. If you weren’t so lazy, maybe we’d get more of it done,’ he said. I was so upset I didn’t speak to him all last night.” She rearranged the sticks in her bun, pulling in the stray hairs. “He was just as moody this morning. All he wants to do is listen to that ridiculous music—the ‘music of miracles’ he calls it—”

  “Caroline.” It was Mr. Bonaventure, standing in the doorway of the shop. “Are you going to do the paperwork, or should I do that myself too?”

  Max tried to say hello to Mr. Bonaventure again. The stooped man flattened his barely there gray hair to the side, his leg absently keeping time with the music. “Shouldn’t you children be in school?” he grumped, and returned to the store.

  “Cami has the day off, but I’m going to my school,” Max yelled after him.

  “Sorry to have burdened you children with all of this. You have a good day,” Mrs. Bonaventure whispered, patting Max on the back before scurrying in after her husband.

  Max locked Cami in a glare. “My dream’s coming true. Remember, I said Will would be in trouble, and everyone would shake and ignore him. It’s happening the way I said. See?” Max looked up the street. Cami turned and followed his stare.

  Sally Dagon, who owned Dagon’s Hair Cuttery, tried to hold three bags in her arms while she slid her key into the aquamarine door of her salon.