“Are they acting odd?”
“They’re all acting like Mom! We have to help her—and them. It’s the music.” Will pointed toward the house. “There’s something going on with that music.”
“She has been listening to it a lot.” Dan nervously stroked the hair on the side of his head as he recalled Mayor Lynch’s plan to broadcast Cassian’s music all over downtown.
“Why were you doing those flips?” Will said suddenly. “I’ve never seen you move like that before.”
Dan folded his arms. “I guess I’m worried. When you’re worried, you revert to the things you know. When I do that routine, I feel more in control—”
“Are you training for something?”
“Training? You mean for a marathon or something?” Dan definitively shook his head, walking toward the house. “No.”
Will carefully watched his father’s hasty retreat into the mudroom. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
Before he turned the lights down in the garage, Will noticed that there were four toppled old barstools on the edges of the garage. One drew his attention. It had a perfect circular burn mark on the seat back. The spot of wood had turned ashen and was still smoking. What was he doing out here? Will wondered, standing the stool upright.
The next day, Wednesday, Will dazzled on the practice field. He caught repeated passes and ran the plays with ease. Some of his teammates were so accustomed to getting knocked over by him during practice that they now just stepped aside, letting him pass unopposed whenever he came their way. Why add to their bruise collection?
With bad memories of the confrontation at the Perilous Falls Elementary play set, Caleb and his crew kept their distance. They grumbled to themselves that day but never approached Will. They were all too embarrassed to tell anyone what had actually happened or to explain how it took them a half hour to break out of the play set. After practice, Will and Andrew walked home without incident.
At home, Deb Wilder’s general hostility toward her family increased. Each time Will’s father attempted to lower or stop the steady flow of Cassian’s music, a loud argument broke out. She refused to make dinner that night and Dan Wilder had to bring in bags of Ground Deliciousness Burgers for the children. He also spent his second night on the couch in the family room.
* * *
Peniel was all but empty Thursday afternoon when Lucille Wilder stepped out of the door marked PRIVATE on the back end of Bethel Hall. “Bart,” she called over to her friend, who was slipping a typed card into an empty display case. “Let me know when Will arrives for his training. I neglected to share a conversation he had with me the other day. I want to make sure the abbot and I—”
“He’s been here awhile,” Bartimaeus said, locking the case.
“Will?”
“Yeah, Will. You just asked me to let you know when Will arrives for his lesson? Well, he got here about fifteen minutes ago. Now you know.”
Panic washed over her face. “Where? Where is he now?”
“With Baldwin at his Defense Training. I think they went down to the cellar.”
“The cellar!” She started running down the broad hallway. “Call the abbot and tell him to meet me there right away. He knows all about it. Right away.”
“You knew he was coming today. We’re supposed to go to Monte Cassino later, remember?” Bartimaeus yelled after her. He walked over to the information kiosk and reached for the phone. Waiting for the abbot to pick up his call, he muttered to himself: “Asks me where the boy is, then I tell her and she runs off in a huff. Don’t know why she’s all excitable lately. One minute she’s chasing after that ‘Music Man’; next we’re supposed to sound the alarm because Will walks through the door. Life’s too short for this….”
* * *
Ten spears stood at attention, side by side, near the middle of the rough-stoned cellar. Baldwin had placed them in holes cut into the floor. The wide cavern, deep in the recesses of Peniel’s east wing, was hardly ever used. The barrels of wine along the walls had been emptied long ago. Jacob Wilder once used it as a training space.
Barrels hung from ropes and pulleys high above the ground. Against the rear wall, what appeared to be a hundred niches were filled with badly damaged barrels. They had holes all over them.
“William, this training should increase your agility and speed, if executed properly,” Baldwin said, using a shimmering steel spear as a pointer. “When the Darkness deploys their black arts, they do so with great force and suddenness. This ‘sequence’—your great-grandfather always called it a ‘sequence’—will test your reflexes and challenge your ability to fight off multiple attacks at the same moment.”
Will glanced up at the barrels in the niches with some anxiety. “How does this work exactly?”
Baldwin strode into the dead center of the room. “I trigger the pulley system.” He indicated a brass hand wheel on the wall. “That will release the barrels. They’ll come hurtling at you, unexpectedly from a variety of angles.” Baldwin pointed behind him, to the rear wall. “I will be there throughout the exercise.” He pulled one of the wooden spears from the floor and tossed it sideways at Will, who caught it clumsily. “You will defend yourself by throwing one spear at each barrel before it reaches you. The moment the spear strikes a barrel, it will fly up to the rafters. Ten spears. Ten barrels. It’s a very simple exercise.”
“And what if I miss a barrel?”
“It would likely pummel you. But, as I said, I will be posted behind you, there. If you’re moving too slowly, I’ll simply spear the barrel for you.” Baldwin smiled supportively. “What is that phrase you young people use: I’ll ‘have your back,’ William.”
Will could feel his palms sweating. He kept thinking of the strange old woman on the street who warned him that Baldwin was under the control of a witch and meant him harm.
“Why don’t we wait and do this with Aunt Lucille. She’s really good at throwing spears and I’ll bet she could give me some tips—”
“The Darkness will not wait and neither can we.” Baldwin turned the wheel on the wall. “The sequence is beginning. Look sharp.” He ran behind Will, steel spear at the ready.
Three barrels flew out of the niches on the back wall and sped toward him. Baldwin was right, they did come at unexpected angles. Will felt the talisman under his shirt, which gave him a bit of confidence. He chucked the spear at the nearest barrel. When it made contact, the barrel popped off the rope and shattered against the wall. With lightning speed, he made short shrift of the other two barrels, striking each one with the precision of a marksman. Four barrels peeled off the wall next.
As he reached for two more spears, Will looked back at Baldwin. The vicar was stone-faced, white-knuckling his steel spear.
Will discharged four spears, each hitting their targets. Splinters of wood showered down onto the cellar floor. The last three barrels flew at him now. He grabbed two more spears and readied his arm for the release.
Baldwin shook, a pained look on his face, his spear still firmly in hand.
Will exploded two of the barrels in seconds and awaited the approach of the last.
Shutting one eye, Baldwin threw his steel spear with all the force he possessed.
“You’ve got to admit, Vicar, for my first time, I’m doing pretty good.” Will turned just in time to see the point of the steel spear closing in on him.
“Will!” Aunt Lucille yelled from a niche overhead.
From a dark opening on the side of the cellar, the abbot dove at Will in an attempt to knock him from the oncoming spear’s path. But he was too late.
The steel point hit Will on the side of his chest. He stumbled back a few steps, then looked down in amazement. The spear lay at his feet, its tip crumpled. It had ripped his shirt, but aside from a faint bruise caused no other damage.
“Baldwin, what have you done?” the abbo
t asked.
“I was…training the boy. I thought the last barrel was going to injure him and I must have misjudged—”
“You didn’t misjudge anything. Your aim was accurate. You meant to hit Will and you did,” the abbot said, with some sadness.
“I saw the whole thing,” Aunt Lucille said, appearing from a staircase on the other side of the cellar. She raced to Will and checked his chest. She too was astonished that he had not been injured and puzzled over the mangled spear on the floor. “Thank goodness you’re all right, dear.” She patted his chest and felt the metal locket beneath his shirt. It all suddenly made sense to her. Folding her arms, she trained her blue eyes on his. “We need to have a conversation, young man.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Will guiltily whispered.
The abbot took Baldwin by the arms and studied the big man’s eyes. “Why would you target the chosen one? Who have you been with, Baldwin? There are rumors that you have been frequenting Wormwood. Is that true?”
The vicar opened his mouth and then closed it. He lowered his head and looked as if he were about to cry. “I’ve made just two trips there—only two, Athanasius. They were moments of weakness and—”
“You have seen the witch, then?”
“I have.”
“What did she promise you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Oh, Baldwin. She always promises something. It’s how the Darkness operates: grand promises—miserable, empty outcomes. Tobias, Pedro,” he yelled out. “Please escort the vicar to his cell. She has a hold on you, Baldwin. I can see it. Perhaps with candor and grace we can loosen her grip.”
Tobias and Pedro, the muscular brother with the build and talents of a gymnast, stepped from the main entryway to the cellar. They stood on either side of the vicar. Baldwin avoided looking at either Lucille or Will, and belligerently walked ahead of the others.
Aunt Lucille urgently invited Will and the abbot to her office. Once there, she went straight to the case in the corner. There was nothing beneath the glass. “As I suspected,” she said almost to herself. She turned to Will. “At least we now know which ‘Amulet of Power’ the prophecy was referencing.”
“I was going to tell you—you all have been wanting me to work with relics. So I thought this would be a good one to start with.” He pulled the amulet from inside his shirt and started to remove it.
“Uh-uh.” Aunt Lucille shook her head. “I had thought of taking it from you downstairs, but it may be offering you some protection.”
“The Darkness is already aware that he has used the relic of Samson. It will do no good to deprive him of its power now,” the abbot said, sinking into one of the high-backed leather chairs near the desk. His long forehead was knotted with worry. “You must be very disciplined in the way you use the relic, Will. It is fine for defense or for the protection of others. But it mustn’t be used for selfish ends or to feed your vanity. Remember, even with all his power, Samson was deceived and ultimately blinded by his selfishness.”
“I am going to use the amulet to help people,” Will protested. “There’s a friend of mine who has been beaten up by this guy at school—and you can’t see the imps running all over—”
“We’re on the same wavelength, Abbot,” Lucille said, disregarding Will. She removed a key from the top drawer of the desk and approached a slight metal door built into the wall. “I want to show you something, Will, and get your reaction.”
She opened the metal door, revealing a storeroom of oddities. A gray hand on a table, a stuffed cat, bizarre weapons the likes of which Will had never seen. “Come here,” Aunt Lucille instructed. “Do you see that mirror there?” It was a gold-framed, floor-to-ceiling mirror, half draped by a black cloth. “Look into it and tell me what you see.”
Will cautiously approached the glass. He stared hard into the dull reflection. It was cloudy and dark. “I just see my face. You know, me.”
The abbot and Lucille stood in the doorway of the little room. “Nothing else?” the abbot asked.
“Nope.” Will turned his head to the left, admiring this thick neck and slightly wider shoulders. “Just me.” He flexed his muscles, smirking.
“Take him out of there, before we lose him to the glass,” the abbot spat out, stepping away from the door.
Aunt Lucille ushered Will from the storage room and, once they were both out, locked the heavy metal door behind them. “Your vision is very dim, dear. You should have seen tormented spirits in the mirror. My father always did. He would use it from time to time to test his vision. We keep it locked away because the mirror is a portal, once used by wicked people to communicate with demons. They should have been obvious to you—to any Seer.” She folded her arms and bit her lower lip, looking to the abbot for assistance.
“Describe exactly what you saw in the mirror, Will,” Athanasius said.
Will half smiled. “Just a really handsome, buff guy.”
“Illusion is the first of all pleasures, and the most ruinous,” Athanasius said, stroking his beard with two hands. “Your vision is compromised and we are all weaker for it. Listen to me. This Asmodeus is prowling about, looking to destroy us—and you. I can appreciate your youth, but you are so wrapped up in yourself, you can’t see anything else—”
Will tried to interrupt. But the abbot spoke over him. “This is not about you, boy. Don’t ruin the gift you’ve been given by thinking it exists to serve you. It doesn’t. Our gifts belong to others—we serve them—and the One who granted the gift.”
“Should he still go to Monte Cassino with Bartimaeus?” Aunt Lucille asked as if Will weren’t there.
“Without a doubt. Jacob’s notebooks may provide us with a way to restrain this demon and Will could learn a thing or two from Abbot Gamaliel.” Athanasius looked directly at Will, half smiling.
“Who is Abbot Gam-hay-leel?” Will asked.
“A very old master. Strengthening your sight alone would make the trip worthwhile. Go to the sarcophagus in the main hall of the north tower. The one near the stained glass window. I’ll fetch Bartimaeus and meet you there.”
Will whispered to his Aunt Lucille, “How long will it take to get to Monte Cassino and back?”
“As long as it takes, dear.” She walked ahead of him out of the cellar. “You’ll be back by dinnertime. Run along. Don’t keep Bart and the abbot waiting.”
Cami and Max Meriwether were confused as they walked down the main aisle of Bethel Hall. It was abandoned.
“Miss Lucille? Mr. Bartimaeus?” Cami called out, searching among the display cases for the people who seemed to live at the museum.
“Where could they be?” Max asked, spinning his wheelchair around to face his sister. “Maybe we should go.”
“No. We’ve got to tell them what we’ve seen. Will isn’t going to. So that leaves us to—”
“To ‘tell’ what, dear?” Aunt Lucille said, walking into the hall from the gaping hallway that opened to the other galleries.
“Oh, Miss Lucille. It’s Will. He’s acting very strange and there are some things I thought—”
“Will is not the only one acting strange today,” Lucille said, quieting Cami with her lowered tone. “Why don’t we go upstairs to my office. We’ll have privacy there. Let’s take the lift for Max.”
“You’re just trying to get out of climbing the stairs, Miss Lucille,” Max said, peeling out in front of her with a glimmer in his eye.
The trio, in silence, passed through the door marked PRIVATE, around the spiral staircase, into the hidden, gated elevator and cruised upward.
* * *
On the ground level of the north tower, Will found the only sarcophagus in the main hallway. It lay at the end of the hall, past several solemn statues of robed men, explorers, and angels interrupted by the occasional potted plant.
The
pink marble casket was among the oldest Will had ever seen at Peniel. The top edge of the sarcophagus was badly gouged, like someone had taken a pickax to it. Aside from the sculpted circular medallion of a bearded man holding a book and a cross on the front, it was unremarkable. Beneath the figure, Will read the Latin inscription:
EX-S-M-CASINO.
“Buckle up, little man. Time to fly,” Bartimaeus said, hastening down the hall on his two crutches. Abbot Athanasius was close behind him.
Will started to step into the stone casket. “Nope. Get on out of there,” Bartimaeus said, waving him away. “I go first. That way I can be waiting for you on the other side. We don’t need you wandering around Monte Cassino without a chaperone. You’re liable to make off with St. Benedict’s bones or sumpthin’—and they won’t know who the heck you are, anyway. Move aside.”
Will backed off. Bartimaeus handed his crutches to the abbot and slowly lowered himself into the sarcophagus. “All right, lay ’em on me,” he said, once in recline.
The abbot returned the crutches, which Bartimaeus wrapped in his arms. “See ya in Monte Cassino,” Bartimaeus whispered with a wink to Will. Then after slowly announcing, “Nex ut vita,” he was gone in a flash.
“Your turn, William. Make sure to seek out Abbot Gamaliel. He knew your great-grandfather and me. He may also know something of this Asmodeus.” The abbot lowered the strap on Will’s pith helmet so it was beneath his chin. He then clapped him on the shoulders.
Will threw himself into the pink casket, crossed his arms over his chest, and just before he uttered the phrase that would initiate the sarcophagal peregrination, he asked the abbot: “We just have to get my great-grandfather’s diary and then we can come back, right?”
“Correct. Find out how he dealt with this creature. And do make sure you ask for Gamaliel. He possesses powerful gifts.”
“Sure thing.” Will shut his eyes tight, lay back in the sarcophagus, and mouthed “Nex ut vita.” The floor of the casket fell away and he hurtled through space. It felt like being aboard a turbulence-tossed airplane, without the benefit of the wings. He never got used to the shock of traveling by “sarcopha-bus.” And just when he thought he couldn’t handle it anymore, just when he felt like he was going to be sick from the speed of the journey, he stopped moving. Will blinked open his eyes to find a faraway white, vaulted ceiling. He was surrounded by bookcases and it smelled dusty.
Will Wilder #3 Page 12
