“Don’t tell me you live in that?” Dex gasped. He knew how rude that sounded, but he couldn’t help himself. In the midst of the trees, surrounded by overgrown weeds and untended brush, was a brick—structure. He guessed you could call it a house, but not only was it in crumbling disrepair, it was absurdly small. A crooked little metal chimney jutted from the crooked, moss-covered roof.
His disbelief quickly transformed into sympathy. This poor girl. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.”
Nora saw Dex looking at the decrepit little well beside the house.
“We’re off the grid,” she explained. “No electricity. No running water. No windows. It’s the only way he can be sure the Masons can’t spy on us. A lady in the church takes pity on me and lets me shower in there. She buys me clothes, too.”
All Dex could do was shake his head.
“It’s not that my father doesn’t care,” Nora said. “He just—tt’s just that nothing in this lifetime matters much to him. It’s so short, after all. What comes next is what really counts.”
Dex had no response to this.
“Come on,” Nora said, looking round. “He’s not home. We better hurry.”
Nora produced a surprisingly large bunch of keys from her pocket and proceeded to open the front door. This was no easy task as it had six separate locks, each of which required a different key. Once she had it opened, she hurried inside, and Dex followed behind her. After relocking the door, Nora walked straight through the main room into what looked like the kitchen, but Dex stayed where he was, transfixed.
Nearly every inch of the walls were covered with crosses hanging on nails, most slightly off-kilter. There were hundreds of them, of all sizes and designs. The largest had to be two feet tall, and there were many no bigger than a finger. They appeared to be made of all kinds of materials. Dex could see woods and metals of myriad colors, but also what looked like ivory and jade and glass. The spaces not covered by crosses had tiny shelves jutting out, blocks of wood, it seemed, holding various sized candle stubs. All had gobs of melted wax stuck to them.
“Dex, hurry!” Nora whispered, leaning out from the kitchen.
Dex hurried over to her.
The kitchen was essentially just a hallway lined with warped cabinets and countertops. There was no room for any kind of table. Nora was kneeling down inside a pantry lifting the edge of a large square of linoleum off the floor.
A trapdoor.
“Tunnel?” Dex asked. For a moment, he was back on top of Asterius Rash’s bookstore again, looking down through a similar hole, before—everything.
Under the trapdoor was a ladder bolted to a concrete wall.
“His books are down there,” Nora said. “At the bottom, there’s a flashlight hanging on a nail, just over the last step. Can you—oh, no—”
They’d both heard it. Voices, coming from outside.
Nora froze.
“Nora, go down!” Dex whispered as loudly as he dared, but she didn’t respond.
One of the locks turned on the front door.
“Nora!” Dex touched her shoulder, trying to keep her with him.
Another lock turned.
“Okay,” Dex said, “I’ll go.” He scrambled down onto the ladder. “I’m sure your dad will be glad to see you.”
Nora looked at Dex, then toward the front door as the third lock began to turn. Dex climbed down the ladder, and as he’d hoped, Nora clambered down onto it after him.
The very moment the front door opened, she dropped the trapdoor over them with a smack, leaving them in complete darkness.
CHAPTER 17
hiding something
Daphna stood watching the corner for a long while after Dex disappeared around it, hoping they were doing the right thing, not just the next thing. Finally, Quinn shook her shoulder. He’d apparently said something.
“What?”
“I just want you to know how sorry I am, about Dr. Fludd. I want you to know that I won’t rest until we bring her back with my parents. I know, with your help, with all your incredible experiences, we can fix everything. I knew I’d be able to count on you.”
“Let’s just get going.”
“Okay.”
Fortunately, no one was around either of the schools. Daphna and Quinn jogged across the road after reaching the big tree at Wilson, then hurried up to Mr. G’s house.
“It doesn’t look like his car is here,” Daphna observed. “I don’t know if there’s a Mrs. G or not.”
“Good point,” Quinn said. “I probably wouldn’t have even thought about that.”
Ignoring this, Daphna attempted to peek through the front window, but it was covered by thick curtains. This is a terrible mistake, she decided. She shouldn’t be risking her life with anyone but her brother. She didn’t even know Quinn! But it was too late now, and she felt terribly exposed standing there in the relative open, especially now that Quinn wasn’t protecting her with that book anymore.
“Let’s just go in,” Daphna said, heading up onto the porch. She pulled the key out of her pocket and inserted it into the front door’s lock. After opening it, she and Quinn stepped quickly inside. They shut it behind them at the same time. Their hands touched.
“Sorry,” Quinn said.
Daphna didn’t reply. Her stupid feelings—her spiking pulse—didn’t matter right now.
They were in an entry hall. A long table ran along the wall on the right under framed photos of butterflies.
“Where do we start?” Quinn asked, looking through piles of mail spread out on the table.
Daphna joined him, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary: bills, it looked like.
“Let’s see what’s what,” she said, walking down the hall.
The kitchen was straight ahead. Daphna went in and opened the refrigerator, which was empty but for a bunch of Chinese food boxes and a carton of milk. The freezer had a stack of frozen dinners. Quinn, who’d followed her in, opened some cabinets to find them virtually bare as well. Cans of soup was about it.
“I’m thinking there’s definitely no Mrs. G,” he said.
The dirty dishes piled up in the sink confirmed this for Daphna, who’d seen enough. She headed into the living room, so Quinn followed her there.
Three of the walls were lined with cabinets, most of which held books. The wall space between them was filled with more butterfly photos. Daphna went right to a shelf and started scanning. Quinn went to another.
“Big on butterflies, I guess,” Quinn observed. “He’s got a ton of field guides here.”
“Huh,” said Daphna. The shelves she was looking at were filled with books on all the world’s major faiths: Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism. But also on many lesser-known ones, most of which she’d become at least passingly familiar with through her reading this past year: Confucianism, Sikhism, Baha’i, Shinto, Taoism. One book caught her attention because it had a Jewish star on it, but it was called Kabbalism: Gathering the Divine Sparks. She took it down and started reading the back.
Quinn was next to her now. “I have to admit I don’t know the first thing about any religion,” he said. “My parents never talk about it. The only Bibles we ever get are to sell.”
Daphna nodded, turning her attention to a cabinet that held, rather than books, fancy wine glasses. They weren’t sets, though. In fact, now that she looked closer, none of them were the same. And actually, not all of them were fancy. Most were gold, or gold-plated surely, or silver or crystal, but others were simply clay or wooden, and some of those rather roughly hewn.
In the center of the room was a large round desk with a laptop and printer in the midst of all sorts of camera equipment.
“I think he takes the butterfly pictures himself,” Daphna said, inspecting a long lens attachment.
Quinn tried the drawers, but they were full of office supplies. One was locked, but he gave up after jerking on it a few times. He opened the laptop and clicked it to life while D
aphna set the lens back down and turned to continue her investigation of the room.
Behind the desk, built into the wall, was a gas fireplace, above which was a painting, though that word seemed a bit generous. It was more like a bunch of black and gray paint dripped and dribbled on a canvas. The only color came from a curvy stripe of blue on the right side and drops of red here and there.
“Can’t get into the computer,” Quinn said, standing next to her again. Then he said, “Jackson Pollock?”
“Who?”
“He did work like that.”
“I did work that,” Daphna said. “When I was three.”
Quinn laughed his funny laugh, but said, “I kinda like it.”
The fireplace was glass on both sides, so Daphna squatted down and peered through it. A bedroom was visible on the other side. She walked over to the door that led into it.
“C’mon,” said Daphna, flushing with anger at Dexter for that childish remark about bedrooms and kissing. “Let’s check in here.”
The bed was unmade, clothes stuck out of dresser drawers, and a laundry basket overflowed against a wall.
Daphna shook her head. “Are all males slobs?” she asked.
“Ah,” Quinn said, but before he could say more, the phone rang on the bedside table. He and Daphna froze, staring at it.
“Answering machine,” Daphna said, whispering for some reason.
After four rings, the machine picked up and Mr. G’s recording invited the caller to leave a message after the beep. After the beep, Mr. G himself came on.
“Dexter and Daphna!” he shouted. “Are you there? Are you in the house?”
Daphna and Quinn went rigid, as if he could see them standing there. Of course that was silly.
Mr. G waited a moment, then said, “Pick up the phone! If you’re in the house, get out! You lied to me! Damn my lousy eyes! The book had a gold cover on it! You have no idea what you’ve done to me! I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but get out of my house! Look, I can explain everything,” he said, easing his tone. “Just leave the key on the kitchen counter and go home. All kids should be home right now. Leave me your number, and I’ll give you a call.”
Another voice could be heard in the background just then: “You only get one call, buddy.”
“Just get out!” Mr. G shouted. “It’s—it’s not safe in there! Wait! There are two kids in my house. The Wax twins! They’ve broken in, and they’re—”
There was a click, then a dial tone, and then the machine cut out.
“He sounds pretty mad,” Quinn said. “Do you think we should go?”
“I think we should find whatever he doesn’t want us to see,” was Daphna’s reply. “And now we know the book he’s looking for is yellow, or gold I guess. All the books in Heaven were bright, like golden light. So I guess that makes sense.”
Quinn nodded. “What was that about one call?” he asked. “Do you think he’s been arrested?”
“Musta been,” Daphna said. “Probably trying to get that book back from the cops. But I think they’ll be on their way here now. We better hurry.”
“Okay,” Quinn said.
“Try the closet.”
Quinn turned to regard two mirrored doors. They slid apart to reveal a solid wall of clothes on hangers. He pushed some pants and jackets aside and looked behind.
“Hey,” he said, “how do you like that?” And then he disappeared through the gap he’d made.
Daphna didn’t want to go in there with Quinn, so she waited for him to come back out. Only, he didn’t come back out. She waited some more, but then got too curious and poked her head through the curtain of clothes. She was expecting to find a little space behind the rack, but not this much. It was a full walk-in closet.
The only reason to block it all off like that was because you didn’t want people snooping around back there—because you were hiding something.
Quinn was inspecting the back wall, which had shelves and drawers set against it.
“Stay here for a second, would you?” he said, turning around. “I’m going back to the living room. When you hear me shout, pound on the wall right here. Okay?”
“Ahh,” Daphna said, “okay—” She held her breath when Quinn squeezed by her. She watched him drive his way back through the clothes and out of the closet. A few moments later, she heard him call out, “Go ahead!”
Daphna knocked on the wall.
“Harder!” Quinn called, so she knocked harder.
“Can you hear this?” Now Quinn banged on the wall. Daphna could hear it, but was confused. It sounded like it was coming from off to her left, which was odd because it seemed like she should be up against the house’s outside wall. Quinn obviously wasn’t outside. Unless—
From opposite sides of the wall, both snoopers cried out, “Secret room!”
CHAPTER 18
an omen
Dex scrambled down the ladder as quickly as he dared in the dark. The floor was considerably lower than he thought possible, but soon enough his foot felt solid ground, concrete ground. As he stepped off the ladder, he could hear Nora panicking as she climbed down, but she reached him a few moments later.
Once off the ladder, she hissed, “My father! And someone else! There’s no way out!”
“Maybe they won’t come down,” Dex whispered.
A light clicked on. Nora had the flashlight, an old battered metal one. Dex looked around the room they were in.
Books.
Everywhere, books. Up and down the walls. It was like a bunker of books. The trapdoor had to be twenty feet up.
It creaked.
Nora snapped off the light and pulled Dexter, dragged him, to the far end of the underground library. The trapdoor opened, letting in light from the kitchen, but it only illuminated a third of the space.
Crouched down against some low shelves, Dex willed the dark to keep them hidden if someone came down. He could see now that the room was as large as the house itself and made entirely of concrete. All four walls had simple metal shelves bolted to them, floor to roof. There were gaps between the shelves where other ladders ran up and down the walls, giving access to the books at any location. There had to be thousands of books down there. More!
Great, Dex thought, and we don’t even know what we’re looking for.
“I apologize for the state you find me in,” Jons said, his voice falling through the trapdoor from above.
Nora clutched Dexter, cowering against the books behind her.
“To receive an emissary from the Pope himself! I—I am humbled and honored.”
“As you know, Pastor Jons,” a man replied, “the Church has never shared your—certainty about the depth or breadth of Masonic conspiracies, fashionable as they may sometimes be. But rest assured your vigilance has not gone unnoticed nor unappreciated these many years.”
Dex’s muscles clenched at the sound of this voice. It was the Secret Keeper of the Church. The man who had them shot in cold blood. The man who’d sent who knew how many killers to finish the job.
“The Holy Father has many things to worry about,” the Secret Keeper continued. “No offense was meant in ignoring you and your important work. Though I’m quite certain that a dedicated man of God like you knows well that proper recognition will be yours, along with all the thanks that count, when Judgment—”
“But they have my daughter!” Jons cried. “Please, we waste time here. Help me find that boy, that Wax boy, who has lured her away from me. I will wring his neck for you myself!”
Nora gasped at this, but then covered her mouth. It wasn’t exactly pleasant for Dexter either.
“We have ceased efforts on that front,” the Secret Keeper replied, “as they have proved futile. Our best assassins were dispatched to eliminate the twins. These are men with no peers in their profession. Do you understand me? They are all missing. As you might imagine, this has us very concerned.”
“The Brotherhood is protecting them!” Jons cried. “I have
seen their agents sniffing around for weeks!”
“This is possible. Regardless, our spies tell us that Masons worldwide have been galvanized by news of something happening here in Portland lately, and specifically today. Threats have been leveled at the leaders of all developed nations, and even at the Pope himself. This is unprecedented.”
Now Jons gasped. “Threats?”
“Threats to make them ‘disappear.’ Leaders have been given until two o’clock this afternoon to recognize the Grand Master of the Portland Masons as the Supreme Ruler of one global nation.”
“But surely they cannot make good on such outrageous threats?”
“To be sure, many have rejected the threat. But we are not taking it lightly. As you suggested, the Masons may be protecting the twins. As I mentioned, our assassins have disappeared.”
“This—this is terrible!” Jons cried. “We—you must prevent this! Why tarry here when—?”
“I came to Portland to investigate the loss of our good men, and I will discover the nature of this threat. Be quite certain, the Masons will suffer the full wrath of the Church before they act against the Holy Father! Even they cannot conceive of the resources at our disposal.” He paused a moment, then added, “But I have taken the time to see if you can help the Pope at this delicate juncture. I’m sure that he will wish to thank you personally if you can be of assistance. I would not be surprised if an appointment of some kind wouldn’t be in order.”
There was another pause, after which Jons said, “That would be—an uncommon privilege. The opportunity of a lifetime, no less. Tell, me what book do you seek?”
“The Diary of Dr. William Gull.”
There was yet another pause, a longer one. Finally, Jons said, “I don’t believe I posses that particular title.”
“Ah, but I believe you do,” the Secret Keeper replied. “You purchased it at auction thirty-three years ago this month in Geneva, your interest no doubt having been piqued when it was discovered—because of the rumors that Gull, a known Mason, revealed on his deathbed that he somehow exposed the Brotherhood in its pages. This is a longshot, given that we ourselves evaluated the book before you obtained it. We’re hoping that modern technology and cutting-edge decryption techniques might reveal something we missed those many years ago.”
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