The Secret of the Sacred Four

by E J Elwin

  “You look like death,” said Connor, with a straight face.

  Tears came to my eyes. I leapt forward and threw my arms around him.

  “Oh I’m sorry!” he said in my ear, surprised and apologetic. “Was that one too many?”

  I pulled back from him and looked at them both. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Just breathe,” said Harriet, leading me to the couch. “Whatever it is, we can deal with it. First, let’s get you a drink.” With that, she swept out of the room.

  “I’ll go get a wet towel for your face,” said Connor.

  He went down the hallway toward the bathroom. I heard ice clinking into a glass in the kitchen. Someone on the television began to sing. It was an old black-and-white film. A man and a woman in formalwear were slow dancing together on the deck of a ship, holding each other closely. The woman sang a soft crooning ballad while the man looked down at her lovingly.

  Connor came back into the room and sat next to me on the couch.

  “What is this?” I asked him, watching the couple dance.

  “It’s called Stowaway,” he said. “One of Shirley Temple’s movies.”

  The singing was beautiful, but I felt a sudden chill. It was a mournful song. Even as Connor dabbed the soft white towel dampened with warm water on my sweaty face, I shivered.

  “It’s really cute,” he said. “We’ll finish it later.”

  He reached for the remote control on the coffee table and pointed it at the screen, which went dark just as the couple’s lips met. Harriet came back into the room with a glass of whiskey. She handed it to me and then lit the fireplace with her usual two fingers.

  “Now tell us what happened,” she said.

  I took a sip of whiskey and told them what I had just gone through; how Sheriff Murphy had been so smug, how I’d known immediately that he knew something, and that I couldn’t figure out what or how until he brought up the cameras in the church.

  “Cameras?” asked Harriet, dismayed. “But why didn’t you mention that?”

  “I didn’t know they were there!” I said hopelessly. “I hadn’t been in there since I was eleven, and there were never any then…”

  “I guess they’ve beefed up security,” said Connor darkly. The fear in his eyes hurt my heart. I had managed to bring him back, had seen him happy, and now we were facing a manhunt all because I couldn’t be bothered to check if there were any damn cameras in the church.

  I told them about the excuse I’d come up with for having gone to see Father Gabriel, how I’d briefly thought I would wriggle out of the situation, until Sheriff Murphy dropped the bomb about Old Man Morley having seen us. I described how I’d panicked and decided to run for it. I recounted the bike chase, how I’d managed to go unseen up until the woman in the cemetery.

  “Was it a short old lady with glasses?” asked Harriet.

  “I didn’t see her, I only heard her voice,” I said. “And it didn’t sound familiar.”

  “Hmm,” said Harriet. “There’s a woman who lives around here who often visits her husband’s grave in the evenings. A bit batty. Likes to bring him cookies. It could have been her.”

  “Harriet, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I screwed up and now they’re going to come looking—”

  “Arthur, listen to me.” She took my hand. “Don’t be sorry. I knew when I agreed to the resurrection spell of what the consequences could be. I was right there with you when you killed that swine, and I’m right here with you now. We’ll get through this together.”

  “Together,” said Connor, taking my other hand.

  I gripped their hands, overcome with gratitude for them both.

  “So how about margaritas?” asked Harriet.

  “I’m in!” said Connor, jumping up from the couch.

  I was continually astounded by how resilient they both were. “Um, what about the cops?”

  “What about them?” asked Harriet blithely. “If they’d seen you come in here, they’d be banging on the door by now, wouldn’t they?”

  I decided she had a point and was reassured by her breezy manner as usual. I got up and followed her and Connor to the kitchen.

  The margaritas were delicious. An added attraction was that they changed flavors every few seconds, going from lime to strawberry to mango and back again, changing colors accordingly from bright green to pink to orange. After two of them, I felt nicely relaxed and everything that had happened earlier in the evening began to recede to the back of my mind.

  Harriet waved a hand over the bowl of sea salt we were using for the margarita glasses and caused the salt, down to the last crystal, to rise into the air above the table, where it hovered like a cloud. She did the same to the tortilla chips, sending them soaring out of their bowl and into the air among the salt, where they formed a mini galaxy, a cosmos of salt stars and tortilla chip planets. She waved her hand a third time and the salt and chips began to spin like a tornado, much to Connor’s delight. He snatched a chip out of midair and popped it into his mouth.

  A warm feeling of contentment washed over me as I sat there watching Connor’s excitement and Harriet’s amused expression as she watched him grab at the flying chips. If this was going to be my life from now on, I would be very happy.

  Then there was a loud knock at the front door. The flying chips and salt crystals froze in midair, then clattered to the table. The three of us looked at one another in silence.

  “No chance that’s a pizza, is there?” Connor whispered to Harriet.

  There was a louder, more insistent knock. Dread coursed through me like poison. I had no doubt it was Sheriff Murphy.

  “Both of you stay here and be very quiet,” said Harriet softly. “I’ll take care of this.”

  She stood up and waved her hand over the fallen chips and sea salt, and at once, as though they were being sucked up by an invisible vacuum, they flew neatly through the air and into the waste basket in the corner of the room. Then she walked into the living room.

  Connor and I rose quietly from our seats and stood at the opening to the hallway that led into the living room. We couldn’t get a good view of the front door without being seen ourselves but we’d be able to hear from this spot. I started to get short of breath and realized I was on the verge of a panic attack. Connor reached out and took my hand.

  “Don’t freak out, okay?” he whispered. “She’ll handle it, you know she will.”

  I nodded, gripping his hand, and took deep, steadying breaths. A loud knock came for the third time but was cut short and replaced by the creaking sound of the front door opening.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” came Sheriff Murphy’s voice.

  “Good evening, officers,” said Harriet. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re looking for a teenage boy,” said Sheriff Murphy. “Dark hair, thin, sort of pale. He ran out on his parents this evening not too far from here. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “A teenage boy who ran out on his parents?” Harriet repeated quizzically. “And you’re going door to door about this?”

  “This boy is wanted for questioning in connection to the disappearance of Father Gabriel Martin, the priest at St. Paul’s church,” said Sheriff Murphy, unable to hide his irritation. “He ran away from us tonight when we tried to question him about it. We have an eyewitness in the cemetery who saw him come on to your property.”

  “Eyewitness?” asked Harriet.

  “Mrs. Taggart, or Old Lady Becky, as she’s known,” said Sheriff Murphy, “was in the cemetery a short while ago when a young man sped past her on a bicycle. She says he stopped in front of your house, walked into this overgrown yard of yours, and didn’t come back out.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen any teenage boy,” said Harriet. “Mind you, Old Lady Becky also likes to throw tea parties for her cats next to her husband’s grave, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Murphy scoffed angrily. “You’re trying to tell me she made this up?”

  “I’m just saying,” Harriet said
, “she may not be the most reliable of witnesses.”

  “Old Lady Becky may be a little— eccentric,” Sheriff Murphy huffed, “but her eyes work just fine. The boy she saw matches the description of the one we’re looking for, down to the bike he rode off in. Now, I’d understand if you felt the need to protect a scared kid, but if you’re hiding him in there, or if you saw him and you’re not telling us, you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t see him, isn’t it?” said Harriet. “But I’ll definitely keep an eye out and be more mindful of my safety now that I’ve been warned of delinquent teen boys running loose in the night.”

  “You think this is funny?” said Sheriff Murphy. “I grew up going to St. Paul’s. My family is very close to Father Gabriel. This boy, Arthur, is involved in his disappearance, I just know it. He’s out here somewhere…” His voice trailed off and was replaced by a rustling sound.

  “I’d be careful in there,” said Harriet. “Something could crawl up your pant leg.”

  I gasped and Connor looked at me in alarm. “They’re looking in the weeds!” I whispered frantically. “My bike’s in there!”

  “What do we do?” he whispered.

  Panic clouded my brain as I tried to think of a way to keep them from finding my bike. Maybe Harriet had some trick up her sleeve but I couldn’t communicate with her from where I was without being seen by the two cops. I thought of the emerald powder that had disoriented Father Gabriel. “Maybe there’s some—” I began, but was cut off.

  “Hey Sheriff, I found something!” The deputy finally spoke, his voice coming muffled from somewhere in the weeds. His next sentence sounded strained, and I guessed he was lifting up my bike above the weeds to show the sheriff. “Looks about right!” he grunted triumphantly.

  “Well, would you look at that,” said Sheriff Murphy loudly. The smugness he’d spoken with at my house was back in his voice. “Arthur, get out here right now!”

  I jumped because he sounded so alarmingly close. He’d shouted into the doorway.

  “He’s not here, Sheriff,” said Harriet, still unperturbed.

  “And what do you call this?” the sheriff barked.

  “That is clearly a bicycle,” said Harriet coolly. “The boy must have hidden it in my yard and taken off on foot.”

  Sheriff Murphy laughed. “That’s a good one, lady. What do you take me for?”

  “There’s no nice way to answer that,” said Harriet.

  Next to me, Connor cracked a smile. “Burn!” he whispered.

  I looked at him and briefly forgot what was happening. For one glorious second, the stress of the situation was gone and I was just a boy in love.

  “It’s really not complicated,” said Harriet patiently. “The boy rode past here, saw my yard as a good hiding place, stashed his bike in the weeds, and left. Has it occurred to you that he probably has friends, the kind of teenage friends he could count on to help him hide from police, and that he’s squatting in one of their bedrooms right now?”

  “She does have a point, Sheriff,” said the deputy fairly.

  “Shut up, Lou!” snapped Sheriff Murphy. “Old Lady Becky saw him walk into these weeds and not come out. Remember her? The crazy old lady you suggested was hallucinating?”

  “Fair enough, I was a bit harsh on her—” Harriet began airily but was cut off.

  “I’m finding that fucking kid and I’m arresting him for evading police,” puffed the sheriff. “Step aside—”

  “Now, Sheriff,” said Harriet, her airy tone gone, “I’m no officer of the law but last time I checked, you needed a warrant before you could search a person’s home.”

  “Lady, you do not want to get on my bad side,” said Sheriff Murphy threateningly. “If we leave here tonight and find out later that you were hiding the boy or are in any way involved with whatever he’s gotten himself into with Father Gabriel, I will personally see to it that you get the maximum sentence for all the charges that will be brought against you. If, however, you consent to a search of the house right now to clear us of our suspicions, we’ll never bother you again.”

  “Tempting as that last part sounds,” said Harriet, “I’m not in the mood to have my house searched.” There was a long silence. I wondered if Sheriff Murphy might snap from frustration and force himself into the house, but when he next spoke, his voice was light.

  “Alright,” he said, “if that’s the way you want it.”

  “It is,” said Harriet, and I knew she was smiling. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of a nightcap. Good night, Sheriff. Deputy.” The door creaked shut and the locks clicked. Connor and I peered slowly out of the kitchen into the living room. Harriet had her ear pressed against the front door. After a few moments, she straightened up. “They’re gone,” she said.

  I let out a loud sigh of relief. “Holy crap, you were amazing.”

  “And you didn’t even use any spells,” said Connor.

  “For those two?” Harriet smirked. “Not necessary.”

  “They’ll be back, though,” I said.

  “They will,” said Harriet. “But not tonight.”

  We sat back down to our drinks that still changed from green to pink to orange. After a few minutes, I was almost as relaxed as I had been before the police visit.

  “So what now?” asked Connor. He drained his drink, the ice rattling in the glass.

  “We could watch another movie,” suggested Harriet, “since Arthur doesn’t have to worry about getting back home anymore.” She winked at me and I smiled. “Or as you mentioned earlier, Connor, we could order a pizza?”

  We laughed at his expression which made it quite clear that he approved of this idea.

  “That settles that,” said Harriet, rising from her seat. “I’ll get the phone—”

  Crash! All three of us jumped as the loud sound of glass shattering came to us from the living room. Someone had broken a window.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Attack

  Harriet rushed into the living room, me and Connor at her heels. There were two windows, one on either side of the front door. Beneath the one on the right, the one next to the television Harriet and Connor had been watching, there were shards of glass strewn across the floor. Cool night air blew in softly through the new jagged hole in the glass, the thin curtains fluttering gently in the breeze.

  Harriet moved slowly toward the glass, Connor and I behind her. My first thought was that Sheriff Murphy had snapped, that he’d come back and lost it, and that the three of us were about to be exposed. Then Harriet spoke.

  “Oh no.”

  Connor and I followed her gaze down to the floor. There, among the many shards of glass, was a rock about the size of a football. Attached to it was a pristine cream-colored envelope, held tightly against the rock with a piece of twine that was tied in a neat bow, and sealed with a bright red wax stamp that featured an ornate letter A.

  “What is it?” I asked. For the first time since I’d met her, Harriet had genuine fear in her eyes. This wasn’t Sheriff Murphy. This was something worse.

  Connor reached down to pick up the rock but Harriet held out her arm in front of him.

  “Stay back.” She knelt down and picked it up, and Connor and I leaned in for a closer look as she untied the twine bow. I’d only ever seen people seal envelopes with wax in movies. It was unnerving to see something so clean and delicately sealed attached to a dirty jagged rock that looked like it had just been picked from outside. I wondered what the A stood for.

  “What does—?” But I broke off as I noticed what looked like a shiny red fly buzzing around Connor’s neck. Two more appeared next to it, and then I realized it wasn’t a fly, it was—

  “GET DOWN!” Harriet screamed.

  She seized both of our shirts and pulled us down to the ground as the air exploded above us. Glass from the picture frames that hung on the walls rained down on us, along with bits of the walls the
mselves as they were barraged with bullets. What remained of the broken window was blown away, the glass popping like cheap fireworks.

  I had one hand over my head and the other clenched in one of Connor’s. I felt Harriet’s arm pressed tightly against my back. She was yelling something, and as I got a glimpse of her through squinting eyes, her face set in anger and concentration, I realized she was casting a spell:

  “IN THE DARKNESS, ENEMIES ABOUND

  BENEVOLENT SPIRITS NOW BE FOUND

  A CIRCLE AROUND THIS DWELLING

  A BARRIER NOW REPELLING!”

  The hail of bullets stopped abruptly. From outside there came a series of metallic pinging noises and then a man screamed in pain. The last few bullets had ricocheted off whatever protection Harriet had cast around the house.

  “Okay, it’s safe,” she panted, sitting up.

  I rose with Connor and pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him the way I had once clung to a teddy bear that a bully tried to take from me when I was four. We then reached out to Harriet, who put an arm around each of us, the way a grandmother would hold her grandchildren.

  “Thank you,” said Connor, “for saving our asses.”

  “I’m afraid none of our asses are out of the woods just yet,” she said.

  The three of us broke apart. I looked anxiously at the two windows on either side of the door, both of them now gaping holes, their glass sprayed all over the room. The curtains that hung over them were torn up and riddled with holes.

  “Don’t worry,” said Harriet. “I know it looks scary but the barrier will protect us.”

  “How long will it last?” I whispered.

  “Until midnight,” she said. “I’ll have to recast it then. And you don’t have to whisper. The barrier protects us from being heard by people on the outside too.”

  “What the hell was that?” asked Connor. “The cops?”

  “No,” said Harriet. She reached down and picked up the creamcolored envelope from among the broken glass, and walked to the window above the television. She peered through one of the tiny holes in the curtains. Connor and I followed, looking through openings of our own.