Aunt Lucille rose from the chair, hiding her suddenly moist eyes from Will. “He offered his life—sacrificed himself for the people he cared most about. He did it out of love—”
“But the demons killed him?”
“The demons tried. Love, Will, is stronger than any plot of the devil.” She clenched her quivering hands, trying to ground her voice. “I will not discuss this further.”
“I need to know what happened.”
“You will KNOW when the time is right. NOT BEFORE!” she thundered. Will was about to speak back, but given Aunt Lucille’s passion, he reclined in the chair and crossed his arms in silence.
Moments later he asked quietly, “When will you tell me the whole story?”
“When you need it.” Lucille arranged some items on the desk and took a book from the side shelf. She lingered on a framed photograph of her father wearing his pith helmet, hanging on the wall. Ever so tenderly, she reached up and touched it. “He was a great man, Will. He built this fortress against the Sinestri and repelled every major demon.”
“So why are we still fighting them?”
“Because he didn’t finish his mission. But he ensured it was left to us. He gave his life so we could have ours. The Sinestri come for each generation. During this time, it is up to us to resist and destroy them if we can. As you know better than most, we live in occupied territory, dear. And though there are demons lurking outside and within, there is also much good that needs protecting.”
Will felt badly about upsetting Aunt Lucille. He could tell from the way she spoke that his questions had awakened painful, personal memories. A part of him wanted to apologize, but he decided to change topic. “So are we going to train today, or what?” he asked her, the old twinkle back in his crescent eyes.
Aunt Lucille had a distant look, still preoccupied with whatever was running through her memory. She took Will by the hand and squeezed it. “No training today.” She hastily turned from him, retreating to the mantel behind the desk, emotion choking her voice. “Go spend time with your family—see your friends. That’s what we fight for, Will. Love them and savor the day.”
While Lucille wasn’t looking, he gingerly pulled the Veil of the Virgin from his backpack and reunited it with the larger reliquary on the side table. He then walked behind his aunt, gave her a hug, and promised to see her later.
As he padded down the hall, Aunt Lucille shouted to him, “I figured that’s how you broke the wrath of that demon. The veil also probably strengthened you during the battle. I was wondering when you were going to return it. Thank you.”
Will scooted down the spiral staircase with only one thing in mind: joining Cami, Simon, and Andrew in the back room of the Burnt Offerings Café.
In the late afternoon, a man in a black hood and cloak rowed a small boat into the shallows of the Perilous River. The boat ran aground under a thicket of dead trees. It was a wasteland across the river from town, a swampy place on the outskirts of Wormwood where few ever ventured.
The hooded figure left the boat and trudged through the dark forest until he came upon a small cabin. Tangled in vines, the door and outer walls of the hovel were covered in a green veneer of mold. The man pulled at the rickety door and entered.
He threw back his hood. “Is anyone here?”
“Oh, yes, I’m here,” a woman’s smoky voice announced from the corner near a smoldering fire. “Come sit by me.” She wore a tattered hooded cloak and sat in a stiff-backed chair, facing the fireplace.
Baldwin considered leaving. But he had come this far, so he obediently shuffled over to the woman.
“Sit.” She half turned her shadowed face toward him. “I thought we would both be in hoods today, honey. You are bold to reveal yourself.” Her bony finger pointed to the stool at her side. “Sit!”
Baldwin took his place. The prolonged silence rattled him. “My cousin, Lilith, told me I should see you. She said you were easy to speak with…could see things.”
The woman greedily grabbed his big hand and turned it to the soft light of the fire. “You are a leader. But someone blocks your path.”
“Yes! I can’t speak to my brothers of this. They lack understanding,” Baldwin stammered. He started to pull his hand away, but the crone’s fingers were like a vise.
“I can’t help unless I see your palm.”
“I’m not interested in getting tied up with the Darkness. I don’t want a reading! Only advice.”
“It’s the young Wilder boy, isn’t it?” The woman groaned, running a finger over a faint line on his palm.
“Who told you that?”
“Oh, I know all about him. I know his family well…”
“He’s impetuous. Untested,” Baldwin spat in his superior tone. “You should hear my Brethren. They praise him day and night. ‘He is the chosen one, Vicar. We must follow Will, Vicar. He is the fulfillment of the prophecy, Vicar.’ I have trained my whole life to fight the Darkness! I, too, have faced demons and been victorious time after time!”
The crone stroked his palm, which had a strange calming effect on him. As he looked down at her hand, the knobby fingers straightened and the wrinkled flesh was suddenly smooth and plump. “You are strong,” she said, “and you have earned the right to lead your community.” Before he knew what was happening, she drew a knife and slit open the fatty part of his palm beneath the thumb. His blood dripped into a gold saucer at the woman’s feet. Baldwin struggled to pull his hand away, but she held him fast, the blood continuing to flow. Then she released her grip.
Baldwin jumped back, knocking over the stool. “What have you done? Who are you?”
“I’m a friend with a common interest.” She reached her two hands toward him. They were once more knotted and shriveled with age. Baldwin checked his own hand and the cut had closed. He rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps the stinging smoke had obscured his vision. He was so confused.
“You are stronger than the boy. Wiser,” the woman said. “Win his confidence. When you have him alone, overpower him. Finish him. I know you have it in you.”
Baldwin shook his head in a panic. “No, witch. I do not have it in me. I am a man of honor. I should never have come here.” He reached for the door, but it would not yield to him.
“Know this, Baldwin—a mighty, cunning one will soon rise against Will Wilder and those nearest him.” She picked up the golden saucer pooled with blood. “Even a Seer can doubt his eyes. Wilder will not see this one coming. While he is bewildered and preoccupied, use your strength to smite him. This chance will not come again for you.” The door of the cabin flew open and a cold wind whistled through the place.
Baldwin, flushed and disoriented, ran from the cabin into the darkness, searching for his boat and the way back home.
Will was in the backroom of the Burnt Offerings Café half joking with Andrew about trying out for the middle school football team next season.
“I think you’re a little light for that, Will-man,” Andrew said between forkfuls of pancakes. “I mean, you could be a kicker or somethin’ but…it’s a tough game. Of course, Simon could show you all the moves.” He laughed, nudging Simon’s chair.
“I’ll do that right after you show us your academic moves, moron.” Simon adjusted his rectangular-framed glasses and smirked. “I’ve always liked your repeating pattern—as in repeating the year.” Simon instantly got up and ran to the other side of the round table to avoid contact with Andrew’s hand.
Cami was about to add her two cents when Will lifted a biscuit to his mouth. She made a strange face when her eyes caught his hand. “William, what’s going on with your ring?”
Will turned the biscuit away and checked the ring’s face. He lost all expression as he watched the deep red blood churn beneath the glass.
“Are you okay, Will?” Simon asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said, looking sick. “Either Aunt Lucille is in trouble or I am.”
He lengthened his arm, warily staring at the frothing blood in th
e ampule, hoping it would stop. His friends exchanged worried glances and gathered around to offer support.
Cami finally broke the long silence with a whisper. “I was going to tell you later, but…Max had another nightmare last night. You were in it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Since Will and I always receive a great deal of assistance on these adventures, some thanks are in order. For their abiding affection, I must first thank my children, Alexander, Lorenzo, and Mariella, and their mom, Rebecca. Their unfiltered feedback saved me from many a wrong turn in Perilous Falls. And without Rebecca I would never have had the time for this return trip. I love you all so very much.
To my team at Random House, your contributions and dedication to all aspects of this second book have been peerless. My editor at Crown, Emily Easton, has once again held my feet to the fire and posed important questions just when I needed them most. You are simply the best. Every writer should receive the support and wisdom that Phoebe Yeh, my publisher at Crown, and Barbara Marcus, president of Random House Children’s Books, have lavished upon me. You have encouraged and bolstered my efforts in ways you will never know. I am in your debt.
I love working with creative people, and at Random House Kids, I have found them in abundance. To my pals Dominique Cimina and Mary McCue in publicity; John Adamo and Kim Lauber in marketing (who create marketing materials worthy of an art gallery); Ken Crossland, our designer (who has incredible taste and a rare eye for beauty); Isabel Warren-Lynch, our art director; Samantha Gentry, the ultimate editorial assistant (who is in charge of absolutely everything); and the entire sales force—each of you has contributed mightily to make this second book so special. Thank you for the gift of your time and talents.
Jeff Nentrup has once again captured the Wilder spirit with another boffo cover and truly spectacular interior illustrations.
Francis “Chip” Flaherty has been my constant wingman from the start of this series. He always ensures that everything goes according to plan. Thank you, my friend.
For their inspiration, friendship, and support, I must thank Dean Koontz, Reed Frerichs, Laura Ingraham, Pete Anthony, Jim Caviezel, Randall Wallace, Ron Hansen, Christopher Edwards, Umberto Fedeli, Monica and Kevin Fitzgibbons, Joe Looney, Stephen Sheehy, Shawn Sheehy, James Faulkner, Cristina Kelly, Peter Gagnon, Lee South, Mary Matalin, Ryan Milligan, Corey Frank, Michael Sortino, Doug Keck, Mother Angelica and her sisters, and my parents, Raymond and Lynda Arroyo.
To the kids, parents, teachers, librarians, and all those who have embraced Will’s adventures, my sincere thanks. When I founded my literacy initiative, Storyented, in 2015, our goal was to help everyone “find your story and find your way.” After countless school visits and signings, I am humbled that so many of you have chosen to make Will Wilder’s story your own. A zeal for adventure and a sense of wonder are so needed today. I hope Will inspires both in all who encounter him.
Finally, I have long thought that we authors are only responsible for about 50 percent of any story. The other half of the tale relies on the imaginative generosity of readers who give life to our creations in their hearts and minds. Thank you for doing your part, and I hope you’ll return to Perilous Falls very soon….
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raymond Arroyo is a New York Times bestselling author, award-winning producer, and lead anchor and managing editor of EWTN News. As the host of The World Over Live, he is seen in nearly 300 million homes internationally each week. He is also the founder of Storyented, a large-scale literacy initiative. When not in Perilous Falls, he can be found at home in Virginia with his wife and three children (where there are absolutely no amulets of Ammit!). You can follow him on Facebook and on Twitter at @RaymondArroyo.
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Will Wilder #2 Page 24
