by S. J. West
“When can we go see him?” I ask.
“We can go now if you want,” Slade says with a great deal of reservation, “but I should warn you that Horace is a drunkard. Brutus was trying to pour some black coffee down his throat when I left them. I doubt it’s had much of an effect on him yet. Even when he’s sober, he can be a real bastard to deal with.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised to hear this. I’ve only known Horace for as long as I’ve known Chandler, though, I did know the story behind Horace’s connection to Chandler’s family.
Chandler’s father made a deal with Horace so he could provide a better life for his family. Unexpectedly, Horace began to genuinely care about Chandler and his parents. They invited him into their home and hearts, gifting him with their love and friendship. From what I was told, this made a new man out of Horace. Or perhaps it was the man he always was. He just needed someone to show him kindness and show him the way to a happier life. Now, Horace managed Chandler’s musical career, without the use of magic. Horace was such an integral part of Chandler’s life that he earned the moniker of ‘Uncle Horace’. As far as I knew, there wasn’t anything Horace wouldn’t do for Chandler…which gave me an idea.
“I think we should take Chandler with us,” I say to Mason. “I know they don’t have the same relationship in this reality, but maybe there’s a universal connection there that we can use to our advantage. If he learns what Chandler means to him on our Earth, it might be just what we need to persuade him to help us here.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Mason agrees.
“Have either of you seen Chandler while you’ve been here?” I ask Desmond and Slade.
“I saw him walk out of the house,” Desmond says, “but I can’t tell you where he was going.”
“I think I know,” I say. I lean up and kiss my husband on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
I shake my head. “No. I won’t be long.”
I walk out of the house and head straight towards the powerhouse. If I know Chandler at all, I’ll find him there doing something special to honor Xiulan’s passing. As I suspected, I find Chandler playing his flute near the spot where Xiulan crossed over from this earthly realm into a heavenly one. His back is turned to me, but I know he feels my presence without having to see me.
The melody Chandler is playing isn’t one meant to evoke sadness. The song is one of quiet joy, celebrating the life of someone who gave us the most precious gift she could give to the world: her child. Everyone who knows Leah loves and cherishes her. The light of her soul is so radiant that people naturally gravitate towards her, without always understanding why. No matter what happens, she always holds her head high to face any struggle head-on, without fear. In his own personal way, Chandler is thanking Xiulan for bringing Leah into our lives, and he is promising her that we will take care of her little girl in her absence.
When Chandler is through, he turns around and grins at me.
“It was beautiful,” I tell him. “I’m sure she loved it.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he says as he strolls over to me, closing the short distance between us. “Where do you think her soul is?”
“What do you mean?”
“Each reality has its own version of Heaven, right?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“Since she was originally a part of our reality, do you think her soul went back to ours, or will it stay in this one?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”
Chandler gives a small shrug. “I was just curious. I would think that she would probably want to be in ours, since that’s where Leah’s soul will go after she dies.”
Chandler turns his head and looks beside him. I know what he’s doing without him even having to say it out loud. Chamuel is speaking with him.
“Ahh,” Chandler says a few seconds later, “that would make sense.”
“What makes sense?” I ask.
“Chamuel says that God would have given Xiulan the option of either staying in this reality or traveling to ours after her soul reached Heaven.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “I’m sure that’s what happened to the ones who went through the Tear during the years it was open. Some of them would have wanted to return to their own reality or stay in the one they traveled to, depending on where their loved ones were.”
“At least Leah will be able to see her mother again someday,” Chandler says. “I suppose that should be some comfort to her.”
“Well, come on,” I tell Chandler, looping an arm around one of his. “I need your help with something.”
“Help with what?” Chandler asks as we make our way back up to the castle.
“Slade found Horace. I thought you might be able to help us with him, since you know him better than anyone else.”
“I know my Uncle Horace,” Chandler clarifies. “I’m not sure how much good I’ll be in convincing this one to help us.”
“It can’t hurt,” I say. “It would make me feel better if you went with us to talk to him.”
“I have no problem going, Jess, but I don’t want you to pin all your hopes on my presence making him do the right thing.”
“I’m actually hoping to use his greed to help us,” I admit. “From what I understand, he’s been searching for his ring for a very long time.”
“I remember Uncle Horace telling me about Lily retrieving his ring from Faust for him,” Chandler says. “Does this Horace even know Faust has it?”
“From what Slade said, I don’t think he does. Come on. Let’s go see what happened to Horace in this reality.”
When Chandler and I return to the others, we decide that Brand, Jered, and Malcolm should come with us. I know Brand would rather be by Jai Lin’s side, but we need him to help coordinate our efforts to retrieve the trumpets from King Solomon’s tomb, if that’s where they are. My gut tells me that’s where we’ll find them, and I always trust my gut.
“Once we have the trumpets,” I say to the group before we phase to Kathmandu, “what are we going to do with them?”
“If we have the trumpets,” Malcolm says, “I say we take them back to our reality with us. We have to get them off this Earth before the princes find a way to steal them from us.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Even if we failed to prevent them from opening the seals, we can at least stop them from sounding the trumpets and making matters even worse.”
“Jered!” Tristan says, running into the library where we’ve all gathered. “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” Jered asks, looking worried.
“Nothing bad,” Tristan says with a smile. “Hopefully something good. Logan has reached out to me. I would like for you to come with me to meet her.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if Sophia went with you instead of me?” Jered asks.
Tristan’s smile fades. “Logan won’t talk to me if I bring her mother. She made that crystal clear.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, chiming in. “If she doesn’t want to be with Sophia, why does she want to talk with you?”
“I’m not totally sure,” Tristan admits. “But she said she wanted to speak with me and only me. I don’t think I should pass up this opportunity. It’ll at least give me another chance to try to convince her to join our side.”
“No, I agree; you should go,” I say. “Just be careful. I don’t want the two of you walking into a trap.”
“Jess is right,” Malcolm says. “This might just be a ploy to capture the two of you.”
“Wait here a moment,” Brand says. “Nina just took Rafe to a small hospital in Russia. Let me bring her back here to go with you, in case there’s any trouble.”
“She isn’t going to leave Rafe there alone,” I tell Brand knowingly.
“Isaiah and Zack went with them,” Brand informs me. “He won’t be left alone. I’ll be right back.”
Brand phases
to retrieve Nina.
In less than a minute, he’s back, with Nina right beside him.
“Where do we need to go?” Nina asks Tristan.
“She wants to meet me a couple of blocks away from her father’s home,” Tristan says, handing Nina a slip of paper with something written on it. “This is the address.”
Nina takes the paper and reads it quickly. “All right. Are you ready to go?”
“One moment,” Jered says, phasing and returning seconds later with his sword in his hand. “Better safe than sorry.”
Nina holds her hands out to Tristan and Jered. “Let’s go, then.”
“Good luck,” I quickly say before the trio phases away on their own mission.
“All right,” Desmond says to us, “is everyone ready?”
After we all say yes, Desmond and Slade phase us to the bar in Kathmandu.
Mason has only told me stories about the bar Brutus likes to frequent in Kathmandu. I didn’t know what to expect, but I guess I didn’t think it would feel as homey as it does. The interior is constructed out of a dark rough-hewed wood. There is a second floor opened to the main room, but I can only see the banister from where I’m standing. The actual bar is built into one end of the rectangular space, and a large stone fireplace is built against the other. Round tables with chairs fill the room in a checkerboard pattern.
It’s nighttime in Kathmandu, and the bar is filled with boisterous patrons who have imbibed enough spirits that their out-of-tune singing doesn’t seem to be bothering them. For the most part, the atmosphere is jovial. The only cheerless spot is where Horace sits. He’s nursing a large cup of what I presume is coffee and bellowing at the folks singing to stop. He holds his head, with both hands pressed firmly against his forehead like that small act is the only thing keeping his skull from shattering into a million little pieces. This world’s Horace is still bald around the crown of his head, with the grey hair at the base of his skull long and stringy. The full beard on his face looks like it might be housing more germs and tiny critters than I want to think about. He’s dressed shabbily in mismatched furs that look as germ-infested as the rest of him.
“I hope he doesn’t smell as bad as he looks,” I comment dryly, feeling my skin begin to itch.
“I wouldn’t hope too hard,” Mason says. “I think it would be a wasted effort.”
We follow Slade as he makes his way through the crowd to Horace’s corner table. We draw a few looks, especially from the females in the crowd, but I can’t blame them for staring. If I were to suddenly look up and see the handsome men I’m with walk into a bar, not knowing who they are, I would stare at them in wonder, too.
“Horace,” Slade says, taking a seat beside our dirty little djinn, who might just be the key to saving this world, “are you sober yet?”
“About as sober as I ever want to be,” Horace replies gruffly. With wary eyes, he watches as we all sit with him. When his gaze rests on Chandler, there’s a moment of hesitation in his sneer. It’s fleeting, but it’s enough to give me hope that Chandler’s presence will be beneficial in our talks.
“Do I know you, boy?” Horace asks, eyeing Chandler, like he’s trying to place him in the long history of his life.
“I know you on my Earth,” Chandler answers. The pity he has for this version of Horace is plain on his face. “You’re a part of my family there. I even call you ‘Uncle Horace’.”
Horace snorts derisively. “That’s absurd. No one would be stupid enough to welcome me into their family; not without the advantages my ring would give them, anyway.”
“It might have started that way,” Chandler admits, “but my parents and I consider you a part of our family now. This,” Chandler says, taking in Horace’s disheveled appearance with pity, “isn’t who you’re meant to be. You can’t honestly say you’re happy living this way.”
“Only fools find happiness,” Horace mumbles, hanging his head as he slumps even lower in his chair. “And I’m no fool, boy.”
“You are if you think this is all life has to offer you,” Chandler tells him. “You can be more. You can be a hero.”
Horace stares at Chandler for a moment before he laughs so hard I fear he’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.
“A hero?” Horace exclaims. “That would take a miracle! And I’m past believing God still works miracles.”
“If you help us, you might actually be able to help Him work one, Horace,” Brand says with sincerity.
“Me? Work a miracle?” Horace asks. “How is taking you to King Solomon’s tomb going to do that?”
“You have eyes,” Brand says. “You have to know what Lucian and the other princes are doing. Your knowledge can help us stop them.”
“What makes you think I want this world to keep turning?” Horace asks, spitting on the floor.
“I will kindly remind you not to spit on my freshly-mopped floors, Horace,” a familiar voice says as he brings another large mug of coffee to the table and sets it down in front of our inebriated source of information.
When I look up to see this world’s Brutus, I’m grateful that one of my friends on our Earth looks much the same here. Bulging muscles have always been one of Brutus’ trademark qualities. He has the same piercing, ice-blue eyes and long black hair, which is neatly pulled back into a ponytail. He’s wearing a vest made out of white llama fur and black, baggy cargo pants.
When Brutus sees Mason, he bows his head in reverence.
“It’s an honor to be in your presence again, Samyaza,” Brutus tells my husband in a humble voice. “I was glad to hear you made it through the war in the Origin. I only wish that had occurred in this reality as well.”
“Thank you, Brutus,” Mason replies. “So do I; things would have been a lot different for all of you.”
“Our father has His reasons for all things,” Brutus says sagely. “I suppose we’ll eventually learn why He’s allowed things to progress the way they have here.”
“One day, I suppose we will,” Mason agrees.
“So what is it that you expect to find down in old Solly’s tomb anyway?” Horace asks derisively. “The lot of you don’t seem much like grave robbers. I assume we’re going for something specific. Are you looking for his ring?”
No one around the table provides an answer to his question.
“Does it really matter what we want?” I ask. “As long as we’re able to get your ring back for you, I don’t see any reason for you to know what it is we’re going there to search for.”
“I like to know what I’m getting myself into,” Horace grumbles. “If I’m going to be putting my life on the line, I want to know why I’m doing it.”
“Like Jess said,” Malcolm tells Horace, “you don’t need to know. We’ll get your ring back from Faust after you help us.”
“Faust has it?” Horace says in surprise before shaking his head back and forth. “I should have known that slimy bastard was the one who stole it.” Horace looks at Malcolm and asks, “What if I want you to get it before I help you?”
“You know that won’t work,” Malcolm replies, like he’s speaking to an idiot. “The only way Faust will give us your ring is if we have King Solomon’s ring to use on him.”
“So you are going for the ring,” Horace says triumphantly.
“Of course we are,” Malcolm confirms, but holds back from saying anything else.
I suppose telling Horace part of the truth is safer than telling him all of it. The fewer people who know where the trumpets might be located the better. We certainly don’t need to tell a lush who might shout out our secret from the nearest rooftop in his next drunken stupor.
“As long as you promise to get me my ring, I don’t care what you do down there,” Horace says. “Faust has been taunting me ever since I lost the damn thing. I guess that should have been my sign that he had it.”
“Then you’ll help us?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ll help you. I just hope you’re ready to handle what’s down there. I
sure as hell wasn’t.”
“Let us worry about that,” I say.
“When can you take us?” Brand asks.
“Let me finish this godforsaken coffee,” Horace grumbles, looking up at Brutus. “Couldn’t you just put a splash of whiskey in it to make it easier to swallow?” he pleads. “It tastes like horse piss.”
“That would defeat the purpose of you drinking it, Horace,” Brutus says with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just hold your nose and swallow. Do you need my help again?”
“Uh, no,” Horace says miserably. “I’d rather not experience that humiliation twice in one night if I don’t have to. You people are going to have to give me some time so I can think straight. I don’t want to accidentally phase you into a wall down there.”
“Are we going to Tel Beit Shemesh?” Malcolm asks.
The look of surprise on Horace’s face is priceless.
“How did you….oh…never mind. I don’t need to know how you knew that. If you already know where it is, why do you need my help?”
“We don’t exactly have time to dig our way down to the tomb,” Malcolm says. “And none of us have been there. You’re the only one who can phase us directly into it.”
“How long do you need?” I ask Horace.
“Eh, give me an hour. I should be sober enough by then.” Horace glances in Chandler’s direction, like he wants to ask him something, but then thinks better of it and returns his gaze to his mug of coffee.
“I think I’ll stay here,” Chandler says to me, having noticed Horace’s unspoken desire to talk to him some more.
“Ok,” I say, wondering what it is Horace wants to talk about. “We’ll be back in an hour.”
Those of us leaving stand from the table.
“If you need any more help,” Brutus tells us, “let me know.”
“Thank you,” I reply before Mason takes my hand and phases us to the library in the castle.
When we’re all back, Malcolm says, “I know we talked about this before, but circumstances have changed a bit. I assume we’re not going to be sending Leah down to the tomb now.”
