“Of course he’s not going to come,” Ben snapped, annoyed with Will’s slowness. “I just told you Brother Phleger’s plan—as much as he has a plan within that welter of half-formed subconscious impulses that he attributes to divine guidance. What’s going to happen, however, is that we’re going to get this box out of here—get it away from Brother Phleger, and back to the Institute, where it can be kept safe.”
“And how exactly are we going to do that?”
“The only way we can. We must unlock it and use its power before Phleger can.”
“We have to unlock the box—to keep Phleger from unlocking the box?” Will shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
Ben drew a deep breath. “Will, we are inside a credomantic organization that is as strong as the Institute. And tomorrow at midnight, when they perform the Consecration, it will become infinitely stronger. We are trapped within walls of impenetrable faith. Our only possible means of escape is brute force—the kind of force contained within the snuffbox.”
Will thought through all this.
“But if Dreadnought Stanton is in no real danger ... and the box is no threat to anyone if it’s not unlocked .... and Phleger says you’re the only one who knows how to unlock it ...” Will made a gesture that suggested the conclusion was obvious. “Why should we unlock it at all? Why not just leave it as it is, locked and useless? Then no one could use it—not the Scharfians, not anyone.”
“Oh yes, that’s a wonderful idea,” Ben sneered. “Just exactly what do you think Brother Phleger will do when I tell him no? When I tell him that I’ve decided not to assist him in accomplishing his highest holy crusade?”
“God will probably tell him to kill you.” Will regarded his brother coldly. “But I don’t see why he’d hold it against Jenny or me.”
Ben blinked at him in astonishment. Then he exhaled slowly.
“You’ve got more Cowdray in you than I imagined,” he said harshly. “No, Will. He wouldn’t kill me. He would tear my mind to shreds with righteous indignation, looking for the information. And very quickly, he would discover the truth.”
“And which kind of ‘truth’ is that?” said Will, with faint irony. He was beginning to be very wary of that particular word.
“That he doesn’t really need me at all.” Ben said, his glossy green eyes reflecting Will’s silent astonishment. “There’s no secret to opening the snuffbox. It is true, it does require a magical connection to Cowdray’s spirit, a connection that could be established using you or—” Ben stopped abruptly, looking away. “But beyond that, it only requires overcoming Cowdray’s resistance with sufficient magical force. Of course I know how to do it—but so would even the most casual student of magic.”
“Well, why doesn’t God tell him this?” Will snapped.
“Because at the moment, Phleger perceives me as a necessary evil. The good brother protects his holy self-image by believing that I am the only one who knows how to open the box,” Ben snapped back. “He doesn’t keep me around for my magical knowledge. He keeps me around to be his sin-eater.”
Ben leaned forward, his voice becoming both softer and more intense. “But if I cross him, or thwart him in any way, I will become an unnecessary evil. Phleger’s subconscious defenses would swarm against me. And I have no doubt that God would tell him—in the form of a well-timed Vision—that anything I can do, he can do a million times more powerfully. When he decides he wants God to want that for him ... we really are all dead.”
Ben paused to let these words sink in. Then he continued.
“Unlocking the box is a risk, yes. An enormous risk. But given the amount of power Phleger has, it’s going to get unlocked one way or another. Using you—or the blood of your child.” This time Ben did not pull the punch, but rather hit the last few words with painful emphasis. “The only way any of us are going to get out of here alive is if we control how it happens, and control what happens to the power afterwards.”
Will thought about this for a long time. The sound of organ music, soft and muffled, filtered in through the walls. That must be Little Sanctity Snow playing, Will thought. He thought of how she’d sat at Phleger’s desk, intensely ripping his papers to shreds. He looked up at his brother.
“Just tell me one thing, Ben. And tell me the truth. Did you know that I would inherit the curse?”
“No!” Ben said, a note of anguish in his voice. “I didn’t know. I’ve told you that already, and it was the truth. I saw Father give you the Panchrest. How could you possibly inherit the curse? But to infiltrate the Consortium, I had to be of value to them. I had to give them information, and there had to be truth in it. I had to make them believe.” He paused. “It had to be you. You were a Kendall descendant, just turned eighteen. The Consortium knew that none of the other Edwards brothers had inherited the curse. You were the only plausible candidate. I gave them a story, Will. That’s all I have the power to do, tell people stories and make them believe them. I had no way of knowing it would turn out to be the truth.”
“But if you believed I wouldn’t inherit the curse, how did you intend to get the snuffbox?” Will said, following the logic through. “What did you think would happen when they found out I didn’t have the cursed blood they needed?” He gestured around himself broadly. “How did you expect to get the snuffbox out of this great center of power then?”
“If things had gone as they were supposed to, the snuffbox wouldn’t be in this great center of power,” Ben said bitterly. “Brother Phleger was in Detroit on the night of the full moon—December 16th. He was holding an old fashioned revival at the Detroit Scharfian Fellowship. I had convinced him to bring the snuffbox with him to Detroit. It was almost impossible to get him to take the chance—you’ve seen how careful he is with it. But I did. I convinced him. I told him a very good story.”
Ben paused, his face dark and intense. He stared down at the desk for a moment, fists clenched. Then he took a deep breath, and released it slowly.
“And if things had gone according to plan ... if you’d met me at the station as you were supposed to ... then Trahern would have taken us both to him. To wherever he was keeping the snuffbox. And the Institute warlocks shadowing me would have followed, and they would have seized the box in a place away from Phleger’s center of power. It would have been a difficult battle, but they would have prevailed.”
He paused again. “But you didn’t meet me. And Trahern did not take me to Phleger. And so, here we are.”
Will bowed his head. The organ music had become heavy and slow.
“I didn’t know where you were,” Ben continued. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. But I never imagined it was actually the curse, until Hart contacted Phleger and told him about Jenny.” He paused. “When I saw the charms on her Body I knew. I knew it had to be Cowdray.”
He looked at Will.
“I also knew that the most sensible course of action was for me to return to the Institute. Extract myself from the situation; put myself out of Phleger’s reach. He believes I hold the secret to unlocking the box—so the best move would have been to keep myself, and the secret he believes I possess, away from him. It would not have been a permanent solution, but it would have slowed him down. It would have made him waste valuable time. And the Institute needed that time. It needed it very badly.”
Ben stretched his hand out flat, staring hard at his own fingers, as if there was some kind of secret within them.
“But I knew what he would do with that time. The only thing he could do—figure out some way to use Jenny. And no matter what God told him to do to her, it surely would have hurt her more than she’s already been hurt. If I let that happen, you’d never forgive me. That’s why I put that note on your pillow.”
Will was shocked. “You?”
Ben nodded.
“The Gores warded their whole house against Agency warlocks ... do you really think a fool like Atherton Hart could get past them and stab a knife into your pillow?” Ben scoffed. “No
, Will. I sent you to him, so that he would bring you to me. Because I knew that you and I together could have a chance of making this work. As long as I keep Phleger fooled about how important I am to him, and you do everything exactly as I say, we can save Jenny, get the box, escape to safety, everything. I know we can do this, little brother. Trust me.” He grinned crookedly. “It’ll all come out all right.”
Will absorbed all this. Finally, he sighed. “You could have told me all this at the Gores’, and spared me the trouble of climbing out the window.”
“Phleger would have known.” Ben lifted an ironic eyebrow. “You’re not a very good liar, Will. Besides—I couldn’t have told you earlier; that’s not how credomancers operate.”
“You’re not a credomancer,” Will said.
“But I am a storyteller,” Ben said. “And we happen to work in much the same way.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Sanctum Sanctorum
The jangling ring of the desk telephone shattered the silence, making them both jump. Ben lifted the receiver quickly, and listened.
“Yes, the preparations are complete,” he replied sharply. “You must return immediately. I have discovered something very important.” Ben replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned to Will.
“Phleger is coming.” Ben leapt out of the chair. “Things will happen fast now. Try to keep up.”
A suitcase, damp from melted snow, sat near the office door. Retrieving it, Ben unlocked it with a key he drew from his pocket.
“It is of utmost importance that we escape with the box before the Consecration ceremony,” he said, opening the suitcase. It was filled not with clothes, but rather with books and papers. “The ceremony will cement this place as Brother Phleger’s center of power. After it is complete, these walls will be magically impregnable. That’s why Phleger moved up the ceremony. He knows that you can access Cowdray’s power, and he knows that the Institute knows it.”
Will knit his brow, puzzled. “How does the Institute know it?”
“I told them, of course—”
“But how could Phleger know that?”
Ben’s eyes flashed alarm, but the look quickly coagulated into annoyance. He shook his head sharply.
“I don’t have time to explain everything, Will. All you need to know is that Phleger expects that Dreadnought Stanton will try and get the box before the Consecration puts it out of his reach. He’s fortifying his center of power to keep my Sophos from getting in ... and if we don’t get out before the ceremony is complete, we might not get out at all.”
Ben swept all of Phleger’s paperwork to one side and began pulling his own papers from within the suitcase. He spread these out over the desk as if he’d been working on them during Phleger’s absence. He set a pen and pot of ink nearby to complete the illusion. Will peered down at the sheets—they were all covered with hastily scribbled astrological charts and horary calculations.
“I have to convince Phleger to attempt to open the box before he’s completed his defenses—and I have to do so without making him question his faith in me.” Ben paused, his face going slightly pale, as if realizing the enormity of the task before him. Visibly steeling himself, he pulled several leather-bound astrological reference tomes—tables of houses, ephemeredes, sidereal atlases—out of the suitcase and thumped them down in dusty piles. “So I’ve cooked up a damn good story. My best yet.”
Having arranged the papers and books to his satisfaction, Ben then reached into his pocket and produced a silver tin that rattled. He opened it and thrust it at Will. “Quick, take one of these—no, take two.”
Will looked into the tin. “Candy?”
Ben rattled the tin at him insistently. “They’re a magical potion, just in a different form. Come on!”
Will took two of the candies and popped them into his mouth. They were sweet and bitter at the same time, tasting of ginger and honey and sulphur.
Ben tucked away the tin, put both his hands on Will’s arms, and looked him full in the face, his green eyes searching Will’s violet ones. “Listen carefully. Before I came here, I alerted the Institute. There are warlocks waiting to come to our rescue. But they cannot enter here unless Phleger invites them in.”
Will almost choked on the candy. “Invites them in? How are we supposed to—”
At that moment, the door to the office jerked open. Trahern entered first, glaring at Ben and Will as he stood aside to let Brother Phleger pass. The press conference must have gone very well, for the beaming preacher strutted through the door chest-first, in mid-command: “Of course they must print it! I have it here somewhere ...”
Going quickly to his desk, he sank into his chair, clearly meaning to retrieve some important document. When he saw the heaps of astrological papers and books, he frowned deeply, and his nostrils flared as if smelling brimstone. Lifting his eyes to Ben, he hissed, “What kind of demonic sorcery is—”
But then he caught sight of Ben’s face, and the words stopped in his mouth.
Will himself was shocked by his brother’s transformation. He had become “Professor Coeus” again in an instant, his chin raised high, his back strong and straight, his whole body as taut as a predatory cat’s. But that wasn’t what caught Phleger’s attention—rather, it was the fervent, intense gleam in Ben’s eyes.
“What’s the matter?” said Phleger, concerned. He glanced at Will. “Is there something wrong with the boy?”
“Wrong!” Ben exhaled, his voice trembling with excitement. He gave a wondrous little laugh. “Wrong? No, Brother Phleger. Nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact, things couldn’t be more right. I have discovered something incredible—astonishing!”
Phleger’s brow furrowed even more deeply. “What have you discovered?”
“I almost cannot believe it,” Ben mused, looking not at Phleger, but rather past him. “It cannot be, and yet it is—”
“What?” Phleger barked. “What is it?”
Ben’s eyes focused, and he turned his keen gaze on Phleger. “This young man has just provided me with his birth information,” he said. “I used it to quickly calculate his astrological chart, thinking it might be of some use in our efforts. And I discovered that Mr. Edwards was born under ... a Grand Cross.”
Ben paused to let the import of the statement sink in. But it was lost on Brother Phleger, for he merely made an impatient gesture.
“Yes? And? So?”
“Aebedel Cowdray was also born under that particular astrological configuration. And while I have never told you, for I know you do not countenance such practices, when I cast your own chart, I discovered that you too were born under a Grand Cross.”
Phleger’s eyes widened. It was clear that the symbology of a Grand Cross shining on his birth was of intense and immediate interest to him—and so pleasing, in fact, that he seemed willing to overlook the fact that he shared the holy-seeming birthright with the wicked Cowdray himself.
“But that is not the incredible thing,” Ben seized a sheaf of papers from the desk, and thrust them close to Phleger’s face, jabbing at specific notes as he spoke. “At this very moment, in the heavens above us, yet another Grand Cross is forming. This exceedingly rare and powerful configuration, which occurs when each of four planets stands at a square to the others, creates massive tension—the eternal tension between good and evil, taken to its furthest extreme. The stage is set, Brother Phleger, for a magical event of such unimaginable power ... of such exceptional intensity ... that it literally takes my breath away.” As if to demonstrate this, Ben drew in a deep gulp of air.
“All right,” Phleger said, slight wariness creeping into his voice. He pushed the papers aside with disgust, as if Ben were waving a soiled handkerchief at him. “What does it all mean?”
“It means the box must be opened at the moment the Grand Cross reaches its most precise alignment,” Ben said. He quickly consulted a battered pocketwatch. “In exactly one hour.”
The words hung in the air for a mom
ent—but it only took a moment for Phleger’s face to go from consideration to conclusion.
“No,” he said.
Ben looked stricken. “But Brother—”
“It is impossible,” Phleger interjected coolly. “The Consecration must happen first. We must fortify this Temple, dedicate it and all of its power to the Lord Almighty. If we conduct the ritual without that holy sanction, then it is nothing more than witchcraft. And God will not tolerate it.”
“You are the Temple!’ Ben cried. “You are sanctified, a man of God—”
“Precisely so!” Phleger flared. “I am just that—a man. If we fail, our enemies would gain great comfort—enough, possibly, to empower them to move against us.” He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes. “God tells me very strongly that I must wait. I must wait until the time is truly right, when the ritual can be conducted with all the power of the faithful behind it.”
Ben made a sound of extreme annoyance and threw the papers down onto the desk. He seemed ready to storm out of the office in disgust—but instead, he made a great show of collecting himself. When he did speak again, Professor Coeus’ haughtiest sneer tinged his voice. He spoke very slowly.
“Clearly, Brother Phleger, you do not understand the gravity of this discovery. This combination of astrological omens is so powerful—and so utterly unprecedented—that not to take advantage of it would be the very apex of foolishness.”
Phleger met Ben’s infuriating condescension with an even more infuriating grin. “I understand that faith can sometimes seem like foolishness to a man who does not know God, Professor.”
Phleger’s grin made Ben bristle—but then, all at once, he relaxed. He took a deep breath, and then he, too, smiled—the knowing, weary smile of a man recognizing his defeat.
“No, you are right,” he said. “I am not a man of faith. I am a man of the world, and as such, the ways of the world seem very urgent and important to me.” He began gathering his charts and books from Phleger’s desk and carefully replacing them in the suitcase. “I was thinking more of your secular aspirations than your holy obligations, and I apologize. It’s just that you have no idea how much additional power this could lend to the announcement you’re planning to make after the Consecration.”
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