The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

  I nudge Regi’s shoulder with two knuckles. “Mom up yet?”

  Regi is petite so she has to reach her arms up to keep the ropes aligned. Her plum puffy coat makes swishy noises as she works the ropes. She’s panting a little from the effort and her breath comes out in white puffs against the winter air. “She’s still in bed. She doesn’t want to be our mommy anymore. Just like Daddy.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Well I’m hungry.”

  I think of this Hound that could have possibly been in our house and can’t help but worry about Regi. It’s bad enough my dad is gone, but if anything ever happened to my little sister I couldn’t deal with it. “I’ll make something. What do you want?”

  “French toast and sweet sausage.”

  “Yeah right. We’re having chicken.”

  “You’re boring.”

  “And you’re a pain in my ass. I’ll be right back. I’m going to the market. Don’t leave the front stoop.”

  “I won’t.”

  On my way to the butcher’s Richie Ramera falls in step next to me. “Sup Sullen. Pretty day for a cold one.”

  I hate small talk. If you’ve got something to say to me, say it. Otherwise get out of my face.

  “Don’t call me Sullen. And I should beat your ass for messing with me the other night.” Aside from being a punk-ass bully, Richie is the Valley pervert. He took my best friend Ernestine’s virginity last year. She said she didn’t want to but he had some big dirt on her father. I told Ernestine it was rape. But she said, “Please. If that’s the case, every man breathing is a rapist.”

  “Ok. Fine. I’ll call you Stori then. Your man, Carp, don’t like that name either. But I don’t care what Carp likes. I care what you like.”

  I stop and face him. One thing I’ve learned in my sixteen years on this planet is when someone shows you evil, you should never run from it. No matter how uncomfortable it makes you, you have to face it dead on and never look away. “Look. I’m wasting time here. In case you haven’t noticed, I got stuff going on.”

  He narrows his squinty eyes and licks his lips. “You’re untouched aren’t you?”

  I have a clean shot on him. But Richie’s big. It could get ugly.

  “Them lips,” he says. “They never been kissed.”

  I shove him hard. It doesn’t move him much. He laughs and lets me go, calling out. “It’ll be our little secret!”

  The bells chime at my entrance to Mr. Delfi’s Butcher Shop and the young man at the counter looks up and smiles. “Hello. How are you today?”

  I don’t recognize him from the Valley. It’s odd to see him in Mr. Delfi’s place. I approach the counter. “Where’s Mr. Delfi?”

  “He’s taking the day off. I’m his son-in-law, Jeffrey. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on. So what can I get for you?”

  I can already tell I don’t like this guy. He’s a phony. “Chicken. Two thighs and some wings.”

  He smacks the countertop with both hands. “Coming right up.”

  “Wait a minute. I changed my mind. Sausage. Four links. Sweet.”

  “You got it.”

  Over in the corner is a table set up by a small black and white television mounted to the wall. There isn’t a shop in the Valley that doesn’t have a table set up for Tommy Tapparelli’s crew. Tommy runs the streets here. His business is big—heroin, gambling and the bunny ranch on Liberty Road. Tommy’s crew makes big money, and in order to make big money one must have big bodyguards to keep others from trying to take it.

  I see Arty Arm sitting with a man named Mo.

  Mo wasn’t made for blending in. I’m talking six-five with twenty-four-inch forearms. His presence is a major imposition wherever he goes. He has a way of filling a room with whatever mood he happens to be in at the time. If he’s happy the room is happy. If he’s quiet the room is quiet. At the moment he’s relaxed and I must be insane for disturbing the silence. My father knows my temper so he’s always given me strict warnings about staying on Mo’s good side. “Your tough,” my father would say, in his slow speech. (Almost drowning caused him a little brain damage.) “But not enough for some things. You see Mo on your side of the street, cross over to the other side.”

  Mo threw a baby down a flight of stairs once just because the baby was crying. The baby died.

  My father would be very upset right now if he knew I was walking over to Mo while he was enjoying a fresh Cold Cut sandwich and a can of Pepsi.

  “What do you want?” he snaps through a mouthful, shredded lettuce trying to escape his brutal maw.

  Arty puts a hand up, “We’re busy kid. Not now.”

  I guess I’m not thinking rationally, what with everything that happened at Desma’s house. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Mo. I just was wondering if I could tell you something.”

  “Talk.”

  “I was just at Miss Beppy’s house and she’s upset about this guy named Cosimo who sent some guy she called a Hound into her house to attack her. Arty knows who I’m talking about, don’t you Arty?”

  “Yeah,” he sais. “But now is not the time.”

  “I’ve heard the Arm’s horror stories already kid. Don’t worry.”

  “So then you know too. I thought maybe you guys could do something, since you protect the streets and—”

  “Fuck that old lady,” Mo snaps. He chuckles at his own insult.

  I hate Mo. I don’t know why the Tapparellis allow him to run around the Valley and treat everybody like shit. It’s not fair.

  Arty scowls at me, shaking his head. “Told you to scram, Putz.”

  “Something should be done,” I insist. “About Miss Beppy. About my father. And those kids too. Your supposed to protect the streets, remember?”

  Mo looks up and says, “What do I care about some old bag who’s a day from croaking, or these snot-rag shits always asking me for change? Fuck ‘em. Let your corpse and his hounds take ‘em. They ain’t making me no money.”

  I’m fuming now. I dart my eyes on Arty. “Nana Lu know you sitting with this guy?”

  Arty hides his shame as best he can.

  Mo leans forward on his elbows. “You know, girl. You got the features of a mouse. You know how them scientists in the lab kill their mice for research? Grab ‘em by the head and tail, pull at both ends like this.”

  Arty closes his eyes as if he’s fallen into prayer. His nostrils flare.

  Mo glares at me impatiently, waiting for an answer. Mustard is caked in the crevices of his mouth. I normally make it a point not to look at people too long—you know, in the probing kind of way. God only knows what I might find. But desperate to make sense of Mo’s indifference, I peer back at him and search deep into his eyes, his face, his body, his atmosphere. The harder I concentrate, the clearer I can see the monster inside him, rolling outward so that it pulses like neon light all around him.

  I’ve never searched Mo before so I only half believed that story about him throwing the baby down the flight of stairs. But looking at him now, I know it’s true. And it breaks my very heart.

  He would do just what he said. He would hurt me bad and feel no remorse. I’ve always known there were people like that in the world but I never imagined I would ever have to face one.

  Until now.

  The bells chime as a few more customers walk in.

  “All ready!” Jeffrey shouts. He whistles. “Young girl. Your order’s ready.”

  I pay for my purchase at the register, but before I go I look across the room at Arty. I wait for him to meet my gaze. When he finally does I let him have it. “Facce Due!” It means two face in Italian. An insult in English is one thing. But an insult in Italian is the ultimate disrespect.

  I leave Mr. Delfi’s Butcher Shop utterly defeated, disgusted and something more—I feel like I’ve just lost faith in the world—in its goodness, its honor, its innocence. In a matter of just a minute, I’m not a little kid anymore.

  I share a small bedroom with Regina. We
have two twin beds—hers is by the double doors of the closet, mine is under the window facing out into the alley. There’s a little fire escape outside my window and the potted pine tree strung with Christmas lights that my father bought at Thanksgiving is still out there. The lights are blinking and I take comfort in them as I try to drift off to sleep.

  Regi’s fed and fast asleep, I tell myself. You need your rest for tomorrow’s mission. As soon as school’s out, you’ve got to find Uncle Joe.

  I close my eyes and after some time my arms and legs get heavy and before I know it, I’m in blackness. But not for long.

  I wake again. But this time I’m not in my own bed, but in a large canopy with soft duvet covers and satin sheets pulled over me. Wearing some kind of silk dress I never even knew I owned I sit up and take in my surroundings.

  This is definitely not my room. This is definitely no room in the Valley. Why, this place looks almost like a castle.

  I pull my legs out from under the duvet and dangle them over the bedside. The cold of the stone floor whispers just below my feet. I shiver and hold my arms about myself for warmth.

  A bay window in the far corner shows snow falling in big white flakes. They sail by, and with the moon behind them, make shadows upon the grey stone sill. Then comes a great wind and suddenly two doors burst wide open. In another corner are French doors draped in linen. The linen whips about in the gusting wind. Snow flurries into the room and makes a dusting over the floor.

  “Where the hell am I?” I ask.

  Out there, in the far beyond is Casino Strive. It’s all lit up and quite beautiful, sitting under a big white moon. “I’m in Redemption,” I tell myself, still shuddering from the cold. “But where?”

  Before I can get off the bed and go out to the balcony I am being awoken by my sister. “You’re in your bed Stori. You’re home. With me and Mommy still. Like always.”

  It was just a dream, of course. The face of my sister in all her innocence and alarm comforts me. But it also scares me somehow. She’s headed for some kind of sadness. I can just feel it. I would do anything to protect her from it. I would do anything to know my sister is never harmed.

  In the morning, before I put her on her bus I tell her, “Now remember what I told you. If anybody, even your friends, asks about us, you tell them nothing. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I want to kiss her on the top of the head, but I don’t. She’s too soft and needs to toughen up. I have to be more stern with her now. It’s for her own good. “Get on the bus. And remember what I said.”

  A couple of her friends skip over. “Hi Regi!”

  Regi brightens. “Hi Britt, hi Maria.”

  “I love your new shoes,” the one girl says.

  “Thanks,” says Regi.

  “Oh!” the other girl says. “And look at your curls. Did you use a straight iron?”

  “I only used bobby pins!” Regi is a sweet girl and has tons of friends. She’s all hyper and giggly; she’s whispering some kind of boy gossip with them. She’s totally forgotten me. I feel a little left out. I think I’m actually jealous.

  I get to my bus stop early so I can board first and get a seat right in front. I used to sit in the back with Tony but ever since he hooked up with Desma I avoid him like the plague.

  He gets on with her. “Hi Stori,” Desma says as she passes.

  I don’t answer.

  “Hey Stor,” Tony echoes.

  I don’t answer.

  Tony’s not pleased. He stands over me. “Come on, Stor. Why you sitting up here? Come in the back with us, kid.”

  “I like the front,” I tell him and turn to look out the window.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” Tony’s not used to people rejecting him so I know it’s just burning him up inside. Good. Give him a dose of his own medicine. Guys are so good at dishing shit out but horrible at taking it. There you go, Tony Carp. Dissed first thing in the morning. I hope it burns you up so bad it gives you chronic indigestion. I know it’s not right to wish bad things for another person, but I just can’t help myself. Thank God for my best friend Ernestine, who slips into the seat beside me and distracts me from my loathing.

  “Hey, Stor.”

  “Hey, Ern.”

  “I saw the missing sign you put up outside my house.”

  “Yeah. I was up late that night.”

  “I would have helped.”

  “It’s okay. I know you’re going through your own thing.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad, Stor.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Finally the last of our students have boarded. The doors bang shut and the engine roars.

  “Did he start drinking again?”

  “No. That’s the thing, Ern. He was doing so good. Working overtime. Taking us out to dinners. Bringing gifts home. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Hey. He might come back then. At least you have hope. My dad’s up against 10 to 15 and the public defender said this time it’s gonna stick.”

  Ernestine’s father was arrested before Christmas for holding up a pawn shop in the next town over. He said he needed the money for gifts. Her mom is legally blind and isn’t able to work so Ern might get placed in foster care.

  “CPS been by your place?” I ask her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Every day.”

  “They came to my house two days ago.”

  She reaches over and puts her hand on my knee. I put my hand on top of hers and we ride the rest of the way to school in silence.

  5: Priscilla

  Stori’s little sister sits alone in the principal’s conference room.

  I set down my things and take a seat across from her. “Hi, Regina. My name is Miss Priscilla. I work for the city and I’m here to ask you a few questions. Do you think that will be okay?”

  “Are you that lady from CPS?” she asks.

  “I’m a social worker, yes. I help people.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you. My sister, Stori, told me.”

  The family’s a locked vault. But I’m not deterred a bit. If there’s one thing I’m good at it is tapping that vault and listening patiently for the little clicks.

  “That’s okay, Regina. I don’t mind.” I let a moment of silence pass, then continue. “You know something? I like you Regina. I can tell you’re a very smart girl.”

  “You can?” she asks.

  “Yes. I can. So I’m going to help you out, okay? I’m going to be completely honest with you. I was sent here to find out about what’s going on at home. And what happened the night your father left. But since you don’t want to upset your older sister, we won’t talk about those things, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But I do need something for my notes, or else I’ll get in trouble with my boss, so maybe we can just talk about other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

  “What’s a social worker?”

  “It’s someone who helps people who are having a little bit of a hard time. Families mostly.”

  “And kids?”

  “Oh, yes. Lots of kids.”

  “Like sick kids?”

  “Some of them are sick, yes.”

  “Are any of them blind?”

  “Some. Why? Do you know anyone that’s blind?”

  “Not really. But there’s a woman on our street with a seeing eye dog. And every time I see him helping her cross the street I want to just give him a big hug and tell him I love him.”

  Sweet. I wasn’t expecting that. “Those dogs are very nice, Regi.” Her conversation is quite enchanting but talking about seeing eye dogs won’t get us far. “Why don’t you tell me about your friends at school?”

  “I got lots of friends,” she says proudly.

  “I bet you do.”

  She’s nothing like her older sister. She’s slight and tender and unassuming. I decide I like her. But nonetheless, I’m here for one pu
rpose and one purpose only: to get to the bottom of things. “Tell me about one of your friends.”

  “Well, my best friend is Alexandria Madonna Adams.”

  “That’s an awfully long name.”

  “Her mom said she came out shining when she was born, like the Madonna. She’s the captain of the modern dance team. She’s really nice to me, but sometimes she yells at other girls. Well, she’s not that nice actually. I’m a little scared of her.”

  “It’s not nice to yell at people,” I comment. She’s finally stepped onto my stage and I don’t want to scare her off by too many questions.

  “Yeah. I don’t like it either. Alexandria picks on this one girl, Netty. Netty’s brother disappeared and he never came home.”

  “What is Netty’s last name?” I ask her. I might need this for later.

  “Bak.”

  I jot it down. The name sounds familiar. I think our office handled a family by that last name.

  “That’s very sad,” I say.

  “I know. So I like try to be friends with her, but Alexandria doesn’t like her and she’s always yelling at her at dance practice. You see, Netty can’t get the steps right even though she used to be a ballerina.”

  “That’s strange,” I say. “If she was a ballerina wouldn’t she be able to get the steps?”

  “No. She wouldn’t. Cause after her brother Ben left he took the dancing with him, so she lost all her moves. He was a ballerina too, and he was gonna win the All State Dancing Competition this year but then he disappeared.”

  “I see. Maybe that’s why Alexandria doesn’t like Netty. I think maybe Alexandria feels inferior, Regi.”

  She leans forward, her little palms pressing down on the sides of her seat. She whispers, “If I tell you a secret do you promise not to tell anyone?”

  I lean forward, elbows to knees. I whisper too. “Of course.”

  “Today at practice a flute started playing all by itself and it floated over right to Netty.”

  “Are you being silly?” I whisper back. Now we are whispering friends.

  “Uh uh. Principal Victor told us if anyone sees an instrument playing by itself we have to report it right away.”