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

by Jennifer Cipri

  Women in the theatre clutch their chests and sigh.

  I walk with purpose into a crowded airport. The bustling people swallow me up and I’m gone.

  Behind me, I hear a woman whisper, “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

  10: Stori

  Drifting off to sleep my eyes suddenly fly open at the sound of someone or something outside my bedroom window.

  They’re coming up the fire escape.

  I sit up and instinctively check on Regi. She’s sound asleep.

  My heart starts to pound wildly. (Thank God He created rib bones. If He hadn’t my heart would surely beat itself right out of my chest.)

  Okay, motherfucker. You back for more? Who do you want this time? Me? My sister? I’ll never let it happen. I rise to kneeling and fling the curtains open. My ferocious rage fully convinces me that my words alone will send this predator on his way.

  Intent is a living thing. In this flash of adrenaline I fully understand that intent is even better than a fist or an elbow or a wrist.

  But the person outside my window is a pretty girl with a big old smile on her face and an expression like she’s just come over my house for a cup of tea.

  She’s at the top of the landing, and she puts a foot out near the potted pine. A red stiletto heel gets stuck in the grates.

  Suddenly I remember her. She’s the girl I saw the night I was putting up my dad’s missing signs. She wears the same lavender dress and no coat. But, again, she doesn’t look cold.

  What is she doing here?

  I crack the window open. “Go away,” I tell her. “Go away you crazy visions.”

  She doesn’t though; she only looks at me with earnest. “I put shoes on. Like you told me.”

  I push the window further up its sash. It bumps and jerks and I have to hold it up with one hand so it doesn’t come crashing back down. “Go away,” I demand. “I’m done. I’m done being crazy.”

  “I’ve come to tell you something,” she says.

  “So tell me fast. And then get lost.”

  “There’s a treasure hidden here in the city of Redemption. And there’s a girl who will find the treasure. She will hold it in both hands and in that moment the purple moon will rise.”

  I can’t do it anymore. Tomorrow I have to refill my other prescription at the pharmacy. Even if those pills make me feel all numb and weird I’d rather be numb and weird than a lunatic who gets hallucinations. “I said go away!” I bark. I let the window fall and yank the blinds shut.

  Regi’s sitting up now. “Stor? What happened?”

  “Shut up,” I tell her. “It’s nothing. Go back to bed.”

  Friday morning cleaning is ritual in my family. I usually wake before sunrise. By this time my mother will have already cleaned the bathroom and started dusting the rest of the house. But today as I open my bedroom door there is no Enzo Caruso drifting into the hallway from the living room and no scrub bucket glinting with sudsy water on the hallway floor.

  In the bathroom I don’t find the customary pink cleaner in the toilet for my pee to turn orange. My mother never misses her Friday cleaning, even when she’s not feeling well.

  I pad down the hall to her bedroom door and crack it open. She’s still asleep. I feel bad for last night and I want to say sorry. But I’ll wait till she gets up.

  I head to the washer tucked in the back corner of our hallway and start a load of whites.

  As the wash is running I light the kitchen stove with a match to warm the kitchen for Regi. I start a pot of coffee. I set up two slices of bread in the toaster oven and take out the cream cheese and jelly from the fridge.

  When the wash is done I bring it into the kitchen and put out the clothesline that hooks to the side of the cabinets and runs along the middle of the room to the window. I could go out to the fire escape fronting Kindred and hang the stuff out on the line. The weather is starting to thaw and winter’s sunlight is just as good as summer’s. But I don’t want to run the risk of Desma getting my stuff down before I do. If I don’t have to see her and her lethal lips for the rest of my life, I will be just fine. As I’m clipping wet underwear and white t-shirts to the line Regi appears yawning, her face still puffy from sleep. “What were you doing last night?” she asks.

  “Nothing. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  “Sick. Don’t wake her. Your bread is out already. Get it going.”

  Regi doesn’t listen. She plunks down at the kitchen table in the chair closest to the stove. Our kitchen faces east and orange sunlight spills through the windows. The pussy willows on the center of our table cast grey shadows; they creep over Regi’s face. My mother always has some kind of centerpiece in the middle of our table. To cover a bunch of scratches my father made with a pocketknife one night when he was bored and wasted. My mom always said it was impossible keeping anything nice with him in the house. I used to defend him against her badmouthing, but not anymore.

  Regi sits on her chair sideways and leans her head against the rungs. “Did you find Daddy yet?”

  I flap a crumpled towel out into the air. “Daddy’s gone, Regi. If he wanted to be here he would.”

  Today is Valentine’s Day and Miss Wheaton, our History teacher, took the day off to spend it with her fiancé. She takes a lot of time off now ever since the mayor’s been talking about replacing our History classes with something called “Stories to Light the Future.” We have a sub today. She slips a DVD into the television and switches off the lights. “Not that it’s gonna make a difference,” she announces over a massive wad of gum. “Soon you won’t have history at all. But here’s Ghengis Khan. If you feel like it, get out some paper and take notes.” Then she goes to sit at Miss Wheaton’s desk and pulls out her cell phone and starts texting.

  Liliana is from the Ridges and she and I are friends. She’s sitting next to me and after she empties out her Red Bull with a prolonged gulp and a thirst-quenching gasp, she puts the empty can down on the desk and says, “Oh, Stori. Don’t you just love Valentine’s Day? The one day out of our 365 dedicated to LOVE?”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Who is it this time, Lil?”

  “Well that’s the thing. I don’t know yet. But I can just feel it. He’s coming, Stori, he’s coming. My prince charming. I can’t wait to meet him!”

  This is the last thing I want to be hearing after the night I just had. “You sure about that?” I ask.

  “Well of course I am silly! I mean don’t you want to know who your soul mate is? Your one and only?”

  I sigh and tell myself it’s not worth the effort to reach across the space between our desks and smack her in her mouth. Besides, Liliana is a nice girl and she wouldn’t deserve it. But she does deserve the truth. So I turn to her and say, “Do you want to know what I really think? I think all men are pigs. I think men are the reason why there are wars and starvation and global warming and why everyone in this world is all FUCKED UP.”

  She sits there stunned. I’ve never been rude to Liliana because I know a sweet girl like her can’t handle it.

  The sub clears her throat. She puts her cell phone down and gives me a look of warning as she picks up the remote and turns up the volume. The female narrator of the film says, “Ghengis Khan was so notorious for his inhumane acts that women elected to throw themselves off high towers rather than to be raped and murdered by him and his army.”

  “You see,” I tell her, silently thanking Genghis Khan for helping to drive my point home.

  Liliana is speechless. She snaps her mouth shut and turns back to the television.

  I’m a horrible person. I’ve just ruined her day.

  Tony Carp is waiting for me by my locker after fourth period. Great. The last person I was hoping to see.

  “Hey Stor,” He says with a forced smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Is he kidding? There’s nothing more detestable than fakeness to me, so I don’t even respond.

  “So no hi back?” he a
sks like I’ve hurt his feelings.

  I shove my world history book into my locker and slam the door shut. I face him and say, “Hi.”

  “Nice fight with Dexter. I told you not to do it.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “Richie Ramera been by to see you?”

  “Why?”

  “Stay away from him. That’s why.”

  “You sure do have a lot of orders.”

  “Look,” he says, putting his hand against the wall so I can’t get past him. “Just because it didn’t work out the other way, doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re like a sister to me, Stor. I can’t see it any other way.”

  The word sister burns like acid. But I won’t show him. No, I will never show him how I feel. Never again. It was the stupidest thing I could have done, telling Tony Carp that I loved him.

  I guess I thought he and I had something in common, both being great fighters. He used to fight in the Cage too but he got so good that he had to stop. (He says it would be inhumane.) He’s been training with the twenty and thirty-somethings in Nardo Nuckles’ boxing gym. Nardo is his coach now and everything and people are whispering that Tony’s gonna be the next big thing.

  “I get it,” I tell him, loathing his paternal paw on my shoulder.

  “Any word on your Pops? I wanna help.”

  I want to tell him not to bother because my father is with his whore now. But I hide the truth because I’m sick of always being the pathetic one in Tony’s eyes. “No sweat. Got it covered.”

  He wipes a palm across the back of his neck—his signature move when he gets nervous. “I seen all them pictures you put up. You should have called me. To help.”

  “That’s alright. I know you’ve been busy with training and with Desma.” I can’t help the last word dripping bile from every syllable. I don’t want to expose my pathetic jealousy, but I’m horrible at hiding my feelings.

  “You should give her a chance. I would love it if you two could be friends.”

  Desma with the mouth that kills. I wish she weren’t so nice, so that I could get a really good hatred brewing for her. But sadly I can see why Tony likes her. If I were Tony I would probably choose her over me too.

  “But just cause I’m seeing her, doesn’t mean anything changes between me and you. I’m never too busy for my best bud.” He claps my shoulder again and I consider punching him in his nuts. “I’m sorry about your dad, Stor. I just can’t get him out of my head.”

  I know it’s earnest. Tony is an earnest guy. And I know what I’m about to say next isn’t right, but despite my heart I say it. “At least I still have a father.”

  He takes his hand off me. As I shoulder my way through the hall and seek refuge from the tears that are flooding behind my eyes he calls out behind me, “That’s real mature of you, Stori. I won’t forget that.”

  To love a man and know he doesn’t love you back is a hurting thing. But if I have any say in it, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt just one—I’ll make sure it hurts both.

  I head for the closest girl’s bathroom. Any girl my age can tell you that high school bathrooms are notorious for all kinds of drama. I’m sure the noise in here will eat up my pitiful tears. What I don’t expect is that my best friend, Ernestine, has beat me to it. She’s alone, heaving deep sobs over the sink. I drop my bag at the entrance and rush to her side. A hand on her back, “Ern. What happened?”

  She looks up into her reflection, her smoky eye design streaming down her face in murky rivulets. “It’s impossible. This life is impossible.”

  Here’s another thing you probably will need to know about the Calabrese of the Valley: we don’t make friends, we make family. I’m not saying I have many friends, because I don’t. Ernestine is my only one, really. But I’d rather have one real friend than a thousand fake ones. The day I became family with Ernestine a girl twice her size was smacking her repeatedly and telling her to like it. I stepped between them and punched that girl dead in her throat. She fell like an imploded tower. Nobody fucks with my homegirl Ernestine. “Tell me right now,” I insist. “Who made you cry, Ern?” I can feel her straining heart like it’s my own. I forget my own sorrow completely and become lost in hers. She gasps for air and tries to speak. Grief has knocked the wind out of her but she manages to get some words out. “They placed me.” Snot bubbles out of her nose. She leans forward and turns on the faucet. I gather some paper towels as she splashes her face with cold water. She takes the towels and blows her nose into them. “My dad skipped bail. That horrible woman, Heather, came and told me to pack a bag. That was it. She just walked straight into my bedroom and said, ‘Pack a bag with a few things. Most of it you won’t be able to take.’”

  “That’s horrible. Let me ask my mom if you can stay with us.”

  She shakes her head. “It doesn’t work like that. CPS has all these rules. I’m at The Girl’s Home.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Mansion. On Pilgrim’s Island.”

  “The Mansion? Why didn’t they put you at the convent, closer to home?”

  “I don’t know. My name got picked from some stupid lottery or something.”

  I try to find a silver lining. “It’s only temporary. Till your mom gets out of rehab. Well it must be nice in the mansion. Isn’t it?”

  She’s having a hard time meeting my gaze and I don’t know why. “It’s nice.”

  “Do you have your own room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well maybe you’ll end up liking it.”

  Ernestine glances from right to left, making sure we’re alone. She goes over to the bathroom door and kicks the stopper up. Then she takes me by the forearm and brings me into a stall. Locking us in, she faces me and whispers, “Mistress Smyrna is in charge. She feeds me every night and she doesn’t hit me, but the other night I couldn’t sleep so I crept out into her quarters. I saw a light coming from her bedroom. The door was cracked open a little and I could hear her talking to someone. When I got closer I saw it was Mayor Vaughn. ‘Wives. These will all be my wives,’ he said.”

  “I don’t understand,” I tell her.

  “Us, Stori. Me and the other girls. He’s planning on making us his wives.”

  “How is that so? The Mistress would never allow it.”

  “No. That’s the thing. She’s not like other women. I peeked inside. And do you know what I saw? The Mistress was listening to him at her vanity table. And she had a knife. She sliced herself right across the neck. The skin opened, but there was no blood. Then she started laughing and she said, ‘My darling mayor. I think that’s a wonderful idea.’ Then the hole closed.”

  “You were dreaming,” I tell her, brushing her stray hairs back behind her ear. I caress the side of her head to soothe her. “You were having a nightmare because you’re far from home. And you miss your parents. It would happen to any of us.”

  “No. You have to believe me. Stori, the mayor and her are bad. There’s something evil going on! These people, they’re not human!”

  I don’t know if I should believe her. But there’s no way a dream would make her this upset. “Maybe we should tell one of the SROs. They’ll go and arrest them.”

  “No!” she insists. “If they know I snitched, they’ll kill me. You have to keep this between us.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Do everything in your power not to get placed, Stor. I know you. You won’t be able to deal with it. If they don’t find your dad and they place you, take Regina and run.”

  “Run where?”

  “As far away from Redemption as you can.”

  Boarding my afterschool bus I look over to where Ernestine is boarding hers. She casts a downtrodden glance back at me, puffy eyed, and tries a smile before she gets on. I try one too and board my own personal misery: Tony Carp in the back making out with Desma, the bus driver, Jim, who openly glimpses my ass in his rear view mirror, people laughing and shouting like life is one big party. And me on the out
side of it all. It never bothered me before, that I don’t have many friends. But right now it’s all I can think of. I’ve never felt so far away from the world around me. I’ve never felt so lonely.

  Every street that passes brings me closer to the place I do not want to face; it brings me closer to my broken home, devoid of my father. I dig in my pocket and pull out twenty-five-dollars. I was going to buy some lengths of synthetic silk and have the seamstress at the boutique make me a dress pattern. I’m not too shabby with the sewing machine and my mom is even better. Combined we could pull something decent together for the prom. But seeing as I’m not going anymore, I decide I’ll use the money for what’s more important. I feel bad for upsetting my mom last night. It’s not her fault that my father left. I’m going to make it up to her by making her favorite meal—stuffed hens.

  I let myself out at the first stop in the Valley. I head for the general market to get my ingredients for the stuffing. As I stride Kindred I see that new faces of missing children are hanging up along with my father’s. Children going missing. The old me would keep my head tucked and keep walking. But this time I have to look up. I want to see their faces. I look at all of them. The children. And I realize the atrocity of what has been going on in my city.

  How do I restore my family back to what it was? How do I become the kind of person to do such a thing?

  At the general market Mrs. Buzzi only charges me for the onion and celery and gives me a stale loaf of bread for free. I make sure to thank her profusely as I leave, walking backward out of her store. (This is the ultimate sign of respect.)

  Next stop is the butcher shop. I’m really hoping that Mr. Delfi’s son-in-law isn’t there; that pork he sold me, that shit was all water. He probably thought because I was young I wouldn’t notice the difference but I knew it was different as soon as it hit the pan. Watered down stuff makes a distinct hissing when it’s cooking and it gives off extra steam. I came back the very next day and told him I wanted my money back and a true Calabrese would never rip off one of his own. I was this close to calling him a ‘Merigan.