Caroline comes to the table and sits across from me. “You are the Daughter of Shinar.”
“How do you know that?”
“The day I named you, I saw it Stori. Right in your swaddling clothes I saw the truth.”
“Who told you this prophecy?” I demand. “Did you make that up?”
“These are the words of the Thrice Great Prophet Trismegistus. The first man to step foot inside the Kingdom of Heaven while still on earth. His teachings and writings were so powerful, Stori, that many men and women died in the efforts to hide them.”
“I’m so confused. Who is this Night’s Council? Is that the mayor and the mistress? And the dead man, is that Cosimo?”
“You need not know yet about all their players. That will just set you to worry. All you need to know is there is a group of them who make the whole of the Night’s Council.”
“Well I’m not afraid of those assholes! I’ll get the crown. Tell me where it is.”
“I don’t know. Only you can find it.”
“Is there a treasure map somewhere?”
“No. It can only be found through the magic inside of you. But from what I have seen, Stori, your magic is all gone.”
“Don’t tell me that. My God! My father! All this talk about the city and the book and the crown and I almost forgot the most important person. What about my father?”
“I don’t know. He could be involved. After all, he knew you were special. He must have witnessed your magic. He could have told someone. They could be using him to get to you. To draw you to them. But I don’t know for sure. I only know the crown is the truest hope for all our safety.”
“Maybe I can get my magic back. I have to.”
“Oh, but it’s been too long, Stori. Too long for all of us. The magic. The magic is nearly all gone.”
Caroline slumps over the table like she’s fainted. I’m by her side instantly, holding her upright. Her chest is heaving. She can barely get an arm up, “The bed,” she croaks.
I scoop an arm under her knees and lift her to my middle. I carry her like a child to the bed and place her on it. I pull the covers down with some effort because she can’t even move to help me get them out from under her. Then I cover her up. She’s looking at me with those violet eyes, all weak and tired. “My powers, they are fading, Stori.”
“I know we’ve only just met, but I’ll take care of you, Miss Caroline. I’ll take you home with me. My mother will make room.”
“No. I must stay here.”
“Please just tell me what I have to do.”
She looks at me and the sadness is back. She reaches out and strokes the side of my face. “I do not know. You are too weak yourself and scared. I fear, just like Tat. You better go. It’s getting late. Your mother will worry.”
16: Priscilla
Nate turns thirty-three tonight. His parents are taking us to dinner. This will be my first sit down occasion with them and I want to do everything right. But before I go home to prepare myself I just want to check in on Regina.
I find her sitting on her front stoop alone. “How is everything?” I ask, taking a seat next to her.
“I got kicked off the cheerleading team. Netty did too.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It was Alexandria Madonna. She got mad because I made Netty dance.”
“She can’t do that!” I’m infuriated and I’ve surprised myself.
“Yes she can.”
“I’m gonna fix this. You better believe it. That little brat doesn’t get to rule the world.”
“It’s okay.”
Regi is awfully calm for having been kicked off the team. I know I personally would have been crushed. “Why aren’t you upset?” I ask. “It’s unfair and something needs to be done about it, Regina.”
She puts a hand on my knee and pats it. “Actually I don’t want to be on the team anymore.”
“You don’t?” I hope she’s not starting to withdraw.
“I was just doing it because everyone else was. But I never really wanted to. And I was eating all those mean words every day that Alexandria was saying.”
“Regi. Words can’t make you sick, sweetie.”
“Yes they can. I know they can. I don’t want to be around them anymore. And besides. The angels told me that I’m not going to be here much longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“They told me my father’s going to die and I won’t be able to live with mommy and Stori anymore.”
“Please, Regina. Don’t say that.”
A tear rolls down her cheek.
“I’m going to find your father, okay.” The words fly out of my mouth unexpected. I think I might even mean them.
Nate’s father chose a charming little farm to table restaurant for his birthday dinner. It’s reeking of Old Money and Nate and his family fit right in. Here the people are too filthy rich to care: the men dress in casual jackets and loafers. The women are just as informal, but the pearl necklaces they wear are real and so are the semiprecious jewels glinting from their fingers. This is the difference between Old Money and New—New tries to augment and flash its wealth in public, Old wears it comfortably and without effort like a second skin.
Nate’s little sisters are one year apart and in their first year at Washington U. They haven’t really warmed up to me yet, despite my best efforts. I’m still trying to figure out if they like me but they’ve got that whole Yeah, Whatever, I’m Young and Totally Not Interested in Anything That Doesn’t Involve Me attitude. I’ve noticed that about a lot of young people in Nate’s world—I mean Nate’s and my world. At first it unnerved me, this sort of stale disenchantment that permeates today’s youth. It’s like they’re kind of zombies. They even talk like them, with that whole froggy sounding shit they make at the end of each sentence.
I find it kind of interesting that half the dinner conversation was allowed to belong to them. I know things weren’t perfect in Erie, but at least my parents didn’t let me think I owned the world by the time I was seventeen. I can’t help but wonder what Mrs. Putzarella would do if she brought her daughters out to dinner and they monopolized the conversation for the whole main course. But then I remember her daughters, as faulted as they are, would never do that to their parents.
These girls, however, have unapologetically taken center stage, chatting over the trillion trips abroad they’ve had and how many times they’ve gotten so wasted that they couldn’t remember what happened the next day. They laugh at things that aren’t remotely funny and ignore the wait staff and complain about the food—which, for the record, is out-of-this-world delicious. And their mother and father are letting them do all this! Nate is no help either, laughing at their stupid jokes and calling them the Fabulous Duo. I can’t imagine myself becoming their sister one day and having to listen to their shit every time this family goes out to dinner.
Wow. I better stop drinking. I think I just gave myself a dizzy spell. I blink and take a sip of ice water. We have just ordered our dessert and I ask for an apple turnover and an espresso—Oh, make it double please.
“This late in the evening?” Jerry muses. Jerry and Deb are here at dinner too. Nate said that, thanks to all his wining and dining, Jerry has softened up quite considerably and just might actually let Nate and his dad in on a piece of the casino—getting them one step closer to joining that secret club Nate keeps talking about.
“I’m a social worker,” I explain. “Coffee is my friend.”
“Oh. How charming,” Jerry says. “I’ve always wanted to meet a real life social worker.” The table laughs and Deb elbows her husband in mock punishment. “Don’t be rude.”
I’m too drunk to even notice if he’s being rude. “Oh no, not at all,” I say to no one in particular. “I get that a lot. But I really love what I do.”
“So what kind of social worker are you, Priscilla?”
The girls are occupied with their phones right now. They’re Totally Over being present at
this dinner and have switched their attention to their virtual friends on facebook probably. So I guess it’s okay to talk. “Family Intervention. Children mostly. I work for CPS.”
“Rough stuff,” Jerry says wisely. Out of everyone at this table I like Jerry the best. It seems like you could have a real conversation with him if you tried for one. I know Nate calls him richer than God and the most pretentious person he ever met, but I haven’t seen any of those qualities thus far. I see something different. There’s a sadness lurking just about his shoulders. Some regret he’s carrying and it’s weighing on him. It makes him real to me and I’m thankful for this regret. It’s the buoy that has kept me afloat in this torrential sea of unfamiliarness.
“Rough indeed. I work in the Valley mostly. The people there are struggling.”
“A philanthropist,” Nate’s father says indifferently. I can’t tell what he means by it—if he’s impressed or not. But in my present state, I don’t really care.
“Well I think that’s lovely,” Jerry says. “Mayor Vaughn is all about improving the city. Have you heard of his new plans Priscilla?”
“No.”
“He wants to start a second Renaissance. Right here in Redemption.”
“A second Renaissance?”
“A new age of enlightenment.”
“We already started,” Nate adds confidently. “I mean, look at the progress that man has made in the past ten years. Information is at our fingertips now. Technology, industry, modernization. Thinking to the future and what we haven’t discovered yet.” Nate has been texting on his phone too, I have duly noted out of the corner of my eye. The other day I caught him deleting a text from Trish. I haven’t said anything about it yet. But he’s in for some hell.
“I’m not sure about the Renaissance,” I say dryly to Nate, trying to mask my fermenting jealousy by keeping my eyes on Jerry. “But wasn’t it about going back? Not forward. Looking inward, not outward? They weren’t searching for modernization, they were searching for…” I’m not quite sure what they were searching for but I know it had to do with divinity. So I say it, “Divinity?”
Nate scoffs. “That was because of the pope. If Leonardo da Vinci lived in our time right now, he would be contributing to the efforts of modernization.”
I wholeheartedly disagree so I say it. “I disagree. He would probably live with the people in the Valley.
“The Valley? Are you for real?” Nate looks to Jerry for support but Jerry only blots his mouth with his napkin. “Jerry,” Nate says, “You should hear the stories Pris comes home with. These people live like animals. People throwing their televisions out of their windows and talking about Cosimo the Corpse.”
Jerry shoots upright like he’s beset with a sudden back spasm.
“They should just fly a bomb over that place,” Nate continues “and drop it right in the center.”
“Nate darling,” I respond stiffly. “I think we’re both aware of what income inequality means in this country.”
“Yeah, it means there’s a ladder to climb and everyone’s got a shot at it but 95 percent of us are too lazy to try.”
“Nice rationalization,” I fire back. “I bet that makes all the wealthy feel better at night, sleeping on top of their mountains of excess while people in Soda Can Alley are dying of starvation. The divide is here because of greed, not laziness. And by the way, I think it’s more like 99.”
The dessert comes, and everyone is thankful to have a distraction from the awkward moment I’ve created.
Nate takes this opportunity to grab my elbow and whisper in my ear. “What are you doing? You are embarrassing me.”
I’m making him look bad and making myself look like a fool. I’m in way over my head here. I burst out crying and say, “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m sorry.”
17: Stori
As I make my trudge of defeat home from Father Ash’s secret attic, I don’t know who I am anymore. Put me in the cage with pure muscle and blood-thirsty rage and my heart won’t skip a beat. But don’t put me in front of a fragile woman with a bleeding heart. Don’t strike me with the suffering of another when you know I have no way to defend myself from—from what, Stori?
I fight back tears. If I thought my heart was broken when I found out my father cheated or that Tony didn’t love me, this is a thousand times worse. My city is being corrupted by this Godless Council and the girl to save the city is me—except I don’t have the magic to do it.
To hell with this city then. To hell with the crown. I’ve got to find out where this Night’s Council is and get my father back from them. They can have the crown for all I care. Redemption isn’t my problem.
So why does my mind keep returning to the crown? Why am I no longer thinking about my father first? Why aren’t I that girl who strode the Valley stone-faced with only him on her mind? I’ve got to refocus. This is about my father, not about my city. Not about that old woman. I’m not supposed to care, do you hear me! I’m not supposed to even care.
Approaching home, I’m passing a playground where a little girl is swinging on the swingset. She’s singing that Sarah Barreilles song, the one about being brave and saying what you have to say. I shake my head and mumble, “Yeah fucking right.”
There’s a street sweeper on the curbside. He tips his fedora hat to me as I pass. “Nice night for a stroll. Weather’s getting warmer.”
I give him the dirtiest look possible. Then he pulls his collar up over his face and says, “Too hot, too hot.”
I’m beyond agitated now. I think I might go down to the Cage and sign up for a fight. Or maybe I’ll turn around and, just for fun, knock that street sweeper right on his ass. I’ve done stuff like that before when I was younger. Just to pass the time.
Him and that dumb hat and that dumb broom, sweeping…”
Hey! Wait a minute.
I stop dead in my tracks. The sweeper. There was something off about him. Wasn’t he sweeping away from the gutters? Away?
He was fake sweeping, wasn’t he.
Why would he be doing something like that?
I turn and make my way back to the playground.
Clinging to the shadows I creep closer and duck behind a bench near the swing set. The girl is still singing her song. “Say what you wanna say…”
The sweeper saunters over to the bench and sits. I crouch down as low as possible, without lying flat on my stomach.
“Gotta rest these weary bones,” he complains to the girl.
The swing set is rusty so I know that she’s slowing down.
“Oh. Don’t stop singing on account of me,” he tells her. “You got a voice of an angel you know.”
She doesn’t answer.
“You got a name?”
Nothing. The squeaky swing goes silent. I hear feet on gravel.
The sweeper mutters under his breath. “Too fast. Too hurried.”
Then he stands and I see his face again. He’s looking at her. “Now don’t get all in a fuss on account of me. Go on now. Get home. But look here. I think you’ve dropped something.”
The footsteps halt and change course. She’s coming back in his direction.
He smiles.
That’s when I see it. His skin goes grey and hair blooms over his cheeks and forehead. His eyes shrivel up to tiny black beads.
The girl shrieks.
I get on my feet and leap over the bench. “Away from her, you demon!”
He whips around in my direction. He hisses. “Get lost.”
“No.” I plant my feet and gather all my strength.
The girl is struggling in his arms and I lurch toward them but a searing pain rips through my entire body. I stagger back and the pain subsides.
He laughs up into the sky. “You burn me, I gut you. We are not made for each other.”
Something about him, I can’t get close.
I stagger back further, terrified of the pain. I watch him hoist her off the ground and toss her over his shoulder.
I can’t
let this happen. I’ll die before I do. I will not watch a child be stolen by a monster.
And then I remember the girl in the lavender dress. “I call your name!” I holler. “I call to you! I call to you!”
She appears. Right where the monster snatched up the child, in the same dress. She says, “Go on, look again.”
I look at the monster. He’s on the curbside, crouching low to pick up his broom. Tears stream down my face. And then it comes to me. “Samuel,” I call. “Samuel, come back here.”
He stops and turns. “Gloria?” he says.
My knowledge of him is infinite. “No. I am not your wife. But I know you. I know the memories they suck out of you with that strange drink. You had a wife and a son who loved you. They were your second chance in life. Because you didn’t know what it was like to feel loved before you had them.” The words are like a lasso that pull his hands away from the girl. She falls to the ground with a thud. She gets up and runs as fast as she can down the street. “What?” he asks.
I wipe the tears away. “One of the last times you saw them they were standing on your front porch waving to you as you came home. But not long after they were killed. And so was your heart.”
His hands fall limp at his sides.
Panic stricken, his lips disappear from his face.
“But they are not gone and they have a message for you. Stop doing these bad things. Or you will never be able to see them again.”
“You some kind of witch,” he hisses. “Some kind of devil’s spawn.”
“Your wife and son want you to stop.”
“You stay away from me. You stay away from me.” His Timberlands pound the cement and the night’s shadows swallow him whole. I notice something on the ground where he was standing. I rush over to it and pick it up.
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 17
