Book of Names

by Slater, David Michael

  “Get back here, Daphne!” one of them yelled.

  “I can drive these!” Quinn cried, grabbing the closest scooter. He stepped on, turned something, and its motor came to life. Daphna leapt on the deck behind him and threw her arms around his chest.

  Quinn turned a headlight on, sending a beam of light up the tunnel. Then they were moving into it. He let out a whoop as they picked up speed. Daphna had to strengthen her grip, shocked at how fast the thing could go.

  Two more motors started up behind them.

  “They’re coming!” Daphna cried, looking back.

  Quinn turned left so suddenly that Daphna nearly lost her grip on him. She swung out off the deck on one foot and only saved herself from falling by grabbing Quinn’s shirt.

  Quinn slowed down so she could get readjusted. “Sorry!” he said. “I’ll call out the turns so you can lean into them with me!”

  The cops roared by, missing the turn Quinn had taken, but one yelled to his partner to stop.

  Quinn had just gotten the scooter moving again when the cops came round the corner.

  “Faster!” Daphna cried. As they sped into the darkness of the new tunnel, she kept her eyes on their pursuers. The support beams whizzed past her head in a blur.

  They were flying, but not fast enough. The cops were right behind them.

  “Faster!” Daphna implored. “They’re catching up!”

  “Left!”

  Daphna leaned, though not quite at the same time Quinn did. They made the turn, but barely avoided falling off together. Quinn skidded, but kept them upright by slowing down. Then he gave it gas again.

  The cops were there, right round the same corner.

  “Stop right now!” one of them demanded.

  “Faster!” Daphna cried. It was all she could say. They were right on their tail.

  “Left!”

  “We’re too heavy!” Quinn shouted after they negotiated the turn. Once again, Daphna nearly fell off.

  The cops were still behind them.

  “Right!”

  This time they made the turn fairly quickly. It was awkward—they fishtailed a bit—but Quinn didn’t have to slow down.

  The cops, implacable, stayed right behind them, the two of them, side-by-side.

  “Left!”

  Quinn and Daphna whipped around the turn. No wobbles or skids.

  “Right!”

  “Left!”

  The turns came easily now. Daphna had given up looking back and just clutched Quinn with her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. She could feel his chest muscles tighten at the exact moment he began to execute a turn, and she could allow his motion to dictate hers.

  “Left!

  “Right!”

  “Right!”

  Daphna was starting to feel as if she and Quinn were making the decisions to turn together now, and it reminded her of having the ability to share thoughts with Dexter after returning from Heaven.

  “Left!”

  “Left!”

  “Right!”

  Daphna closed her eyes and felt the separation between her and Quinn start to dissolve.

  And so she let go. She literally let go.

  She tumbled off the back of the scooter and hit the ground hard on her back.

  The air burst from her lungs.

  Daphna expected to be run over by the cops, who she’d somehow forgotten were behind her. But they weren’t there.

  “What happened?” Quinn was there, helping her up.

  “I’m okay, Dex,” Daphna said. She was winded and dazed. And crying. “I’m okay.”

  Somehow she was back on the scooter again, holding on to Quinn. Everything is going to be okay. Just don’t think, she thought. They were moving again, but there was a sputtering sound.

  Thirty seconds later, they stopped.

  Slowly, Daphna regained her senses. They were at a corner. Quinn turned and put a finger to his lips.

  “Out of gas,” he whispered, turning the headlight off. Once they’d stepped off, he laid the scooter on the ground in the middle of the tunnel.

  Daphna nodded. She wiped her tears in the dirt-smelling dark, listening, trying to think of what to do next. The sound of the cops’ motors echoed somewhere in the maze of tunnels.

  Maybe they’d lost them.

  Daphna didn’t think so. She could think clearly now, so she hurried around the corner and pulled her phone out.

  “Don’t!” Quinn whispered when she lit it up.

  “We need to find a way out!” Daphna whispered back, waving the phone up and down the nearest support beam.

  Quinn understood and lit up his own phone. He hurried to the beam across the way. “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything!”

  Daphna didn’t see any kind of symbol on her beam, so she moved down to the next one. Nothing. Quinn did the same, shaking his head after sweeping the light.

  The motors sounded from somewhere nearby. Then a light shone past the corner.

  They were getting closer.

  Daphna and Quinn hurried to the next set of beams.

  Nothing.

  It was hard to see anything clearly with her hand shaking. Daphna dropped the phone, snatched it up, and moved down another beam.

  The motors were getting louder.

  “We better just run,” Daphna concluded. “We don’t have—”

  “Here!” Quinn cried. She rushed over to see the beam he’d cast his light on. Yes, there it was. Another butterfly.

  The motors were now very, very loud.

  “That way!” one of the cops yelled.

  Quinn reached up and began feeling around the dirt wall next to the beam. Daphna did the same. She couldn’t help glancing over at the corner, where the light reaching it was clearly getting stronger.

  “Can’t find anything!” Quinn complained.

  “Hurry!” Daphna urged.

  “Found it!”

  Daphna could see the thin line of the door’s edge where Quinn had wedged his fingers. “How do we open it?”

  They heard the crash. A cry. The cops had hit their scooter.

  Quinn was doing everything he could to pry the door open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Daphna reached up and pushed on the dirt-covered door. There was a click, and it popped open.

  Footsteps sounded. Running footsteps. One of the cops was okay.

  “Stop right now!”

  Quinn scrambled up into the dark space behind the door. Once in, he turned and reached out for Daphna, then hauled her up, too.

  They closed the door as quietly as they could.

  Then they held their breath and listened.

  Footsteps pounded past.

  They exhaled.

  Daphna turned and realized that once again she was buried in coats.

  “Should we go into this house?” Quinn whispered.

  “I guess we have to,” Daphna sighed. “If it’s not locked.”

  Neither was eager to find out, but after taking a moment to gather themselves, they pushed forward to the front of the wardrobe—this one seemed a bit larger—and pressed their ears to the wooden door.

  Neither heard anything, so together, they gently pushed on it.

  The door swung open.

  CHAPTER 24

  the book of names

  So much for his powers of observation. Dex had led them not into the rabbi’s office, but rather into a cleaning closet. But to his surprise, the room was not empty. Inside, he and Nora found a twitchy little man in a homemade ski mask complete with poorly cut holes for his eyes and mouth. He looked like an inept bank robber from a movie.

  “Don’t hurt me!” the man yelped. “Don’t touch me! Don’t hurt me!” He backed away from Dex and Nora, knocking solvents and sprays off a shelf. He grabbed a mop out of the bucket it was standing in and held it out to fend them off.

  “Who—what?” was all Dex could manage.

  “Keep back,” he warned. Then he screamed, “Filthy Jews!
”

  “What?”

  “Just keep away! Or I’ll—I’ll—tear your horns off!”

  “Our what?”

  “It’s one of the oldest anti-Semitic lies,” Nora explained as she inched toward the door. “He’s in some kind of hate group. He’s a hater. They sometimes come to our church, too. My dad would say he’s a Mason. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No,” Dex said, “this freak isn’t going to talk to us that way.” He looked the man in the jumpy eyes and said, “What are you doing here?”

  The hater, still backed up against the shelves, still looking horrified, simply snarled. But then he said, “I want to hear what you’ve done to the children. I want to hear what you’re doing to the weather. I’m going to find out your plan.”

  Dex rolled his eyes at Nora.

  “Dex,” she said, “these kind of people are dangerous. We don’t have time for—”

  Nora was interrupted by an amplified voice coming from the sanctuary. “Welcome, everyone. L’shana Tovah. Welcome on this rather difficult beginning to a new year.” The voice somehow echoed loudly in the closet.

  “That must be the rabbi,” Dex said, turning toward the door. The masked man cocked his head to listen, but made sure not to take his eyes off Dexter. He continued to hold the mop out like a lance.

  “Needless to say,” the rabbi continued, “an ill wind is blowing through our nation today, through our world it seems. But I urge you to remain calm, to—”

  “Then tell us what’s going on!” someone shouted from the congregation. “Tell us what’s wrong with our kids!”

  “Tell us what’s wrong with the weather!” someone else demanded. “Does it have to do with those towers? Who blew them up? Is there going to be a war in the Middle East?”

  “Hey,” Dex suddenly said to the hater, “why do you think Jews have horns?” That remark had gotten him thinking. The man looked at him with angry blue eyes behind his mask, but then looked away.

  “Please,” the rabbi urged the grumbling crowd, “let us take this opportunity to look inward on this solemn Day of Judgment. Let us resolve on this great day to rededicate ourselves to making our worlds, our inner and outer worlds, as perfect as possible.”

  “I’m talking to you,” Dex said.

  “Silence!” the hater hissed. “He’s going to reveal the plan!”

  “Despite the tower constructed in Jerusalem by fanatics,” the rabbi continued, “these so called ‘Stairways to Heaven’ were never any of our concern. The afterlife is not a Jewish concern. It will be what it will be. What is a Jewish concern is life here, life now. Our people strive to live righteously, not for the potential rewards in Heaven, but for the real rewards living such lives engender here on Earth.”

  “I said, ‘I’m talking to you!’”

  The hater, exasperated, shouted, “Everyone knows Jews ain’t human! The horns prove it!”

  “Over the next ten days we have the gift of time,” the rabbi said, “time for Tefila, prayer; time for Tzedaka, charity; and perhaps most important, time for Tshuva, repentance for sins against God and each other.”

  “Cutting them off or hiding them under those Jew hats don’t prove nothing!”

  “I remind you that God cannot and will not forgive you for sins against your fellow man. You must seek that out on your own.”

  “You’re animals,” the hater spat.

  “That does it.”

  The pent up rage Dex had somehow managed to keep at bay—mostly at bay, anyway—since he’d left the house that morning erupted out of him. He ran at the hater and ripped the mop right out of his hands.

  A moment later he was beating him with it.

  The man cowered under the blows.

  “Dex!” Nora cried.

  But Dex only increased the violence of his assault. The guy wasn’t even fighting back, which infuriated him even more.

  Dex was using the wrong end. He turned the mop around and wacked the jerk with the handle.

  “Owww!” the man cried.

  “That’s better!”

  “Today we speak of God—” the rabbi said.

  “Owww!”

  “Dex, please!”

  “We speak of him as if he had a book, a sacred book.”

  The mop froze over Dexter’s head. He turned to listen.

  “Today we hope to have our names inscribed in this Book, and we hope to earn the right these next ten days to have them sealed in it so that we may be granted life for another year. I refer to, of course, The Book of the Living.”

  Dex, still frozen with the mop over his head, turned to look at Nora. Both their eyes dialed wide. The hater bolted past him and through the door. Dex saw this happening, but made no attempt to stop it.

  “That’s it!” Dex said, tossing the mop aside. “That’s what it is! The Book of the Living! I have to call Daphna!”

  Dex fumbled the phone out of his pocket and pressed his sister’s number. It rang twice, but then the call was lost.

  “Filthy animals!” the hater screamed from the sanctuary.

  “How dare you!” someone hollered back.

  Dex shoved the phone back into his pocket. He and Nora hurried out of the closet just in time to see a group of four angry congregants pounce on the hater.

  “Please!” the rabbi admonished. “This is not necessary! Please take your seats!”

  The angry congregants, four men in suits and ties, fought over the hater, yanking his limbs in four directions.

  “Don’t touch me!” he wailed. “Don’t touch me!”

  The rest of the congregation was on its feet now, shouting a thousand things—not one of which was appreciative.

  In the midst of the hullabaloo, which included the rabbi clamoring for calm, a single supremely horrified voice broke through. It came from a woman, her face flush and streaked with tears. She’d burst into the sanctuary through the middle set of doors. The crowd parted for her as she sprinted, screaming bloody-murder, all the way up to the stage and right to the rabbi, who she unceremoniously shouldered aside for his microphone.

  “The news! The news!” she wailed into it. “It’s on the news!”

  This was enough to silence the entire congregation. The men fighting over the hater let him drop to the floor, after which he scuttled away like a rat.

  “The news!” she repeated with her eyes popping out. Then she finally got specific. “They said the ozone layer is dissolving! We’re all going to die!”

  CHAPTER 25

  for just a few minutes

  Daphna and Quinn were in a basement very much like Mr. G’s. It was unfinished, crowded with disused furniture, and smothered in dust. Two scooters sat inside against a wall. Fortunately, no one was there.

  Unfortunately, there was no exit in the basement, other than a flight of stairs leading up to a closed door. Daphna dusted herself off as she tiptoed up to it. Quinn followed doing the same.

  Neither could hear anything, so Daphna carefully turned the knob. She opened the door just a crack.

  Voices.

  “Yes, Mr. Grey,” someone said, “they’re in the study. I was happy to sign them. And I appreciate you all signing yours for me.”

  “That is very generous of you, Mr. Brown,” someone replied, “we’re honored that you have come. I think it’s fair to say that you have done more to protect our mission than any other in our long and difficult history. Now then, back to business—I imagine this minor artist is no longer a priority for us.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Black,” someone answered—Mr. Brown, it seemed. “I agree that we have much more pressing concerns, but we must not neglect the issue entirely. I understand the painting has been dealt with?”

  “Guillermo assures me that he has personally taken care of it,” said a third person, a woman. “We’ll reach an agreement with the artist to forget about it forever. If he reneges, he’ll lose a fortune—for starters.”

  “Excellent, Ms. White,” said Mr. Brown.

  Dap
hna turned to Quinn, thinking about the paintings at the Jesus exhibit she’d mentioned to Dexter just that morning. Was that what they were talking about? None of it seemed to have made any kind of impression on Quinn, who continued listening intently.

  “The larger situation that demands our immediate attention,” continued Mr. Brown, “is indeed dire—profoundly so. What has so easily overcome children will soon affect adults. Our time is short. What is emanating from above is nothing the world has ever known, except perhaps in its darkest dreams.”

  “And the Masons,” someone said. “Should we attempt to neutralize this book—this weapon—they’ve obtained?”

  “It would be wise to discover the nature of this threat, Ms. Green. It behooves us to make sure it in no way jeopardizes our quest. The Masons have never had the confidence to expose themselves so boldly by leveling such direct threats. But we must focus on ending all these threats. And to do so, we must end our search once and for all.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “We must find the twins and learn the truth about where they’ve been. Our man at the Vatican swears they passed through some sort of portal.”

  This was met by oohs and ahs.

  “We must possess this portal,” Mr. Brown added. “But if it is lost, then we have no choice: We must send someone to the Realm, for that is surely where the Book must be.”

  “But no one knows anything about the Realm!” someone protested. “No one! And there is no proper subject! It would require some sort of—hybrid! And none of us ever even considered—!”

  “Dr. Lewis has a theory—” Mr. Brown said.

  “No,” a woman declared. “We must focus all our efforts, all our energy, all our resources, on finding the Book, here, on Earth, where we still believe it most likely—”

  “Ms. Gold, where on Earth have we not looked?”

  “I suggest we return to the Well. I know it was incredibly difficult to gain undetected access, but I don’t think we exhausted—”

  “We searched the Well, Ms. Gold. It is simply not there.”

  The thunder exploded outside, shaking the house. Something shattered somewhere, but no one commented on it. No one said anything. An impasse had apparently been reached. It was silent.