“I’d rather not,” I admitted.
“Please,” he said.
“Fine,” I snapped, picking up the case. Once again, that strange feeling of … wrongness crawled over my body. “The leather on this is … strange,” I said.
“That is because it is made from human skin,” Simon said.
“What?” I yelled, dropping the case and the board onto the carpet. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he said. He picked up the case and brought it up to eye level. “If you look closely, you can still see the pores where the hair was removed before the skin was tanned.”
Rubbing my hands on my jeans, I sat back down. “Why would my grandmother have an ancient Board of the—whatever you said—in a case made of human skin, for goodness sake? She was a good Catholic woman!”
“Winds,” Simon said. “And I’m sure she was.” He set the case down. “But she was also a Keeper. Just like your mother.” He pointed at the board that sat on the living room floor. “For generations, the Solitaire women—one daughter only, born to each generation—has protected and carried that Board.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why?”
“Because it was their destiny—just as it is yours.”
“My destiny?”
“The Board of the Winds, and the other Boards, are quite powerful and very evil. For some reason, only the Keeper can resist them.” He pointed a long finger at me. “You are the Keeper of the Boards now.”
“Me?” I asked. “And how can it be evil? It’s an inanimate object!”
“According to my research, the Board is very much an entity unto itself. It’s almost alive, in a way.” His eyes locked onto mine. “I didn’t expect to have to educate you about the Board. Traditionally, the Board has been passed down with instructions. Why don’t I believe your innocent act? What are you up to?”
Outside the wind suddenly rose to a shriek, before quieting back down again. Simon looked pointedly at the Board and I felt my patience reach a breaking point. The charade had gone on far too long. A moment of silence stretched between us and, once again, I felt that strange connection to him. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Now I’m the one who is making things up?” I said. “I just found it in the attic. I don’t have any idea what you are talking about, and I have had enough.”
“Jenna—”
“Out,” I said, standing and pointing at the front door. “Right now. Take your … fantasy stories with you and go.”
Simon stood up and began backing toward the door, when he suddenly stopped. “Jenna,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “You didn’t … you didn’t attempt to use the Board when you found it, did you?”
Before I could answer, the wind howled again outside, and I heard the crack of a tree limb snapping and falling to the cold, frozen ground of early spring.
3
“She is visiting with a member of the clergy and a representative from the Vatican right now.”
“Which one?”
“Simon Monk.”
“Really? It seems the Knights have decided to get involved as well. All of them are so predictable it’s pathetic. Neither the Vatican nor the Knights have any idea what they are fooling with here. Which will work in our favor. Remain vigilant. And spread the word to your other contacts in town. There will be a handsome reward for whoever brings me the Board.”
“Okay, that’s it,” I said. “Get out.”
“Jenna, hold on a minute—” Simon started to say.
“No, no holding on a minute, a second, or anything. My life is difficult enough, thanks, without ex-priests visiting me the day after my grandfather’s funeral and trying to scare me. It wouldn’t surprise me if you were somehow working with that guy who broke into my house!” I pointed at the door. “Out.”
Simon shook his head. “Jenna, I really think we should talk more.”
“And I really think you should get your butt out the door more,” I snapped. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve already called the police once.”
“There are things about the Board you need to know, Jenna,” Simon said, walking backward as I shoved him toward the door. “It’s not a toy!”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” I said. “I know, I heard you—it’s a magical artifact from ancient times made to do who knows what.” I took his overcoat off the hook by the door and threw it at him. “Out!”
“Jenna, you need to know the truth!” he protested. “Let me help you, please.”
“Oh, give me a break!” I yelled. I threw open the door and shoved him outside into the wind and the rain. “Enough already.”
Simon started to speak again, something about how I needed to listen to him, and I slammed the door shut in his face, and threw the deadbolt. “Jeez!” I said. “Every town has one and ours just got a new one.”
Stomping into the kitchen, I wondered if Father Andrew knew that his visitor from the Vatican was, in fact, some kind of a kook. Sure, he was cute, but if the man believed my grandmother was holding onto an ancient magical artifact stored in a case made of tanned human skin, then I was the tooth fairy. I set the cups into the sink, vowing to wash them later.
“What a day,” I muttered, wondering what I’d done to deserve the sudden influx of weirdness in my life. Looking at the clock on the wall, I saw that it was almost three. I’d been hoping to get more done, but I was completely wrung out. I picked up the phone and called Tom.
He answered on the third ring. “Jenna! How are you?”
I hated it when he did that—used caller ID instead of just saying hello—but I resolved to not let it bother me. “Hey, Tom,” I said. “I’m good, how are you?”
There was a long pause, then, “I know you hate it when I do that,” he said.
I waited.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yes, Tom, you know I hate it when you do that.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did,” I snapped. “Happy now?”
“Ouch,” he said. “Long day at the office?”
He was right. I was cranky and it showed. “Something like that,” I admitted. “It’s been a long few days.”
“I know it has,” he said, his voice contrite. “Just trying to cheer you up, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I could use the cheering.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Other than the weird board I found in the attic, an intruder in the house, and a bizarre visit from a man who claims to work for the Vatican, life is good,” I said.
“What?” Tom asked. “What’s going on?”
I told him about finding the board, the man breaking in, and my visit from Father Andrew and Simon Monk. What kind of a name is Simon Monk anyway? I wondered. I didn’t tell Tom about the whispered word I’d heard—or thought I’d heard—in the attic.
“Wow,” he said when I finished filling him in. “You’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone, Jenna.”
“You’re telling me,” I said. “I just want out.”
I heard the clack of computer keys in the background and then the music from the show started. Rod Serling did his voice-over and Tom chanted along.
I did smile then, and even managed a laugh. “You’ve always been good at cheering me up, Tom,” I said. “Look, it’s been a long day. Do you want to hook up tomorrow for lunch or something?”
“Sure,” he said. “Meet me at the Cramp-us Café?”
The Cramp-us Cafe was actually the College Cafe in the student union, but ever since a well-publicized food poisoning incident early in the semester, people had been calling it the Cramp-us. Given the quality of the food, the name was a perfect fit.
“Why not?” I said. “I’ve got to be on campus anyway—I’m behind on my work—and I’ve got to eat something, even if it may kill me.”
“Good deal,” he said. “I’ll meet you around eleven-thirty or so. Kristen’s class ends around one, so she’ll join us later, o
kay?”
“Great,” I said. “Have a good night, Tom, and … thanks. Thanks for making me smile.”
“You’re welcome, Jenna. See you tomorrow,” he said, then hung up.
I looked around the kitchen and shrugged. The dishes could wait. The attic could wait. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. I felt like I’d been swimming in mud all day, and I was exhausted. Maybe a shower and a decent night’s rest would make the world seem a little less like a comic book and a little more like the life I’d known before my grandfather had died.
… Shalizander … you can hear us, can’t you? Our voices are loud in your ears. Our hungers ane your hungers.
“No!”
You can use us. You can control us. The others were weak. You are strong. Open the way.
“Never! I won’t!” I feel the sweat pouring out of my skin. The room is hot, filled with liquid flames—like I’m standing in a bonfire.
Shalizander, you dream the power dreams. It was your vision, too.
“Not anymore,”I say. “You will not be used.”
If not you, then someone else. Someone weaker. Someone whose blood doesn’t sing like yours. The hunger for power is absolute. You hunger, too.
Screaming, I shove the Boards off the worktable. “Never!”
“Never!” I screamed, sitting up in bed, scattered fragments of the dream clinging to me like a spider’s web.
Next to me, the phone jangled a shrill ring. Half-awake, I answered it. “Hello?”
“Have you started hearing the voices yet?” The voice was male and familiar.
“What?” I asked. “Voices?”
“The voices,” the caller said. “The voices of the Boards.”
My brain caught up to my body. “Simon Monk, right?” I asked. An image of him rose in my mind, the strength of his hands and face, the intensity of his eyes … even the way he touched that coin necklace.
“Yes,” he said. “Jenna, the Board is—”
I hung up the phone. Just what I needed. A persistent weirdo. Shaking my head, I climbed out of bed and went to the window. Off and on all night, the spatter of wind-driven rain had pelted my window, pulling me from sleep. Today’s weather looked to offer more of the same—gray, wind, rain, cold.
My eyes felt like sandpaper. So much, I thought, for a good night’s rest.
And as always, my dreams had the disturbing force of reality. I lived more in my sleep than most people did during their waking hours. It was exhausting. I looked at my bedside clock and started—it was almost ten in the morning! I’d been dreaming for hours, and I never slept that long. I thought back over what I could remember of the night and realized that while I could recall the last dream I’d had—a very strange series of images and odd, sibilant voices and a stack of boards that looked similar to the one I’d found in my attic—all the other dreams I’d ever remembered having were gone. Only black spaces remained in my memory.
Shalizander …
I wondered who or what Shalizander was, and I found myself staring at the dresser where I’d set the board, put away in its case, before going to bed. Was Simon Monk a freak, or did the Board really represent something ancient and evil?
I didn’t know, that was certain, but I felt sure I knew someone who did. Jonathan Martin—one of my professors at school who taught several courses in ancient cultures, arts, and iconography. If anyone would know what the Board was, or at least what some of the strange symbols on it meant, it would be him. I thought he had office hours today, so perhaps I could arrange to see him after I met Tom for lunch.
Happy to have a course of action at last, I quickly dressed, gathered up my books and the Board, and headed for the campus.
“What do you make of this?” I asked, taking the board case out of my backpack and showing it to Tom.
He took the case from me, his left eyebrow unconsciously rising in curiosity.
“What is that?” he asked. “Some kind of leather?”
“Something like that,” I said, thinking of Simon telling me it was human skin and unable to repress a shudder. I didn’t know why, but for some reason I believed him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that particular fact to Tom right now.
“It feels …” Tom said, his words drifting off as he looked for the right adjective and failed to come up with it. “I don’t know.”
“Me, either,” I admitted. “So, what do you think?”
Without answering, Tom shook his head and slowly opened the case. When he saw the Board, he whistled softly. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”
“I know,” I said. “Look at the symbols. They aren’t Sanskrit or even Egyptian.”
Tom nodded. “I don’t recognize them either.” He closed the case. “Maybe we should do some digging in the library and online, see if we can find out anything useful.”
I looked at my watch. Professor Martin’s office hours started at two. I still had plenty of time. “Sure, but you can do the online looking—you know I prefer good old-fashioned books to computers. There’s something about a book that just feels better to me than a computer.”
Tom grinned. “You use them to send and receive e-mail all the time.”
I sighed. “Tom, your grandmother sends and receives e-mail. Everyone does e-mail. It’s the other things I’m terrible at.”
“I know,” he said, “but I won’t hold it against you.”
“Come on,” I said, and pulled him in the direction of the campus library, feeling better than I had in days.
“Jenna, take a look at this,” Tom said, gesturing at the computer screen.
I put down the book on ancient symbols I’d been paging through and stood up to peer over Tom’s shoulder. On the screen was a series of images almost exactly like the ones on the Board. A chill went up my spine. “Where did you find those?”
“I used that goat’s head symbol as a starting point, and it led me here,” he said, clicking the mouse on the BACK button. Another page loaded, this one with huge lettering at the top reading THE TEMPLAR KNIGHTS: A MAGICAL HISTORY.
“According to this site, the Templar Knights were accused of all kinds of magical things.” He pointed to a specific section of the text. “Apparently, the symbols I just showed you were found in some of their texts and used as proof of their demon worship.”
“Demon worship?” a voice said behind us, the sound echoing in the quiet library.
Tom and I both jumped and turned around. Kristen was standing behind us. Today she was wearing a dark purple velvet dress, and several studded bracelets with a matching necklace. I tried not to stare.
“Since when are you two interested in demon worship?” she asked. “I had no idea.”
“Kristen,” Tom said, trying to stop her before she could start. “We’re not interested in demon worship.”
“Of course you aren’t,” she said. “Demon worship involves all kinds of nastiness, sacrificing animals or people, dancing naked while drinking blood from a skull cup under a full moon—or is that a druidic thing?—anyway,” she continued, and I wondered how she managed to breathe while speaking that much, “believe me, you don’t want to go worshipping any demons.” Even when she said the most outlandish things, Kristen sounded so knowledgeable and serious that it was hard not to believe her.
Of course, if I wanted to retain my sense of reality at all, I had to take everything she said with a large dose of salt.
“We don’t!” I said. “We were just doing some research for our Cults—Then and Now class.”
“Oh, cool,” she said, leaning on the side of Tom’s chair. “How did I miss that in the catalog? A class on the occult?”
“You were probably distracted with … something else,” Tom said, and I felt instantly grateful that he hadn’t said anything about the Board. I couldn’t say why, but for some reason, I knew I wanted the Board to be kept secret. I knew I could trust Tom with anything and everything, even something as strange as the Board.
�
�I can help, if you’d like,” Kristen said. “I know all about the occult.”
Tom and I laughed. “Kristen,” I said. “That’s because you study everything you might want to believe in.”
“Not true!” she said. “I don’t believe in …” her voice trailed off while she tried to come up with something.
“Werewolves?” Tom suggested.
“Vampires?” I added.
“No,” she said, grinning. “Leprechauns. I don’t believe in those.”
Tom and I exchanged a glance and he said, “Kristen, I love you, you know that, but how can you believe in vampires and werewolves, but not leprechauns?”
She leaned down and kissed him. “Because they aren’t at all romantic,” she said. “It’s easy to believe in romance.”
Tom smiled and shook his head.
“Drinking blood is romantic?” I asked. “To each his own, I suppose.”
“No,” Kristen said. “For vampires, drinking blood is necessary. Eternal love is romantic.”
I shrugged. For me, love and romance weren’t part of my daily life—at least they hadn’t been lately. I had dated some, but had never been able to sustain a serious relationship. I wasn’t sure why, though my grandfather always said it was because my looks intimidated the boys. I didn’t believe that for a minute, but maybe I just hadn’t met the right man yet.
For some reason, this thought brought an image of Simon’s face into my mind, and I quickly banished it. He was crazy, but the man had somehow gotten into my head, and getting rid of him was going to be harder than I expected.
“So, what are you trying to find out?” she asked.
“Just looking up some symbols right now,” I said. “Getting ideas.”
“Oh,” Kristen said, looking crestfallen, then her face brightened. “Maybe you could do something on healing crystals.”
Keeper of the Winds Page 4