“Oh, no!” Jordyn's hands flew up to cover her face. “My lenses were bothering me. I didn’t put them back in.”
“Wow, your eyes are really not brown.”
Jordyn lowered her hands. “I know,” she said.
“They’re . . .”
“Jade green.”
“And?”
“Always a gamer around until you need one." She sighed. "Serendipity green. My dad gave her my eyes.”
“Oh." Will pulled a wood TV tray from behind the study door. He opened it in front of Jordyn. "For your computer."
Jordyn set her laptop on the small table. "Thanks."
"I think they're much better on you,” said Will.
"Thanks, Emerson." Jordyn stretched and pulled Will's book off the chair. "Sit." She looked at the cover of the book, cocked her head, then looked at Will. "Ancient Cult Objects. Interesting." She leafed through. A manila folder fell to the floor. "What’s that?”
“Nothing." Will grabbed the file, folded it in his arms, and sat. "Just something I was working on.”
“Do you always work on things marked confidential?”
“Well, it’s not really mine. It’s my father’s. He investigates missing artifacts for insurance companies. He specializes in cult objects.”
“Cult? You're starting to creep me out a little, Emerson."
“Um, sorry, 'cult' is archaeologist for religious stuff like icons, fertility figurines, grave goods, really anything to do with belief systems.”
“So, what’s so 'cult' about this one?” asked Jordyn.
“Maybe nothing. It’s just a book. The clasp has a sapphire. That’s probably why the insurance company wants to find it," said Will.
“But, you don’t think that’s it.”
“Did I say that?”
“You still have the file."
“Yeah. I guess I do." Will pulled out the photo of the book and handed it to Jordyn. "The book was in a museum in a small town. There was a storm. It ripped up the main street and took out some houses. It was pretty bad. Anyway, the collection was being appraised at the time and the only thing missing . . .”
“. . . was the book,” Jordyn finished his sentence.
"Yeah."
"And that bothers you."
"That, and someone assigned it to my father for a reason."
"So, what do you think it is?”
“If it is what I think, then we shouldn’t be messing with it." Will looked at the front of the file. "I should put it away. There really isn’t anything to do. My father’s note says the case is closed. ‘Act of God’, see?" He pointed to the note on the front of the file. "Anyway, I’m not even supposed to have it.”
Jordyn sat forward on the edge of her chair. She studied the photo under the lamplight. "Look at this. Is this writing?" She pointed to the stick-like figures etched into the metal ring around the stone.
"Probably." Will took the photo from Jordyn and tucked it back into the file.
“Don’t you want to find out if you’re right?”
"It’s not mine,” said Will.
"You can’t just leave it at that. It would kill me not to know.”
“I can see that.” Will thought for a moment. “There is one person who may be able to help."
“I'm game. When do we go?"
"It'll have to wait. We're off next week for Veteran's Day. We can go then, in the morning. It's not far from school."
"Meet me at my house. We’ll go together."
Will nodded. "We should get back to your paper. Can I have my book?" Jordyn handed it to him. He tucked the file back into its pages, closed it, and laid it on the floor next to his chair.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE KEY
Will sat on the el headed south. The Veteran’s Day holiday left the train mostly empty, even during the morning rush. He pulled Iain Pritchard’s book out of his backpack and opened it on the vacant seat next to him, the file still in place.
He skimmed chapter twelve until he came to the paragraph he sought. He vaguely mouthed the words as he read, "Even today, people continue to rely on the spiritual. For instance, reprints of the Sefer Raziel HaMalach, also known as The Book of Raziel, are kept in many homes as a talisman against fire. The modern book is said to have been transcribed from the ancient text which was, as legend tells us, written on a sapphire."
The train began to slow. "Next stop, Fullerton. Fullerton is next."
Will closed the book and jammed it back into his backpack. The doors opened. He jogged down the stairs and exited the station. He stood on the sidewalk below the tracks and dug Jordyn's directions out of his pocket.
Fullerton to Halsted and Lincoln. Slight right on Lincoln. Right on Orchard (across from the children's hospital). Middle of the block, right side of the street.
He began to walk. The November wind bit at his cheeks. He shoved his bare hands deep into his coat pockets and picked up his pace.
Will stopped in front of an ornate limestone rowhome, middle of the block, right side of the street. He climbed the broad stairs and rang the bell.
Jordyn opened the door, already in her coat. "You look a little cold. Want to come in for a minute?" Will nodded, rubbing his hands together.
Jordyn led him up a flight of dark-stained wood stairs and down a hall past the dining room where an oversized iron chandelier hung over a long table. A rustic fireplace dominated the wall opposite the room's doorway. Freshly chopped wood lay neatly stacked on the clean stone hearth. They kept walking.
Jordyn showed Will to the kitchen. The room filled the back half of the house, cabinets ornate and appliances large.
"Can I get you some cocoa or something?”
"Sure. Thanks." Will laid his backpack on the polished granite counter with care and eased onto a barstool.
Jordyn prepared a cup and handed it to Will. He wrapped both hands around it, allowing them to warm before taking a sip of smooth chocolate.
"So, who is this person we're meeting?"
"Iain Pritchard. And I wouldn't say we're meeting. More like popping in."
"Pritchard? The guy who wrote your book?"
"Yeah. He used to teach at DePaul. He lives in Lakeview."
"You know him?"
"Sort of.” Will changed the subject. “I brought the book. There's not much information, though."
"You think Pritchard can tell us more?"
"If anyone can, it would be him." Will chugged the rest of his cocoa. "We better get going."
Jordyn and Will took the el to Belmont. They walked a few blocks west under leafless parkway trees. They passed Eastview and walked another block before heading north on a quiet street lined with old bungalows and apartment buildings of all shapes. They stopped at a brick courtyard building. The bare branches of overgrown shrubs crowded the edge of the concrete walkways.
Will double-checked the address. "It'll be in front." He walked to the first entry door on the right and pressed the intercom button labeled '2D'. A sharp voice with an English accent crackled through the box, "Yes?"
"Sir, my name is Will. I'm a student at Eastview."
"I don't take visitors." The line disconnected.
Will rang again.
“I told you I don't see anyone," came the response.
"Sir, if I could have a minute."
"Please, go away!" The line clicked twice then went dead.
Jordyn stepped up to the intercom. "How rude.” She laid on the buzzer.
"What do you want?"
Jordyn used her best ‘dinner with Dad’s colleagues’ tone, respectful and polite. "Sir, we need to ask your opinion. It will only take a minute."
"I said ‘no’. Just go away!" The sound of a dial tone rang out of the brass box before it went silent again.
Jordyn searched the ground around the shrubs lining the foundation of the building, collecting anything that might hit a second story window without breaking it.
Will watched her scour the courtyard. "I'm not sure that's a good idea.
"
"Why not? He can't hang up on us through the window. We need his help. A minute or two. That’s not too much to ask." With a fist full of stones and twigs, Jordyn positioned herself toward the front of the building. She took aim with a small pebble. It bounced off the glass with a weak ping. She sorted through the bits. "Here's a good one.” She held it up for Will to see. “Besides, no one hangs up on me like that." She lobbed a hunk of mulch, hitting her target with a dull thud. Pritchard did not come to the window. Jordyn chucked another pebble. No response. Curious neighbors peeked through their mini-blinds.
Jordyn paused, carefully selecting her ammunition. The rock landed with a loud chink. The window flew open.
"What do you want?" hissed Pritchard.
Before he could send them away, Jordyn shouted, "Dr. Pritchard, we know who you are and we need your help."
Will stepped forward and held up his book. "It’ll only take a minute."
“Fine. A minute." Prichard relented and buzzed them in.
Jordyn and Will climbed the stairs to 2D. Pritchard opened the apartment door. He wore an immaculate navy suit with a maroon tie. A black umbrella stood in a bronze stand just inside the door. Jordyn glared at Will.
Pritchard motioned them in and closed the door behind them.
He was a young man, maybe thirty, but the weariness in his posture, in his every motion, betrayed disgrace and, when viewed from a school window, made him seem much older.
Pritchard looked them over. "What did you say your names were?"
Will spoke first. "Jordyn Quig and William Emerson, Jr."
"Emerson? Safa and William? I knew them."
"Yes, sir. My parents. We had tea at the Albright once. I was younger then."
Pritchard's face dropped. "So was I. A lifetime ago, it seems." He offered Will and Jordyn a seat on a tidy sofa in the sitting room just off the entryway. On the coffee table, a small crystal bowl held foil-wrapped toffees piled so neatly they formed a perfect four-sided pyramid.
Prichard sat in a wing chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, resting his chin lightly on his folded hands. "You have my attention."
Jordyn looked at Will. "Show him. Show him the file."
Will retrieved the file and handed it over. Pritchard leafed through the articles and the updated appraisal. He pulled out the photo of the small book, examined it for a moment, then slipped it back into the file and handed it back to Will. "What do you think it is?" Pritchard asked.
"I'm not sure,” answered Will.
"Then why come to me?"
Will looked at Jordyn. She nodded. "I think it might be something in your area of expertise . . . something sacred."
Pritchard leaned back in his seat.
Will continued, “You mention a book in chapter twelve, but only in one paragraph. I was hoping you might be able to tell us more about The Book of Raziel."
"Hmm." Pritchard popped out of his seat. "Come." He slid open a heavy pair of pocket doors, closed them, and slid them open again. He walked into the room.
Will and Jordyn followed him to the doorway of a small library. Stacks of books, some waist-high, others to the shoulder, covered the floor and the desk and chairs, leaving the shelf-lined walls behind them barely visible. Jordyn muttered under her breath, "More books."
At first glance, the books appeared to be randomly arranged, but on closer inspection, the stacks were alphabetized starting with 'A' nearest the right door jamb and concluding with 'Z' at the left. At ‘M’, on a shelf of its own, a small Marshalltown trowel stood on end, embedded in the wood tip down.
Stopping in the center of the room, Pritchard turned a slow circle, tapping his index finger on his chin in the kind of thoughtful gesture expected of a man of his intellect. Will and Jordyn exchanged a puzzled glance.
Pritchard skipped toward the tallest stack in the room. Jordyn watched him run his fingertips along the spines of the books, moving swiftly from one stack to the next. His hands were slender and neatly kept, but not delicate. Every knuckle was scarred. On his right hand he wore two rings, both silver, heavy, and without stones, their carved patterns softened by wear.
Pritchard passed nearly all of the books. Pausing somewhere near 'S', he closed his eyes. Jordyn looked at Will; he shrugged.
Pritchard put his hand to his forehead, turned sharply, and walked directly to the books nearest the doorway. He removed half a dozen and pulled a thin, navy blue book from what was now the top of the stack. Several pages had been marked by different colored scraps of paper, each one filled to the edge with tiny handwritten notes. Pritchard cradled it gently. He ran his index finger down the gold lettering on the spine as if reading by touch. Turning the book face up, he opened it to a page near the middle, marked with goldenrod.
Pritchard scanned the text systematically until several pages later he paused to read. "Hmm." He turned two more pages and continued. "Hmm.”
Jordyn couldn’t stand it any longer. “What is it?” she asked.
Pritchard continued without taking notice. “Hmm.”
“What!” Jordyn repeated.
Pritchard did not look up from the book. He paraphrased aloud, “According to legend, The Book of Raziel was written by the Archangel Raziel, also known as the Angel of Secrets. The book is said to contain all of the Wisdom of Heaven, some of which was not even revealed to the other angels. It was given by Raziel to Adam in the Garden of Eden. As the story goes, the other angels were so jealous, they stole the book and threw it into the sea. Adam eventually got it back. Later, it was given to Noah and he used it to build the Ark and eventually it was passed to King Solomon who used its knowledge to build the Temple in Jerusalem. The book was handed down for generations, though secretly." He clapped the book shut. "Essentially, it is a grimoire."
“A what?” asked Jordyn.
Pritchard raised his head and looked at Jordyn. “A grimoire. And one of the most ancient and powerful."
Will explained, “A grimoire is a collection of incantations, enchantments, formulas.”
Jordyn scowled. “Magic?”
“Yes and no,” said Prichard. “Think of it as knowledge.” Pritchard returned the book to its place, and went on, “To some, electricity is magic, but to us it is just a product of knowledge. It simply depends upon your perspective.” Pritchard directed Will and Jordyn back to the sitting room. He closed the library doors, opened them, and closed them again.
Will and Jordyn took their seats on the sofa. Pritchard stood behind the wing chair. He folded his arms across the high back. “If a grimoire is a book of knowledge, then this is the book of knowledge,” he added. “God’s knowledge.”
Will’s eyebrows knitted. “Even if it were authentic, only an adept would be able to use it, right?”
“One would assume it would require some experience to use it properly. And a crossroads would be important.”
“A crossroads?" asked Jordyn.
“Yes. In this case, a church would be most likely," said Pritchard.
"A church?" said Jordyn.
"Yes, Miss Quig. Crossings serve as amplifiers and the floor plans of most churches form . . .”
“. . . a cross.” Will completed the sentence.
Pritchard nodded. “Even so, the text is supposed to have been written in a language so arcane that only Raziel himself would be able to decipher it, and on a stone, at that.”
Jordyn sat on the sofa and crossed her arms. “You saw the photo. God’s knowledge?”
Pritchard chided, "Miss Quig, certain things exist regardless of what we believe ought to be. There is virtually no information regarding the physical appearance of the book. If I am correct, I think this may be more valuable than anyone at the insurance company suspects. To them, the stone is simply a bauble they need back to reconcile their books. To them, the rest is insignificant.”
“So you think this actually might be The Book of Raziel?”asked Will.
“I think your father might have been onto something. The st
one is certainly a step toward that conclusion. Can you find that photo for me again?”
Will shuffled through the papers and handed the photo back to Pritchard who examined it closely. “Look.” He turned the photo toward Will and Jordyn. “See the markings around the stone? What do they look like to you?”
“Stick figures?" Jordyn snickered. Pritchard frowned. Jordyn shifted in her seat.
Will came to her aid. “They look runic to me.”
“Mr. Emerson, you are nearly correct. This is Ogham.”
“Ogham,” Will muttered to himself.
Pritchard continued. “Some have hypothesized the written form of the language was developed as a cryptic system, originally used for secret messages of a political or religious nature . . . and for magic.”
“But, it’s too recent,” said Will.
“Scholars agree it probably originated in Ireland around the fourth century of the Common Era; not nearly as ancient as one would expect on an object of this sort. Nonetheless, the inscription is curious.”
“What does it say?” asked Jordyn.
“Essentially, it says ‘faith is the key’. Pity you don’t have the book itself. But then, that is probably for the best.” He returned the photo to Will. Pritchard walked to the window and looked out over the lifeless courtyard. “An object like that would bring an immense sum. Can you imagine?” Pritchard laughed sharply then suddenly grew quiet. “But of course, its true value is in the power of the knowledge it holds. One could achieve wondrous things, truly wondrous. However, used with malice, it has the potential for utter devastation.” He ran his finger along the top of the window sash and blew a bit of dust into the air.
Will packed his backpack, took Jordyn by the elbow, and escorted her to the front door. “Thank you, Dr. Pritchard. We have to go now. You’ve been very helpful. Thanks again.”
Will and Jordyn shook Pritchard's hand. "We’ll show ourselves out," insisted Will and they left the building.
Jordyn stopped outside the entry door, scowling at Will. "What's going on?"
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