Jack: Secret Circles

by F. Paul Wilson

  Everyone at the table burst out laughing as he jumped from his seat and danced around, wiping himself off.

  “Man, I don’t believe this!”

  Karina grinned as she picked up her tray and stepped away from the table.

  “Talk about an inbred retard!”

  Jake reddened. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything. He hurried from the caf, probably headed for the boys’ room.

  Karina sat down again. “Well, if he’s leaving, I’ll stay.”

  Jack leaned back and looked at her, then at Levi Coffin, reseating himself with the other pineys, then at the retreating Jake Shuett.

  What a weird chain of events. He had the strangest feeling that something had happened here, something more than what he’d seen. But what?

  He shrugged it off and looked at Karina. She was something else.

  He gave her a smile. “Next time, don’t hold back—tell Jake how you really feel.”

  Her returning smile was warm as she looked him in the eye. “Sometimes keeping quiet is just like agreeing. Thanks for backing me up.”

  Karina struck him as a thinker, like Weezy. He liked that. And she’d even been in his dream last night—

  The dream—it fast-forwarded through his head. No way he could tell her he’d been dreaming about her—especially not in front of this crew. Be cool if he could somehow get hold of the videotape that circus guy had been recording in the dream. He could show Karina. Then again, it had been so weird it might scare her off.

  He stiffened.

  Videotape …

  … show the videotape.

  “Jack?” Karina said. “Something wrong?”

  “Hmmm? No. Just had an idea.”

  A very cool idea about something that waited—he hoped—at USED. He prayed Mr. Rosen hadn’t sold it.

  2

  School seemed to drag for an eternity. As soon as Jack got home he grabbed the keys to USED and raced to the store.

  As long as I’m here, he thought as he unlocked the front door, might as well open for business.

  He shut the door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. Then he headed straight for the rear of the store.

  Where was it? Where had he put it?

  There—he recognized the gray carrying case. He pulled it out and unzipped it to reveal a video camera. Mr. Rosen had bought it off a guy last month. Expecting a quick turnover, he’d put it in the window, but no one had seemed interested. Eventually he’d had Jack move it back into the store to make room for something else in the scarce window space.

  Lucky for me, Jack thought.

  Because he had a use for it.

  He thumbed through the manual, found the charger in a side pocket of the case, and plugged it into the wall. He planned to study the manual during the charging period, but the bell above the front door jangled.

  A customer?

  He walked forward and recognized Mark Mulliner. Jack assumed the woman carrying the baby behind him was his wife.

  “Hey,” Mark said with an easy smile. “Got any screwdrivers? Dropped mine in the lake.”

  Jack glanced out the window and saw a pickup with canoes piled in the bed. Mark rented them out at the lake during the summer.

  “End of the season for the canoes?” he said as he pulled a plastic bucket full of old tools from under a shelf and set it on the counter.

  Mark started sorting through the screwdrivers and pliers and such.

  “Yeah. Temperature’s right but the rain’s a killer.”

  Jack glanced at the dark-haired baby girl. He waved and she smiled, showing a couple of brand-new teeth.

  “Say hello, Poppy,” said her mom.

  “Here we go,” Mark said, holding up a long flat-head screwdriver. “This’ll do.”

  He paid for it and they left just as Weird Walt came in.

  “Hey, Jack. I thought Mister Rosen said he was gonna be in New York this week.”

  He leaned on the counter, close enough so Jack could smell the applejack on his breath. The number of people who’d seen Walt completely sober was about the same as those who’d seen him without gloves.

  Jack explained that he’d promised to open the store now and then while Mr. Rosen was away.

  “That’s cool. Hey, whatta y’think about finding that bike?”

  “What bike?”

  “The little kid’s—Cody Bockman’s.”

  Jack’s neck tensed. “They found it? Where?”

  “Not too far into the Pines, on Old Man Foster’s land.”

  He didn’t know if he wanted an answer to his next question.

  “They find anything else?”

  Walt shook his head. “Nah. But the sheriff’s or ga niz ing a big search party tomorrow morning. Everybody fourteen and up who wants to join is supposed to gather at the lightning tree at oh-eight-hundred, rain or shine.”

  “But shouldn’t we be worrying about the equinox?” Jack said, remembering the warning Walt had given him the other day.

  Walt looked confused for a few seconds, then the light dawned. “Oh, yeah. But this’ll be a big group, and it’s during the day. The real equinox ain’t due till after sundown.”

  “Okay, then,” Jack said. “Count me in. No, wait—I’ve got school.”

  “Sheriff says any kid who joins the search is excused from school.”

  Jack raised a fist. “I’m there.”

  But that was tomorrow. He had something important he had to do to night.

  3

  “Subcontracting?”

  Jack, squatting as he weeded the foundation beds on the Lodge’s north flank, looked up to see Mr. Drexler, again all in white—didn’t he own any other color? Weezy squatted beside him, helping.

  It had rained again last night, but that didn’t interfere with weeding. They each used a short spade to dig under the weeds and help pull them out by their roots. They’d shake off the excess soil, toss them into a plastic bag, smooth out the mulch, and move to the next.

  “I’m a volunteer,” Weezy said with a pasted-on smile and a sticky-sweet tone.

  She was helping solely as an excuse to hang around the Lodge in case the tour materialized. Jack knew the effort it took her to make nice-nice with someone from the Order, but he’d warned her that mouthing off could queer everything.

  “Really? Why would one volunteer for such hot, dirty, menial labor?”

  The smile remained. “It’s what friends do.”

  “I’d think a true friend would pay you at least minimum wage.”

  “Oh my,” she said, cocking her head and sounding like Glinda the Good Witch of the North, “friends don’t take money from friends.”

  Jack didn’t know how long she could keep up the façade, so he jumped to what mattered most.

  “Are we getting our tour today?”

  Mr. Drexler frowned. “Tour? What ever are you talking about?”

  Jack looked at Weezy and saw her eyes narrowing.

  “Yesterday you said you’d give us a tour of the Lodge.”

  “I believe I said ‘might.’ But I continue to have doubts about including Miss Connell. I don’t want to worry about her opening cabinets and drawers in search of her lost artifact.”

  Jack gave her a be-cool look as he said, “Oh, that won’t be a problem. Right, Weez?”

  He sent up a silent prayer that she’d be able to play along. If this tour meant anything to her, she’d rein in the emotions that tended to run wild where the pyramid was concerned.

  But she surprised him by staying perfectly cool—at least on the outside.

  “I wouldn’t think of it, Mister Drexler. I promise to keep my hands in my pockets. You can even handcuff me if you want.”

  He shook his head and turned away. “I’m having serious second thoughts about this. I’m rescinding my offer.”

  Weezy’s eyes ignited and her lips pulled back, baring her teeth as she started to rise to her feet. Jack pulled her back with a warning look. He was ju
st as surprised, disappointed, and angry, but all might not yet be lost. If she detonated, however …

  Mr. Drexler turned back just as suddenly as he’d turned away.

  “By the way, I understand you discovered the artifact within a box. Was it locked?”

  Weezy had her head down, stabbing her little spade into the dirt like an Aztec priestess cutting out a heart.

  “No,” Jack said, “just hard to open.”

  He leaned forward. “Who opened it?”

  “Me.”

  The blue eyes narrowed. “Really. How interesting.”

  “Yeah. Seemed I was the only one who could. Oh, yeah, and Mister Brussard could too. But he’s, you know …”

  “Yes. The late Brother Brussard …” He stared at Jack for what seemed like a long time, then motioned to him and Weezy. “Follow me now if you wish that tour.”

  Mr. Drexler moved toward the rear of the Lodge. Baffled, Jack glanced at a very shocked-looking Weezy. But the shock turned to wild anticipation as she sprang to her feet and started after him. Jack held her back a second.

  “Remember,” he whispered. “I only thought I saw the pyramid. If we don’t see it inside, stay cool.”

  She nodded and followed Mr. Drexler. Jack brought up the rear, wondering what had made him change his mind.

  He led them through the rear door that opened into some sort of mud room.

  “Only members are allowed entrance through the front.”

  “Why is that?” Jack said.

  “Because that is the way it has always been.” He gestured to the next room, a small kitchen with a stove and a fridge, but old-fashioned. “Antiquated, yes. A holdover from the days when the Lodge had residents. Eggers and I have used it on occasion, but it is by and large a vestigial space.”

  They moved through a short hallway into a large room dominated by a long table flanked with leather chairs. The sigil on the ceiling confirmed it as the crowded room he’d peeked in on last night.

  Weezy seemed to have lost her voice, but her wide eyes never stopped moving as her gaze lasered into every nook and cranny.

  “This is the conference room, where the members meet to discuss matters of concern to the Order and themselves.”

  Light through the barred windows reflected off the table’s smeared, dusty surface.

  Messy, Jack thought.

  He’d have figured a dapper guy like Mr. Drexler to be a neatnik.

  As if reading Jack’s thoughts, the man said, “The premises need a thorough cleaning. I don’t wish to be bothered with anyone here during my stay, but a crew will be through as soon as I depart.”

  “Really?”

  Mr. Drexler looked at him. “You’re surprised that we’d want to keep the place clean?”

  “No … just surprised you let anyone in.”

  “The cleaning ser vice is owned by a brother, and the workers will be personally supervised by him.”

  Jack noticed the paintings lining the walls. Weezy stopped before the portrait of a stern-looking man in medieval clothing.

  She found her voice. “Who’s that?”

  “A former Arch of the worldwide High Council of the Seven.”

  Jack repressed a laugh. “Well, that clears that up.”

  Mr. Drexler allowed one of his tight smiles. “Briefly: The Order is ruled by the High Council of the Seven, and the leading member of the Council is known as the Arch. All the men you see here are former Arches. The portraits are not originals, of course. They are copies of archived paintings.”

  Jack checked them out, one after the other.

  “So all these guys—” she said.

  “Arches, please. Show some respect.”

  “Sorry. All these ‘Arches’ knew the Secret History of the World?”

  Mr. Drexler gave her an appraising look. “Do you really think such a history exists?”

  She looked him square in the eye. “Absolutely.”

  She’d often told Jack that the Septimus Order was guardian of certain truths that had been kept secret and passed on throughout the history of the world, and that knowledge of those truths allowed them to manipulate people and events—history itself.

  Mr. Drexler’s lips twisted. “Perhaps you are right, but you will never find out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because women are not allowed in the Order.” He turned to Jack. “But you can learn, should you ever be asked to join.”

  “And accept.”

  The man frowned. “Don’t make your father’s mistake and turn down the invitation. It is offered only once. Who knows how far he could have gone?” He gestured to the portraits. “He could have been here among the Movers.” He turned and pointed to one of the windows. “Instead he’s out there with the Moved. Such a shame.”

  Jack had no idea what he was talking about, but couldn’t help smile. “Believe it or not, he seems to be bearing up pretty well.”

  “Only because he doesn’t know what he is missing.”

  Jack noticed other paintings interspersed among the portraits, mostly of buildings.

  “What are these?”

  “Other Lodges. The Septimus Order is global.”

  Jack heard Weezy gasp as she stopped before a painting. “Look!”

  Jack stepped over to see and suppressed a gasp of his own. She was staring at a painting of the pyramid cage in the woods, but this had no broken section. The faces of its megaliths were clean and smooth, and the glyphs carved into each were clearly visible—the same as on their little pyramid. It sat in a landscaped clearing under a sunny sky. The trees around it looked more like palms than pines.

  “Is that a Lodge too?” Jack said, knowing it wasn’t.

  Drexler came up behind them. “Oh, no. That is simply an ancient decorative structure.”

  “Decorative?” Weezy pointed to a dark shape in the shadows within. “Then what’s that in there?”

  “You’d have to ask the artist, and I’m afraid he’s long dead. Now come this way.”

  Jack looked at Weezy and found her staring back. They both looked again at the painting. No question about it: The artist had painted something trapped in that cage. Something big.

  The painting was one more connection between the Lodge and the pyramids—big and little.

  Now … find the little one—if it was here.

  They followed Mr. Drexler into a large sitting room, the one Jack had peeked at through the front entrance. It was furnished with comfy-looking, overstuffed chairs. A rug woven with the sigil design covered most of the hardwood floor, and another sigil overhung a jumbo fireplace shielded by a brass fire screen decorated with—surprise—another sigil.

  “This room is for less formal gatherings,” Mr. Drexler said.

  Jack barely heard him. His attention immediately fixed on the high mantel where he’d glimpsed the little black object, but now he saw no sign of it.

  Weezy was staring too, a dismayed look on her face.

  Had he imagined it, or had Mr. Drexler removed it before letting them in?

  Motioning Weezy to stay in the center of the room, he wandered in that direction.

  “Wow. Neat fireplace.”

  Nothing the least bit special about it—he simply wanted a closer look at the mantel.

  “It is still used on rare occasions,” he heard Mr. Drexler say behind him.

  Jack made a show of peeking behind the fire screen. He checked out the large brass andirons, then straightened and stretched up onto his toes for a quick close look at the mantel. There, front and center on its dusty surface, was a small hexagon of clean wood.

  Six sides, just like their little pyramid.

  Gotcha-gotcha-gotcha!

  It took all Jack’s will not to call Weezy over and show her, but he didn’t want to risk an explosion.

  He could think of only one reason they’d remove it before his tour: It was the same pyramid he and Weezy had found in the mound. The fact that the Order had been able to steal it from where they had
testified to the group’s long reach.

  Maybe it had been theirs to begin with. Maybe it had been stolen and, for some reason known only to members of the Order, buried along with the murdered man Jack and Weezy had found.

  If it had been the Order’s originally, fine. Say so and claim it. But they’d said nothing. Why not? Afraid to draw attention to their oh-so-secret Lodge? What ever the reason, they’d chosen instead to steal it from Weezy and Jack.

  Well, because the Order had never claimed it, as far as Jack was concerned, finders keepers. It belonged to Weezy and him.

  And he wanted it back.

  But how to get it?

  Well, it had been stolen from him, so he guessed it would be only right for him to steal it back.

  He’d composed himself by the time he turned to face Mr. Drexler again. Weezy was staring at him, the question writ large on her face. He gave away nothing.

  “Really cool,” he said. “What’s upstairs?”

  “We won’t be going there. It is divided into smaller rooms, leftover from the day when the Lodge had residents. Eggers and I are using two of those now, but there’s nothing of interest there. Same with the basement: used simply for storage.”

  Jack wandered over to the front door. From past experience he knew it was steel, but he hadn’t realized that the lock was a double-key dead bolt. The key sat in the inner keyhole now.

  “I, um, thought you’d have an alarm system.”

  Mr. Drexler’s eyebrows lifted. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, the place is empty all the time—I mean, until you showed up. Someone could come in and rob you.”

  He gave his sort-of smile. “It might prove rather entertaining if someone tried.”

  “No, really.”

  “Rob us of what? There’s nothing of value here except the furniture. And to take that they’d have to back a van up to the front door. We have bars on the windows and locks on the doors. Quite enough, I think.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  The first-floor windows were all barred, but even though the ones on the second floor were not, he couldn’t imagine any way to reach them short of a ladder.

  Mr. Drexler clapped his hands once. “End of tour. I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”