It’s a gat.
I stuff it into my coat and just hold it there. My hand is shaking as I feel the hard, cold steel under my fingers. I’ve never held a gun before and it’s frightening.
Back at Father Ash’s, he leads me up to the attic, this time in silence. He doesn’t need to let me in, for I have the key.
Caroline sits up in bed when I call her name. “What is it?”
“A street sweeper. He was trying to steal a girl. He was a bad man. I think he was gonna kill her. He changed into a bat.”
She gasps and covers her mouth. Her eyes grow wide with terror. “A Hound. Did he hurt you?”
“Just a little. When I got close to him it hurt me inside. But that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing is when he looked at me. I went cold all over my body like I was covered in ice. I can’t remember being scared of someone, ever. But then an angel came, and I felt this jolt. Like an electric shock. And then somehow I knew him, like I know my own sister. I told him everything I knew, and then I wasn’t scared anymore.”
“Ahah!” Caroline shouts. “Let me ask you something. How did you feel when you were telling him all these things?”
“I felt sad to know his pain but also…boundless. Like I wasn’t in my body. I was lighter than spider’s silk. Yet I was stronger than a lion. And fiercer too. And I was abounding in mercy. I couldn’t hate him anymore. I could only love him. To the point that I wanted to weep.”
Caroline nods in confirmation. “There are two eyes from which to see in this life, the eyes in your head and the ones in your heart. You are a Brave, Stori and the magic in you is still alive.”
“I’m not sure,” I confess.
She scoots to the edge of the bed, and slides over the side. Her bare feet hardly make a sound as they hit the floor. “What have you relied on most of your life, Stori?”
I don’t have to think about that one. I show her my fists.
She shakes her head, not even giving them a glance. “No. It’s here, my girl.” She points to my head. “And here.” She points to my heart.
I shake my head right back at her. “No. You don’t know me at all.
“Or is it that I do know you. Better than you know yourself.”
I’m impressed by her briskness, as she hastens to the kitchen and takes something off one of the bottom shelves.
It’s covered in a red satin cloth and she respectfully places it on the kitchen table and sits. I know to sit across from her, the covered thing in between us.
She lifts the red satin and I see a golden tabernacle, half the size of a mailbox. The doors are facing me, and I want nothing but to open them. But I restrain myself and wait for her cue.
“I am going to tell you one of the stories in The Emerald Tablet. Hermes’ student, Asclepius, asked him how the art of writing began. Would you like to hear his answer to Asclepius, Stori?”
“Okay,” I say as I fight the woozies. I haven’t been this excited since the day I told Tony I loved him.
Caroline pauses, then begins:
And so, Asclepius, I have been made privilege to the stories of old. How I came to this story is for another time. But I will tell you briefly that I know it through one part dream, one part memory and one part vision. In a time before both of us were born there was a tower being built in ancient Babylon. The Tower of Babel.
I have heard of this tower, teacher.
It was a magnificent city, never a dull moment. But in the outskirts—in a mountainous place called the Caverns a tribe of people lived. One of the tribe was a young girl named Bilhah. She had the heart of an innocent and so she found favor with the Lord. He often visited with her.
One time when he came to visit he found her sitting despondent by a riverbank.
“What hurts you, child?” he asked.
“Oh Father. How much I love you. I have sung it at the top of mountains, I have danced it in the fields and before friends. I have sat over the fires of the tribe and told it in legend. Yet still I yearn.”
“What is it that you yearn?”
“To carve it into the sacred caverns. The blessed wombs. To make it eternal. But I know not how to do this or what it would look like.”
He beckoned her to rise and said, “Come. Follow me.”
He led her to a cave and they stepped inside the blackness. “Although your flesh is temporary, child, there are eyes in you that are eternal. These eyes lead into caverns such as this, which enter into eternal worlds. Close your eyes. Do you feel it?”
“Yes. Yes, father. I feel it.”
“I am going to show you your destined artwork. It is what you desire and I love you so, my child, that I will make this art form for you. Put your hand up to that rock, for this art is one that issues from the hand. Not that of painting but that of words.”
“Words coming from my hand?”
“It is too dark, but if you asked for light you would see me smile.”
“Father, how can words come from my hand?”
“Oh faithless child. You will write them.”
“Write them? What does this mean, write?”
“You are about to learn my child.”
“What should I do?”
“Pick up a stone at your feet and place it to the stone of the wall. Concentrate on that love you wish to express. With your eyes closed, become that love and let it move your hand.”
And so the young girl gave herself to the abounding love she had in her heart and she began to move the rock upon the stone. The carving was effortless and the symbols appeared.
But when she opened her eyes she couldn’t see them, for the darkness was too thick.
“I want to see it,” she said.
And the Lord said, “And so you will have light.”
A flame burst from the center of the room. A floating flame that came from no ember or spark. It floated in midair. It lit up the first written words of man so beautifully. The girl could not contain herself that she let out a gasp at what she just created.
“And so it will be,” said the Lord. “That all true writing will be written not in logic but in spirit and emotion. And love. This is the truest form of writing. It can only be achieved by the abandonment of self, the closing of the earthly eyes and the opening of the eye eternal. You will connect to the divine this way. It is given to you for worship, testament, and prayer. And all endeavors involving the pursuit of knowledge that is just and true.”
“I will honor this custom, father.”
“See that broken dish in the corner?”
“Yes.”
“Bring it here.”
So she picked up the dish and brought it to him and he placed his hand into the flames. When he drew it back a single flame puckered from the tip of his pointy finger. He put the flame to the dish and there it stayed. Without a drop of wax, without a wick, the flame persisted.
“Bring the flame home. Keep it going. Make it eternal. Tell your mother if you have to.”
“I will Father.”
“From this fire you will be given sights, young girl. This is the first fire that illuminated the first writings. You will be blessed as they came from your hands. You may not understand the meaning of all that has just happened but you are but a spoke in a great wheel.”
“What if the light goes out?”
“My beloved faithless. It will not. The fire I light is ever burning. Preserve the flame by preserving the ancient traditions. It will never go out if you remember your past. If you honor all the things that came before you.”
Caroline taps the table and I return to myself. Is it possible this story is true? If it is I feel blessed to know it. For the first time in a very long time, I feel grateful.
“Is that flame inside there?” I ask her.
“Open it and see.”
Oh little tabernacle, whose tiny door I see.
What can be in there?
What is waiting inside for me?
Is it another life, a better one than the one befor
e?
Is it my father and my mother embracing as I walk inside my kitchen door?
I only want a family. I only want to be.
The kind of person I was when I ran with the angels.
The better side of me.
I open the door and inside is a single flame in an indigo dish. It’s the size of a finger. Inside the yellow white a deer is prancing. Then it disappears and a buffalo storms forward. Then children are running through a field of lilies.
“Is that the flame?” I whisper, frightened that my voice might extinguish it.
“Yes.”
“Holy Father.”
The dish is cracked on one side and as Caroline, who stands over me now, reaches in to bring the flame out I fear the dish will break. “Be careful,” I whisper. “Please.”
She places the tabernacle back on the shelf and leaves the flame in the center of the table. Then she comes back and sits down. “I have chosen my destiny, Stori. To be a Keeper of the flame. With this flame I can see many things. I might be able help you find your father, if you like.”
“Yes. I would like that.”
“Give me your hands.”
We hold hands around the flame and I no longer see the changing shapes, but Caroline must see something, for she picks up her eyebrows as she stares and says, “He is chained up in a basement of some sort. Cosimo and the Night’s Council are nearby and they are going to kill him.”
“No!”
“Only your magic, Stori, can bring you to him. You must grow your magic. The more you grow it, the closer you will get to finding him.”
“Show me how to grow it! I’ll do anything.”
Caroline thinks it over. “Come here once a day and help me around this place and when the time is right I’ll show you how to grow your power.”
“No. There’s no time. Show me now and I’ll come for the rest of my life. I promise.”
“It’s not like I know myself. We need to spend time so I can figure it out.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow. After breakfast.”
Sleeping with the gat under my bed, I dream the most vivid dream.
I’m in a desert sandstorm at night and someone is leading me with the same dish and flame from the tabernacle. I marvel at how the whipping wind and sand do nothing to extinguish this magical feather. I lean my weight forward and shield my face with a scarf. A girl my age leads me. She keeps telling me that it is just ahead. The land of Shinar and the Tower of Babel. “Our people, the Braves, are there,” she yells through the wind. “We live just outside the city in the caves up in the hills. My people are wise and humble. You will know them as soon as you see them. They will welcome you with gratitude and if there is an item they carry and you want it, they will give it to you, no questions asked.”
“Even if they love it? Even if their father gave it to them?” I ask.
“Even if their father gave it to them,” she answers.
We never reach the land of Shinar, though, because my dream gets interrupted by the terrifying face of my uncle. He’s laughing and has me pinned to the ground with his knees straddled around me—the way I straddled Christina Dexter. He holds a gun to my temple. “You stupid Putzarella. You crazy, crazy girl!”
I’m grateful to awaken safe in my own bed, to a brand new day. I want to skip school and go straight to Caroline’s, but there’s one thing I must do. Ernestine needs to know what I’ve learned. She needs to know that I believe her story now and that I know a way to fight the evil things going on in Redemption. I will not only get my father back, I am going to save Ernestine from the mayor too. He’s in that Night’s Council for sure and I have to get her away from him!
I can’t wait to tell her! I can’t wait to look her in the face and say, “You don’t have to be scared anymore. We are going to get through this. We have Caroline on our side and she’s gonna teach me the magic to fight all this evil!”
But then I find Ernestine and it’s not good. She’s at the hooky spot, outside the building. That’s where all the weed-heads and druggies hang out. It’s kind of like the Soda Can Alley of my high school.
Ernestine’s plopped on a milk crate, leaning against the building with her eyes closed. “Ern,” I say, standing over her. “Ern. Wake up.”
She doesn’t respond. So I kick her foot.
Still no response.
A girl in a skullie cap and a fake fur coat is smoking a joint and talking to some football players. “Yeah, man. That shit is wild. They’re like not even gonna be growing our food from the soil anymore. It’s gonna come right out of these test tubes and shit. Test tube veggies.”
I crouch down next to my friend. “Ern. It’s Stori. I have something really important to tell you. Ern?”
Finally she opens her eyes. Oh, no. My father doesn’t even look that high when he drinks a bottle of gin. “I know you,” she says all slurred. I wonder if she even recognizes me.
The girl behind me, smoking a blunt says, “She was like that when I got here. Poor thing.”
“Thanks for the update.” Dumb bitch. Nobody cares in this world. Nobody. “Ern. It’s me, Stori. Your best friend. Listen. I spoke with Caroline, the prophetess. Remember her? She told me lots of things and I can’t tell you everything now, but the main thing is that Cosimo is here in the city and he might have my father captive. And he’s also got these people who work for him. Hounds. I’m pretty sure the mayor is one of them. But don’t worry. Because she told me about this crown, you see…”
“Uhhhhhhh,” she moans like she’s dying or something. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Get me a bucket,” she croons. And then she leans forward and pukes all over my shoes.
I drop Ernestine off to the nurse’s office and duck out of campus before security catches me. It takes me an hour to get home—I take two city buses back the Valley and I have to go home and change my shoes.
On my way out of the house I hear a voice calling, “Sullen.”
It’s Richie Ramera, the Valley pervert.
“I told you not to call me that.”
He falls into step alongside me. “I want to show you something, Sullen.”
“So do it.”
He digs in his pocket for something and draws it out. It’s one of the VIP casino chips.
“Where’d you get that?”
“My mom’s cleaning company got contracted to the casino. And now she’s banging the head of maintenance. Nice move, Ma.”
What a creep. He even talks bad about his own mother.
“Nice, Richie. Real nice.”
“Come on, lighten up,” he laughs. “You only get one go-around on life.”
“What does that have to do with disrespecting your mother?”
“I can get you in there. After hours.”
“In where?”
“The casino?”
“Why would I want to go in there after hours?”
“Have you seen it? The VIP heaven lounge? It’s a fucking palace. I’ll take you. If you let me kiss you when we get there.”
“In your dreams.”
Some of his friends are approaching us from the other side of the street. One of them calls, “Yeeeo!”
“My main man!” Richie shouts and then skips off to his buddies.
I get to Caroline’s a little late and she’s already sitting on the front steps of the church. She stands as I approach, not bothering to say hello. She’s ready for business. I’m glad because I am too. “Ready?” she says.
“Ready.”
I’m not sure where she’s taking me. “Where are we going?” I ask. “Are you taking me to Forest Boom?”
“No.”
“But isn’t that where the angels live?”
“Yes.”
“So why aren’t we going there?”
“Magic is in the most unexpected places, Stori. Learning it starts right at home.”
“So you’re taking me home?”
“Just come on.”
I shrug and trail
behind her as we make our way out of the piazza. We wind down onto the cobblestone avenue, right to my house, to Mama’s Door.
Mama’s Door is a restaurant run by the Pecorinos. They’ve been in business for over forty years and are known for their celebrated baked chicken and their hearts of charity.
I bet what I tell you next won’t even surprise you. By now, you know the Valley pretty well. It’s an unwritten rule at Mama’s Door that the prices on the menu only apply if the diner has money to pay. It runs on an honor system and anyone who is found abusing the rule is talked about all over the Valley and blacklisted from every wedding, christening and annual feast.
In my lifetime I’ve never heard of anyone taking advantage. My mother always said that thieves attract thieves and an upright place like Mama’s Door would never have to worry about getting robbed.
This is where Caroline has brought me. And I’m confused. “What are we doing here?” I ask her.
She looks at me and says. “We are going to help.”
“Help?” I ask.
“Yes. Help.”
“But I thought you said you were gonna teach me magic today.”
“Yes. I did.”
I’ve never been anyone’s fool and, old lady or not, I’m not gonna let her get by on me either. “If you think this is some kind of joke…”
“It’s not a joke. It’s where you need to start. You’re a real diamond in the rough if I ever saw one. There’s a lot of basic stuff you need to address before we even begin.”
This is never going to work, I think. But I don’t have time to dwell on my despair for the head chef, Mama, appears and smothers Caroline in kisses and asks her how she’s been all these years.
Then she throws her affections on me, calling me baby and telling me how beautiful I’m getting. She hugs and squeezes me and stares longingly into my eyes and leads me with an arm around my shoulder into the kitchen.
There I’m donned in a red apron, capped with a ghastly hair net and sent to the sink to scrub my hands.
The hustle and bustle of the kitchen is like a dance. I’ve never really been inside of a working culinary kitchen before and I have to say, I’m impressed. Everyone has a job to do and diligently working at their task. Their hands are chopping, pounding, tossing and sorting all kinds of meats, fruit and vegetables. A large stove is opened and the fire inside roars. Trays and dollies are sweeping by. People are walking backwards and sideways and all the while no one ever crashes into anything. I find it unbelievable. An orderly chaos; a battle and a peace offering at once.
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 18