I inhaled a long, deep breath and lowered my voice. “That night, when I left the dorm, I could’ve gone home and shut myself in my room. I could’ve faced you and yelled at you. But I didn’t. I took the easy way out. I begged for the easy way out. Cole took the pain away, and I didn’t care that it would ruin everything in my life, because I was stupid enough to think I had nothing else to lose.”
I watched in the reflection of my window as he slammed the heel of his hand down onto the steering wheel over and over, so hard it cracked the plastic covering at the base.
Watching the Tunnels absorb Mary, I lost that niggling little scrap of hope inside me. But Jack hadn’t. I knew I could take his despair and make him focus. “Jack. What are we going to do about it?”
It worked.
He raised his head. “It all comes back to the bracelet. The Daughters were protecting a secret for the Everneath, and I can only think of one secret worth protecting over all the others.”
“What?”
He held my gaze. “How to bring them down.”
THIRTY
NOW
My house. Forty-eight hours left.
Jack and I ended up at my house, at my desk, while we tried to figure out where to start. My dad and Tommy were renting a room at the Silver Lodge after the win, but I begged him to let me stay at home instead. Jack and I had the house to ourselves.
I bent the desk lamp down as close to the bracelet as I could. The markings on it were worn with a patina, so I grabbed a rag and a tube of toothpaste from the bathroom and dabbed a little dollop on the silver.
“What’s that for?” Jack asked.
“It’s a trick my mom taught me. In a pinch, if you need your silver polished…” I rubbed the toothpaste onto the bracelet until the entire surface area was covered with a thin layer. “And then when you rub it off”—I swiped it with the clean part of the rag—“you get this.”
I dangled the bracelet in front of Jack’s face. The worn, smudged parts were clear of dirt, and we could get a better look at the shape of the markings.
“It doesn’t look like a language,” Jack said. “It looks more like pictures. Or symbols.”
I nodded. “Maybe like hieroglyphs. We are talking about mythology, after all.” Jack’s leg was bouncing up and down. “Jack, go grab a pencil and a paper. You’re better at drawing.”
He rifled through the top two drawers of my desk until he found a notebook and a pencil. He set the paper on the desk and then looked from the bracelet to the paper, drawing what he saw. The first shape looked like a pot. The second like the outline of a person, only shaded in black. The third like a bird with a human head.
I opened my laptop and searched for “hieroglyphics bird with a human head,” because that was the only symbol for which I could imagine search terms. There were a few that didn’t make sense at all. But about halfway down the first page, I saw a similar image to the one on the bracelet.
I read off the screen. “Bird with a human head can mean ‘ba.’ Or soul.”
“Try the other two,” Jack said.
I typed in “hieroglyphics pot.” The search came up with thousands of entries. No pattern as to what it meant. I tried the human figure next. “Hieroglyphics man shaded.” Nothing. I tried “hieroglyphics human form” and other descriptive terms for the outline of the person, but it didn’t help.
“It’s not going to work because I’m not describing the symbols right. I’m saying ‘human shape,’ but it’s too general, or completely wrong, because I’m not getting any answers.”
“I know, Becks.” He rubbed his chin with his fingertips. I smiled. Another typical Jack Caputo move. “The bird with the human head was specific enough. ‘Ba,’ right? So let’s look up ‘ba’ and see if anything else pops up.”
I typed “ba” into the search engine, but the first few entries were for British Airways. So I added “hieroglyphics,” and that’s when I saw it. An article titled “The Five Elements of the Egyptian Soul.”
Jack read over my shoulder. “‘The human soul is made up of five parts: the ren, the ba, the ka, the sheut, and the ib. Also known as the name, the personality, the life force, the shadow, and the heart.’”
Each part had an associated symbol pictured next to it. “The bracelet shows all five symbols.” I looked at Jack. “The five parts of the soul. But what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” We sat quiet for a moment, staring at the strange bracelet. “I thought it would be something obvious,” Jack said.
“Like a recipe for a poison apple?”
He gave me a wry smile. “Something like that.” His smile gave way and he picked up the bracelet and held it closer to his eyes. “It’s there. We’re just not seeing it.”
I wasn’t so sure. Jack noticed my skepticism.
“It’s there, Becks. Why would Mary spend her last moment aboveground leaving us this clue if she knew it would come to nothing? One last practical joke she wouldn’t be around to see? I don’t think so. It’s valuable enough that the Daughters of Persephone went through a lot of trouble to keep it. It’s gotta mean something.”
“I hope you’re right. So what do we do now?”
Jack pointed to my computer. “We start showing it around. Somebody out there knows what it means.”
I thought about the missing reporter. “That could be dangerous.”
He just shrugged. “What do we have to lose?”
Jack took a picture of the bracelet with his phone and emailed it to both of our accounts. He folded the paper with his own drawings. “Come to school with me tomorrow.”
“Jack, I have two days left at the most. Why—”
“Just to Mrs. Stone’s class. She’s a mythology geek. Maybe she can help, or point us in the right direction. She took those classes in college, the one where that professor was nuts for this stuff. I don’t know…” Jack covered his mouth as he tried to stifle a yawn. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning.
“You’re tired,” I said. I reached out and traced the circles under his eyes. “You should go and get some sleep. We’re both going to need it.”
Jack looked down, and when he spoke again his voice was gruff. “I don’t know if I can say good night.”
I could see the little divot appear in between his eyebrows. I wanted to smooth it out. Smooth away the worry there. “I’ll still be here tomorrow. I promise.” He was waiting for me to disappear again, and it killed me.
He nodded like he believed me, but he didn’t move. I leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. He held perfectly still.
“You need sleep,” I whispered, my lips at his ear.
I saw his cheeks pull up into a grin. “If this is your way of convincing me, it’s not working. How about I just stay here?”
“You know if you stay here, we won’t be able to sleep.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
He left before either of us wanted to part. I fell asleep quickly, the effects of the band’s meal robbing me of energy, but when I woke up I knew it was too early to actually get up. I looked out the window to see if there was any sign of the day beginning, and saw Jack’s car parked alongside the curb outside our house. Fog on a couple of the windows obscured a peek inside. I checked the grass. The tips were white with an overnight frost.
I put on a thick robe and my slippers and grabbed a couple of blankets from the linen closet. Outside, I took a breath, and it felt like dry ice making its way down the back of my throat.
I picked up the pace to the curb and knocked on the driver’s-side window.
The indistinct shape inside jumped, and the door cracked open. Jack sat up. He rubbed his hands over his arms and then curled his fingertips and breathed on them. “What time is it?”
I threw a blanket around him, tucking it in on the sides. “It’s five thirty.”
“Oh.” He closed his eyes again and started to curl back up against the seat.
I ro
lled my eyes. “You never were a morning person. You can still sleep, but not in the car. Come inside.”
I thought he’d put up more of a fight, but he followed me silently into my house and into my room. I shut the door behind us, and Jack curled up on the floor in the corner under the windowsill.
“Jack, sleep on the bed.”
“Nope. I’m good here.” His eyes were still closed. I didn’t think he’d opened them once yet.
I was about to insist, but he was already snoring softly, so I draped the blanket over him and climbed back in my bed and drifted.
Jack woke me up about an hour later, fully dressed, hair combed, breath smelling like toothpaste.
“Let’s go, Becks. Time to make our last stand. I’ll be in the living room.”
I threw on some clothes, brushed my hair and my teeth, and met him inside our entryway.
On the drive to school, Jack held my hand. “It’s not going to come for you, Becks. We’ll figure this out.”
I nodded. I couldn’t say anything for fear of breaking down completely. He held my hand as we walked into Mrs. Stone’s classroom.
Mrs. Stone was there, marking some papers at her desk. She looked up. “Ms. Beckett. Mr. Caputo. You’re both early. What can I help you with?”
Jack tossed the bracelet so that it landed on her desk, right in front of her. “We were wondering if you could tell us anything about the markings on this. Anything at all.” Jack was trying to keep his voice even.
Mrs. Stone put her reading glasses on and studied the jewelry. “It’s hard to see what the figures are…”
Jack pulled out the paper with his drawings on it and put it in front of her. “Maybe this will help. They’re my own drawings, so they’re not, like … professional or anything. But we think they’re hieroglyphics.”
She looked at us both for a few seconds. “Why would you have a bracelet with hieroglyphics on it?”
I was about to say something, but Jack beat me to it. “That new store on Main is selling them. Each bracelet is supposed to mean something different.”
“Oh. Then do you think this could wait until after school?”
Jack switched on his most charming grin. “I sorta bet my friend we could figure it out before he did. Please?”
She gave a half smile and looked at the paper with his drawings. “Well, I know the pot is the symbol for heart. That one’s sort of universal. But the others…”
I looked at Jack and shook my head. This was going to be a waste of time if all she could do was confirm what we already knew.
Jack leaned against her desk. “I was doing a little research, and the other symbols might have something to do with the parts of the soul … or something?”
She shrugged. “That sounds familiar.”
“Do you know of any books we could check out? Maybe at the library?”
“Library…” Her voice trailed off and she held a finger up in the air. “One of my old professors at the university would be the one to talk to. He’s the one who convinced me to use myths as a basis for my creative-writing projects, but of course, I never got into it so much that I would know how to read hieroglyphs… When I get home tonight, I’ll see if I can find some contact info for you—”
“It’ll be too late tonight,” Jack interrupted. I put my hand on his arm, and he took a breath. “I mean, my friend is really close to… Look, Mrs. Stone. Can we just straight-up ask it as a favor?” She gave him a curious look and let him continue. “If he’s a professor at the university, that means his email’s probably on their site. I have a picture of the bracelet. We could email it to him. It’s important.” Jack looked down, and when he spoke again his voice was anguished. “It’s everything to me.”
“Do you promise to turn in your scholarship applications by next week?”
Jack cracked a grin. “Whatever you want.”
“That’s what I want.”
Mrs. Stone followed us to the computer lab, and she logged on to her email while Jack found the university’s contact page on another monitor.
“I’ll send the email from my account,” Mrs. Stone said, “but I’m sure you realize Dr. Spears is probably really busy. He may not get the sense of urgency you seem to have.”
“I understand,” Jack said. “But we have to try.”
Mrs. Stone typed out a quick message, even telling Dr. Spears he would be doing her a huge favor if he looked at the picture of the bracelet as soon as possible and helped decipher its meaning.
“You know, if you two hadn’t been putting in your time for my class every day, I wouldn’t be doing this.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mrs. Stone cc’d Jack’s email address, attached the picture, and then clicked send. She sat back in the lab chair. “Okay. We’ll see what happens. Mr. Caputo, I expect your scholarship papers by the end of the week.”
“Done,” Jack said.
We had only a few minutes before the start of class, so we hurried back to Mrs. Stone’s classroom. After I took my seat, Jack scooted his desk a couple of inches closer to mine. I smiled.
He leaned close and said, “Becks, all we need is one little spark. One little push in the right direction. I don’t think that’s too much to hope for, do you?”
I shook my head.
“If we don’t hear anything by lunchtime, I’ll start posting it on boards. Classifieds. Everywhere.”
About ten minutes into Mrs. Stone’s lecture on Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, Jack’s phone vibrated in his hand, indicating a new email. He read the screen, and as he did his left foot started tapping.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Professor Spears. Requesting an immediate phone call. He left his number.”
I drew in a deep breath. I couldn’t believe he had responded so quickly. This was it. Whatever that bracelet meant, it was important enough to warrant an immediate phone call with the head of the anthropology department at the university. Jack kept his eyes on Mrs. Stone as he typed a response under his desk.
“I told him we’d call at the end of class,” Jack whispered. “Doesn’t Mrs. Stone have her second period free?”
I nodded.
“I want her here for this so she can back us up if we need it.”
The minute hand on the wall clock decided to take the long way around, and the rest of class dragged. When the bell finally rang, Jack and I sprinted to Mrs. Stone’s desk.
“Professor Spears wants to talk,” Jack blurted out, his thumb already on the keypad of his phone. “I’m calling him.”
Mrs. Stone pulled her eyebrows together and said, “I don’t think—” She didn’t finish, because Jack had pressed send and it was ringing.
“You talk,” Jack said, handing the phone to Mrs. Stone. “Please.”
We were silent as we listened to Mrs. Stone’s end of the conversation. Jack nearly ripped the desk in half as Mrs. Stone asked about the professor’s current research, but then it sounded like Professor Spears cut it short. Mrs. Stone stopped talking and handed the phone to Jack. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jack took it. “Hello, Professor Spears. Thanks for calling—” Jack looked at me as he listened. “Okay, do you mind if I put you on speaker?”
He put the phone down on the desk between us.
“You were saying?” Jack said.
Professor Spears’s voice crackled through the line. “I’m wondering where you got this bracelet. It’s a copy, correct?”
“A copy of what?”
“I know of only one like it in existence, and it’s in storage at the Smithsonian. The design is not something you’d expect everyday jewelers to replicate.” He paused and sounded a little like he was chuckling. “It’s just that your picture almost makes it look authentic—or, at the very least, an expensive replica— and I wondered where you got it.”
Jack ignored his question. “We thought the symbols had something to do with the five parts of the Egyptian soul. Is that right?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, but that’s only the beginning of the meaning behind the markings. It’s the position of each picture on the bracelet that tells the story. The bracelet refers to an ancient civilization called the Ring of the Dead.”
“What does that mean?” Jack interrupted.
“I’m getting to that. Do you see how the sheut, the ren, and the ba are grouped together?”
We were both silent, staring at the picture. “Um…” Jack said.
“The sheut, the shadow figure. The ren, the name. And the ba, the personality. Got it?”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t think we had much choice in the matter.
“And in the center, we see the ib, or the heart; it looks like a pot.” Jack and I both nodded, even though Professor Spears couldn’t see us. “And on the other end is the ka. The life force. The entire picture represents those humans who have discovered the key to eternal life, by giving up their own kas, or life forces, and stealing the kas of others. So the bracelet has to do with the royalty of the Ring of the Dead. The Akh ghosts. Or Everlivings, as some more contemporary studies have deemed them. Of course, these are all fringe theories.”
My heart sped up. Everlivings. I couldn’t believe there were actually people out there who knew about them. “Keep going, please, Professor Spears,” I whispered.
“You see, ancient myth has us believe death can occur only when the ka leaves the body. Akh ghosts replenish their kas constantly, and therefore the ka never leaves their bodies and death cannot touch them.”
My mouth opened a bit, and I looked at Jack. Even Mrs. Stone had taken an interest in the conversation. She sat in a desk behind Jack, listening.
“Akh ghosts are sort of a popular legend in anthropology circles.” He chuckled softly. “Some of my own colleagues believe Akh ghosts wander the face of the earth today. I think it adds to their zeal for our area of study…”
I stopped listening as Professor Spears told of the quirks of some of his colleagues. I only tuned in again when he said, “Where did you get the replica, by the way? Its likeness to the one stored at the Smithsonian is extraordinary. If possible, I’d love the chance to have a look at it.”
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