“The Book and the rod change the nature of the game? Whoever has them wins?”
“Bingo. You are clever—pretty sure you got that from me, kid.”
“Why haven’t you ever tried to get them back? They’ve been here all along, right?”
“I made a deal, remember? He leaves the field to me. I hand over the Book and rod and only work on one person at a time.”
“But you had me, and then Luc, so we could do more than that. You want us to command armies, to coerce multitudes for you, to make them all love you.”
“Yes. But I am only influencing one person—either Luc or you, though that hasn’t worked out well so far. You’re the ones giving me a leg up on the old competition. And technically, he cheated first. He had a kid, too, you know.”
“Angelo has the Book and now the rod. Why don’t you take him out?” A cold spear ran through her gut.
“The Book and the rod shield the bearer from all but the Just.”
“Someone who’s just is the only one who can—?” She felt a wash of relief run over her. “You need to find someone else, then. That’s not me.”
“No?”
“Not anymore.” Her mind thumbed through all the things she’d done and said since Lake Disappointment. “I’m my father’s daughter now.”
He barked out a laugh. “Not quite. You’re just being a coward. You’re going to let the world burn because you’re too afraid to confront your traitor lover.” He nodded smugly. “See? I told you love was a myth and selfishness the ruler of the human heart.”
Mouse eyed him, her temper flaring, but she knew he was right. “You still haven’t answered my question—why do you care?”
“If someone starts using the Book of the Just and the rod of Aaron, my old adversary’s going to get back in the game, and he’ll bring a host of his friends, and it will be—”
“The end of the world.”
The fractures that had feathered inside her when she’d seen the stone angel floating over her head in that blood-laced cell and realized that Angelo had betrayed her now grew deep and wide. She felt like her heart—and every truth she’d held there—were shards piercing her. She had to do whatever it took to stop Angelo.
“Can you take me to him?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Angelo laid his hand on the rolling rod to still it. He could feel the charge of power dancing along the wood and reaching up to tickle his palm as he picked it up.
“What is it?” Birhan asked.
“The rod of Aaron. The rod of Moses.”
“The one that split the sea?”
Angelo nodded.
“Can it still do that?”
“I don’t know. I think it probably powers the spells in the Book. Can you hand it to me?”
Birhan grabbed the worn black book from the floor and passed it to Angelo, who rested the rod in the crook of his arm as he opened the Book of the Just. Many of the pages were covered with the same script as the first, in the language he did not know. But about halfway through, the writing changed—a different hand and a different script. Angelo could make sense of some of the symbols; they resembled the ancient Hebrew he’d translated from the gold plates. Toward the end, the script changed over almost completely to that same old form of Hebrew.
There were spells to make arrows fly true and hit their marks. Spells to shield armies. Spells to call a fog. He found the spell, referenced in Joshua, about holding the sun and the moon still. There was a spell to identify enemies with a bright aura. Angelo flipped back a few pages to the older script mixed with symbols he could identify and saw lines that talked about boils and calling out ferocious beasts from the wild. A last line with enough words he could understand talked about cleaving the heart of evil. He shuddered.
“What does it say?” Birhan asked. “Read it.”
“No,” Angelo answered briskly. “If I read these words out loud while I hold the rod, it would bring down . . . they’re all curses, Birhan, ways to annihilate your enemy.”
Birhan’s face twisted with fear. “We should take it back, hide it again.”
“Not yet. I have to use it first.” Angelo had a faraway look in his eye, but his jaw was clenched, determined.
“Use it for what?”
“To save Mouse. And her brother.” He used the rod to push himself up.
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out when the time comes. I have to find them first—and fast.”
“How?”
So much of Angelo’s plan was guesswork and chance, but he knew where he had to start. He pulled out the Bishop’s cellphone.
“Who are you texting?” Birhan’s voice was loaded with apprehension.
“Kitty.”
Birhan put his hand on Angelo’s. “You can’t put these weapons in the hands of these people, brother.”
“I don’t want to, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t find Mouse on my own. And I think Kitty has Mouse’s little brother. She also has everything she needs to capture Mouse, too—if she hasn’t already. If I have any hope of saving Mouse and her brother, I have to go to Kitty, and these are my ticket in.”
Angelo punched in a simple text: HELLO KITTY. IT’S ANGELO.
The phone pinged with a response: WHERE HAVE YOU RUN OFF TO THIS TIME?
ITALY.
FUNNY. ME, TOO.
I HAVE SOMETHING YOU’RE GOING TO WANT TO SEE.
OH?
THE ROD OF AARON.
Angelo waited nervously for her reply. It was taking longer than he wanted.
WHY TELL ME?
I THOUGHT YOU WANTED A WEAPON AGAINST EVIL.
DOES IT WORK?
I CAN FEEL THE POWER POURING THROUGH IT. BUT I HAVEN’T TESTED IT.
WHY NOT?
I’M SCARED OF IT.
I’M NOT.
YOU WILL BE.
Another nervous wait.
CAN YOU COME TO ROMA MARINA YACHTING IN THE PORT OF CIVITAVECCHIA? WE’RE ON THE BOAT. I’LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN WE DOCK.
I’LL BE THERE IN A COUPLE OF HOURS.
NO SURPRISES, PET. THE REVEREND’S A LITTLE TOUCHY AT THE MOMENT.
I UNDERSTAND.
Angelo looked up at Birhan.
“You are going somewhere,” Birhan said. “I am going, too.”
“I need you to stay here as my backup. You still have your phone?”
Birhan pulled it out of the bag hanging on his shoulder. Angelo keyed in a number. “This is the number Bishop Sebastian texted me from. You can reach him here. If you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, contact him and tell him what’s happened. He’ll know what to do.”
“No, not this time.”
“Birhan, if it all goes wrong, we need someone to get the Book and the rod back before Kitty and the Reverend figure out how to use them. That’s on you.”
Birhan sighed and lowered his head. “Then I will do this thing. I will stay behind. And I will pray to Allah that I may see you again.”
Mouse sent her father back to the chalet in Austria to fetch the bone shard the Seven Sisters had sent her. She couldn’t imagine what had turned Angelo against her. Some part of her mind wanted to argue all the possibilities that would exonerate him—he didn’t know she was alive, he was driven by grief and vengeance—but Mouse had seen him with her own eyes, friendly with the Reverend at The Nutcracker. And Angelo had been in the house in Russia with his old mentor, Bishop Sebastian, and Jack Gray, the traitor who’d sold out her brother.
Despite his betrayal, Mouse didn’t think she could kill Angelo by her own command or with her own hand. Not even to save the whole world. If there was no other way to stop him, she could only hope that the shard would do the killing work for her as it had in the barracks with Citrus, Musk, Bay Rum, and Cedar. But she would have to draw her mind to the ready. She would have to be full of wanting Angelo dead.
Mouse stepped back into the gardener’s cottage and heard the Brothers singing at Lauds as she closed the door.
<
br /> “Mouse?” Luc called out, frightened.
“Right here,” she answered. “I was just taking Mercy out.” She sat down on the bed beside him. “You okay?”
He rubbed at his eyes. “Just hungry.”
Mouse heard a rustling at the door. Their father was back.
“Who’s that?” Luc asked anxiously.
“Let me fix you some toast and eggs.” She moved to the stove.
“I don’t want him here,” Luc said. “I don’t want to see him. You said I didn’t have to—”
“You’re not going with him. I am.”
“No! Why?”
She kept her back to him as she talked, working hard to keep her heart and voice steady so he wouldn’t be able to read her well. “The trouble’s not over, Luc. We just ran from it. And I’ve spent a lifetime running—it’s not what I want for you. I’m going to go deal with it so it’s over, so no one can hurt you again.”
She could almost feel his eyes boring into her as he searched for a lie. She wasn’t lying, but she didn’t want him to sense her fear. If Angelo and Kitty had the rod and the Book and knew how to use them, Mouse didn’t think there was much she could do, but she had to try. She didn’t want Luc sensing her worry that she might not come back.
“Okay,” he finally whispered. “Do you want me to come help?”
Mouse shook her head, not able to talk.
“But he’s going to help you?”
She cleared her throat. “Our father knows how to find them, and I don’t. But once we’re there, he’s going to come back here and—”
“No. I don’t want him. I’m fine here with Mercy.”
“He can’t come inside, Luc. The protection spells I did stop him. You just stay here and eat and play with Mercy. I’m going to go ask Brother Josef to come check on you in just a little bit, in case I’m gone longer than I mean to be.” She brought him his plate of eggs and toast and a glass of milk, which she set on the bedside table.
He was staring at her face and then his crumpled. “Please don’t go, Mouse. I want you to stay. We’re safe here.”
“We can’t live our whole lives in this cottage, Luc. I want you to see the world. It’s a beautiful place with beautiful people in it.” She couldn’t keep the heaviness from her voice.
“You don’t think you’ll come back.” He said it in a breath and then launched into her arms, clinging to her. “Don’t go. Please don’t go!”
Mouse reached back and tugged his hands apart, then picked the dog up and put her in Luc’s lap. Mouse didn’t turn back when she got to the door. “I love you, Luc,” she called back to him, but she wasn’t sure he could hear her over his sobs.
She took the bone shard from her father, who stood just to the side of the door. He held out a new cloak as well. “Looks like your old one is a little worse for wear.”
Mouse snatched it from him and let the tattered one fall to the ground. He pulled her kurdaitcha mask from behind his back and offered it to her as well.
She shook her head. “I’m done hiding. What I do now, I do as Mouse.” She shoved past him. “I need to go speak to Brother Josef. Wait here. And don’t talk to Luc. After you’ve shown me where I need to go, you come back here and you watch over him, but he’s in charge. You understand? If he wants to talk to you, he will. Otherwise, leave him alone. Or I swear I’ll get that damn rod and Book and hunt you down myself.”
“You’re charming this evening, dear,” her father said to her back as she headed off to the church. When she’d turned the corner and was out of sight, he picked up the old cloak and mask, opened the cottage door, and stepped silently over the blood spatter of her spells and into the foyer. He laid the cloak and mask on the side table against the wall.
He was looking over the hedge down to Teplá River when she came back.
“Shall we?” He held his arm out to her, and just as he pulled his cloak around them both, he said, “You’d do well to remember that he’s my son. He’s hurt now, but our kind heal. And we’re harder after the scars.”
Angelo felt more out of place than he ever had in his life. He was walking down a pristine cobblestone path flanked by huge, sleek yachts, towers from the ancient port of Rome pressing up against the horizon. He gripped the rod of Aaron against the hand rest of his crutch; it stretched out in front and behind him and looked every bit like an old-school fishing pole.
He turned his head at the sound of a helicopter coming or going, chauffeuring the wealthy from one luxury to another. Kitty had texted the quay number where their yacht was moored and the name of the boat: The Redeemed. Angelo was not prepared for the size, though he chided himself for the shock—he understood the Reverend’s appetites were large. Why should it be any different for a boat?
A guard stood at the ramp leading up to the yacht. Another two were waiting at the top.
“I’m—”
Without a word, the guard nodded, stepped forward, and directed him up the ramp.
As Angelo stepped onto the boat, one of the guards, pointing at a spiral staircase to the right, asked, “Can you manage, Mr. D’Amato, or do you require assistance?”
“I can do it. Down or up?”
“Down, sir.”
Angelo let his crutches swing loose from their straps and grabbed the rails on either side of the narrow stairwell. He held Aaron’s rod in his right hand, upright against the rail, and let his upper body carry most of his weight. He felt like a mangled insect, legs dangling, as he clunked his way down one glossy, dark wood step at a time.
The room opened up at the bottom and ran half the length of the boat. On Angelo’s end was a posh sitting area with couches and chairs covered in rich leathers and plush velour. Banks of windows offered vistas of other grand yachts and the promise of the open sea, turned amber by the late afternoon sun.
“They wanted to open the windows.” The Reverend sat at the head of a dining table at the far end of the room. “But I told them seawater and fish smells and the caw of them damn seagulls belong to the Fourth of July, not Christmas. Christmas should be cold. Down home, we run the air conditioner if we have to. I got them running it full blast now.” He smiled. “Come on and grab a seat. Get you a plate.”
Angelo navigated the couches and chairs and took a seat at the table. “That is a lot of food,” he said.
“I missed my Christmas dinner yesterday with all the drama out at the house, so they fixed it up for me here. All the Southern goodness. Let me cut you a piece of prime rib.”
The Reverend pushed back from the table. Serving spoons and glasses clinked against each other in the wake. He stabbed a long-tined fork into a chunk of meat and sawed at it with a large serrated knife. The center of the cut was a deep purple-red and sent tiny rivers of blood and juice rolling when the Reverend slid the meat down onto Angelo’s plate.
“We got creamed potatoes and cornbread dressing with gravy, some buttermilk biscuits—just make sure to save some room for the coconut cake. That’s a Southern delicacy, I tell you.” The Reverend sat back down with a quake and shoved a deviled egg in his mouth.
“Where’s Kitty?” Angelo asked. Everything felt wrong.
“She’s getting dressed. She’ll be up in a bit. Get you some food now.”
Angelo reached over to get a biscuit but jumped up at the sound of a scuffle coming from the stairs. “What’s that?” His hand had gone instinctively to Aaron’s rod, which leaned against his chair.
“Nothing. Sit down and eat.” It was an order, devoid of his Southern charm.
Angelo sat down but kept his eyes on the stairs and his left hand on the rod. His right hand rested inside his bag against the spine of the Book of the Just.
“What you got there?” the Reverend asked, nodding at the rod.
“A rod.”
“That thing’s only good for the catfish pond.” He chuckled. “You won’t catch a thing out here.”
“It’s not for fishing. Is someone else joining us?” Angelo asked, looking
at the fourth place setting.
“Kitty! The food’s getting cold,” the Reverend bellowed. “Get up—”
“Stop yelling, Kevin.” Kitty was slowly climbing up another spiral staircase in the doorway behind and to the left of Angelo’s seat. “I’m sore. It took a little longer.”
“What happened to you?” Angelo asked. She had scrapes down both legs and a few scratches and bruises on her face.
“We had a visitor after you left on Christmas Eve.” She sat at the end of the table, plucked the napkin off her plate, and smoothed it onto her lap. She cut her eyes up to the rod. “Is that the thing you mentioned on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“The rod of Aaron?”
“What?” the Reverend asked.
“You know your Bible, Kevin. This is the rod that Moses’s brother used to best the pharaoh.”
“The one that ate the other snakes? How’s that supposed to help us?”
“It’s more than that,” Angelo said quietly. His eyes were still on the place set for a fourth person. “Who else is coming?”
“What else does it do?” the Reverend asked.
“It’s the rod Moses used to part the Red Sea.”
“Now that’s more interesting.”
“I can feel it,” Kitty said, excitement playing in her voice.
Angelo turned to her. “What visitor did you have and how did they do this to you?”
“She didn’t do anything to me. It was the house.” Kitty leaned forward and touched his arm. “But I did it, Angelo! The spell. I caught them—both. And I would have kept them, if—”
Angelo shivered against the penetrating cold of the air-conditioned air as it seeped into his gut. “Caught both of whom? Mouse’s brother and—”
“Mouse, of course.” She studied him carefully. “I see you already know she’s alive. Did your Bishop tell you?”
“Yes.” Angelo was trying to master his fear. “Where is she?”
“Your nasty little girlfriend found a way through my spells.”
“She took out my men,” the Reverend added. “Destroyed the whole damn house. We barely got out.” He sounded more awestruck than afraid or angry. “She’s a force of nature, that girl.”
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