“It’s a key,” said David, his small voice ringing like a clear note. He looked utterly drained. “That much we know from the riddle Bram left behind. And Bram stashed it here for a very good reason: to keep it safe and to ensure cooperation among the branches of the old Order. That’s why you couldn’t reach it without me. We have to cooperate or no one will get the Book but Astaroth.”
Miss Boon nodded; Rasmussen appeared to listen carefully to David’s words.
“If I recall correctly, Mr. Menlo, I believe you bear a trinket that monitors the Book’s danger?”
David nodded.
“And what does the marvelous little trinket say?” asked Rasmussen.
David reached inside his sweater and brought out the talisman, laying it on the table. It was as dark and cold as lead.
“Perhaps we should just keep this Key here,” said Rasmussen, shrugging. “It would seem the Demon is no closer to getting the Book than we are.”
“We can’t count on that,” said Miss Boon quickly. “For all we know, there may be other ways to find the Book of Thoth. The Demon has Marley Augur in his service—Augur knew everything that Bram had done with it.”
“And this Augur,” said Dr. Rasmussen, touching his fingertips together. “He was one of yours, if I recall correctly? A member of some standing, I believe?”
“Yes,” said Miss Boon, clasping her hands patiently.
“Hmmm,” said Rasmussen. “That is troubling. Given the likelihood of disloyalty among your ranks, I can hardly conclude that this sphere or the Book would be safe with Rowan.”
“That’s absurd,” said Miss Boon, leaning forward.
“Is it?” asked Dr. Rasmussen. “If my information is accurate, didn’t Rowan have a traitor in their midst only last year? A Byron Morrow?”
Miss Boon glanced at Jason Barrett, who blushed and looked away.
“And wasn’t this Mr. Morrow a teacher?” continued Dr. Rasmussen with an innocent smile.
“What’s your point?” asked Cooper.
“Isn’t Miss Boon a teacher as well?”
“Don’t insult her,” warned Cooper, his eyes as cold as a shark’s.
“I wouldn’t dream of insulting her,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “I’m sure Rowan’s teachers are the most talented, ethical individuals your organization has to offer. That’s precisely my point, Agent Cooper—if even an exalted teacher can be corrupted, what can be said for the rest of your Order? Most unsafe guardians of such an artifact, I’m afraid.”
Max glowered at Dr. Rasmussen. He imagined that no matter what words or argument one chose, the smiling Rasmussen would twist and shape them to his purpose. Miss Boon took a deep breath and rested her palms on the table.
“What would you propose?” she asked wearily.
Dr. Rasmussen leaned forward.
“We have discussed the issue and are prepared to let you have this contraption or Key or whatever it is in exchange for the lymrill.”
“What?” exclaimed Max, clutching Nick to him.
Jason Barrett cleared his throat and spoke up. “Dr. Rasmussen, you have to understand that Nick isn’t just Max’s pet—there’s a very special bond between them. Max took an oath—”
“Mr. Barrett, do not interrupt unless you wish your entire family returned to the surface.”
Jason’s face darkened; he shut his mouth and stared at the tabletop.
“In addition,” continued Dr. Rasmussen, “we require blood and tissue samples from young Max McDaniels. When these have been obtained, this object will be surrendered to you. Given Rowan’s professed need for its acquisition, I think our price is very reasonable.”
“It’s not just Rowan’s need,” interjected Miss Boon, motioning for Max to be still. “It’s humankind’s need, Dr. Rasmussen.”
“So you say,” said Dr. Rasmussen with a dismissive wave. “But we are quite comfortable where we are. Should the Enemy conquer every single continent, it will affect us not.”
“You mean that you’re not even going to fight?” asked Miss Boon incredulously.
“We’ve amassed a great deal of data and analyzed many scenarios, Miss Boon,” replied Dr. Rasmussen with a shrug. “You have already lost, I’m afraid. Over seventy percent of the world’s population is transitioning to rule under puppet regimes; the rest will soon follow. Government ranks are riddled with the Enemy’s servants. Even those officials not part of the original conspiracy are quickly swearing allegiance. As far as the common people are concerned, they’re too worried about starvation, civil war, and things scratching at their windows to muster a credible resistance. Through your arts, Rowan may manage to hide for a bit, but you too will fall. Our most generous estimates give you a year.”
“But don’t you see?” pleaded Miss Boon. “That’s exactly why you should be helping us! If everything you’re saying is true, the Book might be our only hope to destroy Astaroth!”
“Why do you assume it’s in our best interest to destroy the Demon?” asked Rasmussen, spinning the sphere’s rings once again.
Miss Boon simply stared at him.
“Because Astaroth is a terrible evil.”
“Says who?” asked Rasmussen, visibly enjoying the exchange. “Theologians? Priests? Your Promethean Scholars? Ha! I can argue that mankind is a far worse calamity. Look at the evidence—an accelerating rate of species extinction, an appalling waste of precious resources, catastrophic impact on the atmosphere and climate. . . . These are all the result of humans arriving on the planetary scene just a heartbeat ago. We’re worse than locusts, Miss Boon. A culling of man’s population and planetary influence might be the very thing we need at this juncture.”
Silence. Miss Boon pursed her lips; when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with anger.
“Dr. Rasmussen, do you want Astaroth to win?”
“The Workshop is neutral in the affair,” he replied decisively. “We wish Rowan the best in its struggle and would appreciate a prompt reply regarding the matter at hand.”
Max looked down at Nick, whose otter-like face was uncharacteristically serene and thoughtful. Max knew that the lymrill understood some basic essence of the conversation. Sharp claws curled and hooked into Max’s sweater as the creature stood on its hind legs, balancing its forepaws against Max’s chest like a baby. It craned its neck to peer down the table at Rasmussen.
“I can’t,” blurted out Max, with a pleading look at Miss Boon and Cooper. “I can’t give Nick up to these people. They’ll put him under a microscope or on a dissecting tray. I’d rather die.”
“And I don’t want you people having tissue samples of my son,” said Mr. McDaniels, crossing his arms. “Creepiest damn thing I ever heard of in my life! What’re you going to do? Clone him like a sheep?”
“Take me!” shrieked Mum, bolting suddenly out of her chair and running toward the head of the table. She was quickly intercepted by a soldier, who held the struggling hag firmly by the shoulders. “Take me instead!” bawled Mum. “Leave the boy and that poor stupid creature alone!”
Laughter erupted around the table. Dr. Rasmussen smiled and shared a twinkling, conspiratorial wink with his neighbors.
“Thank you for the generous counteroffer, but we must decline. We already have one hag, and that is quite enough.”
“But I’m unique!” insisted Mum. “And I can cook!”
“Congratulations,” sighed Dr. Rasmussen, motioning for the soldier to escort Mum back to her seat. Throughout the episode, Max noticed that David had not moved, but was staring at the talisman on the table.
The chuckles subsided, and Rasmussen stood to rest his palms on the table.
“Come, my friends,” he said. “We are all busy people. Do we have an agreement or not?”
None of the Rowan representatives answered. With the exception of a teary, indignant Mum, they were now all staring at Bram’s talisman.
It was glowing.
Glowing was too strong a word. The miniature light was as weak and shaky as a
dying bulb. But it was getting stronger.
“What sort of cheap conjurer’s trick is this?” asked Rasmussen, bemused.
“I’m not doing anything to it,” said David, peering closely at the talisman, which now shone with the luminescence of a full moon. Several engineers stood for a better view; Rasmussen made a curt gesture, and they promptly returned to their seats.
Three loud beeps suddenly sounded in the room. Glaring at David, Dr. Rasmussen reached into his pocket and removed a slim phone. As he pressed it to his ear, his face twisted into an irritated scowl. Motioning impatiently for the guard captain, Dr. Rasmussen issued soft-spoken orders while the engineers looked on in silence. The guard captain hurried out of the room, followed by a score of soldiers. Dr. Rasmussen removed his spectacles and massaged his eyes.
“My apologies,” he said. “We’ve had a minor power outage in the northwest sector.”
“Do you always send soldiers to fix a power outage?” asked Cooper.
“Not normally, Agent Cooper, but the northwest sector is a particularly troublesome location for such a thing to occur. The museums are located there, you see. . . . Apparently several live exhibits have escaped,” muttered Dr. Rasmussen. “Dr. Friedman?”
The thin woman Max had spoken to at dinner snapped to attention.
“Yes, Dr. Rasmussen?”
“Please take your team and locate Dr. Braden. Immediately. It seems the good doctor’s homing beacon has become disabled and we cannot find her. Please ensure she is safe and accounted for.”
“Of course,” replied the woman, making a stiff exit. Max scanned the faces of the other engineers. They all looked frightened.
The room’s lights suddenly flickered and went out. Emergency lights kicked on, giving the room a dim orange hue. Dr. Rasmussen issued another command, but no one moved. All eyes were fixed on the talisman, which burned hot and bright as a blacksmith’s fire.
11
A MAN AT THE DOOR
They heard the first scream five minutes later. It was faint but unmistakable as it seeped through the paneled walls, a note of surprise that escalated a moment later to pitched hysteria before going silent. The doors were locked. Armored soldiers placed listening devices against the wall, which were attended to with unblinking concentration. Dr. Rasmussen spoke quietly into his phone while the burning light of the talisman reflected in the smooth ovals of his glasses. The man’s mouth twitched and he placed the phone on the table.
“For the time being, we will remain here,” he said. “It seems there are some safety concerns we must address before we can access the main command center.”
“Do you need help?” asked Cooper.
“Very thoughtful of you, Agent Cooper, but we can manage,” he replied. He pressed another button beneath the table, and the wall panels slid back to reveal an enormous screen depicting a score of separate images from around the Workshop. Max glimpsed the deserted café and redwoods; empty corridors; an abandoned lab where white-hot metals bubbled in dark crucibles. Rasmussen leaned back and spoke to the screen, issuing clipped commands that shifted some scenes and zoomed in on others until the whole was a disorienting matrix of motion.
“Victor,” muttered Rasmussen, eliciting a prompt response from a doughy, bearded man seated at the table, “I’d like you to transmit Emergency Code Six to our residents via their implant chips. Authorization code is currently 49653C8625. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, typing rapidly into a computer.
Then something strange appeared on one of the screens.
Rasmussen uttered a command, and the image expanded to half the available screen. A figure was visible walking across a marble floor. It had the approximate shape of a human but was wrought entirely of flame. Billows of white smoke rose in waves from its shoulders; a trail of burning footprints smoldered in its wake.
“An afrit,” said Cooper grimly.
“Is that bad?” whispered Mr. McDaniels.
Cooper, David, and Miss Boon nodded.
“A spirit of fire,” explained Cooper. “Very tough. I’ll bet our friends here bought him from the witches. Through an intermediary, I’d guess. Iran. Maybe Saudi Arabia.”
Dr. Rasmussen gave Cooper an irritated frown before speaking softly into his phone. Placing it back on the table, he tapped his finger while the camera adjusted to follow the afrit, which paused at an exhibit of a narwhal. A dozen pods appeared at the bottom edge of the screen; black-armored soldiers swarmed out like hornets. The afrit ignored them, turning to inspect a nearby polar bear. Amidst a flurry of nervous shouts and commands the soldiers hurried into formation. They pointed an array of fearsome-looking guns at the preoccupied spirit, whose flames audibly hissed and popped in the background.
The soldiers fired.
Bolts of energy forked from the guns and converged at the afrit, slamming into its back. The fiery being lurched forward from the impact, melting the polar bear’s glass case as if it were beeswax. Dr. Rasmussen smiled as the soldiers marched forward, firing another volley of bolts at the huddled afrit.
“Otherworldly or not, it appears to feel pain,” he chuckled.
“Cover your ears,” muttered Cooper, pulling his cap low and promptly following his own advice.
Max and the others did likewise.
The afrit stood and turned to face its attackers.
It screamed.
Even muffled, Max found the sound almost deafening—a high-pitched, inhuman cry of petrifying rage. Glass cases shattered into a million sparkling pieces; marble tiles popped from their settings as an apparent shockwave of sound and heat rushed over them. The soldiers collapsed and covered their ears; bolts of energy arced wildly as the afrit advanced. When the first soldier erupted in flames, Rasmussen hurriedly switched to another camera. Flecks of spittle flew as he hissed into his phone.
“All troops from north sector are to proceed immediately to the Biology Museum.”
“You’re sending them to their deaths,” said Cooper. “There’s nothing they can do.”
“Thank you for your opinion, Agent Cooper.”
“I’m going to find my family,” said Jason suddenly, pushing back from the table.
“You will stay where you are, as required by Emergency Code Six,” said Dr. Rasmussen.
Jason ignored Dr. Rasmussen, walking quickly to the doors.
“Restrain him,” ordered Dr. Rasmussen, continuing to watch the screen.
Max looked on as the soldier barring Jason’s way was knocked unconscious by the strong blond boy, who then wrenched the doors open and disappeared down the corridor. Several soldiers started to pursue, but Rasmussen screamed at them to remain where they were and secure the doors.
“It’s no matter,” he muttered, composing himself. “Let him go. We cannot be responsible for him if he endangers himself through his own stupidity.” Rasmussen gazed sidelong at the fallen soldier with disgust. “I’m afraid our troops aren’t quite up to Rowan’s standards. We have emphasized other things here. I can assure you it will be remedied,” he added, with an appraising glance at Max.
A flash of fire raced across one camera. Something brown and mottled lumbered by another.
“I’m not sure you’re going to get that chance,” said Miss Boon.
Dr. Rasmussen maximized the image from another camera, which was following something as it slithered slowly up a broad staircase. It was the lamia, Lilith. Her serpentine trunk rippled smoothly as she peered through an open archway. Seconds later, she disappeared inside.
“Th-those are the children’s dormitories!” stammered a woman.
“I can see that, Dr. Bhargava!”
Dr. Rasmussen switched to another camera inside the archway. Max jumped at the sight of the heavy-lidded, beautiful face filling the screen and peering at them. A forked tongue flicked between sharp teeth. Red lips parted in a slow, knowing smile. The image was suddenly lost in a blip of static before it went black altogether.
Dr. Rasmusse
n made frantic calls redirecting the north sector troops. No one answered.
“Where are those dormitories?” asked Cooper, unsheathing the wavy-bladed kris.
“Northwest sector, twenty floors up,” mumbled Dr. Bhargava. “But the tubes are shut down. You’d have to go on foot.”
“Hurry up and give me a map.”
The trembling engineer tapped several keys and offered up a palm-sized computer to the Agent, who snatched it from her hands. “Stay here,” he commanded before slipping out the door. Max heard rapid footsteps fading down the hallway before the doors were shut and bolted.
“How far is it?” asked Miss Boon.
“At least two kilometers,” replied the woman, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
“Oh dear,” said Miss Boon quietly, watching the images anxiously as Rasmussen scrolled through them. The screen was checkered with black rectangles as surveillance cameras flickered and failed.
A shiny bead of sweat rolled like a ball bearing down Rasmussen’s smooth head to land on the collar of his shirt. He snatched up his phone.
“Dr. Friedman, where is Dr. Braden?”
The answer apparently displeased him; the device was slammed against the gleaming redwood. Bram’s talisman sparked. Dr. Rasmussen stabbed an accusatory finger at the talisman and then at David.
“You’re causing that, aren’t you? You’re causing all of this!”
David flinched at the accusation.
“Of course I’m not,” he said quietly.
“Ha!” scoffed Dr. Rasmussen, smacking the table. “Afrits and demons and sorcerers—you’re all the same. You should all be exterminated.”
“Shhh!” hissed Dr. Bhargava as something dark went hurtling up the dormitory steps and disappeared inside. It was Cooper.
Max found the ensuing wait unbearable. He paced up and down along the table, watching the screen while his pulse fluttered like a rabbit’s. Outside the door, he could hear the many footsteps of frantic engineers seeking shelter. Dr. Rasmussen ignored them, focusing instead on the camera stationed outside the children’s dormitory.