Secret Circles yrj-2 Read online

  “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 organizing 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 just 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 service 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.”

  Weezy"s expression became stony. “I"d really like to see the rest of the place.”

  “Sorry. Not included.”

  Jack gave her another be-cool look. He saw her take a deep breath and set her lips in a thin line.

  But as they passed between the front room and the rear conference room, she froze.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Jack hadn"t heard a thing.

  “It sounded like a child.”

  Jack"s skin tingled. He almost said he"d heard something like that right outside last night, but held back. He wasn"t supposed to have been right outside last night.

  A heavy, dark oak door stood closed to her right. She pulled it open, revealing a stairway down to a dark basement.

  “What is this, now? I thought we agreed you would confine yourself to what I showed you.”

  “But I heard—”

  “You heard nothing. You are merely looking for an excuse to hunt for your imaginary artifact.”

  Weezy stood at the
top of the stairs, eyes closed, listening. But what ever sound she was waiting for never came. Mr. Drexler pushed the door closed and gestured toward the rear of the Lodge.

  “Thanks for the tour,” Jack said as they reached the back door.

  Weezy said nothing.

  On the way out he noticed the rear door was steel too, with a double-key dead bolt to boot. He figured he might be able to pick it, but man, oh, man …

  Sure. Easy enough to say he"d steal it back, but if he got caught he was certain the Lodge would use all its many connections in high places to make sure he was prosecuted to the max.

  Breaking in here … an awfully big step. Risky. He"d be crazy to try.

  Had to be another way.

  4

  “I know I heard something,” Weezy said as they walked across the lawn. Jack told her about what he"d heard last night.

  “A cat?” she said when he finished. “That didn"t sound like any cat to me.” “I didn"t hear it, so I can"t say. And you didn"t hear it again.”

  She sighed. “No. I guess it could have been something else.”

  He waited until they"d reached the curb before saying, “Maybe it was the

  pyramid crying out to you—because they"ve got it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You"re sure?”

  “What do you think: The mantel is dusty but there"s a hexagon of clean wood

  right where I saw something black and pointy.”

  She spun and started toward the Lodge. “I"m going back!”

  He grabbed her arm. “And do what? He won"t let you in. Probably won"t even

  answer the door. Let"s not tip our hand.”

  “We"ve got to find a way in there!”

  “Easier said than done. He hardly ever goes out, and even if he does, the place

  is locked up like Fort Knox.”

  “We"ll think of something. And we"ll do it together.” She put out her hand.

  “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  They shook.

  “And while we"re thinking,” she said, “maybe we should take another look at the

  big pyramid—for inspiration.”

  “You think it"s the same one in the painting?”

  “I"d bet my copy of the Secret History of the World.”