"Can you excuse me a moment?", you say as your phone chimes again. You sidle past Joe, deeper into the basement.
"Keep where I can see you, please", Frank says from the stairs. His voice is soft but strong.
The fuck? Who does this guy think he is?, you wonder. Then you remember what Taylor said: Warlock hunters.
You raise your phone to your ear. "Hello?"
"What's going on?", your dad demands. "I expected you half an hour ago. Where are you?"
"Uh, I'll be along as fast as I can. I got kind of hung up here." You cast an uneasy glance back at the others, who are watching: Joe with a grin, Frank with a hard stare, Taylor with a confused frown.
"Jumping a battery's not rocket science. Are you coming out or not?"
"I'll try, but it'll take a bit longer, alright?"
There's a brief, chilling silence. Then your dad says, "As soon as you can. I really need you up here."
"I'll be there", you insist, but the line has gone dead. Your hand is shaking as you slide your phone back into your pocket. "I'm gonna have to get home pretty soon", you tell the others. "I, uh, gotta help out with something."
Frank looks skeptical, but his glance isn't as bad as his brother's. Joe is smiling, but it feels like the smile of someone who sees right through you and your bullshit.
But he only claps his hands and says, "Then let's not waste any more time. Where's your shit?"
"Hang on. How much did Taylor tell you? I mean, so we don't—"
"I told them everything, Will", Scott says. "Everything we've done, everything we've talked about."
You feel a trickle of sweat on the back of your head. "Including what we talked about at the library yesterday?"
"Yes." Scott holds your eye. "And I think they can help."
All the feeling leaves your hands.
Joe treads over to you. He lays his hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eye.
"Will", he says, "if someone fucked with my dad— Well, first, I'd be seriously impressed. But after that I'd fuck that person up every single way I could think of, and then I'd spend a couple of sleepless nights thinking up a hundred new ways to fuck them up. Then I'd get all my friends together and we'd fuck that guy up some more. And after that, I'd hire a professional crew to fuck him up until he wasn't even a stain on the sidewalk."
He squeezes your shoulders. "So if you don't like the phrase 'warlock hunters', just think of us a 'professional crew' with black belts in the black arts. Ain't that right, Frank?" he calls over his shoulder.
"Fuckin'-a, bro."
Almost you yield, right then and there. And if he hadn't said "warlock hunters" you might have. But he still wants to see your stuff, and like a dog whose bone is threatened, you're not sure you want to give it up. "So what do you need to see my stuff for?", you ask.
"So we know what we're up against." Joe claps your shoulders and squeezes past you, casting restless eyes about the basement, searching out its corners and hiding places. "We know in general the kind of thing the Libra does, and thanks to your friend Taylor we've disassembled one of the things it can make. So we've seen the pieces, but we need the technical specs, so to speak. The nitty gritty. The fucking spell work." He throws you a sharp look. "Taylor says you guys have some of the documentation, and that you in particular"—he stabs you in the shoulder with a strong forefinger—"have been able to make something of it." He grins. "We may be pros, but if you ain't shittin' us, you're the bona fide expert!"
It's probably just a lot of flattery, but the last of your resistance crumbles. You gesture Joe to follow, and lead him through a makeshift corridor to the cabinet where you hid your book bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Frank hurry after, keeping you in sight, and putting himself between you and Taylor. You're grimacing to yourself as you haul your bag back out into the open, and spill the various notebooks across the big conference table.
Joe's hands dart out to touch everything. "I recognize that one", he says of the notebook Taylor brought from Eastman. "Just about crapped my pants when I looked through it, even though I could hardly make anything of it. What's this?" He opens the primer on sigils, and barks. "Fuck me! The boy here's got an abridged copy of Francken's text on sigils! Where'd you get it?" he demands.
"I, uh, stole it out of the professor's office, up at the university."
Joe lets out a low whistle. "How much of it did you understand? You make anything with it?" The question is very sharp.
You hesitate, then pull out the paper that you used to make the sealant. Joe's eyes almost pop from his head, and when he takes it from you, he holds it as though the paper might burn his fingers.
For long minutes—during which the sweat crawls over your body—Joe studies it intently, turning the page around and around as he reads the wheel-like inscription. A couple of times he mutters to himself and feels at the table, as though looking for a pencil. His eyes grow very bright, but all the color drains from his face. No one else speaks. Scott settles himself onto the foot of the steps, and Frank leans against a bookcase with his arms folded.
"I, uh, also made another one." Joe looks at you with hot and burning eyes. "It's—"
But you hesitate to mention your brother, even though Taylor probably told them all about them. "It's someplace else."
"Uh-huh. And you made these sigils using only Francken and the notebook?"
"And this." You pull over Blackwell's own notebook and flip to the page labeled "EMPLASTRUM." Joe bends over it, and with his finger traces the symbols drawn there. He mutters some more to himself, and when he leans back you can see that he too has broken into a sweat. But he looks more relaxed.
"Okay, I believe you now", he says. "Barely. But fuck me if you ain't shittin' me!"
Frank, who has been keeping quiet all this time, now speaks. "What's the deal, Joe?"
But his brother ignores him. "Are you any good at math?", he asks you. You shrug. You've gotten better at it lately, but what business is that of his? "What about symbolic logic? Computer science? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?", he questions when you shake your head.
"No!"
"Joe", Frank says again.
"Then all I can say", Joe says, "is that you sound like something of a prodigy."
A heavy silence falls over the basement. You feel that all eyes are on you, and you shuffle nervously. "I just worked really hard at it", you tell him.
"Of course you did", Joe says, and the grin snaps back onto his face. "And it's magnificent! Let me tell you something, Will." He puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. You stiffen in his embrace.
"Normally we like to shut this kind of stuff down", he says in a confiding tone, "because it's dangerous. You're basically playing with plutonium, dynamite, nitroglycerin, and matches. When people don't accidentally blow themselves up with it, they accidentally blow up other people. And when they don't blow up other people on accident, they blow them up on purpose. Fuckers like Aubrey Blackwell, you know? I mean, he chained a girl up in his basement, so what do you think that makes him?
"But!" He touches a forefinger to your chest. "There are schools that teach you how to do things with this stuff without blowing yourself up, and how to do it responsibly. That teach you how to be a nuclear engineer, not a nuclear terrorist. You get me? You won't find these schools online", he continues as you just stare at him. "They have to find you. Me and Frank graduated from one. Well, I did. They kicked Frank out after I left and couldn't slip him the test answers anymore. Ain't that right, Frank?"
"Have your fun now, Joe", his brother replies. "I know where you sleep."
"The point is", Joe tells you, "if you're interested in this stuff, the faculty at our school might be interested in enrolling you. You don't have to answer now. I'm just telling you. There's a way of studying this kind of stuff"—he splays his palm over items on the table—"that's a lot safer, and where you don't have to turn an abandoned school basement into a one-man classroom and laboratory. Cool as this place is, I confess!"
You don't know how to answer that, so you just shrug.
"Good enough for now", Joe says. "You have anything else I can look at?"
"The supplies. They're in the back. Oh, and a notebook that I was keeping some notes in." You're reluctant to mention the mask you made of Marc.
"Yes, let me see your notebook!", Joe exclaims. "But it's just that, and these books? You get anything else away from the professor?"
"There's a few odds and ends we got out of his work room. Masks and metal strips and some tools."
"Well, you don't have to show me any of that", Joe says, "not right now. Or any of the things you made while playing around with this stuff. I just want to look over the theory a little more. You trust me with your library here? Taylor can stay to watch, keep us honest, while you run home. You, uh, did say you need to run home, didn't you?"
There's an edge to the question, and you can't help feeling that he knows it was your dad who was calling you.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
