Chapter 10: The Lesser Key of Solomon

 Lester looked around carefully before ducking behind the library and down the cement stairs that dipped below ground level.  At the bottom, he removed a single silver key from his pocket, stuck it into the lock of the rusty steel door set into the building’s stone foundation, and slipped inside.

  The library’s basement was the size of a warehouse.  Long tubes of fluorescent lights hung down from a high ceiling, stretching off in both directions across the vast space.  Unfortunately, nearly half of these were burnt out, creating random islands of flickering light separated by large stretches of darkness.  A labyrinth of tall gray metal shelves wove across the old factory floor, and the steady sound of dripping water echoed from every direction.  This dungeon-like atmosphere, combined with the overwhelming smell of mildew and wet paper, ensured visits from the volunteer library staff were seldom and brief.

  Lester wound his way through the shelves with practiced ease.  They were piled high with books and old pipe organ parts covered in dust.  Unperturbed by the lack of signs or markings to show the way, he turned left and right at various junctions.  Sometimes he counted rows on his fingers before suddenly changing direction.  Last summer, he’d spent weeks here helping the library update its book catalog.  A box full of index cards, several number two pencils, and an Elvis clock that kept time by swinging the singer’s plastic hips had been his only company.

  The shelves parted at the center of the basement to reveal a small oasis.  It was sparsely decorated with a wooden table and matching chairs, sitting atop a circular rug.  Beyond, the maze continued into the darkness.  But thanks to the warm light of an antique floor lamp, Lester’s old work area seemed almost cheerful in comparison.

  “Your late,” Amanda said.  She sat alone at the table.

  “Sorry,” Lester apologized, taking the chair opposite her.  “I had to wait until I could sneak out without being noticed.”

  “Did you bring it?” asked Amanda.

  Lester opened his backpack and removed a plastic sandwich bag.  Inside was a square piece of paper.  He placed it on the table, and Amanda spun it around with the tip of her finger.

  They had waited until they were sure their fathers had truly gone before climbing down from the skate ramp and cautiously crossing into the alley.  Standing behind The Mortician’s Eye, neither Lester nor Amanda had been sure what they were expecting to find.  There were no scorch marks, glowing cinders, or other signs that the area had been engulfed in fire moments earlier.  Even the scattered piles of dry leaves had appeared untouched.

  “What is that?” Amanda had asked. 

  Lester, who’d been pacing around, had looked down to find himself standing in a pile of white dust.  “I don’t know.  It almost looks like some sort of ash.”

  “Oh, gross, Lester!” Amanda had shrieked, jumping back and grabbing his arm.  “Do you think it’s —”

  “No,” Lester had said.  “It can’t be.  The amount of heat required to reduce a — well, you know — is astronomical, and nothing else here is even singed.”

  “Right,” Amanda had said, breathing a sigh of relief.  “Still, maybe you should move.  It stinks like rotten eggs.”

  As he did, Lester had noticed something stuck to the bottom of his shoe and bent down to pull it free.

  “Don’t touch it!” Amanda had said, her face twisted in disgust.

  “Relax, I told you there’s no way it’s him.”

  Lester had stuffed the paper into his pocket and then tilted his head towards the street.  A faint wail of sirens sounded from somewhere in the distance.  Smoke had still been pouring out the back door of the pub, and someone must have called it in.

  Deciding it would be difficult to explain why they were hanging around in the alley at that time of night, they’d grabbed their bikes and made a hasty exit.  The ride home had been long, and it was late by the time they’d gotten back to Giles Hollow.

  “Amanda, are you okay?” Lester had asked, standing at the end of his driveway.  There’d been no moon, and he’d been unable to see her face in the dark.  She hadn’t spoken since they’d left Elmwood, not that Lester had blamed her.  His own thoughts had been overrun by a seemingly endless march of questions, for which he had no answers.

  Amanda had taken a long time to respond.  So long, that at one point Lester had thought she might have gone home.

  “When I was little,” she’d finally said, from somewhere in the black, “I believed in the Tooth Fairy.  Then I got older and discovered she wasn’t real; that it’s just a story parents tell their kids to make them feel better about losing their teeth.”  Her voice had been distant in a way that’d made Lester concerned she might be in shock.  “Learning the truth was sad, but knowing also made me feel a bit grown-up.  Of course, there’s not a tiny sprite going around sneaking into kid’s rooms at night.”

  “Amanda, I am so sorry,” Lester had said, wishing he could see her expression.

  “Lester?  What did we see tonight?”

  “I — I don’t know.”

  “Whatever it was, it wasn’t fairytale magic, was it?” Amanda had asked.

  “No.  I suppose not.”

  Lester had sensed it too.  Beyond the preposterousness of what they had witnessed, underneath the wind and the heat of the fire, there had been something else.  From the moment their fathers had chased the man from The Mortician’s Eye, Lester had been overcome with a sense of what he could only describe as grief.  It had been as though he were mourning a great loss he couldn’t remember suffering.  The feeling was palpable, like being caught in a rainstorm that clung heavily to your clothes, only not with water, but sadness.  He’d known why Amanda had spoken of it in hushed tones.  For whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it had been unnatural and foul.  And Lester was certain of one thing.  It had wanted more than just their lost teeth.

  Now, sitting across from each other at the small table in the library’s basement, they stared at the paper inside the plastic bag.

  “What do you think it is?” Amanda asked, prodding it with her finger.

  “I can’t be certain, but it looks like the note my father showed Bernard,” said Lester.

  “And my father, before they went into the pub.  But why?  There’s nothing on it.”

  Lester watched Amanda hold the bag up to the light, turning it around while she squinted, trying to make out what was clearly not there.  He was sure she hadn’t gotten any more sleep the previous evening than he had.  Still, she seemed energized and oddly upbeat.

  “Listen, Amanda,” he said.  “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

  “What do you mean?” Amanda asked, dropping the bag in front of him.  “It’s a puzzle.  You love puzzles.”

  “Yeah, word puzzles and, like, Sudoku.  Not, what’s up with the creepy piece of paper puzzles.  This is something else.  Something maybe we shouldn’t mess with.”  Lester pushed the bag back to the center of the table.

  “What other choice do we have?” asked Amanda, getting to her feet.  “Because I don’t know about you, but I can’t forget what we saw last night.  I wish I could, but there’s no going back.  So unless you have some better idea, this is the best we’ve got.  Besides, this whole thing is your fault.”

  “My fault?” asked Lester.

  “Yes.  If you had just let it go, if you had listened to me, we wouldn’t be here now!”  She slapped her hand hard on the table, making Lester jump, and knocking the bag with the paper to the floor.

  “Is that so!” Lester said, feeling his own anger rise.

  He sprang out of his chair, knocking it over with a loud crash.  Glaring at Amanda, he opened his mouth but bit back the harsh words forming on his tongue at the last minute.  Lashing out at her might, for the time being, distract him from the deep well of fear he could feel in his stomach, but not for long.  Anyway, she was right.  Right about their lack of options and, more importantly, right about who’s fault it was that they were in their current predicament.

  “I’m sorry,” Lester said, exhaling loudly and letting the last of his fizzling temper go.

  With Lester unwilling to fan the flames of an argument, Amanda’s taste for a fight quickly faded as well.  She reached across the table and took his hand. 

 “So am I,” she said.

  They sat, letting the bad feelings dissolve into the mounds of dust that covered everything in the basement.

  “When I got back last night, I couldn’t sleep,” Amanda said.  “I lay awake in bed, feeling like my whole world had just been torn apart.  Then I heard my dad come home.  It’s not unusual for me to go days without seeing him.  They’re always working, you know?  My mother was waiting up like she does every night, no matter how late.  After, she came upstairs to kiss my forehead.  I pretended to be asleep.”  Amanda’s eyes welled up.  “This isn’t just about us.”

  Lester thought of his own mother and the sadness that had crossed her face at breakfast.  Then there was Bernard.  They didn’t get along, but he was still his brother.  Mostly, though, he thought of Amanda.  How she’d always been the one person he could count on, and how quickly her next birthday would arrive. 

  “Look,” Amanda said, dabbing her eyes.  “It’s scary and weird, and all kinds of who knows what?  But no matter how big, it’s still a problem.  And problems have solutions, right?”

  Lester thought of Mrs. Q and shuddered.  “Depends.”

  “Okay, enough,” said Amanda.  “Are you in or out?”

  Lester looked at her and smiled.  “I do love puzzles.”

  “Good,” she said and leaned across the table to punch him hard in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” cried Lester.

  “That’s for making me ask.”

  Amanda stood and began to walk in circles around the small table.

  “Alright,” she said.  “First, we tell no one about what we saw.  Not Bernard.  Not our mothers.  No one.  Until we have a better idea of who’s involved, we can’t risk it.  And, since practically everyone we know is somehow connected to The Council, we’re pretty much on our own.  You’re going to have to act like nothing has happened, even with your father.  Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Lester.

  “Let’s start with what we know.  You saw something strange at the Drawing-In ceremony.  That means we’re dealing with Noxumbra.  Then you overheard a conversation with Bernard about some sort of plan.  After which, we both saw our fathers — ”

  Amanda’s recitation faltered.

  “Raise a fire tornado with their hands?” suggested Lester.

  “Okay,” Amanda said, wrestling back some of her optimism.  “Admittedly, that part’s bad.” 

  “Amanda?” Lester asked.  “Last night in the alley, it almost seemed like —  I mean, I know it sounds ridiculous, but —  Just for a moment, did you see —”

  “Did I see what?” asked Amanda.

  “You know, the red eyes, the hands, the flames.”  Lester was having trouble saying it out loud as if naming it would make it so.  “For a split second, did our father’s almost looked like —” 

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  “Demons?” a voice from the dark asked.

  Lester and Amanda spun around.  They stared at the maze of high shelves that wove off into the shadowy recesses of the basement but could see no one. 

 “Who’s there?” Amanda called.

  There was no reply, but they could hear footsteps somewhere off in the black.

  Lester stiffened, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amanda grip the back of a chair.  Should they make a break for it before whoever had spoken found them?  With his knowledge of the basement, he thought they could probably reach the door unseen if they left now.  He mouthed the word run to Amanda, pumping his arms in a mock jog.

  The footsteps grew louder. 

  Amanda nodded her agreement, and they quietly moved to the edge of the pool of light that encompassed the table and rug.  Lester held up his fingers and counted down.  Three.  Amanda crouched into a sprinter's stance.  Two.  Lester did the same.  They locked eyes, muscles taut, ready to spring into action.  One.

  As they launched themselves forward, a figure stepped out of the dark.  Amanda’s scream echoed through the basement, and Lester, unable to stop himself, stumbled.

  “Hey, careful!” Mae Chase said.  She caught Lester with one arm while expertly balancing a stack of books in the other.  She must have been stronger than she looked because she had no trouble pulling him back onto his feet.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Amanda asked.  She had recovered more gracefully than Lester and now stood, arms crossed, glaring at Mae.

  “Me?  I come down here almost every night to dig through the culled book section.”  Mae held up a ribbon tied around her neck to show the silver key that dangled from its end.  “It’s where they keep all the interesting stuff, deemed too controversial or shocking for the regular collection.  This is the first time I’ve ever bumped into anyone else, though.  So what are you two doing here?”

  “Us?” Lester said, catching his breath.  His heart was still pounding in his chest.  “We were just — ”

  “Talking about a play Lester’s writing,” Amanda added quickly.

  “Yeah, that’s right, a play,” said Lester, trying hard to sound like this wasn’t the first he’d heard of it.

  “No, you weren’t,” Mae said matter-of-factly.  “You were talking about some men you saw that, from your description, sounded very much like fate demons.” 

  “What?” Lester said.  “That’s just silly.”

  “Listen, Mae,” said Amanda.  “I don’t know what you thought you heard, but you’re wrong.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Mae said, setting her books on the table and taking a seat.  “I won’t tell.  Not that anyone would believe me if I did.  Most people think I’m crazy.  Like you do, Amanda.”

  Amanda blushed.  “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

 “It’s okay,” said Mae.  “I don’t mind, really.  It’s only fair.  I think you’re a bit snooty.”

 “Snooty!” said Amanda, her face going even more pink.  “I am not snooty.  Lester, tell her I’m not snooty.”

 “What do you mean, fate demons?” Lester asked, ignoring Amanda and sitting down across from Mae.  “You know, for the play.”

 “Well, it’s like you said,” continued Mae.  “The glowing hands, flames, and red eyes are all classic characteristics of daemonium fatum or fate demons.”

  “This is ridiculous,” complained Amanda.

  “Oh?” Mae asked with a smirk.  “Is this not what you had in mind for your play?”

  “Alright, then,” Amanda said loudly.  “Thanks anyway.  Come on, Lester.  Let’s go.” 

  Lester didn’t move.  “What else can you tell us, Mae?”

  “Really?  Okay.  Hold on a second.”  Before either of them could object, Mae disappeared into the stacks.  “The Lesser Key of Solomon is around here somewhere,” she called to them from the shadows.

  “The lesser book of what?” Lester shouted back.

  “Solomon.  It’s this famous seventeenth-century grimoire.”

  “What’s a grimoire?” Amanda asked Lester.

  “A book of magic.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Lester’s right,” Mae replied, her voice now farther away and to the left.  She seemed to be circling.  “However, this particular grimoire focuses on 72 specific demons.  Each is said to have different forms and abilities, but the details you and Lester mentioned are common to them all.”

  “So why demons of fate, specifically?” Lester asked while Amanda scrunched up her face in a gesture clearly meant to stop him from encouraging this line of conversation.  “Mae?” Lester called again when she didn’t answer.  “Is everything alright?” 

  BAM!

  Lester nearly toppled out of his chair, and Amanda let out a shriek as a large book hit the table.  

  “Found it!” Mae said from behind them.  She stood beaming with pride, oblivious to the fact that she’d just scared them for the second time that evening.

  Leaning down between Lester and Amanda, Mae straightened the fat, dusty volume so they could all see the six-pointed star carved into its front.  The book looked ancient.  Its cover was a patchwork of variously colored strips of what appeared to be animal hide.  Stiff yellowing pages crinkled loudly as Mae opened it.

  She carefully flipped past a series of black ink drawings depicting various animals with mismatched body parts.  There was a bull with human arms and bat-like wings, a bird with the torso of a man, and a woman with the head of a unicorn.  All were strangely distorted and grotesque.  

  “To answer your question, Lester,” Mae said as she continued turning.  “Each of these passages gives instructions for summoning and controlling a particular demon.  While the one you choose is based on what you want to be done, they all disrupt your life path or fate, as it were.  Usually at a significant cost to your immortal soul.”

  “Utter nonsense,” mumbled Amanda.

  “Amanda!” said Lester.  “Sorry, Mae.  Go on.”

  “No, she’s right,” Mae said.

  Amanda made a face and stuck her tongue out at Lester.

  “Stories like these have been translated through dozens of languages, and many details get muddled or lost in the process.  Not to mention it was quite expensive to print books long ago, and those who did often altered them to their own liking.  But if you look closely, a common thread winds through them all.”

  Mae found what she’d been looking for and stopped, spreading the book wide.

  Lester stared down at an elaborate drawing that stretched across two pages.  Unlike the other images, this one was in color, and the detail was impressive.  A full moon shone down on a circular clearing in the middle of a large cornfield.  Two men stood on either side of a third, who was on his knees, engulfed in fire and howling in pain.  The horns and pointed tails of his tormentors were straight out of a comic book, but Lester felt a chill go up his spine all the same.  Looking closer, he saw that the flames were shooting from the demon’s outstretched hands, as their eyes glowed a deep red.

  “Those are fate demons?” Lester asked.

  “Yes,” Mae said.  “Well, except for the guy in the middle.” 

  “And who’s he?”

  “I imagine he represents someone who called upon them for a favor and is now paying the price.”

  “I thought you said you paid with your soul — after you died,” said Amanda.

  “I never said it was after.  According to the lore, demons don’t necessarily have to wait for your life to be over before they come to collect.”

  Mae turned the page.  The next image was of three people on a jagged mountain top in the midst of a rainstorm.  Above them, bright streaks of lightning shot out from dark clouds.   Again, two figures surrounded another on his knees.  However, the horns and tails were gone, replaced with elaborate robes covered in magical symbols.  This time, the circle of fire surrounding their captor emanated from wands instead of hands. 

  Another flip, and they found themselves staring at a dark forest.  A pale green light filtered through the canopy, illuminating two women standing opposite each other.  They wore long black coats and matching pointed hats.  Their hands ended in sharp fingernails, but there were no flames, just wisps of smoke curling from each one.  Lester expected to see yet another cowering figure between them, but the space was empty.   

  “Lester,” Amanda whispered, gripping his arm so tightly he winced.  “Look!”

  Lester followed her gaze to the empty spot between the women and took in a sharp breath.  There, on the ground, small enough that he had initially missed it, was a pile of white ash.

  “Mae?” Lester said.

  “Yeah?” asked Mae.

  “I have a confession.”

  “You’re not really writing a play?” said Mae.

  “I am not writing a play.”

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