Illinois
Eden Manor was a mansion on the outskirts of Chicago. Max had converted its attic into a war room of sorts, complete with large bulletin and dry-erase boards mounted on easels. Surveillance photos of the current Librarians and their Guardian were pinned to one such board, above capsule biographies summarizing whatever intel the Brotherhood had been able to glean regarding the opposition. Maps and time lines traced Max’s tireless pursuit of the Pot, while Lady Sibella’s skull and reliquary provided inspiration to continue the quest. Tall dormer windows offered views of the surrounding grounds, which included a helipad, tennis court, private cemetery, and moat. Max had not planned to linger near Chicago quite so long, but he had to admit that this particular Brotherhood safe house was more than adequate for his needs.
“Here it comes!” Coral exclaimed as she captured the last ray of the setting sun with her prism. The resulting rainbow swerved above the map table before dipping toward the left side of a map of the continental United States. “Where’d it land?”
“Portland, Oregon,” Max said with a scowl. Now home to the Library, one of the most secure repositories on the face of the Earth. The Brotherhood had been aware of the Annex’s location for some time, but that didn’t make it any more accessible. The Brotherhood had required a weak link on the inside to break into the Library last time—Max glanced at the surveillance photo of Cassandra Cillian—but it was unlikely that they could work that angle again. “The Library, no doubt.”
“Oh, no!” Coral said, alarmed. “Does this mean they have the Pot?”
Max didn’t want to think that. “Let’s not jump to worst-case scenarios. Your prism might simply still be locked onto the gold from the pub, which may well be in our adversaries’ hands at the moment, but that does not necessarily mean they’ve claimed the Pot itself.”
His fingers fiddled with the fake gold piece he’d found in his pocket after retreating from the pub, which he’d kept as a reminder never to underestimate a Librarian. His blood pressure rose slightly as he recalled his dismay at discovering that Ezekiel Jones must have switched out the coins at some point. The counterfeit “coin” taunted and challenged Max, tangible proof that the real coin had eluded him.
For the time being, he thought.
The attic grew darker with the sinking sun. “Echidna, lights please.”
“Lights on,” the house’s voice-activated digital assistant responded, raising the attic’s interior lights. “You’re welcome.”
The illumination failed to dispel Coral’s anxiety. “But what if the Librarians do have the Pot already?” she fretted. “Can’t we just tell them what we want it for? Maybe we can work with them instead of against them?”
“An admirably idealistic notion,” Max said, “but entirely impossible. The Librarians are all about hoarding magic, not using it. That’s why the Brotherhood parted company with them in the first place, millennia ago. They’re not going to see the light now, not after all this time.”
“But maybe if we actually talked to them for once?” Coral persisted.
Max shook his head. “Snakes may shed their skins, but the Library never changes. What we seek is anathema to them. No reconciliation is possible, even if there weren’t also generations of bitter conflict between the Brotherhood and the Library. Too much bad blood has passed under the bridge as it were.”
And there are too many old scores to be settled, he added silently.
His gaze drifted from the remains of Lady Sibella to the profiles of their enemies pinned up on the boards. He rolled the bogus coin back and forth across his knuckles as he contemplated his all-too-resourceful adversaries—and wondered what they were up to at this very minute.
* * *
The private cemetery behind the mansion attracted few visitors, particularly after dark, so no one noticed when the entrance to the mausoleum was lit by a bright white flash.
Or at least Baird hoped nobody noticed.
She and the Librarians lingered furtively in the shadow of the mausoleum, getting their bearings while waiting for night to descend completely. Once Ezekiel and Cassandra had managed to trace “Ophidian” to a gated estate on the outskirts of Chicago, the Librarians had been able to scope out the premises via Google Earth and a few less public surveillance systems—and had zeroed in on the mausoleum as a possible weak spot in the estate’s defenses. If the estate was indeed a Brotherhood stronghold, it was surely locked up tight, but Baird had gambled that the mausoleum entrance was one door that probably wasn’t being heavily guarded.
So far, so good, she thought.
The whole team was on hand for the mission aside from Jenkins, who was babysitting Bridget and Brigid back at the Annex, where they’d kicked their own security measures up a notch now that they knew for sure that the Serpent Brotherhood was back again. Baird counted on Jenkins to keep the Library safe while they took the fight to the enemy.
“Welcome to Eden,” she said. “Complete with serpents.”
She contemplated the looming stone mansion, comparing it with the exterior views she had studied earlier. Eden Manor was an imposing stone edifice with four floors, a turret, and a drawbridge. Gargoyles and gutters fashioned in the sinuous shape of snakes adorned its brooding gray façade. Stone had managed to dig up some history on the estate; apparently it had been constructed in 1913 by one Rupert Eden, a wealthy robber baron, who had eventually vanished on an expedition to find the actual Garden of Eden, never to be seen again. At the risk of unfairly profiling the man, Baird guessed that Rupert had been a Serpent himself back in the day, whose quest had ended badly for him, but whose property still belonged to the Brotherhood.
“Not exactly my idea of paradise,” she added, “but…”
“Like you aren’t totally in your element right now,” Stone teased her. “Leading a covert raid on an enemy compound, just like back in your counterterrorism days.”
“Busted,” she said. “This does feel a bit like old times … in a good way.”
Part of her wished, in fact, that she had a full squad of special-forces commandos and Navy SEALs backing her up on this mission; but then again, they were dealing with an ancient secret society in pursuit of magical treasure, so conventional military assets were unlikely to be enough. If there was one thing she had learned as a Guardian, it was that some operations required Librarians, not soldiers.
“At least they’re not hiding out in some creepy old cave or catacomb,” Cassandra observed. “Have I mentioned that I’m kinda over caves?”
“I’m impressed, actually,” Ezekiel said. “A pile like that just screams old money and expensive tastes. Probably lots of pricey artwork and antiques.”
“Just remember the plan,” Baird stressed, “and our priorities. We want Max, actionable intel, and the stolen pots of gold … in that order.”
Max and his underlings could hardly be charged with hunting leprechauns in conventional courts, so she hoped to turn them over to Mill Ends for justice, after she and her Librarians uncovered and shut down whatever nefarious master plan the Brotherhood was pursuing this time around, beyond simply stealing oodles of faerie gold. Maybe tonight they could finally find out what Max and Company were really up to?
“Too bad we couldn’t enlist some Little People for backup,” she said. “Since this is their fight, too.”
“You heard what Jenkins said,” Cassandra reminded her. “Leprechauns are more homebodies than soldiers. They may defend their own territory if they have to, but they’re not going to charge into battle. They prefer to deal in mischief and, in extreme cases, curses.”
“What kind of curses?” Baird asked.
“Funny you should ask that,” Stone said. “I’ve been digging deeper into Irish myths and folklore, and right before we left I stumbled onto some obscure old accounts, written in ancient Gaelic, of faerie royalty sometimes punishing those who wronged them by siccing a banshee on them … as a curse.”
Despite the urgency of their mission, Baird was intrigued. “How exactly did that work?”
“I gather the idea is that the banshee would hunt and hound the guilty party to their death … or something like that.”
“You think that could be Bridget’s problem?” Cassandra wondered aloud. “Somebody cursed one of her ancestors with a banshee?”
“Would have to be somebody with some clout,” Stone said. “Banshees are potent spirits in their own right. Your average sprite or leprechaun wouldn’t be able to command one.”
“Makes you wonder what you’d have to do to get cursed with a banshee,” Ezekiel said. “We’ve been assuming that Bridget’s gold came from a leprechaun, but did we ever wonder who the leprechaun got it from in the first place? Maybe she’s accidentally passed some ‘hot’ faerie gold?”
“Which attracted the wrong king of attention from a very persistent banshee?” Baird said. “Like accidentally passing a marked bill from an old bank robbery or hijacking?”
“The banshee did show up when Bridget used the gold to pay her medical bills,” Stone pointed out. “There could be some sort of ancient curse attached to the gold.”
“It’s a workable theory,” Baird said, “but maybe we ought to put a pin in it until after we finish raiding the bad guy’s headquarters? We need our heads in the game right now.” She decided it was dark enough to get going. “Remember, Max is our main objective. Any smaller fish are gravy.”
“Isn’t that kind of a mixed metaphor?” Cassandra asked. “Is there such a thing as fish gravy?”
“Depends on how you define ‘gravy,’” Stone said. “There are fish sauces.”
“But those go on the fish,” Ezekiel nitpicked. “They’re not made of fish.”
Baird rolled her eyes. Librarians …
“Focus, people. We’re moving out.”
Night-vision goggles, requisitioned from General Rockwell at DOSA, assisted Baird and her Librarians as they crept toward the mansion, sticking to the shadows and skirting any lighted windows or porches. Baird took notice of the helipad as they snuck past it, registering the copter as an alternative escape route if things went south; Lord knew it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to hot-wire an aircraft in a hurry, like that one time in Kandahar.
As they approached the house from behind, Baird saw lights come on in the attic.
Looks like we’ve got a full house, she thought. Top to bottom.
The Magic Door and the mausoleum had got them past the iron gates and security cameras guarding the perimeter of the estate. Beating the next obstacle was going to be trickier, not to mention damp.
“A moat?” Ezekiel scoffed. “Seriously? Who does moats anymore?”
“Don’t knock it,” Stone said. “Moats have been used for defense since the Bronze Age at least, as far back as Twelfth Dynasty Egypt. We’re talking time-tested old-school security.”
Cassandra eyed the still, black waters uncertainly. “What if there are … things … just beneath the surface?”
“Like?” Ezekiel prompted her.
“Alligators? Anacondas? You know, scaly things.”
“In Chicago?” Stone asked. “In March?”
Baird saw his point. Even before the sun had gone down, the climate and season weren’t exactly hospitable to cold-blooded critters—unless the Brotherhood had sprung for a heated moat? That struck Baird as both far-fetched and extravagant.
“Never mind.” Cassandra shivered in anticipation. “This is going to be cold, isn’t it?”
Baird shrugged. “Why do you think we’re wearing wet suits?”
The matte-black rubber suits were another gift from DOSA, donned in anticipation of just this crossing. Baird took a moment to savor how prepared they were for this mission; given a choice, she preferred a well-planned operation to winging it, which was what they usually ended up doing.
If only all their missions allowed for this kind of prep work!
One by one, they slid quietly into the moat, which turned out to be far from heated, as well as deep enough that Baird couldn’t feel the bottom of the trench. They swam stealthily across, being careful not to splash noisily, until they reached the base of a side wall, around the corner from the front gate and drawbridge. A narrow fringe of rocky soil separated the moat from the mansion, providing just enough room for the team to huddle together on dry land. Baird gazed up at the mortared stone wall rising up before them. A darkened window on the second floor looked promising.
“Ezekiel?” she said.
“Leave it to me.” He flashed a cocky grin. “I love old stonework. Plenty of handholds.”
Stripping off his wet suit to reveal some equally dark skulking clothes, he scrambled up the side of the building as nimbly as any experienced cat burglar. There was a reason, Baird recalled, why burglars were sometimes called “second-story men,” and Ezekiel was demonstrating that reason at that very moment, and without any suction cups or grappling hooks. She and the others barely had time to shed their wet suits and stow them in the dark before a nylon climbing rope dropped down from the window. Snagging it with her hand, she tested it to make sure it was secure.
“Nice work, Jones,” she said, although he was out of earshot. “Up we go.”
They scaled the wall after Jones, with Baird going first just in case they ran into any opposition at the top. Stone took up the rear, ready to catch Cassandra if she slipped. The petite mathematician gulped as she pulled herself up, bracing her sneakers against the wall. This sort of stunt work was slightly beyond her comfort zone.
“Refresh my memory,” she said. “When exactly did I become Batgirl?”
“Remind me to take you rock-climbing at the gym,” Baird said, “when this case is over.”
“Oh, boy,” Cassandra said. “Something to look forward to.”
Despite her discomfort, the trio made it to the second floor, where they were met by Ezekiel, who helped them climb through the window into an apparently empty hallway lined with framed oil paintings, many of them inspired by a certain garden known for its highly persuasive snake.
“Sorry for the delay,” Ezekiel said, as though he hadn’t carried out his task in record time. “Had to de-alarm the window first.”
“No complaints here.” Baird scanned the corridor, but detected no immediate threats. “What have you been able to scope out so far?”
Although they’d been able to study the mansion’s exterior in advance, they were flying blind now. Baird was on high alert and assumed the rest of the team was too. Adrenaline kept her sharp.
“Managed to do a little scouting.” Ezekiel nodded toward a nearby door. “This way.”
They followed him into—what else?—a stately, well-appointed library, which appeared to be unoccupied at present. Baird wondered if it was worth examining the bookshelves in hopes of finding out what the Brotherhood liked in the way of reading material.
“Figured we’d be less exposed here than in the hall,” Ezekiel explained. “While we work out our next move.”
“That’s where the science comes in.” Cassandra sounded much more excited than she had been about crossing the moat or scaling the wall. This part was more her speed. “Finally.”
She unzipped a waterproof bag to access a handheld magic detector, while Baird did the same. Bringing a backup sensor had seemed like a good idea when heading straight into the mouth of the Serpent, as it were. With any luck, the detector would lead them to the stolen pots of gold, and possibly to Max as well. With any luck, the Brotherhood’s new Big Bad wouldn’t be too far from his ill-gotten gains.
“Don’t forget to set the detectors on mute,” Baird reminded everyone. “The last thing we need is beeping gadgets giving away our locations.”
“Right!” Cassandra switched on her device. “Okay, I’m already picking up magical vibrations from somewhere upstairs.” Her brow furrowed as she peered at the digital display. “Hmm. There’s something odd about these readings. I’ve never quite seen etheric harmonics like these before.…”
“That’s funny,” Baird said, after activating her own sensor. “I’m detecting some concentrated mojo downstairs.”
“The Serpent Brotherhood collects magical objects the same way we do,” Stone observed. “No surprise there’s more than one spike registering on our gadgets.”
Baird made a strategic decision. “Guess we’re splitting up then. Stone and Cassandra, you check out those odd vibrations from upstairs. Ezekiel and I will find out what’s downstairs.”
Her reasoning behind the pairings was considered; she wanted one topflight fighter on each team, plus she was inclined to keep an eye on Ezekiel, just in case the old mansion offered too many tempting distractions to the thief, who was possibly more likely to lead her to Max and the purloined pots anyway.
Set a thief to catch a thief.…
“Keep frosty, people, and don’t be afraid to call for help if you need it. If things get too hairy, we’ll rendezvous back at the Library.”
“Sounds good,” Stone said. “Watch yourselves.”
Baird handed the detector to Ezekiel to free up her hands. “You, too,” she said. “Think like a Librarian, but keep on your toes. We’re behind enemy lines here.”