The three kids emerged back in the carriage house just moments later. Luckily, Mr. Franken was occupied with the new tour group. They were able to slip out unnoticed, collect their bikes, and head back to their respective homes, promising to talk more at school the next day.
On his ride home, Horace was consumed by thoughts of what Herman had told him. The Order was under attack, and the Benben Stone was in Niles. Herman wanted Horace to protect it, but he warned him not to tell his friends. The more people who knew its location, he said, the more likely the stone and the people involved would be put in jeopardy. Horace wished he’d remembered to tell Herman about the dream, but with everything they had discussed, he’d totally forgotten.
Horace was also left thinking about the significance of the small town of Niles. Herman had said it was a vortex, a place where many portals converged. Horace had already discovered two, but he wondered what others might exist.
When he finally got home, Horace had a dazed look on his face, which he explained away by telling his mom he’d eaten a whole bag of gummy worms while at the movies with his friends. Horace kept a low profile at dinner that night, letting his sisters dominate most of the talking before he headed up to his room to reflect on all he’d learned.
Shadow was perched on his windowsill, and Horace threw an extra piece of turkey from dinner onto the ledge. As he thought about the task Herman had given him and wondered how he was to accomplish it, Horace was glad she was here. For a moment he stared out the window, lost in thought. The damaged portal at the farm was an unsettling turn of events. It meant that someone knew both about the portal and, even worse, the Keepers of Time. He wondered if they also knew about him. Herman didn’t think so, and that’s why he wanted Horace to stay away from the farm and not do anything that would draw curious eyes to him.
Horace could only think of four people in the whole town who knew of his role in the Order; two were his best friends, Anna and Milton, and the third was his grandmother. But there was one more person. The thought stuck in his mind like a piece of gum on a sidewalk after a hot summer’s day.
Seth had stumbled upon the portal by chance. And even though he had proved a valuable ally to Horace and the others on their adventures in Ancient Egypt, Horace still wasn’t sure he could be trusted. But as Horace thought more about it, he quickly dismissed the possibility that Seth was responsible for destroying the portal. Herman had made it clear that someone had deliberately destroyed the portal; this was not just a childish act of vandalism. And more importantly, since their return from Ancient Egypt, Seth had kept his distance, seemingly fearful of Shadow and of Horace and his newly discovered powers. His behavior at school earlier in the week seemed to prove that.
The last rays of the setting sun shone in through the window, but another light caught his eye. He looked down at the scarab now resting in the open top drawer of his desk. The beetle was nestled up against the old leather book from his grandfather’s study. The scarab was glowing again, bathing all the contents of his drawer in a green light. A green light again? Why? thought Horace. It was strange, but his beetle only took on the green color in the presence of the . . . the book. The book! He hadn’t given it much thought since he’d brought it home.
The book was small, not much larger than a journal or tablet. A small brass lock held the front and back covers closed. Horace had given the lock a couple of quick discreet tugs in the backseat of the car when they’d first driven home from the farm, but it refused to release. Now seeing the book resting in the desk drawer, with the glowing scarab next to it, he was determined to get it open.
He began to study the lock closely. Its brass metal was badly rusted, its opening almost invisible beneath a layer of corrosion and dirt. Slowly he traced out the edges onto his sketchpad. In doing so, he noticed that despite the rusted metal, the opening in the lock was almost identical to another object in his possession, the beetle.
Horace set the book down and ran into the bathroom to grab a cotton swab and some rubbing alcohol. He’d learned how to clean tiny gears from watching his grandfather over the years clean his collection of antique pocket watches. Using his fingernails, he began to scrape off the dirt in the lock. He dabbed the swab into a small cup of rubbing alcohol and slowly cleared away the corroded metal around the opening. He repeated this a half dozen times until an oval shape began to emerge from under the rust. It was a perfect match.
Horace didn’t need to be told what to do next. It was just like the door to the Scarab Club in Detroit. He slipped the head of the beetle into the lock and turned it. With a loud clicking sound, the lock opened!
As gently as if he were handling a rare manuscript at the National Archives, Horace opened the front leather cover. The paper pages inside were coarse and thick. They had a faint floral smell. Strangely, there was no writing on the first page, not even a random ink splatter. He flipped through the pages faster and faster. There was nothing inside, just page after page of blank sheets. The only noteworthy feature was a half-torn page at the end of the book.
Horace turned back to the spine and saw the strange marking again. It was definitely the symbol of the Keepers, the eye of Horus.
Was this a journal his grandfather had owned but never used? Horace had a handful of journals in his own room, but all of them were filled, front to back, with sketches. It seemed odd that his grandfather would have had something so obviously related to the Order and not have used it.
He pulled out his phone and put the flashlight directly up against a sheet of the coarse paper. Maybe he could find a subtle marking or word to hint at the true purpose of the book. But as he examined it more closely, even under the intensity of his phone’s light, he still couldn’t see anything unusual. Horace then held the pages up to the window. He’d sometimes used this trick when he wanted to trace a picture. Still nothing.
Horace set the book on the desk just before the bedroom door suddenly opened.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” he said sharply. He slammed the book shut and slipped it into the drawer.
But before he could close the drawer to hide the book, his sister Lilly was already prying. “What are you doing?”
She craned her neck to get a better look. “Is that one of Grandpa’s books? I knew you found something when we were at the farm. You were acting so funny in the car.”
“What do you want?” Horace asked, growing irritated and trying to deflect his sister’s questions.
“Can I have your earbuds?” Lilly asked. “Archimedes has bitten through the wiring in mine, and they don’t work.” Archimedes was Lilly’s cat. He often snarled at Horace whenever he came near Lilly’s room. Hearing that the cat had actually eaten through his sister’s headphones gave Horace a hint of satisfaction, considering the countless times the cat had turned one of his homework assignments into stuffing for the litter box. He sometimes wished Shadow would give the cat a good scare, but Archimedes was smart enough to stay out of sight whenever the falcon was around.
Horace reluctantly opened up another drawer and grabbed a pair of earbuds. “Catch!” He threw them across the room, and Lilly snatched them out of the air. “Why don’t you keep a better eye on your cat?”
“Just don’t let Mom see you with that book. She’s not going to be happy if she finds out you were taking things from the farm.” Lilly raised her eyebrows in a knowing glare and then shut the door.
Horace turned back to his desk. He knew Lilly wasn’t completely wrong. His mom wouldn’t be happy if she found Horace with one of his grandfather’s old books. But he wasn’t planning on letting her find out, and he hoped Lilly wouldn’t say anything either.
While his sister had seen the mysterious leather journal, he was relieved she hadn’t noticed the glowing beetle lying among his colored pencils.
There was something very odd about this book. Odder than the rusted lock on its cover, or even the textless pages. He could feel the subtlest of vibrations on the tips of his fingers, the same feeling he used to get around the portal at his grandparents’ farm.
Horace could hear footsteps again approaching outside his door. He shut the book and locked it using the beetle. He slipped the book under a pile of scrap paper at the back of the drawer.
There was a knocking at the door.
“What do you want now?” he asked, growing more irritated by his sister’s intrusions. “Did the earbuds not work?”
His dad walked in just as Horace shut the drawer. “What’s that?”
“Oh, sorry, Dad,” he said. “I thought you were Lilly.”
“I’m afraid not,” his father replied with a smile. “Your sisters are in their room, finishing their homework. But it’s time for bed, champ. Tomorrow is a big day. Do you have your costume ready?”
Horace had been so distracted by everything that had been happening that he had completely forgotten. Tomorrow wasn’t just any day; it was Halloween.
“It’s in the closet,” he answered.
“Good,” his dad said, and smiled. “Wait until you see what I’m planning for the front lawn. I think the neighborhood kids will love it!”
Halloween was his father’s favorite holiday. Every year his dad would spend weeks building pieces for an elaborate display. At their old house in Ohio, he had once turned the front yard into the bow of a pirate ship. Horace could only imagine what he had in store for this year, especially since they’d only moved to Niles a few months before. His dad loved to make big first impressions.
“Go brush your teeth and then get to bed.” His dad gave him a squeeze on the shoulder.
Horace headed out to the bathroom, hoping to beat his sisters before they took over the sink with their elaborate nighttime rituals. Tonight, though, just as his dad had said, they were both still in their room when he started brushing his teeth.
After a few minutes Horace finished up in the bathroom. His dad had already turned off his light and was staring out the window. He moved to the doorway to leave. Horace quietly slipped under the sheets, hoping his dad wouldn’t notice anything unusual about the faint green light peeking out from the desk’s top drawer.
“Dad?” Horace asked.
“Yeah?” his father answered, pausing at the doorway.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you love Halloween so much?”
His dad walked back to the edge of the bed. “That’s a great question.” From the hallway light Horace could see a gleam in his father’s eyes. “You see, my dad wasn’t around much when I was a kid. He spent most holidays working. Halloween was the one night of the year when he’d stay home, no matter how much work he had, and spend it with us.” He bit down on his lip, and Horace suddenly realized where he’d gotten this habit. “I guess ever since then it has been a special night for me. It always reminds me of my father.”
Horace had never known his dad’s father. He’d died when Horace was very little.
“Do you ever miss him?”
“Every day.”
“Do you miss home?” asked Horace.
His dad laughed. “You mean Ohio?” He shook his head. “No, Horace, this is our home now.” He pulled the thick quilt at the edge of the bed over Horace’s chest. “Get some rest. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” He bent down and kissed Horace on the forehead. “I love you.”
It didn’t take long before Horace was in a deep sleep.
Horace was back in the cemetery again, surrounded by the headstones. The two boys he’d seen last time were waving for him to follow.
He made his way along the now-familiar gravel path deeper into the graveyard. At the back was the mysterious tomb nestled into its place in the hill.
Horace followed the two boys up the marble step to the crypt’s doors.
One of the boys smiled and motioned for Horace to pull the thick door handle. Horace lifted the iron ring and pulled.
The door opened, and with it a brilliant purple light spilled out from the tomb. Horace squinted against the blinding light and willed himself forward. As he stepped into the tomb, he felt the floor under his feet give way. He now was falling into a black abyss of space.
His plunge through the darkness seemed endless. He briefly saw the smiling faces of the two boys. And then he saw the face of his grandfather. The shape faded, and Horace continued to tumble. Next he saw Herman intensely studying a pile of maps. But the last face was the strangest of all. It was Mr. Franken, the curator from the museum. He was inside the Stout Scarab car. His expression held a look of frustration and anger. Finally, when Horace felt he couldn’t fall any further, out of the darkness appeared an object he would have recognized from a thousand miles away.
Resting on a marble pedestal and casting a glowing purple light was the Benben Stone.