Horace hit the ground hard and heard Mr. Franken land with an oof behind him. He looked around. They were no longer in the Beeson tomb. They were in a grassy area, lying near a circle of stone obelisks. However, the obelisks weren’t Egyptian, like the enormous ones Horace had seen in Amarna. These were smaller, each only six or seven feet tall and resting on a granite base. Horace realized one of them must be another portal. Behind the obelisks were headstones. Turning around, Horace could now see that they were in a cemetery. And behind the headstones was a huge mausoleum in the shape of an Egyptian tomb, with four papyrus-topped pillars framing the doorway and a pair of sphinxes flanking the stairs.
But which cemetery? Where are we? Horace wondered. Had they fallen into the memory?
Horace spotted Mr. Franken lying only a few feet away. And there in the grass between the two of them was Horace’s beetle.
Mr. Franken was the first to react, and he immediately grabbed the beetle. He turned to face Horace with a look of triumph. “No more birds to help you, young Keeper.” He brushed the dirt off his pants. “You opened the portal in the Benben Stone, a rare ability.” He smiled a sinister grin. “You didn’t know the stone itself was a portal—it’s probably the most powerful portal of all. I’m surprised you were able to muster such magic, but even fools get lucky. And you have taken me right where I wanted to go.”
Horace’s face revealed his confusion.
“Don’t you recognize this cemetery?” Mr. Franken continued. “We have its picture in our museum. I’ve been searching for the treasury for many years, wondering if this might be the location. I do believe we are back in Detroit, and if I’m correct, we have arrived in the 1920s.”
So we are in Woodlawn Cemetery? But how? Horace thought. He remembered it from the museum photo.
“The Keepers like to keep their treasures with the dead. Fitting place, because soon you are about to become one of them.” Mr. Franken smiled again. “They hid the Benben Stone in Niles, but the treasury was always here in Detroit. I should have known it was in Woodlawn. And you can only find the treasury when you go back in time to when it was first hidden.” Mr. Franken began laughing. “The stone holds all the secrets. It always has. I just didn’t realize you were going to make it so easy for me.”
“I’m not going to help you.”
“You sound just like your grandfather,” Mr. Franken said. “When he kicked me out of the Order, he created an enemy he could never have imagined. I waited patiently for my opportunity, and I finally got it.”
He looked around, holding the beetle in his hand. “And I can’t think of a better place to get my revenge.” He walked over to the obelisks. “You see, each one of these obelisks acts as a portal. This is a massive vortex. Let me show you.”
Mr. Franken walked over to one of the stones and placed Horace’s beetle on a marking halfway up its face. Suddenly a burst of light flashed from the stone, like a light bulb exploding, and a portal opened.
“See?” Mr. Franken said with a sneer. “I don’t just destroy portals; I also open them.”
Horace looked at Mr. Franken in shock. “It was you! You were the one who destroyed the portal in the tree at my grandfather’s farm!”
“Of course it was me.” Mr. Franken stepped back from the open portal and advanced toward Horace. “I’m sure you learned from Herman what happens when a Keeper gets stuck in the past.” He smiled and pulled a piece of rope out from his pocket. “Fortunately, I have a little rope left over from tying you and your friends up.”
Mr. Franken swung the rope over his shoulder. “Don’t make this hard. It will only be more painful for you.”
He charged toward Horace.
Horace dove behind one of the headstones, hunkering down out of view. He could hear Mr. Franken’s heavy breathing on the other side of the headstone. There had to be a better place to hide.
But then a hand snaked out, grabbing his ankle. “Gotcha!” Mr. Franken shouted.
Horace kicked as hard as he could, sending the heel of his shoe right into Mr. Franken’s nose.
“You little brat!” Blood spurted from the man’s nose. Horace ran behind a larger monument, but Mr. Franken anticipated the move and came around the other side, blocking his way.
“Fine, I don’t need to wait and let time take the life force from you. I’ll kill you myself.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. Horace tried to duck again, but Mr. Franken was too fast. He grabbed Horace by the neck and began choking him.
Horace thrashed briefly, but he could feel the air being blocked from his lungs. His head pounded, and his sight seemed to dim. Things around him—the cemetery, Franken—were fading away. In one brief spark, his whole life flashed in front of him. All the memories, the adventures: he saw his family, his friends, and his grandparents.
Then abruptly Horace felt Mr. Franken’s grip relax. Air entered his lungs, and his breath deepened again. He shook his head to clear his eyes. He blinked several times to confirm what he was seeing. A ghostly shape seemed to be standing next to Mr. Franken’s shoulder. And then a second one appeared on the man’s other side. Now they were pulling Mr. Franken backward, away from Horace. Mr. Franken started to scream. As Horace watched, the two shapes dragged the man across the grass to the second portal he had opened.
“Please don’t! Please don’t do it!” The ghostly figures pried the beetle from his hand and tossed it into the grass. “I’ll die there!”
The two figures did not respond. With a single movement, they threw Mr. Franken through the open portal. A brilliant burst of light flashed, and then the obelisk returned to stone.
Horace looked around. He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. Mr. Franken had just been sent to another world, caught in a trap of his own making.
He walked over and picked up his beetle. He looked over at the mausoleum where the two ghostly shapes now stood. Horace recognized it from the picture at the museum. Above the door was a single word, DODGE. To his surprise, the door slowly swung open. The two shapes motioned for him to follow them into the tomb.
Horace walked behind them, ascending the steps. As he entered the tomb, he saw two marble sarcophagi, one on each side of the room. On one was written the name JOHN and on the second the name was HORACE. Slowly, as if by some ancient magic, each stone coffin slid to the side of the mausoleum, revealing a set of stairs that descended below.
“You must choose which path you would like to follow,” a voice said. Horace swung around. The two ghostly figures were now standing behind him. Horace’s heart started to race.
“One path leads to knowledge, the other to riches. Choose wisely.”
Horace could see a golden light coming from one set of steps, while the other glowed green.
This must be a test, he thought. I must decide whether I want the riches of the Order or its knowledge. Horace began to pace around the tomb.
He had to choose. If he selected the riches, it could help his family and save the farm, but if he chose the second set of stairs, it might be the path to the prophecy.
He looked at the beetle and thought of all he’d experienced. He remembered the scarab had glowed green back at his grandparents’ farm and whenever it was near the journal. Maybe his grandfather had been trying to tell him something all along. He thought about all the lessons his grandfather had taught him through the years. And he thought about what it meant to have real wealth in this world. It wasn’t about possessing gold; it was about wisdom.
Horace walked over to the set of stairs that glowed green. As he descended beneath the tomb, it felt like the stairs seemed to go on forever. The walls became narrower and narrower, closing in on him. Just when Horace had thought he’d chosen the wrong path, he found himself entering the most surprising of places. He was in his grandfather’s study.
But this room didn’t look the way it had at the time of his grandfather’s death. It appeared to be the study from a much earlier time. There were some books on the desk, and the grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner, but there were also three portraits hanging on the wall and at least a dozen pieces of papyrus rolled up in the corner. There was also a gyroscope on one of the bookshelves and an antique marble bust sitting on the desk. Neither of which Horace had ever seen before.
Even the leather journal he had found weeks ago was there on a bookshelf, along with all the other books that had belonged to his grandfather. But they were all new. A lit lamp was on the wooden desk, and sitting beneath it was a torn piece of paper.
“You have chosen wisely, young Keeper.”
Horace turned around to see the two ghostly figures reappear. “Who are you? You were in my dreams. You showed me where the Benben Stone was.”
“I’m Horace, and this is my brother, John. We’ve been watching you for a long time.”
“The Dodge brothers! But how? And where am I?”
“You are in the treasury hidden here in Detroit. We went to a great deal of effort and expense to build and guard this space, hiding its magic beneath our tomb.”
“But this is my grandfather’s study,” explained Horace. “I thought there would be riches here.”
John, the second brother, spoke. “Few have ever entered this space, but for those who do, it will always take the form of what feels most comfortable. When I used to enter it, it would often look like my old workshop from Niles. For others, it might resemble a monastery or a temple. For you, it is a mirror image of a place that is closest to your heart, your grandfather’s study. And the riches are what you make of it.”
Horace pulled the leather-bound journal from the bookcase. “I have this at home, but it’s blank.”
“Not as blank as you think,” responded Horace Dodge. The ghost walked over and pointed at the torn page on the desk. “Here, I think you need this.” He handed him the piece of paper. “A missing piece to an old puzzle.”
Horace looked at it in confusion.
“When you return home, use the beetle to illuminate what others can’t see. Then you will understand the magic and power available to you within this book,” said John.
“But I have so many questions. Where is the prophecy? What happened to Mr. Franken?”
“Your friends are anxiously waiting for you to return. And I promise we will meet again soon,” said Horace Dodge.
John pointed to the beetle in Horace’s hand. “The beetle can take you to the past and bring you back to the present. But, Horace, your gift and destiny will be found in the future.”
Now Horace Dodge spoke. “Look into the Benben Stone when you return. There is an answer to your question about the lost prophecy.” He pointed to the piece of paper Horace held. “A prophecy you have had this whole time.”