EIGHTEEN

“Thanks, Professor Reilly.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you next week, Thomas. Same time, same place. Try to do some reading between now and then. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“I will.” Thomas watched the professor pull away. The time had flown by. The material was complicated, but the professor made it interesting and accessible. In spite of the terrifying phone call, the session had been genuinely enjoyable.

Thomas gathered everything he’d managed to find about The Book of Sorrows and headed toward the bus stop. The afternoon was bright and pleasant, the tree-lined street covered in purple blossoms.

I’m watching you, Thomas Wildus. We all are. The memory of the sinister voice instantly put Thomas on edge. Anger and fear mingled in his gut. He glanced over his shoulder, afraid he might find the creepy van coming at him. Instead, he saw Ms. Teflaw walking her dog on the other side of the street. The little thing yipped and yapped, straining at its leash like it always did. Thomas offered a half-hearted wave, but if his neighbor saw him, she didn’t show it. Thomas didn’t care. His head was a mess.

I’m watching you. The voice played over and over as he headed downtown. The threatening words were like a song set on a permanent loop in his head, repeating to the sound of the tires and the hum of the engine. It wasn’t just the caller messing with Thomas’s head. There was the van, too, and the man in the olive overcoat. The old woman with the dragon pendant had said something similar. There were things happening that he didn’t understand, loose threads that didn’t quite connect.

He stepped into the bookshop, head still spinning, and saw Huxley standing between aisles near the back of the shop. The feeling of relief was palpable. In the back of his head, he’d been afraid Huxley and Adelia would be gone again, or worse, that he’d run into the beige van.

“Thomas! Welcome back,” said Huxley, eyes twinkling. The little man rushed forward to greet Thomas with an awkward handshake and lopsided smile. A pair of reading glasses dangled from the front of his apron. “I trust you’ve had an interesting week?”

Thomas nodded, but Huxley was already moving toward the back of the shop. Interesting was a massive understatement. He followed as Huxley turned right and stopped at a table covered with books, notes, and printed articles.

“Thomas!” said Adelia. Her voice was cheery, her smile genuine. She slid a large leather-bound book between a pair of similarly ancient-looking texts. “Welcome back.”

Thomas tried to smile but his face felt awkward, rubbery. Beads of sweat trickled past his ears and onto his neck. He waved weakly. “Hi, Adelia.”

“Are you okay?” Huxley stared at Thomas intently, his gold-flecked eyes curious but unwavering. “You look . . . shaken.”

“I, uh . . .” Thomas took a deep breath. His voice quavered. “Honestly, I’m a little freaked out right now.”

“Why? Did something happen?” asked Huxley.

“A bunch of things, and then a man called my cell phone and asked about the book. He said he was watching me. Something about an alchemist, too.”

Adelia set down her duster and came closer. “Who was it? What did he want?”

Huxley’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. “What happened? Tell us everything.”

Thomas glanced at Adelia.

“It’s okay,” said Huxley. “Adelia is part of this.”

Thomas set his backpack on the table and slid into a chair. His body felt limp, exhausted. He told them everything, starting from the day he got the book, describing what happened the first time he opened the box, the old woman and her jade pendant, the beige van, and finally the terrifying phone call just a few hours earlier.

Huxley and Adelia listened intently, only occasionally interrupting to clarify details. After taking it all in, they stared silently at each other for a long minute.

Huxley finally said, “That is quite a lot, and not all of it can be readily explained.”

Adelia nodded. “The experiences you had when touching the key and opening the book are to be expected. Everybody reacts to the material differently, but most people feel something. The woman with the dragon pendant we can explain as well. Her name is Ling Sun, and she is part of our inner circle. We’ve asked her to keep an eye on you.”

“We considered introducing you properly, but at the time, it seemed like a better idea to have her watch over you quietly,” said Huxley. “Perhaps that was a mistake. We certainly didn’t intend for her to frighten you.”

Thomas nodded. He hoped the good news would continue.

“Some of the other items are more concerning,” Huxley continued. “Very few know that The Book of Sorrows exists, much less where to find a genuine copy. The idea that someone tracked it down so quickly after we gave it to you is almost beyond imagining. As much as I’d like to put your mind at ease, I can’t. Not yet. But you have my word that we will give the matter our full attention.”

Thomas’s stomach and chest tightened. The fear must have shown on his face.

“Don’t worry.” Adelia smiled gently. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“No,” echoed Huxley. “We most certainly are not. It may be that these incidents were simply intended to frighten you. To turn you away from your destiny. I hope they didn’t succeed?”

“At frightening me? Yeah, actually, that part definitely worked,” said Thomas. Turn away from my destiny? What’s that supposed to mean?

“Fear is a natural response.” Adelia put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “I hope you will trust yourself—and us—enough to see this through.”

The fear was real, but so was the book. And if the book was real, there was at least a chance at discovering real magic. Thomas let out a sharp breath and nodded.

“Good.” Huxley smiled widely, his eyes twinkling in the light. “Now, when did you first notice the cover changing?”

“I don’t know. The second time it looked different, but I thought it might be my imagination. The third time it was different for sure. Now I’m not sure what to think.”

“It wasn’t your imagination,” said Huxley. “We’ll talk more about what it all means when you’ve finished reading. In the meantime, let’s talk about your research. What have you learned about The Book of Sorrows?”

Thomas unzipped his backpack and pulled out two pages of typed notes and a couple of printouts. Huxley set them down and sat in one of the chairs. Thomas’s eyes shifted to the material on the table. There were dozens of magazine articles and newspaper clippings, many of them yellow and faded, a couple of opened books, and a Mac laptop opened to a web browser. The article on the screen was the one he’d found about James Jackman. They had everything he’d found and ten times more. His two pages of notes felt suddenly and woefully inadequate.

“Ah! You found the Mubarrack expedition.” Huxley was referring to an article Thomas had extracted from one of the magazines. “Excellent work. Most people miss this reference. Mubarrack did find the complete third scroll, but the footnote is incorrect. He and his team weren’t lost in a sandstorm.”

“Not all his team, anyway,” Adelia interjected. “Akbar Mubarrack survived, along with one of his guides. They made it to a nearby village shortly after the storm and sent the discovery to their financier. After that, Mubarrack and the guide were never heard from again. Any guesses about who financed their expedition?”

Thomas thought for a moment and shook his head.

“No? Would you believe me if I said it was James Jackman?”

“The article said Jackman was dead by then, but he wasn’t, though, was he? He wrote the book about the crystals. The one in Spanish.”

“That’s right,” said Adelia. “Los Cristales Magicos. In England, Jackman was disgraced, but the rumors of his death were exactly that—rumors, many of them fabricated by Jackman himself. He disappeared for a while, then resurfaced in Spain. The book and scrolls were part of his campaign to find new backers for a final expedition.”

“How come the scrolls and the book you gave me have the same name?” asked Thomas. It was a question that had tickled at the back of his mind since his trip to the library. “They’re not the same, but it seems like maybe they’re connected.”

“Excellent question,” said Huxley. “Are you familiar with the idea of misinformation? The idea that when a person wants to hide the truth, they sprinkle bits of untruth into a story that sounds like it could be real? Add a detail here, tweak a detail there, make it impossible to figure out what’s real and what’s made up.”

“What was the truth?”

Huxley ignored the question and squinted through his glasses. “I must say that I’m impressed, Thomas. This was a very thorough first pass.”

“Thanks,” said Thomas. “But what about—?”

“Ah! I see that you found the Ehrlenthal book as well,” said Huxley. “What did you think?”

“I’ve only made it about halfway through, but so far sounds a lot like the stuff I found about James Jackman.”

“Very good,” said Huxley. “Along with The Book of Sorrows, that little novel should be at the very top of your reading list.”

“But it’s fiction,” said Thomas. “How important can it possibly be?”

“Fiction is a matter of perspective.” Adelia looked away, her eyes suddenly distant.

“Don’t worry about true or false for now,” said Huxley. “Pay attention to the characters in that book and the lessons they learn. We can discuss the details when we reconvene next Monday.”

“Next Monday?” said Thomas, hardly believing his ears. “I have to wait a whole week to come back?”

“The time will pass faster than you can imagine,” answered Adelia. “Besides, you have quite a bit of reading to do, and today’s conversation has left us with important questions to investigate. A week will give us all time to get done the things that need doing. In the meantime, perhaps you could help by dusting a few books for us. This row is uncommonly messy.”

• • •

“Hey, Mom,” said Thomas. “What’re you doing home so early?”

“I shipped the grant proposal off for review and thought I’d squeeze in some extra time with my boy,” she said. “You’ve got a birthday coming up, and other than a new phone, we haven’t talked about a party or presents or anything.”

It was true. Thomas’s birthday was less than six weeks away, and something as big as a birthday was impossible to forget—even with all the craziness in his life. He’d thought plenty about what he wanted to do.

“I don’t want a party this year. Can we do a trip to Magic Mountain instead? Just a couple people. You, me, Enrique, Jameel, and Ming, maybe one other friend.” Maybe Akhil.

“Magic Mountain, huh?” his mom replied, one eyebrow raised a bit higher than the other. “I don’t do well with roller coasters, but I’d be happy to take you and your friends for the day. I could drop you off and head over to the outlets for some shopping. I’ve been meaning to get you new gear for summer anyway.”

“Awesome!” shouted Thomas. “Enrique is going to be so fired up. Can I tell him right now?”

“Of course. Dial away.” She paused, an almost wistful expression on her face. “Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind. It can wait until after your birthday.”