F. Wilson - Secret Circles

Lucky for me, Jack thought.

Because he had a use for it.

He thumbed through the manual, found the charger in a side pocket of the case, and plugged it into the wall. He planned to study the manual during the charging period, but the bell above the front door jangled.

A customer?

He walked forward and recognized Mark Mulliner. Jack assumed the woman carrying the baby behind him was his wife.

“Hey,” Mark said with an easy smile. “Got any screwdrivers? Dropped mine in the lake.”

Jack glanced out the window and saw a pickup with canoes piled in the bed. Mark rented them out at the lake during the summer.

“End of the season for the canoes?” he said as he pulled a plastic bucket full of old tools from under a shelf and set it on the counter.

Mark started sorting through the screwdrivers and pliers and such.

“Yeah. Temperature‟s right but the rain‟s a killer.”

Jack glanced at the dark-haired baby girl. He waved and she smiled, showing a couple of brand-new teeth.

“Say hello, Poppy,” said her mom.

“Here we go,” Mark said, holding up a long flat-head screwdriver. “This‟ll do.”

He paid for it and they left just as Weird Walt came in.

“Hey, Jack. I thought Mister Rosen said he was gonna be in New York this week.”

He leaned on the counter, close enough so Jack could smell the applejack on his breath. The number of people who‟d seen Walt completely sober was about the same as those who‟d seen him without gloves.

Jack explained that he‟d promised to open the store now and then while Mr. Rosen was away.

“That‟s cool. Hey, whatta y‟ think about finding that bike?”

“What bike?”

“The little kid‟s—Cody Bockman‟s.”

Jack‟s neck tensed. “They found it? Where?”

“Not too far into the Pines, on Old Man Foster‟s land.”

He didn‟t know if he wanted an answer to his next question.

“They find anything else?”

Walt shook his head. “Nah. But the sheriff‟s organizing a big search party tomorrow morning.

Everybody fourteen and up who wants to join is supposed to gather at the lightning tree at oh-eight-hundred, rain or shine.”

“But shouldn‟t we be worrying about the equinox?” Jack said, remembering the warning Walt had given him the other day.

Walt looked confused for a few seconds, then the light dawned. “Oh, yeah. But this‟ll be a big group, and it‟s during the day. The real equinox ain‟t due till after sundown.”

“Okay, then,” Jack said. “Count me in. No, wait—I‟ve got school.”

“Sheriff says any kid who joins the search is excused from school.”

Jack raised a fist. “I‟m there.”

But that was tomorrow. He had something important he had to do to night.

3

“Subcontracting?” Jack, squatting as he weeded the foundation beds on the Lodge‟s north flank, looked up to see Mr. Drexler, again all in white—didn‟t he own any other color? Weezy squatted beside him, helping.

It had rained again last night, but that didn‟t interfere with weeding. They each used a short spade to dig under the weeds and help pull them out by their roots. They‟d shake off the excess soil, toss them into a plastic bag, smooth out the mulch, and move to the next.

“I‟m a volunteer,” Weezy said with a pasted-on smile and a sticky-sweet tone. She was helping solely as an excuse to hang around the Lodge in case the tour materialized. Jack knew the effort it took her to make nice-nice with someone from the Order, but he‟d warned her that mouthing off could queer everything.

“Really? Why would one volunteer for such hot, dirty, menial labor?” The smile

remained. “It‟s what friends do.”

“I‟d think a true friend would pay you at least minimum wage.”

“Oh my,” she said, cocking her head and sounding like Glinda the Good Witch of

the North, “friends don‟t take money from friends.”

Jack didn‟t know how long she could

keep up the façade, so he jumped to what mattered most.

“Are we getting our tour today?”

Mr. Drexler frowned. “Tour? What ever are you talking about?”

Jack looked at Weezy and saw her eyes narrowing.

“Yesterday you said you‟d give us a tour of the Lodge.”

“I believe I said „might.‟ But I continue to have doubts about including Miss Connell. I don‟t want to worry about her opening cabinets and drawers in search of her lost artifact.”

Jack gave her a be-cool look as he said, “Oh, that won‟t be a problem. Right, Weez?”

He sent up a silent prayer that she‟d be able to play along. If this tour meant anything to her, she‟d rein in the emotions that tended to run wild where the pyramid was concerned.

But she surprised him by staying perfectly cool—at least on the outside.

“I wouldn‟t think of it, Mister Drexler. I promise to keep my hands in my pockets. You can even handcuff me if you want.”

He shook his head and turned away. “I‟m having serious second thoughts about this. I‟m rescinding my offer.”

Weezy‟s eyes ignited and her lips pulled back, baring her teeth as she started to rise to her feet.

Jack pulled her back with a warning look. He was just as surprised, disappointed, and angry, but all might not yet be lost. If she detonated, however …

Mr. Drexler turned back just as suddenly as he‟d turned away.

“By the way, I understand you discovered the artifact within a box. Was it locked?”

Weezy had her head down, stabbing her little spade into the dirt like an Aztec priestess cutting out a heart.

“No,” Jack said, “just hard to open.”

He leaned forward. “Who opened it?”

“Me.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Really. How interesting.”

“Yeah. Seemed I was the only one who could. Oh, yeah, and Mister Brussard could too. But he‟s, you know …”

“Yes. The late Brother Brussard …” He stared at Jack for what seemed like a long time, then motioned to him and Weezy. “Follow me now if you wish that tour.”

Mr. Drexler moved toward the rear of the Lodge. Baffled, Jack glanced at a very

shocked-looking Weezy. But the shock turned to wild anticipation as she sprang to her feet and started after him. Jack held her back a second.

“Remember,” he whispered. “I only thought I saw the pyramid. If we don‟t see it inside, stay cool.”

She nodded and followed Mr. Drexler. Jack brought up the rear, wondering what had made him change his mind.

He led them through the rear door that opened into some sort of mud room.

“Only members are allowed entrance through the front.”

“Why is that?” Jack said.

“Because that is the way it has always been.” He gestured to the next room, a small kitchen with a stove and a fridge, but old-fashioned. “Antiquated, yes. A holdover from the days when the Lodge had residents. Eggers and I have used it on occasion, but it is by and large a vestigial space.”

They moved through a short hallway into a large room dominated by a long table flanked with leather chairs. The sigil on the ceiling confirmed it as the crowded room he‟d peeked in on last night.

Weezy seemed to have lost her voice, but her wide eyes never stopped moving as her gaze lasered into every nook and cranny.

“This is the conference room, where the members meet to discuss matters of concern to the Order and themselves.”

Light through the barred windows reflected off the table‟s smeared, dusty surface.

Messy, Jack thought.

He‟d have figured a dapper guy like Mr. Drexler to be a neatnik.

As if reading Jack‟s thoughts, the man said, “The premises need a thorough cleaning. I don‟t wish to be bothered with anyone here during my stay, but a crew will be through as soon as I depart.”