F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“Really?”

Mr. Drexler looked at him. “You‟re surprised that we‟d want to keep the place clean?”

“No … just surprised you let anyone in.”

“The cleaning service is owned by a brother, and the workers will be personally supervised by him.”

Jack noticed the paintings lining the walls. Weezy stopped before the portrait of a stern-looking man in medieval clothing.

She found her voice. “Who‟s that?”

“A former Arch of the worldwide High Council of the Seven.”

Jack repressed a laugh. “Well, that clears that up.”

Mr. Drexler allowed one of his tight smiles. “Briefly: The Order is ruled by the High Council of the Seven, and the leading member of the Council is known as the Arch. All the men you see here are former Arches. The portraits are not originals, of course. They are copies of archived paintings.”

Jack checked them out, one after the other.

“So all these guys—” she said.

“Arches, please. Show some respect.”

“Sorry. All these „Arches‟ knew the Secret History of the World?”

Mr. Drexler gave her an appraising look. “Do you really think such a history exists?”

She looked him square in the eye. “Absolutely.”

She‟d often told Jack that the Septimus Order was guardian of certain truths that had been kept secret and passed on throughout the history of the world, and that knowledge of those truths allowed them to manipulate people and events—history itself.

Mr. Drexler‟s lips twisted. “Perhaps you are right, but you will never find out.”

“Why not?”

“Because women are not allowed in the Order.” He turned to Jack. “But you can learn, should you ever be asked to join.”

“And accept.”

The man frowned. “Don‟t make your father‟s mistake and turn down the invitation. It is offered only once. Who knows how far he could have gone?” He gestured to the portraits. “He could have been here among the Movers.” He turned and pointed to one of the windows. “Instead he‟s out there with the Moved. Such a shame.”

Jack had no idea what he was talking about, but couldn‟t help smile. “Believe it or not, he seems to be bearing up pretty well.”

“Only because he doesn‟t know what he is missing.”

Jack noticed other paintings interspersed among the portraits, mostly of buildings.

“What are these?”

“Other Lodges. The Septimus Order is global.”

Jack heard Weezy gasp as she stopped before a painting. “Look!”

Jack stepped over to see and suppressed a gasp of his own. She was staring at a painting of the pyramid cage in the woods, but this had no broken section. The faces of its megaliths were clean and smooth, and the glyphs carved into each were clearly visible—the same as on their little pyramid. It sat in a landscaped clearing under a sunny sky. The trees around it looked more like palms than pines.

“Is that a Lodge too?” Jack said, knowing it wasn‟t.

Drexler came up behind them. “Oh, no. That is simply an ancient decorative structure.”

“Decorative?” Weezy pointed to a dark shape in the shadows within. “Then what‟s that in there?”

“You‟d have to ask the artist, and I‟m afraid he‟s long dead. Now come this way.”

Jack looked at Weezy and found her staring back. They both looked again at the painting. No question about it: The artist had painted something trapped in that cage. Something big.

The painting was one more connection between the Lodge and the pyramids—big and little.

Now … find the little one— if it was here.

They followed Mr. Drexler into a large sitting room, the one Jack had peeked at through the front entrance. It was furnished with comfy-looking, overstuffed chairs. A rug woven with the sigil design covered most of the hardwood floor, and another sigil overhung a jumbo fireplace shielded by a brass fire screen decorated

with—surprise—another sigil.

“This room is for less formal gatherings,” Mr. Drexler said.

Jack barely heard him. His attention immediately fixed on the high mantel where he‟d glimpsed the little black object, but now he saw no sign of it.

Weezy was staring too, a dismayed look on her face.

Had he imagined it, or had Mr. Drexler removed it before letting them in?

Motioning Weezy to stay in the center of the room, he wandered in that direction.

“Wow. Neat fireplace.”

Nothing the least bit special about it—he simply wanted a closer look at the mantel.

“It is still used on rare occasions,” he heard Mr. Drexler say behind him.

Jack made a show of peeking behind the fire screen. He checked out the large brass andirons, then straightened and stretched up onto his toes for a quick close look at the mantel. There, front and center on its dusty surface, was a small hexagon of clean wood.

Six sides, just like their little pyramid.

Gotcha-gotcha-gotcha!

It took all Jack‟s will not to call Weezy over and show her, but he didn‟t want to risk an explosion.

He could think of only one reason they‟d remove it before his tour: It was the same pyramid he and Weezy had found in the mound. The fact that the Order had been able to steal it from where they had testified to the group‟s long reach.

Maybe it had been theirs to begin with. Maybe it had been stolen and, for some reason known only to members of the Order, buried along with the murdered man Jack and Weezy had found.

If it had been the Order‟s originally, fine. Say so and claim it. But they‟d said nothing. Why not? Afraid to draw attention to their oh-so-secret Lodge? What ever the reason, they‟d chosen instead to steal it from Weezy and Jack.

Well, because the Order had never claimed it, as far as Jack was concerned, finders keepers. It belonged to Weezy and him.

And he wanted it back.

But how to get it?

Well, it had been stolen from him, so he guessed it would be only right for him to steal it back.

He‟d composed himself by the time he turned to face Mr. Drexler again. Weezy was staring at him, the question writ large on her face. He gave away nothing.

“Really cool,” he said. “What‟s upstairs?”

“We won‟t be going there. It is divided into smaller rooms, leftover from the day when the Lodge had residents. Eggers and I are using two of those now, but there‟s nothing of interest there. Same with the basement: used simply for storage.”

Jack wandered over to the front door. From past experience he knew it was steel, but he hadn‟t realized that the lock was a double-key dead bolt. The key sat in the inner keyhole now.

“I, um, thought you‟d have an alarm system.”

Mr. Drexler‟s eyebrows lifted. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, the place is empty all the time—I mean, until you showed up. Someone could come in and rob you.”

He gave his sort-of smile. “It might prove rather entertaining if someone tried.”

“No, really.”

“Rob us of what? There‟s nothing of value here except the furniture. And to take that they‟d have to back a van up to the front door. We have bars on the windows and locks on the doors.

Quite enough, I think.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The first-floor windows were all barred, but even though the ones on the second floor were not, he couldn‟t imagine any way to reach them short of a ladder.

Mr. Drexler clapped his hands once. “End of tour. I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”

Weezy‟s expression became stony. “I‟d really like to see the rest of the place.”

“Sorry. Not included.”

Jack gave her another be-cool look. He saw her take a deep breath and set her lips in a thin line.

But as they passed between the front room and the rear conference room, she froze.