F. Wilson - Secret Circles

He frowned. “Moss?”

“Sure. Check tree trunks for moss. It‟s always thickest on the north face.”

“Oh, hell!” He slapped a palm against his forehead. “I know that! Or at least I did once. How could I have forgotten? Not that it matters, because I am never, ever going in there again.”

“Did it stink?” Weezy said. “The thing, I mean?”

The man stared at her. “To high heavens. How did you know?”

Weezy glanced at Jack. “We saw something like that last month.”

“Did it come with floating lights?”

Weezy stiffened. “You saw lights?”

“Yeah. When I was parked in that tree. Two glowing blobs, like maybe the size of softballs.

They floated along the tree-tops and circled near me while that thing was bashing the trunk.”

“Pine lights,” Jack said.

“They‟re also called lumens,” Weezy added.

Jack frowned. “Where‟s it say that?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I have my sources.”

He didn‟t doubt it. Weezy read stuff hardly anyone else had even heard of.

“They‟re a kind of ball lightning,” he told the man.

He shook his head. “I can‟t buy that. These things didn‟t act like any kind of electricity I‟ve ever seen.” His expression was unsettled as he looked at Jack and Weezy. “They floated off as the rain began, but as they were hovering there, over me and the beast, I almost got the feeling they were … watching.”

7

“Oh, thank God!” the man cried as they broke from the trees and the Old Town section of Johnson came into view. “Civilization!”

“Such as it is,” Weezy muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

The man dropped to his knees and sobbed.

Jack looked away, embarrassed for him. He‟d hoped to find Gus Sooy still here so he could give the man a ride down to the highway where they could call the sheriff‟s department. But no sign of his battered old pickup. Must have sold off his applejack and gone back to his home in the Pines.

“Only a little farther,” Weezy said.

“I can‟t. I‟m all in. Go call for help. I‟ll wait here. As long as I‟m out of those damn woods and can see houses, I‟ll be okay.”

So Jack and Weezy left their bikes and started going door to door, but no one seemed to be home, including Mrs. Clevenger. They didn‟t try the Klenke house, of course.

“Where is everybody?” he asked Weezy.

She shrugged. “It‟s a nice day for a change. Maybe they‟re out catching some rays.” She got a funny look in her eyes as she stared over his shoulder. “Let‟s try … there.”

He turned and followed her gaze to the boxy, two-story white building that sat on a rise overlooking Quaker Lake—the lake it owned.

“The Lodge?”

“There‟s a car in front.”

True enough. A big gray Bentley limousine was parked by the front entrance. After the murders involving Lodge members last month, two men had moved in. The building had been there as long as anyone could remember, but no one could recall anyone ever living there. Meetings galore, yes, but no residents.

“Tell me you‟re not thinking what I think you‟re thinking.”

She glanced at him. “Of course I am. This is a golden opportunity. We have a perfectly good reason for asking to use the phone. Once we‟re inside we can look around for signs of our pyramid. Carpe diem, Jack.”

He knew that meant “seize the day.” Fine. They could seize the day, but he doubted very much they‟d carpe the pyramid.

“Okay. Let‟s do it. But I‟ll bet you we don‟t cross the threshold.”

“We have to, Jack.” Her tone tightened. “It‟s ours and they took it.”

As they approached the building, Jack realized he‟d never been this close. Someone kept it in excellent shape. The stucco walls were clean with no obvious cracks, the paint job fresh looking.

The grass needed a good trim, though. And the foundation plantings were looking weedy.

He got a closer look at the big round seal—or sigil , as Dad called it—of the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order over the pillared front entrance.

Jack had always found its eye-crossing design vaguely disturbing. As he stared at

it he thought he saw a face appear in one of the windows above it, but it disappeared so quickly he wasn‟t sure if it had been real or a trick of the light.

“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Let me do the talking.”

“You don‟t trust me?”

“Let‟s just say you‟re not the greatest at hiding your feelings.”

He knocked on the door and realized it was steel. After ten seconds with no

response, he was reaching out for another go when it opened. A thick-bodied,

thick-necked man with reddish crew-cut hair stared down at them. He wore some sort of butler getup.

“May I help you?” he said with a German accent.

“May we come in and use your phone?” Jack said, pouring on humble politeness.

“We

need to call the police.”

“The Order‟s phones are not for public use.”

As the man started to close the door a voice from within said, “Come, come,

Eggers.” It carried just a hint of an accent. Perhaps German as well? “Someone must need help.” As the door opened wider, the butler stepped back to be replaced by a tall thin man all in white—white suit, white shirt, white tie. He had a tight-skinned face with a high forehead and a hook nose. His shiny black hair started with a widow‟s peak and was slicked straight back. His cold blue eyes fixed on Jack as his thin lips curved into a smile. Jack had seen him from a distance when he‟d moved in last month.

“You‟re the young man who found poor brother Boruff‟s body, aren‟t you.”

Jack nodded,

his mouth suddenly dry. He didn‟t like the idea of this strange man knowing things about him.

The man extended his hand. “How may we help?”

Jack thought he was offering to shake but then noticed he held a white business card between his index and middle fingers. Jack took it.

ERNST D REXLER II

Actuator

ASFO

He had no idea what an actuator did, and wasn‟t about to ask.

“We found a guy who‟s been lost in the Pines for three days. He‟s really weak

and needs an ambulance.”

Mr. Drexler stared at Jack a moment, as if processing the information. “If we could just come in and use the phone to call nine-one-one—” “By all means.” But instead of stepping aside, he turned and spoke over his

shoulder. “Eggers, call the sheriff and tell them to send an ambulance.” He turned back to Jack. “Do you know that your father was extended the privilege of joining the Order, yet he turned us down? That does not happen very often.”

“He mentioned it.”

“Did he mention why?”

“Something about too many secrets.”

“‟Too many‟?” Mr. Drexler frowned. “What an entertaining concept. Just when

does one reach the point of „too many‟ secrets? Everyone has secrets. Even you.” He turned to Weezy. “Even this young lady.”

Weezy swallowed. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“You‟re the young lady who found that

strange artifact in the Barrens, aren‟t you.”

With mention of the artifact, Weezy changed, losing her flustered look and switching to angry.

“The artifact you people stole.”

Swell, Jack thought. No way we‟ll get in now.

Mr. Drexler‟s eyebrows rose as he smiled. “Stole? And why would the Order want something you found buried in the dirt? I‟m afraid I‟ve never even read or heard a description of the object.