8

Weezy’s eyes burned. She closed them as she leaned back to rub her throbbing temples. After leaving Jack at the airport she’d returned here and had been poring over the text ever since. Usually she could read till all hours with no problem, but this Compendium . . .

Maybe it was the book’s autotranslating feature. She couldn’t imagine how it worked, but perhaps the process of changing all the print to the reader’s native language had an effect on the eyes and brain. That, plus the density of new information on each page . . . Jack said he’d been told that the author was a woman named Srem . . . this must have been her life’s work.

whatever, Weezy needed a break. The fraction of the text she’d absorbed was a mind-numbing jumble of facts that read like fancies . . .

A group of devices called the Seven Infernals . . . she’d come across two of them so far and they were wonderful and terrible in what they could do. Where in the text she’d find the other five—or if she’d find the other five—she had no idea.

A word called The Answer—Jack had been right about Srem’s love of capitals—would not translate, but instead remained an indecipherable tangle of squiggles that she suspected might not make sense even in the Old Tongue. Supposedly when uttered it gave the best answer to whatever question was asked. She had no idea how that could be.

And repeated references to “the Seven.” But the Seven what? Sometimes it sounded like a group, sometimes a single entity. Srem tossed off the references as if everyone should know. And most likely everyone did know about the Seven back in those days, but Weezy hadn’t a clue.

And what was it with the number seven? It kept popping up everywhere. Either Srem had a fetish for it or was simply reflecting the times. Seemed like seven was on everyone’s mind back in the First Age.

But so far, not a single mention of Fhinntmanchca.

“You look beat,” Eddie said as he walked into the spare bedroom she’d commandeered. “Time to call it a night.” He carried a glass of water and a small plastic bottle. She’d complained of a headache and he’d gone to find her something for it. “Hold out your hand.”

He shook a couple of Advil into her palm.

“Two more,” she said.

“You’re only supposed to take two.”

“This is an eight-hundred-milligram headache.”

He shook out two more and handed her the glass of water. She washed them down and finished the rest of the water.

“You’re a good brother, Eddie. The best. Thanks for putting me up and putting up with me.”

He smiled. “That’s what family is for.”

Although they qualified as “Irish twins”—barely a year separating their births—they’d never been close growing up. Maybe because they were so opposite. She sometimes wondered if Eddie’s childhood apathy and couch potato lifestyle had been a reaction to her restless energy and intellectual curiosity. When it came to a choice between schoolwork and Atari, the games always won out. Her straight A’s hadn’t helped matters, she guessed, especially when he was bringing in B’s and C’s.

She supposed her emotional lability put an extra burden on their relationship—on the whole family. When her mood swings finally backed her folks into consulting a child psychiatrist, Eddie had been anything but sympathetic. She became “my crazy sister” until their folks issued a gag order: No one in town was to know about her visits to Dr. Hamilton.

Their strongest connection had been Jack, who had the smarts to keep up with her, the patience to go along with her, and who loved video games almost as much as Eddie. They were often three musketeers, but more often than not it was just Jack and Weezy.

But Eddie had changed during college. He got his act together—physically and academically—and was now successful and financially comfortable.

But was he happy? She wondered about that. He didn’t seem to have anyone in his life. He had this big, three-story townhouse condo all to himself. She didn’t care if he was straight or gay, he should have someone. She remembered her years with Steve as some of the best of her life. Bad enough he’d left her, but the way he’d left her . . .

His smile faded. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re into, Weez, but I wish to God you’d drop it.”

She looked up at him. “I wish I could. I wish I could simply up and walk away, but I can’t.”

“Your friend Kevin is dead—murdered.”

Weezy watched him step to the nearest window and peer out at the twilight.

Was he worried he’d be next? Had she put him in jeopardy?

“Maybe I should find a hotel—”

He whirled toward her. “No way. You’re safe here and so you’re going to stay here. It’s just that . . .” He looked away, then back at her. “Six men dead since Tuesday, five killed by Jack, you say.” He shook his head. “Even as I’m saying those words, I can’t believe them. Jack . . . of all people . . . you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

“What happened to him? How’d he become a killer?”

Weezy tensed. “Don’t call him that. He didn’t want to. It was them or us, so he did what he had to.”

“But why was he carrying a gun in the first place?”

“I’m glad he was. I have no doubt I’d have ended up like Kevin if he hadn’t been.”

“But we’re talking about Jack, the guy who used to ride his BMX over to our house to play Asteroids, who used to hang out in your room and complain about your music.”

Weezy warmed at the memory of those days. Lost innocence . . .

“Yeah.”

“Which, by the way, was truly awful.”

She put on a shocked face. “Bauhaus and the Cure?”

“Awful. Give me Def Leppard any day.” He waved a hand. “But anyway, this is the guy who picked up cash cutting lawns and working at USED. God knows how he earns his living now. What changed him?”

“I’ll bet it was his mother’s murder.”

Eddie stared at her. “Murder? No one was out to get her. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the worst time.”

No one was out to get her . . .

Weezy wondered.

She hadn’t told Eddie about the meeting at Mr. Veilleur’s, but the revelation of the Lady, and her appearing there as Mrs. Clevenger, made Weezy suspect that Jack’s mother’s presence in the wrong place at the worst time might not have been accidental.

“Still . . . she died horribly.”

Eddie made a face. “And what? He became Batman?”

She had to smile. “I’m picturing Jack in tights and a cape . . .”

Not bad.

“You know what I mean.”

“Batman fights crime. I can’t see Jack into that. In fact, I’m pretty sure some of his best friends are on the wrong side of the law. But Jack’s not the issue now.” She turned and tapped the Compendium. “This is.”

His tone oozed doubt: “Ah, the magic book that anyone can read, no matter what language they speak.”

She’d given him only the vaguest description of the book’s origin without mentioning the First Age. Didn’t want to open that can of worms. She’d told him it might contain information on the 9/11 attacks.

“Yeah. But so far, no good. I’m looking for information on something called ‘Opus Omega.’ It’s—”

“That’s Latin. If your book translates itself into English—and I don’t believe for a moment that it does—why do you expect to find Latin words?”

Good question, one that hadn’t occurred to Weezy. But she’d found “Opus Omega” mentioned in passing in the Compendium a number of times already, so how . . . ?

“Maybe because it’s been in and out—mostly out—of circulation since ancient times, and the scholars who wrote about it most likely used the language of most Western scholars since before the Common Era: Latin. Maybe some of those Latin phrases have become the preferred terms for certain references in the book. So that’s how the book translates them.”

“You really believe that?”

She shrugged. “Works for me.”

He moved up beside her. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Be my guest.”

She rolled her chair back and watched as he flipped through the pages. Abruptly he stopped and stared, slack-jawed.

“Th-that illustration,” he said, pointing. “It’s moving!”

Weezy rose and moved in beside him. Sure enough, a drawing of a globe that looked like the Earth spun in empty space. It had a 3-D look to it. The outlines of the continents confirmed that it was indeed Earth, but its surface was peppered by dots and crisscrossed by lines. It reminded her of an airline flight map.

And then she realized she’d seen that pattern before: on the Lady’s back.

She leaned closer, trying to see where the dots fell and the lines crossed but the globe was spinning too fast. She put her hand on it to try to stop it but felt only a flat page without the slightest sense of movement.

“Look at the header,” Eddie said.

She did. Opus Omega sat above the animation.

But that was the only text. She turned the page and found the reverse side blank. The facing page began in mid-sentence about something unrelated.

Eddie put his hand over hers and turned the page back to the animation.

“How is this possible?” he said in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know, Eddie, but there it is. And it refers to Opus Omega—in Latin. Part of what I’m looking for.”

But a spinning globe was useless. She needed the equivalent of a Mercator projection map. Did they have such a thing in Srem’s time?

Eddie continued to stare at the animation. When he spoke he sounded like a motorboat.

“But-but-but how do they do that?” He looked at her. “It really is magical, isn’t it.”

She nodded.

He said, “But if it’s as old as you say, how could they know the Earth was round? And how could they know—I mean, the continents on that globe are accurate. How can that be?”

“Because it’s very old, Eddie. It’s from a time when we knew, from the time before we lost all that knowledge.”

Eddie was nodding. He was becoming a believer.