CHAPTER 3
He followed the sleepwalker through the dark tunnels and into the necropolis. But what he sought and where the sleepwalker led were two very different things indeed.
—James William Freemont
The Tale of the Sleepwalker’s Hoard
The Tale of the Sleepwalker’s Hoard
It was around five when I drove past Newt’s house, an older two-story cape near the end of a sparsely populated cul-de-sac. Even without any other evidence, the fact that Newt had never invited Selena to their so-called summer home or introduced her to any of his family—other than sleazebag Myles—made it likely that this place contained at least a few secrets.
I reached where a tall cedar hedge marked the end of their property. Just beyond it, an access road went down toward the ocean. I backed into the access and parked where we could see the front of the house through the hedge. One bay of the house’s attached garage was open, but there were no people or cars around.
Selena leaned over the front seat and cuffed the Professor’s arm. “See, I told you, no one’s home.”
“They’re here, somewhere. No one in their right mind would leave without closing the garage doors,” he said.
I unhooked my seatbelt. “They probably were distracted and left in a hurry.”
“You really believe that?” He raised an eyebrow.
Doubt hovered in my mind, but I wasn’t about to let him know it. However, I also wasn’t totally foolish. I pulled his phone from my pocket and held it out to him. Following Selena’s suggestion, I’d confiscated it from him back at the campsite, so he couldn’t call Kate. Now that he’d calmed down a little, it seemed wiser to give it back.
Selena lunged for the phone. “Are you crazy?”
I outmaneuvered her and slipped the phone to the Professor. “He can call us if he sees a car pulling in or anything.”
“At least one of you has some sense,” the Professor said. “And just to be perfectly clear, I’m not convinced this idea doesn’t have merit. I am, however, against either of you taking any unnecessary chances.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t.” My voice might have been filled with confidence, but I was fully aware that just parking here had put us at risk.
I grabbed a flashlight from under my seat. It might help us see into the basement windows, a good place to start since that’s where the plumber found his evidence.
Selena and I hiked up the street and down the driveway toward Newt’s house, as casual as if we belonged there. I didn’t dare say anything to Selena, but I was starting to feel woozy along with stiff and sore. The truth was, if Chase had been with us, he’d have told me to take it easier. No. He would have made me stay home and rest.
A small black metal sign on the garage caught my eye: PROTECTED 24/7 BY SAFEHOLM.
I moved in close to Selena and whispered, “I can’t see anything. But they’ve definitely got some kind of security system.”
She lowered her voice. “Newt told me he used to cover a camera and sneak in through a bathroom window when he got home late from partying.”
“He could have just said that to encourage you to sneak out and meet him,” I said.
She flashed me a dirty look, then lengthened her strides and marched swiftly toward the darkness of the open garage bay.
A warning prickled the back of my neck. Too convenient.
I hurried my steps and followed her. “Do you sense anything—like the fence?” I asked louder than I’d have liked, but it did make her stop and glance toward me.
While her brow wrinkled with concentration, I quickly scanned the shadows. A short flight of stairs led up to a back door with a security keypad next to it.
There was a rolled-up garden hose. A pair of old swim fins. Pieces of copper pipe and a toolbox with DOWN EAST HEATING AND PLUMBING stamped on the side. For the most part, the place was neat and disturbingly empty.
Ahead, a dust-smeared window framed a view of the backyard and an immense array of huge antennas and satellite dishes, enough for a small military installation or a TV studio, way more than the basic Wi-Fi.
I tilted my head, weighing if I should point them out to Selena or wait for her to spot them on her own. The information that we’d gotten from the plumber claimed a guy named Jeffrey White owned this house, instead of Newt’s dad. Jeffrey White hosted a TV show about history and ancient aliens—in other words, he was the kind of guy who might have a huge antennae array.
“I don’t sense the fence or anything,” Selena said. “Not a trace. Which isn’t a surprise since they aren’t—” Her voice tensed and she stopped talking. “Fucking Newt,” she snarled. “The bastard lied to me. He stinking lied!”
She kicked a doormat, sending it flying across the floor.
I grabbed her by the arm, squeezing. “Shush. Calm down,” I said, but even at a distance, I could see what had pissed her off. WELCOME TO THE WHITES’ HOUSE was printed in bold letters across the doormat.
She shoved my hand away and pointed at a sign hanging beside the back door. “It says White, too. I can’t freaking believe it!”
I softened my voice. “I know. It’s awful. But we don’t need the neighbors calling the cops.”
“How could Newt do that to me?” Her voice hitched. “He loves me.”
I rested my hand on her arm. “I don’t think Newt intended to hurt you. After all, he didn’t totally lie. His family does live here. It just belongs to someone else.” I nudged her toward the garage door. “Come on. Let’s look around out back.”
The name pretty much proved Newt and his family were liars. However, I wasn’t totally convinced all the plumber’s claims were true. He swore Newt’s dad wasn’t a stockbroker, but instead made his living running a blog about snake wrestlers. That sounded a bit far-fetched. But, whether the snake wresting was true or not, there had to be more here, something to link Newt and his family to magic. If we could uncover that connection, it might bring us closer to figuring out why they’d taken Lotli, and that combined with the scrying could lead us to where she was being held.
We dashed out of the garage and around to the backyard. Unfortunately, other than the electronic equipment, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to be seen. No stone circles or ritual fire pits. No mound that could hide a bunker. Not even a witchy herb garden. Only a very average deck attached to the house and a standard metal bulkhead that undoubtedly protected an equally normal basement entry.
Pushing aside my disappointment, I led Selena up a flight of stairs and onto the deck. We peered through a set of sliding glass doors and into a family room: hardwood floor, exposed beams, walls decorated with photos of Acadia National Park. To the left, there was a kitchen, modern and clean.
“We’re not going to find anything else here,” Selena said. “We should get going.”
I relented and headed back down to the lawn, but uneasiness twitched in my stomach. One of the things I’d learned from my years of dealing antiques with Dad was that the best cons appeared innocent on the outside—not that Dad and I did illegal stuff, but there were a lot of crooks in the business, and Dad had taught me to watch out and trust my gut. Right now, it was screaming that something was out of kilter. I just needed to dig deeper.
Frustrated, I stared at the house, windows glittering in the sunshine. “Selena, you really don’t sense any magic?”
“Not a trace. And that fence wasn’t cloaked, if anything related to it was here, I should sense it.”
I nibbled my bottom lip, my gaze lowering to the bulkhead as an idea formed. “What about other things, like books about the occult, witchcraft tools . . . stuff like that—would you be able to sense them?”
“Depends. Maybe. What are you thinking?”
“When the plumber poked around, he was focused on the ancient alien TV things, stuff that had made him geek out and start snooping. He might have overlooked the witchcraft.” A renewed sense of energy pumped into my veins as I eyed the bulkhead’s metal doors secured with a chain and padlock. “If I had a good stiff wire, I could open that in less than a minute.”
In two strides Selena walked over, crouched down, and took ahold of the chain. “I bet I could do it in half that time.”
“No way,” I said. She had no idea how to pick locks.
She grinned and slid the padlock free from the chain.
“No shit,” I said. The lock had been holding the chain’s ends together, but it hadn’t been locked shut. “First the garage door, now this?”
“Seems a bit too convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“Exactly.” I glanced toward the cedar hedge that hid the Land Rover, then back at the bulkhead. “The Professor will phone if anyone shows up. My gut’s telling me to go for it.”
Selena paled. “This is a lot riskier than what we planned on doing.”
“It could be our only chance.” I removed the chain and pulled the bulkhead door open. It was heavy as hell and creaked as if it hadn’t been oiled in years. Chase was depending on me. So was my mother. We needed all the information we could get to figure out what Newt’s family was up to, and find Lotli. Without her, there was no way to free Chase and Mother from the djinn realm and Malphic’s grip.
I stepped into the bulkhead and went down the three steps to the basement’s door. Then I took out my flashlight and turned back toward Selena. “I’ll meet you back at the car in five minutes.”
“Hell with that.” She scowled. “I’m coming with you.” She hurried down the steps, lowering the metal door shut behind her.
Darkness closed in. I clicked on my flashlight, its beam bright in the cramped space.
“Here goes nothing,” I said.
I opened the basement door, and we stepped inside.
Gray light dribbled in through scattered half windows, revealing stacks of boxes with narrow paths between them. It was far too shadowy and dark for my taste, but I couldn’t let fear take over. Too much was at stake. Besides, last month I’d discovered my excessive fear of the dark stemmed from witnessing my mother’s kidnapping. I could deal with it much better now. I had to.
I fanned the flashlight’s beam slowly, starting at the doorway and moving clockwise around the room. It was a technique Dad and I used when we purchased crowded rooms of junk. Don’t jump from one spot to another. Be organized. Take your time.
The beam brightened a washer and dryer. A hot water heater. Plumbing supplies . . .
I studied the pipes and wrenches for a second. The way the stuff was haphazardly strewn around made me think the plumber had stopped in the middle of a project and would be back at any moment, except it was after five o’clock and the basement was totally dark. If he was anywhere, he was off having an after-work beer with his friends.
I went back to scanning. A blue tricycle. An old trunk. The light glistened off something moderately tall and narrow. About my size and shape. Wrapped in plastic—
Horror swept through me. I gasped. “It can’t be.”
Selena moved in close. “What?”
Unable to breathe, I fanned the light again until its beam fell across a plastic-wrapped figure of . . . a person. My body went cold and a sick feeling lodged in my throat. Behind the first figure were dozens more, standing up like they were frozen stiff. They’re mannequins, I reasoned. But they didn’t look plastic.
Selena grabbed my arm. “Ohmigod. They’re people. Freaking real people.”
Willing myself not to throw up, I took a shaky step forward and swept the beam over the closest one’s face. Black hair, dark kohled eyes, high cheekbones . . .
Selena let out a smothered screech. “It’s—”
“It’s Lotli, isn’t it?” I said, my voice barely audible. My whole body trembled, but I forced myself to point the flashlight at her face again. Please, Hecate, let it be anyone but Lotli.
The light glinted off a shiny gold-and-black-striped head-cloth crowned with the likeness of a cobra. The eyes were open and as dark as Lotli’s, the nose as prominent as hers. But this face had a bold, narrow beard. Definitely not a woman.
“It looks like a wax statue. A pharaoh,” Selena whispered. “King Tut or someone.”
The tension uncoiled from my spine. Of course, these were what had made the plumber geek out and start thinking about Jeffrey White and his TV show. I fanned the light again, spotlighting the figure next to Tut. The vacant gaze of a Roswell-type alien stared back at me.
I rolled my eyes. “They’re TV props.”
Selena blew out a breath. “Creepy TV props, if you ask me.”
I moved the flashlight beam farther into the room, past a stack of boxes. It brightened a waist-high Ark of the Covenant. Behind it, faces stared out from the darkness, their eyes black and hollow, all glaring at us. Some had bird beaks, others elongated chins, red and black, jagged teeth, fiery hair, flashes of silver metal. Masks, I told myself. But another voice deep inside me whispered for me to run. They have bodies. They are alive, the voice warned.
“I really don’t like this place,” Selena mumbled.
“Me neither.” I wiped my damp palms on my jeans, gritted my teeth, and inched forward.
Finally, we reached the center of the room. Ahead, the faint shape of stairs led upward toward the first floor. When I scanned under them, the flashlight beam illuminated a doorknob.
“I think there’s another room,” I said to Selena.
She snuggled in closer, her whole body trembling. “Probably a dungeon.”
I laughed, like it was a joke. But part of me worried that was exactly what it might be. I shoved that aside and lifted my chin. Enough of this bullshit. This was all fake. A Halloween funhouse that I didn’t have time to get caught up in.
I strode the rest of the way across the room to the door. It was normal, no fancy keypad or signs of alarms. I opened it. Nothing but darkness, pitch-black and solid.
I swallowed hard. Was an unlocked door a good sign or a bad? Probably the latter, I decided. Worse still, I was certain the smell permeating the air was not musty or stale, but fresh, a man’s cologne mixed with peanuts. That meant the room had been recently used.
“I can’t see anything,” Selena whispered.
“There has to be a light switch.” I stepped inside with her close behind me, located a switch, and flicked it on.
The ceiling lights sputtered to life, slowly brightening the room. Medium size. A drop ceiling. Wall-to-wall carpet. An office.
I shut the door and began scanning the place as quickly as I could.
One wall was covered with blown-up satellite images of the Nazca Lines and various Stonehenge-like structures. There were also sketches of petroglyphs, a timeline with elongated skulls stationed along it, images of Maya gods, Easter Island heads, a Hindu temple, and star charts. On another wall, bookshelves rose floor to ceiling. A glass-topped desk was piled with files and framed photos that I assumed were of Jeffrey White on the set of his TV show. There was an open can of peanuts on the desk next to a half-empty bottle of water. Computers, printers, other electronic devices . . . Loads of stuff, but not one pentagram or anything that screamed witchcraft.
“What the hell?” Selena pressed her fingers against a blown-up photo that hung next to one of the satellite images. “Newt took this. I thought . . . He sent me a copy, but it didn’t look like this.”
I hurried over. Selena was in the photo, or rather the side of her head was. Clearly, the original had been enlarged and cropped to focus on the crowd standing behind her. I leaned in to take a closer look, but jerked back in surprise when I realized who the image now centered on.
“That’s Lotli,” I said.
She was playing her flute in front of a small fire, its smoke rising like a spellbound cobra. Chase and I had been in the crowd that day, watching Lotli’s performance. It was the day before we went to the campsite and Zea agreed to let her come back to Moonhill with us.
Selena’s eyes went flinty, teeth grinding in anger. “I was so into Newt, I didn’t even notice the show. Damn bastard—apparently, the curse didn’t stop him from having other things on his mind.”
I took out my phone and snapped a couple of shots of the image.
“We have to go upstairs,” I said, heading for the door. Now that we’d discovered this photograph, I was feeling hopeful. We were right on track. We just had to follow the evidence to where it led. I was sure we’d discover something else. “We’ll start with Newt’s room.”
Selena cuffed the peanut can off the desk, nuts flying everywhere. “I fucking hate Newt.”
I glanced back. “You okay?”
She gave me a pained look. “I don’t know. Let’s just get out of here.”
My chest tightened as we crept up the stairs toward the first floor. I knew how she felt—betrayed, embarrassed, responsible, angry. . . . Last winter, I’d had sex with my best friend, Taj. We’d been close through years of homeschooling and even when he’d started interning at the Metropolitan Museum. It had felt wonderful. I’d thought it was the beginning of something amazing. Then I found out he had a girlfriend and the hurt had been almost unbearable. Selena’s situation wasn’t exactly the same; still, I felt horrible for her.
At the top of the stairs, a door opened into the kitchen, as clean and modern as it had appeared through the sliding glass doors. We tiptoed down a hall, through a dining room and up a carpeted staircase to the second floor. Straight ahead was a bathroom. To the left was a short hallway with three closed doors. A hallway with just two doors jutted off to the right.
I turned to the left. “I’ll check these rooms, if you do the other ones.”
“Newt’s will be the one labeled jerkwad,” she said, flinging open the door closest to her.
I tried the first door on my side. A stench of body odor and Axe cologne smacked me in the face, and the memory of dancing with Newt’s brother, of him rubbing his crotch against me, sent nausea crawling up my throat.
I yanked the door shut. “This one belongs to Myles.”
“This room’s their parents’, I think,” Selena called. “The next one looks like a guest room.”
I opened another door. No reek of body odor or cologne, just a light, spicy scent. “Found it,” I announced, stepping inside.
The room was tiny with a single twin-size bed. Its navy blue spread was tucked in with military precision, the thin pillow perfectly centered. A poster of a black Mustang hung squarely in the middle of one wall.
I shuddered. It looked exactly like Newt’s Mustang—and exactly like the car I’d found Lotli tied up inside, during the previous kidnapping attempt. If only I’d been as certain that night of Myles and Newt’s guilt as I was now.
Pushing my regret aside, I went to his desk. Above it photographs of Selena and a couple of guys in lacrosse uniforms hung next to an award plaque.
Selena came up beside me. “Look at this,” she said, waving a stiff piece of paper in front of me. It was an invitation done in a fancy cursive font. Doves and raspberry-pink ribbons were embossed across the invitation’s top edge. “At least Newt didn’t lie about everything. Apparently there is a wedding this Friday.”
“It also means he probably is at the rehearsal right now.” I snapped a photo of the invitation, then turned back and took a shot of the plaque. It was an award for excellence, given to Newt last winter. The emblem in the center was a snake, twisted up like a pretzel.
My mouth dried. It was an exact replica of the tattoo on Newt’s wrist, except this was surrounded by a motto written in what looked like Latin. “Selena,” I said sharply to get her attention. “You better come take a look at this.”
She bent in, studying the image. “It’s his team logo—or at least that’s what he told me. But he never mentioned a motto.”
“Can you translate it?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, then began enunciating each word slowly. “Open minds with eyes on the heaven.” She straightened back up, a puzzled look coming over her face. “It’s the same motto that’s on the home page of his dad’s blog. Only it’s in English.” She hesitated. “Not that I knew about the blog before. I only looked at it earlier today, after we found out about the lies.”
“Isn’t that kind of a weird motto for a blog? I mean, especially for a blog about snake wrestling? The whole idea is pretty strange if you ask me.”
She laughed. “You haven’t looked at the blog, have you? It’s not about snake wrestling. It’s The Snake Wrestler.”
A faint rumble sounded in the distance and I held up my hand to silence Selena. “Did you hear that,” I whispered.
Her eyes went wide. “Shit. It’s a car. In the driveway.”
“But they’re at the rehearsal dinner,” I said. Then it hit me. The police. We’d tripped a silent alarm.
The jangle of her phone echoed in the room. Selena snatched it super fast and listened for a second. Then she crammed it in her pocket. “That was the Professor. We’ve got to get out of here.”
We sprinted for the stairs as fast as we could. But by the time we reached the first floor, the slam of car doors sounded in the driveway. We were too late. The outlines of two SUVs were visible through the windows on either side of the front door. Crap.
I grabbed Selena and made a dash through the dining room, shoving her along in front of me. My pulse hammered in my ears and panic gripped my throat until I could barely breathe. But I forced myself to focus. I needed to get us out of here. The front door was out of bounds, so was the backdoor, since they’d parked in front of the garage. There was the basement. But the sliding glass doors were closer. I took off, hauling Selena along. We were almost to them when a burly guy in green workclothes walked up onto the deck, followed by another man.
Heart in my throat, I yanked Selena through the closest open door and out of sight. I shut the door behind us.
We stood in a small half bath. Was it the one Newt used to sneak in at night? We couldn’t be that lucky, could we?
I flew to the room’s only window, almost tripping over a sweatshirt and tool pouch that lay next to the sink. I shoved the window up, then the screen. Below was the lawn, beyond that the cedar hedge and the Land Rover.
“Go,” I said to Selena.
She shimmied out feetfirst, holding on to the window ledge for a heartbeat before dropping down to the ground.
The scrape of footsteps and voices reverberated from somewhere inside the house.
“I’ll be right there!” a man shouted. “I left my tool pouch in the bathroom.”
Shit. I dove for the window.