A Book of Spirits and Thieves Page 15

  It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a complete personality change in a split second. “Yes, I’m . . . I’m Crys Hatcher. Her niece. She said this would be a good time to talk.”

  “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” He pushed the door shut and locked it, then pressed his back against it. “Were you followed?”

  The question made her feel queasy. “Uh . . . I don’t think so.”

  He went to the small window behind his desk and peered outside, scanning the area before yanking down the blinds. “You must know these things. You must always be vigilant.”

  Jackie hadn’t said anything about watching for stalkers—although, she had mentioned self-defense. Was Dr. Vega totally paranoid or was he simply being cautious, like Jackie?

  She nudged her glasses back up her nose. “I’ll remember that in the future. Promise.”

  He sat down with a heavy thud behind his desk and signaled for her to take a seat on the rather uncomfortable-looking wooden stool across from him. The professor reminded Crys of a youngish Albert Einstein: frazzle-haired, wild-eyed, eccentric.

  Hopefully nearly as brilliant.

  “Where is Jackie?” he asked.

  “In Paris, I think. She’s trying to get here as soon as she can.”

  “Really? She’s coming here?” He leaned back in his chair, his expression now wistful. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, not since our last meeting in London. A beautiful woman, your aunt. She’s . . . quite remarkable. I look forward to every e-mail she sends me.”

  Crys could practically see the little cartoon hearts popping up over his head. He wouldn’t be the first, or even the fiftieth, man who’d fallen hard for her free spirit of an aunt.

  Vega’s frown returned slowly, popping the cartoon hearts like soap bubbles. “Jackie always informs me of any news or changes. She didn’t mention anything about you.” He swept a skeptical gaze over Crys. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Let me see your ID. I have no proof that you are who you say you are.”

  Definitely paranoid. She fished around in her bag and pulled out her Sunderland High School student card. “Good enough?”

  He pursed his lips as he studied it. “Hmm. I suppose.” He leaned back again and eyed her guardedly. “What do you want?”

  How was she supposed to get information from a man whose mood swung so wildly from minute to minute? “Jackie said that you’d give me”—did she really have to say it out loud?—“the . . . full monty on the book.”

  The bug eyes returned. He whipped off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “She said that? Those words exactly?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Does this mean that you have it?” Vega asked, his voice hushed to a hoarse whisper.

  “Have what?”

  “The Bronze Codex.”

  He was speaking another language, and she tried to keep up. “What’s the Bronze . . . ?” And then it clicked. “That’s what the book’s called, isn’t it?”

  He drew in a ragged breath. “So you do have it?”

  She wasn’t going to admit anything. Not now. “I didn’t say that. Jackie just said you’d tell me what it is and what it can do. Can you do that?” Jackie hadn’t been that specific, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “The Bronze Codex is my life’s work. Of course I can.” He stared into her eyes so deeply she thought he might be trying to see her brain. “Very well, if Jackie says the full monty, the full monty’s what you shall get.”

  He stood up and went to his bookshelves, then pulled a full set of volumes off a midlevel shelf, tossing them carelessly to the floor. They had hidden a safe behind them. He worked the combination lock until it clicked, then opened the door and pulled out a thick black binder, nothing more extraordinary than something she might carry around at school.

  He brought it to his desk and placed it down gently.

  “Jackie sent me digital photos of each page when she first acquired it.” He flipped through the photos, and Crys watched with amazement as images of the pages that had been burned into her memory flitted across her eyes as three-hole-punched black-and-white printouts. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

  “You said it’s your life’s work.”

  He nodded. “It was my father’s obsession first. The Codex was brought to him by its original owner many years ago for an initial assessment of the language and origins. My father named it the Bronze Codex, after the bronze hawk on its cover, a symbol that is repeated on twenty-four of its pages.” He flipped through the binder, brushing his index finger over every hawk illustration he came across.

  “So your father saw the book in real life. Who was the owner?”

  Vega’s brows drew together, studying Crys as if to second-guess how much of the “full monty” he should actually divulge. “A Toronto woman who had been a classmate of my father’s. She trusted him more than anyone else. He is the one who persuaded her, after a time, to get rid of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, while he was unable to translate it himself, he still knew it was dangerous. So, yes, the book has been lost to us for well over twenty years.”

  “Didn’t your father know where it ended up? Or the woman who brought it to him, at least? Couldn’t you have asked?”

  “Both of them died fifteen years ago.”

  Crys’s chest tightened. “They died . . .” She hated to ask, but she had to. “From natural causes?”

  “No. The woman . . .” He swallowed hard. “She fell from the twenty-fifth floor of a high-rise building. My father . . . he drowned. Which is suspicious considering he was a silver medalist for the Canadian Olympic swim team in his youth.”

  A chill swept over Crys, raising the fine hairs on her arms. “You’re saying that you think they were murdered because of this book.”

  “Yes, I do. I believe they were murdered by Markus King.”

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  Dr. Vega raised a bushy eyebrow. “You know the name, don’t you?”

  All she could do was nod.

  “And you know that your aunt wants to use this book to draw King out of his hiding spot—wherever that is. To make him pay for his many crimes.”

  “I don’t know all the details, but yes.” She chewed her bottom lip, staring down at a black-and-white sketch of a hawk parting a column of indecipherable words with its wide wings. “How did she find it, after all this time?”

  “Nothing more than a lucky break. We found a listing of it in the online archives of an exclusive auction house. I received a tip that a—quote—‘unreadable book’ had been secretly sold into the private collection of a British family who had no idea what they had actually acquired. The family had simply placed it in a curio as if it were nothing more than a valuable first edition to display in their library. It had been hidden there in plain sight for at least a decade, lost to the world, until Jackie found a way to procure it from them.”

  “You mean she stole it.”

  He shrugged. “Procured. Stole. Your aunt certainly has her ways to get what she wants.”

  Crys could easily picture her pretty blond aunt talking her way into a stately British home, scanning the shelves while she flirted with whoever stood in her way, wearing a short skirt and stiletto heels that showed off her long legs. Then the moment their backs were turned, Jackie would have disappeared from the home like a puff of smoke, the book tucked under her arm.

  “But what is it, Dr. Vega?” Crys asked, knowing she had yet to uncover the most vital information about the book. “What is the Bronze Codex?”

  She expected him to brush off the question, just as her mother had, to change the subject to something safe and distracting. But instead, he studied her for exactly five seconds before pulling a scientific journal out of his lower desk d
rawer, flipping through the pages, and turning it around so she could read the heading.

  Obsidia: A Magical Language from Another World

  By Dr. Uriah Vega, PhD

  The article was dated fifteen years ago.

  “I wrote this shortly after I completed my doctorate,” he explained. “So foolish, looking for credentials and praise, ignoring the potential danger that going public with such information would cause.”

  Crys read the heading three times, not understanding. “Fifteen years ago. So around the same time your father and that woman were killed.”

  His expression darkened. “That’s right. That’s why I feel personally responsible for their deaths, and why I’ll never forgive myself.”

  This article had potentially caused two people with direct knowledge of the book to be murdered.

  It’s possible all this was just a coincidence, Crys thought. Or, if it wasn’t, that Markus King isn’t responsible.

  But then who was this man to whom her father was so loyal?

  “Obsidia is the language in the book?”

  “Obsidia is what my father called it. I have retained that name as I try to translate it. I will admit that most of the scholars who’ve read this paper have ridiculed my hypothesis.”

  “Your hypothesis that Obsidia is a magical language from another world.”

  “Yes.”

  She had to admit, it did sound completely insane.

  “Here’s what I believe, Miss Hatcher,” he said gravely. “Are you ready for my theory—a theory that your aunt also believes?”

  “More than ready.”

  “Sixty years ago, this book appeared in Toronto, out of nowhere. Because of some other . . . strange circumstances in her life, the woman who found it believed it was something she needed to hide from others seeking it. So hide it she did, holding her secret to her chest for years before she trusted my father enough to share it with him.

  “My father told me that the moment he saw the Codex, the moment he touched it, he knew that it was incredibly rare and special. He had worked with rare books—so-called grimoires and spell books from many cultures and ages—but he’d never come across something that affected him at first sight as this one did. This language, he believed, could potentially unlock the mysteries of the universe—and could imbue great power on anyone who can read and comprehend such a language. This . . . the Bronze Codex . . . is a book of spells from another world, Miss Hatcher.”

  Crys felt the color drain from her face with every word he spoke. Her hands were cold, clammy.

  A book of spells. Real magic . . . from another world. Did she believe that?

  “What does Markus King have to do with this book?” she asked, breathless.

  Dr. Vega placed one palm flat against the binder, his other on top of the paper he’d written. “All I can say is, I know that he wants it and he’s more than willing to kill for it.”

  When she didn’t reply right away, the words sticking in her throat at this flat proclamation, he flipped further through the binder to an illustration of what looked like an ornate stone wheel. “Such detail. It’s incredible, don’t you think?”

  Crys moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue before she found her voice. “You said this book is not from our world.”

  Vega nodded gravely. “That is both my father’s and my hypothesis, yes.”

  Crys realized she was clutching the strap of her bag, still slung over her shoulder, so tightly that her fingers had gone numb. She loosened her grip. “Are you talking about outer space and, like, intergalactic travel?”

  He shook his head. “No little green men here, Miss Hatcher. Many believe our world to be the only one, but this is arrogant thinking. Then there are those whose minds are open to more flexible possibilities. It would be best and easiest for you to picture these other worlds as . . . parallel dimensions. And I believe the Codex . . .” He caressed the binder as one might do to a lover’s cheek. “It must explicate the means to create a magical gateway between these worlds, which is how it got here in the first place.”

  “A magical gateway?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her tone. “You know that sounds crazy, right?”

  He nodded now, as if in partial agreement. “So most have told me, but that’s done nothing to change my mind.” He flipped to the middle of the binder. “I’ve studied my father’s notes and sketches for years, and I’ve been poring over these photocopies ever since Jackie sent them to me, giving me my first glimpse at the book itself. This language—just as my father always claimed, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Nothing even comes close. I’m familiar with hundreds of languages, both modern and ancient. I learned ancient Babylonian in a month. I can translate hieroglyphics while simultaneously chewing gum and standing on my head. But this? This is the greatest undertaking of my life.”

  “Because you can’t decipher it.”

  “Don’t be so quick to assume, Miss Hatcher. Your aunt believes in my abilities; otherwise she never would have shared so many secrets with me. I believe with enough time, I can crack the code. Here.” He touched a page with one large line of script on it, surrounded by hawks and a drawing of a meadow with what looked like a glass city in the distance. “This word. I believe it could be evergreen. Perhaps never-ceasing . . . perpetual . . .” His gaze moved to hers. “Immortal.”

  “Immortal,” she repeated, her mouth dry. “Maybe . . . maybe this is all just some sort of a hoax. There have always been con men throughout history who’ve tried to fake one-of-a-kind artifacts, right?”

  He actually grinned at that, the maniacal smile of someone who doesn’t sleep much and who compensated for it daily with gallons of caffeine. A quick glance at the professor’s desk confirmed Crys’s hunch: There were multiple coffee mugs and Styrofoam cups strewn across the surface. “A fair assessment, but I know I’m right about this. Down to my very soul, I know.” He flipped forward again and pointed at an illustration of what looked to Crys like a squirrel, but with very long ears. “For example, this particular species does not and has never existed in our world.”

  “That’s just a drawing. Mickey Mouse isn’t actually a real mouse, either, you know.”

  An edge of annoyance entered his gaze. “You want to deny what I’m saying, but I see in your eyes that you believe it could be true.”

  “If it is,” she allowed, “do you feel safe here having those photocopies in your office? I mean, after what happened to your father?”

  “I haven’t been visited by members of Markus King’s society for well over a decade. I haven’t published a thing about the Codex since my original paper, and I’m sure they’re well aware that any subsequent attempts to shed light on the matter have been mocked by my peers at every turn, all but discrediting any work I’ve ever done in the field. They believe my work in this area has ceased. That I am just a humble university professor with eccentric theories.”

  “But they’re wrong,” she said.

  He nodded. “It’s best that they think I’m nothing more than a fool.”

  “I don’t think you’re a fool.” She had to confide in him. If Jackie trusted him, she would, too. “Dr. Vega, you have to help me. My sister, Becca, she’s in trouble.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of trouble?”

  “The Codex . . . she saw it. She touched it.”

  “Oh my,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “So Jackie did manage to get the Codex back to Toronto. She is a woman no one should underestimate.”

  So much for being vague. Dr. Vega was a whole lot savvier than he had originally appeared. He didn’t underestimate Jackie . . . and Crys wouldn’t underestimate him.

  “Becca’s in a coma from touching the book. She started off catatonic, but now it’s turned into a full-blown coma.” A shiver sped down her spine. “The book did it to her. I need to know how
to wake her up again.”

  His brows drew together. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all this at your young age.”

  Crys waved his concern away. “I held the book for as long as she did, and nothing happened to me. Why would it affect her and not me?”

  His lips thinned. “I honestly don’t know. I’m sure many people have had physical contact with the book in the past, but this is the first I’ve heard of it having a tangible and negative effect on its handler.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Dr. Vega riffled through his top drawer, pulled out a lined notebook, and scrawled something into it with a blue pen. His handwriting was nearly as unintelligible as the Codex’s. “I will make haste in my attempt to translate these pages. In the meantime, I’ll try my best to come up with some hypothesis of what’s happened to your sister.”

  Anxiety welled in Crys’s chest. “You’ll try your best? I thought you were the expert here. You have to give me more than a maybe.”

  “I am the expert. But it doesn’t mean that I know everything about it, especially having only had these photocopies in my possession for less than two weeks. I can’t possibly unravel an enigma like that in such a short amount of time.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Miss Hatcher. I wish I could tell you something that would ease your mind.”

  Crys stood up, her legs now weak. “Me too.”

  Of course she wouldn’t find an answer so easily. Dr. Vega might have a bunch of theories about the book, but if he didn’t know it was capable of doing something like this, he might not be as useful as she’d hoped.

  But yet again Markus King’s name had come up in a conversation about the book. The way Jackie and Vega talked about him made him sound terrifying and evil, but it didn’t make sense. Why would her father not only trust him, but also think he was capable of saving the world, if he were such a monster?

  It didn’t match up.

  “I promise to call as soon as I have more information,” Dr. Vega promised.

  All she could do was nod. Just then, there was a knock at his door. Dr. Vega tentatively moved toward it, unlocking it and peering outside. It was a student, asking for time to talk about an assigned paper. Without another word, Crys slipped past them and left the office, her head in a fog.