The Warlock's Curse (48 page)

The broadcast kept repeating, and Will had to listen through it twelve times before Trahern came for him.

“Professor Coeus made it on the afternoon train.” Trahern glanced at the Teslaphone. “He could hardly get a ticket; everything to Chicago is sold out, thanks to the brother’s impassioned appeal—Praise the Lord.”

Will you lay aside your worldly concerns? Will you come today, this very hour, this very moment?

“He and the good brother are waiting for you in the office,” Trahern said. “Come on.”

As they walked to the office, they passed through the vast sanctuary that Will remembered from the night before. Then, it had been a cavernous realm of shadows and ghosts, but by day it glowed with brilliantly colored light that streamed through acres of stained glass. An enormous electrical organ with no fewer than four tiers of keys hulked against one wall. The space was even bigger than Will could have imagined.

And already, it was filling with people.

A thousand, at least, had arrived already. How could they have gotten there so quickly? They sat in the new polished pews, having brought their traveling bags with them, women and men murmuring prayerfully among themselves. A few knelt in the aisles, bathed in soft, colored light, oblivious to all earthly concerns.

When Will entered Phleger’s office, he saw that two men were already waiting for him. Phleger was seated at his desk, bent over a mountain of papers, clearly in a frenzy of preparation for the moved-up Consecration ceremony. Another man—Will guessed this was Professor Coeus—stood behind him, his back to the door. He had his hands clasped behind him, and was looking up at the picture of Brother Scharfe. He was tall and slender, with walnut-brown hair. He wore a suit of no distinction. He did not even have to turn for Will to realize who he really was.

Ben.

Will clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth might crack.

Trust me
, Ben had written. But if Ben was the man Phleger knew as “Professor Coeus,” that meant he’d been working with the Scharfians since they found the box. It meant he was the one who’d told them about the curse, about Aebedel Cowdray—about everything. But Ben hadn’t told him any of it.

Ben turned then, his face held with smooth indifference. There was nothing on it that showed he recognized Will at all. He remained standing with his hands behind his back, his bearing stiff and formal. He looked different—older, heavier, weightier. He commanded respect. Before, his rumpled suit had made him look like a bank clerk. Now, its very shoddiness seemed to assert a kind of arrogant superiority—the mark of a man with far more important things on his mind than well pressed trousers.

“Good morning, Mr. Edwards,” Phleger said, standing to welcome him. “Allow me to introduce you to Professor Coeus.”

Ben made no gesture of greeting, just continued to peer at Will with supercilious contempt.

“He must be prepared,” Ben said in a loud clipped tone. He didn’t even sound like himself. He spoke—like Father or Uncle Royce—with a note of command that assumed compliance. “I will speak with him privately.”

Phleger nodded, gathering up a stack of papers and squaring them neatly. “The office is at your disposal, Professor. I’ve got members of the international press waiting to speak with me. They, too, have been arriving in droves, clamoring for information about our holy work. His will be done!”

Will managed to hold his tongue for a few seconds after Phleger had gone—trailing Trahern behind him like a shadow—and the door was closed behind them. Finally, though, he could remain silent no longer.

“You bastard,” he whispered.

“Will, stop and listen to me.”

“You lying bastard,” Will continued, as if his brother had not spoken. He crossed the room in a furious rush and seized Ben by his lapels, forcing him back against the wall. Putting his face close, he hissed, “How much of what you made me believe was a lie? Were they all lies? All of them?”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Ben said. His green eyes regarded Will steadily as he spoke. “I just didn’t tell you everything. I
am
a researcher.
And
a Jefferson Chair.
And
a secret agent for the Stanton Institute.”

He let the words hang. Slowly, Will released him and stepped back, breathing hard, heart pounding.

“Now listen to me, and listen carefully. Use your fine mind, not your hot head. There’s a lot I have to tell you if we’re going to survive this.”

Will growled, turning away abruptly.

“I know what Phleger has told you about me. And much of it is true,” Ben began. “My name actually
is
Coeus—Benedictus Coeus. It’s the professional name I took when I was hired by the Institute. And I
am
an expert on Aebedel Cowdray. I have studied him for years—that’s why the Institute gave me this assignment.” He paused. “But as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, if Phleger finds out who I really am, or what my real relationship is to you, we’re all dead. You, me ... and Jenny.”

“Phleger wouldn’t have even known about Jenny if it hadn’t been for you,” Will spat. “Hart told me that you saw her.
Examined
her. Was it you who told Phleger that the blood of her child—
my child
—could be used to unlock the box?”

“Phleger didn’t need
me
to tell him!” Ben spat back. “A child conceived when a curse is active bears the cursed blood, that’s fundamental magical theory—and Phleger knows enough about magic to know that!” He paused, his expression pained. “It’s Atherton Hart who doesn’t. He bought a goddamn dime-store pregnancy charm and worked it on her to find out. By the time they called me in, Phleger already knew. Hart had already told him.”

Fury rose in Will’s chest. That fool. That damn fool.

“Now
listen
,” Ben said again, more sharply. “I was assigned by the Institute to infiltrate the Scharfian Fellowship and get the snuffbox away from Phleger. We cannot allow him to unlock it. I’m sure he told you that he wanted to free the tortured souls—just like he told Jenny that he wanted her money to save her sister. And when he said those things, they were the truth—at that moment.” Ben paused. “But the
real
truth, the bigger truth, is that every action he’s taken has been toward a more ambitious and infinitely more dangerous goal.”

“What do you mean, the
real
truth?” Will interjected. “How can he be telling the truth and lying at the same time?”

“That question is the very foundation of credomancy,” said Ben.

Will raked a hand through his hair. “Then you’re saying Phleger is—a
credomancer
?”

Stepping behind the desk, Ben sank heavily into the leather chair. He rubbed his face with his hands.

“No, Will. He’s not a credomancer—but he’s the most sophisticated practitioner of credomancy I’ve ever encountered. He’s nothing less than a magical savant.”

Will made an exasperated gesture. “How can he practice credomancy, but not be a credomancer?”

“Because a credomancer must have
some
degree of self-consciousness. Phleger is no more self-conscious than an amoeba. There isn’t an ounce of hypocrisy in him, not the slightest bit of calculation or guile. He believes every word he says at the moment he says it, and that’s what makes him so powerful—and so dangerous.” Ben paused, leaning back in the chair and looking up at Will. “You’ve heard him speak of his Visions, haven’t you? They are how he rationalizes his conscious actions—by attributing them entirely to his God. He does not want what he wants—he makes God want it for him.”

“And what does he want God to want for him?” said Will, resting both hands on the desk so he could look more closely into his brother’s face.

“What Phleger wants—
really
wants, though God has not yet told him this—is to use the power inside the box to change the entire structure of American society,” Ben said.

Will narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“His Vision—his Great Vision—is of a sanctified America where the human ability to channel magic has been wiped out for good, through the implementation of mandatory Panchrest immunization. I can’t even begin to explain what kind of havoc that would unleash ... but he intends to make this Vision into a reality. And that’s why, tomorrow night, at the conclusion of the Consecration ceremony, he will announce his bid to become President of the United States.”

Will straightened, bringing a hand up over his mouth. He turned, took a step away from the desk.

“The money Jenny raised is manna from Heaven for his campaign war-chest,” his brother’s voice came at his back. “But while a million dollars is a lot of manna, it’s not just money Phleger needs. It’s power. Enough power to destroy the one individual who stands between him and the achievement of his Great Vision.” Ben paused. “Dreadnought Stanton.”

Will turned back and stared at his brother blankly. Ben took a deep breath.

“As a credomancer, Dreadnought Stanton gains power when people believe in him, when they are inspired by his grandiose achievements. Over the past thirty years, as he has continued to find new ways to capture the public imagination, he has steadily gained in strength.”

Ben rested his chin on his steepled fingertips.

“But the popular imagination is a finite resource—and the very large share that Dreadnought Stanton commands is a share that Brother Phleger can never fully access. Without it, he can never achieve his Great Vision. So he’s got to capture it. Capture it, sanctify it, and place it in the service of the Lord Almighty.” Ben paused. “Dreadnought Stanton is a
distraction
. While that distraction exists, Phleger has no chance of turning those minds to Christ. So the distraction must be ... eradicated.”

“Are you saying he intends to—kill Dreadnought Stanton?” Will forced the words through clenched teeth.

“Well, facilitate his demise, at any rate,” Ben said. “Phleger’s faith would never allow him to commit cold-blooded murder. But holy vengeance is just as bloody.” Ben lifted an eyebrow. “I have no doubt that Phleger would rationalize the act beautifully. It would not be
murder
, rather it would be
chastisement in the name of all Holy God
—”

“I get it,” Will cut him off sharply. “Enough.”

“If Dreadnought Stanton were dead, all of the Institute’s power would come up for grabs—and no one would be in a better position to seize it than Brother Phleger.” Ben gazed down thoughtfully at the work-strewn desk before him. “Really, it would be simplicity itself—all he’d have to do is preach a sermon of condolence to a grieving nation. Adding, at the end, a twist of the knife about how, despite his well-publicized heroism, Dreadnought Stanton had clearly been judged by the Lord Almighty as nothing better than a sinful
warlock
.”

Will absorbed this silently. He could just hear Phleger speaking those very words, the sermon crackling across Teslaphone speakers from coast to coast. He looked up at Ben. “But how does he intend to kill Dreadnought Stanton?”

“That’s another bit of untutored brilliance.” Lifting his eyes, Ben smiled grimly. “Dreadnought Stanton’s whole mythology is built on his quests to retrieve powerful and malign magical artifacts, right? That’s the central plot of just about every one of his books. As a magical artifact, the snuffbox is as powerful and malign as they come. Phleger believes that my Sophos will try to reclaim it—
must
try to reclaim it. And when he does, Phleger will use the power in it to kill him.”

“Well, if you already know that, just tell your Sophos not to come!” Will threw up his hands. “He doesn’t have to come for the snuffbox!”

“Of course he’s not going to come,” Ben snapped, annoyed with Will’s slowness. “I just told you Brother Phleger’s
plan
—as much as he
has
a plan within that welter of half-formed subconscious impulses that he attributes to divine guidance. What’s going to
happen
, however, is that we’re going to get this box out of here—get it away from Brother Phleger, and back to the Institute, where it can be kept safe.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“The only way we can. We must unlock it and use its power before Phleger can.”

“We have to unlock the box—to keep Phleger from unlocking the box?” Will shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

Ben drew a deep breath. “Will, we are inside a credomantic organization that is as strong as the Institute. And tomorrow at midnight, when they perform the Consecration, it will become infinitely stronger. We are trapped within walls of impenetrable faith. Our only possible means of escape is brute force—the kind of force contained within the snuffbox.”

Will thought through all this.

“But if Dreadnought Stanton is in no real danger ... and the box is no threat to anyone if it’s not unlocked .... and Phleger says you’re the only one who knows how to unlock it ...” Will made a gesture that suggested the conclusion was obvious. “Why should we unlock it at all? Why not just leave it as it is, locked and useless? Then no one could use it—not the Scharfians, not anyone.”