At the conclusion of their impromptu meeting in the library’s basement, Amanda, Mae, and Lester had decided it would be Mae’s job to research fate demons. Utilizing her considerable skills in tracking down the odd and unexplained, she would comb through the damp and dusty archives for anything that might prove helpful. Meanwhile, Lester and Amanda would leverage their family connections to snoop around for information on The Council. A task that was proving to be more challenging than Lester had initially imagined.
The obvious place to start was his father’s home office. However, this meant Lester needed to wait for a time when he was alone in the house, which he now realized almost never happened. Mornings were out, as was after school when without his parents around the house became Bernard’s domain. Usually, this wouldn’t have mattered, but given his brother’s newfound love of responsibility, Lester decided he dared not risk it. Evenings his father was apt to be home. And to complicate matters further, his mother’s volunteer schedule meant he was never sure where or when she might turn up.
“Mom?” Lester called, stepping through his front door. “Are you home?”
He remained still in the entryway and listened. The only sounds he could hear were the familiar creaking of the old house and the rise and fall of his own slightly accelerated breathing. His mother’s car wasn’t in the garage, but he needed to be sure.
Living within walking distance of the school had its advantages. A forgotten textbook or homework assignment was easily retrieved. Additionally, like the time Bernard and his crew had boobytrapped Lester’s locker, being able to grab a change of clothes was preferable to spending the rest of the day covered in sour-smelling yellow mustard. Technically, students were never allowed to leave the school’s grounds without an adult, but Lester could usually get home and back before anyone became aware of his absence. Today, he’d slipped unnoticed out of the chaos of the cafeteria.
Hearing nothing from inside, Lester dropped his backpack and closed the door.
His father’s office was located on the third floor in a sloped ceiling attic room at the back of the house. Several generations ago, it had functioned as sleeping quarters for a cook, with its own narrow stairway winding down into the kitchen. This had long ago been sealed off, and the room converted into a small study.
None of the North children were ever foolish enough to bother their father when he was working. But even when he wasn’t, Lester had always viewed the cave-like space, with its dark corners and clanging pipes, as a place to be avoided. This meant, without its alternate entrance, there was no practical reason for anyone to venture near, allowing the room to exist apart from the rest of the house. So it became a forgotten fold within the walls and hallways for all but Mr. North.
The antique glass knob turned in Lester’s hand, and he let the door swing open as he reached inside for the light switch. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling did little to illuminate the small room.
While the original footprint of the North’s ancestral home remained unchanged from the time of its construction, there had been many improvements over the years. Electricity was added once Edison’s power lines finally reached the remote village, and modern insulation, along with airtight windows, now stood against frigid New England winters. Inside, countless layers of paint bore witness to each generation’s attempt to keep the interior color scheme abreast with the times. Yet, as Lester looked around the study, he felt confident that the narrow room had changed little since its creation.
The exposed beams in the ceiling and wide boards that lined the floor were almost black with age. A small window set into the far wall looked out over the backyard and the rolling pastures beyond. To its left, several shelves sagged under the weight of dozens of haphazardly stacked books, while an ornate wooden desk filled the corner to the right.
Lester thumbed his way along the spines of historical biographies, world atlases, and stacks of outdated copies of the Giles Hollow Mosquito, all collecting dust on the bookcase. While some of the editions were old enough to possibly be valuable, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t have found in the library. He checked his watch and moved across the room.
The top of the desk was neat and clean. A few pens sat next to a stack of unused yellow notepads, a box of envelopes, and a stapler that looked like it belonged in a museum. Above these were framed photographs of Lester, Bernard, and one of their mother that must have been taken well before they were born. It was a warm summer’s day, and she was sitting on the grass next to another young woman Lester didn’t recognize. Their arms were around each other, and his mother was laughing. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Dropping into his father’s chair, Lester started opening drawers. The top one contained more office supplies, while the second held files full of old bills, warranty paperwork, and manuals for various household appliances. None of it was even remotely unusual, and like the rest of the items in the study, appeared to have no obvious connection to The Council. What if whatever was going on didn’t involve the family business after all? A possibility that didn’t necessarily make Lester feel any better.
He was hoping Amanda and Mae were having better luck than he was when he pulled on the third and final drawer, and it didn’t open. Running his finger over the smooth brass keyhole set into its face, Lester quickly determined that his lock picking skills, being none, would be of no help.
He sat back and stared at the desk. What could be inside? Pushing off the floor with his foot, he slowly spun the old office chair around, absentmindedly rubbing his chin as it revolved. It had to be something important enough to keep under lock and key. He thought about using the letter opener he’d seen in the top drawer as a lever to pry at it, but he was sure that would leave telltale marks. If his father felt the need to hide whatever was in there, he’d be likely to notice if someone had attempted to get inside.
Lester was about to give up and head back to school when the image of a wooden puzzle box popped into his head. Snapping his fingers, he stopped the chair and leaned forward. He reached, not for the locked drawer, but for the one above it. He pulled it all the way out until it caught on the frame. Then, sliding his fingers along its sides, he felt two wooden levers protruding from the bottom and pressed. There was an audible click, and it came free in his hands.
The drawer’s absence left a dark empty rectangle, as though the desk were missing a tooth. Lester hesitated for a moment, then put an arm through the hole and reached down into the locked drawer.
Sitting on the floor, he spread the contents out in front of him. There were more yellow notepads, but unlike the others, these were full of his father’s tight neat handwriting. Each line had a date, followed by symbols Lester didn’t recognize, then two sets of numbers. Was it some sort of code? Lester had read about techniques used to relay secret information during the American Civil War and even had a replica cipher wheel in his room, but this didn’t look like any of those.
Underneath the pads, he found a navy blue United States passport. He opened it and was surprised to see his father’s face staring back at him. No one in their family had a passport. As far as he knew, none of them had ever been out of the country. Puzzled, Lester flipped through the pages. There were stamps from all over the world, Ireland, Russia, India, and Egypt. Each one had a matching work visa from a company called C. Consulting. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Scanning the dates on the stamps, Lester noticed the last one was just a few months before his birth. His father did sometimes travel for The Council but never for more than a night or two. What could he have been doing that would have taken him out of the country for nearly five years? And why had it stopped so abruptly?
Setting the passport aside, Lester picked up the final item, a brown leather journal. It was tied closed with a fraying strap, and its cover was faded and worn smooth from use. He turned it over and found the word RIN stamped onto the back. What did that mean? He was reaching for the fat dictionary sitting among the books on the shelves when he paused at the sound of car wheels crunching on gravel. This was followed by the familiar clunking of the garage door.
Lester jumped to his feet. He quickly stuffed the pads and passport back through the hole in the desk and replaced the drawer. Sprinting through the house, he was in mid-air, leaping over the final four steps of the staircase, when the front door opened.
His mother screamed in surprise and dropped the two bags of groceries she was carrying as Lester landed in the entryway next to her.
“Oh, Lester, it’s you!” she said, collecting herself. Her hands were clutched to her chest. “You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry,” Lester replied, a bit winded himself.
A sudden look of concern crossed his mother’s face. “Wait. What are you doing at home? Are you sick?”
“No,” said Lester. “I just forgot something.”
“Okay. Good.”
Lester bent down and began gathering up several oranges that had spilled across the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s all right,” his mother said. “No harm done. At least I didn’t buy eggs today.” She righted one of the bags and began checking its contents. “What do we have here?” she said, picking up the tattered journal. “Lester, is this yours?”
Lester froze. “Um — not really.”
“What do you mean, not really?” his mother asked. “It’s either yours or it isn’t.”
“W-w-well,” Lester stuttered.
His mind raced for a plausible excuse as to why he would be carrying around an old journal, which was difficult to do because he had no idea what was inside. Sweat formed on his forehead, and his mouth went dry. He was going to get caught. What would happen if his mother told his father he’d been snooping through his things?
“I mean,” Lester started again. “It’s kind of — ”
“Kind of what?” his mother asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Mine,” said a voice.