“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Brooks looked away and the fire in his eyes seemed to dwindle. “What do you say you show me what Diana gave you? The book, that … wonder rock?”
“Thunderstone.” Eureka slid off the bed and sat at her desk, which she’d had since she was a kid. Its drawers were so full of keepsakes there was no room for homework or books or college applications, so she’d stacked those in piles she’d promised Rhoda she would organize. But what annoyed Rhoda delighted Eureka, so the piles had grown to precarious heights.
From the top drawer, she pulled out the book Diana had left her, then the small blue chest. She laid them both on her bedspread. With her inheritance between them, she and Brooks faced each other cross-legged on the bed.
Brooks reached for the thunderstone first, releasing the faded clasp on the chest, reaching inside to hold up the gauze-covered stone. He examined it from all sides.
Eureka watched his fingers troll the white dressing. “Don’t unwrap it.”
“Of course not. Not yet.”
She squinted at him, grabbed the stone, surprised again by its heaviness. She wanted to know what it looked like inside—and obviously Brooks did, too. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”
Brooks blinked. “I mean your mom’s letter. Didn’t she say you would know when the time was right to open it?”
“Oh. Right.” She must have told him about that. She rested her elbows on her knees, chin in her palms. “Who knows when that time will be? Might make a good Skee-Ball in the meantime.”
Brooks stared at her, then ducked his head and swallowed the way he did when he got embarrassed. “It must be precious if your mother left it to you.”
“I was kidding.” She eased the thunderstone back into its chest.
He picked up the ancient-looking book with a reverence Eureka wasn’t expecting. He turned the pages more delicately than she had, which made her wonder whether she deserved her inheritance.
“I can’t read it,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said. “It looks like it’s from the distant future—”
“Of a past never fully realized.” Brooks sounded like he was quoting one of the science fiction paperbacks Dad used to read.
Brooks kept turning pages, slowly at first, then faster, stopping at a section Eureka hadn’t discovered. Midway through the book, the strange, dense text was interrupted by a section of intricate illustrations.
“Are those woodcuts?” Eureka recognized the method from the xylography class she’d once taken with Diana—though these illustrations were far more intricate than anything Eureka had been able to carve into her stubborn block of beech.
She and Brooks studied an image of two men wrestling. They were dressed in plush, fur-lined robes. Large jeweled necklaces draped across their chests. One man wore a heavy crown. Behind a crowd of onlookers stretched a cityscape, tall spires of unusual buildings framing the sky.
On the opposite page was an image of a woman in an equally luxurious robe. She was on her hands and knees at the edge of a river dotted with tall, blooming jonquils. Hatched shadows of clouds bordered her long hair as she studied her reflection in the water. Her head was down, so Eureka couldn’t see her face, but something about her body language was familiar. Eureka knew she was weeping.
“It’s all here,” Brooks whispered.
“This makes sense to you?”
She turned the parchment page, looking for more illustrations, but instead found the short, jagged edges of several torn-out pages. Then the incomprehensible text resumed. She touched the rough edges near the binding. “Look, it’s missing a few pages.”
Brooks held the book close to his face, squinting at the place where the missing pages would have been. Eureka noticed there was one more illustration, on the back of the page with the kneeling woman. It was much simpler than the others: three concentric circles centered on the page. It looked like a symbol for something.
On instinct, she reached for Brooks’s forehead, pushing his dark hair back. His wound was circular, which wasn’t remarkable. But the scab had been so irritated by the rough wave that afternoon that Eureka could see … rings inside of it. They bore an uncanny resemblance to the illustration in her book.
“What are you doing?” He brushed her hand away, flattened his hair.
“Nothing.”
He closed the book and pressed a hand on its cover. “I doubt you’ll be able to get this translated. Trying to will just send you on a painful journey. Do you really think there’s going to be someone in Podunk, Louisiana, who can translate something of this magnitude?” His laughter sounded mean.
“I thought you liked Podunk, Louisiana.” Eureka’s eyes narrowed. Brooks was the one who always defended their hometown when Eureka bashed it. “Uncle Beau said Diana could read this, which means there must be someone who can translate it. I just have to find out who.”
“Let me try. I’ll take the book with me tonight and save you the heartache. You’re not ready to confront Diana’s death, and I’m happy to help.”
“No. I’m not letting that book out of my sight.” She reached for the book, which was still in Brooks’s grasp. She had to pry it from his hands. The binding creaked from the strain of being pulled.
“Wow.” Brooks let go, held up his hands, and gave her a look intended to convey she was being melodramatic.
She looked away. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet.”
“Okay.” His tone softened. He touched her fingers where they encased the book. “But if you do get it translated,” he said, “take me with you, okay? It might be hard to digest. You’ll want someone there you trust.”