“Thank you,” Mabel said. She looked at her savior for the first time. He was young—not much older than she was.
He shepherded her away. “You’re the Roses’ daughter, aren’t you?”
Even here she couldn’t escape it. “My name is Mabel,” she said, as if daring him to contradict her.
“Mabel. Mabel Rose. I won’t forget it.” He gave her hand a firm shake. “Well, Mabel Rose. Get home safely.”
An explosion came from somewhere nearby. “Go now,” her mysterious savior said and ran swiftly down the alley, vaulting up the fire escape and disappearing over the rooftops.
Back at the Bennington, Mabel took the elevator to the sixth floor. Two of the hallway lamps had burned out ages ago, casting the passage in constant shadows, which always gave Mabel a bit of the heebie-jeebies. Mabel heard whispering at the far end of the darkened corridor and froze. What if the police had followed her after all?
Against her better judgment, she crept forward. Miss Addie stood at the narrow window in her nightgown. Her long gray hair hung in tangles. She cradled a bag of salt, which she was pouring out onto the windowsill in a fat line. Salt seeped from a hole in the bag and pooled on the carpet below.
“Miss Addie? What are you doing?”
“I have to keep them out,” Miss Addie said without looking up.
“Keep who out?”
“There are awful events unfolding. Something unholy is at hand.”
“Do you mean the murders?” Mabel asked.
“It’s begun. I can feel it. In my dreams, I have seen the man in the tall hat with his coat of crows. A terrible choice is at hand.” Miss Addie’s hand fluttered about her face like a wounded bird. She seemed confused, like a woman waking from ether. “Where is my door? I can’t find it.”
“You’re on the sixth floor, Miss Adelaide. You need the tenth. Here, I’ll take you.”
Mabel took the bag of salt from the old woman and helped her into the elevator, securing the troublesome latch on the gate.
“When the cunning folk stood accused of the ’craft as if it were a game, and our gallows bloomed with the dead, the man was there. When the Choctaw were marched to their ruin on the Trail of Tears, the man was there.”
Mabel counted the floors, willing the elevator to go faster.
“They say he appeared to Mr. Lincoln upon an evening before the War Between the States. It was as if a hand had come down and pulled out the heart of the nation, and the very rivers bled, and the land’s wounds would not heal.” Miss Addie suddenly turned and stared right at Mabel. “Terrible what people can do to one another, isn’t it?”
Mabel hurriedly slid back the gate to let Miss Addie out of the elevator. She knew she should help her to her door, but she was too spooked. “It’s just down the hall on the left, Miss Adelaide.”
“Yes, thank you.” Miss Addie took the bag of salt from Mabel and stepped out into the dim hallway. “We’re not safe, you know. Not at all.”
But Mabel had closed the gate and the elevator was already descending.
“Terrible what people can do,” Miss Addie said again.
From the elevator, Mabel watched the old woman’s bare feet hobbling away, a trail of salt and the lace hem of her nightgown left in her wake like sea foam.
OPERATION JERICHO
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of our radio audience, and welcome to the Gerard Whittington Hour, brought to you by Marlowe Industries. Yes, Marlowe Industries—Bringing You Tomorrow, Today. From the very latest innovations in aviation and security to helpful household appliances for the housewife, Marlowe Industries…”
“I still don’t understand,” Evie said over the soft croon of the radio. She lay on the sofa with the illustrated book in her hands. “None of this answers the mystery of the first four offerings. If the Pentacle Killer is truly following the rituals in this Book of the Brethren in order to raise some anti-Christ and bring about Armageddon, why start with the fifth offering? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Detective Malloy reports no similar murders prior to the discovery of Ruta Badowski’s body,” Jericho said. He was seated at the dining room table with his notes.
Will, as usual, was pacing. “It is mysterious. But this much we do know: If the killer is following the offerings in the Book of the Brethren, and it certainly seems he is, we may be able to prevent the next attempt….”
Evie read the seventh offering aloud.
“What does it mean? Who are the deceitful brethren?” Will mused. He walked from bay window to kitchenette and back again till Evie thought he would wear a path in the Persian rug.