"I had no idea what he meant," Whitelaw mused. "Those old languages are difficult to figure out and sometimes the translations are wrong and sometimes they mix dialects."
He was gibbering. The longer I was here, the more I thought Whitelaw just might be a little psychic himself. He was certainly feeling the "gonna kill you" vibes that were washing off Sawyer like bad BO.
"This rabbi," I said. "Where can I find him?"
Whitelaw winced. "He was killed. Very strange case. Wild dogs."
"Wasn't me," Sawyer murmured.
Whitelaw opened his mouth, then shut it again. Smart man.
"Did the rabbi say how he'd discovered this information?"
"In a grimoire."
"Huh?"
"A textbook of magic. Most are instructions for invoking angels or demons."
"Are?" I straightened. "They still exist today?"
"Parts of them. In translation. Which is why the rabbi wasn't certain of the exact wording." The professor frowned. "I don't know why he told me any of this in the first place, but he seemed determined that I know it."
I was getting more and more certain that this rabbi had been one of us, had known somehow that I, or someone like me, would eventually come to Whitelaw and need this info. So he'd told the doctor and then he'd died. From the sound of it, by shape-shifters. Werewolves, coyotes, possessed puppies—didn't matter. He was dead.
"Do you have a copy of the grimoire he used?"
Whitelaw shook his head. "He said he'd gotten the information from the Key of Solomon, which is a book attributed to King Solomon. There are translations and parts of it all over the place. But this particular section"— Whitelaw bit his lip—"he swore it was from the original book."
"And where is that?"
"It doesn't exist. Or rather, no one's ever found it."
Sheesh, could someone please play a new tune?
"The translations date from the Middle Ages," Whitelaw continued.
"But no one's seen it since?"
"Except Rabbi Turnblat. He insisted he'd read the recipe for killing the darkness in the original Key of Solomon."
"Do you think that was true?"
"If it was, the book disappeared; it wasn't in his effects when he died."
Probably because whatever had killed him had taken it. I didn't think that was going to prove a plus for our side.
"What else was in this book?"
"Spells to become invisible, gain favor and love, find stolen items, constrain and release demons."
Ah, hell. I had a pretty good idea who had the damn thing.
"We need to go." I said.
"Wait!" Whitelaw started forward, freezing when both Sawyer and Luther growled.
I cast them a look and they subsided, though they both appeared as if they might jump out of their skin, or perhaps into another, furrier one.
"I want to help," Whitelaw said.
"Help what?"
"I've been studying Revelation; I see the signs. I also had a pretty good idea that a lot of those supernatural legends I'd read about were real." He stared pointedly at Sawyer and Luther. "Even before they showed up. I think you could use someone with my knowledge on your side."
I thought we could, too, so I filled Whitelaw in. It didn't take long; he was pretty up on the lingo. Since Sawyer didn't pop a blood vessel, I figured spilling the beans was okay with him. Not that I needed his approval, but it didn't hurt.
"You have any ideas on how one might become the darkness?" I asked.
Slowly Whitelaw shook his head. "According to you the Grigori made the Nephilim by interbreeding with humans. Despite the stories, you can't become one by sharing blood or being bitten or cursed—"
"Become one," I murmured, and suddenly I knew what I had to do. But first things first. "See if you can find any information on something called the Book of Samyaza," I ordered. "Ever heard of it?"
Whitelaw shook his head. "Grimoire?"
"Kind of a Satanic how-to. Revelatory prophecies for the other side."
Whitelaw wasn't slow. Understanding spread across his face. "If we have that, we'll know what they're up to."
"Can't hurt," I said. "And see if you can get a lead on the Key of Solomon. I have a really bad feeling it's in hands it shouldn't be."
Whitelaw paled, but he nodded, said good-bye, and when I glanced back as we left the room, he already had his nose so deep in a dusty book, the echo of his sneezes followed us down the staircase.
Outside, night had fallen. I turned to Sawyer and shoved him in the chest. It was like shoving a building. "You knew," I said.
"Knew what?"
"Don't bullshit me, Sawyer. You were going to zap Whitelaw into the next world before he told me."
"I was?"
"Aaah!" I smacked both hands into his chest. Sawyer grabbed me by the wrists before I could do it again. Luther snarled.
"Back off, kid," I ordered. "This is between him and me. Wait in the car."
Amazingly, he did.
I tugged at my wrists, but Sawyer wouldn't let go. "Why were you going to kill the professor?"
"He knows too much."
"Like how to end your mother?"
Sawyer's jaw worked. He hated it when I called her that, but tough.
"Sometimes I wonder whose side you're on," I murmured.