“My master was the light that rose against Astaroth. I was with him when he threw the Enemy down. Elias Bram was my master. I tried to aid him, but the Enemy was too great. My horn broke against the Demon’s side, and I was cast far away before they brought down the high halls and the land was ruined beneath them.”
“But was Astaroth destroyed?” David asked again.
“It is beyond my understanding how to destroy something so aged and evil,” said YaYa quietly. “That is Old Magic and is woven into the heart and roots of this world. I have heard the Demon’s body was found, but I do not know what came of it. When her master fell, YaYa sailed west with the others and left those dark days behind….”
The sounds of bells and laughter came up from the winding path behind them. YaYa turned and padded away farther up the path, disappearing around the bend. David led Maya to the side of the path, just as a bright red sleigh pulled by two great chestnut horses rounded the corner. Nolan was holding the reins, laughing with Mr. Morrow, Miss Boon, and two Sixth Years.
“Hey there, you two!” crowed Nolan. “Been talking to YaYa?”
“How’d you know?” asked David.
Miss Boon leaned forward, studying them very closely as Nolan gestured at the limp hoof and red snow on the bluff above them.
“Been caring for YaYa for almost thirty-five years,” he said. “I can spot her work a mile off.”
Mr. Morrow took a long draw off his pipe and snuggled deeper into the folds of his woolen throw. The tobacco smelled fine and warm among the pine needles and patches of sun.
“We’re a bit cramped for two young First Years and an ulu, but take this, eh?” he said.
Max stepped forward and took a metal thermos from his Humanities instructor. Unscrewing the lid, he smelled hot chocolate.
“Thanks, Mr. Morrow,” said Max, taking a quick sip.
“Not at all, McDaniels,” he growled with a wink. “Happy Solstice to you two, my boys. Songs and treats in the first-floor hall tonight—eight sharp!”
“We’ll be there,” said Max as the sleigh continued on around the bend.
Once it disappeared, David shook his head at Max and coughed.
“No we won’t,” said David. “Tonight we’re figuring out what happened to Astaroth.”
Max heard fiddle music and singing from the great hall even before he opened the Manse’s heavy doors and crept inside. Nick was fed and David would be waiting. Max stole up an old flight of servant stairs while the baritones of Bob and Mr. Morrow rose above the chorus of remaining students and faculty.
The rising of the sun
And the running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
Max met David in the Bacon Library, where he had left the lights off and was working by candlelight, poring through a stack of newspapers and computer printouts.
“Take this list,” he whispered before Max could sit down.
Max glanced down at a piece of notebook paper; there were dozens of book titles listed.
“We need all these?”
David nodded, handing Max a second candle and continuing to jot down notes in his thin, slanting script. Over an hour later, Max grunted as he stacked the last of the heavy books on the table. David was still writing furiously, seemingly unaware that Max was even there. His candle had almost burnt out.
Max sat down to take a breather, perusing some of the spines before him: Great Works of the Nineteenth Century, Art of the Baroque, Secret Techniques of the Old Masters, Dada and Surrealism, The Genius of Rembrandt, Hidden Symbols of Bernini, A Renaissance of Art and Man, Dutch Masters of the Seventeenth Century, The Postmodern Dilemma…
“David,” Max hissed, overwhelmed by the thick books and unfamiliar names. “What are we going to do with all of these?”
David appeared much older by candlelight; he stopped writing a moment to look at Max.
“Astaroth isn’t destroyed,” said David. “I’m sure of it. The Enemy’s looking for him, and it has something to do with the stolen paintings. I think some paintings may have secret clues that lead to Astaroth. But first I’ll need two more books.”
Max rose in anticipation, but David shook his head and said, “They’re not in here. They’re locked up in the Promethean Archives—a secret room below Maggie and Old Tom. I can get them, but I have to go alone. Just take these back to the room and I’ll meet you there.”
Max ignored David’s cryptic comment and watched as David opened his backpack and started putting the books inside. Just as with Nigel’s calfskin case, the books dropped inside without making a sound or dent in the sides.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Max.
“Made it,” said David simply. “I’ll go ahead—meet you back in the room.”
David blew out his remaining candle and left as a chorus of shouts and cheers erupted from the gathering in the great hall two floors below them. Max bagged the remaining books and was about to creep out the library door when his curiosity overwhelmed him. He wondered exactly why David had insisted on visiting the Archives alone.
Max hurried down a long hallway and pressed his face against a window that commanded a fine view of the grounds between the Manse and Old Tom. Sure enough, down to his left and far below, Max saw David waddling like a penguin across the snow, trying hard to stay within the long shadows cast by the bright moon.
Then something moved in Max’s peripheral vision and he caught his breath.
He was not the only one watching David.
A dark figure stalked out from the edge of the woods that bordered the front gate. It stopped and seemed to be watching David, who crouched low and crossed from the shelter of the Manse’s shadows to the snow-topped hedges that lined the walk to Old Tom. Max groaned; David had chosen a terrible route that eliminated the hedge as a source of cover.
The dark figure broke into a loping trot before suddenly accelerating into a blurry streak across the fresh snow. Max smacked the window in panic.
“Run, David,” he whispered. “Run, run, run!”
David did run. He had turned his head in time to see the dark figure closing rapidly on him from several hundred yards away. Max could hardly bear to watch; David was painfully slow!
Suddenly, there was a brief pulse of dim light and David was gone.
The dark figure came to a sudden halt ten feet from where David had been. It crouched and examined the ground, whirling in all directions before it stopped.
“Cooper,” Max breathed, seeing the Agent’s pale features staring up at him from the lawn. The Agent walked several steps toward the Manse, keeping his eyes locked on Max, who stood frozen in the third-floor window.
“McDaniels?” said a sharp voice behind him.
Max yelped and dropped David’s backpack. Scrambling to pick it up, he whirled to find Miss Boon staring at him.
“Oh,” Max croaked. “Hi, Miss Boon.”
“Hello,” said Miss Boon, glancing at David’s backpack. “What are you doing up here in the dark?” She stepped past Max and peered out the window. Max looked out, too. Cooper was gone.
“I just left the library.”
“Hmmm,” she said, turning away from the window to glance again at the backpack. “Well, I’ve got work to do and you’d better get to bed. Good night.”
Miss Boon disappeared down the hallway toward the Bacon Library. Max dashed to his room, where he found David already hard at work at their table, wheezing and rubbing his chest. Many candles were lit around the room.
“I ran into Miss Boon,” panted Max. “She was going to the library.”
David looked up from the two large books spread out before him; he looked anxious. He said nothing but beckoned for Max to put his backpack on a chair.
“What are those?” Max asked, peering at the enormous books. They were easily three feet tall and filled with many pages of thin, cracked paper. There was something very strange about these books; they had an unwholesome aura, and Max did not wish to remain close to them.
“Grimoires,” said David quietly. “They’re kind of dangerous. One is on Old Magic; the other has to do with binding spells and prisons. These aren’t originals—they were copied during the Middle Ages.”