6
“Marked?” Emrys asked. “What do you mean?”
He began searching his arms and legs for cursed symbols or mysterious new tattoos. His parents would kill him if he showed up to breakfast with fresh ink.
The Atlas didn’t have an eyebrow, but if it did, Emrys imagined it would be quirked at him right then. It gazed at him with a look of potent exasperation. “That pain you felt earlier was the first gift of our Order. Consider it a kind of second sight. From this point on, you’ll all receive glimpses of the truth beyond the fiction. You’ll sense the otherworldly, though your abilities will be hazy at first.
“Unfortunately, this gift is a double-edged sword,” Van Stavern continued. “The invisible world doesn’t like being seen, I’m afraid. Like a spider’s web, it has a way of ensnaring those who brush against it. Your best chance for survival is going through with this. Now—would one of you be kind enough to pick me up off the floor?”
Emrys lifted the book, holding it out from his chest. He could feel the eye’s jerky movements in his palms, even through the tome’s thick pages and leather binding. He did his best to swallow his discomfort.
“But you are not defenseless,” Van Stavern said. “The three of you stand amongst the greatest collection of occult relics in the known world. For centuries, the Blue Reliquary has functioned as a sanctuary, a war room, and occasionally a cost-free event space. But its true purpose is to contain relics—items imbued with uncanny abilities. Some are famous, others obscure, but each is uniquely powerful, as well as uniquely dangerous.”
“Would we have heard of any of them?” Emrys asked.
“That depends on your knowledge of history and mythology,” the book said. “Our Order has collected everything from the Wings of Icarus to the Staff of the Monkey King. And, again, there’s the haunted doll room, if that’s your thing. Agree to join our esteemed ranks, and each of you may select a relic from the Order’s collection as a personal requisition. But only one, mind you. Mixing arcane forces can tend to have unpredictable results.”
Emrys’s eyes widened. He glanced around the space, which was packed with haunted relics. He could actually take one of them with him? To keep?
“What do they do?” Hazel asked in a hushed voice. “How do we know which ones to take?”
All three kids peered at the many strange and wonderful objects on display. Even Serena.
“I can provide background on particular items,” Van Stavern said, “but choosing is as much about intuition as information. A relic will resonate with a suitable bearer. As simplistic as it sounds, I suggest you go with your gut.”
“Won’t some of these be a bit … noticeable?” Serena asked, eying a gargantuan hammer covered in Norse runes.
“The Order has ways of disguising our personal relics. You don’t last this long as a secret society by brandishing Excalibur on every street corner.”
Excalibur? Emrys guessed Van Stavern was joking.… Probably.
“What’s this one?” Hazel asked. She approached a plinth, on which rested an intricate metal diadem. At the front of the circlet, silvery cords had been shaped into a set of interlocking shapes—a triangle contained a square, which enclosed a circle. And set in the center of this final loop was a tiny, vivid-red stone.
Unlike the clean, polished metal of the circlet itself, the gem was rough and uncut. It glittered strangely in the light of the reliquary.
“The Magnus Crown,” Van Stavern said. “Containing the fabled philosopher’s stone. First discovered by Albertus Magnus in the thirteenth century, the Order had it set into this circlet for ease of use sometime in the seventeenth. Not to worry—it’s quite sturdy. There’s no risk of the stone shaking loose.”
Hazel’s mouth dropped. “Wait, you mean, like, alchemy? The philosopher’s stone that lets people turn lead into gold?”
“In the hands of an acquisitive wielder, certainly,” the book answered. “But it can do so much more than generate riches. The crown’s bearer can stitch and sunder any molecular bonds, transmuting elements and compounds. You could rust an iron cell to ash or make a glass of water explode. Many of the applications involve exploding, actually. There are limits, of course. Energy is neither created nor destroyed, so the wielder must sacrifice their own metabolism to fuel larger reactions. Oh, and I wouldn’t get any ideas about trying it on living creatures. The results are … disturbing.”
“I can’t believe it,” Hazel said. “I’m really looking at the philosopher’s stone?”
“As I said, the powers at your disposal are considerable,” Van Stavern intoned. “But mastery won’t come easily. It may take months or even years to unlock just a fraction of their potential.”
Hazel bit her lip, then gently lifted the crown from the plinth. With a small exhalation, she settled the circlet down on her own head. “Who’s next?” she asked.
Emrys’s thoughts churned. He watched Serena as she stepped hesitantly toward a shield, peering into its silvery surface.
Hazel approached him. “Do you want to look around a bit?” she asked.
Emrys shook his head. “I already know which relic I’m going to pick,” he said.
Hazel’s face clouded with confusion. Then Emrys held up the Atlas.
“Really?” she asked. “Is that even possible?”
Emrys turned the tome over in his hands. “You’re a spell book, right?” he said. “Well, teach me magic.”
The eye on the book’s cover rolled in his direction, watching Emrys for a long beat.
“I am not a book,” Van Stavern finally said. “But I will teach you. The Atlas of the End is yours—for now—with one small warning. Sorcery is not for the squeamish, Emrys. Many great witches and wizards have served the Order and contributed to this text: Merlin, Ursula Southeil, Marie Laveau. Many more have failed where they succeeded. You must be sure.”
Was he? For a moment, Emrys faltered. Perhaps a more straightforward relic would be better for fighting monsters. There were any number of razor-sharp swords lining the gallery walls.
But somehow Emrys knew that wasn’t his path. Van Stavern had said the Atlas was his Order’s guiding text. It was like their version of the wiki. Emrys wasn’t completely sure what he’d find inside, but the mysteries called to him.
And Serena had been right about one thing: he did want this. It was scary, sure. The secrets Emrys had been chasing his whole life had finally found him, and he was enough of a horror fan to know how badly that could go. But if Emrys could learn to harness the powers at work here—rather than fall victim to them—maybe he’d have a real chance at fixing some of what was wrong with the world.
Emrys’s parents had always told him: all it would take was the right book to unlock a passion for reading. He suspected he’d finally found it.
“I’m sure,” he said firmly.
Which brought them to Serena. In all the time they’d been talking, the girl had barely moved from the gleaming shield. Serena watched it with an almost hypnotic fascination.
“The Aegis of Truth,” Van Stavern said softly, breaking Serena out of her reverie. She blinked, glancing toward Emrys and Hazel.
