Waking the Moon Read Free

grew calm. He leaned over the orrery, extinguishing the tiny blaze with a breath. The minute globe cooled, its smooth green surface uncharred, unchanged. Sighing, Balthazar set the orrery back upon its brass mount and turned to stare out the window.
    Far below where the lodge perched atop Helstrom Mountain, the Agastronga River had flooded its banks. But above the line of mountains to the west the storm was finally starting to break up. On the easternmost rim of the horizon Balthazar gleamed a faint rind of gold, marking where the sun still shone. It would be unbearably hot in the capital today, at least until the storm moved in to cool things off. He winced at the thought. As though he had summoned it by this small action, a knock came at the door.
    “Yes, Kirsten,” Balthazar called. “Come in.” For another moment he gazed out the window, then turned. “Yes, my dear?”
    The Orphic Lodge’s housekeeper strode into the room, a bit of white paper fluttering in her hand. Balthazar’s heart sank.
    “Excuse me, Professor Warnick. A telephone message.”
    Kirsten crossed to the window, picking up the silver tray with the remains of Balthazar’s lunch, pickled herring and cornichons and a few crusts of pumpernickel bread. She handed him the slip of paper and took his brandy snifter, still half-full, and placed it on the tray. “Francis X. Connelly called. I wrote down the message.”
    “Oh!” Balthazar nodded. He removed his glasses and squinted, trying to make out Kirsten’s spidery European hand.
Thursday 20 August 1:30 P.M.
    Tell Professor Warnick to come at once and meet me on the steps in front of the Shrine. Tell him there has been a Sign. Francis X. Connelly
    Balthazar started as a gust of wind sent the casements clattering. He read the note again.
Tell him there has been a Sign.
    He rolled the paper into a little tube, carefully set it on the luncheon tray. He gazed wistfully out at the rain. “Well, I suppose I will be leaving, then.”
    The housekeeper took the note and slipped it into her apron pocket. “Will you be back for supper, Professor?”
    A Sign. Balthazar felt his heart beating a little faster. He jangled the keys in his pocket. Kirsten repeated her question.
    “Dinner? Oh, well, no. I mean, I expect not—not if—well, if Francis has really—if there’s really something going on back at the Divine.”
    Kirsten’s blue eyes narrowed very slightly. “I am making kalve frikadeller,” she said, holding the tray straight out in front of her as though it bore a ritual offering. Balthazar thought of the heads of certain saints and smiled weakly. “Veal, and chokoladebudding .”
    His favorite dessert. Balthazar nodded, touched. “Yes. Well, I will certainly try to be back for dinner,” he said, and stood. He reached for the brandy glass, slowly drained it, and replaced it on the tray. “Thank you very much, Kirsten. Lunch was excellent, as always. I will—I will call you later, when I know what my plans are.”
    The door groaned shut behind her. Kirsten’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Balthazar drew the keys from his pocket and gazed at the orrery on its brass stand.
    “Well,” he said, his voice thin and uneasy. “Well,” he repeated, and crossed the room.
    There was a small door set between the bookshelves on that side of the study. It was made of mountain ash, the wood burnished to the color of pale ale. It held a small, old-fashioned keyhole. The lintel was formed of graceful Art Nouveau arabesques, rubbed with gilt paint that had nearly all flaked away with age, and surmounted by threadlike, almost invisible crimson letters.
Omnia Bona Bonis. The Benandanti’s motto.
    All things are Good with Good Men.
    Balthazar rested his palm upon the wood. For a moment he glanced over his shoulder, gazing longingly at the door leading into the hall. His car was still parked out front. It would take nearly four hours to drive back to Washington, by which time Francis would long since