Chapter 23 #2
Two of the books were useless—if fascinating—histories of haunted artifacts and men made myth.
Nicolas Flamel and Ostanes. The Bronze Lady and the screaming skull.
They were great for contextualizing how the natural became the supernatural, even just in tall tales told by the superstitious, but there was nothing specific to her situation.
The third book covered secret societies, and it was halfway through that one that Ellory finally found something worth adding to her notes.
The Old Masters have maintained their anonymity to such an extent that it is impossible to confirm their existence.
Though largely based on hearsay, their clandestine activities are said to have roots in the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).
Or, perhaps, their ongoing activities were simply legitimized by the CIA.
Hudson had been right. This section was a mere page and a half compared to other chapters, so it wasn’t exactly enough to qualify as a break in the case. But something about it filled her with a heavy sense of significance, and she lingered over each word.
From the beginning, they have walked hand in hand with the occult.
Starting with the New England Society of Psychic Research and then peppering the declassified Stargate Project with their members, the Old Masters are rumored to have wanted power unlimited to the natural world.
In writings alleged to have been rescued from the burnt journals of rumored member Arthur O’Connor I, there are notes on occult magic and psychic phenomena from around the world, including alchemy, Māyā, ESP, and more.
But when questioned, O’Connor, a former dean of Warren University, claimed ignorance of any such journals or organization.
Buzzwords leaped out at her as she read the paragraph again.
New England Society of Psychic Research—the same group the founders of Warren University had allegedly belonged to.
Arthur O’Connor—the same surname as her surly roommate.
If he was a former dean, then she might be able to find a book in the founders’ museum gift shop, or at least there might be a mention of him on one of the displays.
The section concluded with the acknowledgment that the Old Masters were not as legendary as Skull and Bones nor as powerful as the Illuminati, but rumors of their recherché activities had never entirely faded.
Ellory read the page three more times to make sure she wasn’t missing anything and then rubbed at the back of her neck.
Goose bumps made her skin feel rough, and she knew that sickening dread would soon follow.
She took a shaky breath and refused to give in.
She’d found a new lead, and she had the resources to investigate, people who would help, even if they didn’t know everything they were helping with.
And yet her heart continued to pound like she was about to be attacked again.
She massaged the space between her breasts, begging her body to calm down.
Stasie came clattering through the door a half hour later, her arms laden with shopping bags.
She dropped them on her bed and wiggled her knit cap off her penny-brown hair, which had recently been cut into a short wavy bob.
Christmas was only a couple of months away, but Ellory doubted a single one of those purchases was for anyone other than Stasie herself.
Her suspicions were strengthened a moment later when Stasie tugged a powder-blue wool sweater out of one bag and held it up to her chest. It was crocheted to look like a heap of snowflakes had joined hands to make a shirt. Pearl drops decorated the round collar. “What do you think?”
“It’s got holes in it,” Ellory pointed out. “It can’t be very warm.”
“It’s meant to be stylish,” Stasie said, rolling her eyes. “Luxury sweaters are wasted on the poor.”
“A sweater can be stylish and practical—”
“Are you going to be in here all day?”
As always, Ellory had already failed the Stasie O’Connor test required to earn basic human respect.
Stasie unpacked her clothes with the put-upon attitude of a wine mom who had found her prosecco bottle empty when she needed it most. If Ellory stayed, the rest of her night would be filled with eye rolls and passive-aggressive grunts from Stasie’s side of the room.
“I could finish this up in the library,” Ellory said, saving and closing her document, “if you answer a question for me.”
Stasie paused in the middle of folding an oversize scarf. “You couldn’t afford it even if I told you.”
“It’s about your family, not your clothes.” Ellory took a moment to grab her temper with both hands and force it to a standstill. “Do you know an Arthur O’Connor?”
“My dad or my grandfather?”
“Um, your grandfather.”
“We call him Artie. Well, I call him Pop-Pop, but…” Stasie frowned. “Why?”
“I’m working on an article for the paper, and, as he’s a former dean of the university, I thought he might be able to help me. Do you have his number?”
“I’m not giving you Pop-Pop’s phone number. He’d have my head.”
Ellory resisted the urge to record the conversation, if only because she would have to notify Stasie that she was doing so and Stasie would definitely stop talking if she did. “So, you two aren’t close?”
“If I asked for your mom’s personal phone number, would you give it to me?”
Ellory swiftly changed tactics. “Your family’s prestigious. I want to make sure I’m talking to all the right people.”
There was a brief silence, during which Ellory could tell that Stasie was turning those words over for any sign of ridicule.
She kept her expression open and her smile as genuine as possible, waiting Stasie out.
This was a girl who had introduced herself as a member of the house of O’Conor, who had the O’Conor crest as one of her wall decorations, who took her family very seriously.
Too seriously, if you asked Ellory, but that had never been her problem before now.
It seemed like ages before Stasie’s face softened. “I mean, I guess I could get you in touch with my parents while I see if Pop-Pop even wants to talk to you.”
Her eyes were bright with pleasure, as if the key to the intricate lock of her personality had been flattery all along. Ellory supposed she should have figured that out sooner.
“That would be amazing,” she simpered. “You’re the best, Stasie.”
“I know.” Stasie went back to folding her clothes. Then she glared in Ellory’s direction. “Now get out.”