Chapter Ten
Ten
“I want to thank you all for meeting with me,” Rook says, now in fresh clothes. Though he’s wearing a suit jacket, he’s forgone the tie, and the first several buttons of his shirt are undone.
The others had arrived one by one. First Poppy emerged from a “rented” BMW.
Then CJ pulled up in the hearse. Finally, an Uber dropped off Tolliver.
They’d all dressed in their best business attire: Poppy in a suit with a snug jacket and no shirt, CJ in dark jeans and a sweater vest over a button-down, and Tolliver, bless him, in wrinkled khakis and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. At least he tried.
We’re now seated around a small circular table in Rook’s library.
Because of course his old money family home has a library.
Just this room alone is probably bigger than my entire house, but despite the high arched ceiling and towering shelves, it feels claustrophobic, with dark furniture and low lighting.
Rook steeples his fingers. “What has Ms. Fields told you about the job?”
CJ scoffs, the only one who has an inkling of what this all will entail.
Tolliver leans over to me, and whispers, “Ms. Fields? But your mom…”
I stiffen, desperately trying not to notice his breath against my cheek.
“He’s referring to me,” I whisper back.
Mom never went by Mrs. Fields for two reasons: (1) “I don’t bake cookies!
” and (2) Fields was her maiden name. She and Dad never married, and even if they had, the name Fields had more of a legacy among heaven hoppers.
So much so that Dante, who isn’t Mom’s bio kid, used her name.
Well, that and Mom and Dad met when Dante was two and couldn’t yet say his real last name: Korzeniowski.
But if Rook wants to call me Ms. Fields instead of Elle, I’ll let him, if only to remind him of my family’s prestige.
“We’d rather hear about the job from you,” Poppy says to Rook from across the table, using her patented sultry voice.
Rook clears his throat, his eyes shooting to me. There’s a blush on his cheeks like he’s embarrassed. I just raise my eyebrows, waiting.
He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to hire you to steal my sister’s soul from the Afterlife and resurrect her.”
Poppy doesn’t react, a master at schooling her features, but Tolliver makes a noise like he’s choked on his own spit. He quickly covers his mouth and furrows his brow as though that can hide his shock. CJ merely raises a single eyebrow, highlighting their scar.
After a moment of tense silence, Poppy reaches over and places her hand over Rook’s. “I know this must be painful to speak about. But the more we know, the more we can help.”
She blinks up at him. CJ rolls their eyes.
Rook nods. “Thank you. I…” He pauses, voice catching, eyes growing red and watery. “It’s my fault Credence is dead. I…got involved with some…unscrupulous people. They asked for something—an antique—that I didn’t want to give up, so they…murdered Credence.”
Poppy’s hand tightens on Rook’s. “Was it a…syndicate?” she asks delicately.
I can feel CJ staring at me, but I don’t look at them.
Rook shakes his head. “Possibly. I run into them in my…work. But I didn’t see any tattoos.”
Syndicate members are given tattoos to show their affiliations, but just because Rook didn’t see any doesn’t mean they weren’t there.
CJ obviously has a Phantoms tattoo somewhere, but I’ve never seen it.
What’s more telling than the lack of visible tattoos is the fact that I found no trace of Credence’s murder online.
That means whoever killed her has enough power to cover it up.
Sounds like something a syndicate would do.
Which means we have to be extra careful not to attract attention with this job.
CJ sits forward, elbows on the table. “Have you seen her in the Afterlife?” They’re asking Rook, but their eyes are on me, hard and accusing.
This time, Rook avoids all our gazes. “I…No. They put a tower obol in her pocket.”
Damn it, I was really hoping that piece of information wouldn’t come out so early.
It’s so silent, you could hear a ghost blink. Poppy is barely holding her poker face, and Tolliver has given up and laid his head on the table. CJ’s stare is growing harder to ignore.
I lightly clear my throat. “Crawford, can I have a moment alone with my crew?”
Rook bites his lip, looking awkwardly among us, then nods and leaves the room.
As soon as the door clicks behind him, Poppy snaps. “What the hell, Elle?”
CJ shakes their head. “Nope.”
“Are you even going t—”
I cut Poppy off with a pointed finger and then jerk my head toward the door.
“Fine,” she grumbles, pulling a small blackened graver out of her pocket.
She leans as far forward across the table as she can and starts etching. There’s a crackling noise, something between the scrape of carving and the hiss of soldering, and when Poppy pulls back, there’s a rune branded into the center of the table.
“Well, I’m sure Rook won’t notice that,” I say dryly as Poppy mutters a quick spell. Her eyes have gone all glowy, as has the rune.
Once she’s finished, she sits back, her eyes returning to normal though the rune remains activated. “There,” she says. “Cone of silence.”
“Okay, listen—” I start, but she immediately cuts me off.
“Have you lost whatever’s left of your mind?” Poppy asks, voice high and panicked. “Tartarus? Freakin’ Tartarus?”
There’s only one reason someone would put a tower obol in a dead woman’s pocket. If you end up in the Afterlife with a tower obol on you, a hellhound shows up to drag you to Tartarus. So, not only did these mysterious people murder Credence, but they also sentenced her to hell.
Officially—or as officially as it gets among supernatural thieves—Tartarus is a myth.
Unofficially, we just really don’t like talking about it.
In Greek mythology, it’s the lowest level of the Afterlife.
The place where the gods put their enemies.
A dungeon of torture. In reality, it’s…the lowest level of the Afterlife.
The place where the gods put their enemies. A dungeon of torture.
It’s also the place where I think my brother’s soul is, but I don’t want to tell the others that just yet. That’s why I chose Rook. I knew about the obol, knew about Tartarus. I was just hoping to avoid this conversation for a bit.
Poppy flips her braids over her shoulder. “Is there a reason you waited to tell us all this until we were sitting in the client’s library?”
“Yes,” I say, “because now it would look bad if you backed out.”
CJ is still shaking their head, whispering, “No.” Tolliver hasn’t lifted his head from the table.
“We have to back out,” Poppy says. “First of all, resurrection is impossible. That’s, like, Rule Number One.”
“Rule One is never lie to your crew,” Tolliver mutters.
“The Eleusinian Mysteries—” I start.
“Can kiss my Eleusinian ass,” Poppy snaps, her Lowcountry accent coming through.
“I don’t care what they say. I don’t even care if it was possible a long time ago.
It’s not anymore. There’s no Persephonean magic, probably never was.
When he first said the job was to resurrect his sister, I assumed this was just one of your cons.
Pretend we can get the sister back, get paid, get out.
But you really think you can do this? No, girl. You’ve gone too far this time.”
CJ scratches at the shaved sides of their head. “Will you stop stressing out so loud?”
“And,” Poppy continues, “even if we could resurrect someone, we’d first have to steal the soul from Tartarus.”
“Let’s just not focus on the Tartarus part right now,” I say.
Poppy crosses her arms. “Oh, I’m gonna focus on it.”
I scoot forward in my chair. “How about this: Tartarus, the resurrection—we’ll worry about that later. You don’t have to make any commitment to that now. Just sign on for the first part of the job.”
“Which is?” Poppy gives me a suspicious look.
I grin. “We’re going to steal the Voynich manuscript.”
“Oh god,” CJ groans.
Poppy narrows her eyes. “I see where this is going.”
Tolliver lifts his head, a red welt across his forehead where he was banging it against the table. “What’s the…the void…nacho script?”
“The Voynich manuscript,” Poppy corrects. “A fifteenth-century codex written in an unknown language. They’ve had that thing at Yale for years. No one can translate it.”
I nod. “Discovered by Polish book dealer Wilafred Voynich—”
“Wilfrid,” Poppy interrupts.
“—in 1902—”
“1912.”
“—an illustrated manuscript that depicts unknown plants and animals, astronomical symbols—”
“Astrological.”
“Scholars theorize that it’s a cipher, folkloric index, or perhaps a hoax.” I look to Poppy.
She nods. “No, that part’s right.”
“But,” I say, “it is none of those things. The Voynich manuscript is, in fact”—I drum on the table—“a grimoire!”
The others just stare at me.
Poppy shakes her head. “Elle, I love you, girl, but you done lost your mind.”
“Doubt me all you want. But I’ve done the research. Everything I’ve read suggests it’s a transcription of a grimoire created by the Cult of Persephone.”
CJ scowls. “You keep naming things that are myths and will you all please stop emoting for the love of god!”
Poppy lets out a snort of a laugh. “Sorry, CJ!”
“Yeah, CJ, we’re sorry,” Tolliver intones. He frowns, scrunching his nose like he’s smelled something bitter. “To be fair, most of the world thinks the Afterlife is a myth, and it’s real. So…”
“Tolliver.” Poppy snaps her fingers at him like he’s a misbehaving dog. “Do not feed her delusion!”
He sits back and taps his prosthetic hand against the table. “I’m just saying, that just because these things are myths doesn’t mean they’re not real.”
“That’s the literal definition of ‘myth,’ ” CJ says.
I throw my head back and groan. “Can we just admit that not everything that’s considered a myth is actually a myth?”
Poppy gasps in realization. “This is about Dante, isn’t it?”
The room falls quiet. CJ makes a finally gesture. Tolliver’s eyes are wide.
I scrape some dirt from under a fingernail. “It’s not not about Dante.”
“We’ve been over this,” Poppy says.
“Yeah, a year ago! Things have changed since then!”
“No, don’t.” Poppy holds up a finger to cut me off. “This false hope—it just makes the grieving process harder. And when it doesn’t work, which it won’t, it’s going to be like we’ve lost him all over again, and I can’t do that again. You can’t do that again.”
I take a calming breath. “I’ve spent the last year planning, following every possible lead.
Every last second has been devoted to this.
And I know—I know—I can do this. We can do this.
I know how to get the Voynich manuscript, I know how to translate it, and I know how to find Dante’s soul and get him out. ”
Poppy raises an eyebrow. “And where is Dante’s soul? Are you telling me you know how to get to a soul that’s left the Afterlife?”
I ignore her question, making eye contact with each of them. “I’m bringing Dante back. Whether you all help me or not.”
CJ grits their teeth. Poppy fidgets. Tolliver taps the table. I wait.
“Come on, guys, I’ve already done all the legwork on this. All you have to do is believe in me.”
Poppy shifts uncomfortably. “How sure are you that we can pull this off?”
“Oh, one hundred percent.”
“She’s lying,” CJ says.
I scoff. “There’s no way they can know that.” I turn to CJ. “There’s no way you can know that. Lying isn’t an emotion.”
CJ cocks their head, eyes narrowed. “Guilt is.”
“If not a hundred percent, then what?” Poppy asks.
I throw my hands up. “I don’t know. I can’t give you an exact percentage. I just know there’s a chance. That’s all I need. A chance.”
“Dante would try to save us,” Tolliver says. “Even if there was no chance.”
I bite back a smile. Oh, he’s good, and he doesn’t even know it.
It’s not true, by the way. Dante never did anything that he wasn’t 100 percent sure would work. But I can tell by the looks on the others’ faces that it’s over. I’ve won.
Poppy rolls her eyes. “If we say no, are you going to yell at us again?”
“Oh my god, I didn’t yell!”
“You’re doing it again!” Tolliver points at me. “You’re yelling right now!”
“This is not yelling! This is a normal volume!”
CJ jerks their head toward the door. “Does he know about Dante?”
“No,” I lower my voice, even though Poppy’s rune is still activated. “And he can’t know. If he knows we have a vested interest in this, he might not pay us, and we need that money. For the job. And stuff.”
“Okay, so we can’t talk about Dante during this entire job?” Tolliver asks.
“No, we just can’t mention he’s dead.”
Poppy flares her nostrils. “He’s not just dead, his soul is missing.”
Before I can respond, the library door creaks open. Rook sticks his head in, just as Poppy whispers away the spell. Tolliver tries to surreptitiously cover the rune by sliding his hand to the center of the table and ends up half lounging on it.
“Apologies, but I’m on a schedule,” Rook says. “Are you in or not, Fields?”
I look to the others. Tolliver drums his fingers, hand already in the center of the table. With a heavy sigh, CJ puts theirs on top of his. I wait for Poppy. She’s going to do it—she just needs to be dramatic about it.
She mumbles something about fools under her breath and adds her hand to the pile. Mine goes on top. There’s a tap on the window, and Crowlene is there, her little withered claw stretched toward us.
I turn to Rook, grin on my face.
“Oh, we’re in, Crawford.”