The Book of Lies

37

Benoni, what’s wrong? What happened?” Ellis asked his dog, who was down on her stomach, barely moving in the backseat.

Ellis pulled into an open spot at the rental car return center, then hopped out, ripped open the back door, and leaned down toward Benoni. “What? What do you see?” he asked, following the dog’s eyeline and looking over his own shoulder. Behind him, up in the corner of the garage, a security camera in a black globe peered directly at him.

Craning his neck up, Ellis stared directly into the camera for a full thirty seconds. Let ’em try. His life of hiding was over.

He knew it with each turned page when he first found the diary. He could see his family’s—his real family’s—legacy. All their work. They were scholars.

Back then, Ellis thought the Mark of Cain was a cross or a horn or something on Cain’s forehead. But his family knew the true story of the Book of Lies.

From there . . . with the names . . . it wasn’t hard for him to track the Leadership. So much of their rank and strength had been decimated over the years. But a few remained. Judge Wojtowicz remained. And therefore, so did the dream. The dream guided him. It still did. His mother’s dream for him.

That’s what it took to be Ellis.

It was a simple goal—the birthright—the Book—would help him reclaim his life—but it wouldn’t be easy. The Judge said as much . . . tried to turn him away. Even threatened him. But as he learned at the lake with his father, fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.

And that was where he began: with the wolf.

“Hey, bud,” a rental car employee with a handheld computer called out, “what’s wrong with your dog? She carsick?”

“She’s fine,” Ellis insisted, still staring at the security camera.

“You sure?”

Ellis leaned down into the back of the car. Benoni twisted her head slightly. Her eyes were glazed. Something was definitely wrong.

It had taken Ellis less than three weeks to find Benoni. That path was clear. The first pariah dog was Abel’s . . . and then . . . then eventually Cain’s. Cain’s first true mark. His first gift from God. But not his most vital one. That was the one still hidden—hidden and buried for centuries—then uncovered by the Coptic monks, redeemed by the Leadership, and stolen by the soldier—young Mitchell Siegel—so long ago. Stolen, then hidden again by Siegel’s own child. Parent and child. Always parent and child. Just like with his mom.

Patting Benoni’s head with both hands, Ellis glanced at his tattoo—at the dog, the thorns . . . and the man embraced by the moon. . . .

Parent and child. God’s perfect symmetry. It made even more sense when the Prophet told him what Cal had found. The Map. The address. Of course. Siegel’s son never hid the Book of Lies. He kept it. And now . . . that original address . . . Of course they were going to Cleveland.

“Hjjjkkkk . . . hjjkkkk . . .” At first, Ellis thought it was a sneeze. Then, still leaning in the back door, he saw Benoni’s head jerk down, then up, then down again. A slobbering waterfall of drool poured from the dog’s mouth. Her legs shook.

“Benoni!” he screamed, fighting to pull the dog out.

“Hjjkkk . . . hjjjkkkkk . . . !” The convulsing quickened, and the dog’s legs buckled as she collapsed in the backseat. She was having a seizure.

“Benoni!” Frantically gripping her legs, her body . . . he lifted her out through the back door.

“Hggggguuh . . .” There was a loud splash as a clear, mucousy liquid erupted from Benoni’s mouth, spraying the concrete and pooling on the garage floor. Benoni hacked and coughed a few times, jerking her head as though she were trying to twist it off. Ellis held Benoni close, embracing her as the acidic smell hit. Vomit. Not a seizure. For her to throw up like that, she was choking on something.

There. On the floor of the garage: A small, bright orange gob peeked out of the shallow puddle like a chewed piece of gum. But as Ellis reached down for it—

He pinched the dripping, mangled gummy worm with two fingers . . . and saw the gray, flat oval disk that was stuck in its half-chewed web.

A transmitter. She put a—

Ellis’s phone beeped, and a text message appeared on-screen:

Too late.

We’re off.

Next flight is 1 hr.

—The Prophet

In his lap, the dog sneezed, then whimpered slightly as she finally caught her breath.

“Yeah, I know, girl—Cal’s gone,” Ellis said, patting Benoni’s stomach and squinting hard at the oval transmitter. “Don’t worry, we’ll use the time. The Judge should be able to find her easily.”

Benoni again coughed a wet cough.

“Exactly, girl,” he said as he tweezed two fingers toward the transmitter’s battery. “I don’t want to hurt her, either.”

But that’s what it took to be Ellis.