The Hanging Hill

30

“Do you have your key?” Grimes asked Hakeem as they hurried through the subterranean labyrinth of interconnected storage rooms in the basement.

“Of course, Exalted One.”

They reached the open door to the room where the antique theatrical trunk had been stored.

“Give it to me!” Grimes demanded.

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“You are not quite ready to receive it.”

“What? I read the book. All of it. I am the direct descendant of the high priest of Ba’al. You shall do as I command!”

Badir and Jamal, the two Tunisian strongmen, stepped into the doorway. Blocked it.

“You are not quite ready,” Hakeem repeated, much too serenely for Grimes’s taste. “Please …” Hakeem gestured toward the door. “Step into the room and learn what is required of you next.”

The two musclemen stepped aside, but Grimes could tell they were eyeing him warily.

“No!” he said. “I want you to open that final compartment! Now! You are my servant. You will do as I say!”

Hakeem bent his head in reverence. “I will, Exalted One.” He raised his head and glared into Grimes’s eyes. “Once you prove that Professor Nicodemus’s royal blood truly flows through your veins! That you inherited his natural talents!”

“Who?”

“Professor Nicholas Nicodemus.”

“The name embossed on the cover of the book!”

“Indeed. And your grandfather. The world’s finest necromancer!”

Grimes had heard the word before. Wasn’t quite sure what it meant. For the first time in a long while, he swallowed his pride.

“Necromancer?” he asked as casually as he could.

Hakeem grinned. His eyes twinkled. “One who communicates with the spirits of the dead in order to predict or influence the future.”

Badir and Jamal were grinning now, too.

Then the three men started to laugh.

A soft and low, devious and menacing chuckle.

It wasn’t long before Grimes was grinning and chuckling with them.