In his madness Kellaeus had removed three pages from this Book of Life even before it was taken from the emperor. He gave one leaf to me. Kellaeus would not tell me to whom he had given the other pages, speaking in riddles about the angel of death and the angel of life. Alas, I do not know the book’s present whereabouts. I no longer have my leaf from it, having given it to Abraham ben Elijah for safekeeping. He died of the pestilence, and the page may be forever lost. The only one who might be able to shed light on the mystery is your maker. He, too, sought this book. May your interest in healing this broken book extend to healing your broken lineage so that you might find peace with the Father who gave you life and breath. The Lord guard your spirit, from your loving friend Yehuda of the holy city of Prague, son of Bezalel, 2nd of the month Elul 5369
“That’s all?” Skovajsa said after another long pause. “It’s just about a meeting?”
“In essence.” Knox made rapid calculations on the back of the folder. Loew died in 1609. Kelley visited him eighteen years before that. Spring 1591. He dug in his pocket for his phone and looked at the display in disgust. “Don’t you get a signal up here?”
“We’re underground,” Skovajsa said, shrugging as he pointed to the thick walls. “So was I right to tell you about this?” He licked his lips in anticipation.
“You did well, Pavel. I’m taking the letter. And the book.” They were the only items Knox had ever removed from the Strahov Library.
“Good. I thought it was worth your time, what with the mention of alchemy.” Pavel grinned.
What happened next was regrettable. Skovajsa had the misfortune, after years of rooting about without success, of finding something precious to Knox. With a few words and a small gesture, Knox made sure Pavel would never be able to share what he had seen with another creature. For sentimental and ethical reasons, Knox didn’t kill him. That would have been a vampire’s response, as he knew from finding Gillian Chamberlain propped up against his door at the Randolph Hotel last autumn. Being a witch, he simply freed the clot in Skovajsa’s thigh so it could travel up to his brain. Once there, it caused a massive stroke. It would be hours before someone found him, and too late for any good to come of it.
Knox found his way back to his rental car with the biblically proportioned book and the letter safely tucked under his arm. Once he was far enough from the Strahov complex, he pulled over to the side of the road and took out the letter, his hands shaking.
Everything the Congregation knew about the mysterious book of origins—Ashmole 782—was based on fragments such as this. Any new discovery dramatically increased their knowledge. And this letter contained more than just a brief description of the book and some veiled hints as to its significance. There were names and dates and the startling revelation that the book Diana Bishop had seen in Oxford was missing three pages.
Knox looked over the letter again. He wanted to know more—to squeeze every potentially useful bit of information from it. This time certain words and phrases stood out: your broken lineage; the Father who gave you life and breath; your maker. On the first reading, Knox assumed that Loew was talking about God. Upon the second he came to a very different conclusion. Knox picked up his phone and punched in a single number.
“Oui.”
“Who is Benjamin ben Gabriel?” Knox demanded.
There was a moment of complete silence.
“Hello, Peter,” said Gerbert of Aurillac. Knox’s free hand curled into a fist at the bland response. This was so typical of the vampires on the Congregation. They talked about honesty and cooperation, but they had lived too long and knew too much. And, like all predators, they weren’t eager to share their spoils.
“‘Benjamin shall raven like a wolf.’ I know Benjamin ben Gabriel is a vampire. Who is he?”
“No one of importance.”
“Do you know what happened in Prague in 1591?” Knox asked tightly.
“A great many things. You cannot expect me to rehearse every event for you, like a grammar-school history teacher.”
Knox heard a faint tremble in Gerbert’s voice, something that only someone who knew the man well would catch. Gerbert, the venerable vampire who was never at a loss for words, was nervous.
“Dr. Dee’s assistant, Edward Kelley, was in the city in 1591.”
“We’ve been over this before. It’s true, the Congregation once believed that Ashmole 782 might have been in Dee’s library. But I met with Edward Kelley in Prague when those suspicions first surfaced in the spring of 1586. Dr. Dee had a book full of pictures. It wasn’t ours. Since then we’ve tracked down every item from Dee’s library just to be sure. Elias Ashmole didn’t come into possession of the manuscript through Dee or Kelley.”