Lester of Two Evils

The Lesser Key of Solomon

Lester looked around carefully before ducking behind the library and down the cement stairs that dipped below ground level. At the bottom, he removed a single silver key from his pocket, stuck it into the lock of the rusty steel door set into the building's stone foundation, and slipped inside.

The library's basement was the size of a warehouse. Long tubes of fluorescent lights hung down from a high ceiling, stretching off in both directions across the vast space. Unfortunately, nearly half of these were burnt out, creating random islands of flickering light separated by large stretches of darkness. A labyrinth of tall gray metal shelves wove across the old factory floor, and the steady sound of dripping water echoed from every direction. This dungeon-like atmosphere, combined with the overwhelming smell of mildew and wet paper, ensured visits from the volunteer library staff were seldom and brief.

Lester wound his way through the shelves with practiced ease. They were piled high with books and old pipe organ parts covered in dust. Unperturbed by the lack of signs or markings to show the way, he turned left and right at various junctions. Sometimes he counted rows on his fingers before suddenly changing direction. Last summer, he'd spent weeks here helping the library update its book catalog. A box full of index cards, several number two pencils, and an Elvis clock that kept time by swinging the singer's plastic hips had been his only company.

The shelves parted at the center of the basement to reveal a small oasis. It was sparsely decorated with a wooden table and matching chairs, sitting atop a circular rug. Beyond, the maze continued into the darkness. But thanks to the warm light of an antique floor lamp, Lester's old work area seemed almost cheerful in comparison.

"Your late," Amanda said. She sat alone at the table.

"Sorry," Lester apologized, taking the chair opposite her. "I had to wait until I could sneak out without being noticed."

"Did you bring it?" asked Amanda.

Lester opened his backpack and removed a plastic sandwich bag. Inside was a square piece of paper. He placed it on the table, and Amanda spun it around with the tip of her finger.

They had waited until they were sure their fathers had truly gone before climbing down from the skate ramp and cautiously crossing into the alley. Standing behind The Mortician's Eye, neither Lester nor Amanda had been sure what they were expecting to find. There were no scorch marks, glowing cinders, or other signs that the area had been engulfed in fire moments earlier. Even the scattered piles of dry leaves had appeared untouched.

"What is that?" Amanda had asked.

Lester, who'd been pacing around, had looked down to find himself standing in a pile of white dust. "I don't know. It almost looks like some sort of ash."

"Oh, gross, Lester!" Amanda had shrieked, jumping back and grabbing his arm. "Do you think it's —"

"No," Lester had said. "It can't be. The amount of heat required to reduce a — well, you know — is astronomical, and nothing else here is even singed."

"Right," Amanda had said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Still, maybe you should move. It stinks like rotten eggs."

As he did, Lester had noticed something stuck to the bottom of his shoe and bent down to pull it free.

"Don't touch it!" Amanda had said, her face twisted in disgust.

"Relax, I told you there's no way it's him."

Lester had stuffed the paper into his pocket and then tilted his head towards the street. A faint wail of sirens sounded from somewhere in the distance. Smoke had still been pouring out the back door of the pub, and someone must have called it in.