Dybbuk
Chapter Three

It was a music box.

At least, that’s what it looked like to Lina.

She sat in front of it, her legs folded and crossed with her hands in her lap, and staring at it. She winced. The position wasn’t the most comfortable, after the injuries she’d suffered from the dream. Which were starting to fade, she could hardly recall what it was about now. The only thing that really remained was a sense of urgency and dread.

Either way Lina knew it was connected to this little box left in Benaiah.

Wrapped in bath towels and stuffed into a cardboard box, Lina noted the wards scrawled all over the outside, which were useless, since they’d been cut and broken. The music box itself wasn’t very large. Maybe eight inches by four. Six inches from its small golden feet to mirror inlaid top of deep red wood.

It was very beautiful.

It was also very old.

On it’s right side was a tiny golden crank. Very inviting for one to touch it. Turn it.

But that’s exactly what this little box wanted. It wanted to entice you. Make you curious as to what was inside. Teasing any passer-by with a wink and a gleam of its golden crank. Asking you to turn it and find the surprise inside.

“No thank you.” Lina whispered. She’d seen enough cursed objects to know better than to do the one thing it asked of you.

Which is exactly why it was in the middle of her workshop. In the center of her Solomon’s Key. Lina reclined, feeling the indentations of her protective words and rings burned into the wood flooring. She had one just like it under her bed, and still she had the dream. Lina bet that little music box had something to do with it. She looked at the note again. The words were simple, to the point and absolutely useless: Darkness Inside.

No shit.

With a sigh, Lina found herself on her back. Staring up at the ceiling of her workshop.

There was a rattle and turn of her doorknob.

“Hey Sweetpea,” said a familiar voice.

It was her mother, Alex.

“Hey,” Lina’s voice came out more subdued then she intended.

“Going that well, huh?”

“Mmmm.” Lina grumbled, “It’d be easier if I knew what I was dealing with.”

Her mother came into view. Her usual mane of curly, dark chocolate hair swept up today; the crown of silver had spread. It looked good. Her mother’s spectacles inches down her face as she looked over Lina. The rubber foot of her mother’s cane jabbed into her shoulder.

“Get off the floor.” She made a face, “You know how many people have bled there?”

“I’ve cleaned it.” Lina said defensively, but sat up anyway.

Her mother went around the Key, ending at Lina’s work bench. She sat with a small huff, making herself comfortable. “So what is it?”

“A music box.” The crank glinted teasingly.

“And?”

“And nothing.” Lina looked at her mother, “what about Victor?”

“I got him to stop looping with Siobhan’s help.”

“Sage?”

“Yeah,” Her mother nodded, “but it won’t last long. Why not turn the crank?”

Lina looked at the little golden crank. Her hand reached out, inches away from giving in. Then her hand shifted and she lifted the whole thing instead. It was heavy, for such a tiny box. The lid was sealed with a clever little latch; one Lina was sure to unhook after the crank turned.

“Why not turn it?” Lina mused, turning the whole thing over. “Because whatever is inside reached into my dreams. It reached through the wards of both Benaiah and my bed room.”

“Then how will you know what’s inside?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Lina shook it. The lid rattled.

“Like you were trying to figure out Victor?”

Lina looked up, “Meaning?”

“Meaning, Victor’s been hanging around the store for over three months.”

“Well, I’ve been keeping an ear on the police blotter and checking the local news, and there was nothing related to Victor at all. Besides, I can’t help him if he doesn’t remember his unfinished business.”

“But at least he could talk to you.” Her mother looked over her spectacles, “What about Wilc? He might be able to help?”

Lina put down the box.

“And tell him what? That I have a ghost with amnesia? That’s he’s starting to go all poltergeisty on me? Please help me find out how he died?”

“Sure.”

Lina shook her head. Wilc would be of no help. If there was anything Lina learned in this line of business, it was that you needed faith. You needed to believe. Not in God, not in the Devil, but just have faith in yourself and that there was something bigger out there than you.

Besides, he’d already accused her of murder. Twice. He’d even jailed her, not that Wilc would remember that last incident, thank you Jeremy. Yet for some reason, her mother always brought Wilc up in conversation. Wilc this, Wilc that. He can help blah, blah, blah.

Her fingers drummed over the lid of the music box.

It rattled.

She drummed it again.

The mirror on the lid shook under her fingers. She looked at the golden frame, feeling around the edges. One side was a little ill-fitting. Lina pulled and it popped right off. She slid the mirror out.

Nothing, just wood.

“What’s on the mirror?” Her mother pointed.

Lina flipped it over. The bottom was lined with gold, and on that gold…

“There’s something etched into the back of the mirror.” Lina ran her finger over it.

“Well?” Her mother leaned over the table, trying to get a better look. “What’s it say?”

“I don’t know.” Lina looked up, “I can’t read Hebrew.”

“Hebrew?”

“Yeah.” Lina stood up, and walked over to her mother, mindful of not leaving the Circle, she held it up, “Don’t suppose you know how to read Hebrew?”

The mirror was heavier than it looked, the weight straining against her, like it knew it was at the edge of the Circle. Near close to escape.

Her mother peered closer, squinting as she looked over her glasses.

“Nope.” She finally said.

Lina let her arms drop. Maybe someone at Haven could help translate. She could always take a photo and throw it online but that prospect was always a little scary. One never really knows who’s on the other side.

“You know,” her mother broke into her thoughts, “Your gran-ma helped a guy back in thirty-two with a golem. Apparently it was a little more alive with the word of God then the museum first thought. I think he still owns the antique shop off of seventh and forty-second.”

Lina turned the mirror over. She ran her fingers over the inscription; willing it to give up its secrets. It didn’t. But it would.

They always do.

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